a journal of...

A journal among friends...
art, words, home, people and places

Monday, August 3, 2020

Whence art?

Good morning.  A little storm coming through has me comfortable, laptop in lap, eyes sliding from window screen (digital) to window screen (architectural) where I am watching the meditative drops and the slowly darkening sky.  It's an art in itself, the way rain, and indeed all weather, seems to provide the backdrop to what we are at any moment.  Watching this wetness, I ought to be talking about losses of this last week, but instead, I'm focusing on art, for there have been gains, too, in spite of that.


Elizabeth Matheson, porch at the inn in Hillsborough

In my view at the moment are two new pieces of my own and two recently acquired.  And then, the brown paper packet of art I have been carrying around all year, bought abroad and waiting for their time to be framed and hung.  Now, I decided, was the time. Though my wall space is limited, there will surely be a place for them, for they are the work of friends, new friends, two of whose work I have admired for years, so I suppose, in the language of art, they are actually old friends.  Knowing the person behind the art is like knowing a fuller story to be imagined.


It's like that triangle I used to teach my writing students:  The author/artist on one point drawn to an idea on another point and finally to a reader/observer on the third point.  All three form the meaning of the art, its beauty, its recurring vibrations.  Where art comes from and where it goes are all apiece.  (I suppose one could interpret that literally, too...how does an art change in essence from the artist's working bench to the museum wall to my wall?  But let's not go there right now...)

Last week, unhappy about doing yet another small art project, especially with all that friendly inspiration around me,  I looked up and noticed the original of that tree I painted for the head of "Ancestry" a few posts ago.  I liked it, but in that flat surface it seemed as unhappy as I.  Perhaps it deserved a new space, where it could incur renewed  meaning.  A tree is life, after all, growth, connection, protection. 



I cut a piece of linen, then with a tiny, sharp scissors cut the tree from its paper roots, and pasted it on the fabric.  From my pocket-stash of found things, I gave it a human connection...a swing hung from each side, with a ground of old metal beneath.  I added a cloud above, though, frankly, it seemed (and still seems) gratuitous.  l called it essentials.

Then what, I thought?  What is this all about?  Maybe this tree, after all a family tree in its origins, needed some words of its own to show me what it meant.  So I asked my sisters, aunt, cousin and nieces to answer a question:  what do they believe has kept them going throughout life?  I expected them to think a while on that, but only a few seconds after the text went out, the first answer arrived from my new niece Stephanie, expecting her first little one, and a minute or two later almost all of the rest tumbled out, sending my phone blinging away.  One more niece (she was on a conference call at the time) caught up soon after, and two more, whose phone numbers needed correcting, soon after that.  They seemed happy for the chance to step out of the ordinary and focus on an essential way of being.

essentials
Not only their quickness, but the astuteness of their responses amazed me, and the intra-chat among them, too.  Here is a family that knows what it is, I thought.  I typed their words out and hung them in long strips on the tree.  That's better, I thought.  And left it at that.

A few days later, though, there remained still a degree of uncomfortable flatness.  Besides which, as was mentioned once or twice, the words were difficult to read, being small and sidewise.  My niece Meredith liked them that way...inspiration and blessings come from both directions, she said, looking up for them and raining down.  We liked her take on it.  Still, I thought those words needed yet another airing.

Kathy Steinsberger, studio
Words, I thought...I guess I could put them in a book.  Immediately I began ruing the fact that this pandemic has prevented my dropping in on Kathy Steinsberger's studio, a place where art magnetizes you from every surface and the infinite varieties of books burst from every corner.


So each morning this past week found me (excitedly, I will admit, almost as if I were at Kathy's) choosing papers, measuring, cutting and sewing, clipping and arranging, pasting pages, words, covers.  While they dried and were pressed, I decided to ask the men in the family the same question.  A book, after all, can have as many pages as it needs to say what it means.


Interestingly (such a useful word), I had to wait a few minutes for the first reply, my nephew Tommy weighing in with his philosophy of a life's journey.  An hour later, my brother Frank sent in one word...a really good one.  A few days passed, and Jimmy, another nephew, sent his in, writing first that it was harder than it looked to decide what he lived on.  That's it...so far.  I'm still waiting.  But meanwhile, the book, put together, held well what held us together, what we lived on.  If there are more words forthcoming, they have a place there, too.






Next time, more about the art of friends...

Be well, all...please, please take care!

2 comments:

  1. After reading this blog, I read it again but this time more slowly, digesting the words and pairing each segment with the photos. I could now understand how one idea takes on many layers to become something beautiful and meaningful. And it the end, it offered me a glimpse into the mind of a brilliant artist.

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  2. This is such a wonderful project, and I'm very glad you created it and included us in it! Thank you so much. Love,
    e

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