I have been quiet about hanging the show. Shy about seeing my pieces displayed publicly. Views of evocative imagery; scenes of the private rooms of my heart; swirls of creative urge. Not one of those 7 prints is easy. They came hard. Each one a breakthrough. Working with layers of image and word is the panning for gold in my artistic trials. It feels like tedium--bending over a cloudy moving stream as I hold the strainer focused on the gold that is sure to rise. Somewhere from the wetness and clouds it comes through--Oh, that's it! That which is here in front of my eyes with only thin air separating. And this "it" is remarkable at first sight before critical mind comes to my side with long pointy finger and jabbing words. What I see of the 7 prints? There is beauty there. I could sit with each one as a friend and each one would move naturally and without emotion to my side with an arm around my shoulder and in a fantasy my picture becomes something, someone else and we talk for hours mostly not saying a word. Each print tells me why they are. They say there is no creator only an emergence of art through the creative one--the artist facilitates the coming of the art that was already there. Just here on this side of vision--the other side of the way we think things are. So 7 prints came through me and are now hanging on the walls of Waldo Pizza in Lee's Summit. Today I walk by the tables and see silhouettes of talking and laughing heads in front of the art hanging above each table. What's going on here I wonder as I watch this dream and I see the prints that told me just a moment ago that they are not mine--they emerged through me, that is all and I think "Why art?" and I see my art with strangers eating pizza: sitting at the table with families and friends and business partners. And like a mother at the prom I see my darlings with others and I stand uncomfortably fine about with others. There is a chance that one or two may go home with their new admirers and preen and be hung in just the right spot that is not my spot at all . . .
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
7 Images
I have been quiet about hanging the show. Shy about seeing my pieces displayed publicly. Views of evocative imagery; scenes of the private rooms of my heart; swirls of creative urge. Not one of those 7 prints is easy. They came hard. Each one a breakthrough. Working with layers of image and word is the panning for gold in my artistic trials. It feels like tedium--bending over a cloudy moving stream as I hold the strainer focused on the gold that is sure to rise. Somewhere from the wetness and clouds it comes through--Oh, that's it! That which is here in front of my eyes with only thin air separating. And this "it" is remarkable at first sight before critical mind comes to my side with long pointy finger and jabbing words. What I see of the 7 prints? There is beauty there. I could sit with each one as a friend and each one would move naturally and without emotion to my side with an arm around my shoulder and in a fantasy my picture becomes something, someone else and we talk for hours mostly not saying a word. Each print tells me why they are. They say there is no creator only an emergence of art through the creative one--the artist facilitates the coming of the art that was already there. Just here on this side of vision--the other side of the way we think things are. So 7 prints came through me and are now hanging on the walls of Waldo Pizza in Lee's Summit. Today I walk by the tables and see silhouettes of talking and laughing heads in front of the art hanging above each table. What's going on here I wonder as I watch this dream and I see the prints that told me just a moment ago that they are not mine--they emerged through me, that is all and I think "Why art?" and I see my art with strangers eating pizza: sitting at the table with families and friends and business partners. And like a mother at the prom I see my darlings with others and I stand uncomfortably fine about with others. There is a chance that one or two may go home with their new admirers and preen and be hung in just the right spot that is not my spot at all . . .
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