I'm constantly looking for meaning. Sometimes regrettably, this ends up taking shape as overthinking. But there are many times when this looking reveals some sort of clarity for a moment, some humor or relief or deeper knowledge. In my work, I'm fortunate to get to help others learn how to develop skills for looking, and (I hope) build confidence in their ability to trust in the combination of observation and intuition. What is revealed in your world by looking closely and using descriptive words to describe what you see (to yourself, to a stranger, to a loved one)? And what happens when you invite someone else to do this for you?
Glitch
A handful of realizations have me unwinding and unfolding in ways I haven't for a long time. It's not anything in particular, yet it feels like everything at once. Breathing, standing up, moving in all directions as opposed to a linear or choreographed way. I'm so trying to stay in the moment: feel, smell, touch, taste with purpose, turn around on the trail and look at scenery, watch my step, crash through the wet growth.
Surprise
I hold tight to the notion that visual art communicates in dimensions where words fail me. Layers of meaning can inhabit a single space: viewers have ready access to those on the surface at first glance, and reap subsequently deeper rewards if they stay or return. Sigalit Landau's DeadSee (2005) is a smart and mesmerizing piece that lures you with form, color, and movement and serves up a beautiful and poignant surprise. I'm inspired by this work's deceptive simplicity and its capacity for myriad interpretations.
Lines
I found connection through lines today, illustrations on the walls of an underpass done by an artist with no apparent attribution. Considering ways we depend on art to pull us along, or rely on it to help us find community and meaning outside ourselves. This work speaks to me in its direct simplicity, in the elegance of line, and in the candor of scale.
Curation
I'm looking with heightened awareness at the many ways that we humans organize and present our surroundings with purpose. What stories are told, revised or concealed? What parts of the world get our attention or focus?
Affinities
It was strangely reassuring to come across the work of this artist and see this work that she created when I was two. I'm finding myself more drawn to connections than singularity, that the prospect of tapping in to a collective consciousness of aesthetics, language and methods of making sense of the world appeals more than the idea of creative genius. Looking for depth and experience.
Gego, Reticulárea, 1969 (detail), installation view, photo by Martha Holmes (cover of Gego 1957-1988: Thinking the Line)
Observations
Necklace with silver cone bib
Sage burned out of an abalone shell
Finger pinch of vanilla-scented pipe tobacco (to hold thoughts for someone else, then to toss back to the earth)
Feathers bound together in a fan
A circle
No animals or women on their cycle allowed
Roasting corn (smelled like donuts)
Sumac, ruby red
Zebra mussel shells, 2017
Poetry
One of my favorite books is Poetry Everywhere, which could easily have the word Poetry swapped out for Art, or Listen, or Wake Up. This teaching tool admonishes us to be available to the world, to perceive and relate to it, and to let this experience of being open reveal the best version of our selves.
To my mind, the action of stringing together juicy words and imagery seems to translate well to other media. But I'm pretty much a goner for poetry any way it arrives. Right now, I get a daily dose here, and once I was given this little gift, and then there's this. I like pulling a random poem like a tarot card, reading it and letting it help me make sense of wherever I am. Today the joy comes as a found poem in video form.
Progress
Letting go of judgment about my work, leaving it partially completed as it is revealed, making time for a life while also making art -- all of these things came to the surface last night during the preliminary installation in the window at the art museum where I work. Right away, I am seeing that more will be more, and that scale and light and delicacy are important factors to consider.
But perhaps the most surprising and reassuring thing was to see how plain the connection to writing and music appears even with this initial gesture, and how the process of getting small in front of such a large experiment might have been the only way to access this information.
It's not only the physical aspect of getting small, either. I'm really just a catalyst, supported by the efforts of others, including J Garrett, who did the waterjet cutting of the parts I designed, Scott Farwell, whose love of helping and lighting were indispensable, and Diana Riddle and Sheila Hughes, for asking me in the first place. More to come.
Growing Line at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, 2017
Practice
Part of my practice over the past ten years has involved looking back at my own work for clues about whether I'm on my own right track. I'm always grateful to the glimpses of clarity from my younger self, so today I unearthed old sketchbooks in the hopes of something lighting me up. This spread from nearly three years ago is exactly what I needed.
Don't worry about perfect use of materials. Do allow for experimentation and FAILURE.
Don't use things that don't attract you. Do use things that make you uncomfortable.
Don't be afraid to start with something that has been done. Do make reasonable goals.
2015 sketchbook directives for 2017 actions