This week, via a series of events stated at Open Studio Hartford and after the abrupt cancellation of my show at the Butler-McCook House due to that devil of a storm October 30, 25 pieces of mine migrated from the West Gallery of the Simsbury Public Library to the Unitarian Society in Hartford. I hadn't been in the building since the late 1980s and I can't even remember exactly why I was there then but most likely it was because of something supportive the Unitarian Society was doing for the gay and lesbian community. At that time Congregationalist churches, the church I was brought up in, were voting congregation by congregation about whether or not to be "open and affirming" of gay membership. Neither of the churches I attended as a child and adult held such a vote. Politically we were working hard at that time to pass hate crimes legislation and civil rights legislation that could end human resources policies that openly violated the rights of gays and lesbians to live and work in peace and segments of communities and organizations were actively working with the lobbying effort.
The building was fascinating then and it is still striking. The gallery space extends in a circular fashion around the sanctuary in the center and the construction of the whole thing is, to me, like a shallow nautilus with a large center. My pictures look good there, if I may say.
These are tumultuous times and it is nice to have had the work out continuously. Originally my work was scheduled to be shown at a restaurant in the area and in the aftermath of the storm the restaurant closed for good. In our own lives the full tally of the cost of the storm is still coming due and if you told me I would be switching form one type of CT landmark as a venue to a completely different one I would have tipped my head a bit, like Rosie does, wondering what could precipitate such a change.
In a quick aside I did have one inquiry in the last couple of months asking if my price was "firm" on a certain piece. I think people are reprogramming themselves to ask if they are getting the best deal just as common sense, but sometimes the question as posed to an artist seems like unnecessary commentary on the value of a piece. This woman summed it up quite well: http://www.somersherwood.com/?p=126 . It is a calculation that relates pretty directly to the labor intensive detail of my own work. Yes, with the exception of my mother, the price is firm. Mother is a whole other story.
So, back to the church. I am unabashedly comforted in a place of worship, no matter what the type of worship is. I am sure that is not the experience of those around me so my discussions of spirituality over the last few years has been limited to my good neighbor Fred, who reads extensively on the subject and talks openly about his experiences, thoughts, and feelings regarding religious practices and beliefs. And we had such a strange series of weather all of 2011 I think most of our talk has been relegated to our Yankee-like obsession with the weather. Often the weather completely prevented over-the-back-fence conversation!
This is my first art show in a place of spiritual gathering except that summer I had an outdoor show of loose canvases painted and nailed to trees for a several days long music festival. Of course I would consider a stand of trees a sanctuary. We even call the front room of our house, the one with a wall of windows facing the sunset, the "sanctuary".
This Unitarian Society building went from simply being a place to hang work and became, when I stepped gingerly inside, some ancient feeling washing over me head to toe, as if I suddenly lay down in a generous soft patch of moss outside in the field, with only nature as noise and a wide blue sky view. It held a comfort that caught me off guard. I still am oddly unnerved but not in the least surprised. It is as if I am afraid someone will ask me to explain myself. It is as if I am afraid no one will ever ask me to explain myself. Usually that contradiction applies only to the art...not my whole self.
In these days of short light it is easier to talk about the discomforts....the itchy cold, the wreath dropping needles, the electric bill, the unease left by big storms that changed us, really changed us. To say I am frustrated or envious or impatient falls more easily from my mouth than the really oooey gooey center of me...loved, comforted, fed, warm and grateful. "Grace" was my word of the year for 2011. Donna and I decided together it needs to remain a watch word but we need a new one too. The new word may lie in these experiences of comfort that sneak up on me.
Life shifts shapes. I'm going along. Yes, I'm coming along.
These are tumultuous times and it is nice to have had the work out continuously. Originally my work was scheduled to be shown at a restaurant in the area and in the aftermath of the storm the restaurant closed for good. In our own lives the full tally of the cost of the storm is still coming due and if you told me I would be switching form one type of CT landmark as a venue to a completely different one I would have tipped my head a bit, like Rosie does, wondering what could precipitate such a change.
In a quick aside I did have one inquiry in the last couple of months asking if my price was "firm" on a certain piece. I think people are reprogramming themselves to ask if they are getting the best deal just as common sense, but sometimes the question as posed to an artist seems like unnecessary commentary on the value of a piece. This woman summed it up quite well: http://www.somersherwood.com/?p=126 . It is a calculation that relates pretty directly to the labor intensive detail of my own work. Yes, with the exception of my mother, the price is firm. Mother is a whole other story.
So, back to the church. I am unabashedly comforted in a place of worship, no matter what the type of worship is. I am sure that is not the experience of those around me so my discussions of spirituality over the last few years has been limited to my good neighbor Fred, who reads extensively on the subject and talks openly about his experiences, thoughts, and feelings regarding religious practices and beliefs. And we had such a strange series of weather all of 2011 I think most of our talk has been relegated to our Yankee-like obsession with the weather. Often the weather completely prevented over-the-back-fence conversation!
This is my first art show in a place of spiritual gathering except that summer I had an outdoor show of loose canvases painted and nailed to trees for a several days long music festival. Of course I would consider a stand of trees a sanctuary. We even call the front room of our house, the one with a wall of windows facing the sunset, the "sanctuary".
This Unitarian Society building went from simply being a place to hang work and became, when I stepped gingerly inside, some ancient feeling washing over me head to toe, as if I suddenly lay down in a generous soft patch of moss outside in the field, with only nature as noise and a wide blue sky view. It held a comfort that caught me off guard. I still am oddly unnerved but not in the least surprised. It is as if I am afraid someone will ask me to explain myself. It is as if I am afraid no one will ever ask me to explain myself. Usually that contradiction applies only to the art...not my whole self.
In these days of short light it is easier to talk about the discomforts....the itchy cold, the wreath dropping needles, the electric bill, the unease left by big storms that changed us, really changed us. To say I am frustrated or envious or impatient falls more easily from my mouth than the really oooey gooey center of me...loved, comforted, fed, warm and grateful. "Grace" was my word of the year for 2011. Donna and I decided together it needs to remain a watch word but we need a new one too. The new word may lie in these experiences of comfort that sneak up on me.
Life shifts shapes. I'm going along. Yes, I'm coming along.
1 comment:
As always, I enjoy your gift of well written narrative -- you express so easily the thoughts that some of us can barely think. Thank you for your kind words about Fred.
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