Tom and I went to the Virginia-Highland Summerfest last Sunday. It was wonderful and yet we wouldn't have made the trip into town or even had it on our radar if it hadn't been that an old friend of Tom's was showing her art there. We arrived early and well before noon. We were told by one artist we stopped to chat with that we were lucky -- it would get VERY crowded after lunch.
The artist market lined Virginia Avenue for several blocks between Highland and nearly to Monroe. After parking in the YMCA parking lot, we entered the artists area from Highland. Unfortunately, the first stop had to be the short line of Port-a-Potties, as we both had to "go". Oddly, there were male emblems on a couple of these modern outhouses, and female emblems on others. The interiors didn't seem to be any different, the "girls" that I went in was equipped with a urinal just the same as the one Tom went in. Only now do I realize why that would be -- they do this because they are trying to preserve one or two "express" lanes for the guys. If it weren't designated specifically for guys, they're afraid the women would line up for ALL of the spots. Who knew the first example of why art matters to me would be the graphic for male versus female? But I digress....
We knew before we ever set eyes on Linda Bean's booth that we'd be buying a very specific painting. She'd posted a picture of it on FaceBook and Tom and I both fell in love with it. A beautiful Florida landscape. Meeting Linda at the Va-Hi Fest was a great way for me to finally meet her and for both Tom and I to meet her husband Steve. PLUS we were able to save money on shipping.
If I'd had ten thousand dollars to blow yesterday, I could have easily done it and not paid more than $2000 for any one piece. Of course, we are not in the big leagues and have yet to make the jump to spending four-figures on one piece of art, much less blow ten grand all at once. I'd love to be able to, though. But there were many things I wish I could have purchased for a few hundred dollars. Glass works, watercolors, photography, sculpture, oils and acrylics, jewelry... so many beautiful and thought-provoking pieces. We had some lovely conversations with a variety of artists, too.
Fortunately, the piece we bought from Linda was a 12" by 12" oil and it fit perfectly in a large pizza box. It kept threatening rain so I was glad we had it protected. The only thing is, I would have gladly paraded through the streets advertising her wonderful work instead of hiding it away in a pizza box that produced more than a few comments about not letting our lunch get cold. (Plus it was a little odd going into the taco place carrying our "pizza".)
On the way home from the festival we drove by our first apartment on Briarcliff Terrace in a neighborhood bordering Virginia-Highland. We'd lived there back in the mid-70s when rent was $125 a month. Don't know what the rent is now. But I'm pretty sure we couldn't afford to buy any of the houses in the area. We were feeling adventurous and relaxed, so we managed to drive by two other places we'd lived in our lives together, one in East Atlanta, when we'd lived with friends for the first few months of our marriage, and one in Riverdale, where we'd lived for a number of years in the late 80s.
Back in our early days as a couple, in that first apartment, before anything that smacked of careers, we'd dabbled at producing our own art. And in a nod to "real" artists, over the years, we'd purchased a couple of posters from art museums of works of the Masters and long-dead artists. The "Girl in Blue" by Frederick Carl Frieseke, an 8" square reproduction of the original 31" square oil on canvas, now hangs in our laundry room. (Note: I wouldn't have been able to tell you who'd done this work or what it was called if I hadn't taken it off the wall and been pleasantly surprised by my long ago foresight of having preserved the information from the original print when I'd put it in a square silver frame.) Rembrandt's "The Night Watchmen", a dark poster-sized piece, for a time hung unframed over our half-table in the eating area of that first tiny apartment on Briarcliff Terrace. In the same apartment, we'd hung Tom's surrealistic drawings and my construction paper weavings. Our choices were part self-expression, part desire to commune with great artists of the past.
In the intervening decades, Tom and I began to allow ourselves purchases of works from living artists whom we admired. A modest purchase of a glass paperweight at one art fair, a 36" by 36" quilt wall hanging at another. And then, several prints from our old friend PT Nunn -- prints instead of originals to allow for more choices. But I began to want originals, too. We purchased two original mithila-style black and red pen and ink drawings from a gallery in Orlando. The "Tree of Life" with its six exotic birds filling its branches and every corner of the page filled with leaves and life is one of my very favorite purchases. Another time, at the same gallery, we couldn't afford the beautiful oils of Patrick McGrath Muniz, but we could choose a witty sketch called "Gabriel Hermes Mercury", that catches the same flavor of his contemporary "retablo" paintings.
Recently, as my mother divested herself of two lifetimes worth of stuff and down-sized from her huge house to an apartment, I saved some of the best pieces of my father's dabblings in the art world. She'd taken the pastel portrait from its protective frame (did the glass break? did she decide she wanted the frame for something else?) and it now needs to "get thee to a framery". My father had a little bit of mostly unrealized talent. His worthwhile pieces can probably be counted on one-hand -- okay, perhaps two hands. But I'm glad to have some of the good pieces. In an otherwise problematic relationship, the artwork is a saving grace.
Hey, there's that word -- grace. Is that the "why" of "Why Art Matters in My Life"?
The Google definition has the noun as "simple elegance or refinement of movement". Yes. If art is a representation of grace, even if it is "ugly" art, then I think it matters. Art as a representation of an idea can be elegant or refined even if the subject is terrifying or uncomfortable.
The art I choose to live with and love is sometimes the art that represents grace in what is off-balance. Whether it's the asymmetry of a mithila painting or the windswept leanings of the trees on the Pacific bluff in the giclee print of one of my favorite of PT Nunn's work, I often go for something that is gracefully off-balance. It represents my world.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Saying Grace: Postcards vs. Epistolaries
grace: A short prayer of blessing or thanksgiving said
before or after a meal.
I am a non-religious
person. I do not practice any formal religion of any stripe and haven't done so for many years. I do,
however, believe in, and try to practice, religious tolerance. In fact, I usually see it as a
matter of courtesy.
But there's a pet peeve I
have. Perhaps one that you yourself share. It's about grace-sayers who use saying
grace as their bully pulpit. It usually happens at a family gathering but I’ve also
experienced it in a more public arena where a religious leader takes advantage
of the ready-made audience and attempts to advance his or her proselytizing
agenda.
Here's why I find this particular thing so annoying. I believe using the time before a meal for anything other than blessing the food is
a gross misuse of power. If the grace-sayer could say their blessing in a few short sentences or even after the meal they are delaying,
I'd probably be in a more charitable mood. But using precious time (while the food is getting cold and tummies are rumbling) to bless anything other than the food comes off to me as plain
rude. If you’re guilty of this and you
are keeping good folks from politely “digging in”, then just stop it. Let the cook silently thank God that he or she got the meal done without burning down the house. Let the cook silently implore God to find it in His or Her will to have enough food on the table for all present. Let the cook silently ask God if she has forgotten anything.
I rather like the bit about "or after" in the above definition of grace. I've often thought that after a meal was a more fitting
place to say grace. Put that whole tradition of public grace-saying at the end of the
meal and there's plenty who will be mighty thankful that their tummies are full
and the food was good. All the non-religious will also be more likely to say “Hear, hear!” to a grace said at the end of a meal. They may even be able to burp up a pleasant "Amen!" It's possible they may even be a little more tolerant of any “extras” the grace-sayer may feel compelled to slip in. If they aren't, then at least they might be able to slip out quietly, assuming, of course, they have already given their compliments to the chef.
It's my belief that God,
if He's there, does not give you extra points for creating a grand pre-meal
epistolary. He (or maybe She) is probably just glad to hear from you. So, the next time you're asked to say grace at a gathering, please do the
courteous thing: Stay on topic – remember, it's about the food
– and keep it
short. Postcards, folks, not epistolaries.
Outsider-ism and Belonging
I've been a facilitator for a writing group for over ten years. There are a good number of our group who have been coming for much of that ten years. A few have done some great writing and managed to at least self-publish some respectable books. Many have the same occasional but continued commitment to writing that I do. We are not out to set the world on fire with our writing. We enjoy the act of writing and we want to make what we write better. It's not that we don't dream about great publishing pursuits and successes but there may be others besides myself who could lay claim to the title of "the Walter Mitty of the Writing World".
And then there are the new people. Those who arrive on meeting night looking for an answer to the isolation and inferiority we all feel when we confront the blank page. Or when we continue to fail at finding the time for our pursuits. Will this group help us get to where we want to be? Can I bring something useful to this group? Am I good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, will people like me? (Also, as extension, is my writing good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, will people like it?)
The tables were turned this week. I found myself the odd outsider. The one who had a vision for something that was too big to accomplish on my own. And then the one who wanted to join in, find a creative voice, add to the bigger picture that someone else had envisioned. I became a member of the 2012 XPT group simply by applying and showing up. But becoming a working, contributing member will take a little more effort. What can I do?
XPT is Experimental Puppetry Theater at the Center for Puppetry Arts in Atlanta. It's a 45 minute ride into town. It's a commitment. I've got a stressful full-time job and a grandbaby on the way in another country and a mother downsizing to an apartment. I've got a writers group to attend to.
I primarily applied to XPT as a project director. An effort to turn an idea into a full-fledged puppetry production or short film. But for reasons not yet fully understood, my project was passed up in favor of others. I'm okay with that. Really, I am. But I told myself from the get go that if I couldn't be a project director, I at least wanted to be involved in helping others get their projects underway. I like the feeling of community and camaraderie and group efforts in making something really interesting and artistic and awesome. I want to be a part of it. A helper. But again, what can I do? How do I break in?
I'd asked at the interview what the predominant demographic was of the folks who participated in XPT in the past. I was fishing for whether or not there'd be a lot of seasoned -- ahem, well-seasoned, as in salt and peppered hair -- people in the ranks. I got the idea that this was basically a younger "man's" game. But I wasn't particularly discouraged from joining. But the fit...
So, yes, I showed up at the XPT kickoff night where the project directors explain their concepts and people who were looking to help introduced themselves. How might I have introduced myself, had I not chosen to sit in the front row and been called on first? After having heard a number of people later admit to being total newbies, might I have been more comfortable? Might I have been able to "sell" my "mad skills" somehow? As it was, I may have come off as a bit meek and goofy. Is it really possible to be both meek and goofy at the same time? (Goofy takes at least a smidgen of boldness, right?)
And what was this blog, written a couple of weeks ago, trying to say? Something about feeling out of place. Something about making others feel welcome. Something about wanting to contribute and not quite knowing how. And probably something about confidence and lack of it. I didn't post it then. It wasn't finished. It isn't finished now but it's preventing me from moving on. Silly, yes. Move on, I say.
I've been a facilitator for a writing group for over ten years. There are a good number of our group who have been coming for much of that ten years. A few have done some great writing and managed to at least self-publish some respectable books. Many have the same occasional but continued commitment to writing that I do. We are not out to set the world on fire with our writing. We enjoy the act of writing and we want to make what we write better. It's not that we don't dream about great publishing pursuits and successes but there may be others besides myself who could lay claim to the title of "the Walter Mitty of the Writing World".
And then there are the new people. Those who arrive on meeting night looking for an answer to the isolation and inferiority we all feel when we confront the blank page. Or when we continue to fail at finding the time for our pursuits. Will this group help us get to where we want to be? Can I bring something useful to this group? Am I good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, will people like me? (Also, as extension, is my writing good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, will people like it?)
The tables were turned this week. I found myself the odd outsider. The one who had a vision for something that was too big to accomplish on my own. And then the one who wanted to join in, find a creative voice, add to the bigger picture that someone else had envisioned. I became a member of the 2012 XPT group simply by applying and showing up. But becoming a working, contributing member will take a little more effort. What can I do?
XPT is Experimental Puppetry Theater at the Center for Puppetry Arts in Atlanta. It's a 45 minute ride into town. It's a commitment. I've got a stressful full-time job and a grandbaby on the way in another country and a mother downsizing to an apartment. I've got a writers group to attend to.
I primarily applied to XPT as a project director. An effort to turn an idea into a full-fledged puppetry production or short film. But for reasons not yet fully understood, my project was passed up in favor of others. I'm okay with that. Really, I am. But I told myself from the get go that if I couldn't be a project director, I at least wanted to be involved in helping others get their projects underway. I like the feeling of community and camaraderie and group efforts in making something really interesting and artistic and awesome. I want to be a part of it. A helper. But again, what can I do? How do I break in?
I'd asked at the interview what the predominant demographic was of the folks who participated in XPT in the past. I was fishing for whether or not there'd be a lot of seasoned -- ahem, well-seasoned, as in salt and peppered hair -- people in the ranks. I got the idea that this was basically a younger "man's" game. But I wasn't particularly discouraged from joining. But the fit...
So, yes, I showed up at the XPT kickoff night where the project directors explain their concepts and people who were looking to help introduced themselves. How might I have introduced myself, had I not chosen to sit in the front row and been called on first? After having heard a number of people later admit to being total newbies, might I have been more comfortable? Might I have been able to "sell" my "mad skills" somehow? As it was, I may have come off as a bit meek and goofy. Is it really possible to be both meek and goofy at the same time? (Goofy takes at least a smidgen of boldness, right?)
And what was this blog, written a couple of weeks ago, trying to say? Something about feeling out of place. Something about making others feel welcome. Something about wanting to contribute and not quite knowing how. And probably something about confidence and lack of it. I didn't post it then. It wasn't finished. It isn't finished now but it's preventing me from moving on. Silly, yes. Move on, I say.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
"Like an Alcoholic Working in a Liquor Store" - A Riff on Reading Habits
"I'm like an alcoholic working in a liquor store."
That's what I say to the library patrons when I'm explaining why I don't use my
Nook all that much. Which, as I gesture to the books on the library’s shelves,
everyone can pretty much discern means that there are too many tangible books
in my life to worry too much with those that are merely virtual. I’m
definitely a bookaholic. Though possibly, a recovering one. Am I a
readaholic? Not so sure. I can appreciate other things in life without
a book in hand.
* I first read
the phrase “Shakespeare got to get paid, Son” on a t-shirt for sale on the
funny and irreverent website Married to the Sea. http://www.marriedtothesea.com/021306/got-to-get-paid.jpg
I have shamelessly used my version of that
phrase (substituting “gotta” for “got to”) a BUNCH of times in trying to
explain to people why library eBooks don’t mean “infinite copies for infinite
people”. Digital Rights Management. DRM.
We've had a lot of explaining to do at the library in the two
weeks since Christmas. I mean explaining how the library’s access to ebooks works.
It seems that one of the hottest gifts really was the Kindle and its ilk.
Indeed, Tom got a Kindle Fire when they came out (prior to Christmas).
And he also got some other nifty off-brand eReader iPad-ish thing that was a
Groupon deal. My NookColor will be one year old about the time my new
granddaughter arrives this spring. So, our home is eReader rich.
It's kind of funny. There are some library patrons who used
to read a lot but got tired of paying overdue fines on their library books.
So, they stopped using their library cards. Maybe they stopped reading or
maybe they just decided they'd buy the books they wanted. These are the people
who eventually got an eReader and now find that the cost of the best books is
becoming prohibitive. They're easy to get, easy to store, and maybe easy
to pay for. But they can bankrupt you if you're a heavy reader and simply
must have the latest titles on the
Bestseller lists.
Now, about those library copies of eBooks... for our library, you
must visit your library at least once. Get your library card in good
working order. Be able to access your library card online with your username
and password. And get some brief instruction from the friendly librarian
on how to access the downloadable books from home. And then, if it’s the
latest and greatest on the Bestseller lists that you’re after, queue up. Here’s the other thing I tell people who are
learning about library copies of eBooks:
“Shakespeare gotta get paid.”*
Let me tell you, Folks, it's the Wild West out there as far as how
these library eBook programs are going to be run in the future. Yes, I
believe library copies are essential for the good of the publishing industry
and the health of readers everywhere. Publishers tend to think they're
missing out on revenue for every time a library copy is circulated rather than
a copy of the same book purchased. Yes and no. If publishers are short-sighted enough to
think that every library checkout really
would equate with a purchase of that book, they are really dumb and they need
to spend a few years working in a library.
For readers, a book worth purchasing is sometimes a book they’ve already
read. Or an author they’ve already
read. What’s the best value for your
reading dollar? It may be a contribution
to your local library -- so they can
take the risks on the new authors and the older authors who’ve lost their edge. But let me tell you, as a responsible
librarian, I don’t want to devote too much
of the taxpayers’ money or the library’s shelving “real estate” on books
that aren’t worthy, either.
Will I make predictions about the fate of libraries and bookstores
and reading in general? Nah, I'm not that kind of prognosticator. I can
only tell you my experience so far. You can make your own predictions.
Yes, it's anecdotal for the most part. Though, we are trying to gather
some statistics for our library's experience in the latest digital-age
flood. We’re introducing old patrons,
who used to have a library card, to the
wonderful world of the new library. And
our even older patrons to their new eReaders. And believe it or not, some
patrons – those who’ve always had good library and reading habits -- are quite
comfortable with both methods of reading: the old tangible book book and the
new eReader “book”.
Here's what I have to tell you after thirty years of hanging
around the book industry: lots of books aren't worth the paper they are printed
on. And lots of books that are wonderful never leave the shelf. Am I just
being an elitist? Am I just talking about the books I like to read and
damn everybody else's interests? No, I'm talking about poorly written,
poorly edited "stories" that have been committed to print.
Travesties, some of them. And I'm in no way an elitist. I can
enjoy a well-written trashy or silly book as well as the next guy.
But I'm not here today to lambaste the publishing industry’s sins
of the past or present. I'm here to talk about my experience in the
"liquor store". And riff on reading habits.
I have three problems with my personal reading habits: 1.
I'm a slow reader. 2. I'm a writer/editor. 3. I have many,
many interests.
Problem 1 -- Some might say I should take a speed reading class.
Bull. I don't want to
read fast. I only want to have clones who can read everything I want to read
and integrate it into the collective of Me. I like words. All
words. I like to savor the sentences. I like to read them as they
were written: one word at a time.
Problem 2 -- I'm a writer/editor. If something was written
well, I want to understand how it was done. If something was written
poorly, I want to analyze how it could have been made better if only they'd
come to me before committing it to print.
Problem 3 -- This one perhaps I could do something about.
I've gathered books because they looked interesting at the time I was
gathering. But some of the books I've gathered, I've had for a decade or
two and still have not found the time
to read them. I'm willing to at least try
to reevaluate my interests based on the Me of the Now.
A month or so ago, I decided to go through my shelves and get rid
of some of my books that I knew we had at the public library. Before I
totally ditched them, I put them on my library account's virtual list of things
I might like to read some day. This way, I can keep them in my peripheral
vision – remembering that the books are accessible – even if they are not on my
shelves.
In the chair where I sit composing this, I am facing the wall unit
in the living room. I've just counted 91 books. If I look behind me,
there are another nineteen books on the tables, couches and chairs.
That's just one room of my house. And it's not even the room with the
books in it. The dining room has 148 books and journals. I just
counted. And it's not the room with the books in it, either.
They're upstairs. Actually, in three different rooms upstairs.
I'm a bit ADDish so getting real about my interests is not the
problem. I'll always have a wide array of interests. That's okay.
But getting real about the available time I have to read is a problem. One I'll always be
battling. And that, my friends, is why I’m just like an alcoholic.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
In Which the Blog Gets Renamed...
Today is the first day of the New Year. I'm willing to still call this -- when it is 12:08 a.m. and I have not yet gone to bed-- today, as in "Today is the first day of the New Year."
And a great day to attempt a re-launch of my blog. I've spent the day building the page. Fitting it out like a cozy nest. Not bad for a start.
The first thing I had to get right was the name of the blog.
Rejected Blog names:
Chang Chang Change – too Asian
Chopped Liver, What Am I? -- too Jewish
Camel Toe Pick – too… Wheel of Fortune
Squirrel Diversions – “not even worthy to be on my rejection list” (rejection attributed to Tom – also attributed to Tom: “Camel Toe Pick” – though I claim the reason for rejection on that one, both the stated and assumed)
Madam Imadam – Tom’s suggestion
Sarah Palindrome – Tom’s suggestion
Squirrel Gnats – made Tom laugh (and he called it suggestive!) But no, like in squirrels have to whack off gnats… I’m not building my case here.
WHO am I? What am I about? That’s what I need to know to name my blog. I’m about diverting attention. I’m about changing the subject. I’m about being a Jane of All Trades, Master of Some.
How about JOATMOS? Too obscure.
Jane-of-All or Janeofall or Jaynufall
Impeccably Distracted
Rebeccably Distracted
And so it was born. Or reborn.
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