creativity

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August, 2004
Colorado

When is a journey a work of art?

I was juried into Fabric of Legacies, my second show. The first show was thrilling, of course, but an annoying thought that it might be a fluke flitted in and out of awareness. After all, on the radio there's a whole category of songs sung by people who never got to song #2. But this was my second show. So we decided to drive out to Colorado to see it. That in itself seemed a bit silly, since I knew quite well what the piece looked like on my own wall. So from the very beginning I knew this trip was something other than just seeing my own art.

The trip presented opportunities we hadn't originally considered. As we looked at the map, I saw that we could visit Theresa, a friend we haven't seen in almost twenty years. If fact, we'd lost touch with each other until just a couple of months ago. That in itself added delightful mystery to the trip. Twenty years ago she was the first to give me a glimpse of spirituality, rather than religion.

Loveland, CO. We stopped there to see Fiber Celebration 2004, which my friend Bruce Wilcox was in. This was the second all fiber show I've seen, and there's something about this kind of show, which includes art quilts, that intrigues me. I like these shows better than *only* art quilt shows, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe because there's proportionally fewer flat rectangles on walls. Or maybe it's my classical music background. I've always preferred full orchestra to string ensembles. I just plain like the variety, whether it's art or people or music.

Next stop was Fort Collins and Fabric of Legacies. A great show in a great town. I saw some names I knew, and I'd like to get to know the people attached to those names. I really had no emotional response to seeing my piece in the show, other than a deep satisfaction from taking the chance in the first place.

After a couple of days in the mountains, we drove down into Denver, where I saw four more shows. First was American Tapestry Biennial. When it was presented I wasn't keen on going, but being pushed, I gave it a try. I had a preconceived idea of what a tapestry show would look like, including churchy, medieval, stuffy, dull. Well, that bit of nonsense got blown out of the water! This show was dynamite! Huge pieces. Sculptural pieces. You would have laughed to see me. I'm standing back, looking at the entire piece from as much distance as possible, then getting up close to see the details, becoming entranced with the actual construction, then back again, then forward again. Whereas the basic construction of what *we* do might be a seam or a stitch, and is usually not particularly interesting except in the greater context, the basic construction of a tapestry seems to be intriguing all by itself. I had to "see" with both a close up and a big picture mentality. Both at the same time.
Next to the tapestry show was Small Expressions, an exhibit of pieces 16" or less. Two pieces really caught my eye. One was a weaving of a woman, sitting on the floor, bent over, her head on her knees. But the viewpoint the artist took was from above, looking down at her. The weaving was dimensional, almost a sculpture. What a great study on creating what you see, not what you think you see. The curve of her back, the top of her head, a bit of arms and legs. Fascinating. Then there was another weaving, beadwork, of sorts. And the beads were a local version of Cheerios! It was a serious piece, and I remember conversations here about preservation. Again, variety. I love it.

The next show was the modern tall buildings in downtown Denver. I'd just come down from photographing the mountains, so was still drunk with height, and I'd just come from a tapestry show where it instructed me to look at the close-up and the whole at the same time. It all came together as I considered the individual windows massed together on these huge towering walls. It was more art! And a new thought began to whisper. The more I look at and create art, the more my eyes change, and the more I see art in all kinds of places. Perhaps this is creativity's ultimate gift. It changes me. It changes my ability to see. It changes my perceptions. It opens my heart and eyes, and tears flow.

The last show was a private one. Bruce showed me his entire collection, or at least the portion that was currently living with him. I've never seen anybody's complete collection before. Sure, on the web, but not the same thing. As I looked at each piece individually, laid out flat, I began to wish I could see all of them hung on walls in one place. What a symphony that would be! I could see patterns and preferences that wove in and out of the individual pieces. I guess that's what people call one's "voice".

So I'm home again. Much more committed to making my own art. And to seeing everybody else's art. Before I'm done with this body, I want to mount a solo show of my own. I wish that were a possibility for everybody in whatever way their creativity manifests. It keeps ringing in my head that everybody has a solo show inside them, regardless of the medium.
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