Life imitates art, art imitates life
This saying is repeated in the artistic social circles of life and beyond. I know what it means but not personally. I wander through the MN airport looking at the cases of original works. I have a top five and they are as follows:
1. Pistachio fluff- Jennifer Rogers
2. Birch totem- Ani kasten
3. Face jug with green aura- Haley prochnow
4. Grandma’s space – Brandon lepski
5. Coya 2- Guillermo Guadia
These all speak to me but I have been especially in the mood for solid block colors and monochromatic artwork. Simplicity and shapes have taken over my artistic favor. I like a good mixture of clay, photography, and painting. Each time I view work I try viewing it through the eyes of the curator; dropping myself in their shoes. I wonder why did the artist choose this or that work, and why did the curator hang this way? On my delayed flight to Houston I figured out what it means to have my art imitate life. Last year I created a piece of work called Patricia. It was the series wherein I asked several artists in town to give me a color palette. This particular work was purple, black, orange, brown, yellow, and white. I loved this work so much it sparked an idea for the Pantone series. All of which was made up in my mind, based on objects in an impressionistic space. Without pictures or plan I realized it was hard to re-create a series with these colors. How does one reignite a spark, reignite a passion? I remember how I made it with intuitive motion, grabbing color and placing shape into my piece of work aggressively.
I look out the window seat in the air plane…
The horizon line paints with the same color and feeling, “Patricia” the painting holds. I felt it was a sign to keep going with the series and try again. I am just expanding on it presently but wavering.
Is it the most detailed work I’ve painted? Nope. But it does move me. That means it is meaningful. I get inspired by the sight of it.
So try again I will.
Scattered thought poem:Clock’s tink to a lonely 11:37amThe man behind me at the bar gets a Spicer Bloody Mary, per my adviceThe stranger who was in charge of my drink gets up to leaveI’ve been here since 5:30 am and will leave at 4pmThe day feels like it’s been two“Do all men who rock bald heads have premature balding?”There are more boring thoughts then that even…”That’s, not my favorite” a short waitress stomps on cold slabs of tile glued to airport carpet”Can I have cucumbers in this?”Bartender drops hints of habenero liquids in my glassNose runs.I text.Listening to strangers, the guy behind be admits to people watching..looking for only hot ones.I’m buzzed.I am stuck at the Minneapolis Airport.