Friday, April 26, 2013

New day

New day, new ideas new work.
When I finish up a large body of work, over weeks or months of preparation, painting and finishing/ delivering a final painting or series of paintings, I have a definite sense of not only letting go, but excitement for the next thing.

A friend tried to compare the delivery of a body of art with a childbirth metaphor.
Uh, no.
I've done both and the experiences shouldn't be in the same sentence. Or planet.

So, no, creating art is not childbirth.
Creating art is something altogether different, but I'm actually not delving into creating with this post but rather that space of transition when art leaves or empties the studio and filling the studio back up with art.

This morning I had the pleasure of attending a once a year prop sale that a local event company holds in order to clear out unwanted inventory. Items like 9' Oscar statue cutouts, full size tiki huts, yards of batik fabrics and vintage diner seats are for sale. Last year I scored a complete set of bowling pins and ball.

Needed additions to my life? Of course not. Amusing ephemera? Absolutely.
That is, after all, the point.

It is these items often that hold my attention.
Last year, after I'd moved into my very little house, the neighbours on the north side of the fence line introduced themselves by way of a very loud party which came to its conclusion with police, streaming and paddy wagons. (That's a van to you younger folk)

After the questionable party guests were removed, the lasts of the guests found their way to the backyard and into sleeping bags.

My backyard, long and narrow, served as an exceptional place to try out my newly acquired set of bowling pins and heavily weighted ball.  At 7 am.

Here's what I noticed: the distinct ball rolling on concrete and subsequent cracking sound when said weighted ball meets or strikes the twelve plus ( did I mention the extra pins?)  pins is one of the most distinctive sounds on the planet. Unlike any other sound I know, it is isolated in its specialness.

Incomparable to any other sound. Like an ice cream trucks trilling music or the old fashioned bell on a bicycle, or the ring of a dial phone announcing the incoming call.

I don't spend much time in bowling alleys as a rule, but I have been known to throw a few strikes. But the best part of this particular early morning sporting activity was that I didn't need to bowl a perfect game to feel and hear the satisfying sound of this unique early morning alarm system.

And there, as my eyes raised up to the heavens, smile on my face, was the inspiration for my next series. A beautiful specimen of a conifer. What would be the starting point of a new series or body of work.

Thanks to my neighbours.