"Textsignia"

This week I've had occasion to recall my first summer in San Francisco, when I moved there from the Arkansas Ozarks to complete my BFA, at what was then the California College of Arts and Crafts in Oakland (now called the California College of the Arts). It was a tough move, and I dealt with the challenge of extreme culture shock by diving right into my purpose, taking my first courses during the summer session. In a color class taught through the medium of chalk pastel, by Linda K. Smith, at the end of our final project, the instructor told me "You have ideas. I can teach techniques and materials, but I can't teach ideas." It was an encouraging beginning for me, a quiet but daring-to-return student who'd spent 9 years doing the back-to-the-land/subsistence-living thing in two remote places.

I do have a lot of ideas, and I don't try to be "consistent" in my work. If I want to photograph, make photocollages, paint in sumi ink, gouache, oils -- or pick up a needle and thread, or some yarn and knitting needles -- or study classical music and voice, write poetry -- this is my life as an artist. After a few decades of not getting far in the career development, one artist might decide to settle into one medium, make it a "product," and market herself. But I'm stubborn, and as far as I know, although I do have a lot of ideas, I'm only getting one life to realize them. If an artist can't be stubborn and ignite the sparks of creativity, who will? My professors in art school all said, have a different plan for getting by. That was in a different time in the art world; now aspiring painters get advanced degrees and expect, or hope, to make the money they've invested in their education from sales of their work. The art world is more like every other aspect of society now, comprised of every kind of artist and human being -- and I'm one of them. I take an ecological view of it all, and I trust I have my place in it.

I find ideas everywhere; being awake to those revelations in small moments of my day is what I'm all about. That's why I love to wander the flea market, look at stuff, take note of what catches my attention and ask myself "why does this touch me?" I sing to myself and talk to the vendors, and leave, sometimes with some small thing, but always in love with my life.

Here is a series I call "Textsignia," made by combining some things I found at the flea market; they are all about the size of a handkerchief: fascinating insigniae for purposes I don't know, and beautiful small textiles, the specialty of a lovely woman who regularly sets up at the Golden Nugget in Lambertville, New Jersey, a few miles from where I live and work. I told her I would send some photos of what I do with the things I get from her, hence today's blog post: ten pieces (all 2011), and a detail at the end.


Just as when building my abstract collages in torn paper, photos and fabric, I enjoy finding the tangent points in my diverse materials; the consistency might not be in what my output looks like, but in the ways I approach and develop it.

*****

Beginner's Mind

I woke with one memory of a dream: Myself speaking, "I like beginnings."

I like Monday, it's filled with possiblities, and the wrong turns or detours I took last week are behind me. Like hiking in the desert, I don't see obstructions; I see the hill I mean to reach, and it seems possible to get there with what I have in me to go that distance - an illusion that reveals itself as such by Thursday; somehow the hill stays far even as I approach nearer. I repeatedly must re-learn to appreciate the patterns in my path's surprising intersections, the detours that might run parallel.

Ravenna Taylor, "Not Yet," 2011, assemblage, 7 x 4 inches

Saturday night I attended a wonderful performance of Bach cantatas by Dryden Ensemble. The vocal quartet was comprised of members of Tenet, and as a singer I was particularly inspired. To sing a Bach cantata in such a quartet is like that mountain in the desert that I will never reach. I have to enjoy my own journey, and the view in the distance.

I am beginning ... I am a beginner.