This gift remains

Little Edie Flag Dance, Grey Gardens, Maysles Brothers' Film 1976

It's the 4th of July and while not patriotic, it is still an atmosphere that I can easily recall: a hot, sticky, Arkansas summer. Picnic tables at the park, Mom's amazing BBQ baked beans, hot dogs, and watching the country club's fireworks from a distance at the picnic table on the side of Mt. Sequoyah, and then later the fireworks at the Northwest Arkansas Mall. Bottle Rockets (and getting hit in the neck with a bottle rocket - thanks, Sean). The smell of burning snakes (not real snakes) as they undulated on the pavement. A feeling of a bit more freedom and extra wildness, walking the hot streets in the neighborhood to the pool with my friend, Annie. Vivid summer memories of childhood. 

But today, my brain has other plans—today it feels like the hashbrowns at the Waffle House (another American institution). Today, I am scattered, smothered, and covered... if you know, you know. This 4th of July I am anxious, angry, and fretful.

Today, the sky is grey and featureless as little Edie from Grey Gardens does her perpetual flag dance, frozen in time on my computer screen. Rain starts to fall on the pane of the tilted open window and I am a bit cold and far from home and the people I love. 

The US government did a bad, bad thing yesterday, and it all feels a bit much. I soothe myself by looking at and crying over Bruegel paintings. Yes, really. It's all right there. The paintings of Bruegel and Bosch were my version of Where's Waldo. Certain paintings become touchstones for grounding. These paintings serve as kinship and provide strength and a knowing. Like holding up a mirror passed through the family for decades—all your people have gazed in the same glass, and they are still there with you now.

The Triumph of Death, oil on panel c. 1562
117 cm × 162 cm (46 in × 63.8 in) Pieter Bruegel the Elder
Museo del Prado, Madrid

In these hard and strange times, I am so grateful to have this type of relationship with art. To be able to slow down and just go into a painting, to know a painting, to feel the support of a painting, to marvel and dream over a painting. To feel seen and known by a painting and to know it in return. It's a rare gift that I credit my parents for making  available to me through the prints on the walls and the books on the shelves in our little home in Arkansas.

No matter where I am or what happens, this gift remains. 

We are symbiotic

I need to write a proper long blog. Not for you but for me. I need to sit still and listen inward and reflect. I have been feeling a bit stuck in that department. I have been busy using the other parts of my brain. That has been fine but it's time for a recalibration. 

If I find the right song, the right pathway in - I just need that jumping-off point. 

Typically, I would write about the Abstractionistas exhibition as well as the recent exhibition at the Granton Hub. I just don't feel able to right now. I am thankful for both and I had some good conversations and experiences but I am not quite able to put them into words. 

I am at a crossroads. July is coming to a close (already!?!) - these months, these years, come to a close so fast. 

It was a 4 migraine month, a 2 dentist appointment month, a 2 exhibition month, my 2nd vaccination month and a hell of a lot of bus rides month. So I think I understand why I can't write about much of it yet. So much outward energy expended when I have been living inside for a good while now. 

It also feels like it has been a long while since I have made anything much on the art front. I did happen to record 2 songs this month (more on that one day or never). Part of me thinks I should just get up from my desk and this machine and drag a piece of charcoal down a piece of paper. Just to move... 

I also know that when I decide to move (and I will) that it will pour out of me. So, there is no reason to be concerned. I am working when I am resting and years of working back me up. But, I am curious like a cat about what will come forth. That's the exciting part. I have a relationship with my art - we are symbiotic.

You are part of it. Thank you.