With the digital age in full swing and gifs becoming the preferred method of communication, one might be tempted to claim that two-dimensional, static art is dead. In fact, ten years ago, a major city’s art institute (museum and school) held public lectures bemoaning the impending demise of visual arts as we have defined them for thousands of years. They looked into the future and fretted over the loss of public interest in and appreciation of paintings, drawings, etchings, etc. Their conclusion was computers made traditional methods obsolete and archaic.
With the passing of time, I think their claim of doom was right and wrong. Yes, there is a dramatic shift from the static to the dynamic when personal communication is the purpose. Nevertheless, from my personal experience, art classes and workshops are as busy as ever. Moreover, I just read an article where a medical school is incorporating art classes in their training of doctors. What? Yep. (Harvard School of Medicine Joins Growing Trend of Arts Education) Why? “(T)o improve (the medical students) skills at observation and empathy.” On the flip side, rehabilitation hospitals are expanding or adding art therapy to aid patients to “further promote successful rehabilitation.” (http://mageerehab.org/about-us/care-team/art-therapy/)
In the preliterate eras, art was the means by which information was shared within the community. Interestingly, not only did icons, motifs, paintings, and drawings serve functional purposes but some were for aesthetic reasons only. Until the culture developed writing or other forms of record-keeping, preliterate art was the only method of nonverbal communication. “(T)here is evidence of artistic activity dating as far back as 500,000 years ago.” ( Shell Art Made Before Humans Evolved)
When I picked up a paintbrush for the first time, I thought it was only for the hobby. There was no way for me to anticipate the life-affirming experiences in store. Living with a chronic illness is a complex existence. Words cannot convey the myriad of my emotions that are an intimate part each day. We’ve heard the adage, a painting tells a thousand words – well, it’s true. When I paint, I am telling a story, an emotion. You, as the viewer, hear the story or emotion, but it is your story, your emotion.
Recently, someone posted the following observation regarding my painting, Requiem: The artistic imagery is so perfect that it “caused a physical reaction in me – my heart to ache. They are the truth, for me, and I feel that I know them personally. Rose has reached into my soul and exposed me. I am amazed, and horrified, that Requiem and I have intimate knowledge of this truth.”
Thus, I claim that art is not dead; it is more alive than ever. Art is seeping into new areas, finding its way into the heart of individuals. Never before has it been more obvious that art has a voice. In fact, often the visual arts — with its silent but powerful language — have the capacity to transfer thoughts, feelings, emotions without a word being uttered. This communication from one person to another continues long after the artist is gone. The silent voice will never be stilled; it forever speaks to the viewer whether it be in a museum, on a wall, or on a refrigerator.
Sometimes we need to help a friend. This time, its hands across the water for our friends in the UK.
Before, during and after Christmas, I’ll be working hard for up and coming events and, moving forward, aim to continue to make as much money as I can all for Cancer Research UK/Breast Cancer Research to help create a future for more people.
I am calling on friends here and the writing community at WordPress for your support and ask that you either simply text BGON64 to 70070(for those here in the UK) and donate a small amount or use my donation button below (any country) to give whatever you can (even your next cuppa) to help us at Cancer Research and Breast Cancer Research. As a breast cancer survivor, I can guarantee that your help is more than appreciated.
The Just Giving page will tell you all about my reasons and action plan.
Thank you very much!
Finally! The neurotypical world made more than reasonable accommodations. They made a special effort to include the mobility-challenged into their arena, and I had a blast. Yep. I sat out in a field and painted. No sidewalk for me next to an outbuilding and parking lot — ostracized from other artists.
“How did you get out there with the dragonflies and frogs? With the trees and grasses?” I hear you asking me. I know, I know. Right?
When I first read of the joint venture between the Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy (SMLC) and the Plein Air Artists of West Michigan (PAAWM) to host an Art Walk/Paint Out event at the Wau-Ke-Na Preserve, I thought I wish I could participate. With unusual boldness, I dashed off an email to the president of the PAAWM asking if it would be a barrier-free event all the while expecting the usual reply that the paths would be difficult terrain for a wheelchair. Instead, he said, “Yes, please come.”
“Yes, please come?” Were these words right there on my screen? I couldn’t believe it. I was being included. No, more than that, I was invited – please, come. These words swam before my eyes and a smile spread from cheek to cheek. I was going to participate in an outdoor painting event – really participate – in the fields – with other artists.
The SMLC (who are dedicated to land conservation, duh) had come up with a solution to the barrier problem: drive your vehicle to a site, dump your stuff, drive your vehicle to a designated parking lot. Now, before you start thinking it is incongruous for the preserve to allow a vehicle onto their pristine lands, it was all very carefully planned to keep a minimum impact on the earth.
In the past, I have encountered other land conservation groups who were almost hostile to letting people use the land. Not this group, not this past summer. While being dedicated to protecting nature (a/k/a fields, birds, wildflowers), at the same time, they designed the Preserve to include human nature as part of the natural environment. (After all, what is the point of land conservancy if no one can enjoy it?)
Their balanced approach revealed a respect for God’s creation (which does include us human beings after all). Rather than promulgating a negative attitude about mankind’s relationship with nature and her beauty, the Preserve developed designated lanes, mostly narrow pathways of mown grass, for walkers — which they let me use in a most unique way. These passages are walkable for the able-bodied but dangerous and impassable for a wheelchair.
There I was, smiling all the while as my husband drove me, my wheelchair, and all the paraphernalia associated with plein air painting to a location of my choice. After unloading, my husband moved my mobility van to the parking lot. (Thank you, Dear.)
What a joy! I was just another artist painting in a field. 😀
Once again, I have been invited to participate in the annual Art in Motion Art Show, which raises funds for the Art Therapy and Therapeutic Recreation programs at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago.
It is a rare opportunity not only to display my paintings for sale but also to discuss the inspiration behind each piece.
This year’s event will be hosted in the beautiful, newly constructed Shirley Ryan AbilityLab, located at 355 East Erie, from 5:30 p.m.-9:00 p.m.
If you would like to purchase tickets, please visit: Art in Motion Tickets
It was one of those glorious Sunday afternoons. The sun taking no time to make known its ability to enforce the dress code of the day, and I was right there along with the rest of the crowd with my hat, sun screen, and umbrella.
I was at a family gathering. Didn’t matter that it was a baseball game. Yes, I am one of those people who doesn’t really care for baseball. I know, I know, it’s America’s favorite pastime. Or, so I’ve heard all of my life. Nevertheless, even though I am a born and bred American, it is not my favorite. Honestly, it would never even appear on any things-to-do list of mine.
Yet, there I was with the gang watching baseball. And, I wasn’t only sitting there passing time until it was over. Nope. I was yelling and whooping. Yes, I had become a fan in a few short moments. Mimicking the guy behind me, I called out such terms as, “Good eye.” (Huh? Good eye?) What happened? My grandson was playing.
Funny how one’s perspective can change with the slightest alteration in circumstances. It happens all the time. We just don’t notice until something unique comes along – such as my grandson being part of a baseball team. Surely changed my perspective on baseball. (I am even planning on traveling three hours each way just to watch him play in another game tomorrow.)
There is another area where my perspective has changed, also. It is the number of invisible fences that the mobility-challenged face every day, every where.
For example, the playoff park where my grandson was playing, on that beautiful, summer day, was designed with thoughtful consideration of handicapped people. The bleachers had sections carved out for wheelchairs; there was an additional restroom large enough for a wheelchair; plenty of handicap parking spaces; and expansive, concrete sidewalks. All this fabulous planning and accommodation helped make my day more enjoyable.
However, challenges still needed to be faced. Even though the bleacher stands sat on a concrete pad, the sidewalk ended 25 feet short of the stands. In between? A sea of rough, uneven gravel. To make matters worse, on one side were the bleacher stands and on the other side were the restrooms, food stand, and parking lot. Having the wheels of an electric wheelchair (550 pounds unoccupied) spin in gravel is akin to a car stuck in the snow. I can’t even imagine how difficult it would be for someone using a walker.
The clincher (it’s a baseball term, right?) came at the end of the game when the team met for the coach’s pep talk (or whatever it is they say at the end of a game). It is that time when praises are given and awards are handed out. Only, the dugout was another sea of gravel away.
So, there we sat, my grandson’s paternal grandfather and I (his maternal grandmother), watching everyone else gather together as we were left behind another invisible fence.
Recently, I was forced into the noisy and congested world typical of American life. Yep. I had to go shopping.
It all started the moment I tried to squirt a little bit more of the most basic of all oil paints, Titanium White, onto my palette. With a PFFTHHPPPPP the remaining paint plopped out. Reaching for my backup tube, I found. . . nothing. Yep. That tube of Titanium White stuck in the back of the rack? It wasn’t white. It was Ultramarine Blue.
What? Impossible! Agghh! Okay, don’t panic. Just get some delivered.
Normally I can accomplish this task with a few clicks and, violá, the deed is done. Not this time.
Having pulled out my handy, lightweight laptop computer, I searched for a site that would deliver some paint within a few days. (Another experience of the typical American life.) However, with a click-click here and a click-click there, I discovered that it would take, drum roll – please, two weeks for the paint to arrive.
Oh, phooey, ptooey. I have to go to the store.
So, off I went to one of those big box stores that sell home goods, craft items, and art supplies. I live at least an hour away from any major city. Yet, I only had to travel 15 miles to buy my oil paint. (Another one of those pretty awesome miracles of the ordinary American life.)
As I rolled into the store, my eye noticed a sign for sale, “Be Original, Not Ordinary.” Huh? What’s wrong with ordinary?