A Room of One's Own

Virginia Woolf did not neatly conclude the issues of women and fiction in her 1928 essays: "All I could do was to offer you an opinion upon one minor point—a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction; and that, as you will see, leaves the great problem of the true nature of woman and the true nature of fiction unsolved". 

Our visual fiction seems to grow between the cracks in any case. I've been watching an intimate and fiercely golden colony of spore grow between the wooden staves of a wiring spool-cum-tabletop on my deck. Maybe they're lichen? I'm calling them lichen because I like the word. They will not be unmoored easily- my assertive tug at them leaves me empty handed and respectful of their intent. What is most beautiful about the tabletop residents I am now hosting, along with dinner companions, is my miniature lichen are a symbiotic partnership of fungi and algae, surviving better together than on their own. 

Sabi – a Japanese concept of rustic patina, worn beauty, a desolateness that is quietness without loneliness.

 One day this may be a room for my studio. Or a carriage house apt. for my daughter, Jessi. Or a landfill diva. The ball is still aloft. 2 months ago, I began demolition of the inside, but that activity screeched and bottomed out on the priority list. Mono no aware (物の哀れ): the experience of encountering things (mono) and being touched by them (aware) to participate in the wholeness of life. As I wash dishes in front of the kitchen window, the flat tires and lilt in its stance, are both possibilities and present moment. Transience.

Meanwhile, I share my 10x10 studio space with Jessi's mussed up full sized bed, flung about clothes, bobby pins and flipflop array. I have a 4' stretch of plywood topped dresser and 3' wall-to-floor space on one corner, 5' wall-to-floor space on other corner and an aluminum easel stationed in front, stoically guarding my space.  So I make small intimate paintings. Or I better start making more small intimate paintings- tomorrow!Poetry, on the other hand, takes up less space, but requires more volume of quiet space; I haven’t mastered concentration while listening to hiphop or reality TV. In a 1000 sq.ft home, my 20 year old daughter, even when quiet, is a palpable presence of energy I feel tingling on my edges. I try to push it to the periphery, working on tuning down my instinct to tend to her. That said, Jessi is frequently out of the house. Shohola is too remote for her downtown lifestyle.

I've been having moments of silent hysteria, which is my way of freaking out. Squeezing a multitude of routine practical tasks into a day, I can do. Adding insightful reading and research + documenting it + incorporating it + distilling it + making art with it + proving it out ON SCHEDULE seems circus-like and I'm featured in all 3 rings, spotlighted and drumrolled....

One tiny hard shelled thought seed was implanted at the residency. I've been compartmentalizing my life into a shotgun flat, having to pass through each room to get from one end to the other. Life as Art/ Art as Life was the room all the way in the back. A special room of my own, indeed. But, frequently neglected. So, the hysteria rises on the steam of old habits that are outdated and perceptions of myself that no longer apply. I revisit our talks and friendship often, reminding myself that the woman I brought with me to Goddard, is the woman who I am now. I'm working on making my shotgun flat into a loft, filled with art.

I watched my first episode of season One of Art21 tonight. With a pen and notebook and remote nearby. That's a strange and new PBS experience for me. I  enjoyed watching it with that consideration. Here are my new words, phrases and concepts so far this week: 

From Sally Mann: mendacity, sylph, and magpie aesthetic. 

From Richard Serra: to contain space you need to understand your relationship to a volume, the subtlety of a room