Gifts (not Works) of Art
I have always been a very accommodating art appreciator. I have never been the person to walk into a gallery, scoff and smugly say, “I could do that.” or “My third-grader is more talented.” A) I don’t have a small child in my life to reference, but I probably am more forgiving because I love making art... BAD art. I will be the first one to tell you that I have the art ability of… you guessed it, a third-grader. I don’t care though. Ok, I care a smidge. If I’m completely honest, I wish I was a fabulous painter or even had the ability of a seventh grader. The more accurate statement is that my ability level doesn’t stop me from creating. It has always been a form of therapy for me. So when I see the 48 x 72 canvas with the five random squiggles, I do not judge it. I am grateful for the exchange because knowing me I’ll probably end up writing a haiku about it. It will leave me to wonder about the meaning to the artist. I won’t lie, I might equally wonder who or what warrants its presence amongst more complicated pieces. I’m not above recognizing pretentiousness, but even then I try to do it without judgement. I do not see works of art… I see gifts.
What is your favorite gift of art? Why do you love it? For me, firstly - I do not really play favorites. I do not have a single food or film that I love above all others bar none. My favorites are based on various and specific situations or moods. But my all time favorite art piece hangs above my couch. Let ‘Er Rip by Kelly Moore.
In 2009, I was in Santa Fe for the first time with my mom for a long weekend. We spent an afternoon meandering and ogling the Pueblo of the Tesuque Flea Market. If you’ve never been, it’s built up mostly of jerry-rigged outdoor stalls containing any and every kind of stereotypical but exquisite Southwestern jewelry, tchotchke, textiles and art you could imagine. Then…. THEN, there is the Dark Bird Palace containing Raw Art by Kelly Moore.
I fell in love with his work, sorry, his gift immediately. It was raw. It was real. It was accessible. It spoke to me period. I saw her (‘Er) and everything else fell away. She was vibrant. She was bold. She was multi-dimensional. She was inviting, but she also straight up didn’t give a fuck. I wanted to be her. He saw my reaction. He got it. Sadly though, I could not afford what he was asking. We chatted though and exchanged information because I wanted to keep tabs on his work and be able to afford something at some point. A couple days after I got home, he emailed me and told me he knew that she was meant to be mine. He kindly offered me a price that I could afford and just like that I had purchased not only my first piece of art, but a physical reminder of the kind of woman I wanted to be. To think about the beauty and pure generosity of his gesture now still makes my eyes well up.
As I was decorating my new apartment, out of habit I hung up the paintings and pieces that I have created. Very quickly though, it didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel right. They made my space feel juvenile. I have outgrown the ones that were made out of hope or loss or disappointment. Like I said in my last post, I don’t want to stay attached to stories that no longer serve the person I am now.
So what does one do with paintings that have served their purpose and healing? You gift them away for free of course... leaving them in parks and on street corners with a love letter attached for the new owner. Duh! I believe with my whole heart that each painting will find its person and it will be exactly the message they need to receive. I want to give back to this city what it has given me thus far. Also, spreading love is my rebellion in this twisted crazy world... by posting pictures of the hearts I see and gifting away (elementary) collage art.
Strange Weed Flying Rumi
Have Heart Pen Pals : V 1
" Always be yourself, unless you can be a unicorn - then always be a unicorn"
XOXO
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