As a yoga student of Sarah’s, a former contemporary art gallery owner, and artist, I approached viewing these works with a good bit of curiosity around the challenges inherent in depicting consciousness in two- and three-dimensional form.

The six large-scale paintings—some at approximately four feet by four feet in panel size—are created via the traditional encaustic technique. Powdered earth pigments have been blended into beeswax and enhanced with Damar resin to make the medium firmer, more durable and more luminous. The hot wax paint is softened for application with an open flame, a heat gun or an iron. Additional design elements have been executed by carved and scribed marks. The result is an expressive layering-on of translucent colors rich in light, textures, shapes and movements.

We know at once from the titles that we are engaged in a discussion of consciousness grounded in yoga tradition: Present Moment, Continuous Flow, Space Between Breath, Contentment, and the diptych, Center Line.

“Present Moment,” perhaps the most representational work in the series, illustrates a scene from nature: a mountainous coastline is enduring a raging storm. Gigantic and billowy dark clouds are the source for torrents of rain relentlessly pounding the shore. And yet, there are upward openings where calmer, clear blue skies and brilliant white clouds shine through.

This moment could be viewed as frightening, an ominous act of nature that compels us to seek refuge and hide from the storm. But there are alternative ways to view this and other moments that may initially invoke a flight response. One is to embrace the sheer beauty of what is unfolding. Here are magnificent natural experiences: the movements, sounds and sensations of roaring winds, whipsawed trees, and white caps crashing on the beach.

I’m also reminded of ways we have options in how we view our own personal storms like losses, setbacks and deeply emotional encounters. While initial reactions can be similar to a “take refuge” stance (deny, avoid and cover up), perhaps this painting is reminding us of different ways to be present. There is the option to move from a fear-based, reactive and thought-laden stance of self-protection to one characterized by heightened awareness and a willingness to be more fully present in the moment as our storms unfold.

The perspective for this painting lends support to this latter approach. The wide-angle presentation provides a broader context so that we can see the storm is localized. While we don’t know if it’s approaching or receding, we can see blue skies and calmer waters so that we know this, too—as well as our moods, our pain, and our isolation—shall pass.

“Continuous Flow” brings to mind Monet’s London Parliament paintings, and I think this is partly due to the largest portion of the panel being taken up by a gray fog or mist interrupted by hints of soft colors—lavenders, pale yellows and light fuscias—breaking through the haze. While Monet’s paintings contain recognizable images of structures, we see here an abstract and diffused assembly of these light colors illuminating the lower center portion of the panel. Could this illumination represent our often-dormant inner voice that thrives on still moments and flows with inspiration to deliver the clarity we need to break out of the fog?

“Contentment” and its wondrous abstractions include a horizon bounded on top and bottom with broad bands of textured color. Above the horizon, we see grayed down tones of light yellows: ocher, cream, and champagne. Below is a correspondingly pale palette of blues: sky, robin’s egg, cornflower and powder. All interact on a base of earthy sienna and ocher reds that both break through the surface and act as narrow borders. The top and bottom swaths of color are separated by an etched center line that playfully dances across the full width of the panel. Sparse and random swatches of muted pistachio green, heavily applied and sometimes dripping, appear here and there.

The interactions occurring in the translucent layers and how they spontaneously reveal the spectrum of colors are joys to behold. For me, these layers and exposed colors bring into awareness another component of consciousness related to our many roles and activities. Commitments and complexities come at us so frequently and so quickly that much of our conscious bandwidth is fully occupied attending to their demands.

But is there a way to find the quiet spaces we need to become calm, to listen for an inner voice, and to become more aware so that we can again immerse ourselves in our daily lives with greater wisdom, compassion and peace? The painting suggests a contemplative state of being can support greater overall contentment in life.

I express gratitude to Sarah for these energetic and engaging works and for the ways in which they remind us to create time for introspection, explore our own consciousness and be more present in the moment.

What need does art fill in our lives?

There are likely as many answers as their are people who surround themselves with art.

That said, an archival dig here at home uncovered an art survey I created around ten years ago, and it’s informative around the meaning art brings into our lives.

At the time, I was experimenting with an art website, and the marketing guy inside me wanted to know how potential collectors felt about art and buying art from an art website. I posted the survey online, and 135 folks shared their opinions in response to questions like these:

• What need does art fill in our lives?
• What characteristics of art do you like and look for?
• What do you need to know about an artist?
• What reservations do you have about buying art from a website?

 You can see the full results of the art survey by clicking here.

Given my interest in slow seeing and its focus on taking time to experience art, one of the most interesting groups of responses is related to the question,  ”What need does art fill in our lives?”

Here are some responses grouped into subsets reported on in the survey:

Self expression and connection – “Art reflects me.”

Moods and reverie – “I buy art for the same reason I buy music: to create or nurture a mood.”

Beauty – “To be a part of the process… the search for beauty is religion.”

Relaxation and tranquility – “Sometimes I can be so at peace just looking at people in art form.”

Stimulation, meaning and conceptual reflection – “It startles me into seeing something from a fresh perspective.”

I really like these takes – and others expressed in the survey – as they add to my ongoing search for understanding and getting better at engaging with and experiencing art more fully.

How about you?

What need does art fill in your life?

A work of art is born

Sometimes seeing a work of art acts on me like a pebble  dropping into a pond. First the ground-zero splash, and then concentric rings rippling out in all directions. The best art pebbles and splashes ripple out further and further until… well, maybe forever.

Here the pebble splash is an intriguing and perplexing photograph by Debbie Martin. Hmmm… a bit of a mystery. What’s going on here? OK, it’s a musical instrument… a bass fiddle, right? But what’s the painting about and why is it on the bass? Who is this woman – her hair bountifully adorned - engaging us with a serene gaze? Isis, goddess of magic and life? Or – given our Dahlonega homes in the midst of these north Georgia mountains – perhaps a Cherokee earth or maize goddess? 

While there are some ambiguities abiding, we’ve also got some clues about what the next ripples are and where they’re headed. The painted fiddle is the latest work of north Georgia folk artist Billy Roper (www.billyroperart.com), a visual storyteller of regional, national and international renown. I have had the good fortune of knowing Billy for the last several years and reflect on how much fun it is to talk with him about topics that range from art to Appalachian heritage to families to relationships to religion and just about everything under the sun.  His stories draw from a deep well of candor, humor, compassion, knowledge and wisdom.

Billy has created this folk art bass to support his passionate belief that schoolchildren have opportunities to learn how to play instruments as ways to experience and express traditional Appalachian music. To that end, raffle tickets for the painted bass will be sold, and the proceeds will support the Georgia Pick and Bow Traditional Music School, a non-profit through which area musicians give music lessons to children in grades 4 through 12.

The next ripple occurs this Sunday evening, November 21, at The Crimson Moon Cafe on the square here in Dahlonega where the bass unveiling will occur during the aptly named event, Wood, Strings & Painted Dreams. In addition to the bass being publicly presented for the very first time, Pick and Bow students, music instructors and friends are gonna get down for a hand-clapping, foot-stomping rowsing good time. For tickets, give The Crimson Moon Cafe a call at 706.864.3982. BTW, your admission ticket Sunday evening gets you a raffle ticket on the bass, too.

On to the next ripple: we all have an opportunity to support the Pick and Bow dream by buying raffle tickets over the next several months. Contact Jimmy Booth by emailing him: jimmy@jimmybooth.com.

And all this leads to a giant ripple when the raffle drawing for the bass will be held at next spring’s Bear on the Square Mountain Festival on April 17, 2011.      

So how far out does this bass rippling go and how long does it go on? Let’s see… Billy’s bass… Sunday’s event… we all buy tickets in the months ahead… the drawing next April… proceeds support the childrens’ lessons… they play for their families and friends… and then the children grow up and have their own children… who grow up in musical homes… and learn to play themselves. It feels like the rippling spreads around and down through the generations to come. So pretty far and forever, I reckon.

Come Sunday and join in on the fun. If you can’t this time, buy a ticket. Be the ripple you want to see in the world.

Georgia Appalachian Studies Center Ghost Cabin

On Thursday, I attended the reception for a new art show, “The Cabin,” at the Vickery House in Dahlonega, home to the Georgia Appalachian Studies Center. GASC at North Georgia College & State University supports residents and visitors in learning and living the Appalachian story with classes, conferences and programs around Appalachian music, art, dance and gardening.

The ghost cabin above has been constructed next to the Vickery House and is based on the external dimensions of the Smulian-Thompson log cabin, an area home built in 1832 that has been donated to GASC and that will be moved to this site next year.

“The Cabin” show is an exhibition of photographs of the Smulian-Thompson cabin taken by students in Paul Dunlap’s photography classes. The exterior and interior views are arranged to create a sense of approaching the square-logged cabin, walking past a carriage and being welcomed in by the residents for a visit. We find tableaus from a much earlier era. Rocking chairs inviting us to sit a spell and talk things over in the warm glow of oil-filled lamps. An array of what seem, by today’s standards, oddly proportioned and unfashionably colored glass bottles. Handmade furnishings comfortably at home in their nooks and crannies.

For me, seeing the photographs of the cabin generated a whispering voice with an invitation: “For a few minutes, let go of your crazy-busy schedules, your cars, televisions and cell phones. Come back to a time when our circles and concerns are more closely tied to the land, the seasons and nature. When daily mountain life is simpler, but the need for greater self-reliance makes it challenging in ways you can only imagine.”

About that song I mentioned earlier… viewing the ghost cabin and the show made me recollect “Ghost Riders in the Sky” by Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson along with fellow Highwaymen Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. BTW, this YouTube version is a rowdy/high times live performance – if these guys aren’t the ghost riders in the sky, I don’t know who is. But I digress.

In the song, a ghost rider admonishes a cowpoke to change his ways if he wants to save his soul. While we can’t turn back the clock and trade in our contemporary lifestyles, the ghost cabin is inviting us – perhaps as mountain hikers instead of cowpokes – to look at how we live, reflect on what’s essential and consider changing our ways to assure the enjoyment and preservation of our mountain soul: a rich Appalachian heritage, abundant options for great times and a bounty of natural resources.

I hope you get a chance to visit the ghost cabin and “The Cabin” show and do some slow seeing. Let me know about your experiences.

Background-wise, I’ve created art over the  years, have operated a retail gallery and now am transitioning that space to an online gallery, Kryder Gallery. There has been a constant thread running through my experiences in roles as artist, gallery owner, juror, collector and non-profit organization volunteer: I like to look at works of art, do my best to connect with them, and sense my experiences in reaction to them. 

I’ve found of late that I’m dawdling and lingering longer over works that I’m viewing. I contrast this with times my eyes have been in a hurry. To get done viewing so I can talk with other folks present and hear the buzz about what’s going on among artists and galleries. Or maybe to get done viewing so I can move on to the munchies.

I’m not fully sure of what slow seeing is yet, but this seems to be an important element: dawdling and lingering in the viewing process. By contrast, a lot of viewing in our culture is based on what I guess would be called fast seeing. I immediately think of watching TV commercials and being overwhelmed with the rapid-fire sequencing of scenes.

Out of curiosity, I searched for some stats on average scene lengths for movies and commercials. It never ceases to amaze me to discover technology applications to meet ultra specific needs, and one of these is an app from a Latvian group called Cinemetrics (www.cinemetrics.lv). Cinemetrics’ software lets a user analyze movie and commercial scene lengths and construct easy-to-read data charts. Two outputs were fascinating for me – the stats on Avatar and a Victoria’s Secret commercial. Here are some of the findings:

Avatar
Length: 2 hrs 34 minutes
# of shots (scenes): 2,401
Longest shot: 29.4 seconds
Shortest shot: .4 seconds
Average shot: 3.9 seconds

Victoria’s Secret Commercial
Length: 1.5 minutes
# of shots (scenes): 76
Longest shot: 4.6 seconds
Shortest shot: .2 seconds
Average shot: 1.2 seconds

These are some examples of fast seeing, and I have to admit – although I expected to find fast cuts – I was astonished to see how quickly scenes change. And yet in the end we do get a rich experience because of artistic/dramatic editing and bringing together of the scenes into a cohesive whole.

Perhaps this look at fast seeing helps define slow seeing where the latter is spending many more seconds and minutes engaged with a work of visual art. Maybe slow seeing is the difference between vacationing in NYC vs. on a remote beach. Or the difference between scanning a popular entertainment weekly in the dentist’s waiting room vs. cozying up with a novel next to a fireplace. 

It’s all good, for sure, but I’ve got some curiosity about slow seeing and its virtues that I’ll be exploring in this blog.

How ’bout you… what do you think slow seeing and its elements are? How and where do you do slow seeing?