art

You know the late David Hockney? Possibly the most influential British artist of modern times? (He died just this year at the age of 88.) I could not begin to describe his art here -- there's so much of it and I haven't the language to highlight that which stands out. If I were to point to something of his that especially appeals to me it would his paintings, probably from the 2000's, or the decade before, where you see landscapes that pop out at you with enchanting color. I like most of them, as seen on this page (click to see). But never mind all that. I thought of Hockney when I visited the basement of my neighbor's house and she said "art isn't art until you share it -- before, it's just clutter taking up space." I'd heard at least the first part of that saying before -- words offered by David Hockney. Didn't he say that art is about sharing?

 

It is a cold morning -- it finally got down to 26F/-3C. I'd moved the potted roses inside for the night (so heavy!) because I didn't want them to hit their winter pause just yet. When I walk Millie, I can see my breath. (All the more reason to put a sweater on the girl, though I suppose she has enough fur right now for me to be lazy about it.)

But the sunshine! Oh, the sunshine!

Nap time Millie? Okay. I'll use these couple of hours to work outside.

(this front-of-the-house rose is ignoring the fact that we are in the middle of November)

 

And work I do. I expected the digging of a new hole to be difficult -- it's in the worst spot where there are stones and loose gravel bits throughout, all wedged together and hard to get out -- but not this difficult! It takes me nearly an hour to dig out that one hole. I dislodge one boulder only to come across the edge of another. I work on that, heave it out and lo! there's another! And so on. 

After two hours of digging, planting, snipping (I do get the two roses in; eight to go, with three that I haven't a clue where to place), I hear Millie starting to get restless inside. She's yowling away in her crate, but I still have one more task to do before I liberate her: I want to pop into my neighbor's house. The new development (where I live) is having an Art Crawl today. At least a dozen people are opening up their homes to display and sell their own art. My neighbor down the street does mosaics and I've been promising to pop over to look at them, and I haven't done that yet. This gives me a splendid chance to see her pieces and to be supportive and friendly, although I dare say, I already did more in the friendly department this morning than is typical for me. Another (new to me) neighbor stopped me as I was digging away to admire the garden and to just chat, and much as I was in a hurry to get things done, I did put down my shovel for her for a good thirty minutes! (Are you proud of me yet?!)

About the art event: I already have a mosaic mirror made by Carrie, my neighbor friend, gifted to me when I dug out a rose for her. This afternoon, when I'm in her "workshop," I see another pretty mosaic and after she tells me that all funds will go to an organization working on behalf of the homeless, well I cant walk away and not buy it. Now I have two that I have no idea where to hang. I am getting very good at acquiring things that have no obvious home.

While I'm there, Carrie gives me a tour of her house. It's beautifully arranged and the pieces of displayed art are stunning, but what stands out to me most is how uncluttered the place looks. This was true as well of the home where I've been playing Mahjong. There's a reason for it: no one has lived on this street for more than two years (the age of the oldest houses here). When you move, you get a fresh start. You throw away useless stuff. But I noticed, too, that there weren't the usual mess creators: stacks of things you plan on gettng around to. Papers you dont want to deal with at this second. Odd books lying around. Having been professionally and personally connected to academia for years and years, let me tell you -- the interiors of academic houses are often cluttered. University people have this thing about books, too. They like to collect them and display them. I see none of this in the homes I've visited around me. Oh, these guys read books. We talk about stuff we read. There is a neighborhood book club too. But shelves upon shelves of reading matter? I'm not seeing it. (Nor do I have that at Steffi's House; I got rid of most of my books over the many moves I've had in the past two dozen years.) 

When I leave her house, I just want to go home and clean up my own living space (I've grown lax about pristine cleanliness!), but there is another neighbor/friend who is displaying ceramics that she does alongside her grown daughter. They paint in the Norwegian style (it's called rosemaling -- Heidi the neighbor studies it with a group in Norway every so often). Now, what I do not need is another mug. However, there is one that looks especially sweet and again, I look on this as something I should get to show my support for neighborhood artists.

But I stop with these two homes. Millie needs me and I can't be picking up random pieces of art, even if these are good people, good neighbors, good artists. Still, I do enjoy my new lunch mug...

At home, Millie is so deliriously happy to see me that it hurts. Oh my sweet dog! Time for a solid brushing, no? 

There, you're all beautiful! What, you think I'm rushing the season? People, I want Santa to take note that there is a dog in this house and her name is Millie! 

A pleasant evening follows. One with the usual -- she eats, I eat. I watch my crime drama series and munch chocolate and wheat crackers (who else do you know that's addicted to Back to Nature's wheat crackers?). I will go to bed before 1. I will. Maybe even before midnight! Maybe not.

with so much love...