To make art you need time and a place. I have been given the gift of a month of unobstructed time by Blue Mountain Center. Staff here bends over backward to make my time here as productive as I want to make it.
As for a place, that could be a prison cell, a dining room table, a classroom, or as Virginia Woolf so famously phrased it, “A room of one’s own”. Well I thought you might like to see my studio at Blue Mountain for the month.
You can click on any image on this page to see an enlargement.
The only problem is that it is too pretty. I have not had enough time to really make it look like my space — messy.
I have finished an artist book I was working on before I came here.
The images were mostly recycled scraps of prints. I just didn’t know what they meant in their new context.
I was having a problem with discovering the text. So Oola and I went to the screened-in thinking room shown above and we mentally grunted,
The text came out like this:
And the Mother Said
Enter your studio
Someone is there waiting for you.
Someone is waiting to be born.
Tell your Father
I have saved a place for him.
Tell him in the language of the crows.
Tell him in the woodland crowned with crows.
Tell him in beauty; tell him in your grief.
Tell him by the waters; cover him with salt.
Weave for him a blanket of grasses.
Sew for him a cloak of night feathers,
your anger’s lullaby.
Fly with him through slipping winds.
Fly with him to me.
When we were sitting down to dinner that evening Oola blurted out, “I wrote a poem today. It was like squeezing a boil”.