Keirartworks's Blog

hmmm. hmmm? Observations, actions and connection points through art.


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In Christmas

It’s the 18th of December, one week before Christmas day.  I’ve rehearsed and planned and delivered and engaged, I’ve painted and written and talked and sang and posted, I’ve cooked and sorted and laundered and cared-for and now all of a sudden on the eve of my first day off in what feels like centuries I’m hearing the call that maybe only dogs can hear, that no other human around me seems to acknowledge but nevertheless has got my full attention in this moment…

…. stop.

Not sure why this image. Something to do with Christmas I think.

This feels correct to the moment just previous to the moment I turned off my Christmas engines.

Basil Johnson once said to me, “Simple, and good – that’s all you need.”  We’d been talking about art, and what makes it resonate with human culture in the short, medium and long term.  As I remember, I’d been talkative and keen then – about socioeconomic indicators of health and growth, artists in the workplace and some utopian ideas around the political value of the arts as a generator of individual authenticity.  In 2004 I was Cultural Capitals Coordinator for my town of 22,000, doing my best to imagine and then somehow impossibly manifest a bridge between national and local, micrososm and macrocosm, embracing all issues visible and audible under the sun. I’d been given my rein, was impossibly curious, – a single artist-mom on the eve of a lifelong marriage that would only last a decade. I was provocative, insistent and intense, flailing.

“What kind of painting do you do?”, he asked, in a pause I’d left open.

again, no articulate explanation for this choice

My answer was long and exhausting.  He listened and gave me two words in exchange.

I heard them enough through all that noise in my head to swallow them whole and keep them alive in my belly.  They sing to me now.

 

I love these ladies with all my heart. This was a gig we played at the Tom Thomson Art Gallery six days ago.

I love these ladies with all my heart. This was a gig we played at the Tom Thomson Art Gallery six days ago.

The planet, the politics, the migrations of people and animals; conviction, passion, intensity, art and music; friendship, hurt, joy and the passage of time….  our response can be simple.  And good.

It’s a choice, to live and work that way.

 

BHill_SEwindow

I choose therefore to fill my tomorrow with simple rituals.  Instead of a phone, a computer, a list of errands, I will make a breakfast, a burning, a giving-away, a silence.  I will listen to what lies under all the Christmas noise.

This is good.  Thanks, Basil.  I can feel you smiling.


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Name the moment

Not sure I can do it justice tonight.  There’s a cool change I’m trying to put my finger on….

Vichert's Mackie, Katie's recommended Tascam, the shrouded MK4.  windhorse prayerflags for mom....

Vichert’s Mackie, Katie’s recommended Tascam, the shrouded MK4. windhorse prayerflags for mom….

and a river rock I got in Manhattan in 2009….

back of my cello case...

back of my cello case…

I’m not really verbal.  What’s rich for me resides in the resonance and richness of what is visual and tactile and aural – so these blogs (and any writing task) are a challenge – to bring what is into what can be broadcast to more than what I see & get.  But every so often something happens – an internal agreement to stretch the moment I’m in,  when I think I should try to, I don’t know – share?

I’ve been working on some art pieces about what we now call ‘selfies’.  Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing, all this time?  trying to articulate something I … know about what I am?

beside and behind me, to my right. Like a speaking horn

beside and behind me, to my right. Like a speaking horn

I don’t seek them, but I see them – the selfies on the internet are vulnerable, mostly.  Open to … something.

What is that?  Do we all crave this, but only some (increasingly more) publish it?

And even after all this I’ve not come close to describing for you the real moment I’m in.  Perhaps this is my vulnerability, and this post is a selfie.  Open, and honest and incomplete and full of imperfections.  Begging for criticism… or acceptance.

hand with fish

hand with fish

I know people who cannot talk from who they are.  People who are so divided and hurt that nothing comes out straight, and mostly what comes out is painful, distorted and destructive.  I’ve been in that place too – or my own version.

From this simple but rich rich place I am in, I send you my best, imperfect love.  All of it.  Always.

I think about you all the time.

I think about you all the time.

We turn into Spring together.