Embrace Invisibility [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

In a recent documentary about his life and work, artist Anselm Kiefer said, “Being is nothingness and nothingness is being.” He was pondering how small and insignificant we are in the scope of the infinite universe, and how, for him, our smallness relieves the stresses of having to succeed. He added, “I fail before I begin.”

The best advice I’ve received recently? Horatio’s suggestion that I go into the studio and “Paint crap.” In other words, loosen up, have fun, completely detach from outcomes. Fail before I begin. Sage counsel: paint for pure pleasure and for no other reason. Drop the measuring stick and reclaim the child who loved to paint. The other stuff will take care of itself.

We regularly check in on Martijn Doolaard. He’s reconstructing old stone buildings as his homestead in the Italian Alps. His weekly update films are gorgeous. His way of working is more so. In his own words, he focuses on process. There are goals, certainly, but everything he does, he does beautifully. He is attentive even in the most tedious of tasks, working, not to get through it, but to do it well.

Staring out the window over the kitchen sink, we switched on the backyard light so we might see the arrival of the snow. The season’s first snowfall came in the night. I thought about a post I wrote and then erased, about achieving invisibility. It wasn’t a complete thought and I wasn’t certain whether I was writing about my fear or my freedom. Anselm made an appearance in my mind as I marveled at the flurry of snow made visible by the light: Being is nothingness and nothingness is being. Embrace invisibility and dance with abandon in the fields beyond failure and success. What else?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FIRST SNOW

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Edge Of Time [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It was here for a moment. The snow on the wall. The tall grasses bowing beneath the weight. Today the grass is standing. Time moves on. Circumstances flow and change.

Yesterday we sat at a counter in the Public Market and ate gumbo. Kerri and the server, a young woman, talked about the oddities of aging. It was Kerri’s 65th birthday so the topic was vital and current. Both women laughed at how out-of-sync they feel relative to the number of their spins around the sun. “What is this supposed to feel like?” they asked in unison. The old man sitting next to us almost spit out his salmon.

We arrived at the art museum an hour before closing. She said, for her birthday, she wanted to visit her boys: Richard Diebenkorn. Ellsworth Kelly, and Mark Rothko. We sat in front of the Rothko for several minutes and I swear, like a good wine, the painting opened. The longer we sat with it the more it beckoned. The richer the color became. “I wish there was a bench in front of Richard,” she said. She loves her other boys but Diebenkorn is her favorite.

On our way out we stopped by the enormous Anselm Kiefer painting, Midgard. The mythical serpent doing battle at the end of the world. It’s a metaphor in darkness: cycles of renewal amidst constant destruction. A crucible. I always visit Anselm as he is a favorite of my friend David. I sent him a photo of the painting and realized that it has been almost eight years since I have seen him.

Catching a glimpse of my image in the window and not fully recognizing the man that looked back, I said, “This time thing is crazy.” She squeezed my hand.

“Tell me about it,” she said. And then asked, “So, what’s the next part of our adventure?”

Boundaries/Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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