I’ve recently decided that connecting with fellow artists, talking about art, and (when applicable) buying the art they create brings me more pleasure than just about any other thing in life. I think I sort of suspected this all along, although for a good while what I longed for most was to talk to other writers. I must say, I’ve really changed my mind about that. It’s not that I don’t still enjoy talking writing, because of course I do; I love it. But I’ve had it happen with some frequency, at least inside my own brain, that the pleasure of talking writing is often threaded through with more unpleasant emotions–most notably a downward-leaning sort of self-consciousness, like walking to the very edge of a diving board and stopping, which can then multiply into insecurity, and, if the other writer I’m talking to is maybe really good, this can snowball further into full-blown jealousy. (Maybe it’s my as-yet-unpublished-ness in fiction that does me in, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I still get jealous of other writers quite a lot–it can be downright unbearable, for example, to spend too long in a bookstore. It’s funny, libraries don’t bother me at all…but bookstores. Bookstores kill me.)
Last week, during a family visit, I talked art some with a daughter of my beloved former Penn writing professor, Karen (I might as well call her my friend now, since we’ve kept in steady contact for ten years and counting–and might I add that I think I love talking writing with her most of all, maybe second only to my grandmother)…so, this young woman, she is studying lampworking at the Cleveland Institute of Art. Lampworking, which involves holding long tubes of Pyrex in front of a flame so bright you need to wear special goggles to safely behold it, is something I’ve never witnessed up close before. Kris and I and the kids were privy to a live demonstration in the studio her parents set up for her in the garage. It was entrancing. It also happens to involve ginormous tanks of propane and oxygen, supplies which her mother is infinitely cool for supplying (can you imagine?!). Back inside, a swarm of instruments fills their living room–a piano, violins and violas and I think a cello in black hard cases underneath it, a trumpet, an acoustic-electric guitar…there are a lot of musicians in her family. Also, every wall of this room is painted a different color, and in their kitchen, several lines of Yeats are stenciled above the cabinets, and a large print of Babar (Babar, I tell you!) hangs on an opposite wall. Anyway, to my happy surprise, my kids were all over the instruments during our visit; in fact, it looks like there may be a trumpet in Gabe’s future. Kris picked up the guitar and was so smitten that I ended up buying him one for Father’s Day. Later on, I sat in their Yeats kitchen and pored over a bowl of glass pendants, deciding which to buy, and I almost wanted to buy them all, because they look so yummy all piled up in a bowl like that, like you might just grab a spoon and dig in…but so what I’m saying is, it is in this house that I made the aforementioned decision.
Confirmation came this weekend. We visited a couple-friend of ours, both artists who went to school for graphic design, and although we’ve visited them several times before, it was only during this visit that we realized that they own two guitars and a piano. We just never noticed them before. (!) Also, the wife, my sweet friend Mary, is a talented seamstress who makes these really gorgeous handbags, and sells them. We ended up staying at their house until almost two in the morning (our kids just flopped over asleep of their own accord on different pieces of furniture throughout the house, although Gabe made a few valiant attempts at around midnight to get us to take them home–this makes us terrible parents, right?). We talked and talked, a lot about teaching and not as much, but still a good bit, about art, and as we were leaving I saw Mary’s handbags piled up near the door (and again had the urge to buy them all, because although each of them is beautiful, what’s really gorgeous is the contrast in the stacks of different fabric all piled up that way), but anyway, it suddenly hit me, I have been friends with Mary for at least two years and why on earth have I not purchased even one of these bags yet? Being broke is such a stupid excuse. I spend money on the things I really value, don’t I? Anyway, point being I don’t think it’s ever been easier to hand over my credit card than it was at 1:45am the other night in their living room.
…
I’m going to stop here, only because it’s almost 10pm and my kids are still awake and playing New Super Mario Bros. on the Wii with such zombied looks in their eyes that I’m really thinking we maybe should make them go to sleep already.
Before I go, two quick images d’art and links to the websites of the two talented ladies I’ve been yammering on about…
P.S. Before I managed to finish proofreading and hit “Publish,” my three-year-old went upstairs, got scared because there was a fly in the bathroom, did a crazy screeching dance trying to tell us and then peed down the stairs. Seriously, it was like a tiny waterfall cascading down a good four or five steps. Just in case you’re wondering why I don’t blog more frequently.
