The piece pictured above is entitled “Atomic Love” by Sandy Skoglund. I originally wrote this piece as a part of an essay about my own relationship to creative expression. Upon finishing that essay, I realized that what this particular image evoked several important thoughts warranting a place of their own.

The set and props are covered in orange marmalade with raisins and I find it inspiring for reasons beyond aesthetic. What do I see when I look at it? For starters it exemplifies inspiration transforming “ordinary” items in a concrete and visual way. How many times have you put jam on bread? What is it about how this woman’s brain works that drove her to use this as her medium?

Imagine what you could do or create in the world with things already at your disposal. Imagine the possibilities if everyone used planning and execution paired with the permission to communicate the goings-on of their inner world. This is what I find compelling. This is what resonates. Take away the B.S. peddled by synchophants and the marketing of art as a commidity and what you are left with is a vehicle for connection, alienation, appreciation and defiance.

But that’s about art in general. What resonates for me is that the perishable nature of the materials paralells the very nature of the life cycle. You start with something fresh and new. It ages. Maybe the colors and textures deepen. It is no longer what it was Sometimes the changes produce great beauty. Sometimes changes stink up the room much like rotten food. The set must be stricken and it’s time to start again. Maybe this next time you’ll appreciate while it’s in front of you instead of after has passed through. Hopefully, it will inspire you to build a foundation that allows you to always be surrounded by that which you love.

Beyond the theoretical, I am also struck by the excess. Something beautiful was created but at a cost. Trade off is clear: food is being wasted. Granted, there is no fine print on the food pyramid indicative that putting a hungry person on a jam and raisin diet is anything less than absolute cruelty. Seriously. But it does get me thinking… The money spent could have bought more nutritious food to nourish hungry people in third world countries… or for that matter, those closer to home.

All that from a single photograph. I know, deep – eh? I talk a good game, but what really drew me in is what appealed to my baser side. Raisins? GET OUT! Fruit preserves? FOR REALS? How brilliantly quirky… If there were a monkey and a ninja included, I would be all set. Secretly, I’d wanna live there. I am not kidding. Keep the jam and raisins on the top shelves and hide the step stool.

Tags: food, food pyramid indicative, nutritious food, rotten food, Sandy Skoglund

As a senior in college I was poised to be the first member of my family to graduate in fours years from the same institution matriculated as a freshman. Every now and then I like to surprise with the fam with a little razzle-dazzle. As proud as they were, I have to admit that I pulled it off by the skin of my teeth. I took two accelerated schedule courses (Micro & Macro Economics— at the same time) over the summer and added an extra credit during my final semester. But for the evil Chem 010 (the first zero in the course # stood for how much interest I had in the subject), I had a wide berth in making up the remainder of my schedule. There was a definite creative bent to my choices:

• With the guidance of a generous mentor, my work study job from the semester became into a credited internship. Post-graduation this morphed further into my first “real” job.

• A directed reading on the subject of gender and discourse with one of my favorite professors
• Intro to Photography (where I learned a great many things… not the least of which was that I am, in fact, allergic to fixer)
• Visual Design (or something like that) – A painting course held at the school of continuing education focused on exploring how line, form and color are used to express and evoke distinct concepts or moods.

The last of which was the biggest stretch. Prior to this, experience with creating anything using own hands (as opposed to???) was limited to the following:

• Coloring books – consistently straying outside of the lines
• Watercolor books – I was the Gutenberg of this particular medium. I filled the bathtub with a shallow pool of water, briefly submerged the pre-colored sheets and hung them to dry on the towel rack. This is likely more indicative of an emerging talent for streamlining workflow than creative prowess.
• Doodling – I have the God-given ability to draw a squirrel holding an acorn. It is a special kind of cute. I also sometimes sign notes with a curly-haired smiley face.
• Mrs. Murphy’s art lessons in grade school. Once a week she entered homeroom, wheeling a cart stocked with paints, markers, glue, construction paper and bottomless supply of critical comments for the less promising students in the class. Let’s put it this way: I was never sent home with a note to my parents about how she was concerned that my ear wasn’t gonna stay attached to my head.

You may be able to infer from negative experiences in your own formative years that this made taking a painting class more than a little challenging. (I’ll save the trauma of gym class for now. One day that book will jump up straight out of my chest and write itself.) Showing others bits of my creative expression soemthing I am very tentative about. Still working on that… but back then? Forget about it.

I’m not sure how came to to see that for the limitation it was at age 21. Allowing myself to be uncomfortable was the master plan in selecting planning that semester’s studies. Most weeks it was pure torture having two classes based entirely on creating things on assignment instead waiting for divine inspiration.  The next step was equally taxing: suppressing the temptation to shove the damned whatever-it-was into the back of a drawer instead of bringing it to class and <gasp> SHOWING it.

That’s actually why I did it: to push myself into pursuing something I found compelling yet simultaneously scared me shitless. It’s the same thing that drives me to write here instead of the privacy of my own journal. When I’m not writing or completing pieces, it’s that same rationale applied in reverse. Instead of being a catalyst for action and expression fear serves to paralyze any and all forward motion.

On towards my point… the instructor of the painting course I took in college was of similar mind as Mrs. Murphy about my artistic potential. Granted, she didn’t sneak up behind me spook me with an un-enthused “Hmmmph” like her predecessor. Each one of the assignments was handed back with a paragraph or two of notes skirting around the crux of the message, “This sucks.”

It’s not that I didn’t see her points. However, I don’t have aspirations of being a painter. Both ears are firmly attached and that’s how they shall stay. (Though I would be able to wear mateless earrings again if I went down that road…)

Chances are that I took the comments more to heart than I should’ve. I do that with lots of things so it’s entirely likely. When I can remember where I stashed the original of the above painting, it’d be interesting to see if those words were what I remember them to be.

Now that I’m further down the road of sorting out my own professional ambitions, I can empathize with those two teachers. I’m sure that they had/have their own ambitions and disappointments that would make teaching anyone other than a prodigy feel tedious. I am going to further increase my range and demonstrate that I can switch my default setting from ‘cynical’ to ‘unicorns, rainbows and warm woolen kittens’.

In closing, I’d like to share the following points from my ‘one to grow on’ file. Ultimately, what these two women thought is irrelevant. The point here is putting oneself out there without apology. Believing that anything I express has intrinsic value as a part of my own experience, regardless of interpretation, is the essence of freedom. Most days I’m pretty far off the mark, but I am hopeful that I’ll get there someday. Preferrably soon.

In the vein of half-full glasses:
• I really had fun with Mrs. Murphy’s apple-head doll project in 3rd grade. It was cool to see those carved, peeled fresh apples turned into smushy old man faces after sitting in the janitors closet for a few weeks. To my recollection, she did not say anything bad about my moldy apple masterpiece.

• That college instructor broadened my horizons and exposed me to artists that I would not have otherwise seen. The Worcester Art Museum mounted one of those a wack-a-doo esoteric post modern exhibitions using food stuffs and we took a field trip that week to attend. It was a room full of trunk freezers. One was filled with fish eggs, another had some sort of horror movie sized fish. My favorite was the freezer filled with Kool-aid. The block of punch leaked across the floor though I’m pretty sure that was an unforseen equipment malfunction and not a part of the gimmick. I seriously doubted her judgement as to what should qualify as an ‘educational experience’.

After viewing the exhibit, there was a lecture given by Sandy Skoglund – an off-beat installation artist whose pieces use mass quantities of items found in your pantry. The slides shown as part of the presentation had such a striking visual impact that I remember them to this day, 11 years later. I look forward to seeing her work in person when there is museum exhibit in my area.

Tags: first member, instructor, Misty Watercolor Memories As, Murphy, off-beat installation artist, painter, Sandy Skoglund, That college instructor, wack-a-doo esoteric post modern exhibitions using food stuffs, Worcester Art Museum