It would be easier, likely, to keep up these blog entries while in Savannah if Mike were more available to type for me. Mike has been working night and day except when Lara is on and is either talking with Kimberly, taking a well deserved break, painting or cooking and cleaning up when I get to the computer. On the other hand I am typically exhausted or thinking about my next presentation when I get here. Either way Farmville or Freecell usually wins out and takes up the last hour of my day.
Today, it’s earlier in the day, the two Citizen Advocacy presentations are done, Mike is painting and the constipation that plagued me since Sunday has given way. In other words I have enough energy to type this myself.
It became apparent, also on Sunday, (today is Tuesday), that the prison painting could not “get done” by Friday, or perhaps at all, in the style we were pursuing. In other words I got through about half of a highly detailed reproduction of the photograph “Dirty Window” and stopped. I have long doubted my own, and Mike’s capacity to make a close reproduction, and quietly wondered if a miracle would strike, or when and how I would choose, with Mike, to take a different approach. The moment came Sunday night, on going to bed, as I asked Mike what question he was going to bed with – to get answered by wake-up time in the morning. I told him that my question was something like: “What sort of painting could get done by Friday evening – the time I make my presentation at the Bean – that would also authentically represent my experience of discovering the construction of a prison in clear view of my bedroom window.”
Sunday evening I explained that I had hit a six month time period in 2005 when I stopped painting. This occurred when I got frustrated when I wanted to paint detail and could neither conceptualize it for myself nor convey the picture in my mind well enough to my tracker to get her to put on the canvas what I was (vaguely) imagining. Eventually I realized that this was NOT a disability issue, but a common phenomenon among artists. The art itself has a way of partly determining what it will be like when it’s done, and to keep on going, the artist must surrender to the art piece, and let it become what it will.
Laser Eagle artists also must surrender to the will and capacity of the tracker. This apparently extra dimension is merely part of the dynamic dance. By dancing the art becomes and in the end it is what it is. Such is life fully lived.
In the midst of this conversation Mike told me that he is a finisher – someone who takes what a graphic artist has pencilled and fills in the lines and colour. This is something I did not know. So now we have begun again.
I will now have five or six pieces for Friday’s presentation – and later the ROM exhibit. I will have an unfinished, detailed piece and three or four side pieces (pieces we made after long detailed efforts on “Dirty Window”, made with left over paint and less constraint). I will also have a more cartoon like piece – unfinished or finished. Together they represent a more complete picture of my journey to respond authentically to the prision outside my window.
I realize now fully why I had to – was compelled to – come to Savannah. The pelicans have little to do with it – they were the dream image calling to me. I saw some last week and have not wanted to see them again.
I came to express my gratitude.
I have been shown a door to expressing the beauty and possibility of inclusion, of citizenship and community, of faith, of diversity, of life itself. For many years Savannah has been a mirror for me, showing me aspects of exclusion, of elegance, of perseverance, of courage, of creativity. I have been able to see myself and to hear my own voice in ways I can and could not experience elsewhere.
Marsha and Jack brought me to Savannah the first time, but this place and the things I have done in it, like Citizen Advocacy work with Tom Kohler and peace work with Gabor, have been expressions of my own dream. Awkwardly I have discovered Judith and her song over thirty years, and the trips to Savannah have been choruses in my melodic creation.
Friday I will “sing” what there is at that point, and I will tell all of Savannah that comes to hear how this beautiful, terrible town, built on the bruised backs of slaves, has opened my door to freedom.
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