IMART, Day 4

Place is meaningful to people and the place called home
is the most meaningful of all.
—J. Douglas Porteous (professor of geography, UVIC)




















We were so busy in our own little spheres of creativity during the past day, there hadn't been much opportunity to see the work of others. The morning gallery ritual was one that I looked forward to, especially over the large mug of Grizzly Claw coffee I had time to brew. Review of the articulated rusted tin art dolls: along with Cheryl's knapsack girl, Vi's ballerina and my rusted 'retro mommy' shown in the previous post, there was also a self-portrait of a "finger pointing, toe-tapping litigation lawyer" in her courtroom attire of rusty metal. (In Canada barristers and solicitors wear long black robes, white wing-collared shirts and white tabs.) A corroded princess and an oxidized stewardess rounded out the 'rusty stories' of "Who or what did you want to be when you grew up?"



















The day's first quote written on the blackboard, about 'the place called home' is coincidentally, an art theme I've been exploring for a long time. I've been saving up old fence boards and scrappy old wood with character to use for assemblage. I also have a small pile of 2x4's and 2x6's for a series of houses. In preparation for this workshop I sawed ends of several pieces into roof-shaped points and packed them in with my class supplies just in case there was time to do something with them.















Digging in my box I found nails, screws, brass brad nails, hardware cloth, a photograph, mat board scraps, a piece of tin that I ran through my Fiskars paper crimper and a couple of those wavy metal fastener things for wood.
The smaller ones are used in picture framing but I'm not certain about the large ones. They're straight on one end but wavy and pointed on the other and like 2/3 of the supplies begged from my Dad's workshop, I don't know what they're called. A few narrow strips of wood that Ken Flett gave me from his stash and a piece of vintage newspaper proved it was going to be an interesting project.

The day was spent gluing, burnishing, applying secret sepia wash, heating, slopping, torching, burning, waxing, scraping, buffing, sawing, drilling, pounding — with a quick lunch break — then back at it again. Pure heaven!



















Lately, I've been making sure to capture my art projects step-by-step not only for my own reference but possibly for tutorials or magazine article submissions. It must have been a busy day because all I have on film, so to speak, is the finished article.

The position of the hardware cloth gave unexpected meaning to the plight of the lady in the photo. It didn't seem as threatening if it was covering only half the window. If the window was covered entirely you could assume she was doomed and was never getting out! I opted to give her a chance of escape if she doesn't mind a one story drop and is strong enough to bend the bars.




















Shrubbery for a side garden was created from jute twine and on of those crimped fastener things. Admit it — you never would have guessed that was a shrub if I didn't tell you.









The area around the door was looking a little plain and needed something more.

Some spiky little 'flowers' made from nails of varying thicknesses got a little splosh of colored beeswax and tension was the by product. I didn't plan on it being such a sinister little house.

It would fit in with the ramshackled buildings in Popeye's village of Sweetwater, in Malta. The movie might actually be good inspiration for more.

The piece now has a title, Anchored, thanks to one of my flickr.com contacts. He was looking at the side view, referring to the crimped fastener when he came up with the title. I was looking at the large copper rivet and imagined it holding the delicate printed fabric of her vintage dress to the kitchen floor boards. Maybe she isn't suffering as much as I previously thought — she might just be a SAHM! I don't know the answer but the question will intrigue me for years.

One house down, ninety-nine to go......















Do you remember that feeling of being in the classroom on a sunny Friday afternoon? Did the warm breeze blowing through the open windows give you a squirmy excitement along with knowing you would be held captive for only one more hour? Art was the best subject to have on a Friday afternoon. Trying to concentrate on Science or Math with the birds singing and flying freely out there was impossible. I remembered the feeling so clearly in this classroom it was almost like being 12 years old again. Not that I wanted to escape — I was enjoying every precious and creative minute of the time left.

Each of the three previous days finished with an artist talk at the Island Mountain Art Gallery in the early evening. Later, we'd take in a short play at the Wells Theatre or live music somewhere else. Yesterday an evening get-together at our cabin with artists from various workshops was limited to my two roomies, one other artist and myself because everyone else was so tired. Those IMART instructors really worked everyone hard!















Wells is so quiet at night. The only thing I could hear was the gurgling of the little meandering stream in the meadow and the occasional car or camper coming into town.















Through the bedroom window upstairs, I could see their headlights from two miles away, growing larger as they silently drove around the curve of the lake. By day the road is barely visible but for the telephone poles marking its path.















Everyone will be gone by tonight, they'll have packed up their supplies and memories and be on their way to homes scattered all over the province and beyond. I have only a two hour drive down a country road then on a slightly busier highway.














The day I was going to spend in Barkerville taking photographs will have to wait. Gathering images for inspiration and for use in future assemblage and collage projects is next years art adventure.

I have to go home.