Lapse

I've been thinking a lot about the word exchange.  I will not be joining my artistic companions in Denmark, and the nature of my exchange will be filtered.

Philisophically I find this very interesting.  Thre are only so many experiences we, with our limits, can have.  There are newspapers, novels and friends.  But when opening our lens to the world, even the neighbourhood next door, it seems, we need to invite more.

Something should happen in an exchange.  Something zingy.  A moment of recognition.  Like what happens when you look down and see your shape squished in tall grasses, moonlight filling it.

When I think of exchange, I imagine a lapse in emotional distance, connection in the midst of context laid sometimes with care, sometimes thoughtlessly, sometimes by chance.  From this vantage, a major part of any exchange is actually the background:   your life's accumulation of sleep, the number of times you have known yourself wrong, good;  whether you count swiftly, slowly by ones, tens, hundreds, zeroes.

SEVEN is seven people sharing one context some of the time.  We meet for three hours once a month, mostly doing business.  Ok, so who is going to write that grant?  The blog schedule is as follows....   My job is to write the agenda and make sure we stay on track so we can get the work done.  I like creating a safe place for others and myself.  I like laying the context and don't mind when it is dull, flat, distanced.  But my job is also to make sure we get the business done, so there is time to share our art, our experiences, laughs.

Even after the agenda is followed and everyone has had a chance to speak  ...we often want more.   I don't even think I know what it is precisely.  But I do know when it has happenned.

At the last meeting of SEVEN, I explained that I just didn't know how to respond artistically to the Denmark show.   I was truly happy for everyone going ...but that wasn't cutting it.   Emotionally, I felt too disconnected.   They said, well, you could write about that.  "Oh great." I laughed with them; then with a deepened radio announcer voice boomed,  "The indifference of Kelly."

Not exactly something to be proud of; but potentially, a starting point.

An Exchange Between a Mouse and a Mamma Mouse

Today I went to the park with the “I am almost 4-years old” being in my life, who refuses to go by any given name, and prefers instead to be identified with the animal kingdom.

While this cute baby mouse scurried about, I collected tree blossoms from the slides, cupped them in my paws and breathed in their purple, red down. I felt a compulsion to pick each strand from the ground; hope, misplaced on gravel.  How plain and rewarding such a task seemed. One blossom, two, three, ....a bazillion. Hours of  soft tedium. And a nest to snooze in when exhausted.

"What are you doing Mamma mouse?"

 "Smell this. What do you think?"

"I'm hungry."

(blogged by Kelly Marie Redcliffe, poet who will be having her Denmark exchange vicariously from home while playing various Mamma animal roles)

Let's Do The Time Warp...

Because our blog is new and our artist collective is 3 years old, it seems appropriate to take jump into our time machine and visit some of our past creations.  In no particular order...

a bit of sculpture from Pam Frail...


... silk fusion with encaustic from Marilyn...

...acorns from Pia...

...Marie's copperwork...

...a painting by Angela...

... Deborah's digital serigraph...
















and, last, but certainly not least some of Kelly's poetry...

Staying Awake

by Kelly Marie Redcliffe

i . sleep

Awake? No, please, begin with sleep

a crow on murkied ice tugged out with tide. Bye

bye to time its hazards

no questions no accomodations

a herd of cloud-animals

galloping off to moon.

Quiet, the wingflap's darkling

I recognize as love.

ii wakesleeping

Waking is emergence, a yellow scope

poking from Calla Lily spathe.

Peek-a-boo I see you

squash-blossom horns delivering

pitch-perfect hellos

crayon streaks for sunshine

Now up

how to stay awake?

Gooped corners needing

excavation folding socks dirtied in a day.

Manners a white cane prattling pavement

safe across minutes.

Action a game of checkmarks

ta-dah! Cha-ching.

Washing machine is musac slish-sloshing upstairs

down. A sigh wants an excuse

a deep breath wants time

a trapped truth hates pretending

white lies white noise clutter

an aggressive unspoken wanting

forging forward

people aside

animal

human.

Don't walk away from it.

If you do you'll pay for it.

Shame an upturned tree

roots groping moss dangling.

Midday hoot of an owl

clear cylindrical.

Even ants build highways a pencil mark

through sand to get where they are going.

iii. waking up

If you want to change

you can! Vigilence

splayed under brush

chin stiffed into hand-heals pshaw

truthsayers and mimics here yea

hear yea stop waving exclamations at me

(please). Do not tease with aphorisms crowd

fear with sensations a throng of Cedar Waxwings

gorge fruit half-eaten spluttering to ground

red planets sweet squished

not an ounce of beauty wasted: eyes meet

in shared caring know that I love

doing as I said I would. Want

this.

Squash palms may ponder growth meanwhile

collect sunshine.

I lay on lawn on hand-stitched quilt from a friend's ex-partner's mother

sky-story writing shadows the universe on my back.

Being awake is what I do when

rested.

Skip routines try

a tidied entrance

soup made creamy with béchamel

spoon clunked in empty bowl. Satisfaction

yet incomplete weed-root

half in hand.

Learn flight

from reocurring dreams.

iv. awake again and again

It's so quiet I hear thirst lies

carelessly scrawled on chalkboard

sponged clean. A sunflower's root

drawing dew.

I am one who has not yet fallen

in love with herself believes it possible.

Squiggles of half-formed words

piled up falling asleep elongate into

stories lived in moonlit day. Sadness

turns orange is harvested. A last

yellow leaf twitches teardroplets plunk

in pond a harmonica note shudders

still a kiss is soft pucker blow

dandelion seed-darts are bubbles

encoded with hope

… poof

Great beginnings and thoughts of world travels!

This is the year of exploration, the year of great expectations, the year of keeping ourselves on our toes from early morn 'till the moon comes up.

In August 2010 six of Seven, (Pam, Marilyn, Marie, Deborah, Angela and Pia) will travel over the ocean to Denmark to explore, exchange and experience ourselves and our work in a completely new setting - a different culture, a different language, different food habits and bicycle paths. 

Kelly will stay back in Nova Scotia holding the fort and preparing herself for sensory overload when we return and the next part of exchange and the talking starts.

We endeavour to keep ourselves and other interested parties up to date with our progess and plans on this blog.
Any and all of the participants: Pam, Kelly, Deborah, Angela, Marilyn, Marie and Pia will be updating this blog when we feel the whim to express and share our excitement of this upcoming adventure.  

We work as a group and separately - and here is an example of what  happened when we all got together with brushes, paint and a nice large canvas for an afternoon in a sun-filled greenhouse  working on our 2009 exhibit Awakenings.