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You are here: Home / Archives for Essays

The Lacquer Box

June 17, 2012 by Iskra Leave a Comment

“Keeping vigil over the longest days of the year, in the month of the white flower.”

The-Sky-Vigil

With only three days left before the turning of the equinox I find myself unable to go inside. I want to hold on to every minute, memorize the evening sky, and tend the garden meticulously. Last night I thinned the bamboo until the last faint glow had left the clouds and I could hear the raccoons rustling. Then amidst the pale constellations of anemone and allium I sat on the stairs and reveled in the warm and unexpected air. At dawn I returned to the same step and listened to the birds. Intermingled with the grown-up towhee and the bullying crow I could hear the unmistakable high pitched keening of baby chickadees. These are remarkable days. Days when time stretches and the night and the morning seem to recognize and greet each other, clasping hands across the dream hours.

It is very easy to dream with ones’ eyes open and to miss what is sitting right in plain view. This week while sitting and writing I looked up and suddenly saw the lacquer box. When I stumbled upon it years ago in an antique store I knew it was something I had to have, an object of instant charisma and absurd expense that became, perversely, annoying on possession. The cover would not latch, and the surface seemed very fragile, almost ash-like, flaking when exposed to sun. I stopped looking at it directly, with a combination of guilt at my acquisitiveness, and chagrin that I could not take care of this old and precious thing which seemed to be losing beauty with every day in my possession.

The mystery of why and when we decide to see what is in front of us has never been explained to me. Perhaps in this case the proximity of dawn to midnight jarred me from my usual sleep, and I rose and picked up the box.  From across the room the panel covering the drawers seemed to show simple primitive shapes, perhaps a palm tree, or a hut. Only as I held it in my lap did I see that it was meticulously drawn, each shape outlined, incised, and precisely inlaid with gold. It could be “merely” painted, but part of the miracle of this object was its flawless subterfuge. When I ran my fingers across the surface I could feel no raised edges as I would with purely surface brush strokes, but something more complex, an incision and an addition. Over this, layers of lacquer and a dusting of time and its furrows. If I was being fooled, if it was in fact “merely painted” then all the more power to the artist for leaving me dazzled, either way.

Not only had I not really studied the technique, I had missed the narrative; not just one tree but two: a banana tree, a pine, intertwined. A man in scholar’s robes and cap sets forth from his house, holding a brush at eye-level as though to take the measure of all that lies before him. Through the open shoji screens behind him incense burns, arranged in graceful order with a red teapot, a large urn and a slender vase with two fronds of grass. Several paces behind, a child or servant follows his master, ink stone in hand. I can hear the crickets; the air is damp.

On the back of the door, all studies fail. The shape I would have told you was a waterfall rises from a cloud on the ground: not water but a tree raked by moonlight. Its fruit is outlandish and skewed, unidentifiable except for a multitude of red seeds painted in thick, lustful carmine. Perhaps this is the tamarind tree, from which lacquer is made. The sense of incense and tropical air is so strong I feel disoriented in time and place, and reach up to touch my hair, half expecting it to be long and lacquer-black, roped in pearls and ivory combs. I remove the door and open the drawers. The first one, cobwebs, the third one, nothing. But the one in the center holds an old postcard, and the dried pod of a Japanese Snowbell. Oh, that spring! When did I hide this memory from myself? And why? I hold the perfect brown bell between my fingers and marvel at its perfection. If I squint I can see the tree and it layered temple of branches. Was I with a friend? On a solitary walk? Perhaps it does not matter that the details elude, because in this moment I am completely here, in this practice of forgetting and remembering, again and again.

The-Lacquer-Box

Photographs © Iskra Johnson

Filed Under: Essays, Object Lessons: Essays and images inspired by "A History of the World in 100 Objects." Tagged With: dream state equinox, equinox, meditation on antiquity, meditation on objects, scholar box, the lacquer box

On reading “A History of the World in 100 Objects”

April 23, 2012 by Iskra Leave a Comment

Reading Couch
Reading space reclaimed…….

Definitions of the verb “to read” routinely omit the key ingredient that makes reading reading: I would define it as: to enter an immersive state by way of the sequential turning of the pages of a book. <Syn>: to dive, to swim, to be transformed by knowledge and imagination. I can track the date at which my capacity to enter this state vanished with the arrival of my smart phone. Also in danger, the capacity to attach meaning to anything for longer than it takes to text a smile emoticon. I have watched over the past year as the foundations of what I used to fondly think of as “focus” and “purpose” seem to be slipping away. It seems that I have handed over my brain for rewiring by cyber-reality, without building in a compensating survival channel.

In recognition of this dire situation I bought a book, a big, real hardcover book that cost over $40 from a still-standing bricks and mortar bookstore and decided to use it as my way to “practice reading” and rediscover the immersive state. I first noticed the book on the new arrivals table, picked it up, and while holding it felt my pulse quicken as though I had locked eyes with a handsome stranger on a train. I put it back and thought about it for a week. I went back.

Now each evening I look forward to curling up on the couch with a chapter of “A History of the World in 100 Objects” by Neil MacGregor, director of the British Museum. The book began as a radio program broadcast by the BBC. In the absence of visual reference, the power of the chosen 100 objects had to be conveyed by narration alone, which accounts in part for the elegance, precision and lyric beauty of the prose. A book of this size, two inches thick and weighing three pounds, is not convenient. The pages do not lie flat; you must anchor them with your thumb or your elbow. It is a physical act, this reading. The book itself is an object of contemplation.

MacGregor covers a dizzying range of objects and eras: the first Ming banknote, an Mozambiquan throne of guns, the Borobudur Buddha head,a sandal label from the time of the Pharaohs. The object that has won my complete allegiance comes early, the Ice Age mammoth antler from Montastruc carved with swimming reindeer. It marks a change in the development of human consciousness:

Across the world, humans started to create patterns that decorate and intrigue, to make jewellery to adorn the body, and to produce representations of the animals that shared their world. They were making objects that were less about physically changing the world than about exploring the order and the patterns that can be seen in it….The stone tools we looked at previously raised the question of whether it is making things that makes us human. Could you conceive of being human without using objects to negotiate the world? ….Why do all modern humans share the compulsion to make works of art? Why does man the tool-maker everywhere turn into man the artist?

The description of the two reindeer that follows gives me huge respect for what goes into really “knowing” antiquities. Scholars and archaeologists see not just the beauty of the carving, but they can discern that the season is autumn, when the reindeers’ antlers are longest and their coats are healthiest. The female swims behind the male, and is carved with accuracy only a hunter and butcher of animals could have known. This artifact comes from a time 13,000 years ago when reindeer roamed Europe and were the chief source of food and survival for human hunter-gatherers. Archeologists can tell that at least four different stone technologies were used to carve it. And spiritual scholars and thinkers see more:

You can feel that somebody’s making this who was projecting themselves with huge imaginative generosity into the world around, and saw and felt in their bones that rhythm. In the art of this period you see human beings trying to enter fully into the flow of life, so that they become part of the whole process of animal life that’s going on around them, in a way which isn’t just about managing the animal world, or guaranteeing them success in hunting. I think it’s more than that. It’s really a desire to be at home in the world at a deeper level, and that’s actually a very religious impulse, to be at home in the world. We sometimes tend to identify religion with not being at home in the world, as if the real stuff were elsewhere in Heaven; and yet if you look at religious origins, at a lot of the mainstream themes in the great world religions, it’s the other way round – it’s how to live here and now and be part of that flow of life. –Dr. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury

I read this and am filled with elation. I also look back at my earliest attempt at sculpture and can only laugh with gallows humor at how far from Ice Age integrity I have come. At eight I was given an Ivory Soap elephant-carving kit. Yes I, a mostly city girl who sometimes lived on a farm about as far away from elephants as a person can possibly get, was going to learn sculpture by carving what I profoundly did-not-know. I looked at the diagrams, I held the cube of soap in my hand, I despaired. And it only got worse as the soap slipped and the tools gouged and nicked, chopping off precious and irreplaceable Ivory. The ear resembled an ear only from the left, above, and became a leaf of cabbage from any other direction. I recall setting down the tools on the farmhouse kitchen table and wondering, how do you hide an elephant?

A few years ago I found myself with a group of people in a house on a hill in Utah, being guided by a sculptor through a visioning exercise that involved a ball of clay. As we closed our eyes and looked inward we warmed the clay with our hands. And then, eyes still closed, we started to make what we saw. That is as close as I have come to the knowing of the Ice Age cave.

Filed Under: Object Lessons: Essays and images inspired by "A History of the World in 100 Objects."

“100 Objects” Part Two: Art as Devotional Practice

April 23, 2012 by Iskra Leave a Comment

I have slowly been working my way through “A History of the World in 100 Objects” (see previous post.) I have given up the idea of dutiful chronological study and instead I choose chapters at random. Last night I landed on “Gold Coins of Kumaragupta” and found a passage on Hindu worship that struck me on multiple levels:

Hindus will see a deity, on the whole, as God present. God can manifest anywhere, so the physical manifestation of the image is considered to be a great aid in gaining the presence of God. By going to the temple, you see this image that is the presence. Or you can have the image in your own home — Hindus will invite God to come into this deity-form, they will wake god up in the morning with an offering of sweets. The deity wil have been put to bed in a bed the night before, raised up, it will be bathed in warm water, ghee, honey, yoghurt, and then dressed in handmade dresses — usually made of silk — and garlanded with beautiful flowers and then set up for worship for the day. It’s a very interesting process of practicing the presence of God.

–Shaunaka Rishi Das, Hindu cleric and Director of the Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies

There is a wonderful poignance to this image of bathing the deity, of feeding it sweets, of dressing it — such tenderness. It made me think, where do I practice this in my own life? And do I practice this in my work?

In the process of designing the new and revised version of my website I have been going through my archives and deciding what to add in, keep or delete. After sleeping on the passage above, I remembered a series I had done a long time ago which reflects this same devotional impulse, although not in a Hindu frame of reference. For about a year I painted hundreds of small studies of African fetish figures. I used books on African sculpture as my reference, and did my studies the way I would practice kanji, repeating them over and over again, on different papers and with different paints and inks, trying to allow the “figure” to become part of me. The practice became a mobius of energy between myself and the ritual object. The koan was “what is the self?”

Devotional-Figures
Devotional Figures, watercolor on paper, Iskra johnson

The figures fell into fifteen or twenty different tribal archetypes including a woman holding her head, her body or her baby, a figure holding a mirror, a figure holding a drum, and a recurring double figure, two conjoined in various ways. The paintings’ very smallness helped me to keep the practice devotional. I wasn’t creating anything for a “wall.” But I was inviting the gods into my house. It is good to remember to open that door.

Statue-Studies
Statue Studies, gouache on paper, © Iskra Johnson
Muse
Muse, watercolor on paper, ©Iskra Johnson

 

Filed Under: Object Lessons: Essays and images inspired by "A History of the World in 100 Objects.", The Spiritual in Art Tagged With: devotional art, fetish paintings, paintings from sculpture

The Stick To Leaf Conversion

June 5, 2009 by Iskra Leave a Comment

I thought the privets were all dead. Completely. It wasn’t the long snows of December, but the cold followed by the slight warming followed by two more snows into mid April that seemed to push a normally even tempered species over the edge. As with romance, it is not the lover who leaves quickly and without ceremony who does the greatest damage but the one who says yes no maybe but then again hmmm who can leave you exhausted and unable to resurrect your heart.

I had planned grudgingly to replace them all.  (The privets, that is.) So I was stunned yesterday to find the gray and scabrous branches draped in filigree, hugged by dozens of amorous new leaves. It seemed no less a miracle than if the gray planked fence itself came to life. I could feel a Girl Scout lecture coming, something about fortitude, resolve, endurance. And it was all true. Adversity does breed character, or at least a lot more leaves and a stronger root system. April’s gray snows have been replaced with a carpet of jade and the exultant swords of dandelions. The malingering dogwood rudely transplanted five years ago has pink castanets among its leaves for the first time. The windmill palms which I thought would break under ice now wear long chains of golden seeds, and the vines I planted at their roots have leapt six feet and bloomed large and purple.

Why not be patient? And be surprised? The delphinium took four months last year to grow one foot, and then bloomed twice, once in November. I can humble myself to lessons from the dirt. Unlike Democritus of Abdera, who in 1621 put out his own eyes “the better to see” I am not overwhelmed either by the Anatomy of Melancholy or the relentless optimism of flowers. There is so much food here. Even as I feast my eyes the ants feast on the peony buds, and the bees drink from the geranium. One layer of impressions layers over the next, dappled light and hot light and slanted mornings and afternoons and I know there is something gathering.

Pondside

Ferns

Filed Under: Essays, The Garden Tagged With: artist garden, essays by artists, garden essays, Seattle Gardens, spring garden, writing about gardens

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The photography show opening Friday, October 9th a The photography show opening Friday, October 9th at Slip Gallery is curated by my friend and fellow photographer, Scott Wipperman. This seemed like a good time to share his work and the story of our friendship on the road. Half the photographs are his and half are mine. This is an excerpt, and you can read the rest of it on my blog, see link tree in bio:

One of the rarest gifts in the life of an artist is finding a creative muse: someone who truly sees your work, and better yet, has a similar vision that is just enough different that you can collaborate without competing. In the often solitary studio life these connections can be difficult to find, but during pandemic, Instagram brought a new creative companion into my life. I do not know who started following who first. But in May 2020 I found myself sharing instant messages with a photographer working under the name “Concrete spaces“— a handle that immediately piqued my interest. Concrete has been one of my obsessions for years. Miraculously, there was someone out there who understood why I was working on a book called Parking Lot Floors Of North America. . .

©️Scott Wippermann

©️Scott Wippermann

©️Scott Wippermann

©️Scott Wippermann

©️Iskra Johnson

©️Iskra Johnson

©️Iskra Johnson

©️Scott Wippermann

©️Iskra Johnson
I am excited to be part of a show opening Friday, I am excited to be part of a show opening Friday, October 9th featuring eight Seattle  photographers and curated by Scott Wipperman @concretespaces at Slip Gallery. The theme of this show is complex and interesting: Intimate Structures. How the human body and human emotions connect with the built environment. And how the structures in our environment shape our lives, our relationships, and our possibilities. I will be showing industrial landscape as well as six pieces from the series “Immersions” based on tableaus of human relationship captured at Seattle’s waterlines. A diving platform is a stage, and the summer season a riveting drama of ever-shifting players. Most of these pieces have not been shown before.

I’m fascinated by the work of the seven other photographers, each one approaching the theme of the show from a completely different perspective, using both traditional photography and contemporary experimental techniques. Alienation, sublimation, meditation, connection:
Annie Regerson
Dimitri Wessendorf
Gillian Peckham
Iskra Johnson
Janis Mathieson
Mack Greene
Nina Bolger
Scott Wipperman
I hope to see you there!

The runs until the end of October. 
Thursday – Friday: 1:00 PM – 6:00 PM
Saturday – Sunday: 1:00 PM – 4:00 PM

Slip Gallery
2301 First Avenue in Belltown

Two Divers ©️Iskra Johnson

Guardian ©️Iskra Johnson
Morning Pages: Doors The first thing I saw when I Morning Pages: Doors

The first thing I saw when I woke up this morning was shadows on a door. Last night, I dreamt of an old building, one I have visited in dreams for years. It is a co-op apartment in some imaginary Canadian city, on a long steep hill above which are what appear to be the Swiss Alps. It was built in the early 1900’s and has grand staircases and balconies, huge rooms, bronze doorknobs and leaded glass windows. In my dreams, I interview with the board, I make an offer and I even buy an apartment— and then suddenly the door of my new home opens into a parking lot or a garage or someone else’s basement and I wake up and check my bank account, mystified by the power of this particular place, and how opening a door universally signals a new chapter in the story. 

Doors and windows are the most metaphoric parts of architecture. 100 years ago builders understood the attention they deserved. Now I live in a city where we have torn down historic churches, dumped the stained glass into a landfill and replaced these devotional structures with stacked box apartment complexes covered with Hardie Plank. I’m watching million dollar houses go up in my neighborhood with the cheapest vinyl windows from Home Depot, no eaves and often no roof— simply a flat lid to seal the box — and no trim at all. It is architecture as expedience, and it degrades the experience of how we see and experience the commons, and our human values, because, as Churchill noted, “We shape our buildings and afterward our buildings shape us.” 

We don’t look twice at these new houses, whereas I can look at this particular building somewhere in England for hours. Whoever built this wall took great care. They used the art of subtraction to add rather than to diminish. The vast flat wall of stone, the curved lintels, make the windows and doors speak. The doors and windows are not grand, but curiously condensed. They are portals through which one must squeeze with effort, which makes a person pause, and wonder. Later, they may find themselves dreaming of what is behind the walls.
Westminster Mall deconstruction project. I had to Westminster Mall deconstruction project. I had to go to the Department of Licensing this morning and stand in line and it gave me an opportunity to watch the Sears building come down. Sears was the last place left in the Seattle area where you could buy a vacuum cleaner from a man wearing creased polyester slacks, a tucked in shirt and an engraved name badge making a commission on the number of vacuum cleaner bags you bought to go with the Electrolux. I fondly remember my conversations about uprights versus canisters. This building is where I bought a snowsuit for a child that just barely fit me the day we had the epic snow and I was caught unprepared. I walked a mile on ice to get to Sears and then left looking like a nine year-old robot trying to get my knees to bend and move swaddled in 4 inches of poly blend padding. But I was warm! I doubt that anything that goes up this year in the Westminster Mall will last as long as Sears did. And there will be no catalogue unless I create one.
Excited tonight for the opening of Art and Steel a Excited tonight for the opening of Art and Steel at Youngstown Cultural Center! This is primarily a painting show from the Plein Air Watercolorists Association of Seattle (although I don’t think any of us were actually painting inside the mill on our tour!) I have been included as a photographer and mixed media artist, see last image in carousel, “Glide.” 

An exhibition of paintings telling the story of steel fabrication at NUCOR mill, hosted by Delridge Neighborhood Dev Association.

Friday, September 18 | 6:30 PM - 9:00 PM
Join us for a special evening celebrating art, industry, and community.

This exhibition features original paintings that tell the story of steel fabrication at the NUCOR Mill, presented by the Delridge Neighborhood Development Association (DNDA).
The evening will include a panel discussion, light refreshments, and an opportunity to learn more about the intersection of art, labor, and local history.

All donations made during the event will be matched and directed to DNDA’s Art Education Programs, helping support creative opportunities in our community.
Friday was my birthday. 9.11 is a day of remembran Friday was my birthday. 9.11 is a day of remembrance and national tragedy, and it seems bizarre to claim some kind of importance for having been being born on that day in the context of the event. 

Several days after, I allow myself reflection on the passage of time. This is me 15 years ago, with my Canon Powershot, which offers an astonishing naive pre-Cabrian 6 Mb image. It was much more kind than today's 24 MP iPhone, which not only captures the older me but turns that version into a character from Shakespeare with hi-def Bertrand Russel thought lines above my eyebrows and unforgiving evidence of allergies and time. 

On reflection I realize that 2011 was a very good year. I am going to allow myself to be that person for the month, and remember what that was like. The love of my life from the 8th grade had come to stay with me that summer. He took terrible photos of me that I now realize were not so bad. 99% of of the corrosive social media influences had not been invented yet. Women over whatever age was deemed desirable were not subjected to an ad every minute telling us that a new part of our face or body had gone south, and offering us a (discounted! on sale! watch the entire 30 minute video!!) $165 remedy on a monthly subscription to fix it. 

Now every day I look at the thinking and brooding lines above my eyebrows (which are also the lines caused by considering how funny some things can be even when crying) and ask myself what Bertrand Russel would say. If you are too young to know that name, AI is your ever-friend and will tell you how you too can become a "towering British philosopher, logician, mathematician, and social critic" and also how to fix those lines that come from considering things with your face. 

I think my romance with the iPhone is coming to a partial close. I want to go back to the idea of “glass.” It costs serious wages. It is made by Germans— Lately, (subtract the umlaut) Sony, the wizards of sand and heat and bending light to high high focus. I need to return to optics, f-stop, aperture, focal length— words that require frowning. 61 megapixels seems like the bare minimum. There is no cosmetic cure to being a lens-based artist:))

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