
by Iskra 4 Comments
It is exhilarating beyond measure to be alive in Seattle during this endless Indian Summer. (By the way, before using this phrase, this being the city of all things politically correct, I spent an hour researching whether in fact it is politically okay to use this phrase. I am going to go with this: As the American Indians were reportedly the first to notice the loveliness of this time and to celebrate the harvest by looking at the light and perhaps smoking a pipe rather than engaging in more frantic scurrying, worrying and stacking of crops in the barn (as the pale settlers were wont), when the phrase is invoked by a non-Indian person caught up in the intoxicating Autumnal rhapsodies it is in fact an homage to the wisdom of the First Nations, and understood as such.) Whew.
So I walk around, temporarily off the hook, and I can’t help but notice but the city is damn fine beautiful. I am sure nature is also doing something, but the construction sites are in their prime, as in primary colors, none of this faded pink of cosmos and hydrangeas and plum feather grass. Give me the street, the baylight glinting on scaffolds and glass, the scattered jump rope song of grafitti and the fifteen people gathered to watch the man in the Mercedes try to park his car in the the lot on Second Avenue with one-sixteenth inch margin of error and a flawless polish on that fender. Pretty much anytime of day is good light, because we actually have light which makes, yes, shadow. If you live here, you know.
Here is a piece that will probably go through another fifty iterations, but which has landed here, comfortably, for the moment. The rule for this series, (thank you John Cage for pointing out how necessary rules are in your fine book Silence) are simple. All elements of photographic evidence must come from an actual construction site. Paint and other elements layered into the work may come from my drawing table.
All summer my pond has been visited by a lovely checkered dragonfly. One day he laid himself to final rest on a lily pad. I put the wings on The Shrine of Fragile Things with the bee, the moth and the curled leaf. When I found this ancient Chinese snuffbottle it seemed like the perfect homage to a being who lived only months, from June to August.
Digital Collage created from layered paint, photo transfer and original photographs taken with a Canon G10.
Today I saw a link on my Facebook page to the wonderful Rules of John Cage. Thanks to who ever posted and re-posted and re-posted and to Merce Cunningham who had it on his wall. I attended Cornish School for a brief but powerful two years in the early seventies, when Cage’s influence could still be felt. Reading Silence in the school library changed my life forever. Today I am reading these rules and laughing, and also wondering if I truly agree with Rule 8. When I compose a “page” it seems to me analyzing and creating are simultaneous. Or tandem, or perhaps a relay race where you hand the baton back and forth.
I have asked myself on occasion if it is crazy to be in love with parking lots. I still sing along with Joni Mitchel and I would never campaign to pave Paradise. But once Paradise is gone you look at what’s in its place. Two digital collages inspired by an as-yet undiscovered Best Parking Lot of Seattle (no cars! just space!)