my life with art
When I move into a new place, I try to get something special just for that place. Sometimes it is splashy, like the big Marilyn piece of art. Sometimes it is little, like a pretty glass faced clock. But something, tiny or big, that is just for that place. The new place.
I got this little animal face canvas tryptic that is cute AF for the kitchen wall here. The kitchen is long and narrow and a lot of the colors in there are gray. Gray cupboards. Gray refrigerator sides. I like monochrome, but, it felt, un-festive. So I got these little animal face pieces to put in there. And re-covered the fridge’s gray side in white. It is pretty and festive now. Yay!
The animal prints are advertised as for a kid’s wall. That is okay. I wanted them anyway. [Advertisers, though, maybe stop pigeon holing art for “kids” that adults might want? Some of us will cringe and back away afraid to be labeled a child. Luckily for you, I have never flinched at being labeled a child. Also what five year old EVER appreciated black and white art you weirdos?]
A friend in San Francisco one time when we were trying on cute clothes in a fun shop, said, “You should buy that dress.”
I was sort of on the fence on the dress. I did not have a lot of cash to spare. But she said, “You love that dress, and every time you wear it, you will remember today, here, now. Get it.”
She was right. I bought the dress and every time I wore it, I remembered that day in San Francisco. But. I don’t have that dress any more. Dresses wear out or shrink or stop looking cute on you or fade or go out of fashion or YOUR HOUSE GUEST THINKING SHE’S BEING HELPFUL WASHES THEM ON THE WRONG SETTING —
[Sorry, traumatic incident flashback, ahhhh! My angora!]
Anyways —
What never wears out for me? Is the art. Each piece of art, I remember the day I got it, I remember where I got it, I remember why I got it. Sometimes, I remember what it cost me to get it because sometimes I have purchased art when I loved it so much I was willing to go without food to get it. The art? These are the markers of my life. And I wonder sometimes, if my mind goes, if all memory fades? Will these pieces of art be the markers of my memory too? Will they still be there when everything else is gone?
[Which is completely ridiculous, nobody in the history of my family has ever had Alzheimers, we all die of much more immediate and physical horrific diseases, but I taunt myself with fears of the unlikely, I am so dependent on my brain and sight for my life. Don’t even ask me about “blind” anxiety dreams. Ahhh!]
But the art. The painted pony watercolors from Arizona? The blue scroll from Huntington Beach? The roku pots from Seattle? The Rothko from Hollywood? Charlie from the Academy? Marilyn and the glass faced clock from Austin? They are not high octane art. Nobody from Saudi Arabia will be bidding on them at auction. But they are significant to me. Through every interstate move, I carry these pieces with me. Some I bought. Some I was gifted.
Also, fuck’s sake!, picture boxes are not cheap!
But.
The art?
The art stays with me.
Always.
Your Art Spangled Adams Girl