Mothers Day Gallery Walk: A Celebration of Sister Art

In our first piece, an amalgamatory exploration in wood from the mid 21st century, we are drawn into the primordial Creation, as the jumble of chaotic textures and shapes coalesce into the clean orderly lines of the chapel. The lines of the great canyon draw us inevitably towards the small church, clearly inviting us to a communion with a higher power. But is the artist suggesting religion as a place to worship, or merely a place to take shelter from the dangers that assail us? As the granite expanses threaten to overwhelm the delicate structure, the artist seems to ask us, will we too be overwhelmed? In the end, will man made his mark upon nature, or will nature make its mark upon man?

Perhaps this artwork is itself an answer to that question as it mirrors the great act of creation, with the artist’s hands bending nature to conformity. The chapel rests upon the straightest lines in the piece, as if gloating over man’s subjugation of the elements. And yet, those pieces are the most roughened, whereas when we move upwards in  the picture the textures become smoother the closer we get to the comforting blue heavens. As the uplifted rock draws our eyes towards God, we are forced to face a discomforting question: is it possible that non-conformity is the true path to peace?

Next we see a work that at first glance appears light-hearted...

..until we notice the haloed figure screaming in the corner. Is this Ginsburg’s angel-headed hipster, looking for a cemetery dawn? Perhaps this figure represents the artist, asking us to question everything we thought we knew about this happy family.

Is human interaction merely an ineffective balm for inevitable disaster? Do we all grasp ineffectually for youth, failing to realize we’re all plastic dolls in the grasp of destiny? 

What is the meaning of art, if it can be imitated so easily? This parody turns dark as we consider that these figures have tried to make flesh of a two-dimensional image, but then so ironically have become two dimensional themselves. Are we all trapped in a hamster wheel of meaninglessness? Can any of us truly escape the flatness of being?

As age and youth turn their backs on each other in denial of mortality, a spilled urn leaks its lifeforce onto the floor and an empty boot presages death.

Why are we all not screaming in a corner?

A classic example of the Sierra High school of design, our third piece transports us to the tactile arts. This stunning vase oozes rugged individualism and immediately challenges the viewer's sense of self. 

“I stand alone,” says this vase, secure in its sturdy isolationism. “I have no need to feign enthusiasm.”

Eschewing the traditional male/female silhouettes of conventional pottery, this piece refuses to be confined by gender norms. Indeed it laughingly taunts the viewer, male and female alike, with their own inevitable futures, asking,

“Are we not all destined to end up the same shape, thick around the middle?”

The vase is insouciant, indifferent to our superficial worries, and yet a closer inspection reveals the myriad tiny fractures in its facade. Every individual is fragile, it suggests. Perhaps each of us is merely a collection of cracks waiting to crumble?

In stark contrast, our next piece rejects the nuanced humanism of the previous one. “I am stone, and I dare to hold fire!” it shouts to the heavens. At first we are intimidated by its heft, its ambition. “I could throw this, but not very far,” we think to ourselves. And yet, much like Prometheus giving fire to mankind, this lamp reaches out, seeking a connection, reminding us that man, like concrete, was formed from the dust, and that the fire of life burns in each of us.

But does this small box ultimately hold the fire of civilization, or the fire of judgement? For its gilt footing hearkens to Revelations: And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace.

This furnace gives nothing away, leaving us unsettled. We are used to judging art, but this judges us, a tiny, dense, deity of gold and stone.

Our final piece, “Querencia,” makes the viewer a silent voyeur, frozen in time along with this moment. Who are these two women, and why does there seem to be no interaction between them? Our first impression is one of distance, and isolation even in togetherness. Just as the tiny pieces of paper that make up this image mirror the millions of grains of sand on the beach, do they also echo humanity? The grains are together, but always shifting, perhaps never connected in any meaningful way.

But then we notice the tilt of the bodies, and the relaxed posture of the shoulders. Instead of tension, we realize, there is comfort here. This is not an awkward silence, but a companionable one. Even as each woman is immersed in her own thoughts the two of them unconsciously lean together, survivors on the blanket that stretches like a liferaft on an uncertain ocean. We sense that although dark clouds gather on the horizon, these two are not alone. The bonds that connect them are almost visible, flushed out by hundreds of tiny pieces of memory and shared moments such as this one, perfect moment. The bits of paper in the mosaic are not shifting and random, they are carefully placed, glued together by history, and meaning, and love. The silent voyeur feels a pang of longing to have a relationship like this one, as deep as the sea. 

“Querencia,” meaning a place from which one draws strength, where one feels at home. What a gift it is, to be these women, forged together, come what may.