serendipity

more from the prairie

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Afternoon on a Hill"

A few more flowers to share.  The Texas Blue Bonnet was inspired by the work of Dalene Kelly who has written several books on the subject.  I find since I began this series, I am more attuned to the structure of flowers in a way I was not even while taking botany classes.  I have a small prairie patch in my backyard, but I always took the flowers for granted.  Plant them properly, give them the conditions they prefer and flowers will come.  I oddly enough didn't think much about the structure of the blossoms themselves.  These days as leaves turn and drop to the ground, I examine them not just for their exquisite colors, but to also study their edges.  "How could I make this one" is the ever present question.

The above is purple trillium despite its bright red color.  It's also known as Stinking Benjamin.  How did wildflowers get such odd names?

This final flower is wild hyacinth, an prairie treat.

Photo Credit: Larry Sanders

a few more flowers

"Earth laughs in flowers."  -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Though the days are cooler, my garden is still a riot of color. The burning bush is a gorgeous red and the hostas are turning golden.  Sedum, black-eyed susans and phlox dot the landscape adding dashes of brick, lavender and yellow.  I sit from my office window amazed by the beauty.  

I don't know if I will ever be able to capture the exact richness of a flower unfolding under a bright sunny day, but I enjoy the attempt.

Photo Credit - Larry Sanders.

a glass prairie, the flowers

"To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower 

Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour."

-- William Blake

I've had A Glass Prairie photographed in its entirety.  Each flower and then a full collection.  My studio is small and provides little space for me to back up and reflect upon my work, so it is in the photographer's studio that I feel I am first introduced to it in its finished state.  As always, Larry Sanders does an amazing job capturing my work.  

The featured flowers are Wild Onion (a nod to Chicago's namesake), Solomon's Seal and Brown Eyed Susan.

rosie leventon and books

I love this installation.  It's my house.  A tower of books.  You probably know it.  The house with books in every room.  Books on the stairs.  Books piled on the kitchen counter.  I have books on nearly every genre.  I haven't read them all which is why I have so many.  I will get to them one day.  

A friend once told me he had over 6,000 titles in his collection, mostly on philosophy which makes sense given he teaches the subject.  But one day, I walked into the Mother Ship.  This antiquarian book dealer had over 50,000 books in his home!  I was in awe, especially with the section on fashion and textiles.  Since that day, my daughter has ceased complaining about my own stash.  I think she's afraid she'll jinx it and we will end up with just as many books in our humble abode.  

As a book contains a secret between it's covers, so do secrets lay behind the towering stone,brick steel, and glass facades of our city streets.  Rosie Leventon's sculpture "somewhere a door slammed...." explores this concept.  

As she writes:

References to archeology and ancient cultures run right through my work, also looking through and behind the surface.  I aim to provide a link between the present and contemporary life and the distant past.

Take a peek behind inside, beyond to surface. 

To learn more about Rosie Leventon's work, click here and here.

Fall 2010 Exhibition Schedule

Here's a copy of my spanking new newsletter!  Ta da!  If you wish to subscribe, click here to register.  

my box!

"As picture teaches the colouring, so sculpture the anatomy of form." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

My first welded sculpture.  It's not pretty, but it floats.  Yeah, my little steel baby is welded well enough to float in water.  I want to dance a jig, but it's probably not a good idea when handling a 5400 degree torch.  

Welding is magic.  I started classes just two weeks ago and already I am mesmerized by the process.  I also love the fact that my 105 lb weakling self can manipulate something as strong as steel.

The desire to learn the process began when I entered a public art competition.  (My design partner and I didn't get the job, though we did make it to the finalists stage.)  Our project combined laser cut stainless steel, welding and mosaics.  We researched everything and knew who to contact to shop out the jobs we couldn't do.  

All summer I kept thinking about the welding part.  Surely I could learn to do it.  Right?!  Then a flood of ideas poured into my sketchbook,  I had to take a class.

My classes are at the Evanston Art Center.  If you haven't been there, check it out.  It's an old mansion on Lake Michigan next to a historic lighthouse.  Beautiful.  My class is in the conservatory, a lovely, late-Victorian confection of glass and steel.  A fitting place to learn, don't you think?

an artist manifesto?!

 

"An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one."

 -  Charles Horton Cooley

There is a great discussion regarding an artist manifesto occurring on LinkedIn started by Karen Atkinson of GYST.  It got me thinking of my own manifesto.  What I've learned over the years comes partly through the School of Hard Knocks as well as from reading, talking with others, and taking a few business classes.  I don't know if they are rights, but they are the basic terms of how I do business.

Contracts:  I expect a contract spelling out the terms between myself and the gallery owner, curator, magazine editor, education director, whomever.  These terms may include copyright, insurance, payment schedule, installation dates and requirements, collector discounts, etc.  If the other party doesn't have a contract available (unbelievable, but still happens), then I will submit one for their review.  I won't work with another party without a contract. 

Price:  I determine the wholesale price of my work.  The gallery does not.  I don't determine the retail price unless asked or when selling at an art fair.  When asked to give a retail price, I double my wholesale price which is the same price I sell my work at an art fair.  My wholesale prices may go up over time, including with older work, to reflect the advances in my career and increases in the cost of living.

Insurance:  I expect to receive a copy of the certificate of insurance from the gallery, library, museum, coffee shop etc. detailing to what extent my work is being covered.  If they don't have insurance coverage and I decide to proceed with the exhibition, I will provide them with a copy of my certificate of insurance.  If I am doing a temporary, site specific installation, and don't care about the end condition of my work, I spell this out in the contract.

Insurance Part 2:  I expect the gallery, museum, library, building owner etc. to cover general liability.  This point is becoming increasingly more important to me as I participate in more pop-up galleries in vacant store fronts.  If someone comes to view the work, trips and ends up in the emergency room, I don't want them coming to me for expense reimbursement.

Teaching:  I expect as a teaching artist to receive compensation commiserate with that of other teaching professionals.  I am not a babysitter.  I am an art educator sharing my experience as an artist with others.   I am also not the provider of materials.  I do my fair share of scrounging and bin diving, but if I must purchase new brushes for that outreach program as none are available, then I need to buy them and expect reimbursement.  Again, terms for this teaching arrangement are spelled out in the contract - including supply budget and the ownership of intellectual property (lesson plans).  

These are my highlights.  I appreciate receiving the name of the collector when my work is sold, but I don't expect the contact information.  This speaks to a point on professional integrity.  Too many artists get this information and then sell directly to the collectors, underpricing the galleries representing them.  This type of behavior makes it difficult for everyone and is the primary reason many galleries don't provide contact information, let alone the name of the collector.

I do donate work to certain charities.  Unfortunately, the amount we can deduct on our taxes is determined by the IRS.  I write yearly to my congressional representatives requesting that I receive the same donation tax write off as a collector and every year I receive a polite thank you note for my letter.  Until the system changes, I only donate to charities that give me half of the selling price or to those close to my heart. 

I would like to see a royalty compensation for the resale of my work if I still hold the copyright to it.   Why should a collector who bought an early piece of my work be able to turn around 20 years later and sell it for much more than they paid for it and I receive nothing in return?  They wouldn't necessarily receive a higher amount if I didn't work my tushy off to develop and expand my career.  

What is in your manifesto?  What do you consider an important right as an artist?  What is on your wish list?  

procrastination

"Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday."  --  Don Marquis

I've been cleaning.  Cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning.  The positive side to having had 4" of sewage backup into my basement is that I have no choice.  I can't procrastinate.  If I procrastinate, I have no office and no studio.  Cleaning isn't an option, especially as the contractor is finally here to work.   

You can only imagine the stuff I've accumulated over the years.  I still had floppies lurking in every corner of my office.  In my defense, the IRS required I hang onto them for seven years.  Okay, so I sold my yarn store 10 years ago.  I consider myself cautious.  Anyway, today I shipped them off to a recycling center in California that will erase the data and package them for reuse.  Who buys them?  I don't know, but at least these towers of plastic aren't in my house and won't end up in a landfill.  

Now I'm tackling the stack of unlabeled CD's.  I found one buried in the pile that Sam B, a former studio assistant, sent.

It shows the progress of my piece Femur, which is now part of the collection at the Jewish Health Foundation in Pittsburgh, PA. 

I'm not only labeling the unknown CD's, I'm organizing them in a file box.  Watch out Martha Stewart!  Lindsay is in a cleaning, sorting, tossing, donating kind of mood!

glass prairie at west chicago city museum

"Earth laughs in flowers."  --  Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Glass Prairie grows!  Those added include a yellow coneflower, a brown eyed susan, a wild hyacinth and a Texas blue bonnet.  I think of the installation as in its infancy.  I want it to evolve until an entire 8' x 8' space is filled with flowers.

Some wildflowers are escapees.  They aren't indigenous to North America, but were transplanted by European settlers.  The ubiquitous dandelion is one, and Queen Anne's lace is another.  Though you may find them when taking a walk through a prairie preserve, I hesitate to include them in my installation.

Wild bergamont (bee balm) is a gorgeous prairie flower that may be found in most parts of Illinois.  This photo was taken at Skokie River Nature Preserve off of Green Bay Road in Lake Forest, IL.

Much is made of the medicines to be found in the botanicals of the Amazon rain forest, but little is stated about those found on our front doorstep.  Bergamont is the natural source for Thymol, the antiseptic found in most mouth washes.  The Blackfoot used the plant to equally treat gingivitis, throat infections and minor wounds.

A Glass Prairie is on exhibit at the West Chicago City Museum until August 28.

thankful

"Stop runnin' 'round like a chicken with its head chopped off!"  -- Gammy

I can't tell you how many times I heard this admonishment from my grandmother.  It was one of her favorites.  Gammy had a knack for making everything seem effortless.  I, on the other hand, am the master of stressing out.  

This past week has forced me to reconsider my goals, aspirations, and approach to life in general. Heavy rains taxed Chicago's ancient sewer system causing backup in homes across the city.  Last Saturday I woke up to nearly 2 inches of sewage across half of my basement.  One room had to be fully gutted due to extensive mold growth.  Other walls simply look like swiss cheese with big slashes of wet, stinky drywall removed.  I'm lucky.  The insurance company didn't quibble.  The adjuster took a look, measured the damage and wrote a check on the spot. 

As I began cleaning, Gammy's words haunted me.  She's right.  When calamity hits, there is no point in letting it get to you.  I was overwhelmed by the sheer work involved in cleaning up such a mess and until the adjuster arrived, I was worried as to how I'd pay for the repairs, but basically, I stayed calm and just got on with it.  

The mess has also made me appreciate my own sense of caution.  I've carried some sort of home insurance policy since I was a teenager renting my first apartment.  As my work developed and sold, I added a marine policy to cover my art and equipment.  It seemed like overkill, especially during times of leaner finances, but I am so glad I kept on paying.  My marine policy will cover any and all damage to my art and equipment, as well as pay for me to rent a temporary studio given that I work out of my home.

I took a look at a few studios this week, but for now I'm staying put, working around the piles of this and that throughout the house.  I don't want to take the time to move during a period of heavy studio production as I prepare for the fall art fairs.  I now work in the dining room, living room, front porch and backyard - anywhere I can sit and feel a cool breeze.  For years I've desired a studio above ground with lots of natural light, but the mess in my basement has given me a renewed appreciation for what I have.  

I keep thinking of those dealing with the cleanup of the Gulf of Mexico or still recovering from Hurricane Katrina and know that my little mess is just that - little.  In the grand scheme of things, it's a blip of inconvenience.  Instead of fussing and stressing, I'm sitting back, knitting and watching the cucumber vine take over my yard.