Honoring

I've been asked on a couple of occasions to write an article about an artist who has recently died. Although I didn't know these artists, I always interview those who did and try to find a kernel of their artistic life to pass along to the readers. The latest is in Go Triad today, a watercolor artist whose "day" job was that of a commercial artist in New York City.

Although I never met Carl, for my angle in the article, I conjured an image of a quiet studio on Saturday afternoons where he would paint, away from everything except for the memory of a beautiful locale. He did it just for him.

Relocation of My Little Desk

I am a water person. Never made any bones about it, from the days of my childhood spent in the pool overlooking Kure Beach to the way the black rocky ribbon of the Catawba River underneath the highway can make my eyes water in the space it takes to drive over it just after dusk on a deep August evening.

So it is only fitting that B. and I have packed up the little desk and our overabundance of grilling spice mixes and headed again for the coast. B. has always loved the beach, and although the bright sands of our beloved Florida are too far a drive from family, B. discovered I've fostered in him a love for the marsh and the way the grasses turn deep green after a long golden winter dragging the tides of brackish water between their reeds. It also seems that we didn't realize how much we missed the simple joy of driving past the skies reflected in marsh on a simple trip to the grocery store, a friend's house, or a workaday morning.

So here we are, relocated again, back to the coast where we can hear the tide reports on the evening news and smell the salt (along with pluff mud and depending on an unkind breeze, an occasional whiff of the paper mill) in our little spot on James Island, back to the island and the city that I love.

A Case for Cute

I knew I was going to like artists Joel and Ashley Selby before I met them -- they're aesthetic was evident from their website and artwork, and they were prompt with a sunny e-mail response. But I was never prepared for them to be such a (oh I hate to even say it...) cute couple!

How, you ask, could you use such a cliche? Well, I provide the following list as support for the use of such a well-worn phrase:

1. They live in a farmhouse, an 1851 farmhouse. I am a sucker for 19th century farmhouses.

2. They have chickens outside the farmhouse.

3. They are young, just out of college young.

4. They smile a lot.

5. They seem at ease wearing hats.

6. They love to bake bread and cookies and save scraps of good paper.

7. They use chalkboards as decor.

8. They love Flight of the Concords.

9. They understand the importance of good fonts and can discuss them at length while keeping you interested.

10. You just know they have only begun to stretch their artistic wings.

Read the Go Triad cover article, and find out more about their budding business and great eye for design. Also, there will be a few pics online supporting, if not condoning, my choice of words.

Welcome to Welcome, NC

It was raining. It always seems to be raining. I'd followed my little map to Welcome, N.C. to meet Richard Childress at his mega-motorsports facility, and I needed gas and to make sure I hadn't passed the turn (I am a woman -- it's easy to stop for directions).

I pulled into a one-pump station in downtown Welcome and inadvertently rang the full-service bell before getting out of the car. A man walked out, gray sweatshirt as armor against the blowing mist, and I apologized, saying I would pump it myself.

"You will not," he said with a smile as he opened the tank. "Oh, and (looking at the card in my hand) you're paying my credit. We usually only accept cash or check. But ... I can see you are not from around here." Check? Really? Who pays for gas by check? "We'll take care of it for you and run the card, although we usually don't like to."

Mind you, this was said without a hint of sarcasm or rushing. I stood beside the car, awkwardly, not used to having someone pump the gas. Cars drove by slowly, their tires hissing on the rain-soaked street. We walked inside where tires and Lance crackers were stacked, and I signed for the bill. I was bid a good day with a smile, and told to be careful out there, walking back out into the rain. Full-service hospitality, sincere and not sticky-sweet. The good stuff. The real thing.

Is is Professional if I ask for an Autograph??

You know those Saturday afternoons where you are supposed to be cleaning but where you end up perched on the couch watching a movie? Yes, you know, don't you? Well, that's how I saw Center Stage the first time (yes, I said first) in all of its girl-movie glory. It was like Cutting Edge or Ice Castles, or a little like Coyote Ugly, but with ballet, and I was hooked by the dancing, the melodrama, and the fact that the mean instructor was hot and rode a motorcycle.

My Saturday afternoon has come to life. I met the instructor, and yes, he does actually ride a motorcycle, although he's not mean and he didn't teach me any ballet moves (anyone who has ever witnessed me fall off a platform shoe or run into a wall in my own house knows that I am the vision of grace). For a Go Triad cover story, I got the chance to interview Ethan Stiefel, the actor and one of the best ballet dancers in the world who is now the dean of dance at the UNCSA.

Read my profile of him here and learn how he's changing the face of dance and pushing himself in the process. And for the record, no, I didn't get an autograph.

Thank you to all the artists out there

Artists inspire me. Yeah, you say, that's why they're artists, and isn't that what art is supposed to do? But think about it -- there is so much in life that saps our energy, makes us drudge through the day, uninspires us, as it were. And there are so many people out there that call themselves artists that to me aren't; they're just off-putting people into self-promotion and all that comes with being an (phonetic spelling) arteest.

I'm not discussing any of those people. I'm talking about the true worker bees out there, buzzing away in their respective mediums, producing stuff that makes us stop, look, and suddenly see something in a different way. Like the day, gray and wearing thin after a long 6 hours touring the sights of Nashville. When I walked into the Frist Center for Visual Arts, thinking more about sitting down than walking around. But then, there is was (and this was besides the exhibit featuring Man Ray), one of my favorite Georgia O'Keefe paintings. It wasn't the flowers or skulls or bold landscapes -- it was the side of an adobe wall with one little window and the clear blue sky beyond.

I'd never seen it in person, had forgotten that it had already stopped me before, somewhere in some book, but here is was, reminding me of bright afternoon sunlight on a back porch somewhere in New Mexico that I had never visited but returned to me like a memory strong enough to make my eyes water. And although that piece itself inspired me, yes, it was the idea that in that scene the artist had seen the worthiness, the place, the button to flip our perspective into a new angle.

I am a lucky woman. Part of my paying job is to visit artists, usually in their environment, and talk to them about what they do, what inspires them, where they see themselves headed next. Though not as famous as O'Keefe, here are a few to inspire you, should you need it. And I think we all do:

-- Marcus Amaker
-- Hilarie Lambert
-- Duy Huynh
-- Chad Luberger
-- Karen Hewitt Hagan
-- Ethan Stiefel

Shoe Shrines

In my journey to cover more visual arts, I have found yet another thing I must add to my budding art collection -- a shoe shrine!

A few people are doing shoe shrines: Melanie Hill Guion and blogging artistic types like Kay Cox, but by far the shrine I HAVE TO HAVE is a selection from Carol Cutshall, aka Shezilla (it's a rockabilly-punk-surf band thing from what I understand). Her Elvis shrine is featured at the top of this blog.

Shoe shrines call to the Mexican Santo shrine tradition, and honoring someone via mixed media is part of the form. In fact, shrines are inherently homemade, and Cutshall uses hers to celebrate famous musicians. Still, the idea of a shoe as frame is at once whimsical and genius.

I am on a mini-quest to track down Ms. Cutshall as I've found a gallery that carried some of her stuff but has lost touch with her.

Shoe shrines will invade Winston-Salem this weekend, as more than 100 have been created to honor Arts District mover and shaker Kelly Petersen. Article to follow on Thurs.!