"A plow, they say, to plow the snow. They cannot mean to plant it, no-- unless in bitterness to mock at having cultivated rock." -Robert Frost

Wordless Wednesday

'The Nativity' by Lorenzo Monaco 1409

Snow Art

These images were posted on a blog from Seattle; they make me enjoy the snow a little more than I have lately.

My Expensive Taste

What I would buy at the latest Sotheby's auction if I were disgustingly wealthy.

'A Woman at a Fountain with a Rising Moon' by Ferdinand Knab $9,289

'A Wild Thing Procession' by Maurice Sendak $6,941

'Mrs.Dalloway' by Virginia Woolf $12,396

'Paradise Lost: a Poem in Ten Books' by John Milton $32,230

'Deguisement' by Virgilio Constantini $114,520

The Deified Artist

I am aware that this blog, though specifically art themed, rarely delves too deeply into art theory or true criticism. I suppose that is because I tend to think of this as a way to update friends and family about my life, though recently I have been rather lazy about that too. I never really think of anyone I don't know reading what I post let alone responding, but this week I began a heated discussion about one of my posts from June on a lecture I had gone to at Idyllwild Arts. I'm not going to post all the comments here because the exchange was lengthy, but if you would like to read it I encourage you to. What the discussion boils down to is that, in my recounting of the lecture, I painted a picture of a normal guy who happens to be an artist. The reaction of my respondent was that I am as Lois Lane, unable to see the Superman that Fred Tomaselli is. Well, forgive me, but my stance is that an artist IS entirely human; sometimes so much so that they can hardly function in society. Many artists have been mentally unbalanced, drug addicts, womanizers, physically handicapped, or socially handicapped. Others still have been perfectly normal, high functioning, philanthropic, stay at home moms, happy healthy functioning people. There is no singular formula to create an artist and there is no requirement that an artist has to be deranged to create something worthy, but as far as I know every last one of them was at least biologically human.

More specifically, it is a myth that an artist has to be a tortured genius to create something of significance. One of my favorite academic essays that debunks this myth is by historian Nanette Saloman, 'The Art Historical Canon: Sins of Omission.' In the essay she writes about one of the original art historians Giorgio Vasari, "the most important premise of Vasari's book is his assertion that great art is the expression of individual genius and can be explained only through biography. The stress on individuals' biographies...encapsulates those individuals and presents them as discrete from their social and political environments. The inherent and manipulative limitations of such a biographical system are clear. The most significant limitation is that, as a system, it at once ties the work of art to a notion of inaccessible genius and thereby effectively removes it from consideration as a real component in a process of social exchange that involves both production and consumption." Though Vasari wrote his book 'Lives of the Artists' during the Renaissance, this idea of the inaccessible artist continues to this day. Artists have been beheld as if floating above on a creative cloud beginning with the primary man Vasari held high, Michelangelo, and continuing through the artistic canon. Vasari's goal with his text was to elevate Florence as the epitome of cultural superiority, and his book certainly succeeded in that endeavor. It also began a legacy of dismissing the artist as a genius beyond comprehension of society. While I do agree with Vasari that knowing the biography of an artist is important to understanding their work, I agree because that places an individual in historical context. A work of art must be viewed in complete context to be fully understood, even if that means acknowledging that these men and women are not demigods. In fact, it is especially important to remember that they are not demigods. I see nothing wrong with admiring the work of an artist, or in being intrigued by their creative inspiration and the history surrounding their work. However, there is certainly something wrong with turning that person into something to worship.

Wordless Wednesday

One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just does not belong.

Snowy little mountain town? That seems normal.

Lovely flowing stream, with a dusting of white along the edges? No, that's pretty Idyllwild too.

Well hello there little desert plant, all snowy and cold.

The Snow

The first snow came to Idyllwild last night. The weather man had predicted it, and after a day of dark ominous sky, the rain drops turned to white flakes. I was in Hemet during the day and was crossing my fingers that the clouds would hold off 'till I got up the hill because I have yet to determine which box of chains in the garage is for my car, let alone put them in my trunk. It did snow last night though, and despite the cold I ventured into the quiet street to document the evening. The street light on the corner and the moon provided some interesting light effects.







He's been a San Diego car most of his life, but I'm proud of my little Honda's ability to handle the snow. Though the layer on the street wasn't too thick, Rico took to it like a champ.

To steal adjectives from Robert Frost, the weather has been damp, dark, and lovely all day today. There is something cathartic about a rainy day; the dust and grime are rinsed away from the world and the aroma of damp soil and pine trees fills the air. I have been working at the Quiet Creek Inn during my break from Astrocamp, and until today I have thought that the creek for which the inn is named was a little too quiet. Today I could actually hear rushing water behind the cabins as I folded linens and washed windows. The earth renewed, is really what I heard. Days like this remind me that when everything seems dingy, when I am tired of the struggle and nothing seems right, abundance does return. I may spend more time in the dingy, unsatisfying phase of my life than I would like to, but I have faith that things will change when they need to. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

This song makes no sense...

...but it's beautiful and it has been stuck in my head all day.