Open Studios at Taylors Mill

On the morning of Wednesday, November 9, as I back my car into a parking space at Taylors Mill, I catch a glimpse of something green within the cavity of a hole punched into a concrete wall. The green, upon closer inspection, is a fern inhabiting a patch of earth in the cool underbelly of a walkway. Life sprouts in the most unexpected places.

What else is sprouting at Taylors Mill? On November 3, First Friday and Open Studios coincide; it's a perfect opportunity to get to know some of my neighbors. While I am not participating in either - the deadline for Open Studios was April and I did not move into the Mill until mid-July - I do enjoy partaking in the events. The weather is favorable, 13 Stripes Brewery is opening its doors for a peek at construction and a taste of their wares, Due South Coffee is rolling up its garage-size doors, and a food truck and cupcake vendor are on the premises. The vibe in the air is Millennial but inclusive.

Tonight my husband is joining me as we first ascend the stairwell leading to Shane Bryant's William Felton School of Craft. Shane and I go back a few years, as former co-workers, when his vision was to hone his craft in clay. Vision accomplished. But what surprises me tonight, in the rear of his massive studio/school, is a white wooden structure. The handcrafted vessel reveals Shane's more recent passions: boat building and sailing. Curious? Contact Shane with inquiries; I tend to stick to the shore.

Traversing across the parking lot to another portion of the Mill, climbing the concrete and steel stairs, and walking through a door marked "WRK GRP," we enter a space filled with a bevy of French-doored studios. Among the two dozen studios on the second floor are those of sculptor Allison Anne Brown and painter Nathan Bertling. Both are Open Studio artists. Classically trained, Nathan works in oil: landscapes and portraiture. There are a number of self-portraits in his space, each with a penetrating gaze as painter becomes painted. If you have ever attempted a self-portrait, you know it demands mustering an objectivity more easily accomplished painting others. I email Nathan following my visit: "The portraits are strong, dignified, and seem to encompass what I imagine to be the best of each of your portrait sitters." He also opens his studio for weekly sketching sessions; best to check his website for details.

As we again walk across the parking lot, I am oblivious to the fern underneath the walkway - the one awaiting our Wednesday morning encounter. Life sprouts in the most unexpected places.

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Birds

I'm strolling through the Greenville County Museum of Art on Thursday - determining which painting I'll use for October's "Sketching in the Galleries" - when I'm suddenly thunderstruck by bird carvings. Yes, bird carvings. It is as though the ubiquitous Audubon prints we encounter have sprung into holographic form. The craftsmanship and artistry of Grainger McCoy's sculptures are profoundly beautiful, and the cast shadows on the walls are almost as entrancing as the work itself.

Upstate New York-based artist Jason Tennant carves powerful bird sculptures that dominate gallery walls in simulated flight. In his own words, "These works are a celebration of nature's resilience to human stresses and are my interpretation of the essence of wildness." Tennant's carvings are not as lifelike and representational as McCoy's, but are stylized evocative reminders of the strength of these taken-for-granted creatures.

These creatures are not taken for granted by a former college art mentor, Phyllis Kloda, who in 2009 creates a body of ceramics and paintings from a moment of awareness about birds. Actually, their absence. At her art opening at the Genesee Center for the Arts and Education gallery in Rochester, NY, Kloda speaks of a morning peculiarly quiet; a morning without the usual outdoor symphony of birds. What if suddenly there were no more birds? That morning is her muse.

On Saturday I watch a PBS news segment on the Audubon Mural Project currently underway in Manhattan. A collaboration of the Audubon Society and The Gitler & ___ Gallery, the selected subject birds are those that face extinction. Specifically, climate-threatened or endangered according to an Audubon report: 314 in total. While the project's genesis is a synchronous event for the society and artists, the project enlightening, and the meeting of art and science to highlight an environmental topic is inspiring, I am still aghast at the number 314.

This concept of no-longer-being is brought to light in McCoy's exhibit as well. The Carolina parakeet once populated my state of residence, South Carolina, in the not so distant past. According to the sculptor's website, "Already rare by the mid 1880s, its last stand was in Florida, where, in 1920, a flock of 30 birds was the last ever seen of the only native parrot of the United States." The demands of millinery couture for their colorful feathers  was a dominant factor in the Carolina parakeet's demise. This historical fact renders me a bit queasy.

Recently I had a personal encounter with the bird kingdom, as I attempt to save a nestling in my backyard. A common response to my retelling of the story is, "Did the bird survive?" Wishing for a fairy-tale ending that I cannot honestly convey, I cite the natural selection process of an overcrowded nest. Two of the three nestlings fledged. The other I discover in the dirt not far from where I found the original - perhaps the very same bird that I rescued. But this encounter is beyond rescue. The nature of time claims the tiny bird's frailty, reducing it from feather and flesh to skeleton in a matter of weeks.

I am saddened by the plight that birds face due to humans' intrusive nature; in the same breath I am awed by the fierce beauty of birds and by the aesthetics of their artists. Which does not translate into the inclusion of these vertebrates in my own art. I am busy in the studio working with the iconic butterfly, with many of its species facing their own extinction. Perhaps by painting and sculpting birds and collaging butterflies, we are all hoping for a fairy-tale ending.

Artist Statement

Writing an artist statement, especially for a specific exhibit, can be daunting. How to distill, to crystallize the swirl of mental and emotional processes that materialize themselves into a work of art? Here is what I submitted for an upcoming exhibit in Rochester, NY. Two series traveled from South Carolina to New York, both on cradled wood but one series is 36x24 inches while the other is 22x10 inches. My goal is to keep it short and accessible.

"A native of Syracuse, NY, I resided in Rochester from 2004-2012, often working out of the Anderson Alley Artist Studios. Enamored of the Edo period of Japan, an Asian aesthetic is visible in much of my work, whether cradled wood collages or site-specific installations. 'Edo Influence' and 'Remnants' share their verticality, and their search for a sense of balance. A balance of space and activity, composition and detail, quietude and energy.
'Edo Influence' suspends colorful collage within neutral geometric planes and layers textural elements to create a Zen-like sense of balance. It is vertical; as a human, I am a vertical being. Each piece mirrors my personal search for balance: for private space amidst the noisy energies of daily life. 

'Remnants' embodies awe and grief, two emotions I feel upon discovering a lone butterfly wing. Awe for their strength and fragility, grief for an individual death as well as the disappearance of a number of their species. Exploring the butterfly as a recurring motif is now into its fourth decade for me. Here, angularity meets curvature; human invention intersects with organic nature."

In the midst of creating the "Remnants" series, images of migrants fleeing their native lands at great peril are filling the airwaves. The poignancy, the compassion I experience while working on the butterfly wings are emotions akin to what I feel for those trodding for miles on new lands. It helps to voice these thoughts with trusted friends, one of whom shares what she sees, what she "hears" - having seen only one "Remnants" image via email.

"If you look at how you have put together disparate elements to create something beautiful...I can see it as a metaphor where you could think about migration." She is referring to the stages of the butterfly and connecting it to the human migration currently in the news." She continues by posing this question: "While we are each in our own cocoons, are we open to a metamorphosis that incorporates an inclusion of disparateness? Where each element retains its individuality, but together contributes to the creation of something beautiful?"

What an eye-opening, socially and spiritually conscious connection my friend makes for me. Yes, there is an awe for the migrants' strength and fragility, and grief for the death of a drowned migrant child. There is also a sense of hope in the beauty of a butterfly wing.
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