Pushing the River

9 Aug 09

Last night was Anna's art opening at Four Barrel, and a fine night it was. Ada was a perfect ladybug, too entranced by all the people and din of the cafe to cry or fall asleep, gazing away at the paintings on the walls. The paintings looked gorgeous, given the big space they deserve by the long, whitewashed walls. Suzanne, the curator, arranged the paintings so that as you walk into the cafe the first works are the less focused, closer-cropped scenes of the River Series, and as your eye travels down the wall, the distant panoramas become less obscured (the Plain Series), so that the effect is as if you were far-sighted and your view corrects as you look out over the deepening landscape. I was really proud of Anna and her work, and secretly don't want any of the pieces to sell, as I couldn't stand losing one of them. Don't know how artists can handle selling off their babes.

So it was a great evening and good to see so many friends and folks of the art world crowding in. Looking around at all the people there who were doing their thing — artists Paul, Jeff, Victoria, Craig, Noah and Kris, writers Gravity and Rebecca, furniture maker Luke, handy-man extraordinaire Justinian, magazine editor Miki, Susanne herself — I had a grand feeling of camaraderie. All of them good people, talented and with taste, yet not a snob among them, hard-working and with particular visions for what they want to achieve in their mediums, and all of them, if not having "big" success, having the real success of carrying on with their art, despite the myriad oppositions that come at you from self or society or economics.

All of us carrying on, carrying the arts and crafts on our backs if only by caring dearly for the arts and crafts, each of us a part of a larger stream of artists doing the same; and we wash up at art shows and readings and openings and are amazed to see so many others we haven't seen for awhile, all the others who've been working hard and alone and sometimes forgetfully of the greater river we belong to. After a few glasses of wine it's like we've been holding our breath underwater we're so lightheaded with talk and giddiness and the passing ideas that seem all the more clever as the bottles empty, yet some of them stick, the ideas and the connections made, and especially the camaraderie, the knowledge that you're out there together in the artless world, persevering and pushing that river on.

Was a great night for Anna, though little Ada might have stolen the show. I told Anna if the Ertnoose (that's 'peanut' in Geman) costs us a sale it's going to come out of her college fund. If she gets one, that is. (I worked and paid my way through college and I'll be damned if . . . oh, right, I'm reminded by Anna, it's not the Depression Era anymore. . .)

Fortunately the wine lasted right up to closing. Afterwards everyone wanted to go for a drink, the usual gleeful extension of the night.

"Get a drink?" I said to Jeff as I collected the baby bag. "I'll be lucky to get home and get some sleep."

"Right," he said, and trotted off with Rebecca of the Short Shorts on his arm.