The trees are shedding leaves -- cutting their losses -- as the temperature falls and winter storms roll in. These skeletal trunks have a better chance of standing ground against the pileup of heavy snows. With fewer attachments, the burden of the world is easier to bear. Animals, too, pare down their lifestyles. They take to a simpler, stationary mode, conserving resources. It’s hibernation time and what better place to burrow than a small town in northern Vermont, where the local food shop is well supplied with this season’s maple sugar haul, the woodpile is high and the whiskey is stocked.
I am sitting in my studio in Johnson, looking out over the red mill-turned art space and the river. The morning sun is bright as spring water is cold and bathes the town in cool silver, rather than golden, light.
In thinking about the turning of the seasons, the main changeling that comes to mind is Persephone. An over-sheltered child, her mother Demeter, goddess of the harvest, kept her separate from the riffraff of Mt. Olympus. She spent much of her childhood alone, using earth’s topography as her playground. One day, while picking flowers on a hillside, the ground opened up in front of her and she was pulled down to Hell by the king of the underworld. Hades forced her to stay by his side and rule the dominion of the dead. Much to her surprise, the role suited her and she grew into a strong and confident queen. Old friends that visited her there were taken aback by her severity and serenity. But her mother was hysterical with grief and caused a devastating draught. This forced the hand of Zeus, Persephone’s father. He brought Persephone back up to the light. But before she left, Hades fed her a handful of pomegranate seeds. The fates had long ago decreed that anyone who ate or drank in the underworld was doomed to spend eternity there. Therefore, although the lands flourished when Persephone rose to greet them, they retracted again in the winter months (one for each seed) when she returned to claim her thrown in Hell.
Many of our life patterns are cyclical. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the process of making art works in the round. For me, the yin-yang of experiencing and recording keeps my gears turning. First, there is a period of living fully -- gathering new experiences and perspectives and sensations. Then, there is a period of digestion, reflection and, hopefully, birth. (Or the other way around because this is a chicken/egg type of thing.) This Vermont season is a time for patience and production. A lot of looking for reflections in blank surfaces – the iced-over river, notebook paper, white canvas.
My studio at the Vermont Studio Center where Jeff and Don are gearing up for the Halloween festivities.
I so enjoy your posts, Virginia. I want to talk to you sometime about your artist's retreats - wondering what it would be like to try it at OP.
ReplyDeleteI am enjoying your blog. I like the way of your expression. It is really beautiful. Hope to talk with you sometime during AiR here.
ReplyDeleteRui