Souvenirs

You can see from my previous post that I was truly inspired with the beauty of the Pacific Northwest as I spent last week on Whidbey Island in Washington State. My trip was made possible by the generosity of my artist friends, Jane and Chad, and my partner, Leigh, who so sweetly and willingly stayed home to take care of the farm and critters and to work while I ran off on holiday. Now, some of you may say that wasn't quite fair, depending on the kindness of friends and spouse to make my vacation possible. But honestly now, could you refuse? Or would you, like I did, consider it your responsibility to bring something back, not just for them, but for everyone you know? Would you honor the artist's duty to SHARE your trip with as many people as possible?

I take that responsibility seriously. The second day I'm away on a trip almost anywhere, I find a place to buy post cards. Even though the price of a stamp has seriously risen since I first started sending post cards at ten, it is still one of the most cost-conscious ways I know of sharing your journey with friends and family. I think I sent fifteen post cards from Washington, writing a bit every morning, and posting it on my way out to daily adventures. Pictures of whales, Douglas firs, prairie and farm land, sailboats, and eagles flew all over the country and made someone look and remember a trip, an adventure, or an animal they once saw that stayed with them; that meant something to them.

Jane painted two watercolors while we were there, and sketched and photographed endlessly. Chad taught a felting and fabric arts class, inspiring 13 women to take themselves and their art seriously while having a hilarious time doing it. There's no telling what piece Chad will create with the rocks and inspiration she brought home from her trip. I recorded our journey in my journal and penned a poem that tried to speak to the beauty of women friends traveling together and making the most of their time away. We all brought home memories in a physical form, something to be shared with those who could not go this time, and those who may never be able to go. This is our responsibility as artists and creative individuals.

What? Responsibilities for the free-spirited artist? Art is not simply a way to make a name for ourselves, or just a job, or even an adventure. Of course, it can be all those and so much more. But there is a higher calling to us as creative individuals. The Earth and her beauty have been severely damaged by humanity. We owe it to our blue-green planet and to future generations to share what beauty we find out there with each other and with those who have forgotten how to care. After all, if we use the fossil fuel to fly somewhere, shouldn't we give something back, a sort of carbon/art trade? To me, it feels not only like the least I can do, but like I might actually make a difference even if I never know how or where.

Allow your inspiration to be your next souvenir. Share it with a friend or neighbor or even a stranger. Paint a picture, write a poem, dye some wool, invent a tune, write a letter, post a blog. Do what comes naturally to you, but do it. To quote ole John Denver, "I know I'd be a poorer man if I never saw an eagle fly." That one line sang in my soul every time I saw an eagle lift its wings on Whidbey Island. Because John took the time to write about his "Rocky Mountain High", put it to music, sing, and record it. I thank him for that souvenir. Next trip, bring home one of your own to share.

Busman’s Holiday

Busman’s Holiday
(for the artists of the Pacific Northwest Art Center)

When artists get together to travel
every day is a busman’s holiday
replete with materials and tools of the trade.
Everything they touch taste smell see hear
is a subject they must cover with paint and pen,
vibrant with color and texture,
complex with metaphorical expression,
drenched in light.

The eagle must be photographed, collaged,
praised in words that lift the language
above the common waters of casual conversation,
striving to attain the heights of feathered flight.

The feltmaker, the poet, the painter,
determined to re-create the great state of Washington,
mix it up with watercolors, words and dyes.
They want something it takes two hands to hold
to take back to their friends; a pirate’s booty
in rubies of fresh-picked raspberries,
jewels of polished cherries glinting in a noonday sun.

Always, always they must give some away.
This is their tithe, their ten per cent of Whidbey bounty.
Taste the tart sweet of her fresh fruits.
See the damp, gray fog sifting green through Douglas firs.
Smell the salt clam chowder of the Sound.
Hear the lonely chime of a swaying buoy.
Feel this rock, so smooth and so round.
They won’t go home empty-handed, no!

Artists do their best work when they play.
For us, LIFE is a busman’s holiday.

—Mendy Knott