Curiosities Big and Small

I can so identify with a concept described by Chris Middleton and Luke Herriott in Instant Graphics:

"Many designers and illustrators are explorers and archivists of their immediate environments, scouring the city streets, parks, river banks, gardens, markets, and even their own studios, for objects, textures, and source material that they can sacn in and use in their palettes, or incorporate into freehand collages and assemblies of objects.

Whether or not they use digital techniques to manipulate such raw materials and create their final designs, many designers inevitably find themselves becoming collectors and/or curators of certain types of imagery or objects - insects, sports cards, magazine clippings, old catalogs, engravings, or prints. Some develop a fascination with a specific type of image or object - perhaps from an accidental find - and set about actively researching and building collections of them, which, in turn, begin to influence their subsequent work."

It seems that most of my artist friends collect curious objects.  Not just graphic artists and illustrators, and I would be surprised by a painter who didn't keep a camera nearby to snap an inspiration.  It reminds me of a time my brother-in-law came to my house at Christmas and asked where I find all the unusual things he saw there.  All over the place, I responded.  Nothing looked unusual to me, but I know what he meant.  Compared to the traditional decoration my sister favors, I suppose my artist's abode does look unusual to him.

Which leads me to the best excuse I have for not getting my "stuff" under control.  Creative inspiration.  A sunburst garden ornament lies on the rug in the sunroom awaiting painting; antique books for reference lie on the floor next to my computer; rocks, leaves and bird feathers are scattered about the house; sexy, inspirational cards sit on my table; a scarf hangs from a wall light; a dried rose given to me by a lover long ago resides in a pen case; turquise sunglasses, my Scottish rock, my nephew's favorite rock and an armillary adorn a table in my office.  During the season of Pentecost rose petals danced across my porch, and last summer little blue pellets - lacecap hydrangea droppings - filled little bowls around the house.  A piece of wood that looked like a gun or something of that nature hung out in the sunroom all last year, and robin egg shells are housed with music boxes, old letters and other curiosities in a curio cabinet.  I could go on, but you get the picture.

If I had given in to my mother's influence, I would have a neurotically organized, if not bland, house.  I would scrub and control it and all that enter therein.  Honoring cleanliness and order over flair, I would look for ways to express myself through controlling my environment.  I would paint dull brown paintings.

I make no more excuses.  While the eye delights in color, shape and texture, collections of curious objects are more than visual delights.  They often serve as objects to study in order to produce.  Most people don't know this, but the production of art is frequently a highly intellectual process.  A subject is studied, turned inside and out, pondered until the "problem" is solved.  Chu-chink.  It comes together.  The work is produced; the idea is conveyed.  I believe that this is the main reason I prefer to produce graphic art.  It is more intensely symbolic, bearing more than technique, conveying an idea.  

With all these objects around, I used to think my life was a souvenir.  It isn't.  It's a work in progress filled with things done and left undone, curiosities big and small - just another artistic habitat for creative inspiration and a statement of rebellion against the dull brown painting.