One of the first things we did to make the new space ours, was to put out a rug that I have had through two prior homes. Consistent with my lengthy decision making cycle, I had once hauled home a total of forty oriental rugs, a few at a time, only to return them for a few more. This tribal rug was not what I was originally looking for, but it demanded my attention because it conversed so well with my artwork. I have found that it anchors our home and adapts admirably to very different spaces. With that as our anchor, we were ready to surround it with artwork.
When we took the artwork down from our old home, the house felt less like ours. It helped us to separate from and emotionally let go of the house. By the same token, we needed to reverse the process by getting our artwork up on our new walls to claim them as our own. My husband and I have a few pieces of our own artwork up, but our home includes artwork from friends, and many artists who have become friends, often after we purchased their work. The artwork has special meaning because of that and a story often accompanies it.
With most of our belongings in our new home, we turned our attention to hanging our artwork. Now my husband is incredibly meticulous in how he does this. He finds the center line within the room and hangs everything else relative to it. It is a big production done with precision. Before he was hanging my artwork, I used to eyeball it and put a nail in the wall roughly in the vicinity of what I wanted. If it clearly didn’t work, I tried again. I didn’t know about such things as center lines. Now duly informed, I was prodding him to apply his expertise. I wouldn’t dare impose my technique on his pristine newly painted walls. I can feel him wincing just at the thought.
I was doubtful that we would be able to hang as much as we had in our prior home with its two levels and a stairway. And what was I going to be able to do in a round living room? Surprisingly, much more than I imagined. The floor to ceiling windows were separated by niches of wall, some large enough for fairly large artwork. We also had sculptural pieces which broke up the space, moving your eye to different levels around the room. I methodically measured the width of each wall and matched it to a spreadsheet of our artwork dimensions to consider what might fit where.
I have often observed how artwork has conversations between pieces. Moving disrupted some of the chatter, but new conversations developed. And sometimes I was able to retain a “conversational grouping.” With my wall unit gone, I had to figure out where to place artwork. We had some shelves and a fireplace mantel as well as those artwork niches between the windows.
When we select artwork, we are drawn to certain colors, forms and imagery, so it shouldn’t surprise me that those colors and forms echo throughout, amplifying each other. The bronze color that united three pieces appealed to me. The painting is Ophelia, by my husband. My eye moves from that face to a ceramic face that we purchased in my hometown in Illinois and then to the horse that I carried home in my luggage from Paris. The artwork echoes my journey through life, connecting my husband, my hometown and our travels.
Sometimes the artwork lends itself to whimsical gatherings. I was entertained by my encaustic by Jeanne Gockley of a woman and a cat, looking curiously at the Randy Cooper sculpture next to her. Below her the curve of a piece we got in Venice echoed the curve of her arm. I recalled walking into a gallery in San Francisco filled with a gathering of Cooper’s metal mesh sculptures, shadows cast upon the wall. When I returned home, I contacted them and splurged on the piece, a birthday present to myself.
Some new conversations developed between the glass and porcelain pieces I had collected over time and the woodcut over the fireplace. The large woodcut was created by a friend I had met at an arts workshop in San Miguel, Mexico many years ago. The piece had meaning for me because it captured an area that had felt quite mystical as I watched a series of Mexican women, each with a hand steadying a bundle atop her head, disappear into what seemed to be a mysterious vanishing point. My friend had created the image of place just for me.
The colors in the artwork are echoed in the collection on the mantel and the piece on the shelf to the left echoes the flowing arms of the cactus. Our friendship lasted for close to thirty years until her passing, but I still feel her presence through her artwork. The glass and ceramic pieces below it soon grew into a collection as I unearthed pieces that had been tucked away in our former home.
Below that mantel, ceramic pieces framed the fireplace. My husband and I had met years ago in a life drawing coop so nude figures are often elements in our art collection.
I soon realized that the tops of bookcases and cabinets provided additional real estate for artwork and art objects. I could prod them into conversation with each other. Art pieces join together to form a larger whole.
The possibilities continued to grow as I learned to think, well, creatively. A small carving of a monk from Spain blends into the background of a collage forming an entirely new image.
This part of moving, I enjoyed and it continues to give me pleasure. I am especially appreciating the new conversations that are occurring and enlivening our new home.
Stay tuned for Are We There Yet?