Blogless days drift by in summery bliss. I realize not all of my art, nor all of my thoughts, want to be in a blog. Days no longer bear much resemblance to those found in a predictable weekly pattern. Hot weather and long days stretch out into one long cheerful celebration of flowers and birds and frogs. A sense of deep peace arises from the ensuing cacophony.
Several nature weavings hang around either finished or awaiting finishing touches. But this latest one has me stumped. It's just plain white. Like a blank slate, flat, like a page, like an empty canvas. A part of me wants to call it finished just like this. Anything could happen. Plain white invites absolutely anything.
It's like my reluctance to portray any particular person or being: already everyone else is excluded. Now you can only be in it if it looks like you. Or, not-you. But if I leave the scene empty of us critters, somehow now anyone can be in it. A blank page of weaving canvas just takes this the next step. Now, you can think any thought, see any thing, anything at all.
Actually, the canvas is not completely blank. It has sort of squares of different whitish wools woven together. As I write this, Sara the artist calls and tells me of the magic of the blank page. You can always just look and look at it she says, until you see what is there. You always do. It is different for each person what they see, of course. I see a village in the hot desert sun full of white adobe houses. Or a board game with nothing on it.
But I wonder, why not leave it blank like that? For anyone to see whatever is there for them? Because, she says, when you make what you see, an energy, a transmission, a blessing goes with it, and is received by people who see it, even if they do not realize it. And also, she points out, people are each going to see your thing in their own way too. Anyway.
But, though persuaded, I am still not convinced. Does the world really need more objects? Particularly objects representing other objects representing thoughts?
On the other hand, I do not see a world filled with empty plinths and blank canvases. Rather it is a free for all mishmash of colorful alurements aimed at selling something mostly, seems like. Perhaps I might make a more peaceful contribution by leaving my weaving blank. Or, to take this a little back more even, not do any art at all. I am reaching out into deep peace now.
