These past weeks have been a whirlwind (dust devil?) of visiting children in far places, camping out of cell range, and numerous day-long sojourns to the city, etc etc. In between I’ve been tentative in my approach to the 3000+ photos from the road trip, still processing mentally before processing digitally. But in the past weeks I’ve chosen about 200 images to live and work with; and I’ve begun to print them out.
We are opening the school year with a faculty show, so I’m choosing 20 images to print, frame and install in a grid as a sort of sketch for the organization of this body of work. The artist statement will be more questions than answers; it should describe some of the things I’ve been thinking about throughout this process. For now the 13 images of former homes will be left out of the equation. I have more houses to shoot and I think I want to create encaustic pieces for those. I’ve ordered the equipment and I’m working on setting up a work space for that.
If anybody would like to help me sort through and decide what to hang next week please contact me! I would love the input.
I hope all of you are well and happy and that your summer has been a good one.
So we arrived at our lodging for the night. No microwave, but a big fridge, an oven and a stove. And in a separate room! There was also a large room with a flatscreen TV and lots of nice furniture. An office space! And a separate bedroom! And a large empty bedroom! And look – pictures of our kids on the wall –
The last day Tony had the idea to stop in Bethel, the site of the Woodstock Festival in 1969. We didn’t realize that Yazger’s Farm had a new owner and on its site is a music venue and a wonderful museum dedicated to the decade of the 1960’s. We spent a few hours exploring the museum and gazing at the field where the festival took place. It brought back memories for Tony, who was there, and, for me it put into perspective much of our history, as a country, and for me and my family. It was such a dynamic and tumultuous, divisive and revolutionary time for all of us. Walking through the museum answered some questions and put to rest some of the ancient angst of my youth. It was the perfect bow with which to tie up this nostalgic trip through the memories of my childhood.
We continued on down Route 17 to 6, to the Bear Mountain Bridge, and home. The apartment looked strangely familiar, and it took a few days to begin to ease back into life at home. Even writing that, though, makes me continue to question the meaning of the word, and I’ll be thinking about that a lot as I begin to sift through the photographs and make sense of it all.