Our local art museum, The Nelson-Atkins, is hosting a George Ault exhibit, complete with WWII era paintings like this:
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| Bright Light at Russel's Corners, 1946 |
And this one:
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| January Full Moon, 1941 |
The gallery's promotional materials included that second painting on the cover, and though I don't make it to the visiting exhibits as often as I'd like, something about that painting compelled me to go.
The peace. Solitude. Fresh bracing air.
Apparently, Ault was stylizing a world of order and calm to contrast the uncertain turbulence of the age. He created an idealized, almost eerie, peace.
Just looking at these Ault creations, I can hear the quiet. A part of my soul relaxes, loosens its white-knuckled grip. I crave that peace, however idealized it may be.
Accompanying the Ault paintings, were works by several of his contemporaries. One artist, Charles Sheeler, was described as a "poet of empty places."
That's it! That's what I love about these paintings, the poetic expression of empty space. And that's what I'm looking for. Empty space. Room to be and to breathe.
This is perhaps why I've become a big Andrew Wyeth fan these past few years. I love the spareness and simplicity of his paintings.
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| Long Limb |
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| Fence Line, 1976 |
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| Turkey Pond, 1944 |
Even his face was exquisite:
| Andrew Wyeth, 1917-2009 |
Amidst all the clutter and obligations and hurry of my life, I look at Wyeth's work and feel the capacity, the poetry, of empty space.
Surprisingly, I feel a similar poetic feeling as I drive the middle school carpool -- a van-load of chatty, energetic teenagers-- home each day. The route home takes me through broad stretches of countryside. Soybean fields. Cow pastures. Sod farms.
To most, the "beauty" would be easy to overlook. It's scenic, but not that scenic, even for our area. It's just ordinary countryside, with houses and fields and roads where people carry out their everyday lives.
But despite the loquacious exuberance filling my van while I drive (perhaps even because of it), I can savor the space. I can hear the poetry. And my soul drinks deeply and breathes.
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One of my favorite albums this past year has been Brandon Flowers' "Flamingo." It's on my list of top ten all-time favorite albums. My favorite song on the album, "Playing with Fire," brings to mind country drives and Andrew Wyeth paintings. In some inexplicable own way, it's a poem of empty spaces for me.
(I suppose I should find it humorous rather than frustrating that this blog placed big empty spaces between the pictures. I did not intend for those big blanks to be there and I cannot seem to correct them. Oh the irony!)
Okay...shut the Front door. I started reading your post and LITERALLY thought to myself, "Oooh, if she likes that, I wonder if she has heard of the Wyeths" (yes there is more than just one (though Andy may be the greatest; you should do a Google images search for both N.C. and Jamie as well (Jamie has some of my favorite images of all time (often featuring rotting pumpkins or jack-o-lanterns, which are quite fitting for this time of year)))) Yeah, you are right. I just successfully executed a rare quadruple parenthetical. It's okay to be impressed.
ReplyDeleteThis was a great post. I hope it is a harbinger of posts to come!
"Room to be and to breathe." Love it all. Space. Listening to the music as I comment. Is that evidence of a lack of space in my own life? Hey, now I want to go see the exhibit.
ReplyDeleteJust saw the song is over seven minutes. . . so space to just listen b/c I won't be commenting that long. So thanks for the space.
One more thing though, love the wrinkles. They tell such a story. I've got space for that.