When I was first out of college in the utterly shit job market that was 1983, I, oddly, vowed to never put anything but original art on my walls. I came to this conclusion with the help of my roommate at the time, an art major who worked at the local hospital in–most have one!–the art department. Colleen was vastly more informed and opinionated about art than I was. From her I learned why Fountain by Marcel Duchamp is considered revolutionary (she was unable to convince me it is great art), how artists don’t agree on the color wheel, and that, yes, Jackson Pollock actually had a plan when he splattered paint.
We lived in a fourth floor walk up with a long windowless entry hall. One night, after what I suspect was probably too much cheap white wine, we decided to decorate the passageway with our own original art. We took my old Monopoly game which was missing the thimble and several property cards and glued it to the wall, as if it were a game in play. So, as you walked into our apartment, at eye-level, you encountered first the tokens, then the cards splayed out about the board, the bank, and the board, game in progress, as you passed. It still bums me out we never took a photo of it!
After that, I began to buy art at local fairs as well as attempted to make my own, mostly collages. Once I had kids, I ventured into Puffy Paints and Sculpey. Over the years, I’ve probably made twenty works that hang on someone’s wall somewhere–I have two in my own home which I still like looking at even though they’re, let’s be honest, not so much.
Once I met Dr. Feelgood who is a gifted artist–our house is full of his work and that of our kids, all of whom are far more talented than am I–he and I began to collect art together. Our walls are covered with works from art fairs and friends, antique shops, and the places we’ve traveled. Sometimes, when he and I are bored, we play: “If the house were on fire and you could only take one work of art and it couldn’t be by anyone in our family, what would you take?” (Because my favorite pieces are those he and our kids made of course!)
Sometimes my answer is The Bucket. This is a work by an unknown artist we found in an antique store in Asheville, NC in the early 90s. We paid $75.00 for it, I think. It reminds me of a Wyeth. Other days I pick a large piece called Women’s Work which we saw in a garage in an junk store in Washington, DC and persuaded the owner to sell to us for a few hundred dollars. I never get tired of looking at it–the intricacies of the reflections amaze me. I also love Red Rocks by my friend Lori–art by good friends is the gift that never ends.
I love art almost as much as I love books and I feel so blessed to have so many works that give me such joy. I’m sure other people come to our house and think we’ve a bunch of junk on our walls but who cares? Not me.
How about you? Do you have art in your life that brings you great joy? If so why do you love it so? And if you were running out of your burning house and could only pick one piece, what would you take?