Saturday, January 15, 2005

PHOTO ESSAY: Alice's House

The Proclamation from the Porch
























Along a narrow road tucked beside the inlets of Tomales Bay live Alice and Rob, longtime friends of my husband even before we married. Their daughter, too quickly grown and gone, now lives a life distant from cities back East.  A hidden driveway conceals the old house, set on a small hill overlooking an oyster farm.  Mostly I remember the skies, gray and muted with fog and cloud when we go out there.



 When we visited Alice’s house for the first time, I was enchanted with the interiors.  My love of assemblage, old houses, and poignant memories of my grandparents’ farmhouse all rose up to smite me with delight and wonder as I wandered through the rooms.

The house is  a functioning cocoon of beloved objects, some no doubt past the using, some awaiting the moment of need or want,  some required every day.
Artists I love came to mind: Joseph Cornell, Edward Kienholz, Michael C. McMillen, and my friend Kathi Flood, among others. Working with assemblage, they seem to ask:
How do we hold the past? Dear and close? Casually experienced and then disposed? Purged by forgetfulness? Struggling with recall, or plagued with it?

And the objects themselves: how they do command memory, how marvelous and bemusing a power we give them.
Do we discard, renovate, or cherish, making painful choices, acutely aware that once they’re gone, no recovery is possible.



 But those artists don’t actually live in the attics of memory they have created; Alice’s house is at once life and assemblage fused, a wonderland of exchange between utility and decoration.
Alice's daughter, Isis, studied very seriously as child and young woman.

 There’s a roughened starkness that shades and compresses the nostalgic quality: raw wood waiting for paint, wallpaper half stripped, plumbing renovations underway.  Changes complete when they will.

How I loved seeing all the layers of living, wondering about the objects’ history.  Why that bowl? That teacup?  Was that your grandmother’s portrait? And all the toys: some rest, their use completed, while others wait to resume play should a determined child appear, a Toy Story only privately told.
Oh, Alice, did you let anything go?  You stayed in one place and let the years of living accrue gently, each year’s acquisitions mulching the high ceilinged rooms. You are reluctant to edit the memories, I think





  Did you intend display at all?  Or is the loosely webbed order I sense only mine, imposed upon the objects chosen first by need and want, then configured and arranged to speak for themselves?





It’s a marvel, your memory garden of intimate possessions, sheltered by the dark old home, and nurtured richly by long keeping. 
How pleased I am that I was allowed to make these photographs and write about them. See you soon, Alice and Rob!

Monday, January 18, 1993

TRAVEL: Siena, Italy

Before John and I were married, we took a trip to Italy with his parents.  His sister, Katharine, who lives and works there, took us about to see the endless marvels.

The fog was sticky, wet, and pervasive that winter, and the damp cold was banked and radiated from the bounty of  stones.

 View from the tower below.



















The marvelous lavishly decorated cathedral of Siena, Duomo di Siena, now called Santa Maria Assunta.  Built between 1215 and 1263, in Tuscan Romanesque style with elements of French Gothic and Classical architecture, it was mostly designed by Giovanni Pisano. 




The upper façades were completed between 1360 and 1370. Below, the marvelous fresh sculptures of Pisano, truly remarkable for their embodiment and expression of later Renaissance aesthetics.

Friday, January 15, 1993

TRAVEL/PHOTO ESSAY: Assisi, Italy

Assisi, Italy, January 1993
Deep fogs frequent the valleys of Tuscany and Umbria in the winter, making a spiritual search metaphor out of enduring such weather.  They are cloyingly damp and cold, and malinger for days - one hopes that a second journey to Italy in Spring or early summer will come to pass one year, to align the self with the warmth and felicity one seeks in the Italian countryside.

St. Francis’ Sermon to the Birds

My sisters the birds, you are much obliged to God your creator, and always and in every place you ought to praise him, because he has given you liberty to fly wherever you will and has clothed you with twofold and threefold raiment. Moreover, he preserved your seed in Noah's ark that your race might not be destroyed. Again, you are obliged to him for the element of air which he has appointed for you. Furthermore, you sow not neither do you reap, yet God feeds you and gives you rivers and fountains from which to drink. He gives you mountains and valleys for your refuge, and high trees in which to build your nests. And, since you know neither how to sew nor to spin, God clothes you and your little ones; so clearly your Creator loves you, seeing that he gives you so many benefits. Guard yourselves, therefore, you sisters the birds, from the sin of ingratitude, and be ever mindful to give praise to God.
Assisi’s road crawls round the mountain it’s built on.

Church of St. Francis -as I recall, St. Francis’ body was displayed in a glass casket and looked quite mummified.  A bit grisly.  As a Catholic child, this aspect of venerating exsanguinated, tortured bodies was incomprehensible, thus I thought it normal. As an adult, I’ve had a ghastly backfire - blood, guts, suffering, cruxifixion, all seem very deeply abnormal, psychologically unhealthy, and fetishistic, sadistic and also masochistic.





St. Francis’ Sermon to the Birds

My sisters the birds, you are much obliged to God your creator, and always and in every place you ought to praise him, because he has given you liberty to fly wherever you will and has clothed you with twofold and threefold raiment. Moreover, he preserved your seed in Noah's ark that your race might not be destroyed. Again, you are obliged to him for the element of air which he has appointed for you. Furthermore, you sow not neither do you reap, yet God feeds you and gives you rivers and fountains from which to drink. He gives you mountains and valleys for your refuge, and high trees in which to build your nests. And, since you know neither how to sew nor to spin, God clothes you and your little ones; so clearly your Creator loves you, seeing that he gives you so many benefits. Guard yourselves, therefore, you sisters the birds, from the sin of ingratitude, and be ever mindful to give praise to God.
Legend-of-St-Francis-of-Assisi-and-the-Wolf
One of the most charming stories - St. Francis intervenes for the town of Gubbio, threatened by a hungry wolf - the wolf stands down.  Dr. Doolittle is surely the secular version of St. Francis, yes?

How I loved my holy cards when I was a child - the soft, sentimental, Hummel German kitsch style was a child’s aesthetic of  stuffed animal sweetness and cuddles - they also remind me of Murillo, the Spanish painter.


Saint Francis'  Canticle to the Sun

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord,
All praise is Yours, all glory, all honour and all blessings.
To you alone, Most High, do they belong, and no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.

Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun, Who is the day through which You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour, Of You Most High, he bears the likeness.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars. In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
And fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

Praised be You my Lord through Sister Water,
So useful, humble, precious and pure.

Praised be You my Lord through Brother Fire, through whom You light the night,
and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You my Lord through our Sister,
Mother Earth who sustains and governs us, producing varied fruits with coloured flowers and herbs.
Praise be You my Lord through those who grant pardon
for love of You and bear sickness and trial.
Blessed are those who endure in peace,
By You Most High, they will be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord through Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape.
Blessed are they She finds doing Your Will, for no second death shall they ever know.  
Praise to you O Lord, we give thanks for this our earthly life in time, and for life eternal to come.  
Amen.


Wednesday, January 13, 1993

TRAVEL: Italian Hill Towns

San Gimignano




Pienza
Pienza Façade
























Montereggione


























Montepulciano




View from Villa Giorgoli