Simply by the title of his show alone — Perspective should be reversed — I think I have my memories in the right place. Staying with dear friends, we went to see the David Hockney collection at the Palm Springs Art Museum. I love his art. I always have, but being there, with them, is what remains in my heart’s permanent collection. Experiencing it together, rather than the art itself — my reverse perspective.
Passing this week, he fills the internet. He once said, “It’s the very process of looking at something that makes it beautiful.” And we did look. We looked at it together. We looked at it with eyes of France. With memories of Chicago. With collective music humming in our heads. With “remember when”s and “I can’t wait for”s swirling in our midst. And isn’t that what art is, what music is, what friendship is — all that color.
When I painted Margaux from her balcony in Marseille, I suppose I wanted to see what she saw. I wanted, want, her to see me, seeing her, seeing out there. I want her to know that it is indeed the very process of looking that makes it beautiful. It is. She is.
It’s all I have to bring today. These colors of friends and family. This thought that maybe if we experience this world together, it may be just a bit more beautiful. That’s my perspective.
“Sit up straight. And settle down.” These were very confusing directions for us, the six year olds of Mrs. Bergstrom’s first grade class. We breathed in. Slouched over. Looked around. Up. Down. Got the giggles. Giggles so loud that she repeated it again – “Sit up straight and settle down!” Snorts and hoots shot from our hand covered mouths. Giggles should never be contained.
Oh, but they tried. Tried to contain us. Keep your desk orderly. Sharpen your pencils. Eyes to the front. It was like this in every class. Even in gym class there were rules to be followed. But once a week, in the lower level of Washington Elementary, we were marched in, single file, and then set free! It was Mr. Opsahl’s art room. It was filled with color. Paper. Glue. Paint. Sticky things. Beautiful things. Possibilities. Here our imaginations were not only welcomed, but encouraged. Imagination – or mind giggles – burst into full color, like the NBC peacock!
It was a garden view classroom, meaning our heads were at street level. We could see the cars, sometimes the pedestrians. In all the other classrooms, I, we, looked out the window, in hopes of joining this outside world. But not in the art room. Here, I hoped people could see in, see into our magical world. See us making hand puppets, face masks, flower pots. I guess I knew, even then, how beautiful this world was. And I wanted everyone to feel it.
Some might say, well, it’s because you were (are) an artist…but it was more than that, more than art. It was freedom. It was joy. And what a glorious way to learn. One day, Mrs. Bergstrom took a break from the rules, and said we could experience our English lesson by using the hand puppets we made in art class. The hand puppets that were created from empty toilet paper rolls and papier-mâché. Fingers full of promise, behind a sheet of plywood with a stage cut window, we put on magical, nonsensical, plays and songs that contained the day’s vocabulary list. I fell a little more in love with art that day. A little more in love with words. And a little more in love with Mrs. Bergstrom. We expected this from Mr. Opsahl, this loosening of the reins, but with Mrs. Bergstrom, donned in her pencil skirt, and neatly bunned hair, this was something! Truly something!
If you can, do that for someone today. Loosen the reins, give the unexpected compliment, the unsolicited kindness. Be the giggle in someone else’s heart.
