On Indigenous People Day I see your art moving from right to left..evolving from tall grasses to an Indigenous person…well-grounded in/by Mother Nature.
Touching the ground
Unlike my wife the shoemaker, I don’t look look at feet, shoes, the ground of people….I look at the bodies, the amplitude, top heaviness, bottom protrudingness, concave and convex, the yearning to find a person in a pole, the imagining of skeleton beneath skin. The story embedded in our lives informs what we see: belly dancer number 2, aging sorrowful woman number three, timid short stepping walker #4, renunciator #5, sexy dancer $7, aging lower back sufferer #8. Each walks on the subdued muddy hue of their own stage. Each possessing the one movement only, that we see, frozen in the somberness of their frame, encasement, color, and motion. Touching the ground rendered irrelevant in the verticality of their isolation. And yet, standing away, at the other end of the gallery—we note the magnetism of #4, the drawing of eyes from left and from right to her worn wallpaper pink, to her skeletal tenacity as she just keeps walking,
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