A supply run turned into a side trip to the Crocker Art Museum.
It's a great space to reflect in, I imagine its what a library must feel to a writer... permission, talent, and potentiality all set out like a buffet on a table in one manicured space.
I hadn't talked with Jess much about why I wanted to go, (who needs a reason to go the the museum anyway?), but I've had conversations running through my head regarding Art vs Craft. One of the bigger thoughts swimming around in my head is,
"Is there any real difference between Art and Craft?... and if there is, what exactly is the difference?"
I wanted to set myself back down in front of a few specific pieces in their Pasific Island collection and start thinking this through. The work has haunted me since my last two visits. Sitting in front of the works, I keep looking for the story thread in the beautiful nonsense of pattern and artcitecture of the objects. Neither of which relates to the world I live in and that alone seems to elevate the work into a category labeled "mythic".
Is it Art? Does it speak to my soul? Does it have meaning? Does it change my perspective?
I can't answer the first question, but for me at least, I did find myself sitting and thinking about much more than the carven shield on the wall in front of me, so my answer to the rest of the questions is "yes".
Is it Art?... That's always the question... Painting, wooden mask... shrug
The Crocker had a new exhibit up of Quilts up too. This was what i needed to see.
In my house, quilts carry a lot of meaning.
My mother is a quilter.
Not one of those "I'm going to make a quilt this year" kind of quilters, but one of those obsessives that makes a few amazingly detailed, beautiful, complex works every year.
With the hundreds if hours that's poured into each one, what does she do with them? She gives them away to her Loved ones, friends, family, new babies... She shares her gift of time attention and talent not to make a profit but to serve the life with beauty.
Is it Art?
I still don't know...
They definitely speak to me, but maybe it's how it speaks to me is the difference.
Art speaks as a oracle, a shaman, a saint, a revolutionary, an intellectual, and often a train-wreck, but of late, the Art world seems to disqualify those that speak to us as Mother, or Laborer, or Uncle Bob.
We Cherish the quilt... We Value the Art.
Maybe it's "too common" to be extraordinary.
Maybe it's too comfortable to be anything more than "decorative".
I do know that the potential that we all live with each and everyday is boundless and what we need, more than anything, is permission to sing.