In large British schools, children
are afraid. They are afraid of missing class, they are afraid of being
told off, afraid of punishment, afraid of their teachers. They're
afraid of failing exams, afraid of being cast as failures, and of not
succeeding in a competitive atmosphere. They are undermined and
underestimated. They're never given a chance to flourish and be
themselves. (Ibid., p. 152)
In this class, though nervous with the unfamiliar, my fear is
softened to permit exploration. So my art can be rudimentary. It is how
I am learning a lot about what the medium does - trying new techniques
(such as transference and the use of tar gel) and stretching the very
edges of very heavy gel in my interest to create height and texture in
my work. I like the tactile, and I'm learning what captivates my heart
and attention.
In particular, I am drawn to the invisible pulls I feel toward Chora - what a landscape might be offering to teach me or tell me. I live "on the hill" because of Chora,
I felt called to this place. So my work is also about those aspects of
life that have a connection between my inner and outer worlds through
this kind of link: memorable moments; the cat I felt moved to adopt;
the homes I have found from the quiet sense of direction leading me
into the unknown; the academic studies and employment I have pursued...
following the ethereal guide when I have not known how to guide myself.
Of late, it has been disconcerting not to feel a pull towards something
other than my present, but I find comfort in Steven Nachmonovich's
words, "It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come
to our real work and that when we no longer know which way to go we
have begun our real journey." (Free Play, p. 82)
A blank canvas, whether black or white, invites me to this place: "The
wildness of nature in the forests and on the plains is the same
wildness we feel when a strong desire comes upon us and throws our
hard-won living arrangements into question or threatens the moral
principles that have remained fixed for many years. We could develop
our interior selves and our personal lives with care for the wilderness
in them, even as we do with the outer world around us. ...If we could
really love the place where we were born and the place where we live,
and let its history, geography, and genius [spirit] enter our lives and
affect them in every aspect, then we might not be so fearful... and
more positively, we might find the security we need in the ground under
our feet." (Particularity of Place, pp. 150-152)
© Dianne Pratt 2004
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