is from a poem by A.E. Housman:
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows.
What are those blue remembered hills?
What shires, what farms are those?
This is the land of lost content
I see it shining plain
Those happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
I chose the title because sometimes creating art, or trying to create art, seems like that.
It's there--you know it's there--just barely poking out of your subconscious, maybe, trying to break into your consciousness, but you can't quite get hold of it.
Or it's there, full blown, the whole idea, maybe even pictures, just running around in your brain, but you can't see how to get there, or maybe even where to start.
And every so often, of course, you do tap into it, you make something that satisfies you both artistically and technically--and there you are, for a moment, in those blue remembered hils, travelling those happy highways, but briefly, always briefly, until you think "what if I....?"
or go off in some new direction, or around in circles, or maybe back to go and then you can't start again because you know you can't possibly improve on, or maybe even equal, what you've just done.....and so it goes.
I am a word person, but also a tactile artist. I work almost exclusively in three dimensions, in media traditionally associated more with craft than with art---and sometimes what I do is more craft than art, but there are occasions when I think it crosses, or maybe even transcends, that boundary
I have trouble writng about my art, though anyone who knows me will tell you that I can be verbal to the point of overkill on most subjects.
I think that art should speak for itself.
Nonetheless, I am starting this blog to talk about it (and probably other topics) or maybe about how it happens.
I hope it will be interesting.