As a visual artist, much of my work is on canvas but there are times when the paint cannot hold the words.
That is when with pen to paper, I begin to write, and words become images.
Nowhere but Time
From the front of the house, the cats break the silence of the cold-dark. They start to cry for their breakfast. Oh, it’s much too early. I try to find the alarm clock’s red halo numbers beyond the pile of covers I have hidden underneath until now. “What time is it? Did you set the clock back?” I whisper trying not to disturb the night. Did we gain or lose – I am always confused this time of year. In the dark, I ponder the meaning of time as the cats stay the course knowing its time to eat.
And really what is time on the clock anyway? Man’s way to follow the stars, record the seasons, noting the inevitable? Or is it a way to place a familiar face on the revolution around the sun. Oh, here we are again and there we go. Farmers don’t need to track time. They know when to harvest the crops. The heifer will tell them when it’s time to milk.
My husband calls my mother Monday evening “Hello mom. It’s time to set the clocks back.” he laughs. It’s their personal joke. You go to her vortex of a house, and it’s like Alice in Wonderland – every clock reads a different version of time. Some are slow; some are fast and some you wonder if they work when you’re not looking. My mom likes to avoid things, but time is not one of them. She is playing a game with father time. She relishes not having to be somewhere. I invite the feeling of nowhere during our visits. Like a farmer, we measure the sun if we want to know the time.
While we visit I make my husband take off his watch, put down the cell phone (until recently there was no cell service) and not worry about resetting the clocks, just yet. I settle into the vortex by taking a moment early in the morning before the cats start in. Listening to the big clock in the kitchen click clock. I measure time, but I don’t give it a name. – EHK
Objects Alive – Artist Statement
I believe that all things are spiritual. I am not speaking of the type of spirituality that one obtains through church or praying. I am speaking of the essence, an energy, a vibration that is left behind by those who have come before. This energy manifests and is expressed through objects. What might look like an ordinary object to some, to me, I see it’s spirit. I see vibrations of the objects past, its story and secrets. This spirit leaves a mark that I sense when I am painting.
In the series “Objects Alive” each piece was selected for a the vibration the object animates. From an early 20th-century children’s chair to old china from the 1800s, I carefully chose the placement of each object and every color to enhance the objects presence. Enriching the character voice and story.
One of my favorite painting from the collection, “Objects Alive” is of a Hitchcock chair titled “Larch Avenue”. The chair itself is a 1950‘s spin on an early American classic spinal back, painted black with soft ornate gold stencil. It is set upon a vivid chartreuse green that adds energy. The contrast between the blue-black and the vibrant green pulls the viewer in for a closer look. The chair faces outward with an invitation to come and stay awhile. “I have a story to tell.”
The reason I have chosen these pieces for this series is because they all have stories to tell. The chair from “Larch Ave” has stood in my grandmother’s house for over fifty years. It supported my great aunt as she paid the bills. It was been there when my mother got married. It witnessed the births of all the grandchildren and deaths of my great grandfather and all his children. This chair has a history; it has a vibration. You can see the history from the well-loved, well-worn charter of the seat, the paint, the legs. This old chair has a story, and I am the narrator.
Essentially everyone would like to tell a story; to be remembered. We inherit items; then we pass them down to our children with their history. As we do this, we pass along an essence of ourselves. Ultimately this is why I create. To be remembered, to leave part of myself behind, a part of my spirit. -EHK