Influences
December 30, 2010
{Detail of “Rebus” by Robert Rauschenberg}
Although I do not remember the exact date, or where I was, I do remember how I felt when I found out Robert Rauschenberg died. I was stunned ~ not so much that he died, but that he died before I had a chance to meet him. After seeing an exhibit of his Combines at the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art about five years ago and experiencing the profound creative shift that resulted from that experience, I got it in my head that I would meet him. I knew he lived in Florida, and so assumed there would be a time when I would simply hop on a plane, take a taxi to his home, knock on his door, and have the opportunity to tell him he changed my life.
The closest I got to that was in New York City, when I visited the Guggenheim and stumbled upon a small exhibit of photographs of him soon after his death. In the space there was a huge bulletin board where visitors could write messages or thoughts about Rauschenberg. On a small piece of paper, I drew a picture of my Girl and a note telling him how grateful I was for his work, his vision, and his inspiration. Of course I couldn’t know for certain if he would receive that tiny morsel of gratitude on some kind of invisible wavelength, but I wrote it just the same, and still whisper a quiet thank you now and then, never wanting to take for granted all he gave to me and the world.
We have family staying with us, which includes three amazing kids, ages 7, 9, and 11. Our dining room has been transformed into an art studio, and each of us is in the process of creating a book. As each book has come to life, any time their creations have reminded me of another artist’s work, we head to the computer (or my bookshelf) and I show them the work of that artist. I admire the splattered colors in one book and show the kids a photo of Jackson Pollock working in his studio; a discussion of the elasticity of acrylic paints sends me upstairs to grab a book on Beatriz Milhazes, and at breakfast we pore over every page.
I can never resist the opportunity to pull out the book from Rauschenberg’s Combines exhibit, so it is sitting on our kitchen table as I type this, another one of the books I’ve brought down to share with my family. Over coffee this morning, before anyone else was awake and requesting Cookie Crisp and Eggo waffles, I went through half the book. While admiring the work that changed my life, I experienced a strange combination of awe and sadness. Awe over his work, his freedom, and his willingness to try just about anything, and sadness over the notion that I might never have the opportunity to go as far as I would like to with my art.
When I observed that feeling, part of me immediately wanted to shut off that valve, judging it as bad, thinking that if I dared to feel any sense of loss for what I might not be able to do with my work it would mean I was ungrateful for all the opportunities I have had ~ and continue to have ~ to be an artist and a writer.
But then I paused, and decided to sit still with it and open myself up to the possibility that there could be room for both feelings ~ that I can feel immensely grateful for everything I am able to do with my work and also sad for what simply isn’t possible right now (and perhaps never will be.) With a husband, a close-knit family, a home, a puppy, and all the details the accompany those blessings, there is only so much time for me to do my own work. (Although even if I lived a solitary life free of any obligations other than my own creative whims, time would still not be limitless.)
I think about this fairly often, because a lot of time I long for more time, and I always come to the same conclusion ~ that it is a gift to want so much from life, to know how much is possible, how much there is to do, and how many ways there are to create beauty and magic and joy. I might not have the time (or space) right now to build the magnificent constructions Rauschenberg inspires me to create, but I have inspired three amazing kids to create something they are proud of. I get to enjoy their company this week, and experience their incredible sense of humor, kindness, and life. So in my own quiet way, I can once again say thank you to Mr. Rauschenberg, for reminding me of the importance of creating whatever I can, and doing whatever is possible for me to do, because influence and inspiration have a way of traveling farther and wider than we ever imagine.
{Don’t forget ~ January is the Month of Give Aways! Every day a new Give Away, starting 1/1/11.}
hmmmm..so funny…i have had the exact same feelings about my art too. that i may not go where i want to go as an artist before i leave this earth! but i never thought about it being because of time…always thought of it as i don’t have the courage yet to go to those unknown places like Rauschenberg has because i sadly haven’t fully given up my need for perfection yet. you always seem so free in your art…interesting our perception of things and the truth!!
isn’t it interesting how he inspired you, now you’ve inspired others (myself included), and we inspire others, and eventually back around? i wonder who inspired Rauschenberg? you are wondrous.
isn’t it interesting how he inspired you, now you’ve inspired others (myself included), and we inspire others, and eventually back around? i wonder who inspired Rauschenberg? you are wondrous. art really is alive.
Longing never leads to much does it?…except that you always seem to come back to gratitude for what you have in this moment, which is a teaching I love you for again and again. It’s just your way.
It never fails that these thoughtful posts of yours cause my mind to go flying in so many different directions! (And that’s a good thing. You inspire me.)
I’d never heard of this artist before you shared about him here, but from the photo above, I can see his influence in your work. The layers, the colors, the inventiveness, the willingness to risk.
The way you described the shock of learning of his death, simply because it meant you would never get to meet him after all … it sounds similar to the shock and sadness waves I felt when I learned Chaim Potok had died. His novel My Name Is Asher Lev profoundly impacted and influenced me as a writer and creative person about 10 years ago. I was so sad that I could never write a real letter to him and have him receive it.
(Today, on the other hand, I write letters to people who have already died. I’ve decided their spirit still receives them, and besides, it helps me to write my thoughts to them.)
A lot of times lately, I get frustrated at the limits of time. I keep bumping up against that thought that there just isn’t enough time for everything I want or need to do. I find that it makes me even more insistent not to waste time doing things other than those things I know I need to do with my life. It kind of gives me a kick in the pants sometimes. : )
xoxo,
Christianne
PS: I love the way you gave yourself room to hold the gratitude with the sadness. You’re beautiful, Swirly Girl.
I always enjoy hearing who inspires artists. Thanks for sharing Rauschenberg. He is one of my influences as well. I have experienced that ‘profound creative shift’ when I viewed Joseph Cornell’s work for the first time. An almost knock down awe. I am always on the look out for women of equal measure (and most times more) such as Betye Saar or Hannah Hoch. I understand deeply how life’s obligations often stunt creative ambition. Yet I always try to look to these women who were working in these men’s shadows and feel that sense of gratitude for the opportunity I do have now that I may not have had just a few short generations ago. Believe me, this is not easy to keep in mind on those days I feel I have taken two steps back rather than two steps forward. My motto lately is “keep moving forward”. Thanks for reminding me about the amazing work of Rauschenberg. I am going to go take out my ‘combines’ book.
happy new year!
Tina
Dear Christine, Thanks for the tip about Rauschenberg. I was unfamiliar with his work. I googled him and there are interesting YouTube videos about his life and work. I am learning about his history through them. I love how the work of different artists influence other’s work. We are all in this together — growing as artists and developing our gifts. I have chosen the word “CELEBRATE” as my “one little word” for this year. I want to celebrate not only the big things this year — like my son’s upcoming wedding in June but also the daily “stuff” of life. I want to make each day in 2011 a celebration. . .to be present and aware of what each day holds and the blessings that it brings.
Hey, I’ll be going to Greece again this summer in mid-June to visit my aunt that lives there. If you would like me to bring one of your books to leave somewhere — probably in Athens — then please contact me at bkisrael@gmail.com. I don’t believe you’ve had any of your books taken to Greece before but I may be wrong. I would love to be one of your book fairies! I’ll take pictures and write all about it too! ;>D
By way of reminder. . .you sent me your “You Are Beautiful” painted card awhile back. The perfect phrase for that time in my life (engagement party for my son and his fiancee!). Thanks for your kindness and generous heart.
Warm regards,
Barbara
fuck limits.
you are the MOST unlimited person I know.
I worship you.
ps. Robert Rauschenberg saved me too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I got to the part where you were pulling the art books off your shelf to pore over with your little artists and I thought “I wish Swirly was my auntie!”. What a gift you are to them, and to all of us. xx