Sagadahoc Story #66: 11/14/98

Susan and Richard's show came down last Sunday, and we can take possession of our new moon shrine. Or vice versa. We've moved THE KING and his pedestal into our front room "gallery" to make room for this bit of introspective magic. He looks great alongside Marilyn.

Richard is a papermaker. Susan's an installation artist (and photographer). The show, in an old meeting house in Wiscasset, was a dynamic mix of bright white textures and dark interior constructions. A perfect balance.

There are two kinds of artists in the boonies. Urbanites in exile, who see the world through sophisticated eyes, and take their work to market in the hubs -- and convivial provincials, who don't know any better, and share their work around home. These aren't exclusive categories, of course. Plenty of provincials would be delighted to make a splash in SoHo, or wherever the sizzle is. And the odd urbanite may acquire a taste for communal rustication. But, in general, the local's very lack of trendy sophistication tends to restrict his appeal uptown, and he's too far gone to do all the gallery stroking, while the sophisticate has his eye on the main chance and doesn't hang with the natives. Not that country artists don't know what's going on. They all safari to the burgs to get an eyeful. It IS a global village. But they can't seem to get charged up by the megalopolitan buzz. Those who do move away to where it's happening.

Those who stick it out in the willywags, and show here, all get entangled with one another. It gets a little incestuous. I've shown with Richard and hope to with Susan. We're all chasing individual stars out here in the darkness, but what's fascinating is how convergent our trajectories seem to be. The big communal installations I've been a part of, "Sacred Spaces" in the Union of Maine Visual Artists' Gallery, and the "Sanctuary" at the Maine Festival, saw dozens of local artists collaborating in what turned out to be remarkably cohesive expressions. If you saw either, you might laugh at that statement. On the surface they were a jangle of different media, but there was an underlying ethos running through the shows. It figures, of course: a bunch of artists dancing on the same turf will begin to resonate.

Can I tease out the common thread? Maybe. Susan and Richard's show reminded me of this regional ethos because their work seems close to the core of it. Richard thinks of papermaking as the archetypal Maine artform, and the idea of turning pulp into art does seem as downhome as it gets, on this plantation. Susan creates shrines and ritual objects out of found natural materials, twigs, grasses, feathers and the like, which touch on earth mysteries. Their work isn't confined to crafty arts, though. Susan photographs rock musicians for album covers (and native shamans for a book contract), and creates photographic tableaux on archetypal themes. Richard produces art books and large gallery sculptures. But there's something very down to earth about all their work. A rustic sensibility, perhaps.

The outside view of "Maine Art" is paintings of Monhegan (mostly by Summer People), and there's no denying the seductiveness of ocean light on granite, or the symbolism of lighthouses. But that's the outer Maine, the scenic cliche. I think the inner work that comes out of Maine winters tells the real story, in dialect. It has something to do with native materials. It's not couched in sophisticated technique or trendy sensibility. I think of Mark's big fish made out of old apple trees, or Stephen's "Extinct Songbirds of Maine." Richard's feldspar intrusions and Susan's owl feathers. My hunger for junk cars in the local angles. The charge that comes off a piece of native cedar. What this odd lot of provincials share is a sense of rootedness. Or a craving for it.

Richard

And community. Which is a nutty aspiration for artists. That's like trying to forge solidarity among fishermen. Good luck. A Union of Maine Visual Artists is an oxymoron. Yet it still limps along, more as an ideal than as a functioning organization. And as a recognition that we're gnawing the same bone a lot of the time. The conviviality helps, but the way our varied works inform one another is the beauty part.

Right now the cadre that draws together at Carlo's is putting together a show to hang in Brunswick (the first weekend in December) and it could provide another test of this hypothesis of a common ethos. At first blush all these artists have in common is the models they draw, and their sense of community. The work we show is all over the place. What on earth do Arlene's otherworldly ladies have to do with Carlo's operatic portraits, David's microscope studies, or Elvis? I think it's the inner content of the artwork that often strikes a common chord, because it arises from the same Jungian deep, perhaps, or because we're all wrestling with the same angels in this place.

I don't see Richard or Susan that often. She lives with Ron down the far end of the Millay Road, raising llamas and making R&R. Richard shares a 3rd floor walkup in Brunswick with Christine, a weaver. We meet at openings, poetry readings, at the restaurant. We aren't in each others' lives up to our necks, but every time we see one another's work we nod and take away a bit of common understanding. Before we went on our road trip, Richard showed us his sketchbook journals from Mexico, and inspired us to do the same. We keep talking about an artbook collaboration. Susan inspires us to sanctify the ordinary on our place.