Goes to the Beach
Here’s my annual piece of recklessness.
I am poised to turn sixty.
Poised? That makes it sound elegant and uncomplicated, which would be untrue.
Don’t get me wrong. I am exceedingly grateful to be a privileged, healthful artist, creativity coach and art therapist, with wonderful people and opportunities in my life. Yeah.
On the other hand, if you are a young sprite of ooo 37, or 51, even, there are quirks, aches and creaky crevices of the sixty year old’s mind, body and circumstance that you haven’t even dreamed of. Nor do you need to. That’s my oblique grumble for now.
At nearly sixty, I am ready to share with you my fabulous afternoon of a year ago.
I enthusiastically upheld my own recent tradition of random, spontaneous, organic and focussed outdoor art-making. The tradition involves an I-don’t-care-what-anyone-else-thinks-of-me attitude, which is refreshing for one who was an acutely shy teenager.
I loved making this sculpture.
It truly was a case of
the Art of Emergence. It began with collecting curly whirly pieces of driftwood. It became a Thing with a Name and a Presence. I was utterly absorbed. It was Divine Play.
Let me share with you a delightful side-effect of my gently fierce obsession. After I’d finished, I looked along the beach and saw a four year old girl gathering driftwood. With the same serious engagement that I had unwittingly modelled, the four year old then made a sculpture.
Wow. I inspired someone – a newish little being in the world – I showed her the possibility of fashioning a one-off form out of found materials while giving weight to the process and product. As a Late-Middle Aged to Early-Old Crazy Art Lady, nothing could please me more.
If you’ve bravely reached the end of this post, oh fearless reader, you might want to refer to last year’s outing of the Late Middle-Aged to Early-Old Crazy Art Lady.
with love, art and soul