Explore

The last two years of COVID seclusion have been tough on many of us. My wife and I have been very isolated because we are “at risk” for this plague. When we go out, we are sure to wear our face masks, and for a long time we wore disposable gloves. We have hand sanitizer in the car, and after our few trips out, we always use it. Despite being old white people, we are both vaccinated and boosted, by the way, and we have a liberal bent despite the constant begging texts asking if I’m a Patriot. We started having our groceries delivered, we started a dinner service that sends us four DIY dinners every Monday, and we order out occasionally.  Somehow in the last two years we have gone from being “kind of old” to elderly, and that has a lot to do with lack of socialization, lack of movement, and fear, quite honestly. The first year of quarantine we put gas in the car only three times. And that was to get us to doctor appointments or the pharmacy.

In a different, earlier time we traveled. A lot. My wife had a cousin in a suburb of Nottingham (who knew England had suburbs?), her "English mum," and we visited her at least once a year. We loved cruises because someone always was available to wait on us and I could order the escargot appetizer every night even when it wasn’t on the menu. We took dancing lessons as we traveled through the Panama Canal, we bummed around Greece for a couple weeks, and we put up with the very loud, camera-in-hand tourists in the supposedly silent Sistine Chapel. It’s very small, by the way. In a couple hours we saw the weather change from sunny, to rainy, to snowy, to foggy, and back to sunny in Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost point on the continent of South America. In Asia, we went to the DMZ and stood briefly in North Korea in the “Peace” building, which was never used but remains at the ready. These days I don’t want to be cooped up with a horde of people on an airplane any more, and I fear norovirus on a cruise ship as much COVID. So we don’t travel.

But we do continue to explore and that keeps our minds functioning at least a little. Back in the day - the Fifties, probably - it was called armchair exploration. I read a couple books a week, for example. I’m partial to mysteries set in England, especially ones set in Elizabethan times. And I also love author Estelle Ryan’s Genevieve Lenard series that explores the world of art theft. I always learn a lot. (Start with The Gauguin Connection.) We also watch a lot of European series with English subtitles. I’ve picked up some French and Italian, and improved my Spanish. In fact, I want to be Detective Montalbano (a great series!) when I grow up. 

After that way too long introduction, I’m getting to my point: We continue to explore, even from our armchairs. When I watch a European (An European?) series, I am always aware not only of the story and characters, but also of the way in which people apparently live, and that always includes the art on the walls, sometimes the most interesting - at least to me - part of set decoration. I frequently find that art inspiring. I don’t paint copies of artworks any more unless I have a very specific goal in mind. And I’m generally left with only an impression of the art on TV shows because I don’t stop the episode and take photos from the television. Every experience has an impact on me and changes my life forever, even if only in the most minute way. And looking - frequently at art - has become a major experience in my life.

In an earlier blog, I suggested that painters / artists choose different artists every week and focus on a couple of their works, writing down impressions not only of the techniques they use, but also of the emotional impact. This exploration provides a discipline and a method of analysis. 

As the weather improves - at least here in the Chicago burbs - we can get outside more easily. I was barely out all winter because I’ve broken both an ankle and my wrist in the past, and I’m afraid of falling. My wife takes walks and then reports to me as I’m painting in my small studio. When I go out, I look at small pieces. What does a leaf really look like? What is the bark on that tree really like? Too often we’re like kids drawing a house as a box with a triangle on the top and a round yellow circle as the sun in a corner. We don’t really look. We don’t really explore. We can change that.

My invitation with this essay is Explore. 

Explore your world, and explore the worlds of others.

This was inspired by a painting on an Australian series. 

"Red Tree"

Acrylic on 12 stretched canvas panels, each 8 x 8 inches