Day One.

chappaquiddick island, 2010

There needs to be a first, a beginning point.  I don’t care whether it is a tenative step, a leap, or a crazy swirl that comes from flinging ones arms out wide spinning with wild abandonment; there needs to be a departure marked by that which is behind, and that which is yet ahead.

Wood that is 50 plus years old is a rare find, with exception of perhaps salvage yards and eco friendly specialty stores.  1 x 2 fir, aged beneath several coats of paint, with beautiful striation running its full length, dried from countless days of sunlight beating down on it.  There can’t be a more perfect thing in this world than something that has went largely ignored, going about its business in a silent and steady manner, year in, year out.

It seems that the most pressing things in this waking life are spoken to in dreams.  Hashed through, again and again, emerging as gooey images and tangential events.  We all seem to remember the scary ones, the flying ones, the insanely over the top erotic ones, and of course the ones that speak of happiness yet to come.  Yet I throw my vote in for the dreams that consist of a measured process, the raking of leaves, the pruning of trees, or the cooking of an evening dinner.  Don’t get me wrong, I do absolutely love the surreal nature of the majority of my dreams, but a person has to admit that very rarely do we find ourselves flying through the sky or traveling to distant planets.

In the middle of the night I was struck with a sense of what needed to be accomplished beyond all else, something that no matter what had to be done.  Of course I’ve never carried out the process, but clearly within the dream it was outlined, each movement, each step.  The reasoning as well was certain, to the point of absolute necessity.

Sitting in the sunlight now, post completion, it all makes perfect sense.  A true act of friendship, is seeing that which is missing for the other, the option, that allows for moving forward.  Four 1 x 2″s, a section of linen, some primer, and time, all of which were found and assembled, now sits waiting for the artist to complete.  For me it was nothing but a process, yet for S, there is now potential and possibilities waiting for completion.

wbh

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About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
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