Art and Gift Part Three, Part two, A Voyage Begins

     I wrote last about the publication of my latest film in the making, Art and Gift. I remade that, and the result is somewhat different in sound, some added clips and images, more than that, the overall feel is in another realm not quite altogether, but there you simply must have it. My hope is that you will watch the new version, Art and Gift, A Voyage Begins, and that you might let me know what your thoughts are, either here or where it is posted.

    The third and final film in a trilogy telling of the gift of all my artwork to those who valued the work, thereby rescuing the art from landfill following one eviction too many from art studios, due to owner's plans for development of the property. After my eviction by a  landlord from the Dutch Boy paint factory art studios, I was given a much smaller space by my friend of twenty years, a friend who had collected much of my art. In order to make that move to a much smaller studio, I had to sell a great deal of my work at prices far below market value at the time of that move, which was almost six years ago. The space my friend offered me she offered at a price well below market value. Now ensconced in the old Bank of America building, my friend sadly died. Her son inherited, he "had other plans for the building," so once again I had to move. He kept the rent the same low amount I had paid his mother until the time of my move. He offered me another space in another building about 1/4 the size of the smaller space I had squeezed into after eviction from the Dutch Boy. With enough space for my work, the rent would have gone sky high, well beyond what I could have paid. Just finding space large enough would have been a dicey situation, one that I had explored to no avail, especially given that neither commercial nor residential rents have come down in my area, despite the near depression economy.
It is difficult to say in a situation like mine whether the tragedy is the loss of studio/gallery/work/storage (all of that is what a studio is or can be to a visual artist), or whether the tragedy is the necessity of saving work from land-fill by giving it to others. It is both. The loss is of countless hours of grueling intellectual and physical work that goes into the making of any art---in my case countless paintings, sculptures, works on paper, and the objects that go into the personal collection of an artist, all grist for the mill, all muse, all props that hold the theater together.

Paul Digby, Vincent Andelmoth, Aki Sasaki and friends, and Danny Zingarelli and friends created hauntingly beautiful music which graciously they allowed me to use in my film.

The poetry of Lucille Lang Day rings true and clear throughout the film.

Poet Mary Rudge speaks eloquently at film's end of changes and passages, "Every time a person dies, a book is lost."

I gave it all up for free!

Note: There are at least two places in this film where the sound got away from me in transit (upload)---my great desire is that these two places will be heard as very avante guarde sound sculpture.

A Nine-Month Project, Newly Released: Art and Gift

I have been working on this film the past nine months, complete and uploaded to Youtube. I invite you to click on the link and watch this film complete with interviews of those I gave my art to, and my landlord who evicted me.  The film can be seen at this link:  ***Art and Gift,***  a film by Chandra Garsson, featuring art by Chandra Garsson.

Featuring Poetry by Lucille Lang Day, music by Paul Digby (music), Vincent Andelmoth, (music, inCissorS), Aki Sasaki, (music,Escape (Window), Slave Unit), Egmont van Dyck, Jan Steckel,  Teresa LeYung Ryan,  many more:  ***Art and Gift***

The Poem, The History Of Our Love, is by poet Jan Steckel. As it happens it goes nicely with my collage/painting. Jan is a friend and colleague, and we thought that the two artworks together in some form, perhaps as a broadside, would be a lovely addition to someone's collection.

The History of Our Love

If you were a skeleton,
and I were a skeleton, 
we would weave our bones together
in a death’s head embrace.
I’d be able to get closer to you
than I’ve ever been,
my clavicle bumping up 
against your acromion.
Every one of the twenty-seven 
little bones of my hand
would grab your iliac crest
with equal enthusiasm.
The chalky scrape 
of kneecap against femur,
the click and rattle
of your metacarpals dragging over
my fibula and tibia, 
would drive us to ever-increasing
ecstasies of excitement. 
When you drew your phalanges
over my ribs, I’d sound
like a horny, bony xylophone.
We’d grind, scrape, click and rattle
right through the night, 
and the day, and the night,
wearing ourselves and each other away
until nothing was left
but a happy, exhausted heap
of calcium carbonate,
like a pile of powdered Tums
or crushed Rolaids,
ready to be pressed
into a stick of chalk
for a child to write on the sidewalk
the history of our love.

By Jan Steckel. First appeared in Redwood Coast Review, October 2007.
http://www.jansteckel.com

The art piece is one inspired first by how moved I was by a photo in National Geographic, of a couple who died at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius, in Pompeii. I worked from the moment of my emotions, which reflected a mixture of tragedy at the timing; a moment of love between the two, and a profound feeling of the coincidence surrounding the utmost bliss possible for two humans in love, combining with horrific death in the face of unstoppable forces of nature. 
   At the moment that I saw the photo in old archives of mine, I was working on a series of Adam and Eve inspired artworks. the collaged painting of Adam and Eve is from an old master,  Jan Van Eyck, I believe. I felt in the moments that I was creating the mixed media artwork that all tragic death of humans (and I think it can be said that all death is at some level tragic), is a good metaphor for the casting out from Paradise of Adam and Eve.