Immanentizing The Eschaton – “A Pot to Piss In”

Yesterday began the search for my own paradise on earth, both in the physical and spiritual sense.  I covered a third of a state in my search, visiting seven pieces of property that could soon become a studio/gallery/workshop/home and small working farm. 

Something made me remember a moment in college just now, my friend Wendy had just completed a “left-handed bacon stretcher” for one of her assignments and I asked her, “What’s next?!” She replied matter-of-factly, “a pot to piss in.”  Sure enough a few days later there was her pot, along with a toiletpaper dispenser and cupholder, created in a rustic Americana style.  Simply perfect.

It took a while for me to realize that an artist needs a home base, preferring instead to create on the fly.  Back then, permanence was of no consequence to me, paper was a fine medium, as the real intent was to uncover my own subconscious in  fleeting glimpses.  Recently there has been a change.

Now the intent is to develop solid structure on top of what has already been learned.  In order for these structures to have room to grow space is required.  How much space?  That’s a good question, right now I’m thinking about 80 acres.  No, I won’t be building an 80 acre studio, but recently it is the land that has captured my attention creatively.

Capturing the human form was what I was best at, but in a larger sense that is a narcisistic effort.  I believe humans have received far too much attention from themselves, especially during the last, let’s say 2007 years. 

My brother introduced me to an artist out West that took some time to talk to me about his work.  He was nationally reknowned and recognized as a master sculptor.  His focus was wildlife in all of it’s forms.  The piece that spoke the most to me was not a sculpture however, but a series of lithographs he did prior to building one of his sculptures.  The lithographs incorporated the form of three different woodland creatures, he would switch out bear eyes for owl eyes or talons for claws.

I asked him about the abstracted pieces and he showed me his final sculpture and said:

“Those visions saved my life. I was on the hospital bed, the doctors had told me there wasn’t much else they could do for me, my family had been told there wasn’t much time left, I drifted into a deep sleep and saw these visions one after another, the power and forces of nature intertwining and I could feel a heeling begin.”

He hadn’t stepped foot in the hospital for 3 years and was creating like a man posessed.  I was touched by his willingness to share these thoughts, and his desire to see some of my own sketches.  Sadly he took his own life a few years later, he will be missed.  But his life was not in vain, he acted as a lighthouse that guided my own thoughts to their new conclusions.

It is these connections of nature, the roots, branches, elements, etc. that hold the key.  I knew it in high school and now I have relearned it through personal experience.  This is my path to the future that was shaped by many a fine creative spirit.  Thanks to all the artists that continue to inspire long after their deaths, thanks for the light.