Monthly Archive for April, 2006

Too Impromptu

Alone at a public event in the fall, I am cruising the dessert table, & nothing looks very interesting.  I pick out a rather dry and uninspiring-looking piece of chocolate cake on a little pink paper plate, and am headed for a table to eat it when I hear a woman’s voice introducing me over the public address system.  In an instant, I flip from seeing myself as an anonymous audience member to the sudden realization that everyone has come to hear me speak, and I am on!

I set my cake down on a table, and head for the podium, arriving just as the host finishes introducing me as, “Gary Politzer, Fine Artist.”  I am worried because I haven’t prepared anything, but figure I can find something to say, at any rate.  All eyes are on me as I step to the lectern.  I begin by echoing the introduction, “Hello everyone, my name is Gary Politzer and I am an artist.  This is the first time I’ve done anything like this.” I know it isn’t exactly true, but am using this white lie to buy time, and to both cover up and justify my nervousness.  I can feel the crowd’s interest as a surge of energy directed at me when, to my astonishment, I find I have absolutely nothing to say.  Faced with the expectant hush of the audience, I feel only a silent vulnerability. I decide to walk out to meet them.  I pass through the audience, shaking hands and greeting people, looking into their eyes, and several say they are very happy to meet me.

Then, I am back at the podium with the host, and say to her that I was absolutely unprepared, although it didn’t seem to matter this time, as the crowd was happy with me anyway.  I say it’s a must to prepare for an event, kind of like getting ready for winter.  I reflect on the enormous difference between being ready vs. not being ready for winter, and how ancient peoples needed to make sure they would be warm, dry and well-provisioned.

The event is over, and I go back to the table looking for my cake, but a little kid has eaten it.  I can see where his little fingers have scooped up most of it.  I briefly consider eating the remainder, but it seems unsanitary and not worth it, and I wander off toward the exit alone.

Interpretation: The event in the fall refers to my coming relocation, which is about having a studio again, and moving into greater alignment with my purpose. My being unprepared for the speech suggests that I need to bring more of a conscious focus to my creative work. It is a good time to begin a deeper self-questioning about my art making. The presence of the little kid reminds me of my native spontaneity. Preparing for winter suggests that this is about making the most of the rest of my life.

Beyond the Bones

I enter a small, dimly lit shop, which has a surprisingly magical atmosphere. The proprietor is nowhere in sight, and there is only a small counter and a couple of shelves holding ritual objects. Hanging in the middle of the space is a large mask, resembling a Balinese spirit, perhaps, but more skeletal. It is decorated with masses of fiber art hanging like skeins of hair. A rather vertebral string of decorated bones counterbalances the wild headdress, looking like a spine. It is a gorgeous yet terrifying work of art which has a palpable presence. I feel a chill which is less of fear and more of recognition, and the phrase, “Beyond the bones,” comes to mind. Beyond the bones, beyond the bony framework, the skeleton is wrapped in radiant layers of invisible, shimmering energy, connecting everything and creating the worlds. I feel invited to participate, and that somehow, merely apprehending this invitation is already participation.