the impermanence of art

When I was teaching, one of my favorite units to share with my kindergartners was the one on Tibetan monk’s sand mandalas.

The monks worked for sometimes months on end to carefully create these intricate sand-laid works of art. 

The community would gather to enjoy them upon completion, and  they’d host a dissolution ceremony where the monks used broom and dustpans to literally sweep up the work and toss it in a nearby creek. 

A reminder that everything comes to an end, and the point is not in any one stage of the process but the whole of it.  

I was curled up in bed the other afternoon when it hit me—selling and buying art is our version of sharing in the sand mandala.  

It’s a contract to witness and appreciate and share in and (one day) to let go this beauty and connection that we've shared. Because even the most beloved works of art will one day be passed on to someone else.

This is a celebration choice to accept and appreciate and collect artwork and moments and friendships and great loves because they are fleeting (and not just in spite of it). 

“all the joy available in the here and now,” acrylic, mat medium, chalk pastel, and archival paper on 9x12 inch birch, 2021-2022

The emphasis on impermanence just sings to me.

It underscores our connection to earth and dirt and the basic building blocks of matter from which we're all made. Did you know mandala is the Sanskrit word for circle?

The tie in with circles brought to many of my Portals paintings.

While the paintings themes differ slightly the overarching idea of transition, change, death/rebirth all remain the same.

just passing through

I give a damn about making art because I want to live in the here and now and creativity offers that to us. 

Both when it flows from our fingers and when it lives on our walls.