Explorations

This past Sunday’s Washington Post article on photographer James Stokoe and his current works on display at the American Institute of Architects in Washington D.C.,  celebrates what Stokoe calls the ‘unfinished building’.  Stokoe’s photographs indeed present a level of artistic quality; but what’s more interesting is Stokoe’s attitude towards the subject matter.  He is quoted within the article: “Of sidewalk barriers, he says, ‘They establish zones with different rules and expectations where the chance forms of construction are given license.’ The metal tools of construction scaffolding partake of ‘the excitement’ of the ‘performing arts and cinema.’ Steel girders create ‘as much a choreography of nuance as bravado.’ “  Clearly, Stokoe finds art and beauty not only with the photograph, but within the subject; the very concrete, metal, and asphalt he shoots.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of Shannon Sanders McDonald and her sentiments towards parking garages. The Post ran an article(Dated Jan 20 2008) explaining how McDonald had just published The Parking Garage: Design And Evolution and finished addressing the Library of Congress on the subject matter. McDonald akin to Stokoe found an unconventional beauty in her subject, going so far as to describe the garage as, ” a wonderfully beautiful and elegant structure”.

There is no real harm in finding beauty in a parking garage or a construction site, but there is an artistic sense of danger in doing so.  Stokoe photographed construction sites for well over a year and over time he became closer and closer with his work; until he had reached a point of being too close. Being too close to your art is dangerous. It could mean losing a critical and objective eye, or losing the ability to communicate the inherent meaning of the work to an unknowing audience. It means losing ‘the big picture perspective’.

On the stage actors have directors. It’s easy to cite examples of actors who have ’gotten too close’ to their characters, or lost part of themselves within the character; yet thankfully there is someone there to pull them back. Of course the director isn’t always this effective, but they serve as a critical eye to the artistic process. They get to see the big picture and help shape it before it reaches the audience.

Article

The simple truth of the matter is that people fascinate me.

Today, like every other Monday morning since September, I went grocery shopping at the local Giant for work. Getting a weeks worth of groceries for a family of four, is an affair that normally takes up most of my morning, and today was no different.  Today, like every other Monday morning since September I unloaded my(err… their) groceries at  the checkout in isle 9. Why? Because of Dawn.

Dawn stands just a bit under 6ft, a few days over 50, with untamed dark brown wispy hair well down her backside, and wearing the brightest, pinkest, lipstick you have ever seen. And she’s also the fastest thing Giant has to offer at 10 in the morning(hence the reason I picked her). I have honestly been in Dawn’s checkout line every Monday morning since September, but I don’t think I’ve said more than 10 words to her the entire time I’ve known her.  Of course, we exchange the obligatory, “How’s it going?” or “Do you have a bonus card?” but that pretty much sums the up the boundaries of our shared communication. Until today that is.

Dawn was swiping the groceries of the older woman in front of me and she asked her, “Do you remember the lowest price you ever paid for a loaf of bread?” As the woman searched the recesses of her mind, I stood shocked and looked at the both of them.  At first I was almost upset; this practical stranger had elicited more interest from Dawn in a few moments than I had in months. Then I just watched. The woman rattled off a few prices and then asked Dawn the lowest price she remembers. Dawn with a slight smile said, “Back in New Mexico, I can remember getting 4 loafs for a dollar.” I was thinking about Dawn, my Dawn, my fast cashier, and her life in New Mexico, and ’how did she end up here?’ and ‘why would anybody want 4 loafs of bread at once?’ In that moment I realized for the first time that Dawn had a story. She had hopes, dreams, fears; she became real to me, more real than our autopilot interactions of the past 6 or so months.

I asked her how she ended up in Virginia from New Mexico.

It was a bold move coming from the “Good and you?” and “Can I just enter my telephone number?” catch-phrase kid.

But we talked. Dawn and I talked. What resonates with me now, more so than our conversation is the simple fact that we connected. My experience today with Dawn served as a simple reminder that everyone has something to say, and perhaps something to teach you. We as artists(or individuals) can never stop learning. It is the single most fundamental and necessary part of our art; we must always find new ideas in people, and learn from them.

And Dawn, she moved out of New Mexico ‘a while back’, but didn’t explain why.