Remembering to See

As an artist I spend a fair amount of time thinking about what things look like, literally and figuratively. Most of the time I am not even aware I'm doing it. Looking for the light source, looking for the perfect balance, or imbalance of objects in a scene, looking at the relative perspective of the bowl to the apple I have just picked up from it, things like that.

I arrange and re-arrange things on the table that sits just inside my front door, and on the mantelpiece in the living room, on the kitchen windowsill and so on. I add, I subtract, I spin a vase so it's facing a different way, all in the cause of wanting my eye to alight on a grouping of "things" making my inner "eye" smile. 

So as I got into my truck the other day, just on the way to do some errands and meet a friend, I was surprised to notice that the side of our house where the second car has to park because our garage is to full of "things" to fit both of them (an entirely other story), looked kind of like, well, a small dump.

It's looked like this for months. But when the rain finally returned, within a day, a deep purple bearded iris pushed itself up about a foot and then just, bloomed. And when I saw the iris, peaking up over the front of my truck, I realised that I just had stopped noticing. I said it outloud, parked beside our little dump, with the windshield wipers squeaking and the rain pitter pattering, "I stopped noticing." And somehow, the words, freed into the air, made me laugh and also made me fell a little sad. 

I mean really, how could I stop noticing the fact that there are two pieces of hideous garden "art", that for various reasons make me sad to think about throwing away. Coupled with the endless buckets of tar that our landlord has been applying to the roof after each rainstorm, because it has leaked more inside (and I'll stop there on that topic, so I don't begin the usual foaming at the mouth whilst discussing said landlord, and his roof). And the weed-filled edge of a garden that I did nothing about deadheading, fertilising or generally cleaning up this past fall. I now wonder at what point I stopped noticing, because I do remember an earlier moment, many months ago, of thinking, "wow, we kinda might look like trailer trash". So at what point did it all just become background to parking my vehicle? 

And as thoughts have a want to do, it travelled to other topics, making other connections, wondering more thoughts. Is there a particular moment when we stop noticing things, even things that are dear to us? I know it's all about pattern and repetition and I know when we step outside of our usual patterns, and then return, we see things as new all over again. 

I think we all have felt that 'OH!' of returning home after a few days away, to our beloved, or to our children, or our furry loved ones, or the half finished painting in the studio, the book waiting to be finished, etc. etc. That 'OH' of wonder and remembrance that sometimes even when we are aware, we stop seeing what is in front of us. We may need some time away to remember, or maybe we just need something new to step into the picture and change our whole perspective.

So, this one iris reminded me to remember to see: To turn myself around every once in a while, rearrange myself like I do the things on my kitchen windowsill, and look at things from a different perspective, because I can't always go away from my life in order to see it with new eyes. Sometimes, I need to stay right here and remember to see all of it.

Comments

[Pherenike]

My favourite kind of flower in my favourite colour.

Thanks for the reminder to hit the 'refresh button' every so often to update my point of view.

[jin]

Yes, very well put!

Like "don't forget to remember..."

(Sorry if that song stays in your brain for the rest of the day now, I have a feeling it is not going to budge from mine for a while!) :)

xxx

[Jennifer/The Word Cellar]

What a lovely essay, Liz. Oh, and bonus points for the pink flamingo in the yard. My husband and I have an ongoing feud about them: He says they're tacky. I say they're so tacky they're *cool*. (You can see my flamingo yard installation here http://thewordcellar.blogspot.com/2006/04/belated-april-fools.html AND here: http://thewordcellar.blogspot.com/2006/04/flamingo-caper-part-ii_15.html.)