e.e cummings by Amy Hinton Williamson
Most of us remember our grade-school art fair. My art teacher at Goucher Street Elementary School in Johnstown, Pennsylvania filled the gymnasium (which still smelled like peanut butter and jelly and egg salad sandwiches) with rolling bulletin boards and lovingly plastered them with artwork made by the students. She hung a piece made by each boy and girl and when we came back to school that night, the darkened building somehow looked totally different than it did during the day. If felt like a museum. If you were lucky, your mom or dad or maybe your grandma or an aunt or cousin came to see your artwork. Everyone oohed and aahed and told you your piece looked amazing. And you believed you were an artist.
But as time went by, doubt began to creep in, and the feeling faded away. Your inner voices told you it wasn’t possible to be an artist. You could be a nurse or a teacher or a homemaker. And so you put away your paints and brushes and went on with your life.
And that’s exactly what I did. I made the decision not to attend art school—I didn’t even take an art class in college. I let my portfolio collect dust in a closet and I majored in history and political science and went on to teach middle school. Later, I became a children’s book editor and began to work daily with writers and illustrators; and suddenly a tiny spark was ignited. I felt alive again when a piece of original artwork landed on my desk. I loved talking to the illustrators about how they created their work, the mediums they used, and the way the words of the stories inspired them. It was an amazing gift to be able to meet artists like Eric Carle and Susan Boynton.
Then I gave birth to my sons and left my job to stay home with them, and once again the artist inside me was lost; until one day two years ago, when I came across a blog post about a workshop in New Hampshire. An art workshop on Squam Lake where people with any size or shape of artistic ability could come and take classes, where they would be encouraged by amazing teachers and be inspired by their surroundings and a group of like-minded people. And I woke up. I took the plunge and I made the long trek to New Hampshire with my heart in my throat. I played with art supplies I had used before, and many I had never heard of. I learned so much from my teachers and even more from the other women I met. We had a “gallery” show in our cabin every night to view each others’ work and we talked about what we learned each day in our respective classes. We talked about how it felt to create, to be women, to be mothers or lovers or friends. I never for a moment felt discouraged or not good enough. I felt like I belonged.
Amy's cabin mates first year at Squam: Mary Norris, Emily Looman, Amy Williamson, Stephanie Guimond, Kirsten Crilly, Jenica MacKenzie
And later that year when Susan and Liz sent out the call for us to submit artwork we had created in the wake of our experience at Squam, I thought, “Why not?” It was terrifying, but I had felt the same way driving up to Squam Lake and look how amazing that experience turned out to be. So I spent a few weeks frozen and indecisive about what to submit. I painted a bit and I played with collage and I finally chose two pieces and sent the photos. When one of the pieces was chosen for the show, I was thrilled. I felt just like I had that night all those years ago at Goucher Street Elementary School and just the way I had around that fire in our cabin each night at Squam. I felt like an artist. I felt like I belonged.
This year two of my Bell Tower cabin mates and I are playing a game of Exquisite Corpse. We each started with a blank sheet of paper folded in thirds. In turn, each collaborator will add to the composition in sequence, creating a top, a middle or a bottom section then concealing what we have done before sending it to the next person for their contribution. In the end we will unfold the 3 papers to see what our “corpses” look like. Our rules are loose. We can use any medium (although we’re keeping in mind that the pages have to be shipped) and we can interpret the “body” as literally or as figuratively as we want. In the end, if we like what we have created, we’ll submit the pieces to Liz and the Sandwich Artisan's Guild for this year’s Squam Art Show. And if not, we’ll surely submit something else. Because terrified or not, we’ll take the plunge and we’ll know that we belong.
—Amy Hinton Williamson
Stephanie Guimond and Amy Williamson
Thanks so much Amy! You can find Amy at her blog: All Buttoned Up
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This is the second in a series of essays/interviews/words from some of the artists that participated in the first A Vision of Squam Art Show that took place in September 2009 at artstream gallery in Rochester, NH. This year the show will be hosted by the Sandwich Artisans Guild gallery.
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