Gallivanting

Last night, the Tweed Museum opened two exhibits, the art work of Robert Minichiello and Sharon Louden.  This image is part of a large abstract painting by Minichiello.  "Spontaneous Acts," his show, were largely unstretched canvases nailed to the gallery walls. The color palette was muted, the tones subdued like dusty rose and foggy seas in washes of color, with some symbolic images and figurative elements, like this image. The artist preferred to have the viewer made meaning, and resisted explaining any of his work.

In the next gallery, Sharon Louden had a gallery installation, "Windows."  She had hung several large sheets of aluminum in the tall vertical space of the gallery. The rectangles were bent and twisted in a way that suggested they were falling or rising. In addition, she had three paintings, a study of windows. On the upper level, a musical ensemble performed work composed by contemporary classical composer, Andrew Simpson, Professor of Music at Catholic University in Washington, D.C. He conducted University of Minnesota Duluth music students performing the world premiere. More information about these exhibits is available here: https://www.facebook.com/events/397281380465749/

I saw this artwork on the eve of my going gallivanting. Going gallivanting was a phrase my mother and father often used, perhaps because its rhythm is similar to Finnish language rhythms. When they used the term, it meant taking a longer trip, i.e. gallivanting from Minnesota to California (my parents with their heavy Finnish accents pronounced this Gullafornia).

We are going to Amsterdam and Finland. In Finland, Kathy McTavish and I will be in the Enter Text artist residence at Arteles in Hameenkyro for the month of November.  Our project is "Three Rivers." It is a planned and also spontaneous act. This blog will provide a way into the back door of this project. This blog is an artist travelogue, and it is a way to keep track of my observations and encounters not just of the journey and the project but of the things that mark me along the way.

On Poetry Daily, I found a poem by Matthew Minicucci. This is from Translation, a Wick First Book Award.  Here is the beginning:

What if it's said like this: a man leaves. He takes with him all he can carry. What spoils he has slip through the cracks of a hundred rowed ships. What songs are sung sing only of distant homes.

Along the way, I will be looking for my beginnings.
Kippis!  [Cheers]

Three Rivers is funded by a career opportunity grant through the Arrowhead Regional Arts Council.