The Fountain, Villa Torlonia, Frascati, Italy, John Singer Sargent, 1907
(Let me preface this post by saying that I am not an artist, at least in the studio sense of the word. I don't draw, paint, sketch, sculpt, throw, or anything remotely close to it.)
The first date Sweetie and I ever went on was to the John Singer Sargent exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago on April 18, 1987. I remember this specifically because h
e bought me a copy of the poster for the show and the dates were printed on it. Emily had it framed for us for Christmas a few years ago. Our second date, the following week, was a painting lesson in a park overlooking the Baha'i Temple and Lake Michigan in Wilmette, just north of the city. Sweetie firmly believes that anyone can be at least technically competent as an artist with a little instruction and effort. I proved him wrong on that Saturday afternoon. He thought I was joking when I showed him my drawing, but soon realized that that was just about as good as it gets. But I excel at appreciating art, especially his, and he kept me around.
This is not to say
that I lack an artistic soul, because I do believe that I have one. I play the piano, do a lot of needle arts, and am as satisfied after reading beautiful words as if Christmas dinner had just been served. I lost weight reading Tolstoy's
Anna Karenina because I never felt hungry! The first time I saw Gustave Caillebotte's
Paris Street on a Rainy Day in the Art Institute I actually cried because it was so beautiful. And Marc Chagall's stained glass windows hypnotize me. I could look at them all day long. One of the huge perks to working at Leo Burnett Chicago was that it was right up Michigan Avenue from the Art Institute and I could sneak out at lunch or after work to visit for a little while.
Fine art isn't a huge part of my life at the moment, though I do love to visit BYU's Museum of Art when I'm up on campus. Just being married to Sweetie brings art into my life in some very thought-provoking ways. Design and architecture have been giving me a lot to
think about lately. I tend to favor more modern design--glass, steel, stone, concrete. But I am so drawn to the Craftsman style of architecture, which still uses lots of wood and stone in its design but is warm and inviting. Back in 1990 Sweetie and I drove to Maryland to see my sister Suzanne and her family. Along the way we stopped at Fallingwater, the iconic Bear Run, Pennsylvania home that Frank Lloyd Wright built between 1936 and 1939. It was an amazing visit, and one which really influenced my love of modern style. You can't live in Chicago (at least I couldn't) without acquiring a deep appreciation of architecture, and Fallingwater just reinforced that for me.
The challenge, of course, is to marry an interest in art, design, architecture, music, film, and literature with the reality of being a wife and mom on a very limited budget. I'm great at planning, imagining, and researching the details, but when it comes to the execution of my vision I fall flat. I feel paralyzed and can't even begin for fear that it will look derivative and unimaginative. My lack of artisitic training overrides my usually good instincts and I sit alone in the dark waiting for the design gods to turn the light on and show me what to do.
And then Utah got its very own IKEA store. At first, IKEA seemed like the answer to my problems. It was modern but comfortable, affordable, chic, resourceful, and innovative. I brought home a bookcase here, a mirror there, shoe storage by the door, and a wish list that would bankrupt me for years to come. That's the thing about IKEA--you can always return a year or two later and find pretty much the same stuff so you can continue your design plan. And therein lies the problem. It never really changes. I went there yesterday for the first time in ages and was bored out of my mind. It all seemed so "done before" and uninspiring. Even the photography, which I've always kind of liked, was too clever for me. Is it really art when there are 25 copies of it in a bin, or is it now just decoration? Does it make you think, or does its appeal lie in the way it plays up the red in the couch you just bought?
Design is organic, constantly changing as you do. Would I ever decorate my bedroom now the way I did in high school? What about the living room from my studio apartment, now that I have four kids running around? Of course not. As you and your life change, so does your style. Exposure to a different country or culture might really turn you on to new textures, colors, the play of light on different surfaces. I've been thinking a lot about Indian saris lately and wishing I'd picked some up when I lived in Chicago. There is a vibe about the Bombay House where we go for Indian food that I kind of dig. It's something to do with light on those deep colors that really intrigues me. Do I just eat out more often, or try to figure out what it is about it that is drawing me in and try to replicate it here at home?
I could have married an orthodontist, joined the Junior League, had my own interior designer on retainer, and gone to Florida for the winter while my contractor redid the gourmet kitchen. But I just love artists, especially Sweetie. The ability to make something new and exciting out of nothing but raw materials is so sexy to me I can't even begin to do it justice. Since I don't actually create art, I'll have to settle for being an ardent admirer, and perhaps even a muse at times. But one of these days I will give in to my ambitions, open a new can of paint, and let loose on this place. Heaven help my family when that day comes.
