Remembering Frederick
“To Frederick” 15”x11” gouache on paper
We have only this one beautiful life. What do you choose to do with it? The one and only thing I have found to do is make art. Sure, I have had lots of jobs. I used to be able to take menu orders for a table of six without a note pad. I wrote a motion to the Dept of Labor that won a workers’ comp case for a lovely, injured Jamaican man. I have woven so many yards of cloth that in turn made hundreds of beautiful chenille jackets and coats. But how do I identify? I’m a painter. I’m a printmaker. At the end of the day, my thoughts about colour, shape, light, pattern, etc are what I ruminate on. Every day. Since I can remember.
I am no longer daily taking care of my mom. I don’t have many commitments that use up precious time. Essentially, it is a new chapter for me. As with so many right now during this pandemic, time has warped and suddenly there seems to be so much of it and the future is so uncertain. There are no longer fixed points to focus on. I tend to get lost in this expanse.
As I sit quietly for so much of my day, I am increasingly reminded about “Frederick” the mouse in Leo Leonni’s book of the same name. The story goes; all the mice are busy gathering supplies for the winter. They get mad at Frederick because Frederick spends his time listening, looking, staying still and claiming he is gathering words. The other mice do not understand. They think he is weird and they are angry that he is not working as hard as they are. Winter comes and in time all the food supply is used up. The mice are miserable. Then Frederick starts reciting poetry about the warmth of sun-lit fields, the smells of grain tickling the nose, and the plentitude of food and companionship. The mice are transported to better times and they make it through the dark winter by feeding off their imaginations and building their emotional well-being.
During these days of sitting, watching, waiting (or whatever the hell we are doing during this everlasting pandemic), I often find myself lost in a magnitude of thought. In that place of noticing the activity in the air. I regularly feel that it would be better if I was being productive. I should be doing something for the world that is meaningful and tangible. It is then that I think of Frederick. I collect thoughts. I collect ideas. I sit on the brink of brilliance. And I silently shout the answers to the universe. Even if no one is listening. That is just what I do.
I am here as an artist to remind you that the very best in life as well as the very worst happens when we lead with our vulnerability. It is when we show up for ourselves and speak our truth. No matter who is listening. This is the commitment I made as an artist to the the rest of the world. When the fear of not being able to make it through the long winter will subside and my work can help transport someone to a better place. Thank you Leo Leonni for writing that book. For the reminder to all those artists out there. Art is important. Art sustains life.