Two men look out through the same bars:
One sees the mud, and one the stars.
One sees the mud, and one the stars.
(Rev. Frederick Langbridge)
Chambered Nautilus,
1956, Tempera on panel,
Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art |
Having just visited the Farnsworth again, I’m reminded of
Andrew Wyeth’s painting, “Chambered Nautilus.” (The Farnsworth has many lovely
studies by Wyeth that demonstrate just how meticulously he prepared each of his
paintings. Any serious painter would benefit from studying these drawings, and
I strongly urge you to visit the Farnsworth and spend time with them—in particular
the studies for Maidenhair.)
Wyeth himself had this to say
about the painting: "I did the picture right there in the room...and she
would talk to me about her childhood in Connecticut. She was a great
woman, one of those people who never grow old."
But of course we all eventually do grow old, and the reality is that eventually most of us end up with
our worldly goods pared down to a nursing home bed and a recliner. Still,
before that happens, “…I have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep.”
Most of us do a pretty good job of blooming where we’re
planted, and my family has been no exception. We came to Rochester for work,
and we’ve had a good run here. But I have always used it as a launching pad. In
the earliest days, I traveled back to the Buffalo area to see my design clients,
and after my kids were old enough, I started traveling to NYC to take classes,
traveling around the East Coast to show paintings and traveling elsewhere to paint
and teach.
We thought it might be a lot of fun for students, but it just trades one nautilus shell for another. |
And so I debate options: move to an art town and open a
gallery? Buy a small house in Deer Isle and turn out work that I in turn sell
to other galleries? Do I even need a permanent home? With that last idea in mind I
stopped in Amsterdam, NY and looked at trailers and motor homes. I was
intrigued, but when I got back to Rochester I realized that I do like my own
bed.
Where does this all end? I don’t know. As my pal Loren said
last week, “The options are infinite.”
“True,” I answered, “but the parking is limited.” Which is
not exactly true, but our time here on earth certainly is. And I want to spend
as little of the rest of it as possible dusting the inside of my chambered
nautilus shell.