There is a stunningly gorgeous exhibition up at the gallery right now, incredibly subtle and detailed work that begs to be seen in person. All month long I've been saying, #artismeanttobeseen. It's true. It is meant to be seen because it is in the actual seeing that we learn to experience the work as well.
And that is very much what I have been feeling about the work of three new artists that I just received, Amy Ross, Crystal Liu and Anne Lilly. To see the static image is a split second commitment to a visual. But stand in front of, to breathe in and out with the work... it moves you. It changes you. And I see it every day, in every person that comes in.
This weekend I've been obsessing about the work of Boston based Amy Ross. At first glance, sweet, poetic and disarmingly beautiful, Ross’ watercolor paintings on paper draw the viewer in with vibrant details, lush colors and crisp lines.
Perhaps inspired by images of a mad scientist’s world gone awry, or the imagination of a young child, what comes first to my mind is the inter-connectedness of all things. And that’s when you not only see the hummingbird’s eye but actually recognize the expression on its face as your own.
Following the hummingbird’s gaze and attempt to reach the delicately hanging flowers you also notice, the flowers reaching for the hummingbird as well, blurring the lines between flora and fauna and how we categorize what is living and what is alive.
The history of the world has not been a peaceful one and still, we live in trying times. Amy’s work is critically important, although beautiful, she forces the question, “Where do we fit in this cycle, where birds grow out of flowers that grow out of butterflies and so on…? If the lines are really this difficult to delineate, are we only harming ourselves with so much violence? If one things grows from another and yet another, how do we stop the cycle that breeds hate and feed the one that nourishes the butterfly, the flowers and the hummingbird?”
And yet, even with so much delicate beauty, we are left with a deep sense of futility that tugs at our heartstrings as we stare at the hummingbird who may never quite make it to the flowers, weighed down by the very thing that gives her life.