After I went to see Andy and friend hanging my piece on Wednesday, (though I haven't seen how it was finally hung), I felt less hostile to weaving other non-utilitarian pieces. Since I went to a sculpture exhibit on Sunday, I keep designing others in my mind and cannot escape from this peculiar "head space".
It's hilarious, because the piece I wove was something like a badly planned lunch mat or a rustic-looking table center for an old-fashioned Thanksgiving table, and an extension of, rather than a departure from, what I normally do. The "new" ideas are hardly new and I can be recalling something I've seen but forgotten. Yet I can't shake this feeling akin to a slight envy for pure visual artists who don't have to worry about utility.
Or do they? We had terrible gusts all weekend, but the sculpture works were still standing. It's all a little Joycean. Suffice it to say, where my own mind wanders can sometimes amaze me. A more romantic artist might call this a muse; for me, it's a terrible two-year old I have to run after.
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