Vacationing with extended family or acquaintances at the campground can be awkward for those makers who devote a good portion of our waking hours to making artwork.
Unless you’re cranking out objects for your Etsy shop you will be faced with that one question that could throw you into an existential crisis. You (and by you I mean I) have no problem answering questions like What it’s made of, How did you make it, Where did you get the idea or When did you make it. I am happy to open up my studio to perfect strangers of any age to answer these and any other questions, as there are no stupid ones. But in the context of slightly inebriated or jack-assy folks, it’s best to avoid the Why. Trying to answer that around the old campfire is a trap.
Unless you’re cranking out objects for your Etsy shop you will be faced with that one question that could throw you into an existential crisis. You (and by you I mean I) have no problem answering questions like What it’s made of, How did you make it, Where did you get the idea or When did you make it. I am happy to open up my studio to perfect strangers of any age to answer these and any other questions, as there are no stupid ones. But in the context of slightly inebriated or jack-assy folks, it’s best to avoid the Why. Trying to answer that around the old campfire is a trap.
Above: an actual text message from a fellow artist last month.
A weirdo? Or a material-explorer?
At the campground or on the deck or at the picnic, do not take the bait when you’re asked in the nicest, qualifying way why you do what you do. The desire to “engage in the art discourse” is fine for the gallery or classroom or lecture hall but as soon as that phrase leaves your lips, eyes will roll. Phrases like “embodied experience”, “finding flow” and “material exploration” will lead to some head-shaking while peering into their Hey Y’alls. And do not mention art school. On the other hand, if you’re spoiling for a fight or looking for a laugh at any cost, mention your Masters in Fine Arts. That always gets them going.
At the moment when the group has clearly decided you’re a freeloading waste of space I think about Mister Rogers and look for the helpers. It might just be that one other person who isn’t engaged in a general critique of mainstream media, that one head not bobbing along when the talk turns to vaccine-pushers. If I can’t find that safe harbour in these turbulent seas, I make a French exit and go find a kid.
At the moment when the group has clearly decided you’re a freeloading waste of space I think about Mister Rogers and look for the helpers. It might just be that one other person who isn’t engaged in a general critique of mainstream media, that one head not bobbing along when the talk turns to vaccine-pushers. If I can’t find that safe harbour in these turbulent seas, I make a French exit and go find a kid.
Hanging out with a kid is a chance to transport the self into an exploration of the actual here-and-now world. Little kids at these kinds of events are constantly testing the boundaries of water, earth, air, fire, plants, bugs, and their own physical abilities. If they’re quite young, they’ll happily engage with me and the parents are happy for the break. Tweens may tolerate me but teens, forget it; I don’t need any parents suspicious of an adult artist hanging with teens.
I once had this idea of running a kids-type sleep-away camp for adults: bare-bones bunkies, communal mess hall, forest trails, a couple of acres on a lake or oceanfront. The only difference would be a lack of programming. It would be the opposite of corporate team-building or any kind of self-improvement or indoctrination. The whole objective would be fun without — get ready for it — alcohol or any recreational drugs and that includes non-essential electronic devices. But there would be musical instruments, costumes and basic tools for creating stuff. It would be a self-organizing singular or group-directed experience of the immediate environment, with some basic facilitation as required — kind of like art school. There would be no agenda beyond meal-time preparation and dining and a basic structure for communally keeping the place ship-shape. It would be a space to explore, to gather or to enjoy solitude, to sing and dance, go quietly read or walk or nap, or to try on different personas for performance or personal discovery.
I once had this idea of running a kids-type sleep-away camp for adults: bare-bones bunkies, communal mess hall, forest trails, a couple of acres on a lake or oceanfront. The only difference would be a lack of programming. It would be the opposite of corporate team-building or any kind of self-improvement or indoctrination. The whole objective would be fun without — get ready for it — alcohol or any recreational drugs and that includes non-essential electronic devices. But there would be musical instruments, costumes and basic tools for creating stuff. It would be a self-organizing singular or group-directed experience of the immediate environment, with some basic facilitation as required — kind of like art school. There would be no agenda beyond meal-time preparation and dining and a basic structure for communally keeping the place ship-shape. It would be a space to explore, to gather or to enjoy solitude, to sing and dance, go quietly read or walk or nap, or to try on different personas for performance or personal discovery.
I abandoned that plan because I couldn’t bear any questioning of the value-for-money of the camp fees, or the lack of goal-setting or networking opportunities or skill-building programs, while I’m questioning whether wetland mud can create sculpture or if it’s possible to harvest sea salt in an outcrop of sandstone.
So instead over the years I have enjoyed hosting a sort of loose Craft Camp on one of the Gulf Islands, just for the kids in my life and fellow adult artists. We have hammered, power-drilled, sawed, glued, wrapped, woven, drawn, gathered, knotted, painted, whittled, categorized, braided and built a cob oven.
Vancouver-area artists building a cob oven (Connie Sabo photo)
Completed or ongoing projects include beach-glass mosaics, free-store costumes, rusty-metal assemblages, comic zines, braided rugs, seagrass weavings, driftwood sculptures, leaf collages, fabric pillows, cyanotype paintings, papier-mache vessels and pressed seaweed and flower pictures — all without a master plan, or mandatory outcomes.
Kids instinctively know how to get in the flow. (Carlyn Yandle photos)
Kids know how to be in the flow of experiencing the world. My goal is to bush-wack through the trappings of late capitalism to find it.
This is why.
This is why.
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