Apologies to Diane and the VAC. . .

. . . not that it matters to them, but it does to me. I had told Diane I would be in Burlington yesterday at the VAC brainstorming session. I was not. (And I am one who, unless I'm dead, will do what I say.)

And, in my own defense, the reason I wasn't there was because of art. The image here is a top view of a treasure. It is the paper equivalent of a chest of gold and precious stones, heaped up in spilling splendor. The book runneth over with creation.

This is one of the myriad sketchbooks of Meta Strick, a Fairfield artist (YES! Franklin County!) One of these is apparently filled every two to four months. Filled with a maturity of visual thought, from a mind that must be a maelstrom of imagination.
I met her in the St. Albans Artists Guild, and she has asked me to design a web site for her. I saw her work for the first time a week ago. And what I saw was one of these sketchbooks. I only got a moment's look at it, but my mind immediately flashed to "how on earth can I get enough money to buy this?" "Can I rob a bank and get away with it?" What I saw was stunning. She said she would bring more next week. Well, "next week" was yesterday. And so, I did not go to Burlington. Instead I photographed a few pages from the four sketchbooks she brought. She allowed me to take them home.

Page after page, spread after spread, colors upon colors, mediums upon mediums--the January/February 2009 book is already filled.

After the morning meeting we were both at, we went to lunch. For almost two hours, then I went to the STAART Gallery hoping to find the owner, Stina Plant, there. I did. I spread these books out before her and she was as entranced as I was. (And we are both photographers.) I was there for an hour, and, without thinking, and in a state of euphoria, I drove home--instead of to Burlington. Meta's black bag with the four small books in it, and now on the floor of my living room would not let me leave.

I have a short list of split horizon times in my life: this is/was one of them. Needless to say, when her site is done, you will find the announcement here.

The ARTS Economy

I told myself I couldn’t make another post here until everything was ready for my presentation. Well, it finally is; at least the material goods part.

And now I can write about something that’s been bugging me for a few days. (Sometimes my tongue is in my cheek here, and sometimes not.)

The Creative Economy. I first came across this phrase when I stumbled onto the Creative Communities website months ago. It was intriguing then, and since my eye-opening trips to Montpelier and White River where I saw the obvious spoor of creative communities, and since I heard about their communities from Mariella, Charlie, and Phil, I’m even more interested in this.

Which leads me to the chapter in the CFV stuff where it is said that there is much confusion over WHO should be included when counting the contributors to a “creative economy.” I read that section several times. And got more irritated each time. (Not with CFV; it's only the messenger in this case.) Apparently this umbrella term might include chip designers, and the like.

Now just hold on here! Do they want to include the chip designer because his or her income will shield the world from the paltry incomes of most artists? Chip design, I think, falls under industrial design. How many folks are holed up in their drafty spare rooms designing chips, getting turned on by copper and solder?(Apologies to makers of stained glass.) So, then I thought, maybe the argument over who should be included is not really the problem. Maybe it’s the damn name. What’s wrong with The ARTS ECONOMY?

Things suddenly get a lot clearer for me and easier to understand. We finalists are artists, the VAC is in the business of funding and supporting the arts, gallery owners show art, etc. But then someone says, what about the writers? Writing is an art, without a doubt, as is composing, playing, directing, etc. Ain't no stinkin' chip designer within a million miles.

Definition

So what would be the underlying definition of such a beast. How about this: the arts economy comprises all who produce or work with in some manner, a product which produces value for one individual, and whose income drops like a stone in a recessive economy.

Susan paints a picture, a gallery sells it, I buy it. Then what? It hangs on my wall for my sole pleasure. It doesn’t make me richer, or give me a job, or increase the value of my house, my car, my land. This picture only contributes to MY quality of life. All of us in a theatre audience are just separate little MEs soaking up their own kind of pleasure, individually, in a group. We are all bettering our quality of life by these means. But for each it is an individual experience.

And, when people don’t have jobs, they can’t afford to buy art, so the artist’s income goes down. Going to a performance, buying art, attending a workshop, are not necessary for practical survival. You see where I’m going here? The artist or performer in the end makes things of absolutely no redeeming economic value. Susan doesn’t make a million paintings and export them to Brazil in exchange for coffee. I mean, no one actually needs anything "arty" to survive. Hey, art is civilizing. This is America! We don't need no wimp-barf.

On a lighter note: It should then be fairly easy to find out who should be included in the ARTS ECONOMY. Simply ask people what they would relinquish when their income suffers a setback: piano tunings, buying works of art, music buying, concerts, book buying, attending movies, plays, buying movies, renting movies, buying musical instruments, taking art lessons, music lessons . . . and there you have it.

The folks connected with all these no-longer-can-afford things are participants in the Arts Economy.

In WRJ

As I was eating my breakfast at 5:15 a.m. in the Polka Dot, I noticed the placemat had an old (1907) photo of WRJ taken from Barrows Point. So, after the customer next to me told me where he thought it was, I went looking for it. I think I found it, but since it was still dark, I decided not to get out of the car and wander around in someone's back yard as I don't think Trespasser arrested in WRJ--connection to Vermont Arts Council still under investigation. is the kind of headline the VAC, Alex, and Lyman Orton are looking for. Will go back at sunrise.


I also finally found the road down to the freight tracks. Can't wait to get back there. I've never been down into WRJ before and it is quite a place. It seems to have, from the cards in the hotel and the posters all over town, a vibrant arts community. Much like I felt in Montpelier. WE NEED THIS IN ST. ALBANS!!!!

And, BTW--the Polka Dot--for 55 years a diner, is up for sale. Every time you turn around pieces of Vermont are dropping off.

Art of Action Update: Sans Art

Just read a fellow finalist, Elizabeth Torak's latest post here, and was happy to find I had company in my state of critical mass. Everything that passes into my brain now goes through the "AOA filter". Unfortunately it's not exactly a semi-permeable membrane. Rather it seems like the huge grates that stop logs upriver from where they are not supposed to get. Which means of course, that almost everything gets into my brain.

So far rolling around is Priscilla Paton, Edwin Smith, William F. Robinson (TWO bloody books) and, Spirn on the Language of Landscape. Unfortunately, her writing style leaves something to be desired, so that's a tough row to hoe.

You will note there is no image in this post. I, like Elizabeth, am, at the moment entirely "imageless". This may be the first time I've cursed my excellent academic background.

But, I am driven to read, to note things of note, which by now are all over the map and in absolutely no order in my notebook. I'm just afraid I'll forget what was triggered if I don't write it down.

An so it goes -- and right now, I can only go with the flow. I just want to read, though I wish there were four of me. (That's the number of books I've got going.)