O is for Georgia O’Keeffe, a modernist American painter of the twentieth century born in 1887. I went to visit an exhibition of her paintings which was shared with the photographer, Ansel Adams. What an inspired pairing! This brings me to another ‘O’ as both of these creative people took ordinary subjects and made such original pieces of artwork from them.
Georgia O’Keeffe painted many delightful (if unusual) images of flowers. There continues to be considerable debate around what they might represent, some of it controversial, but the images are mesmerising. O’Keeffe made her home in New Mexico. She also painted cattle skulls, buildings and other mundane objects from that part of the world. Though it appears unusual to us, in the desert a bleached skull would not have been uncommon.
O’Keeffe lived in a basic (but beautiful) home with a studio area. I was quite taken aback by the ordinariness of the subjects she featured. Could I take an ordinary subject and turn it into a stunning original artwork? From a photography point of view much can be done with lighting, composition and editing. What struck me though was how original her interpretations were. Finding Georgia O’Keeffe was quite a moment in my creativity, an epiphany if you like. I started questioning how I was seeing the world having been so struck by her unique vision.
In my office I have another example of a unique vision. It is a picture of bluebells in the woods, an everyday sight in Britain, but nothing in the painting is defined or ‘regular’. It has an impressionistic feel and a depth of colour. It is a representation of ‘bluebells in the woods’ but not a literal one.
What is ordinary and everyday to one individual varies greatly according to the era in which we were born, our family background, even the education we receive and the communities and faiths which shape us.
One of my communities is Compaid. It is far from ordinary in what it offers people. It aims to give digital skills training in a supportive environment. The whole place has a very different atmosphere to, say, a commercial area such as a shopping centre. They take ‘ordinary’ attendees who have disabilities, and enable them to flourish in an individual way. Similarly, when my friend Colin and I stand side by side with our tripods and cameras we may find images with something in common but they each have the stamp of our own personalities.
As I ponder ordinary things and the way they are transformed, I think of a Cornish painter I admire - Alfred Wallis. He had no training as an artist, had a working class background and lived in obscurity. He often painted on everyday surfaces (money was in short supply) but still created masterpieces which hold the gaze.
Creativity in ordinary places comes in all guises. The friend who helps me write this blog due to my dyslexia (the ‘Bibster’) has recently moved to a 1950’s semi and is in the process of filling her new home with comfortable, delightful and happy things which hold warm memories. An ordinary semi can become something special.
Andy Warhol took the world by storm by looking at everyday objects (literally) off the shelf. Will we ever look at a tin of Campbells soup in the same way again? His repeated images of the queen, such a familiar image to his admirers, have become iconic in their neon colours. I think, too, of the potato eaters by Van Gogh, with its muddy hues and poorly shod workers. Many would not have seen this group of people as a suitable subject for a painter but it is a striking, not to be forgotten, image which now has considerable potency as a piece of social history. No doubt Vermeer’s domestic settings were very familiar to his peers but his renditions of them - their sense of peace and their subtlety of colour - was extraordinary.
I have even come across a photographer with a fascination for electric pylons! His photographs capture majestic shapes from features of the landscape many would label ugly. What ordinary object can you see in a new light today?
Note from The Bibster
Mark has alluded to creativity in my home and asked me to comment on my own creativity on the theme of the ‘ordinary’. Two things came to mind: knitting and painting with my dad.
Knitting was a (re) discovery in lockdown. With more time and to combat the gloom and isolation of that period I remembered the comfort of a squared and sunny knitted throw in shades of white, yellow and orange. I discovered it in a summer house while on a retreat. I began to make my own throws. A simple (ordinary?) project that evolved as I experimented with different stitches and different kinds of wool. Choosing the different combinations of colours always brought me joy and the methodical click of the needles was soothing.
Painting with my dad also began at the same time. He is now 88 but we still regularly find a spot that appeals to us and, armed with pork pies and a flask of coffee, we quietly sketch our own interpretation of that particular patch of river or woodland. Ordinary times to be treasured as extraordinary moments of happy creativity.
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