A new space to saturate

CATHARINE COOPER

“What in the world is all this stuff?” I keep asking myself as I pack

box after box of books, photographic supplies, junior high scrap

books, letters my mother wrote to me at Girl Scout Camp (and worse,

the letters I wrote to her, dutifully saved and passed back to me),

bookbinding materials, paper marbling inks, fabric dyes, white silk

scarves, a king-size quilting frame and more. “What could I possible

need with all of it?”

“Don’t feel too badly,” wrote my buddy Cate Beck. “I filled an

entire 10-inch by 8-inch by 5-inch storage container with similar

things when I sold my house.” Still unsure, I asked my life-long

friend, Lila Chambers, and she responded: “It is OK ... just pack it

up and move it out.”

Thank God for girl friends, the hunger for personal expression and

fellow conspirators on this wild and unwieldy journey. My

co-columnist, Emma-Cherill Doty, has me gathering leaves for

mermaid’s tails and searching trees for seed-pod heads. Olivia

Batchelder, an extraordinary silk painter, has shared more than a

smattering of her vast knowledge on guta-resist and natural versus

synthetic dyes.

It’s a wild world out here/there, and I’m glad to be deep “in the

muck.” There’s the shell collection from Baja, the perfect still life

set for those rainy day watercolors and a nice respite when life

feels constrained. One glance at those seashore gleanings and I can

hear the soft waves of the Sea of Cortez and dolphins dancing in a

small cove. Collected rocks -- pet or not -- speak of the geology of

faraway places, each one a mini-bit of the earth’s history.

I pack the pieces of my life and those before me, adding weight

and chaos to the rented U-haul. Strangely, I travel with no

furniture, not even a chair. I journey from an antique-laden past to

a contemporary new home, leaving all but supplies behind.

“She” (everyone laughs, but the new house is definitely female)

sits on the hillside, a world into and of herself. Stunningly

designed by Walter Metez, and carefully crafted by Charlie Williams,

she is the perfect contemporary “cottage,” in our wonderfully

eclectic neighborhood. As the newest kid on the block, she is not at

all shy, and loves to call attention to herself.

Constructed of industrial materials, zactique with a flat seamed

roof, she stands in stark contrast to her original shingle-laden

self. Built first in 1932, of batten board construction (think

single-wall, no insulation -- think really, really cold), her new

iteration is true to the original footprint, with her “eyes” cast

toward the west.

“How do you think the new space will affect your art?” asked local

landscape architect Jana Ruzicka. I had been pondering the question

for several months. How does our environment affect what we create?

Is it measurable? Does our work change in response to our

surroundings?

Three days of living in the new space (albeit with extension

chords, but who really needs full power?), and I begin to sense the

house’s provocative effect. The play of light on her surfaces

constantly re-defines her space. Even the moon has his say in framing

her form.

I photograph her, as I have from the inception of the project, but

now, my work begins to mimic her beauty. I seek minimalist

compositions. Only the hint of form. The contrast of light and dark.

The push/pull of positive and negative space. I find myself drawn to

sketch. A line here. A shadow there. The dab of paint upon wet paper.

How to reveal her uniqueness? Her secrets? My own.

The sense of lugging all the art supplies begins to make sense. A

logical palette from which to step forward; tools to develop and

manifest new ideas. Books to be made. Silk to be painted. Charcoal

lines. The sun’s cast colors. Cloud patterns in brilliant salmon. The

world stands fresh and I stand with it, my new home an exciting

backdrop and an informer of my work.

What did it take to get here? 18 months. Hard work by many people.

Lots of bank notes. Faith and trust. Perseverance and patience. And

most of all, good humor. Don’t even think about getting in my garage

(that’s where all those art supplies are piled), but do watch me run

with copious changes. I am, after all, chasing the muse.

* CATHARINE COOPER loves wild places. She can be reached at

[email protected] or 949 497 5081.