Last spring I came across a wonderful book, Practicing Mortality: Art, Philosophy, and Contemplative Seeing, coauthored by Christopher Dustin and Joanna Ziegler, which has been very helpful in clarifying my interests in art. Through an examination and comparison of several different artists, writers, and philosophers, Dustin and Ziegler attempt to show how a particular kind of seeing--contemplative or "real seeing"--can lead to a more fulfilling and meaningful life. I'm currently reading their chapter which focuses on Okakura Kakuzo and his work, The Book of Tea (which I need to read), and how Art is not just an object in a museum or gallery but a way of life: 

"Art...is a mode of awareness...Art is an attitude of reverence for the particular forms that beauty takes: its ephemerality, its regularity, its fleeting color, the simply drawn shapes of petals, the lines of pathways, and so on. Whatever, through daily habit, cultivates a way of seeing in which doing and thinking are unified, in which we, the beholders, participate fully with all our senses prepared to embody and embrace this particular beauty--this is art. Art is active seeing." (Excerpt from "The Beatification of the Mundane" from Christopher Dustin and Joanna Ziegler's Practicing Mortality, 2005)

One of my main concerns (and troubles) in being an art student is remaining true to my own vision while also fulfilling academic requirements. There can be a lot of pressure to constantly produce even when it doesn't feel like the right moment or idea, leading to a kind of idle busyness. Is it best to develop a habit of regularly working in the studio on a daily basis? Or is it best to wait until it feels right--when you have "inspiration"?

While walking home one day last winter, I walked past the same row of dumpsters I regularly passed day after day in the back alley of my apartment building, and a scattered arrangement of lemon halves and broken glass pieces arrested my attention. A recent snowfall had just melted, and this is what remained on the damp ground:

At that moment, I felt "inspired." Excited, I ran to my apartment, grabbed my camera, and ran back to the spot so that I could record the beautiful composition created by chance. It's interesting how moments like this can suddenly interject themselves in our regular routines, reminding us again of a forgotten feeling of discovery amidst the day in and day out.

In a lecture to university art students, the artist Agnes Martin describes inspiration as, "That which takes us by surprise -- moments of happiness," and she goes on to write, "Many people as adults are so startled by inspiration which is different from daily care that they think they are unique in having had it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Inspiration is there all the time. For everyone whose mind is not clouded over with thoughts whether they realize it or not. Most people have no realization whatever of the moments in which they are inspired. Inspiration is pervasive but not a power. It's a peaceful thing. It is a consolation even to plants and animals. Do not think that it is unique. If it were unique no one would be able to respond to your work. Do not think it is reserved for a few or anything like that. It is an untroubled mind. Of course we know that an untroubled state of mind cannot last. So we say that inspiration comes and goes but really it is there all the time waiting for us to be untroubled again." (Excerpt from Agnes Martin's "Lecture at Cornell University" from her book Writings)

In watching the 2012 Summer Olympics, I can't help but become more aware of my American nationality. In every event, I am confronted with a list of competitors who are identified solely by their name and country and being a visual person, I enjoy refreshing my memory of the various flag designs and color combinations. All this emphasis on countries, though, makes me think more about what it means exactly to be American. In one basic aspect, our nationality is determined by a piece of land. So to be American is to identify oneself with that vast expanse of land currently named, "The United States of America." Delineating borders and labelling areas of land, though, can seem quite arbitrary to me. How can this really unite a group of people?

Lately, I have been interested in Georgia O'Keeffe's paintings of bones and other objects she found within the desert landscape of her New Mexico home. The other day when visiting the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, I was on my way to one exhibit when on a whim, I decided to take a look at their exhibit featuring works by American artists from their permanent collection instead. Turning round one of the corners, I was pleasantly surprised to be confronted with O'Keeffe's Red Hills with White Shell :
  

I had just been viewing an image of this painting online the night before and was admiring her warm colors and graphic composition. What really draws me to several of her paintings are her close-up views of small objects and her clean edged shapes, and I enjoyed taking a close look at the smooth edges in person (and especially enjoyed the thick, creamy paint of the yellow bar on the horizon). Red Hills with White Shell provides this close-up view while also juxtaposing the shape against the land from which it came. I find a kinship in this desire to observe something closely and respond to one's immediate environment through depiction.

As I made my way through the exhibit, I began to see some connections between these pieces that were otherwise grouped together simply because their creators were all affiliated with the same geographic region. In addition to O'Keeffe's painting, several works spoke to me about various Americans' relationships to the land, including a giant hand bound book of James Audubon's bird illustrations, a Kachina doll, and a Gee's Bend quilt constructed from an assortment of worn blue jean pant legs. The "American" in the exhibition title began to become less an arbitrary reference to a group of people simply occupying the same geography and more a reference to a particular group of people influenced and shaped by a particular piece of land.