A little perspective here

A few years ago I noticed a picture across a contemporary art gallery on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles and was drawn to it.

At first glance it resembled Hokusai's "Great Wave off Kanagawa," but when I got close I saw the sea-foam bunnies and laughed. This scary mountain of water was transformed into "Uprisings," a witty and wonderful digital work by the two artists known as Kozyndan. (this work is copyrighted, see www.kozyndan.com for more info)

I had to own it, and now the framed print hangs on my living room wall where visitors are drawn to it and either giggle like me or gasp and say something about poor bunnies.

Both the artwork and the reactions relate to our personal perspectives.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I adore and need the sea but also fear it. So for me, I think this work turns fear to whimsy and fun. But other people may be disturbed to think the bunnies are being pummeled.

My last post about signs, portents and mysteries elicited a number of interesting comments, including this from Lisa Dez: Perception is truth.

Lisa got me thinking about the link between perspective and perception, something that is integral to human beings and necessary to artists and writers. Perspective certainly is truth at a given moment in each person's eyes. But it can be different in another's eyes or altered by circumstances.

Dictionary descriptions also show shifts in defining perspective: To look through. To see clearly. Relating to. Capacity to view things in relative importance. Sense of proportion, of depth. View of relative distance and position. Overview. Vista. Outlook. Prospect. Viewpoint.

This leads me to ponder that an author's viewpoint will always come through but he/she must be sure that each character has a unique perspective and perception of the world, as well.

Here is a painting that alters perception. When I first saw this work, "Petra," by Katrin Wiese, I was reminded of the portraits by Renaissance painters--not because of her style which is expressionistic and contemporary--but the setting of a girl in front of a landscape is much like those of Bellini or Botticelli or even DaVinci. Remember "Mona Lisa?" She is posed, hands in front of her, landscape behind.

But like "Uprisings," my perspective and perception was jogged by what was in the landscape.

It's dystopic, apocalyptic. This young girl isn't in front of her family home or bucolic meadow. Her backdrop is chaos and destruction, but she has a serenity about her.

Some of you may wonder why I purchased a painting of such dark undertones. Because, once again, I find it thought-provoking and witty--a comment on our times.

This painting also has an entirely different perspective built into it. Wiese continued the artwork on the sides of its wood construction.

So if you view it from an angle, you get this added perspective.

And I can add one more variable: how we illuminate or choose to highlight things. I shot the two photos of this painting on different days in ambient light. One created sepia tones and the other is more brilliant as the original work is.

I have carried on here about our perceptions (which I think is awareness and comprehension based on experience including perspective). Don't know if I've made sense to you but it was interesting to me to explore this a bit.

Addendum: I realize another element that plays with perspective/perception in these artworks is that things are not as we expect them to be; there is surprise, shock. Good to remember as writers, as well.

Finding hope in the dark

This painting on a small wood plate is called "Night" and was created by Katrin Wiese, the same artist who painted "The Three Fates" of a previous post. I photographed it up close to get the detail.

What drew me to this? I feel like I could be that little girl, venturing into the unknown night, protecting the goose's eggs, at ease with a bear at her side. Bears have often barged into my dreams. In one of the most memorable dreams I asked for and got permission to borrow a baby bear. So while I wouldn't try that in the real world, it was magical in dreamland.

One more alluring thing about this painting, that alert horse and goose look just like bronze animals my father brought home long ago from what was then Czechoslovakia. I loved to play with them, imaging worlds that were mine alone to visit and explore.

All of which brings me to memories. It seems to be what we treasure most. And it made me think of the people who had to evacuate the monster wildfire above Los Angeles. The ravenous beast, 25-miles-wide and 18-miles-deep, has consumed houses, cars, motorcycles, pine trees, sycamores, manzanita, rabbits, squirrels and, may they rest in peace, two firefighters. Terrifying and out-of-control, these wildfires sometimes leave people with little time to grab what they can and flee. It's the memories, the photos and heirlooms, they want to keep.

If a fire or storm or earthquake consumed all the photos of my family members, the china they raised to their lips, the Persian rugs they walked upon until threadworn, the golden rings and silver bracelets they wore, would I drown in tears? Or would I board a little boat on a salty sea and search for wonder in the night?

Perhaps that is the gift writers can give the world--a sense of hope in the dark.

What the fates allow

fate 1: the principle or determining cause or will by which things in general are supposed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do: destiny 2: whatever is destined or decreed 3: final outcome 4: the three goddesses of classical mythology who determine the course of human life - Webster's Collegiate Dictionary

This painting, "The Three Fates," by contemporary artist Katrin Wiese hangs in my living room. Wiese paints in narrative, often inventing characters and strange worlds. Here, she interpreted mythology. I bought it for its power and the whimsy of Clotho's hair made into a sail and her hands held in the energy flow of yoga mudras as she spins the thread of life. Note the bounty of a bowl of berries at Lachesis' elbow and her hand on the tiller. And the way Atropos, shrinks behind with her shears, prepared to cut the thread of some poor soul. But even so, flowers float on the water and there is a sense of beauty and purpose in the ebb-and-flow of life.

I plan to spotlight artworks on this blog from time-to-time, and at this moment I'm drawn to the Fates. I suddenly remembered a fairytale I started to write sometime ago about a girl who is destined to fall again and again from high places. The princess goes to find the Fates and ask why this is her lot, beginning with a power-hungry uncle who tossed her from the top of a tower. Unfortunately for him, she survived with just a scratch.

She finds the Fates on a mountaintop. They are surrounded by skeins of yarn in every color imaginable. Great tapestries billow in the wind, swirling with images.

"Why is my lot to fall?" The Princess sees no point in mincing words.

Clothos, her hair glittering with sunlight, barely glances from her spinning. "Into every life rain must fall."

"Without rain, no growth." Lachesis measures the lengths of yarn.

"Fine. It must rain, but I don't see why it must be a cyclone or a flood. And what's that got to do with me falling?"

"We came on the day of your birth and foresaw what your uncle would do. It may have been the early end of you, but you burned with such courage and resilience, it seemed to us you should bounce instead of break. And so it is." Atropos squinted out of rheumy eyes and pointed a gnarled finger at the Princess.

"I spend a lot of time falling." The Princess tapped her foot with impatience.

"Every gift has its price."