Sumi ink, gesso and acrylic inks
Wabi-sabi, the quality of things that suggests a natural process, vulnerable to effects of time, weathering, human treatment, yet still possessing poetry, poise and strength of character. (Many of us folks of a certain age hope that this might refer to us). It is the quality of things that are indifferent to conventional good taste, maybe even the product of some (lucky) accident.
Wabi-sabi does not profess to be important or the center of attention. It is understated and yet has a quiet authority. It may be coarse or unrefined, but in an earthy way, rich in raw texture and tactile sensation. It is vague, blurry, subtle with earthy tones or smoky hues, infinite glorious grays and browns and blacks and sometimes silver rusts and green browns.
Simplicity is at its core, a sober modesty pared down to the essence, without removing the inherent poetry.
(To learn more about Wabi-sabi, coming to us of course from Japanese culture, you might want to read Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets + Philosophers by Leonard Koren)
. . .or try playing with black inks on white paper as we are doing in Muse Groups this weekend.
As I starting reading this little book, which we’ve had on our shelves for a while now, I kept thinking Yes! Yes! this is exactly what we are trying to do in the Muse Groups. We allow natural processes to evolve without forcing them. We spin poetry out of accidental occurances. We throw caution to the wind and thumb our noses at artistic convention. We champion the accidents of art making. We love soft edges blooming on wet surfaces and do nothing to draw attention to ourselves, but rather take these sublime art accidents as contemplations to dive deeper into new and thoroughly wabi-sabi destinations!
And so, my new love is wabi-sabi. And I set about looking for all the ways to make black ink do the wabi-sabi. . .
. . .like finger and palm prints and painting the ink through tissue paper and rollering it through gesso and more!
the identity machine charges fingerprints as entry fees
step inside, you might be surprised-
starting with sexual identity
yes, the girl kind and there’s more
don’t be afraid
we all have them
embarrassing ones we try to conceal
yet here they emerge in steady flow
on the conveyor belt, mixed in
with Christmas cookies and plastic toys,
the greed you keep stuffed in your wallet
the envy you put make up on
the superiority you alternate with inferiority
never seeming to get it right
don’t be afraid of the identity machine
it will churn out the candies along with the rest
. . .and perhaps no one will notice