When my daughter was 2 we happened to spend New Year’s Eve in Rome. On the 3rd day, discussions were held about the next day’s plan. My daughter, from her spot on the floor, surrounded by preschooler play with small plastic figures, piped up. “No more churches! No more museums!”
High WASPs like art. We collect it. We like museums. We drag our children to them, at very early ages. We are glad that all over this planet, and perhaps all over other worlds in other universes, people are addressing empty space.
Art galleries, however, can be intimidating. The hush as you enter. The sound of your feet clacking on wooden floors, or rubbing against carpet. The distortion of your shadow on very white lighting. We don’t like to go to art galleries unless we know something, or someone. One of the best things about the Internet that things of beauty can be observed in complete absence of embarrassing social context. One shares only if one so desires.
I discovered Anna Mavromatis, I believe, when she started to read Privilege. Unless it was on Twitter. She is from Greece. She makes artists’ books, among other things. I won’t say much about her work, because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to talk about the visual arts without sounding like the complete pompous twit.
My stepmother, who is a photographer, and speaks at conferences about her work, put it this way. When she is asked talk, she just wants to point at her work and say, “There.” So, there.
Anna blogs, too. Here. And here, where she appears to be quilting, beautifully. Maybe we will talk about other artists over time, but this seemed like a good starting place, what with the references to texts and symbols, and all. What with those last two books and how much I’d like to put them in my house.