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The beauty of the visible
landscape is a sign of spiritual grace, and appreciation
of it is tantamount to going to church, but more important.
After all these years of painting it, landscape newly seen
is still astonishing.
A 2004 Independence Foundation grant allowed me to accept
a residency at Headlands Center for the Arts, in an old
fort in my childhood hometown of Sausalito, CA. My project
was to rediscover the memories and emotions of my past and
explore their intense connection to place, in paintings
and collages. Back in Sausalito for the first time in 40
years, the starkness of the Marin Headlands, where the art
center is located, was a striking contrast with the sheltered
tourist town.
Because of its wild and stunning beauty, the beach at the
Headlands was one of my mother’s favorite places.
Though it might be sunny in Sausalito, it was often foggy
and cold once we got over the hill or through the tunnel,
and the waves could be frightening. Nevertheless, that was
our beach. The watercolor landscapes in this book were painted
of the headlands cliffs and beaches, during my 2 residencies.
I call this project “Landscapes at the edge of the
Pacific” because I was on edge much of the time, and
when I came across a landscape with a peaceful feel, it
was a distinct relief.
Back in Philadelphia, I began a large-scale outdoor mural
called “Sandy’s Dream”. The community
that I worked with was a group of ovarian cancer survivors,
and they spoke of the difficulty they had had in accepting
their own illness. I used the rugged Marin Headlands of
the Pacific as the setting for my composition, and an image
of a brilliant sunset to express the poignancy of life in
the face of death. The underlying idea is that the world
is a radiantly beautiful place, but it just doesn’t
care about any individual person. The inhospitable quality
of the dry landscape exists alongside its alluring beauty,
and in the mural, the survivors celebrate their courage
and strength in the face of that. The experience of working
closely with this community and others has affirmed my belief
in the value of making art, and redefined my sense of myself
as an artist.
On my off days I explored the town and made many photographs
of my old haunts. Sensory memories are often of something
small and undistinguished, like the Stinkweed growing on
the side of your street, or the look of the corner of the
building and the driveway where you lined up to go inside
after recess. It’s the damp touch of the fog and the
taste of bubblegum, brushy trails the color of twilight,
the rocks on the beach under your bare feet when they are
just the wrong size for comfort. On a trip into town, I
was stunned to see the current public library morph before
my eyes into my elementary school, with the same turquoise
blue color scheme. It’s not the kind of thing that
you remember outright. It’s more a recognition that
sneaks up on you and colors your thoughts. Perhaps my old
school dumpster, surrounded by turquoise concrete retaining
walls, called up an epiphany or emotional moment from the
long-ago past. But it was not necessarily picturesque. These
memories were like precious objects that I used as the basis
for artwork, and once I returned to Philadelphia I created
a book of small semi-abstract color-collages. In each one
the physical place is a portrait of my inner emotional “scape”.
The story I want to tell with both the landscapes and the
collages is the same. It is about the undercurrent of soul
in daily life, and about acceptance and celebration of life,
with its beauty and pain. My hope is that I can bring these
real places to life, capture someone else’s imagination,
and make them dream.
-
Ann Northrup
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