By Patrick Dennis
I am an artist and I’ve been thinking…
After the rude exit of Hurricane Sandy we’re finally counting down the fruitcakes to the last holiday of the year. I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. Or at least that’s the advice dear old Auntie Mame would offer. Remember this?
[Pouring Agnes a drink]
Mame: This will calm you down.
Agnes Gooch: Oh, no! Spirits do the most horrible thing to me. I’m not the same person!
Mame: What’s wrong with that?
Agnes Gooch: Will it mix with Dr. Pepper?
Mame: He’ll love it! Drink!
Every year I try to behave and every year I fail miserably. In my opinion being politically correct is as doltish as being deliberately boring. Nobody likes a dullard especially during the holidays. Probably the only reason I get away with my boorish behavior in the first place is the presumed relationship to dear old ageless Auntie Mame. Her antics make mine look positively saintly. However, to set the record straight-ish, I’ll quote the real Patrick Dennis here: “No Virginia, there is no Auntie Mame. She is a distillation and a moonbeam and nothing more.” Oh but we wish. Because nothing could hold Mame down for long. That optimism and cheery scorn enlivened even the darkest moonless moments to remind us that love is for all and life is an endless journey of discovery. We just need to find “it,” whatever that means.
In the world of art I travel I try to remember that the journey is all about incidental discoveries made. I may not employ an Agnes Gooch or Ito, but I do stumble upon some fascinating characters. A case in point is Renee Dinauer from Santa Rosa, California. I met this unusual woman at the Chastain Park Arts Festival and was immediately distracted by her demeanor and then drawn to the organic fluidity of her steam-bent hardwood sculptures. This unassuming woman had a story of pain and grace and told it with sweeping movements of wood and color without any rambling commentary. I took a drink there. Another stumble brought me to Maureen Engle, whose simple painting of cherries made me reassess still life as art. There was nothing still about my opinion. Those small fruits brought a rushing flavor of a memory shared with my children picking them in the wild with sunny laughter. A banquet indeed full of lessons learned and devoured.
As I inch my chair eagerly closer to the table, I confess I am starving to say there is one exhibit not to be missed this month: “Hard Truths: The Art of Thornton Dial” at the High Museum. Not since the “Radcliffe Bailey: Memory as Medicine” exhibit have I been so determined to scrabble for a seat to devour an artistic spectacle at our local temple to art. I was lucky enough to be introduced to Dial’s work by his controversial broker, Will Arnett. It didn’t take much explanation to see the story behind the collection of discarded objects woven into a storyboard of fabric, paint, pain and joy. Dial makes me think, which I tend to do a lot. He makes me remember. He forces me to address hard memories and how to reclaim joy in that discovery. He is about as celestially opposite from Mame as Mars and yet the chord struck resonates the same. Find joy. Find peace. Find. Keep finding. And that, my friends, is the message and gift I always steal from Mame’s banquet table during this holiday and proudly offer to you.
Patrick Dennis is an artist, gallery owner and President of the Atlanta Foundation for Public Spaces. Email him at Patrick@affps.com.
