Benched Week 52: unexpected

Just after sunrise, I made my way back to the trail I had found the night before along the Merrimac River in Andover, MA, just a short walk from my hotel.  I had begun to scope it out at dusk, but was unwilling to chance meeting what kind of urban troll might be waiting in the dark under the highway bridge.  Paranoia? Maybe.  I’ll call it caution.  After all, I once drew scenes from Three Billy Goats Gruff.  I know how these things work.



In the morning light, everything seemed less ominous.  Light, reflected off the river, flickered on the trees, as if animating a silent conversation in the woods. 



A sculling duo sliced silently through the water.



I found my bench, though it was more like a table in size.  Perhaps it was built to fit that troll. 



Deciding to explore a bit more, I walked for a while, passing under the bridge (no troll) and beyond, lost in contemplation and concerns for the day of scribing ahead. On the way back, passing again under the roar of traffic on the highway above, I looked to my left and was astonished to find an unexpected sight.



Artwork!  How had I missed this coming through the first time?



After taking a few shots, I returned to my bench to mull on the nature of graffiti.

I felt a kind of kinship with the artists.  Not that my neighbors need to fear the sanctity of their siding, but I am impressed with the exploration of type and color and shape exhibited in this out-of-the-way gallery.  I play with the same toys in my corporate image-making.

But there is a major difference – besides the illegal part.  These artists are making a bold statement about themselves.  They’re making their mark.  What I do in my day job is capturing statements made by others.



Then, an unexpected thought came to me.  Through art, an artist says, “This is who I am.”  Through illustration: “This is what I can do.”  I see a fair amount of illustration passing for art on the web – demonstrations of drawing ability that, though often stunning in realism, most likely don’t say much about the artist.  Except that he or she can really draw.

A friend, Heather, who reads this blog, said that she enjoys the life lessons I include.  So here it is:  this is true for more than art.  I suppose the perfect zone in which to operate is that space where what we do embodies who we are.  Where each action, word or mark that we make speaks of those core truths that guide us. Where the way we live mirrors what we believe.

We can hardly hope to do that perfectly.  But it’s worth the pursuit.