To hear the related 5-minute audio file that I uploaded today as my Morning Journal flash briefing for Alexa devices, please click on the play button:
Making Art on Sanibel
Yesterday over coffee Darlene, her sister Deb, and I were talking about our current creative projects. Where are our passions?
Deb: “I love rocks.”
Darlene: “I love color.”
Len: “I love words.”
For today’s Morning Journal we continued the conversation.
I said I love how it feels as if we have, without planning it, created an artists colony here on Sanibel. We convene here for the winter from Omaha (Deb) and Maine (Darlene and I). Each of us spends island time on different creations.
Darlene has worked mainly in fabric collage. She is now making mosaics of glass and pottery that will become stepping stones in our yard. Deb collects shells and rocks, then assembles them in intricate patterns, like jeweled puzzles. I write and talk, sending words into the ether at Substack and elsewhere.
Years ago, I worked on my poetry at two artist colonies, the Ucross Foundation in Wyoming and Djerassi Resident Artists Program in California.
“We need a name,” I said.
Pause.
“How about Et Voilà?” I suggested.
“You’ve been wanting to call the house that ever since we bought it,” Darlene said.
That’s because when she and I first had the vision of a home on Sanibel, it seemed like an impossible dream. Years later, after renting all over the island, the perfect house showed up as if by magic.
And here it is.
Other translations of the French saying could be And just like that! or Lo and behold! The words connote surprise, satisfaction, or effortless completion.
Art feels that way sometimes, especially when you’ve worked like crazy to get something right, or practiced your skill for years, like a meditation.
So here we are, first residents of the Et Voilà Artists Colony.
Like residents at Djerassi or Ucross, we will gather over coffee or meals to talk about what we’re working on.
Remarkable serendipities are likely.