Night Light
Yo fellow homebodies,
WE ARE ALL GONNA DIE.
Ok, got that out of the way. Yep, it's true. Every last one of us. Sooner or later. In the Tom Hank's movie "Bridge of Spies," Tom as a lawyer continues to ask Mark Rylance, the accused spy, "Aren't you worried?!" His answer: "Would it help?" That's where we are right now. This anxiety of "Do I have it?" "Did I have it already?!" "Does she have it?!" "What if the kids get it?!!!" can only be offset by the assiduous practice of what the medical professionals advise us to do. That is pretty much it. Be smart. Be careful. Be kind, as everyone you see in the grocery store is in the same swamp. AND, just to be clear, worrying definitely does not help. It creates its own cascade of symptoms from "I think my chest feels tight" to "Lying awake at night is it, right?" Worrying is using your life's energy to focus on the thing you don't want to happen. Want to chat about viruses? Nope. Naturally, distractions can be really helpful.
Like art, for instance. The title of this piece is "Night Light". As a kid, there was nothing more comforting than having a light in the darkness. Down the hall, in the bathroom, was a night light. Take away that pale yellow glow and the darkness was almost painful. Who knows what could be going on when you can't see ANYTHING? Sleeping at another house as a kid was always a challenge--Gramma's giant house full of really ancient weird things was challenging because of the utter darkness when we were put to bed. I guess old people didn't need night lights, but... fortunately, I usually had brothers around to talk through the possibilities of monsters or attic zombies or crazed drifters sneaking up from the cellar. Smart guys tell us 60% of the brain is visual-processing oriented. Well, for a kid with no night light, it's 100%. No doubt. Forget about sleeping, we just were trying not to die. Funny, we always slept. Never died.
As a grown-up (sort of), I have come to enjoy darkness. When I was on the staff at Camp, we took the kids on night walks--short hikes in the woods without flashlights. The whole exercise was to teach them a sense of security in nature AND to make them realize how well one can navigate in the woods with just the ambient light. Obviously, bright moon on a clear night... you can read a book. But, I remember a night with no moon and rainclouds overhead. Seeing your hands was a challenge, but off we went. The kids were typically skittery, but one seemed completely relaxed. I found out later that he was born blind and surgery gave him sight a few years prior to coming to Camp. The goal of my art is to teach unsuspecting adults (and savvy kiddos) how to see in the day. And at night. And when it feels like nighttime with no night light...
"Night Light" is part of a series I started as an attempt to capture the way light shimmers on water--the late afternoon sparkling on the bay of dancing sunshine, the wriggling white or pale yellow lines of the moon on the black surface. Years ago, from Eagle's Aerie, the highest lookout on the mountain, I stared through binoculars at the sun sparkles on Lake Dunmore, a couple thousand feet below. That little moment forty years ago I still consider. Capture that. LIfe's work maybe...
I'm hopeful this piece will find a home where one of you would enjoy the comfort of a "Night Light". Beauty is a comfort. Sunlight is a comfort. I have a good friend who has a "pondering room," where she can sit surrounded by a number of my pieces. Seems to work for her--she's a bright light herself. In a "normal" world, I have shows that put my work in front of a hundred thousand eyes. Here and now, I have these missives.
Stay safe friends,
Support the artists trapped in their studios. Better investments than the Dow, methinks.
Be strong. Notice the shimmering. Stay calm.
Bruce Mac
