Coastline Pilot / LA Times

21 November 2003

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

“What in the world is all this stuff?”  I keep asking myself as I pack box after box of books, photographic supplies, junior high scrap books, letters my mother wrote to me at Girl Scout Camp (and worse, the letters I wrote to her, dutifully saved and passed back to me), bookbinding materials, paper marbling inks, fabric dyes, white silk scarves, a king size quilting frame, and more.  “What could I possible need with all of it?” 

 

“Don’t feel too badly,” wrote my buddy Cate Beck. “I filled an entire 10’ x 8’ x 5’ storage container with similar things when I sold my house.”  Still unsure, I asked my life-long friend, Lila Chamber, and she responded, “It is ok… just pack it up and move it out.” 

 

Thank God for girl friends, the hunger for personal expression, and fellow conspirators on this wild and unwieldy journey.  My co-columnist, Emma-Cherill Doty, has me gathering leaves for mermaid’s tails and searching trees for seed-pod heads.  Olivia Batchelder, an extra-ordinary silk painter has shared more than a smattering of her vast knowledge on guta-resist and natural versus synthetic dyes. 

 

It’s a wild world out here/there, and I’m glad to be deep “in the muck.”  There’s the shell collection from Baja, the perfect still life set for those rainy day watercolors, and a nice respite when life feels constrained.  One glance at those seashore gleanings and I can hear the soft waves of the Sea of Cortez and dolphins dancing in a small cove.   Collected rocks – pet or not – speak of the geology of faraway places, each one a mini-bit of the earth’s history. 

 

I pack the pieces of my life and those before me, adding weight and chaos to the rented U-haul.  Strangely, I travel with no furniture, not even a chair.  I journey from an antique-laden past to a contemporary new home, leaving all but supplies behind.

 

“She” (everyone laughs, but the new house is definitely female) sits on the hillside, a world into and of herself.  Stunningly designed by Walter Metez, and carefully crafted by Charlie Williams, she is the perfect contemporary ‘cottage,’ in our wonderfully eclectic neighborhood.  As the newest kid on the block, she is not at all shy, and loves to call attention to herself.

 

Constructed of industrial materials, zactique with a flat seamed roof, she stands in stark contrast to her original shingle-laden self.  Built first in 1932, of batten board construction (think single-wall, no insulation – think really, really cold), her new iteration is true to the original footprint, with her “eyes” cast toward the west.

 

“How do you think the new space will affect your art?” asked local landscape architect, Jana Ruzicka.  I had been pondering the question for several months.  How does our environment affect what we create?  Is it measurable?  Does our work change in response to our surroundings?

 

Three days of living in the new space (albeit with extension chords, but who really needs full power?), and I begin to sense the house’s provocative affect.  The play of light on her surfaces constantly re-defines her space.  Even the moon has his say in framing her form. 

 

I photograph her, as I have from the inception of the project, but now, my work begins to mimic her beauty.  I seek minimalist compositions.  Only the hint of form.  The contrast of light and dark.  The push/pull of positive and negative space.  I find myself drawn to sketch.  A line here.  A shadow there.   The dab of paint upon wet paper.  How to reveal her uniqueness?  Her secrets?  My own.

 

The sense of lugging all the art supplies begins to make sense.  A logical palette from which to step forward; tools to develop and manifest new ideas.  Books to be made.  Silk to be painted.  Charcoal lines.  The sun’s cast colors.  Cloud patterns in brilliant salmon.  The world stands fresh and I stand with it, my new home an exciting backdrop and an informer of my work. 

 

What did it take to get here?  18 months.  Hard work by many people.  Lots of bank notes.  Faith and trust.  Perseverance and patience.  And most of all, good humor.  Don’t even think about getting in my garage (that’s where all those art supplies are piled), but do watch me run with copious changes.  I am, after all, chasing the muse.

 

Catharine Cooper loves wild places.  She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net or 949 497 5081.