Years ago, she had started collecting
fragments. Each had its own abstract joy,
its flow and power in being
‘of our world’. She kept collecting…

(Artists see in a different way, unique
even among themselves. Not all realize
what they are. The ones who do
and can fulfill their visions
are lucky, and so are we.)

Two small children came into her world,
the craving to create had to pool inside.
Dirty diapers, swingsets, birthday parties,
teaching, cleaning; responsibilities
took over her life. Still, she collected….

(Each Artist has their vision
on how to use the ‘sense of building essence”,
to bring into view the forms they see.
It’s what makes an artist’s work recognizable.
It is an embodiment of framed Time,
vibrated into focus, by a mind.)

Through the years, she practiced her art,
collaged every part of her house;
her walls, her kids, her husband’s heart,
feeling patterns with passionate grace,
mesmerized, when they clicked into place,
and, she still kept collecting…

(Placement is the decider between art and Art.
Fragments, aligned and intersected with pleasing precision
become representations of mind and emotions.
In effect, artists capture glimpses of soul
and instill in us the exquisiteness of life.)

The battered swingset, trash and leaves
were hauled away to prepare the canvas.
Her anticipation grew over the days of preparation.
Spring’s progression fueled her mind. Finally,
she picked up a piece of wood,
and placed it in the tree. A plant,
more wood, the frenzy began,
the whirlpool sucked her in,
collecting her fragments…

(While in the dimension of creation,
time stops, has no meaning
to the flow of energy emerging from the artist.
The force of knowing where to place the fragments
is powerful and exhilarating.
The crescendo builds until, slumping
in exhaustion, the artist is thoroughly satiated.)

Her mind crackles with delight,
her entire being vibrates with creation’s liberation.
The afternoon lengthens, shifting shadows
as she moves the resin chair back and forth,
arms straining to complete mind’s commands.
Turning, switching, tweaking, she builds her art;
brass cat in the plant, dried snake arched on a squiggly root;
it was dark before she stopped. Collected.

And when the dawn came,
she stood before her tree,
and flung her joy
to the heavens.

Erin Moen
3/27/04
Photo by Erin Moen
© Copyright

This is a work in progress (and I will change the picture as I take them), I was messing with it last night and some of my art came crashing down! Ah, but, out with the old, in with the new! Maybe fish line could hold some of it in place...darn slippery fragments.

:) The two pieces of straight wood I believe Ed is referring to are the remnants of a tree house that became a ground house (or fort) and then a black widow haven when the girls were younger, these last two boards, which I used to my advantage in jamming and propping, but didn't really 'see', at first, are now the cats' roost and safe haven from the new puppy. Sancroset from all human activity. Peculiar looking in contrast, perhaps, but incorporated into the whole.