One of the delights of 2012 was time spent with granddaughter Clementine Deluxe. My Frida Kahlo satchel filled with art supplies, watercolors and paper was my go-to babysitting activity kit.
She brought such exuberance to her painting — the swirl of using every color at once. The simple pan set of paints was soon a mix up going towards a muddy brown.
Inspired by her free spirit-expression, I learned a lot about letting my judgmental hand go and she was intrigued by my ability to render something recognizable. I tried to show her what can happen if colors are kept discrete but the exuberance she brought to the vocabulary of her brushstrokes held sway.
I marveled watching her grow into being with first words and the formation of language. One day I happened to snap a pic of her with the face of astonishment, with her mouth open wide.
Given the contentiousness of the 2012 political landscape it is no surprise that some of the main issues have entered into the Marc DeAnsar discourse. Reproductive rights are a prime issue for social conservatives. When does human life begin? When are we human? When does Marc become Marc? The creative moment when Marc was conceived and then in the ontology of development—when did the nose and glasses first appear?
When is the beginning? We now have new ways of knowing. The beginning has come closer and closer to the point of conception so close that now some people believe as soon as the sperm fertilizes the egg, that bit of cellular should be afforded all rights and responsibilities of a citizen. In bygone days a woman might not even be aware she was pregnant until the quickening.
My yoga instructor Tony Briggs told the story of Krishna's mother who had heard that mischievous Baby Krishna had eaten some dirt. Expecting to find a mouthful of mud, when she opened his mouth it was filled with the cosmos, with the wonders of the universe…and then maybe, it was just mud.
So this mumble of thoughts were shaped into this painting of Marc with his mouth open wide with Clementine with her mouth open wide and inside it all Marc— the embryo of the creative life or maybe, it was just mud.
