The new exhibit “Dartmouth Influence” at BigTown Gallery—not 13 ways of looking at a blackbird (remember the Wallace Stevens poem?), but 13 lines for 11 artists:
You could sit in that empty chair inside that pastel, papier mâché house,
experiencing light, or walk in shades of green—how damp you are,
how fecund. Maybe you swim underwater, lose your map, or cut flowers
and herbs. Perhaps you add a hint of green and yellow to relieve blue and
gray. When you turn to gaze at cities, shade your eyes—they sparkle like
diamonds at the far edges of vast plains or lakes. Gouge the canvas, anchor
the delicate web, or it might fly away. Dress like a square dancer, and twirl
in random regularity, a kaleidoscope of color. Are you thirsty? Are your
hundred black tongues lolling? Brown is a color, too, and purple, the colors
of smog, fog, and, might I say, machinery and guts. Black is not a color;
black is a foil for stars, for dreams. Suddenly you perceive the small and
inconsequential as monumental and beautiful. Why can’t our world always
be like that? Walk around, say hello, converse, feel as light as air, as tall.