Popcorn in My Soul

Last night's rain hitting the skylight sounded exactly like corn popping.  Odd, the connections  you think of when something is in the forefront of your mind.  Popcorn was on my mind, because I'd just been to Metuchen, NJ, to hear artist Sandy Skoglund talk about her work, and she'd shown an image of one of her room sized installations that was a landscape entirely covered with popcorn.  Searching for it again just now, I find that amazingly, the work is actually titled, "Raining Popcorn"!

Although I've been an admirer of Skoglund's art since I first came across images of it in NYC in the late 1970's, I was unfamiliar with this piece.  I immediately connected with it in a way only a Midwesterner could.  Indeed, she said her inspiration for it was the landscape surrounding the University of Iowa where she attended graduate school.  Skoglund's "Raining Popcorn" reminded me of a Carl Sandburg story my father used to read me, THE HUCKABUCK FAMILY:  AND HOW THEY RAISED POPCORN IN NEBRASKA AND QUIT AND CAME BACK.  In this story the popcorn the Huckabucks raised catches fire and explodes, the popping fields eventually filling their barn, and then their house. Their daughter, with the delightful name of Pony Pony, discovers a silver buckle inside of a squash.  Somehow this makes the family decide to move.  At least that is the way I remember the story. 

No toxic microwave packaging for me!

When I was at Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois, the surrounding landscape consisted of cornfield after cornfield after cornfield.  Going for a summer bike ride meant riding on miles of roads lined with cornfields on both sides, taller than myself. Having lived on the East Coast for 30+ years now, that landscape seems a surreal memory.

Harold Gregor, painter and now professor emeritus at Illinois State University, was making a name for himself by painting the absurdly monotonous Illinois cornfields in a romanticized photo-realist style.  As I heard the story, apartment dwelling New Yorkers found his depictions of big expanses of sky and horizons a sort of novelty.

My first summer job was detasseling corn.  The Illinois farmers would hire high school kids to pull off the "tassles" (seed ends).  It was disgustingly hot, hard work, for extremely low pay.  I think I may have lasted two days.  The corn was scratchy and cut up our arms and hands.

My mother, a native Ohioan, infected her children with a taste for popcorn.  A schoolteacher, a minister's wife and the church pianist, Mom was exhausted by the end of the weekend.  She wisely decided that Sunday dinner ("supper" as it is known in the Midwest) would consist of soup and popcorn, thus giving her a bit of time off from meal planning.  We seasoned our popcorn with Spatz, a very special seasoning that she ordered in bulk from an Ohio health food store.  I've never liked popcorn seasoned as well any other way.  Some months before she died, in 2000, Mom actually gave each of us kids several pounds of Spatz seasoning as a present.  It was as good as gold.  I kept mine in the freezer for years, unable to bring myself to use it up.  Only recently did I get it out, sprinkle it on popcorn, and enjoy that special flavor.

Even our big, white, fluffy cat, Muff, enjoyed popcorn.  We'd throw popped kernels to her from across the room.  Superior cat that she was, she'd catch them midair with the quickness many dogs but few cats exhibit towards such sport. 

As creatures who depend on planet earth for our sustenance, humans are forever intrinsically tied to the landscape.  Though corn has been a recurring theme in the landscape of my life, I have yet to have this influence come out in my artwork.  I know, though, that popcorn resides in my soul.  Pony Pony Huckabuck is me...Ommm...

Celebrating Creativity Through the Eyes of a Bug

Wrapped Junebug sculpture

My unveiled 2011 Junebug sculpture, ©Joy Kreves'11

Bugs are getting lots of press lately.  New Jersey, where I live, has a Brown Marmorated Stinkbug problem that has developed in the past several years.  These tough, flying bugs like to come buzzing into our houses.  They have a rank, "green" smell when you smash them.  Yes, I do smash them when I find them in MY house. I've grown used to that smell.  Also, the East Coast is increasingly suddenly suffering with bed bugs.  So far I am counting my lucky stars that these pests haven't found my residence.  May and June are known for the appearance (outside, at least!) of "June bugs".  This bug, though, has become the official mascot of art appreciation in the town of Metuchen, New Jersey, which is having its 4th annual Magical, Mystical Junebug ArtFest on Friday nights in June to celebrate the creativity that brings pleasure and meaning to our lives.  

This event is the brainchild of Metuchen's resident ceramist, Linda Vonderschmidt-LaStella.  Linda is a creative force in town already with her art studio being a hub for clay students of all ages.  I met Linda years ago, when we both belonged to "Cycles", a group of women artists.  A couple of years ago we reconnected to have a show she envisioned at Metuchen's Westerhoff Gallery.  When Linda asked me if I'd be interested in creating this year's Junebug sculpture to preside over the town for the month, I'd just finished having my solo show at Rider University Art Gallery, and was recalibrating.  I'd never made a work of art to stay outside before, and decided to take her up on this challenge. 

JUNE LOVE, ©Joy Kreves 2011

The result is a mostly aluminum sculpture that draws from ideas in my series of artworks utilizing lattice motifs to represent our deep interconnectedness with the natural environment.  The lattice sculptures are as much permeable membranes as they are concrete objects. They influence as well as alter a particular view or a particular viewpoint.  I understand my own outlook as the lattice through which I experience and process whatever life and environment have in store for me.  I find this connectedness endlessly intriguing.

JUNE LOVE, wing detail, ©Joy Kreves'11

My “June Love” sculpture on display in Metuchen this month is a natural extension of the lattice idea. I used metal mesh and perforated sheeting for both practical and conceptual reasons. The open “latticed” metal textures make the sculpture lighter and less susceptible to the wind. June bugs eat leaves, often leaving only a lattice of veins.  They have abdomens and under-wings that are transparent but for the veins.   

I took lots of artistic license with my junebug.  Her antennae became more like arm feelers, and I left off her long legs entirely.  She is much more glamorous with her swarovsky crystal eyes, than the real thing.  Perhaps my June bug will inspire romance; she chewed a heart-shaped hole from her leaf in honor of June brides and true love.  

Having grown up on Edward Lear's BOOK OF NONSENSE, I couldn't resist being inspired by my own bug and also came up with several goofy verses on the theme:

There once was a beetle named JUNE

Who would sit on a tree and just croon

As she dined night & day on green leaves she would say,

"Why can't I just sing a nice tune*?"

*June bugs are not known for making a melodious sound.

There was a small town named METUCHEN

Whose residents sang songs in Russian*

They danced through the night to the June bug's delight,

Those wonderful folks of Metuchen.

* I have no idea whether or not Metuchenites actually sing any songs in Russian.

There was a June bug in Metuchen
Who so loved the leaf she was clutchin’,
She nibbled away in a heart-shaped display
That lovely young bug of Metuchen

June Love detail, ©Joy Kreves'11

There is a schedule of events for the ArtFest including presentations by visual artists Sandy Skoglund and Jane Dickson, musicians and filmmakers. For a complete celebration of creativity, come to Metuchen on a Friday evening this month and reflect on what impact the creativity of musicians, filmmakers, chefs, writers, and visual artists has on your own life, and what that's worth.  My own answer?  Priceless!