Mosaic altar 1

(Photograph: Brad Talbutt)

This year I submitted four mosaic "altar pieces" for consideration in the Boise Art Museum Triennial. I made the first cut — some 250 applicants down to 70. But I did not make the second cut, which was far more cruel ... 70 down to 25. But the top 70 artists each got a live studio visit from the BAM curator, something that inspired me to paint my studio walls (rosewood pink, to play up my love of iridescent glass) and hire the very talented artist and craftsman Andrew Traub to hang my pieces as though they were in a museum.
And he did. We chose to build little frames on the backs of the panels so the pieces float a bit off the walls. Not to get too religious about it, but such an arrangement makes sense for altar pieces.
I started thinking of the mosaics as altar pieces for a couple reasons. One, the iridescent glass I use. I find it impossible to not stare at it, which inevitably puts me into a somewhat dopey state that could just as easily be meditative and not quite of this world.
The other reason was more practical. Mosaic is still living down the idea some people have that it's "craft," you know, kind of like sock monkeys. I've never seen mosaic that way ... but then, I'm also a lover and doer of illustration, which has certain reputations of its own.
I thought combining panels into larger, multi-section arrangements would give them some gravitas.
Alas, whatever gravitas I summoned wasn't enough to get me into the show. I'll try again in three years.
This particular mosaic is one I think of as a "storm" altar. I made the big spiral section while I was listening to reports of the Hurricane Katrina disaster on NPR. I couldn't stop listening. I was thinking of turbulance and waves of energy, but also the colors, sometimes lurid, of New Orleans, a city I've visited more times (3) than would really make sense for a westerner like me. Twice, with two different boyfriends. Once on my own to do, of course, mosaic, and look at cemeteries. And smell fragrant flowers the likes of which do not grow west of the Mississippi. And realize how much I love New Orleans gardens, the ones that are overgrown and hidden from the street, but are right in the middle of town, none-the-less.