Like A Living Thing

Before I had fully developed a concept for this exhibit, I spent an afternoon driving to a couple of estate sales. From my previous work with canvas, wood, and 3D structures, the idea of making kites had been visually etched into my mind. As a part of my normal artistic process, I generally enjoy visiting antique stores and those related, to explore objects that might inspire me. 

That afternoon, as I walked through a home and all that remained within it, I entered a room in the basement, lined with full bookshelves against the walls. Into the farthest corner of the room, a book titled, “25 Kites That Fly,” by Leslie L. Hunt, laid at my feet. I chuckled to myself because I thought—what are the chances? But this was not the first time synchronicity had met me and I knew it would not be the last. From then on, I felt confirmation to embrace kites as a part of my exhibit and the work that would surround it. What I didn’t know at the time was how it would be an invitation. 

Months had passed and I had not taken the time to read a single page. The first time I opened it and began reading, I cried. “Is there anyone who has not felt the desire to fly a kite and feel it tug away at its string like a living thing? The joy of kite flying is greatly increased when we make our own kites and have the satisfaction of seeing them rise gracefully on the lightest breeze, or soar swiftly to a great height with a stronger wind and cut capers in a bright blue sky. Many boys and girls do not make kites for fear they will not fly, but it is just as easy to make a kite that will fly as it is to make one that will not.” I wanted to fly that kite, no—I wanted to be that kite. And here was my permission. 

Finding this book invited me to play, to dream. It also invited me to inhabit my art practice with this lens. If I wasn’t enjoying it, if it didn’t bring me a rush of dopamine, if I was more frustrated than jazzed, I redirected myself. As you might imagine, this caused me some grief within my process, because what then was I doing? I continued to press in. Instead of thinking about how much money it might bring me, or whether any of this would come together and make sense, I decided it was my job to enjoy myself and trust myself, among the uncertainty. 

Much of life asks us for immediacy, meaning, and at other times, restraint. Perhaps I felt this strong sense as I pursued this work, reflecting on my experiences as a child, growing up in fundamentalism, often feeling I needed to stay small, to be quiet. In the last years of my thirties, I realize that all any of us really want is to be allowed to unfold and show up naturally as we are, especially with one another. To be authentic, grounded, and playful. For any of us to show up as we are, it is enough. The thing that most likely gets in our way is not giving ourselves permission. Because isn’t that worth honoring? Isn't that really the whole point of all this—to be free, like a living thing?