Is That All There Is? Then Let's Keep Dancing.
Is this the Art of a Prisoner or Mental Health Patient or Both?
Pennsylvania is beautiful. It is so good for road trips and old house ogling, old thing finding and bike rides and hikes. I love it here. But I am so impressionable and everything beckons. Wherever I am, I look up old houses for sale and look around through new eyes as if I’ve just bought one and am finding my bearings. It can be overwhelming, this curiousness — especially in Spring.
Yesterday I set out to visit Megan, whom I’ve ‘known’ through Instagram for 7 years. She is cleaning out a house built in 1910. It belonged to a couple who collectively were painter, photographer, magician, and prison guard. They were/are in their 80s. The house contained so much art. One Hundred years of saved work suddenly scattered to the wind. How unusual is such a house? And more, how likely is it that someone interested pauses before filling a dumpster with everything. Outside of the house, through a bamboo netherworld, was a greenhouse. Why didn’t I go in. I am so slow and seem to need a steeping. I must return, but why? Why any of this?
On my way home I felt the sinking and repeated refrain of everything and nothing matters. I began to sing, Is That All There Is — PJ Harvey and John Parrish’s version, my favourite that has been showing up in my head since it’s appearance in 1996.
When I arrived at Megan’s house earlier, she brought me into her barn studio and showed me some of the art she’d brought home. So many paintings of Dorothy’s (the mother of the husband) , and sketches, and charcoal on rice paper. Gouache. Dorothy tried everything on. “Over there,” Megan said, “is some kid art that was saved — it isn’t good, but it was saved. The kids pulled it out of the dumpster. You might find that interesting.” We all know a lot about each other through instagram, even if it feels, to me anyway, like a personal diary. Oh my goodness did I ever. I didn’t even think to ask if they were for sale. I’m not a collector. Not a historian. If they were animals or plants I would have wanted to hang them up in The Rat Room at home, but my family would have protested. Though they’ve accompanied me to many outsider Art exhibits, they never connect with it and are perplexed at my adoration, and how I melt before it. There is so much mystery in the marks.
“It doesn’t look like kid art” is all I could muster.
“Maybe a nephew, drawing with auntie.”
”Hmmm.”
“Amongst the magic books there were automatic… ”
She didn’t finish her sentence. We thought about my left-handed journals. I thought more about everything I make, everything I do. This was interesting.
”Yeah. Because it isn’t kid handwriting.”
Everything else was on canvas, rice paper, drawing paper. These drawings were on newsprint with crayon maybe, or pastel, and graphite. Some pages were folded an stapled into books. I took a few photographs - not enough - and we went to the house which was close. I picked up some treasures, but was overwhelmed. I didn’t look through everything and today I am regretting it. I got a Stickley Brothers Book Stand that needs taken apart, cleaned up, and put back together again. A green tin. Some art supplies. An American Airlines ceramic dish — I’d been wanting one of these to use as a watercolour palette. Megan gifted me a painting of Dorothy’s, an old map for Søren, and a piece of unused Japanese paper that I will try some Tetra Pak prints on. I found some plants books and a pond book. Some Yiddish Folktakes. There were so many books.
Then last night, late. I had just finished watching Fargo with Silas and Walter came home pooped, from a late-night soccer game. Søren is in Ithaca with his homeschool group. I was bleary-eyed and sent the Highlights acceptance letters out whilst chattering with Deb on the phone when Megan sent this:
”Delighted that I grabbed at least a handful of these odd things, looking forward to looking at them with you someday. These were the envelopes I was talking about that have the circle or staircase and then drawings on top of them. Thanks for delighting in all with me.”
Then, “I -think- the drawings in envelopes are tests at prison /mental health place for like -here a paper make a drawing out of it- thing.” ‘“Wtfffffffff!!!! THAT MAY BE WHAT THE DRAWING SARE. HOW DID WE NOT PUT THIS TOGETHER?!” I could barely write.
Could it be? This morning I asked Megan if she is selling them. I was a little desperate. She is tending to the house sale.
“You and I have a mystery on our hands.” she said. “They aren’t for sale.”
Exhale. What an adventure!
I find myself full of the wants today and too, this song sung between the writing. An old favourite on repeat.
Yesterday’s other treasures:
ps: There is a trunk full of magic tricks and tons of books. These are two that Megan pulled for herself.
Is That All There Is?
I remember when I was a girl
Our house caught on fire
And I'll never forget the look on my father's face
As he gathered me in his arms
And raced to the burning building out on the pavement
And I stood there shivering
And watched the whole world go up in flames
And when it was all over
I said to myself
"Is that all there is to a fire?"
Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is
And when I was twelve years old
My daddy took me to the circus
The greatest show on earth
And there were clowns
And elephants
Dancing bears,
And a beautiful lady in pink tights flew high above our heads
And as I sat there watching
I had the feeling that something was missing
I don't know what
But when it was all over
I said to myself
"Is that all there is to the circus?"
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is
And then I fell in love
With the most wonderful boy in the world
We'd take long walks down by the river
Or just sit for hours gazing into each other's eyes
We were so very much in love
And then one day
He went away
And I thought I'd die
But I didn't
And when I didn't
I said to myself
"Is that all there is to love?"
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep
I know what you must be saying to yourselves
If that's the way she feels about it
Then why doesn't she just end it all
Oh no. not me. I'm not ready for the final disappointment
'Cause I know just as well as I'm standing here talking to you
That when that final moment comes
And I'm breathing my last breath
I know what I'll be saying to myself
"Is that all there is?"
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all
there is
Songwriters: Jerry Leiber / Mike Stoller
but my mom always said, Anthony Newly wrote it
Wow, just wow. So grateful you posted this, how wonderful that these things are shared! Thanks.
Just love your findings. You’re a magnet to wonderful little things! You have the greatest juju.