Local look: chico
MUSINGS ON THE CHICO ART SCENE
This is an unusual time, and an unusual review is called for! This exhibit was only open to the public for a few weeks, installed right before the SIP order and closed again as the county went on the watchlist. I was a part of the curating team and had a personal investment having grown up a glassblower’s daughter. I had a lot of eggs in that beautiful glass basket. I was concerned about safety and the state of the world, but in my heart, I also grieved when we could not open in March. I threw myself into what other museums were doing on their websites and social media. Working with very supportive people, we created virtual tours in rapid fashion to get the exhibition out in anyway we could. The exhibition committee was trying to pay homage to the local history and abundance of art glass, one of the things that makes Chico unique. For me, that history involved playing on the boulders out front of Orient & Flume (O&F). I would climb up the craggy side and slide down the smooth side. I remember a giant forest of bamboo and sitting restlessly at a bench where you could watch the glassblowers work in the torrid heat of the white-hot “glory holes.” It was a masculine scene with only a few female workers, mostly front of house and lappers. It was comfortable for me though. I liked watching the videotape on the history of O&F in their little museum corner of the showroom. My dad cut off the sleeves and collar of every t-shirt he owned. He always smelled of sweat but he didn’t really stink. His iconic white, cotton golfing hats had yellow-brown rims from constant perspiration. He rode his bike to work when I was young, and I was amazed at how early he would wake up. It seemed like he had “school” hours: up at 6am, back around 2:30pm. I was always so happy when he would make us breakfast on the weekends. Waffles were/are his specialty. He makes a mean burger too, calls them homeades. Before I had a sister to boss around, my dad would play barbies with me. He was always tired after work and would try to nap. He would lay on the couch holding a doll, doing his best to pretend according to my orders. “Dad…pretend like…” He would encourage me to pretend like they needed naps, I am now realizing out of his sheer fatigue. He is a great dad, and a talented artist. I never really cared growing up how he could be so good at something so hard. I loved to draw and was proficient for a kid my age. I wanted to be an artist and illustrate books. I loved books that had gorgeous illustrations. Later, I would try to major in Biology. I often defined myself in opposition to him. In reality, we are very much alike in some aspects. An important reason for why my dad is a great artist, is because my mom is also an artist. My mom graduated from CSU, Chico with a BA in Fine Art. She would have continued in school I am sure, but she had me. My dad didn’t have a formal art background, and mom’s ability to critique, to think deeply and conceptually definitely challenged dad’s art. I remember some yelling. I remember her sacrifice, devoting her time to being a mom and to managing a side operation that became a full-blown business once my dad left O&F. Our house is filled with art. My moms’ drawings, paintings, and photography cover the walls, even the outside of the house! My dad’s vases and bowls catch the light. His blown-glass Christmas ornaments get hung up with red ribbon and sprigs of mistletoe and holly when it is the season. Every family member of a certain age has a collection of his work from gifts over the years. It was our currency. It paid for my braces. We traded glass for yardwork and sometimes for more art! 2 adults and 4 kids lived on the sale of his glass and my mom’s tireless side hustle, coupon cutting, bargain shopping. We always had at least one vacation a year to make happy memories. I remember being embarrassed when I gave an animal paperweight that my dad made to a friend for their birthday in my tween years. They looked at it and thanked me, but I felt that I was a loser for gifting them art. It wasn’t as cool as a game, or clothes, or some kind of makeup thing. I wish I would have felt pride rather than shame. I have grown up around art and despite my defiance, it has greatly shaped my life. I now teach the history of art, enjoy looking at and writing about it, and making spaces for it. No, I don’t dabble in glass myself. I tried in high school as dad was setting up his own studio, and I have some rough memories of startup struggles. 9/11 happened, I went off to UC Irvine, and without my help, dad succeeded. It is so strange to look back at how my view on art has changed. From taking it totally for granted to understanding its critical place in society, my love for family and for art now seem indistinguishably intertwined. I looked at this exhibition, and it connected vivid memories of my parents and our lives. You can enjoy it virtually in these links. Keep making art and keep loving your loved ones. Photo credits: Hannah Smallhouse www.youtube.com/watch?v=czZMuBHpE8g www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_fHTu1uXhU www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5q2Q240DKs
1 Comment
|
AuthorSara Smallhouse is tenure-track faculty in Art History at Butte College, teaches every once in a while at CSU, Chico, and is on the Board of Directors of monca (Museum of Northern California Art). She likes to walk around and look at things with her family, friends, or solo. Archives
February 2022
Categories |