We cannot do great things on this earth. We can only do small things with great love. - Mother Teresa

Portrait by Gary Hume, Screenprint, 1998 Pink Orchid by Gary Hume, gloss paint on aluminium , 1999

I still remember having to sit down to weep the first time I walked through the MOMA, because I was able to see so many of the works that, until then, I had only seen in books. Working in relative isolation has its benefits no doubt, but whenever I do the Grand Tour I spend as much time in museums and galleries as my lower back –or husband– can take. (Looking up at enough big art can hurt!) I still have a long list of artists whose work I would love to see first hand. Gary Hume is one of these. This is an age of so much cold, conceptual, “ironic” sameness, the culture highpoint of which includes paintings made from bodily fluids and poop. (My mother proudly announced to the world in the comment book at my first solo show that I was doing this long before Chris Ofili. She enthusiastically recollected how I stood in the crib and –in a sweeping gesture– wiped my diaper over the wall: “It was so dramatic. I was quite moved. I knew you were meant to be an artist then and there. ” Hindsight and a mother’s love are wonderful things. But I digress… where was I? Oh yes….) Gary Hume’s paintings are a thing of genuine beauty. More than decorative, there is a sensitivity to material, a spirit, and an integrity in his work. Also, an openess and freedom I adore.

One of the poems collected in my sketchbook:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb from me.

                  - Emily Dickinson

I just read that only seven of Emily Dickinson’s some 1800 poems were published during her lifetime. If you are interested more of her writing can be found at www.emilydickinson.org.

Love by Koko, acrylic on canvas, 1983

One of my favourite online galleries features the artwork of gorillas Koko and Michael.

There you will find this quote:

“It is part of ape nature to paint. Apes like to use crayons, pencils and finger paints. Of course, they also like to eat them.” - Roger Fouts

(But then again, so would my baby, which is why –for now– he only paints with frozen blueberries.)

Can the art market tarnish the purity of this type of artwork? Does it take away the joy or even inspiration that can be found in images produced by chimp artists? For me, commerce can do no more to undermine the true value of animal art than it can make a child’s finger painting any less wonderful, or sully the spirit that transcends Van Gogh’s masterpieces.

I came across an interesting essay on animal art, but I have to admit that for all I have in common with Koko (and we are even the same height), I have mixed feelings when I read:

The resistance that women faced in gaining recognition for their contributions to art is not that different than the resistance that is given to accepting that the art that is done by animals can be true art.