The Classic | Midcentury Modern Kinetic Art by Mark Leary
Mobile: The Classic in blues and browns
On secrets
“Distance begins,” said rabbit, “when these are kept.”
Thoughts while making
Many years ago, I stayed in the small town of Fawnskin, CA. Once home to miners, loggers, and hunters, it’s nestled quietly on the shores of Big Bear Lake. At 6,827 feet, the air is clear, the water blue, trees brown and thick of trunk.
Ponderosa, Jeffrey, sugar, and lodgepole. Pinyon, knobcone, and Coulter. It’s no wonder the Serrano knew this land as "Yuhaviat," or "Pine Place," or that their relationship with the grizzly would one day name it so.
The cabin was a mishmash décor of thrift store finds, knickknacks, and mismatcheds. But there was one thing.
A black and white photo. Maybe 12” x 16”. Framed and hanging a little askew. It featured a stand of darkened trees, super saturated, pointing skyward, a tease of light, omens of something that was or was to come.
I don’t recall why, but on the morning I left I found a bit of stationery, sat down, and wrote a message. I also don’t remember the specifics, just that the note contained two things: 1) my hopes for the future, and 2) truths that I knew about myself right then, right there, that I couldn’t admit to myself.
I folded the paper in fourths, took the back off to the frame, tucked the note behind the photo, closed it up, and rehung it on the wall.
As I was packing up this mobile of blues and browns like the water and trees of Big Bear, I wondered about the secrets we hold from ourselves, from others? Secrets we know, secrets that if brought into the light, said out loud, could set you free? Who you really are, who you really want to be, what you really feel, your fears, and doubts, and places of shame. Secrets that have become substance, rails on a life guarded.
What’s one secret you can whisper to yourself today, unburdening yourself, freeing light to shine in dark places?
Many years ago, I stayed in the small town of Fawnskin, CA. Once home to miners, loggers, and hunters, it’s nestled quietly on the shores of Big Bear Lake. At 6,827 feet, the air is clear, the water blue, trees brown and thick of trunk.
Ponderosa, Jeffrey, sugar, and lodgepole. Pinyon, knobcone, and Coulter. It’s no wonder the Serrano knew this land as "Yuhaviat," or "Pine Place," or that their relationship with the grizzly would one day name it so.
The cabin was a mishmash décor of thrift store finds, knickknacks, and mismatcheds. But there was one thing.
A black and white photo. Maybe 12” x 16”. Framed and hanging a little askew. It featured a stand of darkened trees, super saturated, pointing skyward, a tease of light, omens of something that was or was to come.
I don’t recall why, but on the morning I left I found a bit of stationery, sat down, and wrote a message. I also don’t remember the specifics, just that the note contained two things: 1) my hopes for the future, and 2) truths that I knew about myself right then, right there, that I couldn’t admit to myself.
I folded the paper in fourths, took the back off to the frame, tucked the note behind the photo, closed it up, and rehung it on the wall.
As I was packing up this mobile of blues and browns like the water and trees of Big Bear, I wondered about the secrets we hold from ourselves, from others? Secrets we know, secrets that if brought into the light, said out loud, could set you free? Who you really are, who you really want to be, what you really feel, your fears, and doubts, and places of shame. Secrets that have become substance, rails on a life guarded.
What’s one secret you can whisper to yourself today, unburdening yourself, freeing light to shine in dark places?