Bed Head

No, it's not a hair style

Dear Foxy Friends,

I have a beautiful burst of art whimsy for you

I was unexpectedly delighted by an Alexander Calder I saw at Venice’s Peggy Guggenheim Collection last month. It wasn’t like his other mobiles and sculptures (see the exhibit Calder: In Motion at the Seattle Art Museum, now through August 4).

This piece is titled Silver Bedhead, and I laughed out loud because I thought of the snarly morning mop I used to get when I had short hair (think mohawk on steroids). How playful, right?

It just looks like bedhead, don’t you think?

But no! This silver breeze of whimsy has nothing to do with hair. This is a true-blue bedhead, aka a headboard for a bed, a piece Peggy G personally asked Calder to make for her. CHECK THIS OUT:

This woman had vision (and a rad headboard). Check out “Confessions of an Art Addict,” her autobio.

I have issues with the whole bedhead/headboard apparatus, but this Calder piece blows all those peeves and preferences out of the water because:

This is the headboard/bedhead of all headboard/bedheads!

Perhaps not the best for reading in bed. Ow.

Inside info on this piece: Calder made it in 1946. Because of the war, he could only get his hands on silver. This explains it’s out-of-the-ordinariness for Calder’s style. The only objects in motion in this undersea plant-and-flower landscape were a fish and a butterfly. Talk about creative constraints! Here’s an up-close pic.

I’d like to say I was so inspired that I beautified our bed. To all of you who aren’t bed-makers with morning routines, I see you. I am you.

I call this the “lived-in” look.

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PSST! Don’t forget the INTERMISSION COUPONS I made for you, in case you could use a pause/rest/break/re-think/breather.

I’m ready to exit my Winter-to-Spring intermission.

It was good to slow down and contemplate life, creative work, family, and all that jazz. It also felt a bit weird, even “hard”, as someone who has felt most “productive” when throwing herself into pursuits, projects, and activities eyes half-closed, breath half-held, thrashing around for an undetermined period, then stopping to look around and take stock. Oh. Oooooh.

At some point in life, if you pause long enough to listen, you can feel a call to slow-the-f-down and listen, really LISTEN. In that space you might begin to sense where life is asking you to turn. This is different from answering the “what do I want” question, and instead orienting yourself in the direction of the call, or, what is wanted for you and your unique spirit of aliveness.

Even if taking an intermission or pause sounds indulgent, it might feel itchy and uncomfortable to step into the void of the PAUSE. It might feel a bit like putting your phone away, and the craving that follows to grab it from the bottom drawer in your basement and start tapping and texting away.

So: if it feels weird to pause, that’s OK; you’re not alone. It doesn’t say anything about your moral, spiritual, or physical fortitude other than you’re a human living in the 21st century.

Keep at it in the tiniest doses.

Xo