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CC White
Movin' Onacrylic on driftwood, copper lashing with driftwood back, 80 H x 23 W x 11 D inches
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Grace Notesacrylic paint on driftwood mounted with copper lashing on black locust, 70 H x 24 W x 11 D inches. SOLD
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Apply Heatmixed media on paper, 20 x 33 inches
Untitled Imixed media on paper, 22 x 30 inches
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Untitled IImixed media on paper, 22 x 30 inches
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Requiemmixed media and collage on paper, 22.5 x 31 inches
Left to rightStele (with Spirals)acrylic and ink on wood, 71 x 14 inches;
Memorial for Trees (with Ogham)acrylic and ink on wood, 64 x 16 inches;
Monolith (Split)acrylic and ink on wood, 80 x 16 inches
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CC White: “Paint, these need paint,” was my first thought when looking at these 3 pieces of wood. And suddenly they became not just “pieces of wood”, but parts of trees again—once pines, standing tall and straight in the forest, with their dark green branches whipping in the wind, then, after reaching an age of 80 or 90 years, cut down to become floor boards and window sills and door jambs, and more. Trees that in their death became something else, even perhaps something utilitarian and beautiful, but still something other than their life’s purpose. These trees no longer hold carbon safely in the earth, no longer are home for chick-a-dees, insects, lichen and squirrels, no longer provide shade for ferns, moss and mushrooms, no longer drop cones, needles and branches to slowly rot and become part of the matted, woody debris that is the living forest floor. I mourn this loss, while at the same time I walk on those wide pine board floors, open and close the windows, and go in and out the doors. I am part of the problem. And I am only one of millions who, without a thought, use these resources that Nature provides. And we don’t give back. And we have lost the rituals by which we used to give thanks for this amazing abundance.
Our Earth is in crisis: she is drying up, burning up, and washing away, all at the same time. Ben Kilham took in 66 orphaned baby bears last winter. Millions of people are dying from cancer, often caused by man-made toxins. Major populations of bees are threatened, whales are nearing extinction , and the whole earth is experiencing an accelerated extirpation of non-human life. Indigenous peoples in the north are losing their ways of life as caribou are losing their migration routes, all because of extreme, rapid warming in the Artic.
In the meantime, I hover somewhere between despair, fury, and sloth, unsure where to place my energies. I read mysteries. I eat chocolate. And I paint. I paint my fears. I paint my dreams. I paint my visions. This installation is such a vision: a monument for trees, the markers made from trees in order to honor what once was, and to apologize for my own part in the realm of human activity. I remind myself that I am part of the problem.
The Tribe
Rolling Stone (no moss)mixed media on paper, 10 x 7 inches
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Dervishmixed media on paper, 12 x 7 inches
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CC White: During the late 1980's and early 1990's, I danced weekly with a "tribe" of men and women. We were mostly in our 40's, with some young "uns in their 30's, as well as a few "seasoned" elders. It was a time of great personal, often difficult, change in each of our lives, but drawn together by our confusion and pain, most of us eventually danced our way into some joy.
We followed the teachings of a local woman who had trained with Gabrielle Roth, a shamanic dancer from New York City and California. The dancing was intuitive, each person following their own curiosity about how to move her/his body. There were no footprints drawn on the floor to follow, there were no right or wrong steps or moves; we were each free to move our bodies in a way that felt true to oneself. It wasn't easy for a bunch of New Englanders to let go of rigid, often unspoken, training about the 'proper' way to move, but we slowly allowed ourselves to relax, and eventually became like a pod of dolphins, turning, circling, flowing, moving in unison as if we were swimming, surrounded by one another and carried by waves.
These drawings were done in honor of the women I danced with, for it was they who were my guides, they who gave me the courage to dance, and they who helped me feel safe to move with abandon. Some of the drawings titles have to do with the style in which an individual danced; others recall the music itself: music which held combinations of loud, lively, and wild rock undertones, as well as often being calm and regal, inviting slowness and intent; all of it was vital, filled with percussion.
Eventually most of us moved on to other lives, other loves, other states*, but every now and then I dig out a CD and dance, just because it feels good.
*To paraphrase Dylan, from Blood on the Tracks: Happiness is a state of mind, any time you want you can cross the state line...
We followed the teachings of a local woman who had trained with Gabrielle Roth, a shamanic dancer from New York City and California. The dancing was intuitive, each person following their own curiosity about how to move her/his body. There were no footprints drawn on the floor to follow, there were no right or wrong steps or moves; we were each free to move our bodies in a way that felt true to oneself. It wasn't easy for a bunch of New Englanders to let go of rigid, often unspoken, training about the 'proper' way to move, but we slowly allowed ourselves to relax, and eventually became like a pod of dolphins, turning, circling, flowing, moving in unison as if we were swimming, surrounded by one another and carried by waves.
These drawings were done in honor of the women I danced with, for it was they who were my guides, they who gave me the courage to dance, and they who helped me feel safe to move with abandon. Some of the drawings titles have to do with the style in which an individual danced; others recall the music itself: music which held combinations of loud, lively, and wild rock undertones, as well as often being calm and regal, inviting slowness and intent; all of it was vital, filled with percussion.
Eventually most of us moved on to other lives, other loves, other states*, but every now and then I dig out a CD and dance, just because it feels good.
*To paraphrase Dylan, from Blood on the Tracks: Happiness is a state of mind, any time you want you can cross the state line...
Wind Dancemixed media on paper, 22 x 30 inches
5 linen cards with envelopes, 7 x 5 inches