We hope you will enjoy this blog entry by one of our artists Lisa Lenox, from Montgomery. Learn more about Lisa at the end of her blog.
These little birdfeeders/sculptures are highly influenced by the same traditions that brought us bottletrees and shell-decorated graves and a few other really cool things. I have a great love affair going on these days with rusty and usually broken things – with cast-offs and misfits and just anything our society has grown weary of, whether said item has outlived it’s usefulness or not.
The African tradition of leaving something akin to a curse tied to trees around the home using found materials fascinated me. It spoke in dark, sultry words to my admittedly dark sense of humor. And art without a sense of humor is just…something you buy in the “home” section at the local discount store. It’s pre-framed, pre-matted (if at all), and is most likely done in shades of blue and beige. (I have a whole theory of male behavior which centers around “bachelor blue and beige”- but that’s a ramble for another day).
So I find odds and ends, be it at home, at various thrift stores, or something really cool I wrestled from a large and aggressive squirrel at dad’s shop. The bird feeder/mobile/home protectors are made from found objects only. Preferably things which the family has used and abused over the years. It’s more potent that way.
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I twirled and twisted my odds and ends together with rusty old wire, or wire I might have acquired in a misbegotten way from a 4th cousin’s cow shelter down one of the last dirt roads left in the U.S., then made sure I had surfaces which birds would not be afraid to light upon and dine.
I know this piece will support smaller birds, because they have used and defiled this one personally. They are my greatest critics, and they have deemed it worthy. I have it on fairly good authority also that the birdfeeder/talisman has great juju - none shall pass without risk to life and limb, and not to mention fortune!
I trust that crossing the sacred boundary to your home will prove infinitely more difficult with these light sculptures guarding your home.
Learn about Lisa -
I was born and raised in Alabama-something which used to horrify me-but now is a source of infinite pride. Montgomery has been my home for most of 50 years. The area in which we lived was rural – cows and horses chomped grass across the street. The man next door fished with great success – there were always incredibly large fish heads drying on his fence posts (don’t ask why – I have no clue). A murky stream ran through the property, so we girls spent a lot of time figuring out new and exciting ways to catch bigger and bigger crawfish. The Alabama River was a short ways away, and there was a civil war railroad trestle running across it. We were explorers and archeologists as well as artists.
Art lessons were not in the cards, so our trips to the library were used in large part to find books containing paintings we wanted to copy. Da Vinci was my favorite, and I became very good at copying his simple drawings.
AUM was my first true experience with the organized teaching of art. It was simultaneously intimidating and exciting. Between the art department and regular classes, I felt myself become…how do you say it?…well rounded? We’ll stick with that. Many years into my education (a stop and start affair), I found sculptural ceramics. Saying I came home as an artist is too mild a phrase, but let’s stick with it anyway. A year or so into sculptural ceramics, I discovered West African art as filtered through the culture of the South, and saw it as a heritage for not one skin color, but for all who had lived here. It has utterly suffused my work – a fact which makes me happy to no end.
I attended a lecture by Robert Thompson a long while back, and ended up buying his book, entitled “Flash of the Spirit”. Thompson unwittingly changed the way I viewed not only art, but the Southern world in which I grew up – the one which spawned and nurtured me, which up to that point had tried desperately to give me a definitive style – something of my very own to which people could point in horror and scream “Oh NO! Not again!”. Well, some do. Mostly my family, but they are a blurb for another day.
African art should speak to all of us – it is the original – it is our mother and father. If you care to look, you can find those elements in art all around you. We are all one people – something as trivial as skin color and location has only made us forget. One day we are all going to sit around a big cooking pot filled with gumbo or beans or something equally homespun, pass around cornbread and sigh as one people. There’s nothing like coming home.
























