Considering Beauty

When I was a kid and my family lived abroad in Asia, we spent a lot of time traveling by boat and car throughout neighboring countries. My mother had a driver who would take us across the border to Thailand in our little white Honda sedan for her to shop interesting artifacts and food. We often did this when my father was at work; we'd rummage the village shops and make it back home by dinner. My mother had all the furniture in our Penang home built by local artisans; the coffee table, the dining table and chairs, her personal telephone table, all of the children's beds, our toy chests, most of our toys. Everything made from local wood, hand-cut and carved. When we moved back to the United States, she took most of it with us, and set it up in our new home. I remember guests visited for dinner one evening, and when my mother was out of the room they quietly commented how odd and strange people are with their unusual design aesthetic, and they wrinkled up their faces in distaste. My mother came back in the room glowing and smiling - pride in carrying her teak tray with beautiful goodies on it. I remember feeling proud of her and glad to see her joy, glad that she had not seen the looks on our guests faces. Earlier this week I saw a photo on social media of rattan tables and chairs from Vietnam, which reminded of my time as a child spent abroad - our family room opened up to a large stone patio which looked out onto the forested hills and the ocean below, the leaves rustling, the warm, tropical wind blowing through the open doors, my feet up on the rattan coffee table. The contrast I saw in my mothers design sense, and the unusual reponses I saw come from it, helped me to consider beauty in different ways. It's one thing I think about when writing poetry, or making paintings - and I think I can feel the wind on me again from in that house in Malaysia.   

BEACH TOWELS - MALAYSIA, watercolor, pencil and oil pastel on paper, 11" x 9"