The Window
In August 2015, Elizabeth’s husband Jean Paul gave her the gift of a window in the local shopping mall - a space to show her paintings, rented for a year. She was horrified. She graciously responded to her husband: “I don’t want to put my paintings in the shopping mall!”, (how crude and cheap - how utterly unappealing). But Jean Paul was patient with her, and then made the transformative statement: “You can do anything you want with it.”
Suddenly there were possibilities. Elizabeth wondered what if it wasn’t about her, but about putting art in a public space where at some time everyone ends up. She remembered a recent trip to Scotland where all the art galleries were free of charge, and filled with a vibrant mixture of people: families with children, the young and elderly, the humble and the elite. And there was also the idea of creating a space for contemplation. Forever struck by the Zen saying: “The day you teach a child the word bird is the day the child stops seeing the bird.” So then there would be no titles or explanations imposed.
On later visits to the shopping mall - always relieved to find no evidence of eggs or tomatoes thrown at the glass - Elizabeth has observed some interaction with the window. A mother and a child walking towards the post office, and her little son yanks her arm towards the colours and shapes. A young disabled person in a wheelchair is pushed up to the glass by their caregiver, and they stop for a while to look. A couple approaches and the wife tells her husband: “Come, lets go to the artistic place.”
One day a young man recognizes Elizabeth when she is changing the window and demands to know: “Is this you?!” “Why do you do this?” “Why do you paint like this?!” He was obviously disturbed by the whole thing and seemed to be searching for the right word to describe her work. She offered some possibilities to him such as childlike or abstract, but on his own he found his word: “No, half-assed”. And again he demanded: “Why do you do this?!” Elizabeth was delighted by the freedom of his critique, and then tried to explain to him the unexplainable, and they had a brief and engaging discussion about why someone might create art. The young man began furiously nodding his head and departed with the encouragement: “Well, good for you!” “Keep it up!”
And an early morning before going to work. The shops had not yet opened. Elizabeth was again changing the paintings with Jean Paul. She was tired and questioning why they were continuing to do this. Is it time to stop? And then there was an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart, yet the mall was empty and no shops were open. A very humble-looking woman. She pushed her cart over to the window to watch the changing of the paintings, and her face was a picture of curiosity and delight. A beautiful smile. Elizabeth looked at her and spoke to her in her mind: “I keep this window for you.”
From time to time, fearing that they will one day have to move into the playhouse due to a lack of space in their home, Jean Paul exhorts his wife to consider putting some prices and names on her paintings, and at least make an effort to sell something. But she is stubborn. No, that will change the window. It must remain just as it is. A place of contemplation. Nothing imposed on the person standing in front of the glass.