Yes, she gave me that look that says "You crazy." I have seen it so many times it doesn't even hurt anymore. I just think about how much those people are missing because they don't have what I have with the Jell-O Art Show.
My writer friends, to my surprise, agreed that Jell-O Art is wacky. I was a little shocked, as I have passed completely through the idea that it is wacky. I didn't even notice when this happened. Maybe it was when Maude Kerns Art Center named the Radar Angels Community Partners. Maybe it was when I got the interview by Sean Cuellar of KEZI.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8U2osa-ssU Probably it was when I made that book in 2012 with my foot propped up, or possibly it was many years before that.
I can explain this, at length, the serious nature of Jell-O Art. I can go on about the creative process, connecting with the heart and soul, the techniques of the medium, the expertise gained over almost three decades. I don't even get why people don't get that, so I have to admit I was disappointed that I got the wacky label from my friends, but of course I immediately forgave them and felt that it was their problem, certainly not mine.
But my friend then sent me this, completely redeeming herself. I knew she got it, she just forgot. She found this on a website called Brain Pickings. The links are from there.
Margaret Mead recounts a particularly pause-giving dream. More than a mere record on the unconscious, it unfolds into a powerful metaphor for the meaning of life — for the beauty of not-knowing, for the soul-nourishment of wonder, and for the question of “enough” that Vonnegut once contemplated.
Last night I had the strangest dream. I was in a laboratory with Dr. Boas and he was talking to me and a group of other people about religion, insisting that life must have a meaning, that man couldn’t live without that. Then he made a mass of jelly-like stuff of the most beautiful blue I had ever seen — and he seemed to be asking us all what to do with it. I remember thinking it was very beautiful but wondering helplessly what it was for. People came and went making absurd suggestions. Somehow Dr. Boas tried to carry them out — but always the people went away angry, or disappointed — and finally after we’d been up all night they had all disappeared and there were just the two of us. He looked at me and said, appealingly “Touch it.” I took some of the astonishingly blue beauty in my hand, and felt with a great thrill that it was living matter. I said “Why it’s life — and that’s enough” — and he looked so pleased that I had found the answer — and said yes “It’s life and that is wonder enough.”