BIGGER THAN ITS SIZEBy Margot Wawra
There I was with my seven Plexiglas sculptures facing the three judges for my final examination. I did not make any plans how to explain my work but asked my ‘deeper wisdom’ to help me with the answers.
There were 12 inch Plexiglas boxes inside of 18 inch structures, some with mirrors in the back; inviting the viewer into the work. Others had mirrors in the bottom, taking the onlooker into a deep well of colour forms. There was one work on a turn-table, showing the form-colour overlaps in a steady movement; a breathing in and breathing out that spared the viewer having to walk around the piece.
A little girl entered the scene. She tried to stop the merry-go-round, explaining, “I want to see slowly!”
The mother scolded the child but I took her hand and guided her leisurely around each piece; savouring her comments like new discoveries.
Tina, which was the name of the tiny visitor, bent her head low and told me what she saw from the ‘mouse perspective’; then climbed onto a chair and made ecstatic comments abut the ‘bird view’. At one point she pointed and said “See, a zig-zag snake!” She saw the colour forms and their movements with a deeper understanding than some adults. I joined her journey with delight.
“Which work do you consider the best?” The professor’s question brought me back to the examination room.
I pointed to the 12 inch box with the ‘snake design’. It revealed delicious colour overlaps: nothing fancy. The only mirror was the clear box that echoed the design faintly like a wind sound. The openings in the configuration added an element of silence, of expectation. The beauty was in the subtlety.
My professors were tempting me” “Your 18 inch work is more elaborate. It shows greater skill in the execution. You must have spent many hours on that piece? Don’t you think you should do more work on the turntable? Viewers like movement and excitement. Additional elements like mirrors and strings produce handsome pieces.”
I did not waiver. “With every work I learn something new. The viewers’ comments add also to my knowledge. “Lights in the City” is not my most elaborate piece, it does not show all the tricks of the craft, but it has all the nuances of a well-balanced complete work. It humbleness makes it bigger than its size. Therefore I like it best.”
The judges looked puzzled. They had a short discussion and then made their decisions. When they left the room, one-by-one they went to the little box, touched it with a finger, with a hand, or with their eyes and remarked: “Yes, it is bigger than its size!”
The wisdom of a child to stop the turntable and really see the colour forms and explore the work from all angles gave me a fresh perspective on my work. I did not have to show everything I know in one single piece. Sometimes less is more.
*****
Once a piece of art leaves the studio it takes on its own life; much like a child that leaves home. The little Plexiglas box “Light in the City” was acquired by the Saskatchewan Art Board in Regina for their permanent collection.
Thirty-three years later it was borrowed from the Art Board for a Group Show.
I never would have known if not for the royalty payment I received. After some months another cheque arrived; my sculpture was digitalized for the website.
My ‘off-spring’ seemed to be saying, “Hello Mom, I’m still doing fine. Thank you for your good judgement. I really am special and bigger than my size.
How could I explain to that Plexiglas box that I was moved in my decision by a little girl that had the ‘special’ eyes to see?
Different BluesBy Margot Wawra
I like blue in my dresses and accessories; they go well with my eye colour, which I have inherited from my parents. Father had the brightest forget-me-not eyes passed on from his father: though Grandpa’s were piercing, harder: like a brook on a cool winter morning. Grandpa owned a factory of upholstery and carriages. His eyes had to be everywhere, detect everything that did not seem perfect; the typical attitude of a Prussian. He modelled himself after Frederick the Great, his employees called him “Anton the Great”, a man with an iron fist, steely eyes, but a heart of gold.
When Father finished high school, Grandpa manoeuvred him into an apprenticeship in the food industry. “People will always eat”, was his explanation. No wonder that my Father’s career ended in potatoes, spirits and chocolate. After World War 1, Grandpa foresaw that the future did not favour ‘his industry’. Henry Ford had invented the automobile while a carriage attracted mainly newly weds, sightseers and royalty. So my Grandfather sold his business and lived happily until inflation wiped out his capital. Fortunately an old friend, Edgar appeared out-of-the-blue and offered Grandpa a seat in his agency. For the next 15 years, until his death at age 75-Grandpa sold life insurance to his old board of directors and their blue-blooded friends. He did well and made a good living.
My father’s food wholesale business flourished as well. He hired a new girl, Lisa. She had beautiful blue eyes with violet sparkles. They were capricious, flirtatious and mostly laughing. The working relationship was short-term, after three months my father Alfred married Lisa; and it was for life. My dad was hooked on my Mom’s soft figure and her hearty laugh, which she carried through life’s thick and thin years. Mom often laughed so hard that tears coursed down her cheeks. Even when she had good reason to cry; she laughed instead.
When they had to cross the border between Thuringia and Bavaria in 1945; escaping the advancing Russian forces into the American Zone; Mother had hidden their passports and money in her corset. They walked a long time in dangerous territory, their meagre belongings; some food and clothing in a knapsack. When they reached Bavaria and she had a chance to use a flush toilet at a filling station; imagine how the relief turned to disaster when she realized that human waste wasn’t the only thing that got flushed away.
You would think this would make her very blue, would have made her cry, made her pull her hair or blame God; but no, she drove away the blues with her unending laughter.
“What is so funny about this disaster!?” my Father inquired.
“Can you imagine a person angling in the river, thinking he caught a fish for the next meal; ending up with our papers instead?” Mother chuckled.
“…and our money,” added Father. He did not think it was funny.
“It’s money from the Russian zone and the American’s have a different currency, remember? Who knows, it may be lucky. If the Americans check us out they won’t find anything that suggests we crossed the border illegally.” Mom had a good point.
“Perhaps one day a farmer may find our bag on the shore and will wonder whether the owners had drowned…or?” My parents played that game for a long time. “What if…?” Most speculations resulted in explosive laughter from my mother. Always when life’s dark hours tried to creep in Mom prevented the blues from settling around us; rather she made them go puff! and dissolve in to the blue sky.
My Mother salvaged from those turbulent times one precious piece of jewellery. It was a ring my Father had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary. Surrounded by ten little diamonds was a lapis lazuli; “deep blue as the eyes of my Lisa”, my Father would say.
During the war my Mother was afraid this precious ring might be stolen. Fortunately, she had not hidden it with the papers and the money-where it would have been lost as well. Instead she had snuggled it into a cotton ball and sewed it in to her bra. She kept doing that until Germany stabilized and she could enjoy the freedom of wearing and viewing her ring again. How she loved her lapis-lisa-blue; ( as we christened her cherished ring). She passed it on to me, her only daughter, when she died and I draw much comfort especially from that beautiful blue accessory.
© Margot Wawra
Copyright © 2006 Margot Wawra. Used with permission
Margot Wawra was born in Germany where she studied Creative Writing and Journalism.
After her emigration to Canada in 1950 she studied Painting and Sculpture and received her BA from the University of Saskatchewan and her MA in from California State University. To this day she has many sculptures on display at the University of Saskatchewan.
As Margot's English developed she joined the MSA Poets Potpourri Society and The Scribblers. She has had pieces published in Colours of Life and Points of Light; two MSA Poets Potpourri Anthologies, and has had articles published in THE RAG (Fall 2003 and Spring 2004). Margot has written for the Friendship House Newsletter since 1993 and for the Abbotsford Hospice Society Newsletter since 2001. Margot's words never fail to charm.
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