kristin lyn: commonplace

"Commonplaces never become tiresome. It is we who become tired when we cease to be curious and appreciative."

Norman Rockwell

Have you ever stopped and looked at a Norman Rockwell print? I hadn't until recently. I have memories of a glass cabinet at my grandma's house in Pennsylvania where my Grandpa Russell displayed plates with Rockwell prints and old Saturday Evening Post magazines. I wasn't too interested in them as a kid and don't remember ever stopping to look at them. I wish I had.

In November my dad and I went to the opening of the Norman Rockwell exhibit at the Chrysler. My expectations were low. To be quite honest I enjoy scoffing at cartoonish art and prefer the ornate style of Italian Renaissance art -- this is art that is both thought provoking in deeply spiritual ways and also breathtakingly beautiful with delicate, lacy gold details. There is this room in the Louvre, you go up the stairs towards the Winged Victory and then you turn right and go through this corridor lined with incredible Giotto pieces and frescoes and then you enter into this mesmorizing Italian Renaissance room. Each time I find myself in that room I feel small and simple, in awe of the ability of beauty to communicate true, eternal things.

So Dad and I went to see Norman Rockwell and I was taken aback by his work. So simple, yet incredibly communicative and stylized. Commonplace and yet not the least bit trite or cliche. I couldn't quite put my finger on what drew me into the exhibit. Was it his depiction of faces? The way he uses the face as a means of evocating emotion? Certainly that was something I've been thinking about often these past weeks. The paintings recalled faces from deep in my memory -- loved ones, children in need, leaders of our countries. But that didn't seem like the thing that was drawing me in. We enjoyed the exhibit for an hour or so and then decided our ability to appreciate it was saturated and we exited although we had not seen one room in the back was the exhibit.

Tonight we went back to the museum. I was feeling slightly off-kilter, loose ends left undone from work pulled for my attention. The nagging feeling that days are just flying by without acknowledgement as busyness has crept in and pauses and rest and opportunities to notice beauty have been pushed out. The weather was warm, not at all Christmas-like and I have yet to really feel settled into the holidays. These thoughts swirled in my mind as I walked into the Chrysler. The atmostphere inside is always warm and inviting, but this evening felt especially so. The most beautiful evergreen roping glowing with white twinkle lights was draped down the staircases and a tree formed from gorgeous red pointsettas was set to the side in the main room. The wonderfully simply, elegant decorations felt comforting and reorienting. Dad went to get two glasses of wine and we sat and talk and kept saying how pretty the museum looked. We finished our wine and headed into the Rockwell exhibit, into that back room that we had left unexplored during the previous visit.

The room is painted a vibrant yellow and each wall holds a portion of Rockwell's 353 magazine covers. Some of the covers are from actual magazines, mailed to subscribers. They sit in simple frames and they hold still shots of wonderfully American, wonderfully human moments. A girl holding up her prom dress looking in a mirror, a family saying grace before dinner, a young girl self-scrutinizing as a beauty magazine lay open on her lap. I started thinking about these shared moments, about the ways that the magazine images conjured memories from my own life. The anticipation of Christmas as a child, the joys of summer, long car rides torturing my little brother on our way to my grandparents house. It was such a neat experience to walk around this room, to see framed moments and memories and to see things I have not yet experienced which I look forward to. I'm learning slowly that the commonplace is not necessarily cliche, but instead that it is shared experiences and moments. And, I'm learning that a great deal of joy comes from these simple, ordinary moments.