I See the Art in You
Letter from the Editor as published in the September 2022 issue
As I write this I’m sitting beneath the massive pines of a campground that is two years away from its 100th anniversary. Year after year my husband and I are blessed to be invited back to this place to play music together through two consecutive weeks of Family Camp. There are five things we can count on:
weak coffee and good company
at least one day of torrential rain
dirty feet
that a 6/8 is always more fun to play than a 4/4
and a moment that lingers long after the last notes fade away
On Saturday evening, The Martin Brothers Collective took the outdoor stage for a concert under the stars. Their music is sweet and storied and gentle and they tossed old familiars in with originals. One of the brothers shared a memory about his daughter. He talked about her as a little girl; how he took her to a museum for the first time; how she saw a space full of artwork and she rushed in, threw her head back and raised her arms, spinning round and round in a carefree dance. The room was full of people but she didn’t care. “Why are you doing that?” he asked her. “Because it’s all so beautiful,” she responded.
As he told this story, I felt a lump in my throat. I could see her, projected there on the stage in front of her father. I saw her in a white dress that twirled around her legs when she spun. I saw the joy on her face and I wondered when the last time was I allowed myself to be swallowed by the beauty around me.
The guitar strum began and a song spilled out inspired by that moment. When they got to the chorus there weren’t even words, just do-do-dos and my eyes welled up. Something was captured with that story and the music. In the poetry that existed in the space where lyrics should usually go there was a message I needed to hear—maybe everyone needs to hear: just let go and be in the moment.
That little girl didn’t care that the room was full of strangers. She didn’t care if people stared or whispered or giggled. She was so moved by what was in front of her that she gave herself to it. She danced in the gallery.
‘I see the art in you’ is one of the lyrics of the first verse and I think it so beautifully captures how I want to be seen and how I want to see others.
I see the art in you.
We’re climbing out of a long time of isolation and learning how to be together again. I didn’t know how much I missed playing music until I stepped on the stage and strapped on my guitar. I didn’t know how much I missed people until I sat with an accordion player and talked about editing. I didn’t know how starved for art I was until I started thinking about the last time I went looking for it. I fell into hibernation without realizing the loss. Now I’m being intentional about climbing out.
As we reclaim ‘normal’ I hope you have moments when you lift your arms and exclaim, “it’s all so beautiful!” I hope you’ll be able to look at me and say you see the art in me, and I hope someday soon to be able to look at you and say the same.
As Blank Spaces enters into its seventh year in circulation, I hope it continues to be a place you find beauty as your fingers dance through the gallery of its pages. Thank you for being here, for celebrating the art of words and images, and for allowing me to keep discovering anew, the beauty of Canadian talent.
Alanna Rusnak
Editor in Chief, Blank Spaces
