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Wearable Art by Shirley Cunningham
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Somewhere in the blur of the past I pull forth a single vivid slice of my life that I count as my first memory. I had turned three years old in February. It was now September. I heard the sound of tires of our new 1939 gray Pontiac rolling over the ribbons of gravel that form our driveway. I hurry to the back door. Opening the screen and peering out I see my daddy lift a large basket out of the back seat and place it on the grass. I scuttle down the stairs of the small back porch and timidly cross the back yard, anxious to view what had been placed on the ground.
I know this is a very special event. I watch as my father hurriedly returns to the car to help Mama. As he walked with my mother across the yard and into the house, I peer into the basket. Nestled inside is my new baby brother.
Years later I read an old newspaper clipping of that date, announcing to all of Waco that after the births of three girls my father, Simon, at last had a son. But, quite frankly, my brother's arrival is not what I found most note worthy about this scene. It is the basket that impressed me, the biggest I had ever seen; with giant handles and wide cream colored reeds. I ran my hands over the sides, feeling the texture of the patterns of those interlocking strips. It was so beautiful.
I spent many hours of my childhood with that basket. It became a bed for my baby doll and many, many years later I learned from my oldest sister that I too, the first of the four of us born in a hospital, came home in that very same carrier.
The symmetry of line, color and texture of that simple basket was my first conscious encounter with aesthetics. After studying old potographs, I know now that the wide reeds were woven in a diagonal pattern. Even now, I delight at the sight of the diagonal line.
That was the day in the humid fall sunlight of our driveway, with my newborn brother sleeping unaware, that another birth transpired in our family. My lifelong journey with art began. |
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