PEARLE: Coffee on My Widowsill

Pearle Northrop

Artist Statement

It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I started taking what I do seriously and it took even longer to consider myself an artist. I love to paint whatever I can get my hands on from things as small as a Scrabble® piece to as big as a dresser and hopefully even bigger someday. Whatever it is I will paint it. I love transforming trash into treasure literally. Imagine that a chair that came from a dumpster (2006) made it into a museum (2009). It blows me away to think that something I did creates a sense of awe in a viewer’s eye.

I was talking to a friend a few years back about my love for furniture, my relationship with chairs in particular. There was a chair that I found discarded and ultimately forgotten. I came upon this chair accidentally. I wasn't looking for a relationship. Anyway, the chair was a very handsome chair with so many things to look at. His back was decorative; his arms were long and lean. His legs...I have never seen such beautiful legs. But he was beaten down. His self-esteem had long been worn out. His seat, which was repeatedly upholstered over years, was torn and faded. His stuffing was busting out revealing his age and loss of pride. Me, being a care taker and rescuer of sorts....picked up the chair and brought it home. He sat at the top of the stairs for a few weeks in a corner. My friends however saw this chair and commented on how ugly he was. They wondered why I had him in my home commenting on how dirty he was and how unattractive he was due to the years of neglect. I ignored them and kept him around. Finally one day I decided to put him on my coffee table and take the layers of cloth and wool stuffing off of his seat. Then I cleaned him, primed him and painted him black. Three months later I sat back and looked at him and this is what I saw.....A chair, a man restored...but not only restored but given a whole new purpose. He was beautiful again. He was unique and wonderful....The same chair that my friends were grossed out by....is now a chair that they ask permission to touch. Amazing.....One thing is for certain...NOTHING STAYS THE SAME! Change is inevitable and what is ugly or dirty or discarded as trash can be saved, can be rescued and can be made shinier than new!

Taking discarded forgotten pieces and giving them their self-esteem back is a passion for me. Living in a world where we discard things so easily I’d like to think I am making an itty bitty difference.

Pearle Northrop

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Coffee on My Widowsill

This morning I sat on an old chair by the window just gazing out. The winter frost on the panes of glass gave way as the steam from my coffee danced from the windowsill. I don't often remember to just sit and observe and perhaps reflect. I am usually trying to get things done like get my daughter off to school, the cats fed and the dishes washed and from there my day unfolds.

Today, I awoke with an ache in my heart. I can't quite put a reason behind it other than perhaps it is that time of year again. The day of my birth is tomorrow and I am not quite sure what I should do about it. I use to ignore it but now with my daughter counting down the days it is hard to pretend it isn't happening. She is so excited and she celebrates my life which is so new to me. Nobody really has paid that much attention to the day before her. Usually it is a day that causes me to be reminded that I am an orphan in the world. This morning though, I feel it might be nice to pay recognition to my birth even if I haven't a clue about it. There are no photos, no funny labor stories, no first year baby book.I don't feel sorry for myself about this because it has been my life to not know these things. I guess it has been minimized so much so it is barely anything anymore but a change in the number of years since my first breath.

So, here I am sitting at the window staring out at the world as it passes me by. The traffic passes in spurts but it passes nonetheless. My coffee sits on the sill in a mug that I painted two years ago. I didn't realize how shiny and pretty it is. It just occurs to me that even though the people who made me, who were labeled as my "parents" have long since abandoned me I am not alone. For the elements of what is good and true in this world lead me to another family, a spiritual family. My Lord, my God, has given to me a gift that I sometimes fail to acknowledge. The gift of creativity, the ability to love and the voice to be heard. My hands, my heart and my mind work together with the spirit to create things that are deep within me. I guess I should not discard or ignore what has been given to me but rather be grateful and show the world that I am somebody who loves and lives out loud!