Exhibitions
Wyatt Hersey
Just Lying on the Grass
October 4–28, 2018
Artist's reception Saturday, October 13, 6-8 PM | Facebook Event
Gallery Guide & Price List
Show photos on Flickr
From the Chico News & Review:
Colorful connections: Ecologist/artist creates vibrant folk art from scientific observation of the natural world
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Wyatt Hersey is an illustrator, painter, and muralist based in Chico, CA. Wyatt combines his love of the human / land connection with that of contemporary illustration and folk art from around the world. His work often bursts with a simplified but powerful color palette and evokes feelings of the ancient cave paintings and other deeply rooted artistic traditions. With whimsical character his work celebrates the beauty of life on earth.
This show takes its name from the poem by Mary Oliver titled "Just Lying on the Grass at Blackwater" in which the poet describes a deep sense of unity with her landscape. This expression of deep nature connection resonated with me and I was struck by its relevance to the artistic process and to life as a whole. From the acceptance of death, to the value of experiencing the present moment, to the thanksgiving expression of sitting in silence in a wild place, this poem captures and articulates what I cannot do with words but attempt to do with images. If sitting in the pool of shade by the everlasting can feel to the world like happiness, like praise, then these works of color and form are no less.
Just Lying on the Grass at Blackwater
By Mary Oliver
I think sometimes of the possible glamour of death -
that it might be wonderful to be
lost and happy inside the green grass -
or to be the green grass! -
or, maybe the pink rose, or the blue iris,
or the affable daisy, or the twirled vine
looping its way skyward – that I might be perfectly peaceful
to be the shining lake, or the hurrying, athletic river,
or the dark shoulders of the trees
where the thrush each evening weeps himself into an ecstasy.
I lie down in the fields of goldenrod, and everlasting.
Who could find me?
My thoughts simplify. I have not done a thousand things
or a hundred things but, perhaps, a few.
As for wondering about answers that are not available except
in books, though all my childhood I was sent there
to find them, I have learned
to leave all that behind
as in summer I take off my shoes and my socks,
my jacket, my hat, and go on
happier, through the fields. The little sparrow
with the pink beak
calls out, over and over, so simply – not to me
but to the whole world. All afternoon
I grow wiser, listening to him,
soft, small, nameless fellow at the top of some weed,
enjoying his life. If you can sing, do it. If not,
even silence can feel, to the world, like happiness,
like praise,
from the pool of shade you have found beneath the everlasting.
This show takes its name from the poem by Mary Oliver titled "Just Lying on the Grass at Blackwater" in which the poet describes a deep sense of unity with her landscape. This expression of deep nature connection resonated with me and I was struck by its relevance to the artistic process and to life as a whole. From the acceptance of death, to the value of experiencing the present moment, to the thanksgiving expression of sitting in silence in a wild place, this poem captures and articulates what I cannot do with words but attempt to do with images. If sitting in the pool of shade by the everlasting can feel to the world like happiness, like praise, then these works of color and form are no less.
Just Lying on the Grass at Blackwater
By Mary Oliver
I think sometimes of the possible glamour of death -
that it might be wonderful to be
lost and happy inside the green grass -
or to be the green grass! -
or, maybe the pink rose, or the blue iris,
or the affable daisy, or the twirled vine
looping its way skyward – that I might be perfectly peaceful
to be the shining lake, or the hurrying, athletic river,
or the dark shoulders of the trees
where the thrush each evening weeps himself into an ecstasy.
I lie down in the fields of goldenrod, and everlasting.
Who could find me?
My thoughts simplify. I have not done a thousand things
or a hundred things but, perhaps, a few.
As for wondering about answers that are not available except
in books, though all my childhood I was sent there
to find them, I have learned
to leave all that behind
as in summer I take off my shoes and my socks,
my jacket, my hat, and go on
happier, through the fields. The little sparrow
with the pink beak
calls out, over and over, so simply – not to me
but to the whole world. All afternoon
I grow wiser, listening to him,
soft, small, nameless fellow at the top of some weed,
enjoying his life. If you can sing, do it. If not,
even silence can feel, to the world, like happiness,
like praise,
from the pool of shade you have found beneath the everlasting.
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