This is the fourth in a series of posts by guest blogger, Michele Harvey. Fenimore Art Museum is exhibiting new work by Harvey in the exhibition Watermark: Michele Harvey & Glimmerglass, until December 31, 2010.
The life of an object of art is a curious one. It starts as an inspiration or creative urge, which is transmuted into an idea or object.
In my case, it has been paintings, which start in the field as a scene, composition or sense of light, which deeply moves me. On the easel, a canvas can take months, weeks or days, determined by the painting itself. When it feels ‘right’, it’s finished. (It‘s said; a painting is never finished; only abandoned.) Some paintings never feel right and are sanded smooth and painted over. They form a wonderful surface for the next experiment. An artist’s life is full of experiments. Some work, some don’t. If a painting is lucky and makes it through this process, someone may find it interesting, sometimes interesting enough to give it a new home. Then something very curious happens, it transforms.
HauntedI realized this when I sold my first piece of art, a small print. The buyer expressed what it meant to her and I realized that this would be the beginning of an adventure. An adventure that started on the easel would be carried on and be different with each person and hand it passed through. We all come with our separate sets of knowledge, understanding and experiences and we imprint those on everything we touch. This includes art.
RiddleTwo cases come to mind. My father, one late Christmas Eve, emerged from my studio saying, “Michele… your trees… the leaves, they MOVED!” Another was a woman who visited one of my shows. She sat on the bench, alone in the center of the room, in tears. I approached her and gently asked if I could assist her. She dabbed her eyes and said, “No, no…I’d like to just sit here… It’s so beautiful.”
Often remarks are of how a painting reminds someone of a childhood haunt or a place they love that I may never know. Sometimes they are places of imagination and somehow my rendering comes close to the mark. I’m very grateful when people share their stories. It means the painting is doing its job, being out in the world, making its way without me. With each new view it lives a new life, with each person adding his or her breath to it.
TranscendentI once heard a gallery owner tell a collector that artists never like to meet clients. As an artist I can say this isn’t the case. My gratitude is to those viewers and collectors who have added their story to mine. And in doing so, have helped me move on to the next.
On the wooded eastern shores of Glimmerglass there are quiet spots, mostly known to locals. At first glance Fairy Spring Park is just a steeply pitched, wooded picnic area and narrow dock. That is, until one finds the trail. The trail begins just north of the park proper. It disappears into the woods, literally. Although poorly kept, it reveals worthy secrets if you take the time. It's a hike for the sure-footed. The terrain is very steep and slippery. Fairy Spring is an apt name. The wooded, nearly vertical slope is covered by moss, ferns and tree roots. Under this living skin of roots and moss, rivulets sharply make their way down to the lake. It's a quiet, leafy place fit for fairies. 
Across the way, a 1932 iron plaque states:
Hard by, is Lakewood cemetery. Upslope from Fairy Spring, it's a steep and terraced burying ground, full of stately trees and old stones. Each turn of the way, each unique monument calls to the curious. A quiet refuge from the world, where the water softly shimmers up from the lake, and a deep, cushioning moss hangs o'er all. Chipmunks and birds make it a lively spot, playing in expertly laid-stone walls and stone staircases. There is age here and history, and touching tales. A hand-hewn granite boat in full sail, attests to the love for family and water. Up the twin, steeply curved, stone staircases, a bench to contemplate a hero of the Titanic. It is a worthy place. 
As fate would have it, one of the first things to catch my eye was a Candlelight Ghost Tour of Cooperstown. Being open but skeptical, I waited on the corner of Pioneer Street and Main, for my host. The night was chilly and misty and I was the only soul to brave the weather. Bruce Markusen (a docent at Fenimore Art Museum by day) was my dauntless guide and led me through an interesting, eerie romp of the town. An excellent storyteller, Mr. Markusen captured my attention from the first footstep. Being a historic tour, I was free to satisfy my interest with a side of a Cooperstown rarely seen. I will not give away the punch line, but Cooperstown will never seem the same in broad daylight again. I did walk the same route, the next morning. There it was. The town was decidedly different.
This led me to my next stop. A park oddly named Indian Grave. From the street it appears an unremarkable greensward, dotted with old trees. But the roadside plaque tells the tale and invites invitation. Inside an iron gate, the landscape alters. Looking back upslope, to the street, one clearly sees the sharp outline of a large burial mound. Here the bones of an Indian had been discovered, disinterred and reburied with honor in 1874. It's very close to the Susquehanna River. Near where other Native American graves were known to exist. One may only guess, it being a choice location, that there was some reason behind such a regal tomb for the remains. After all, it was only a block away from the busiest part of the Ghost Tour and it's spectral sightings.
