fig. 67: Woman, Type A, 1996
© Corinne Whitaker

unfolding: a memoir


"See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that,
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that."

What kind of art will such women create, to herald that new dawning? An art as new as yet-to-be and as ancient as mudflats. An art that is a friend, a long-time companion, a teacher, a lover, a philosopher, a wit, a mentor. An art that engages us, enlightens us, demands much of us and gives much in return. It is not the art of the entertainer, the woman who came to dinner, the week-end guest or the latest film idol.

fig. 68: Woman In a Fur Coat, 1997
© Corinne Whitaker

While art's vocabulary will change, its message will not, and that message can be heard over the centuries:

Who are we?

Why are we here?

fig. 69: Woman, Stoned, 1997
© Corinne Whitaker

Show me a piece, in whatever medium, that calls to me in the middle of the night; that whispers new secrets at each new encounter, that engages my soul and my mind. I don't care what label you put on it. I don't care what category it fits into, or whether it yet has a tombstone at the Met, or whether so-and-so paid megabucks for it. Show me something that sings of larks at dawn, or grieves for corpses at nightfall. Show me a work that croons to me, screams at me, seduces me. Show me a piece that lights a fire in my belly, that follows me wherever I go, that won't let go of my gut.

fig.70: Mood Indigo, 1997
© Corinne Whitaker

Show me these, and I will show you art.

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All text and images © Corinne Whitaker.