Envelopes

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about envelopes. What they are. Who they are and where we find them. Safe bubbles and spaces where we escape to… for peace and quiet, contemplation, distraction or solace. Envelopes are sacred spaces. And the need for envelopes seems to be greater these days. Notice how they are mostly arts-related. We resort to literature, music, theater, dance, museums and, of course, galleries.

In thinking about this year’s annual Gallery Issue, I felt it was time to expand the concept of galleries and how we view and visit them. They are more than sacred spaces. They hold more than art. They hold our voices, our empathy and our self-expression. They provide a safe place to gather, engage in conversation, question things. If you do nothing more this fall, visit as many as you can and thank a gallerist. Thank them for existing, for staying the course, for filling their walls and spaces with hope and rage and exasperation and beauty. For giving their artists breathing room. For maintaining their envelope for us. Here is the Alternative Spaces Issue.

Envelopes can be people, too, or even a magazine. As we watch some of our most treasured envelopes being threatened, altered, or erased—the Smithsonian, the Kennedy Center, NPR, PBS, Stephen Colbert—I think it’s time to be ever more grateful for the ones we still have and to find ways to support them. This is our responsibility. Art New England is one of my envelopes and as much as I’d like to be perfectly punctual, there are speed bumps and financial pressures in the art world that make it challenging to do so. And yet, I am so grateful to publish this platform, this precious envelope, for the voices and intelligence and the profound empathy and understanding it conveys through the words of my writers and the art we celebrate.

I invite you all to wander through the myriad of envelopes within these pages and explore people and art and learn about what’s happening this season. Autumn Duke and Paige Farrell delve into extraordinary alternative spaces, many with women at the helm. Farrell also takes us into the musical landscape of composer and educator Howard Frazin. Eve Schaub takes us into haunted (?) spaces through a personal experience. Loren King helps us understand the fascinating and often under-appreciated art of set design. If not for these masters, the envelopes we depend upon on screen would not exist. Susan Saccoccia prepares us for the upcoming theater season by highlighting six shows and introducing us to Dawn Meredith Simmons, the new artistic director of SpeakEasy Stage, and Maurice Emmanuel Parent, the new producing artistic director of Front Porch Arts Collective (where he and Simmons had been colleagues for a decade). Jennifer Mancuso honors the legacy of graffiti writer Rob Stull in a beautiful memoriam as B Amore pays tribute to forty-five years of the Fort Point Arts Collective. And, of course, there is more.

This magazine is more than its issue date. Art is non-linear; time feels non-linear these days. Remember the 2016 film Arrival? It’s an envelope for me. The film teaches us that communication and empathy are key to our survival, and that embracing life, all aspects happy and horrible, is the only way forward for humanity. The film uses the alien’s non-linear language to show how a different way of perceiving time can lead to understanding the interconnectedness of our existence. It’s a beautiful film, sharing a powerful message that we all need to sit with now. We are all facing challenges, personally and professionally. Let’s be grateful for the work within these pages, the freedom of expression we still possess, the journalistic freedom we still honor and celebrate. Not everyone enjoys these freedoms.

Let’s be grateful we can take a walk along the marshes of Cape Ann, MA, through the cover image by Maine artist Marcia Crumley. “The painting is titled October Marsh,” says Crumley. “The painting itself is loosely based on a photo I took of Fox Creek in Ipswich, MA, while driving to Crane Beach last fall. I grew up riding my bike past, and paddling in, coastal marshes in Massachusetts, and I live near two marshes now (Spurwink and Scarborough). This painting isn’t about a particular marsh, but the calming rhythms of all coastal marshes and the brilliant multi-colored grasses of autumn.”

“In these anxious times,” she continues, “it’s important to seek out and celebrate moments of joy. Finding Joy [currently at Blue Door Gallery, see page 64] is about recognizing the delight and wonder found in simple, often unexpected, places. These paintings celebrate those times when the beauty of the natural world suddenly stops you in your tracks: being mesmerized by a starry night sky, noticing how the brilliant oranges and golds of autumn foliage pop against the deep blue sky, or watching a kaleidoscope of monarch butterflies as they pass through on their annual migration. My painting process is defined by layering. Each piece contains up to 15-20 strata of pigmented wax…The highly textured surfaces of these encaustic paintings invite viewers to spend more time with them. I like the artist’s hand to be visible in my work, and the longer you spend looking at these paintings, the more you see–subtle gestures, hidden textures, and even ‘mistakes’ that I’ve decided to leave in…”

Crumley creates a beautiful envelope, a trusted path, and an ideal cover to inspire opening these pages. I am grateful for each page, for each reader, for each advertiser. For each voice represented, for each word chosen by these incredible writers. We are in troubled waters politically yet this issue reminds us of our safety in togetherness, the grace and empathy within the art world and the envelope of hope.

In gratitude,

Rita A. Fucillo
Publisher

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