From the Publisher – January 2022

I recently sold my house, and with that came the process of removing the art from my walls. I had to pack it, decide what to store, and what to take to the new place. It’s a winter rental so while I didn’t have to determine permanent placements for the work, I was still curating what would make me happy during this time. I’ll tell you, packing up a house is its own form of madness yet packing up one’s art is like reliving life itself. I was reminded of who I was when I bought each piece; where I was in the world and who I was with; if I’d met the artist; and all the stories each piece sparked. While others packed, I’d steal a moment to reminisce. Each work represented something about me at the time, what mood I was in, what I considered to be ‘art,’ what I aspired to collect. I treasure them all. They range from early works of Eric Aho; the Haitian artist Préfète Duffaut; a stunning Magnolia-lined Back Bay brownstone by William St. George that is the essence of Boston in springtime; a joyous Zygmund Jankowski watercolor; and several by my daughter, whose evolving maturity as a painter and printmaker has been permanently captured. The list goes on. There was more than I realized.

Rather than begin this letter—or this year for that matter—with words of caution or frustration (though I may spout a few a little later), I just wanted to share that my modest art collection means the world to me. Regardless of the monetary value of each piece, the decision-making process, the evolution of my ‘eye for art’ and the stories and memories each carries, fills me with joy and laughter and a little whimsy. All good things to reflect upon at the start of a new year. And as a result of all this, I am looking for my next acquisition. Packing my art made me want more art. I am often telling you, Dear Reader, to buy art and I am taking my own advice. It’s at the top of my resolution list this year and that also makes me happy.

Perhaps something in this issue will catch your eye and you’ll reach out to an artist. Cynthia Close shares many opportunities to find great work in her feature on how Open Studios have evolved amidst the ongoing (yes, ongoing) pandemic. Jennifer Mancuso delves into the storytelling and communicative powers of quilt making through the work of Ed Johnetta Miller currently being shown at Art for the Soul Gallery in Springfield, MA; Dian Parker shares her fascinating conversation with artist and Art New England writer Christopher Volpe, about the inspiration he draws from Melville’s Moby Dick, leading him to work with tar; Loren King reviews MSNBC Films’s incredible documentary on artist/filmmaker JR and the transformative power of art; and Susan Rand Brown visits with the fantastical, magical Deb Mell, our cover artist. The protagonist’s facial expression sums it all up for me. “Really, this is happening right now?” Mell melds surrealism with optimism and wit and I have stared at it for a long while now, working on my own interpretation. Maybe I’m drawn to it because I, too, feel like my head is exploding—my inner voices all squawking at once, under the scrutiny of many eyes. Or is it a dream? What I can tell you is that it’s engaging, entertaining, and fun.

Regardless of what any piece of art “means” to you, it must first make you feel something. And in this particular moment in time when it can be easy (or necessary) to numb out from the 24/7 news cycle, rely on art to bring you back to center. Pick up a novel, play Louis Armstrong, stare at the art around you. Could be a photograph, a painting, a ceramic bowl. Art will get us through. We witnessed its resilience, its political power in 2021, and we’ll watch it transform 2022. We have all the tools we need to navigate whatever this year brings. So, support the artists in your community. Frequent First Fridays. Read Art New England. And forgive me for getting this issue out late. Did I mention I moved? Here’s to a great year. Please stay safe and wear a mask.

Enjoy the issue,

Tim Montgomery
Publisher