More Raving About Hancock's Studio

I have been thinking a lot about the evening without electricity spent in Walker Hancock's Lanesville studio last Friday. It was a beautiful evening and I can't get it out of my mind. There is something so beautiful there and it has stayed with me. I got an email from an old friend who reads my blog. He read that blog post and wrote "you write with a passion that impresses me but scares me too as I do not think I feel that way about anything." The passionate side of my nature has been one of those blessing/curse things. Maybe that is why I feel most at ease among artists and writers --- because they seem to have that kind of intensity, passion, and are usually reasonably comfortable with it.

We live in a society in which being "unimpressed" has developed a level of cool and I don't know why. I remember when I was in college being blasé about everything was very much cultivated among my friends and I had a hard time with that. There are things that drive me crazy, there are things I chose to ignore completely, and then there are the things I am totally in love with but I can't really think of much that I am knowingly blasé about. But anyway, that's a subject for another day.

So I was thinking about Hancock's studio and I went digging through a pile of old books and photographs left from various art association projects I have worked on and I found several photographs that were taken inside that very studio when Hancock was still working there. Though I had seen the photos many times before they have taken on a new meaning now that I am familiar with the room in which they were created. The one at left is of Walker working on the famous statue of St. Michael holding the body of the fallen soldier that I first fell in love with as a girl in the Philadelphia train station. Now, having sat in that room with my friends knitting and having spent a candlelit evening there with Rebecca talking, it seems particularly special to me. The arched door to the left now has glass French doors installed in addition to the utility doors in the photo and you can look out over the woods to the quarry below. In the photo at right is Hancock's statue of General McArthur. I love the pose, so very noble and superior. Master of all he surveys. Regardless of one's feelings about the subject, it is an impressive work.

Behind him, of course it the fireplace that now shelters a wood burning stove on which we cooked butternut squash soup and grilled cheese sandwiches last Friday night. On the mantle of the fireplace are a collection of small studies for other works. They are no longer there which is too bad.

While I was looking for these photos I re-read the preface to the Rockport Art Association's exhibition catalog for their 1997 exhibit Sculptors of Cape Ann: From Medals to Monuments. Hancock wrote the preface to that and John Manship wrote the biographies of the sculptors it featured including the biography of his father, Paul Manship. Within three years both great artists --- Hancock and John Manship --- were dead. I have been in John's studio, too, though only briefly, and wonder if his spirit lingers there as well.

The photo at left is my favorite, possibly because I love the subject so much. I love the way the light streams through the skylights on the vaulted ceiling to illuminate the angel's face. Last Friday night I was sitting at a table under those skylights and, looking up, could see a million stars high above us. It was a bitter cold, crystal clear night and, that deep in the woods with no electricity, nothing hid the starlight. It was beautiful.

I don't know --- if there is magic in this world then this is where it lies, in places where people have given their imaginations and creativity and passion the freedom to manifest whatever form it takes. And if the magic lingers then so much the better for those who come after. Rebecca has invited me to come and spend a few days just writing in the library that lies beyond the door just to the right of the fireplace in these photos. I am going with gratitude and the fervent hope that there will be a little of the magic left there for me.

Thanks for reading.