Ocean-Themed Art Exhibit to Benefit World Water Day

 
LOS ANGELES, CA, February 22, 2012 – An art exhibit entitled “The Ocean and Its Creatures” will show nine abstract paintings each by artists Sarah Amanda Jones and Connie Yim at Drip in Koreatown, March 19 through April 28. An opening reception will be held on World Water Day, March 22, from 8 to 10 pm.

In honor of World Water Day and in keeping with the ocean-themed works, Jones and Yim will donate 10% of all art sales to the non-profit charity: water for the duration of their exhibit. With watercolor and ink, Jones and Yim have explored the ocean and its creatures in a thoughtful, meditative way. Jones portraits the ocean, and Yim suggests its creatures.

Deeply drawn to the sublime in nature, Jones transcribes her mystical experiences onto paper in a quick, minimalist approach inspired by Japanese sumi-e. She explains, “I’m always seeking the point where I’ve said just enough but not too much, where the painting is just barely finished. There has to be that freshness, that lightness, coming through.”

Yim records her subconscious in layered, meandering, meditative ink drawings and washes of color, never knowing how a painting will turn out when she begins. Yim notes, “I just go with the flow of what I see happening on the paper. As I’m drawing, I’ll see forms emerge, and so I go with those, letting the work guide me.” Many times, the forms in her paintings end up looking like sea creatures.

Sarah Amanda Jones was born 1986 in Opelika, Alabama, and now lives and works in Los Angeles, California. She is in the midst of a year-long project, painting the sea through seasons and times of day and posting these works on sarahamandajones.com/blog. Connie Yim was born 1971 in Seoul, South Korea, and currently lives and paints in Santa Monica, California. She teaches art at Alhambra High School.

Drip is a coffee shop located above the Assi Market in Koreatown at 3523 W. 8th St. Ste 203, Los Angeles, CA 90005. Hours are 10am to 8pm Monday through Saturday. Art sales are cash only.

# # #

Contact Sarah Amanda Jones:

• (205) 936-3439
• sarah@sarahamandajones.com

The Man Starving For Food-

His skin wraps tightly around protruding bones. In the slums of Mumbai, he watches the barren dust fly up around him with bits of sun-scorched trash in its grip: torn black plastic bags, ashy styrofoam. All are empty: food, a long-forgotten love. His stomach twists in knots, but kindly offers anesthetic to ease his pain- Knowing it has been heard, the stomach quiets down. Numbs him out. The man has forgotten his desperate hunger. But not really.

And The Man Starving For Beauty-

His brow wraps tightly around blank, sunken eyes. On the busy streets of New York, he watches lifeless concrete protrusions slouch stoically above him. Thoughtless billboards pant for attention, glaring down in obnoxious neon. Dust-covered taxis swirl up debris; pigeons pick at trashcan stench. His eyes weep for beauty but dry their tears to ease his pain- Exhausted by the uneventful quest for something captivating, something life-giving, they glaze over a bit more. Shut out the world. The man has forgotten his sad, sore blankness. But not really.

Starving for food. Starving for beauty.

Thankfully, we have already begun bringing food to those in need, and may we increase and sustain our efforts til starvation sleeps forever. Shall we do any less with creating and bringing beauty to those in need (most all of us on the planet)? Surely not.

May we grow to truly see, then have compassion for, and finally take inspired action to relieve this Beauty Epidemic, having spread so quietly across our globe. May we awaken the life-spark of creativity living deep within our beings to make beauty everywhere: in the studio, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, at the computer, in the car.

Because beauty nourishes as food nourishes. Sharing beauty is no less powerful than sharing a meal.

When I was a small child, listening to choir music was magical. My grandfather was a devoted and passionate choir director and organist, and we had his recordings on tape. Riding around in the car, I had barely learned a few words so far, but Momma could count on a, “Pappa choir! Pappa choir!” over and over again from me, louder and louder until she changed the 80′s Hits radio station back to my grandfather’s singing angels.

Those choir members of his could do no wrong. They were powerful. They were magical. They were the source of a beauty I needed, craved, delighted in, and cherished. As a young tot, I had special privileges as my grandfather’s granddaughter, and so I got to go ‘backstage’ to the choir room at church before, between, and after the services. Dressed in their giant red robes above me, the choir bustled around, gliding past me like heavenly beings. They laughed and talked with each other and went over their sheet music together, sometimes bending down to squeeze me or say something sweet.

After they had sung their siren songs at both services, and church was over for the day, the choir would trickle back into the choir room and slide open the mirrored doors to their shared robe closets. As they shed their red robes and hung them up, they exposed their ordinary Sunday clothes. Suddenly, they started to look a lot like every other grown-up passing in and out of the church every week. But I knew better, I reminded myself: these people are magical. They may look like the bored and grumpy grown-ups on my pew an hour ago, but they are not like that. They have life in them, beauty and magic in them.

Over the years, as my body grew as tall as theirs, stretching me up to crystal-clear earshot range, I heard unpromising pieces of their everyday conversations: praising their kids for doing the stuffy, unquestioned “right thing,” grumbling about soul-sucking work still planning to show up on Monday, no questions asked. They even bossed Mother Nature around: “It shouldn’t be this cold outside yet!” My fire of praise grew tired, and my heart sank with “I should’ve known better” disappointment. They were just like all the other grown-ups after all. I forgot the lively wonder bouncing in their hearts, a wonder they may have never really seen in themselves at all.

But listening again to choirs singing Christmas hymns on Pandora this season, it’s all coming back to me and freshly too. All at once, my heart is lighting up to witness the unmistakable beauty of those choir members singing in heavenly harmony. Suddenly, I know for sure: we all have the magic in us. Around every bored and lonely grown-up (and every child too) is wrapped a majestic red robe that proves their capacity for the purest and most captivating beauty-making.