He hadn't expected poetry. Not from his own heart, hands.
But serendipity brought him to it. Or it to him. Or maybe both to each other. Who knew?
I think of this and I think of how I found Chihuly last week. Glass artist, designer, craftsman. Chihuly doesn't care what people call him; he simply cares that people look...
Finding Chihuly feels like serendipity to me. I don't know why. I found him in a little shop on a rainy day in Sag Harbor. It was the mist and the grey day that drove us there, over ferries, past an island, to that street, that shop. Chihuly himself had set out to be a weaver, but he lost a Fulbright because of a technicality, only to recapture it two years later... this time for glass work instead of weaving. The detour changed his life.
Which is how, I suspect, I found him in Sag Harbor. Or he found me. Who knew? I hadn't expected him just now. But serendipity brought the rain and here he is... and I've been flipping pages, saying "yes" to something about him and his work that I don't yet understand.
Sea at Sunset on Long Island, Chihuly book, photos by L.L. Barkat.