Join us for an evening of visual art by Helen Amirian, and poetry and music by Christine Homitsu White, J. M. Harris and Donald Dunbar and others from 7-9 p.m.  View Helen’s dream-inspired work that helped her move past unemployment blues, fear of failure as an artist, and into her new groove.

“Those Same Damn Trees”
by Helen Amirian

Last year, I was laid off from my job, like so many others, and found myself at a loss. I felt I had no identity as an unemployed person. I embarked on a whirlwind of personal discovery. One morning, I remember vividly that I awoke after four hours of sleep, and, oddly, with a dream landscape still before my eyes. Dark and foreboding, rock formations surrounded a grove of cypress trees, entrenched in a swirling, sparkling oily mass of…something. The trees, themselves, I knew from my dream, were imbibing from this seemingly polluted ground, their colors came from that ground, and from…us?

Blearily, I stumbled to the dresser where I keep art supplies, found a piece of matte board, and proceeded to dab it out with some sticky ceramic paints and one brush, no water…just sort of pulled out a drawer and stood there, using it as an easel…when I was done, I was very satisfied and went back to sleep.

Then, in late August, after a soul-searching journey in which I confronted my late father and my fear of failure, my fear of greatness, my fear of mediocrity…I stood in the sun before a huge swath of canvas, poured out six colors, and painted a huge version of my tree vision. I was free! On returning home, I amassed everything I could paint on, and with my shades, drawn, I proceeded to paint, just the trees, for an entire day. I used up all my paints. I left home only to forage for food, canvas, and thrift store frames. I gave away nearly every painting I did, and hurried to create more, observing that a method was shaping itself.

That was exactly one year ago. I found a lover, I painted trees. I lost a lover, more trees. My little sister was killed, I painted trees. I started college, I painted more trees. They seem to stem from a need for something intangible. I have since come to the conclusion that when, in my past, I seemed to always have kept a blank canvas around the place, just in case. I never had the nerve to face the unknown. What if I made a mistake? What if it was no good? Now the blank canvas is metaphor for the future, an occasion for hope and joy. I know, now, that I will always have SOMETHING to paint on that canvas, even if it is just “those same damn trees.”

Show and Tell Gallery, Everett Station Lofts
625 NW Everett St., Portland, Oregon