BEfore Dark

By Lissa Hunter

Darkness and the Light Catalogue, 2019

When I was a child, my mother would say, “Be in before dark”, as I ran out the door to play in summer.  We lived in that kind of neighborhood.  It was the fifties, in the Midwest, on a short block with dozens of kids and no fences.  “Before dark” became a particular designation of time, between outside in daytime and the inside at night.  It held a kind of magical conversion, a sliver of time that signaled a shift in energy and focus.  

When the sun fell below the horizon, colors flattened and lost definition.  The sky looked lighter than the treetops below, which became a single mass of darkness.  Houses were Monopoly pieces, with no definition of windows or porches, just outlines and dark interiors until the lights within were turned on, creating golden rectangles. 

The air became cool.  The earth smelled moist.  And the fireflies became apparent, flashing lights against the gathering dark, adding to the sense of separation from the real world. It didn’t last long.  Maybe ten or twenty minutes.

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Dark and light. The space between. The moment of change. The necessity of one to identify the other.  If life were a black and white movie, we would still manage to get along. Color is merely a bonus. But darkness and light are essential. They create form and separate the edges of one thing from another. A white teacup on a red checked tablecloth. A bear in the green woods. Take away the color and we would still see what is before us. Take away the contrast and we would see nothing.

This exhibition began with a small idea that grew with the realization of how complex and prevalent is the metaphorical power of darkness and light. I use the terms, darkness and light, as nouns, not adjectives. They have substance.  We move into the light. We fear the dark. They are present in our lives and in our psyches as more than descriptors for other words.

The artwork in Darkness and the Light was conceived of and made by established Maine artists working in various mediums. They reflect the thoughts, skills and commitments of these extraordinary people in hugely varying ways. Each piece has something different to say about the subject, and has been constructed with the expressive care that comes from years of working with materials that they have mastered. Or, rather, with materials with which they have developed intimate relationships.

The intent all along has been for visitors to the gallery to leave with an altered sense of their world.  Have you ever learned the meaning of a new word, thinking you have never heard it before, only to find it everywhere thereafter?  Perhaps by having seen this work, viewers will see the night sky differently, will be attuned to man’s effect on the landscape, will marvel at the power of light in the life of plants, or even see the poetic potential in a light fixture over a dining table.

I cannot adequately express my gratitude to the Institute of Contemporary Art at Maine College of Art for making this exhibition possible. Erin Hutton, the former director of the ICA and Nikki Rayburn, the present acting director, have been brilliant midwives, capable, intelligent and delightful. And the artists…these wonderful Mainers, these talented, professional visionaries…are the heart of the show. They have gone beyond their normal possibilities, with little chance of reward, other than to do what an artist does. That is, to take on the challenge of making us feel more connected with life through non-verbal human expression, appealing to the senses and the physicality of interaction between human being and object. My thanks to all.