Connoisseur-ship

Mr. Collins proposed that our processes were the key to that understanding.  Although I truly appreciate his base idea, I'm not sure I agree with the tributary he chose to navigate towards the goal.

I have seen hundreds of people view and then subsequently fall in love with art.  Whether they knew a process or not was of no consequence.  Instead of creating more categories within categories, why not use a blanket device to entice interest?

The "we will sell no wine before it's time" slogan was referenced as being the catalyst for the huge wine movement in this country.  Now people are appreciating and avidly learning what they can about wine.

Granted, first finding any slogan that might propel fine art into cultural popularity seems daunting.  What other ideas might we come up with?

What do you think?

Workshop dilemna

I recently made the indulgent decision to attend the first Figurative Art Convention & Expo (FACE) that would be held in Miami.  This was no small decision.  I had recently walked away from directorship at a leading gallery to pursue my art career.  So against the backdrop of financial insecurity I committed.

The angst of the decision brought up a lot of questions for me.  In my long history of art passion I had only been to ONE workshop.  I was living in the academic fertile ground of the Boston area at the time.  It was convenient and featured an amazing artist but still it took much persuasion for me to acquiesce and attend.

So why was that?  Why have I been so remiss about investing in myself?  As humble as it has been, I feel a little amount of success.  Could it have gone further with benefit of post scholastic instruction?  When I was younger I attacked the quest to evolve with fervor.  When did I become so complacent?  Should I point to the task of everyday living and raising a family as the culprit?

Living in Hawaii plays a part in that I suppose.  There is no atelier here.  Even our schools rely on non-profit organizations for funding of art classes for the children.  Yet, despite this vacuum we have no shortage of talent and one of the liveliest art markets in the country.

Back to the question of why no workshops. Geography?  Maybe.  It’s a consideration for sure.  On a personal level it comes down to choices.  If I had been actively trying to raise the level of my own art I would have found a way to ensure that goal.  It doesn’t necessarily mean workshops.  I DID work with an AMAZING artist here in Hawaii and learned more in that time with him then anytime before and after.  However, that’s a tough situation to recreate. 

There are always instructional DVD’s.  I like that idea.  You are able to chose your favorite artists, support them AND further your informational tool belt.  I just purchased my first but definitely not the last.

Another readily available asset is communicating and gleaning tips from the fellow artists in our community.  I, as with most of us, do this without realizing how beneficial the input that happens in casual conversation.  I have new resolve to expand my personal art community.

Bottom line is that I am now very aware of how little I know.  I have a renewed sense of purpose.  I have a long way to go and feel like my time on earth is not going to come close to the time I need so I’d better get going.

That being said, I have to go paint.  I’d love to hear your input so comments are very welcome.

Finding my Rhythm

A little over a month ago I left the security of a pay check.  Right now I'm struggling to find my rhythm at the easel.  Trying to rekindle the self-discipline I had years ago is the biggest challenge.  It seemed so much easier back then or maybe it's just my memory sugar coating it.  There's always laundry I could do.  I could sweep the lanai.  A myriad of different ways I can keep myself away from the easel.  Creative avoidance I think they call it.

I've been hiking for a couple of months now to keep my head out of depression.  On a recent hike with my friend we discussed the struggle of being authentic while creating.  I can look at paintings that I've done with my head and can tell the difference when I paint with my soul.

Painting with my soul takes longer.  I have to open myself up and spread paint around the canvas like blood.  It's sticky and it's scary.

Unfortunately rent doesn't wait.  The car payments don't wait.

So I try to remain true to the goal of being authentic with my art.  I firmly believe that we are all instinctual beings and you can tell when I'm not.  We connect with a painting or we don't.  I hope something I create resonates with someone and they value it enough to bring it into their lives.

Back from Mass destruction

My mind is a war zone

Thoughts walk around in a grenade blast daze

There are land mine potholes everywhere I turn

The clip of my machine gun retorts is empty

I hear nothing but my own breath in my bleeding ears

But I’m back from moving my stuff

I got a chance to see friends

He and I talked and cried and talked and cried

But I still feel the ravages of this war

The open sores still seep

The blood still boils and pulsates out of the wounds

There is still no peace

Relationships can hurt like nothing else

It's been about two and a half months since my beliefs about my world were shattered. 

I thought we had made all our decisions jointly.  I thought I was out in Hawaii working towards a goal that would allow us to be together all the time.  That this time apart was an investment towards a better future.  I had faith.

Granted, it took longer than both of us had imagined but he didn't wait.  In fact, he waited only a year before seeing someone else behind my back.  For the following TWO YEARS he came to visit me in Hawaii and I went to the mainland to visit him as though everything was normal.  It wasn't.

I was absolutely shattered when I found out.  This vulture woman that I didn't trust to begin with had succeeded.  I am amazed that anyone could be okay knowing that for those two years he was coming to see me and that he was in a committed relationship (or so I thought).  How do you justify that?  How do you sleep at night?

At first I was devastated.  I felt broken.  I painted "Betrayal" because there were no words for me.  I couldn't breath without the edges of the pain cutting deeper.

Then it was a viscous ball of anger, depression and sorrow.  I believed in him.  I believed in us.  How ridiculous I must have seemed to his family and friends that knew all along.  I felt betrayed by them as well.  Where was that person who would point out that you should handle our situation before starting another?  It makes everything feel dirty and shameful.

"Torment" is about all the old voices pecking at me.  I wasn't good enough to warrant honesty?  I wasn't worthy of the commitment that we made to each other?  I supported him unfailingly when he needed it.  I wasn't worth that in return?  Why?

All along his only remorse was that he was found out.  Not the two years of lying?  Not the disrespect of taking her to his family's house for parties and get togethers?  How about the risk to my health by sleeping with an alcoholic bar fly?

Then "21 Dozen".  Really?  There aren't enough roses to heal a broken promise.  A broken heart.  Our broken trust.  Even now he doesn't want her to know about them because "that's just hurtful".  Again . . . REALLY?  He keeps saying that he doesn't care about her.  Well, he cared enough to ruin our relationship over her.

At two months the ghost of my amputated relationship still throbbed.  "Seething" speaks for itself.  He told me that "some people" might look at my paintings as simply a way to lash out and hurt her.  I thought about that for a while and came to the realization that even if that were true . . . after sleeping with him for two years, she deserved it!

The truth is closer to my heart.  He doesn't see it.  He can't see it.  Like in the paintings, his eyes are open but he's blind.  I know there are people everywhere that go through this pain and that it's not gender specific.  There will always be men that can't think past their anatomy.  Just like there will always be women that have no scruples. 

Like I said, it's been two and a half months since I found out.  I had loved him with all my heart for fifteen years.  He lied to me for the last two. 

I feel like an "Iceburg:" most of the time now although I still jump around between "Seething" and "Torment"   . . . . maybe sorrow is the next one.

Halloween in Lahaina

Walking down Front Street in the Keiki Parade for the first time, baby Lilu was a hit!

Already well versed in the princess wave - what a GREAT debut on Front Street!

And over on O'ahu Baby Ace (my grandson) the Sushi chef and the Sushi (Makua's daughter, Nalia) were on a roll!