Start of a season

A close friend of mine recently confided that her husband has been cheating on her.  This triggered a cauldron of emotions in me.  I wanted to cry for her but it was more than just empathy.  I felt my own loss welling up inside me.  The anger and hurt of that betrayal is still there.

I was down in the cavernous clutches of this despair but despite that, I headed to a Kava ceremony I had been invited to attend.  It’s a ritual of gratitude.  I desperately needed it but in my current state of mind I didn’t know if I should attend. I was sure my eyes would be red and puffy from tears in the car.

I went anyway.

I entered the ceremony room at my friends’ house.  Pillows and coconut cups were already positioned in a circle on a large lau hala mat.   The room, filled with artifacts and indigenous art, has an immediate and reverent aura.  The organic tentacles of its spirituality gently made their way into my brain.

As I sat cross legged and waited for everyone take positions my mind raced to find something to mention. After the opening prayer of the ceremony everyone takes their turn with their own intention or prayer

What would I say?

Immediately I thought of my friends/family in California.  This Thanksgiving they will not be in the comfort of the home they’ve spent the last few years pouring love into.  Fire ravaged their community in Paradise and left it uninhabitable.  My thoughts came to rest on the fact that I’m grateful they are safe and not on the ever-growing list of missing or fatalities.

Gratitude has an amazing energy.  It feeds itself. One thought leads to another and then another.

My prayer was short but I could feel the invisible hands of comfort cradle my aching heart as I listened to everyone else.

Loss is not just the end of something.  It can be a freeing circumstance to achieve something new. I need to remember that.

Getting in touch with my voice

The moon phases of my journey as an artist have been varied and sometimes extreme.

I recently attended the unveiling of Alex Grey’s newest painting honoring Ram Daas. It was wonderful hearing the man whose art I have admired for a VERY long time. Listening to Alex and Allison’s journey was fascinating, inspiring and so very different from my own. I admire their commitment and purpose. Their accomplishments shine bright.

Unlike Alex and Allison, my path was never single minded. Many times I chose family over art. Sometimes a different career over producing art. Real life, I guess. Ups and downs. Over the long expanse however, art has maintained my sanity and my soul.

In this current phase I can’t seem to shake off the feeling that I need to “catch up”. It’s not an entirely logical feeling; I understand that. I find that very often I have to remind myself that I need to quiet down and reach inward to touch the light of what I want to say.

It’s a game game of spinning plates though to maintain growth and balance technique and expression. Somewhere along the line I feel I’ve gotten closer to singing with my own voice. Saying what I feel. Opening up my soul and taking the risks of it being seen. The phrase “experimental realism” came to mind this morning. I like it. I think I’ll try it on like a new dress and see how it feels.

I will always feel like my best paintings are ahead of me. There is never enough time to paint. But then, that’s what I signed up for, isn’t it?

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