Start something New

I was about fourteen year old when I made a list of things I wanted to do in this life. This list included fantastic imaginings like “go to outer space” and little things like “learn how to knit”.

Over the years I have conquered a majority of those items.

During the recent time of reflection it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen that list in a long time. Rather than fret over a long forgotten piece of paper, I decided to start a new list.

The exercise alone added sparkle to my attitude. Being in the mindset that all things are possible is rejuvenating! It stirred my mental juices and felt joyful. I didn’t worry about restrictions of health, physics and a 3-D world. Getting into this limitless space felt familiar in an odd sort of way. A flavor from my childhood, perhaps? Rather than spend time trying to decipher it’s deliciousness I savored it and continued thinking about a new list.

The easiest item was to start making a habit of meditating every morning at the studio and try automatic drawing. I just started yesterday. Today’s drawing felt a little easier but still seems forced. I had to fight the internal dialog of what’s “good” and what’s “not good” I know it will be easier with time but that’s not the point. Even in the arena of art, there are new things to try. New horizons to contemplate.

Grief

A friend of mine recently shared this wisdom. I thought it was beautiful and consoling on such a deep level that I felt the need to pass it along.

“In the Lakota-Sioux tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most woken, most holy. There’s a sense that when someone is struck by the sudden lightning of loss, he or she stands on the threshold of the spirit world. The prayers of those who grieve are considered especially strong, and it is proper to ask them for their help.

You might recall what it’s like to be with someone who has grieved deeply. The person has no layer of protection, nothing left to defend. The mystery is looking out through that person’s eyes. For the time being, he or she has accepted the reality of loss and has stopped clinging to the past or grasping at the future. In the groundless openness of sorrow, there is a wholeness of presence and a deep natural wisdom.”

• Tara Brach, Author of Radical Acceptance.

I found this totally inspirational. Grief seemed like a richer experience after reading it. Less isolating, a bigger part of a spiritual path.

It took the black and white out of it for me. No longer an experience of pain versus no pain. It brought me to a place of acceptance. Where blame has no space.

We have all felt the barbs of loss. Grief comes in many different costumes but the shadow of it remains consistantly suffocating. Remembering to breathe. Remembering that we are NOT alone. NOT isolated.

I don’t know if there’s anything harder or more rewarding than tapping into the feeling of wholeness in the presence of absence.

Change is . . .

Change is a big word. That one word has led to many discussions over the years.

I usually point to my military childhood as responsible for my ability to adapt (not always willingly). The brother next to me in age stands as a direct contradiction to that statement however. He is in the same area we landed when my father retired and will probably never move. He’s one of the most stable people I know. I, on the other hand, have moved many times and many miles.

Change doesn’t have to be geography either. Maybe my brother has made many changes internally that I’m not aware of. I still see him as a cute little two year when I look at him so maybe I’m not as good at change as I’d like to believe.

This leads me to believe that our innate ability is either part of our fabric by nature or by concerted effort.

Regardless of the source. We are all capable of adapting to the change that fate may throw at us. We can either rail against it and spend our energies in that fight OR we can accept things and become more like the water that flows around the rock.

Art is . . .

Art is an unexpected burglar.

Art can come into your life abruptly.  It comes in through a door you didn’t even know was there.  I see it every day at the gallery.  People that are surprised by how their hearts can be touched.  People brought to tears by the suddenness of it. 

Yet so many of us turn away.  We deny the concept that we deserve to have an environment that inspires us.  One that speaks to our soul.

I meet people all the time that passed on a painting and years later they still remember it.  Miss it.

It takes courage to allow yourself abundance.  We rerun conversations that we shouldn’t ask for more. That we are being selfish to allow ourselves happiness. We can break those patterns but it takes courage.

In daydreams I like to think I’d be part of the French Resistance during WWII.  Would I?  Would you? If we can’t allow freedom and abundance for ourselves, can we fight for it for others?

One Artist's life

Have you ever followed an artist’s career?

Over the course of a lifetime an artist can change styles greatly or maybe change mediums time and time again.

This was a topic during a discussion with a long time friend. She commented on how much my artwork has changed over the course of years. I am lucky to have physical evidence of how I’ve evolved as a human being. The early ones were mostly academic attempts and then environmental. I became sentimental in some pieces as life changed. Then back to academia as I explored getting better at my craft. Suddenly I became internal and then philosophical.

That exercise of looking at the progression prompted me to look through the works of Frida Kahlo, Pablo Piccasso and Georgia O’Keefe as well as others. Noticing how some of them changed and grew both as an artist and as a human being.

To pull back and view my own work over the course of time offered an interesting insight. Depending on which pieces I choose, I can create a narrative that may or may not be true to my heart in the moment.

Isn’t that what this experience of life is like? We can focus on the trials and traumas and weave a yarn about an oppressed soul. OR we can look back at the accomplishments and accolades and tell the tale of a hero. I’m trying to keep that in mind when I talk to myself.

What do you choose to focus on in your own life?

Revel in the Fugue

I am painting. Every relationship with the canvas is different, similar to people. I let the colors go where they may for a while. It’s in it’s infancy, a baby painting. Just starting out. Taking it’s first few steps.

I study it for awhile. Falling into the energy and the restfulness. I try to stay open and feel what it can be. Do I see someone sleeping in there?

I put in the pose. Is it right? Does it feel like that’s the one that was trying to be borne

No.

Change it.

A different pose. This one is right. It feels right.

I push the paint around. Tightening the noose against it’s random, chaotic beginning. Different colors emerge. Older colors. Colors emerging from the baby steps. Patterns reveal themselves. Worlds within worlds.

Light shining through? Planned randomness.

I’m almost done.

I look up and it’s been hours. It felt like minutes. Minutes of discovery. Minutes that take me back to the rivers of belief. Rivers of dreams.