Wet Paint
September 30, 2009 by Janice · 4 Comments
Gold. I decided to jump right in with a big tube of gold. Yes. But. Ahh, those two words. Yes and but. Intent and logistics vying for dominance. Hah. Okay so there’s some grey that comes in front of the gold. I happen to love greys. See I even added some lovely rose doré to the grey on the far left. There’s another bit just out of the right side of the picture. The grey that stood in front of the gold…but I wanted you to see the wet paint. There are little bits of glistening there in the grey.
Ahhh.
I love that.
Silly. But I love that point in the paint when it is still wet, almost as much as I love moving paint around. Little puddles. Still malleable if you want them to be. You can watch them in the light. And add more, or even still take away.
Everyone says how difficult watercolor is, and in some ways it really is tough.
But we get along very well.
I have always played in puddles you see.
I grew up near a creek we could wade in and find all sorts of seasonal treasures there. Go exploring with a friend. Feel the ripples and burbles going by. Exclaim when some unexpected treat met our eyes. We spent hours and days and lots of springs and summers there. Loved the breeze catching in our hair and the tadpoles or crayfish we would sometimes take home in a jar. Some of them became frogs. We saw leaves in the fall floating by, skirting the rocks we step stoned upon, sweaters tucked tightly around us. Reds and golds, some bright orange. We even saw the creek frozen over, no wading, just wonder at the patterns the ice would make. The tufts of snow on the banks…and the quiet all around, maybe just a gurgle…our breath visible, some giggles…
Simple pleasures.
Wonder.
Curiosity.
Friends.
Who love to play in puddles.
Never quite grew out of that.
So this week when I had such a nice expanse of white paper…
and some wet paint…
Not much, except some logistics,
Was going to stand in my way.
So I let the paint lead me to treasure…
Brushes and bowls full of pigment. Plenty of white space to roam…
Maybe I still look for tadpoles,
Or a stunning little fish to swim by…
Maybe I have staked my whole career on my love of wading in creeks…and tide pools and coasts?
Surely not.
Then again…
Just a little wet paint….and I am there again.
Exploring.
The artist smiles.
Yes. I am a wetlands painter.
Did it start in that little creek?
(There’s a slideshow to go with this post, I did get to the gold. And you can see the wet paint close up. )
Mondays In Red
September 28, 2009 by Janice · 7 Comments
Tricks. Bribes. And clever ruses. Sometimes we walk right into them. Since I counted Mondays last week on a lark, things have changed.
Because I found there were 15 mondays left until the end of the year, my thinking shifted. 15!
And then my actions shifted.
I made a list after counting those Mondays last week. Things I would love to look back with end of December eyes and see them existing, or in some cases not existing. Gone, completed, over. And a couple of things that, well would just be really cool. There aren’t 15, or even 14, I think I stopped at 10. But all of them will make a meaningful difference.
Hm. My neighborhood coffee shop on Prytania used to give us these frequent buyers’ cards. Every time we bought a beverage, the barrista would stamp the card. In Santa Fe, it was my independent bookstore on Garcia. Buy a book, hand over your card for a stamp or a hole punch, one or the other. Both places though, after x number of purchases, came the freebies, or a meaningful discount. A treat. I liked that. I like books and coffee.
Kind of a trick or a bribe, but clever. Builds a good bit of loyalty and feel good on both sides.
Here’s what occurred to me this morning. Mondays are kind of like those cards now. Cards that I want to see stamped. Each one of them a big red bow of opportunity. Each one a way to gift myself on that end of December afternoon when I look back on the year.
Somehow my mind and then my body got that message from following that counting lark. I went after the first thing on my list last Monday. Did not stop until was done. It was pretty major. And check. Done. Huge. And here’s the cool part. It has made a significant difference already on everything else. Huge difference. Because of it, out came big for example. I like that.
14 more Mondays left until the end of the year.
Yes, I am on to item number 2 on my list. Got the stamp for 1 already.
So I am off to the garage this morning working on stamp number two.
Glamour? Maybe not. Artistic? Oh yes. Silks and papers and paints…go into this project box. Can’t wait to see what this shakes loose.
And get another stamp.
And some more peace of mind.
And a smile of satisfaction.
But I am thinking, I would love to come up with a reward for a completed card….
I’ll have to think about that one but …
for now…
Mondays are wrapped in a big gift bow of red.
How about you? Use any tricks or bribes for yourself?
Where to Begin?
September 25, 2009 by Janice · Leave a Comment
Where to begin on a work put aside? Especially a big work. One with lots of parts and history. And words, we are going to put words with it too. It should make some sense. Be accessible, possibly even logical.
Okay, I have to laugh at that, logical left the building way long ago.
Yes, I am still laughing. There is a logic to process of course, but it isn’t always a straight line. In fact straight lines have given me a problem since the storm. Tumbled fragmented ones seem more real. Perspectives altered into surreal are more plumb. Awkward juxtapositions the more believable paths. That’s what climbing over giant ancient oaks filling your streets like a river will do. Being tossed into a kind of war zone. Everything changes. When your reality becomes surreal, surreal becomes your reality. And you deal. You just deal the best you can. And it does not abate easily, or quickly when the alteration is so complete and so pervasive. Anyone who says so is not to be believed. It stays. Altering everything for all time.
But there is a logic to it and its own sense of time. The fragments within and the whole vie for dominance. We want Humpty Dumpty to go back together again. Fit right back on that wall where the view is so good and the food tastes wonderful and the music seeps up from the cobbled streets as sweet as the gardenias that bloom in the sun nearby.
But the cracks from the fall are there.
Do not try to fight the cracks.
Acknowledge them. Acknowledge that normal is always going to be relative for you. Logic will take up new points on your internal GPS. And the map? The map is uncharted. And your boat has to be tended to to even think of sailing again. It will not sail true if it isn’t.
So where to begin?
I think with the paint. Let the mind be clear like water and just let the paint lead us in. I want bowls of blue. Big bowls of blue. But I see to get there, I might have to start with orange and gold. The shimmering partners to blue. And I cannot wait to sink into deep piles of sepia mink. But I have those flutters of light kissed green that must come first.
And where to paint first? It’s 6 large panels. An overall expanse of, hm, 12 feet. Almost 5 feet tall each one. I started with the far right and worked left. Three panels at a time laid there on the floor in Santa Fe. The 3 left ones are still blank. Not passively blank. Waiting, anticipating blank. Flow. They want to feel the flow of paint literally poured on. They want the touch of sable that leaves color in its wake. They want the finesse that comes from deep and fine experience and appreciation. They want to glow.
So where to begin?
Paint and paper have their own sense of logic. Their own demands of time and sequence and right. They care little about everything else. Tradition, technique, all good, but only if they serve intent. Learn the rules, get those under your belt, but then be willing to break every single one if that’s what it takes. Deal. Deal the best way you can for what’s right in front of your face in that moment.
And in this moment I am thinking gold…
I think we’ll start with pure gold right out of the tube.
Yes.
That feels good.
A friend asked me two days ago if it was too early in the week for Naughty Prickly Pear Margaritas. HAH. Silly question.
How about you? Meet you at five for a beverage and a chat? It’s been a fairly big week in a quiet leap taking way. Congrats to all my friends and their big…top tens… way to go.
Big Comes Out of the Box
September 23, 2009 by Janice · 13 Comments
“Deer Tracks Nearby”, that’s what you see in the photo. Or at least 3 of 6 panels of it. The other 3 are still white paper. This is the big piece I mentioned last week that I had put away mid process. Each panel is 40″ by 60″. Yes, big. The “normal” size I like to work in. They have been tucked away for awhile now. Waiting.
Tucked and quiet.
But not really.
I always knew they were there.
Waiting patiently.
Like a few other things I had to put on hold.
It was just better that way.
For awhile.
But not now. Now I need big. Or at least bigger.
I need space. So I am claiming a bit more every day.
Paint and paper you say? It is only paint and paper.
Yes, but not exactly.
This is a piece very near and dear to my heart.
I am going to try to tell you a story.
And I emphasize try, because that’s not what I intended when I decided to pull this out this morning. I intended to just take a look.
But there it is, spread out on the floor.
Magnificent blue, brilliant orange, mink-like sepia.
Big.
I have missed it.
And it is time.
To paint my way out of this box.
That’s what I get for counting Mondays. The artist smiles.
Yes, perhaps a beautiful gift….
We’ll see, and I will try to put words to it too.
15 Weeks, I Need More Tea
September 21, 2009 by Janice · 6 Comments
Yesterday for some odd reason I found myself counting Mondays. I never do that. What on earth possessed me yesterday? I was thinking of Organizing Mondays probably. There are 15. 15 Mondays left in this year. That number has been echoing in my head for the last almost 24 hours. 15 has given me pause. And here we are on the first of one of those 15. I can hear the clock ticking.
For anyone who does week reviews or progress checks, a number can be significant. I liked the number I got on the scales yesterday, yay, progress. I did not like the number in my bank account. Hm. As with a lot of numbers, one needs to go down and one needs to go up. The way of the world, “C’est normal” the French would say. Then suddenly this 15 appears apocalyptically. Year’s end? Gulp. What made me do it? Count them that is.
I spent the last week in December of last year with Chris Guillebeau’s fabulous Annual Review. It’s a little different than most, which is par for the course because Chris is a little different than most, in a very good way. He uses some matrix for measure that are real, but maybe ones we don’t always think of when the usual numbers are being added up. I like it a lot. I charted my course for the year with it.
But yesterday, I wasn’t exactly thinking of his review when I was counting Mondays, then again maybe I was. You see, I really would like to have a joyful sense of having accomplished most, if not all, of those things I set up last December. And even though some things on last December’s list are more ephemeral than solid, I need tangible evidence. Maybe something that can be counted even.
Yes, I think I want to be able to count them in some way.
Like 15 Mondays.
But it’s still September. Why talk of year end reviews right now?
15 Mondays.
So few, so many? Tick Tock.
I want to give myself a gift of…
15 Mondays
Put to very good use.
I need more tea,
A deep breath,
And maybe that Wagner chorus you see up there in the photo, but please not a twenty something “life coach”, and yes, I will Dance With the Stars, but most of all I am thinking…
we all deserve this kind of gift,
Don’t we?
15 Mondays.
What will you do with yours?
Insert Tiara Here
September 18, 2009 by Janice · 1 Comment
Almost there on the passion blooms. Almost there. An eye-catching significant element goes right here. Yes, right there crowning the purplish blue and surrounded by all that green. It’s bright. Shiny almost. Have I left enough room? Well, it is partially concealed. So the end result will have that paparazzi captured feel. A stolen glance, a shot off the cuff. Just the way I found it. But it is going to be a tight squeeze.
Should I have done it first?
Maybe.
But maybe not.
Setting up the “bones’ of a piece is important. The overall structure. So that came first. The movement that carries the whole. That is there already.
This is a detail. One little detail that will significantly alter the whole, but it has to have bones to hang on.
So we’re good.
Almost there.
Finishing.
I think I am more fond of beginnings.
There’s something of anticipation, then process and adventure along the way. When the finish line is close at hand… that changes… not in a bad way, but it changes. I haven’t a name for it. But I am looking for one. I used to feel elated when a work was done. Glow-y almost.
Now, not so much.
Now, that glow usually comes much later, after the work has settled for awhile. I saw some drawings this week I had put away. Wow. I really like them. Really like them. So what is this, this discontent, this resistance to the finish? The work is good.
Did something go missing while I wasn’t looking?
Is it a function of so much loss?
Or is it something niggling,
something bubbling up..
That thing again…
that thing that I am NOT doing…
Could it be that?
Those 6 panels, in that box against the wall…
Unfinished business.
A big work I had to put away mid process.
Is it time?
Am I ready to re-engage?
First, I’ll put this tiara in its place…
and finish up this lovely piece.
And still my rapidly beating heart…but yes…
Maybe so.
Might be time.
To finish that one too. Because now I have its mate more firmly in mind. A place to take it. From here to there. So that it is not something that is over, but truly just part of the story.
Ahh now, now I am smiling…
Passion blooms.
Yes. As long as you stay open to it…
And yay, it is tall, chilled, yummy Naughty Margaritas at five Friday….see you there. AND I have an odd urge to play darts, sheesh…
Hope you have a great weekend.
The Truly Creative Mind
September 16, 2009 by Janice · 10 Comments
The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create , create, so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.~ Pearl S. Buck
I had copied that out some weeks ago. Put it aside. Then this past weekend as I was organizing some papers, I came across it again, and put it to the forefront of all my papers. Pulled it out so I could see it frequently.
Because it is true, but mostly I did it so I wouldn’t feel so awkward. So different. I am not surrounded by other artists at the moment. And I am compelled to just make marks…and to write words, certain words and certain recurring marks but without whole form yet. Still raw process. Awkward.
I am truly considering submitting some work to some of my writer friends too. Words. Not pictures. Just to see what they would say. Awkward. I never do that. My writer friends are all quite successful. Beseiged you can imagine, by queries. They write best sellers. Yeah. My little paragraphs pale. But I still do them. And I actually quite like it. Who knew?
I have been asked to do a book several times, one with words and pictures, but it never gelled for me, I never quite knew the organizing factor for it and life interrupted in huge ways. I haven’t known ( still don’t really ) the how of it. Only what I would hope the tone to be.
How can you sell someone on tone?
A book about nothing.
And everything.
Just tones and what happens inside.
The marks though, the urge to make marks and the urge to make prose poems to go with them is staying with me. To work a pictorial series and a word series hand in hand. Accessing story that way? Making something that seems true and real.
Like some kind of musical score.
I like that.
But I am not a composer.
Not a trained writer either.
I am a painter.
But I know about tone and intention.
And color and marks.
And sometimes the words go together nicely.
In rhythms.
Hm.
It’s the how of it that’s confusing. But there’s a really strong desire to make something of meaning.
And there’s my love of books.
So I look at her words and mine. Again and again. And ponder which friend I might impose upon…
awkward.
Embarrassing. Intimidating…
But…
The artist smiles.
What’s the worst that could happen?
AND how come this is scarier to me than a force five hurricane?
And did you count how many times I used the word awkward?
Sheesh.
Somedays are just…
awkward…
on the precipice.
My Big Fat New York Newspaper
September 14, 2009 by Janice · 2 Comments
Wow, I leaned back up, my blue plastic wrapped sunday paper in my hands, something must have happened, this one’s huge. I puzzled as I walked back up the walk heading to the front door, dodging raindrops all the way. It must be big. This weighs a ton.
I shut the door against the rain and took my dripping catch in straight to the kitchen sink. Peeled the blue off, double wrapped ( thank you) tossed it in the recycling. And took a look, expecting a huge front page.
Hm. A kid with an open mouth and some fillings. Huh?
Week in Review. Some demographic issues on the healthcare debate.Thin.
Business. Tales from Lehman castaways. Slender as a little black dress there too.
As I pulled out the sections to see what had called for all the extra paper a smile gradually appeared.
Yeah baby.
The Arts.
Happy Dance.
New season. Big paper.
Lots o” color!
Several sections and two magazines.
And look, advertisers.
Hm.
Clue. Are we listening. Did ya get this?
I’ll make it easy: Culture drives economy.
Forget the remodel, the new wheels, the latest electronics…go buy a new dress, some great shoes, or throw on your music listening jeans. But buy a ticket.
To anything. Take your pick. It’s a new cultural season and people have been busy making beauty just for you.
Speaking of beauty, the one thing at a time is working really well. Organizing Monday shapes up rather simply. I have actually gotten all those troublesome things from last week done. One at a time. Surprise, surprise. And it didn’t seem as, hm, frenetic. I found good bones underneath all the mess. So more of that please.
My one thing today is simple. Make sure everyone you know or who can hear you, understands that a ticket, a song, a painting can move things along just as much or more than all those other things that seem to call our name… and they keep on giving. Rippling out, replenishing, just like a rain drop landing on a reservoir …flow…join it. Refresh a nation. Get your Medici bucks out and have some fun.
Check. Now more tea ( I picked the red) and the next thing. Some paint.
In the meantime….
Tick tock… buy a ticket…:) Buy a ticket… watch the watch….The artist smiles.
Tell them my big fat New York Newspaper sent you.
The Sound of Rain
September 11, 2009 by Janice · 5 Comments
I woke up to the sound of rain. Taps at my window became a temporary torrent.
Perfect. I smiled.
My thoughts found themselves nestled in a hull that gently rocks. My mind’s ear heard water landing on furled canvas. If I stretched just a little I might even hear a buoy, a halyard or a gull. In my mind’s little archive of sound.
Even better I thought to myself.
I snuggled in just for a moment longer.
One of my favorite things.
But the morning calls. What would I write?
Maintenance. Grunt work. Sorting through pigments. Finishing up this and that.
Not exactly show material is it?
Especially on a morning like this, when clouds hold back the light in a soft cocoon of damp and drizzle.
I love it.
A cup of Chai is needed.
And as I walked past, I pulled out that little bundle on my shelf.
Of notes and sketches and the log.
Mmm. Perfect. The Sea of Cortez.
I paused just then, drifted away to a universe without words. It happens. Every time. Just the cover of the book does it to me. I am letting a film run, savoring. Feeling timelessness. Past, present, future.
Discovery.
Takes lots of room. And letting go.
Structure too if you’re after something by design.
Which is how I have decided to treat the “scribble” work. Setting it up as location work. Provisioning. Charting time, possible ports of call. But mostly understanding that I am setting up an interior exploration. I’ve been looking at music for it too. And yesterday, took another glance at Miro’s own constellations. And who do I find plopped right there on the Cote D’Azur with Miro? Ellington. Improvising this: Blues for Miro….all about improvisation. Miro spoke in French, Ellington in English. Neither understanding each other’s words. Words were not really needed. So I am putting them both in some way into that little bundle I am making. Little bits to enjoy, to keep me company. To go with the Quiet Nights from Krall.
It’s much more tangible like this for me. Making a “location bundle”. Provisioning. It’s a ruse, a trick, a bribe. To get myself to these pieces that are pure marks and color and what’s inside. Never gone public with those. Never made these into real. Just sketches and thoughts, sounds turned to color, touch turned to marks…
thoughts nestled in hulls that rock,
an interior film running.
Accessed by touch points in my heart.
Scary.
Really scary. In that where the hell am I going, dunno, but I am packing the boat pulling out some charts, and going there anyway…
Because it scares, excites and makes me feel delicious all at the same time.
It makes me feel like me.
The feel of those marks is so real, so almost tangible that I can hear them, feel them and I want to touch them into being. I want to go on location with these.
I woke up to the sound of rain this morning.
And it brought me here to this. A little bit more back to me. But slightly different.
And that deserves another cup of tea while I read a few pages, plot some ports of call…
The sound of rain. Takes me to a special place. Now… let me get to work..
See you later for Margaritas? You bet. Tall chilled Naughty ones…right?
Have a good weekend.
Are We There Yet?
September 9, 2009 by Janice · 15 Comments
Why is it that no matter how many other shiny silver things there are in the house, the one you are working with is ALWAYS the one the cat wants? It that a rule somewhere? Here I am minding my own business snapping pics to post this am, and the feline has to be there. Shoo kitty. Nope. Comes right back.
“Are we there yet?” The cat looks at me. And I don’t do cat. I am a dog person given the choice. Never mind the treats I pull out when no one is looking. Or the special little water bowl I keep near by.
I am just being nice.
Could care less.
And I never ever talk to the thing. Ever.
Well, maybe we discuss color every once in a blue moon, as in how do you think that’ s working? Or do you like this one?
He is kind of like my little buddha in reply. Inscrutible.
“Yep, I think so too”, I say. And I do what I think is best.
He’ll lick a paw. “Told you so”, he blinks.
He’s on the kitchen table at the moment, his morning spot by the window waiting for the birds to show up. One eye barely open, a subtle twitch to the tail here and there.
I had to move the painting over. Get it out of his way.
But that’s okay, the painting is in the teenage phase at the moment. Most of the major work is done, but not refined yet. Some white space not yet filled in. Some layers yet to add. A little growth needed. But it’s asking, “Are we there yet?” It gets antsy that way too.
It and the cat make a good pair this morning.
Bossy bosses.
I think they just want treats.
They can both wait until I have my tea. And maybe some yogurt. I will probably dry my hair.
Glamorous isn’t it? Just wait. Later I get to hunt down some gesso and slather it onto some odd bits of canvas. If I can get to the gesso in the back of the cupboard. It’s kind of dusty back there.
I know. It just gets better and better.
And I get to get out my grid drawing tools for the next piece while I am waiting for some of this paint to dry. So this teenaged piece it will actually BE there soon.
And yes. I’ll toss out a treat to the furry one. He won’t say thank you. No.
But later when I am napping, just when I least expect it, he’ll curl up beside me in a ball and turn his little cat motor on.
Devious.
Like how he snuck into this post too. With two little paws that couldn’t be ignored.
Hm.
And made me think.
I wonder if we were more cat like, would we get our way more often?