Seeing in a New Way

Last week, I took my annual trip to Chicago, the city where I grew up and where my mother lived until her death over three years ago. While she was alive, I went there more and more frequently. But now I content myself with an annual pilgrimage to see family and friends, and to revisit my roots.  My continued visits to the city are somehow really important to me.  Yet another circular experience in my life.

How many thousands of times have I walked on Michigan Avenue where this photograph was taken! But not so often with camera in hand, feeling part tourist, part long-time resident. Waiting to be surprised by the city I still know so well.

So as I looked through the lens, I was really pleased to capture these three iconic Chicago landmark buildings in one shot.  In the foreground is a part of the original Water Tower, which is one of the only buildings to have survived the devastating Chicago Fire of 1871.  In the middle is just a small slice of the “new” Water Tower, a six story shopping center which has become a destination in itself.  How perfect that the words were the only things framed by this view. And in the background stands the distinctive Hancock Building, once the tallest building in the world, now not even the tallest building in Chicago.  The tiny shape of the tall building in the upper right corner is the Ritz Carleton Hotel, one of Oprah’s many homes.

I was truly delighted to see all this at once.  It made the proximity of all these buildings very real to me, and their juxtapositions brought thoughts about architecture, urban planning, and the symbolism attendant on the giants of commerce they house.  I gained new insight about the process of seeing and about the so-called happy accidents of photography.

What Do You Mean?

That is the title of this painting which may or may not be finished.  Or may need some minor adjustments.  Or may just be one that I’ll never feel resolved about.

I like to work on several things at once, and I like the idea of  doing several paintings of the same size at one time.  This was one of a series of six paintings on paper, five of which I finished last summer.  But this one had me stumped then and it still has me stumped now.  I keep working and reworking it.  I’ll feel good about it for a day or so.  And then I’ll want to tweak one little thing and that will lead to something else, and then I just keep painting until the surface of the painting starts to feel good again.  Then I work on other paintings for a while, and I keep looking at it.  Then the whole process starts all over again.

I keep asking what the painting is trying to teach me.  Every time I work on it, I ask, “What Do You Mean?”   So no matter how many more times it changes, that is the title.

What I like about this version is that the colors are a bit loud, a little blunt.  That’s not usually me.  There is chaos but order, too.  I like that they are playing with each other, but not at odds.  This piece might defeat me in the end, but I am thoroughly enjoying the process.

Finished!

I was just about to use an unfinished coiled basket for today’s entry when I realized that it would have been the third week in a row that I had used an incomplete piece to express an artistic process or feeling about making art.  It was too weird and too much of a pattern about my life.  In the middle of twelve things, having trouble finishing anything.

Now there can be a beauty and a wonder in the incomplete.  Coincidentally, I was reading an article in Art in America this past week and found an amazing quote from a Chinese Tang dynasty historian named Chang Yen-Yuan.  Here is part of that quote: “From the moment one knows that a thing is complete, what need is there to complete it?  For the incomplete does not necessarily mean the unfulfilled.”

So beautifully inscrutable.  So open to interpretation.  So potentially important to the process of painting (more on this some other time).  But so utterly damaging for completing concrete tasks, and such an easy way out for one who loves to procrastinate, and to procrastinate some more.  Until there are those twelve unfinished projects jamming up my life and my creative process as well.

So I stayed up until 2 am last night and finished this ruffled, peyote stitch, beaded bracelet.  Yeah!  It can be done!

learning

On Tuesday, I took a class at my favorite bead store and learned one of the many variations of the peyote stitch. What a wonderful way to spend a day. Figuring out a new technique. Hanging out with friends. Talking. Beading. Talking some more. Surrounded by the colors of all the beads hanging from every wall and in all the small bins surrounding the room.

These hundreds of seed beads may not look like much right now, but they will soon become a bracelet.  And if all goes well, it will be adorable!

And aside from all that, when I learn something new, I always learn a bit more about myself as well.  This time the mini-lesson came in the form of taking time for breaks and to get up and move and to stretch and to breathe.  Now you’d think all that would be second nature, but sometimes with something like needing, I get so intent on doing the project and so determined to finish it before I go home, and so determined to keep up with the other students because I know that I work slowly that I can sit for hours and not pause for anything.

But this time, I knew that I wouldn’t come close to finishing, and I was keeping up, and there was a flow and a rhythm to finishing a section then taking a break and then doing it all again.  Learning, remembering, creating, all one.

a start?

I have been thinking and thinking (probably thinking way too much) about what Stillness looks like. Challenging enough to feel into it, even for an instant. But having decided to do a mandala about it, I am determined to figure out what it may look like. So with a tormented muscle in my right knee and the weather once again rainy and gray, I am slowed down enough to concentrate on Stillness.  Can I feel into it enough to see it?

Stillness…the Ah of it…the breath of it…being enclosed in the safety of it…the womb…the softness…nothing too bright…nothing too loud.  Quiet, stillness, Ah….  A sense of movement, yes!  Something so very dynamic about it.

A sketch.  A start?  A kind of,  maybe, beginning of a start?