I was so sure

“Painting is more about a way of not knowing, and of not knowing for as long as possible while still working.  It’s not something to brag about.  But it is very important to me and crucial, I think, to making good art.”

David Reed, artist/writer

I just read the quote this morning, and it felt very powerful to me and very appropriate.  It is from an article by Reed which appeared in the September issue of Art in America.  He is summing up what he learned from his mentor, the Abstract Expressionist painter Milton Resnick.

What felt so right to me was the idea “of not knowing for as long as possible.”  Of remaining open to the process of painting itself and getting out of my own way and free from my own mind.  To not over think.  Just to paint.  To feel lost, and then found, and then lost again until the painting itself tells me that its time to stop working and start looking at what I’ve done.  And then pause until it’s time to get lost and found again.

I was so sure that I knew where I was heading after completing the paintings I did over the summer.  Now I am not sure of anything.  Even making the mandalas can be filled with a new sense of potential.  On the edge, on the verge of “not knowing.”  So delicious!!

it’s that time again

mandala sketchI am now back home after a really nice three weeks in DWG, though I did manage to bring a cold back with me.  So I’ve been resting and laying low. But yesterday I had some energy, so I began sketching out a possible design for a mandala commission that I’m just starting to work on.

Here’s the sketch I did.  I know that it doesn’t look like much now, but just wait.

And because, yes…it’s that time of year again, I will spend at least part of the day today sitting on the couch with Dennis watching football, but not necessarily listening to it. He, reading news on the computer or playing music.  Me, using the time to catch up on old issues of Bon Appetit, knit, play with baskets, or draw.

Today I will spend the time working on which colors to use for the new mandala.

Football and art!  Who would have thought?

Seems a little strange

Yesterday I finished painting for a show at East Stroudsburg University that is a full month away. This is unheard of for me! Anyone who knows me knows that I’m usually still painting on my way to hang a show, and that I should be putting up signs on the wall that say “Wet Paint” instead of labels with the titles.

Not this time.  I have to send the work to PA next week and it has to dry first, and so I had to stop working.  I really should have stopped on Sunday, but there was no way.  So I pushed it to Monday and then Tuesday and finally Wednesday.  Two friends came over to look at the paintings and said, “We think you have a show!”  And so it is.

I’ve been on such a roller coaster ride of emotions this past month.  Up and down all the time with lots of curves.  Some days I felt that I wanted to cancel the whole thing or give in and show old work.  Other days I was just so happy to be in my studio painting that I didn’t care if the work was good or not.  Other days I cared way too much and felt inadequate to every other painter on the face of the earth.  I just wanted to crawl back in bed and never touch a paintbrush again.

Did I say days?  No, my feelings could change drastically in the space of five minutes.  I could go from ecstatic to depressed and moody in a moment of time.  From feeling totally in the flow and joyful about what was happening to totally disconnected and insecure.

The eleven paintings are a product of all those emotions, and I have to say that as of this morning, I am feeling pretty good about them.  But catch me in an hour or two….

Pictured is a detail from one of them.

Once Again

I’m remembering what it’s like to be in my wonderful studio. To have six paintings and six paintings on paper and two sketch pads going at the same time. To see drips of paint on the wall and the floor and my clothing.  To come back into the house with paint-smeared hands.   To connect with the work in that way that can only happen when I’m in there every day.  It is so powerfully motivating to have a show coming up once again.  But I want to be thinking ahead in that same way, beyond the show and to keep remembering, and not to get so mental, and not to think too much about what it is that I’m going to paint, but to get out of my own way and out of my own head and just paint.  And work in the garden and paint some more.

The Big and the Small of It

 

Last week on a mini-trip through the Northern Cascade Mountains, we stopped at Washington Pass. After a short, steep hike to the lookout, we were greeted by an awesome view of snow capped mountains.  What could be more glorious than to see that great expanse and to feel the power and the grandeur of those huge craggy peaks!   Seeing that panorama, I felt a bit overwhelmed and inspired at the same time, a teeny part of something so much bigger than I could possibly imagine.

Then we left the path (and the other people) behind and started climbing even higher on smooth, gently slanted rocks.  Relaxing on those warm rocks, I became fascinated with the patterns and shapes created by their natural pink-tinted color and by the green moss that had formed a thin layer over their surface, creating endless swatches of color and light.  So much beauty!  The vast mountains contrasted with the microscopic formations on the rocks.  Seeing the mountains from afar, while touching and feeling into the rocks.

Sitting there and looking back and forth between the two, it came to me that I wanted to recreate that feeling of contrast in my studio.  The big and the small of it.  To look deeply within at my own feelings and my own creative process and at the same time to reflect the state of the world surrounding me.  I confess that I am much more comfortable with my inner world.  But the desire to tackle the larger issues that confront us all is there.  The rocks and also the mountain.