In a Nutshell

Ok, ok, I'm a lousy good-for-nothin' blogger, but I've been busy, well, and lazy, it's true. I finally took a few photos. They're not the best, but I'll put up better later, promise. These are photos of my latest passion, portraiture. Getting close to the mid-point of life I've decided to jump in the water all the way and make a decision about my career and it will be portraiture. Not that that choice will stop me from doing a still life here and there and a landscape or two. Can't keep a good woman down. Not that portraiture is down. It's fascinating. Because portraiture isn't just about the surface. It's about deep down in side. Who are you? Who do I perceive you to be? Who do you present yourself to be? Who are you today? Who will you be five minutes from now? It is the existentialist's dream, an exercise in mindfulness and being in the moment, an exploration into self and human nature. It is the story of your life and my life and you in my life, however temporary. It is the history of woman and man and it's all written on your face, how you hold your head, your body, how you gesture with your hands. And I get to be part of it. So to those who have posed for me already and those who will pose in the future, thank you.

Waterhouse

John William Waterhouse. Yesterday I went to see an extensive show of this artist's work at the Groninger Museum. I took a three hour trip because that's just how much I've liked his work. I was excited and filled with anticipation. I thought about the beauty and color he portrayed in his "stories" on canvas, thinking, "At last I will see these stories come to life!".

Exactly the opposite feeling awaited me as I gazed at each, technically perfect, painting. More, what filled me was the feeling of being in a crypt. His models (or should I say model because he seems to use the same woman for every face) were all posed like mannequins, beautiful and graceful mannnequins, but dead to the world. Everything was perfect, from the veins in his marble to the weave of his rugs and yet...nothing, no soul, no life breathed there. In fact, I was surprised to find that I like his paintings much more in print then in real life!

He does get some life going in his landscapes, then he drops in a model from the studio and the birds stop singing. The wood becomes dead and nary a leaf can be heard to fall from a tree. Not surprising then, that the one painting that struck me was "Saint Elalia", which can be seen here: http://www.johnwaterhouse.com/view.cfm?recordid=76 (One of these days I'll figure out how to post outside images here.) She is truly dead and yet he brings more life to this painting than to all the other "live" models. His studies have more life in them. Pity he couldn't carry that over to his finished paintings, or "killed" it in the process.

So, once again, I am reminded that perfection and control does not result in beauty, no matter your skill in reproducing the real. Because real is not perfect, it is flawed, it is unfinished, it is faulted and it breathes life. This can not be captured by turning all to stone, immovable and unchanging. Leaving the mausoleum, oops, museum I strolled through the Saturday market and was restored to life, all the more poignant for this contrasting point of reference.

Glazing Over

I've been spending much time reading about what others think these days so I thought I'd put in a few cents of my own. Actually, the time I've spent on others thoughts has been scattered in short increments, because for the last couple of months, I've been in intensive study of portraiture. Whew! What a process! It's been a struggle both personal and creatively, learning new techniques but mostly banishing old bad habits. ("Out, out damned spots!," she cried as the nasty bad habits clung to the hem of her psyche.) Currently though, things are going good, connections are being made and old memories of knowledge being mixed with new understanding.

We are dealing with glazes now as we add color to the layers of grisaille. It is magic. I was lost for a while watching the magic, then I remembered a painting class I had back in college, back in the day as they say... The teacher was Frank Hobbes, a local painter and he was only there for a semester or a year, I believe. Too bad they didn't keep him because I would have taken any class I could have gotten from him and learned perhaps a bit more of what I am now learning years later. He had me paint a copy of a Rembrandt, a self-portrait (one among many). With that portrait I learned about...glazing! And with that memory comes back the knowledge that I can apply today. It's a case of adding a glaze of color to push back the painting into the shadow, and then adding more light, then when that's dry doing it again, and again, till it becomes clear and full of layers of light and color. It never ceases to amaze me how it works, pushing it back, then pulling it back out again into the light.

Pondering this miracle, I was thinking it's not unlike the process we go through in life. We have these moments where the light gets in, then times when it is pushed back down, then we must look for the light again and pull it out of the shadows. This happens in layers upon layers all our lives. It's so easy to stay in the shadows, feeling our way but never coming clear. So difficult to know where to look for the light, to pull it out of the murky darkness. But there it is, and when the light is revealed we become more three dimensional, more whole.

Some of those things that were in the shadows can remain. They don't need illumination, and actually lend to the beauty of the light. They have their own colors that will be reflected in the light to give it life. Without those shadows, there would be no light, only flat color. So now, as I paint my glazes, or perhaps in quiet moments of reflection such as this, I am observing the shadows, their colors, how sometimes I was in the deep shadow but reached for the light, no matter how feeble. I can feel my skin vibrate with the interplay of the two and their own nuances as I watch the portrait of my life develop and become whole. When it is done it will look just like me.

P.S. Thank you, Frank Hobbes, for believing in me. You once said I had the guts to be an artist and those are words I still cherish.

Creatures of Habit

Every morning my cat wakes me up in that very special way that cat's have. She begins by standing, stretching, then carefully walking all over my body. If this receives no response, she tickles my face with her whiskers, that failing, she will go scratch the rug, a sure-fire way to get me out of bed to keep her from destroying it. We go downstairs where she will circle, show her leg, rub against my legs, in other words, plea in no uncertain terms that she must eat or starve. A guy named Pavlov figured out why all this takes place a long time ago and since we're all familiar with his theory, most of us, I won't bore you with the details.

Now, right up there with Pavlov's star in the sky, I have placed Twyla Tharp. She has hit the same nail on the head, but at a different angle and it has gone straight to my heart. She has written a wonderful book called, "The Creative Habit". I haven't read the whole thing yet, so I can't comment on all of it right now, but what has had a major impact on my day is her concept of ritual. Well, it's not really her concept, because it has been going on for centuries, but her application of it is so clear that it can't be ignored. I won't rewrite her book for her, but I want to tell you how it's affected me.

Since reading her book, I began getting up at 6 am, feeding the cat (no need for an alarm when you have a cat) and doing yoga. Then, I have breakfast in front of the computer, do the rest of my morning preparations and go for a walk for an hour. When I get back I make a big cup of chicory and oat milk (my substitute for coffee) and face the canvas. This is my new ritual. I'd say I've been doing it for about two weeks now. Previously, I got ready in various ways without examining my "ritual". Some days it worked, some days it didn't.

This works. Not only does it work, but I've discovered something important this morning since I've changed my ritual. I slept in an hour extra, or tried to, anyway I lost an hour. I'm not doing yoga this morning because I have yoga class this evening and yesterday I changed it too; I didn't take my morning walk and went to the store instead. What I have noticed is this...it is unsettling. I woke up this morning needing that stretch and I'm not getting it. Something seems amiss. I have to think about what I'm going to do next. I feel out of sorts. I did this last week too, missing my yoga in the morning and it took me all day to get some sort of creative flow. (I hope that's not the case today.) What I'm saying is that I've developed a habit. Just like the cat. If she doesn't get her morning meal, she thinks she might starve. Her stomach tells her that too. Just like me trying to sleep in, my body woke up at 6, ready for it's morning stretch to start the day.

This is all probably not new to those of you who have a routine. All the more so since most of you have a job to go to in the morning. For me, it is a surprise. I've always seen myself as someone who has shirked the "routine". I've never made myself consistently do it because I thought I couldn't stick to it. Now I see if you don't set up a routine, you will inevitably make one. Why? Because we are "creatures of habit". For the first time I understand that phrase. Habit, routine, ritual brings comfort, stability, and room to breathe because if the routine is there then other stuff can happen without too much crisis, like when the cat throws up or my knitting goes awry, that's O.K., because I've had my routine (cup of coffee, morning run, hour of the morning news, shower, whatever works for you).

I spent 7 years going back and forth from France to the States every three months, only to discover that I craved stability, staying put. And now, at (almost) 44 I've discovered the blessing, the freedom, of routine. Who knew? This same routine is getting me in the studio every day. I feel like Twyla Tharp handed me a key to a new door but the key seems very familiar. Over the years I've had routines to get to work, but never looked at them this closely. Never said, "O.K., this is what works for me and I'm going to use it as a formula to get work done". That has all changed, I am now a creature of habit.

Long Overdue

Yes, yes, yes, long overdue, indeed. It has been some time since we visited, has it not? Well, here I am, present and accounted for, at the moment. So much has happened it is difficult to recount. First and foremost, I finished my painting of Clafoutis, better known as, "I Gave My Love a Cherry". You can see it above. Perhaps not the best photo. I will replace it later, but I did not want to deprive you further. ;0) I'm currently starting two new paintings...that's right, doing double duty. One will be yet another soup, this one a pumpkin soup. I can attest to it's taste, delicious (if I do say so myself), since I made it on Thanksgiving (the soup, not the painting!). And a nice fall painting of a Tart Tatin. I'm eating apples all along to preserve the taste in my mouth. Mmmm... It reminds me of the lovely apple trees in my garden in Savoy. Just the right tartness for a pie and great for making canned applesauce too. Just looking for one small object to give it the right ambiance. All is drawn on canvas and tomorrow I begin the grisailles! Two paintings will give me a chance to switch off when one is drying or I need "new eyes" to see the one I'm working on. Have I whetted your appetite? I think I'll go have another bite of apple. Royal Gala, or Granny Smith? Too many choices...

P.S. I've just uploaded a better image. Enjoy!

Backatcha

This week my painting got away from me again. I painted the first two days of the week, then contractors came in again and it was out the window. See, when I work I have to get into this peaceful space bubble and lose the distractions of the "real" world. Not so easy to do when someone is banging around.

Plus, I have this built in personality clause that says if someone is in your house you are the hostess/host and must make it a pleasant experience for them. Workers, friends, family, people who drop in off the street, doesn't matter. My home is like a part of me (well, my husband and I) and when you enter our world I want it to be a place of welcoming. Can't help it, it's there, like the impulse to kick when the doctor hits your knee reflex. So, I'm hopping around, making tea, making pleasant conversation, making sure they have everything they need. Not painting.

What I did do was knit. There's a million other things I should have done, empty boxes, do paper work, but I was dealing with my stress so I knit. Plus I have this deadline for class this morning and I wanted very much to meet it. (To that end I will knit seven more cm if I can this morning.) In doing so, I did realize that the knitting served it's purpose. It is helping my beginnings of arthritis and the cut nerve in my left hand is feeling a bit better, though I'm told I will always feel it. (I consider it my mindfulness bell and that rationale somehow makes it ok.)

Knitting got me back in a place I wanted to be again in my head, like leaving breadcrumbs in the forest, only they didn't get eaten by the birds. See, I don't deal well with moving, let alone jacking myself up on caffeine to get through all the necessary (?) renovations. Kinda waaaaay allergic to caffeine so that was a bad plan. (That's why the hand is a bell, reminding me not to have more caffeine...ever.)

So, now that I have come, more or less, back, finding myself home again, I need to reflect on the breadcrumbs. Do I eat them and say the cake is finished, back to work? Well, as it helps my hands and as it gives me great pleasure and keeps me mindful, no. But I have decided it will now have to take a back seat to the task at hand, that is doing my work (painting, drawing) full time all the time. I will pick up the knitting only at night to unwind that ball of yarn which is my thoughts. It's good to be back, good to see the blue sky in between the clouds as they break up. And if I need it I can always pick up the sticks, knit, purl, knit purl, knit, purl...breathe.

Love, Love, Love

I knew it. At least I knew it and then I forgot and now I know it again in a new way. If you want to do good art there is only one thing that matters, well one main thing, you have to do it with love. See, I grew up in California in the late sixties so I got a good dose of all that love hippie culture and man did it stick! I wore a groovy Love pin to school one day, purple and pink in big loopy letters. I sat in the big red leather reading chair while kids taunted me for believing in love. I was undaunted. Yes, I believed. I became a leader of a Circle K group and was asked in a leaders conference what my one word for leadership would be if I could sum it up, love. This was met with skepticism also. Still undaunted. I got into so much trouble believing this sometimes that it got me into some sticky situations I won't go into here.

But here's the thing. I still believe. I believe in giving it to others and in giving it to everything you do. I also believe now in something I had forgotten, or at least pushed back from time to time, in giving it to myself. Mom always said "you can't love others till you love yourself". Well, that's not altogether true, but it is true that you can't be your best to others if you don't treat yourself with love. I know that for a fact, folks.

But this isn't what I wanted to talk about. What I wanted to say is that if you are doing art, writing, creating, painting, forget about the money, forget that anybody is going to see it or judge it, go to that center place and ask yourself. What do I love? What do I want to paint that I love, that brings me joy, that I want to stare at for hours, curl up in, wind myself around? Can't guarantee that it will sell you some art, can't even say others will like it, but you will. And as an added bonus, if you put love into it, care for it, raise it up, it might even be a thing of beauty, one that perhaps comes close to that nectar of the gods you are looking for. But still, even if it's not, it might be the next one, or the next, and in the meantime you are in a place of bliss that will feed and nourish you to keep reaching for that chalice. Love is all you need, yup, I still believe in that, goofy, hippie, whatever. I am undaunted.