Last week Sabrina had a photo for me to work from -- a couple of friends of hers at a sidewalk Paris cafe. She asked me to make some quick warmup drawings -- making sure that I filled in every single piece of the paper. I got more and more irritated as I went along frustrated with my lack of detail and eye. Finally I was fuming and whining about the boring couple, table, and chairs. So Sabrina told me to start over. Draw whatever I wanted and add color to every single inch. I started slashing and scribbling using Portfolio water-soluble oil pastels, water and napkins, and even spit. The end result I kind of liked. It's just so unreasonable. I can sort of get into this kind of what-the-hell painting style. I can see that my irritation and anger cut something loose in me! I plan on attempting to transfer this or something similar to a canvas. (I sent a phone pic to my brother -- he asked if that was Munro and I in Paris? Yeah, I'd say maybe a bit!
Painted maybe a month ago. One of those times I wish I painted more often so I'd have more of a "vocabulary" of images to draw from as I create a background. However when I look at this painting what I do like is that it seems to have some "gusto" -- a brashness -- that shows up in its color and size. I'm reserving this one to paint over next time I see Sabrina
I think it's funny that this page came right after my response to Chrissy's comment for the previous post. I have always stated (laughingly or with great chagrin) that my spiritual journey reminds me of Job's journey -- one of constant trials and my faith in a Higher Power or a creative principle never seems to be lessened one iota!
Daily Journal Page Challenge...Day 983: Accept What Is
What may not be noticeable (here, the door is upside down) may often be the key to moving forward. I have found on and off over the duration of my life is that it is often in the acceptance of a circumstance --- or what I think I see -- that I am often led to a place of awareness that leads me to a different place of being.
Daily Journal Page Challenge...Day 977: Is a Weak Man (Got Milk?)
Doesn't look weak to me -- look at those pecks and the tats! Nor does she. Now here -- in this collage -- I am wondering what in the heck I may be "saying" about myself or dealing with on an energetic level?!?! Surrender of aggression? Of knowledge? Weakness that is actually strength? Prayers for the living? Prayers for the dead? A special mass being said for some part of myself that has been replaced? LOL! Whatever the interpretation there is definitely a sense of humor present here!
Daily Journal Page Challenge...Day 976: Making Sense
One of the things I love most about collage is its representation of the artist's internal process. It is one of the reasons why I don't necessarily have to keep a written journal. I can just look at one of my collages and see the images and text that I have chosen the emotional or physical or spiritual process that I am dealing with, or the aspect of myself that is calling for attention in that moment of its creation. I also like the Rorschach quality of collage -- that the person viewing it will also come away with their own personal interpretation of the collage, which can reflect back to them their own particular processes. It becomes in a sense a mirror of what the viewer is thinking or feeling. For instance in this collage I see a reaffirmation of my spiritual journey -- the jaguar represents the aggressiveness and emotional determination of my pursuit of the "honey" of Spirit. The wedding ring represents my commitment to this journey. The diamond is strength, harness, beauty. My choice of text "Making Sense" --trying to figure it all out -- is a component of the journey: so is the looking away from it (as represented by my choice of figure) or the conflict. Now it's important to mention that none of these associations were considered when I chose the images. Color I think was foremost in my mind. Nevertheless my subconscious mind or spirit was at work. I love this process!
I spent ten days in Louisville last month. The trip had already been planned but my 90-year-old mother went into the hospital a few days before I got there. She was suffering from disorientation and a fall where she had twisted and sprained her ankle. Those of you who know me know of my rather -- shall we say? -- tortured relationship with my mother. I never grew past it, and neither did she. When I finally saw her this time she had been in the nursing home for 3 days. She seemed happy to see me -- yet as always she started with these comments: "Your hair is too long." "You are too old for long hair" "You need some help". Oh, some things just never change!
However, this time for some reason I kind of let her comments just run over my back and I kept moving: I negotiated the maze-like medical and nursing home bureaucracy to get answers and care for her; I gave my brother, her primary caregiver, some relief via cooked dinners, lunches out, walks together with their dogs. And mostly I just looked for something different in the way I felt about my relationship with my mother. One of the first days at the nursing home, I lined up my mother's shoes in front of the room's sofa and then started laughing. The variety in her selection of flat-heeled shoes from metal-studded blue slippers to plain brown brogans to silver metallic loafers just made me smile. At her PT session I watched her do her own version of arm pulleys -- all the while slyly smiling at how she was subverting the occupational therapist's directions. I watched her manipulate the nursing staff to avoid going to the lunchroom or eating their mediocre food. And at night when I went back at the house, I would lie in her bed, finally understanding why she really didn't want to leave her bedroom. Big soft pillows, comfortable foam mattress pad, an artsy red and white handmade quilt bedspread. And the sounds of mockingbirds and the whistle of freight trains traveling down the nearby tracks -- both coming through the open window. I could understand why she didn't want to leave, vacate, depart from this sanctuary. I saw all the artistic touches of her home. I saw where my creative talent came from and my sense of humor. I could appreciate my mother, I could forgive her and myself. I could love her. Finally. Finally.
Welcome! My Mane Blowing in the Wind is a visual showcase of my art, oriel pendant necklaces, and creative musings. I have danced toward and away from art for the past 28 years. Much of the moving away from was due to what I guess you could call "artistic paralysis": I heard the muse but went internal with it instead of externally expressing it through art. But somehow my art keeps emerging and recently it seems to have taken on a life of its own. This blog is a record of that discovery.