Life With Art

An art centered night tonight which is appreciated in this time of bizarre politicking and threatening missives. Has social media really become global diplomacy? I hope not, but know it to be true. Mine's bigger than yours used to be a joke. Not so much now. I am focused on what works. Diplomacy at every level. Kindness. Thinking. Thinking. As you know, I live in a house with a 90 year old man and a 52 year old Down's syndrome brother with Alzheimer's. So, basically, Congress.

All of our issues in this house are intensifying (see the play, first go-through at Suzanne Haskew Art Center in November.)

For the last couple of years I've chilled. Don't know how to describe this, except the rage fire is banked. We have government now that is dedicated to bringing back tall black hats and those stupid collars, along with the bows, which were never good fashion. Isn't it interested that we grew up in this country being told that those doofs in wigs came here to bring religious freedom?  And the massacre of the indigenous population that was already here was, well, necessary. And here we are. 200 years later. The same fucking lie.

I digress. We are in a timewarp. 238 years later we're at 438 years ago.

And then there's art. And photography. And nature. Children, joy, the days my brother still is in the world. The days my father, even a little, understands that there are other people in his world.

My appreciation. Gratitude changes the body, ameliorates pain, restructures atoms.

More profoundly, appreciating brings more of the same. 

Artcraft Station

Clutter creep was getting in the way of my new watercolor obsession. I have a large board for 16x20 painting (with an amen to my therapist who asked "when are you going to work bigger?) and I had negative space to play in. What started as organizing the clutter into different clumps became a day-1/2 of doing a good job. Confession: I actually binned some books. For a reader who learned early not to bend corners or deface books I thought it'd be tougher. Threw away my father's massive collection of cords to unknown unowned tech. Relocated the ancient useless tools on the pegboard up and out of the way and moved my tools down and handy. When I was done tossing and stacking, I put stuff back saying out loud "related to jewelry, related to painting, related to tools, related to cleaning, related to bath." I bought online (!) a drafting stool. On the cement floor are two of my grandmother's handmade rugs which have been gathering dust in plastic bags under my bed. My grandmother and my mother are with me in this space - the Greenbrier bag I carry my watercolor supplies to class in was mom's. When I finished painting the particleboard surface, I remembered a piece of glass mom had made to fit her dining table. When the antique went away, the glass remained propped against a closet wall. It fits the work area perfectly. And wipes up with water! A little bit of heaven in the Artist's Dungeon. Maybe I need to start calling it the Artist's Retreat.

In the Realm of Meant To Be

I hunted for a cabochon. I have hunted late nights for years, not knowing why I sought one. My internet bookmarks are loaded with saved search results, although there is always something else to take my meager funds. I dream. I search. I wait. And one night there is the cabochon. Like all serious searches, the vision arrived when I was seeking something else. The dream is a lampwork raku flower in the colors of the great waters of earth. Five petals like the five Great Lakes that surround my home. The artist is Deborah Lambson (etsy shop kenzee), a glass artist in Tel Aviv, Israel, near the waters of the Mediterranean. As I wait for the glass art to arrive, I collect what I'll use to make the ring. I ask Dad if what I have in mind will work. And then I numb my fingers in artistic creative bliss. Dremeling, polishing, fitting. And when these creations come together I have a ring of power. A warrior woman ring. To it will gather the meant to be realm of the rest of my life. This is art: experience, seeking, work, creation. Art is personal. When art and personal combine it is sublime.

Creating with Love

We're talking daily about transitioning. We are creating lives that are sustainable. We are bartering, recycling, riding our bicycles, walking, trying to be attuned to earth and life. We volunteer, donate and help others when we can. But we also need to eat, pay the phone bill, go to the dentist, repair our vehicles and survive best way. What is bread labor and what is heart labor? Are skills I have marketable, or am I deluded? I'm over 60. It's not time to start a new career: it's time to contribute. While we are sorting out this big life stuff, we need to live in the now too. I create. My bread job is illustration - that's how I get paid. But I'm giving away more work than I'm being paid for. I want to create for entrepreneurs I want to support and grow, but those businesses are in the same shape I am financially. I need to create my own work. How to balance that and still live is the key. I am happiest when I'm creating. Dinner, illustrations, writing, friendships, jewelry, my lifestory. I am immersed in the journey when I disappear into art: I live in joyicity. That's my bliss. And if I'm creating something for a friend, then creating is nirvana. This necklace I made for Geri's birthday. I thought about who she is, as I know her; what I love about her. She is thoughtful, generous, intelligent, funny, gifted. She wears elegant clothes, has gorgeous red hair, extraordinary eyes, and her skin shines like new butter. I wanted jewelry for her that reflects her inner and outer beauty. The amber, translucent glass beads, capped with oxidized silver - I could not believe how fine they looked together! I would never have paired these, but I was immersed in Geri's essence, and these wanted to share the space on her neck. And the few bronze pearls, the dusky Swarovski crystals, the vintage toggle clasp, and the Celtic knot squares came together like a dream. Like Geri. Like Beckie, whose findings these are; and whom finding changed me. Like living with gratitude in the moment. Joyicity. The luxury of enough. Bliss.

Art Workroom

Where art can happen: as jammed full of useful, necessary and bewildering stuff as any artist's creative side. Heaven.

Art + History

The far left image is a photograph of a cave painting, about 2-1/2 feet tall near the entrance to the Trois-Freres cavern in France. The closer image is Henri Breuil's drawing of the 14,000 BC painting, published in the 1920s. Given bad lighting, perhaps less than exceptional drawing skills, and a human predisposition to interpret in reproducing images - eye of the beholder and all that - we have for almost 100 years believed what Henri Breuil drew and its interpretation as "The Sorcerer" - a man in mask, deer antlers, with lion paws. Maybe it is all that. Start with the inaccurate angle, bulked-up quads, detailed paws dreamt, what the heck was Henri smoking? Not seeing the mask either. I'm no anatomy expert, but isn't Henri's rendering of what may or may not be, a Viagra moment, pointing the wrong way? Creative license indeed.