Spontaneity and Improvisation
I am teaching two day classes at our local art store. In spite of my initial resistance to the cramped quarters and short time frame, it is rewarding. I leave with a full heart from the students that show up and the generosity of Preston Arts. It is a community art store run by artists, and owned by a man who strongly resembles Mr. Rogers (one of my heroes). There is the coffee and danishes all set up for us each morning, with a warm greeting from Mr. Rogers at the beginning of class, and handwritten signs and class lists that could be from the 1950's.*
Wandering
As many of you know, Steven and I have designated "Sabbatical Sundays" as the day we turn off our cell phones and computers, and find another way to enter the day. As much as I love solitude, it is curious to see the extent to which my mind is captured by the impulse to check this or that on my gadgets– fingers and a mind that resist being still. You could say that these Sundays are a kind of mind experiment. One Sunday Steven woke up and said "Let's go east!" This is the day of the week we often get in the car and head out on adventures without the advantage of GPS– and both of us having a tendency to get lost. So without any plan, we left before breakfast and drove through the rolling hills of central Kentucky. I was captured by all the old tobacco barns with the "hex" signs.
New Year's Eve Tidings
This morning before first light, I was greeted by the hoo-hooing of a pair of owls outside our window. I had gone to sleep reading Jung's "Memories, Dreams & Reflections", and his thoughts on death, alchemy and eternity. Perhaps these ideas are more prevalent with the ending of another year, and the mystery of what is beginning. This poem from Rumi came to mind:
Making Order Out of Chaos
Everyone has his or her own way of working. For me there are times when I need to step back from the creative chaos that has taken over my studio, let the paintings germinate, and re-create order. This is the phase I am in now. I began this week by cleaning, organizing, sorting– letting go of things I no longer need. This is a somewhat difficult task to stay focused on, as all along the way I come across scraps of papers with phrases like: “old and broken boat” and “the festal intention of these flowers was revealed” * – with no note about where these words came from. Without knowing what it means, something happens when I ponder the festal intention of the flowers. I feel lighter.But it’s almost Thanksgiving, and I must get back to creating order, making room for something to happen.
Invocation to the Night
This morning the full moon is on the floor of my sitting room– making me reluctant to turn on any lights. There is no other light like moonlight.
I look forward to this time of year, heading toward the winter solstice. It is the pull toward night, seeing the stars and milky way, and the silence of the desert that draws me back to Ghost Ranch, where I have been going for over twenty years.
In Honor of Galway Kinnell
Galway Kinnell died this week at 87, in his home in Vermont. His death was the same day as the birthday of my best friend from first grade, and the birthday of a student who just had her second baby. It is the anniversary week of the death of my friend and mentor, Angeles Arrien. Birth and death. They are the same door.
Why Make Art?
Why make art? This is the question that was posed for a group of us who met for lunch this week:
Two poets, a composer, a psychotherapist, a sculptor, a graphic designer, a drawing professor, a painter and a calligrapher. It was such a lively conversation! There were many different strands to our talk, so I will take just one today.
One of the people in our group had decided to quit making, and caused me to ask myself again: Why am I a maker?
But what does it mean?
Last night we got to hear Tin Can Buddha in Frankfort, Kentucky. There were 17 musicians and perhaps one rehearsal before their performance at The Grand Theater. They played music– (and were so playful together)! The spontaneity, skill and liveliness was intoxicating. The joy from the musicians finding their way with each other in the moment infused the audience with their exuberance. We did not want it to end. To stop and ask what it all meant would have deprived us– we were in the experience (of whatever it meant) with them. We were "inside the song".
Let the Image Find You
When I am beginning a new series of paintings, I struggle to find an image, a theme to ground me and tie the pieces together. I get impatient, and wonder at how long it takes. I feel an urgency to go out and seize an image, to make something happen. I remind myself that it works better for me to be indirect, to allow an image to alight and make itself known. This is not as esoteric as it may sound. I set an intention to be receptive, to show up each day, and begin. I pay attention to dreams, and to waking life as if it is a dream. Each detail is important. What captures my imagination? I took a walk in the woods and carried paper and a chunk of graphite. I began rubbing the bark of elm trees. There were figures in the bark. I let images suggest themselves.
On Time: It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all. –James Thurber
Perhaps a more accurate title for our class in Italy would be: Sketching, Watercolor, Wine and Loafing. This photo is taken on the streets of Orvieto, as we sat and listened to these lively musicians, sipping our cappuccino. We were stopping along the way to the duomo, which has (among many other overpowering delights) a black and white zebra pattern to the marble.