Part I: The Calm Before the Storm
Madeline Island is one of 21 Apostle Islands in Lake Superior. This was my view arriving by ferry:
When I arrived at the Madeline Island School of the Arts, I gave myself time to be still and take in the vista from my window. In the mornings I could hear the loud, resonant wooden rattle of the Sandhill Cranes calling. I brought a couple books with me– including World Enough & Time by Christian McEwan. I was struck by this quote from Kafka:
Wherever You Are, You Can Create Temenos
Temenos, meaning sacred space, comes from the Greek, and refers back to place that is a sanctuary in the natural world. When I teach for just two days at our local art store, the natural world is far away. How can I create a venerated space in a classroom at the back of an art store?
Spell Breaker
There are good spells and bad spells in the creative pattern. Lately it has been more of the latter. Even though I accept the "bad" spells, which are essential to breaking through to new ground, I am impatient. I decided to visit my friend Rodney Hatfield, and see his paintings before they were shipped off to Santa Fe. I was feeling discouraged with how long it sometimes takes to make even one painting I am happy with. Rodney has a stool at one end of his studio, next to which is a pile of scraps of paper– brown paper bags, poster paper, old photo paper etc. There are brushes, gesso and paint on the floor next to his stool. There is a hand written sign on the wall that says: "Shut up and paint", reminding him not to think too much.
The Eggs are in the Nest
Before the robin's nest had these three eggs, it was empty. When the nest was empty I felt disheartened– I don't have any ideas for these paintings, or when I do, I don't like them! My mind was busy struggling with the notion of creating a clearing, of making myself an empty vessel. I painted over everything I had done. All the surfaces were once again white.
Diving into the Wreck
Diving into the wreck is from a poem by Adrienne Rich. I find diving a necessary, and often inconvenient, part of being a maker.
For example, right now I am in the middle of big paintings, medium-sized paintings and small paintings, and various sketchbook studies. Everything is out: Watercolor, acrylics, ink, house paint, and oils. I have dreams of swimming laps with layers and layers of clothes on, and how slow and heavy it feels! There are moments of illumination in my studio, but I am burdened with all these unnecessary and heavy clothes. My dream illuminates those familiar mind struggles: This isn't working! What about some cadmium red? Is this finished? Shall I change my vocation? What about becoming a private eye?
How to Inspire Your Art When You Are Not Making It
We have all had the experience of needing to step back from our work– to get a fresh perspective, and I am thinking again how valuable it is to be around art and artists– and discovering new artists. I have been on a retreat at St Meinrad Archabbey. When I first arrived I felt I was in the story "Beauty and the Beast", when she wakes to find herself alone in a castle, and the table is adorned with fresh flowers, a large bowl of fruit and a fine bottle of pinot noir. The "guest house" has porches all around, looking out to the woods. The reason I am here is by invitation of Brother Martin, the artist in residence– and my need for some solitude.
Under a Spell
I have long wondered at the ability for writing, (and by this I mean on paper with a tool in my hand) to put me under a spell. Above I am working with variations of a short poem by Antonio Machado. Even the words of the poem, without knowing the meaning, have a trance quality: everyone who moves on walks like Jesus, on the sea.
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.