The Metamorphosis of a Young Stream

A Delicate Blush
original photograph by artist

While another storm has spread a thick skin of ice and snow, I played "pretend" with my photographs, working with different techniques learned over the past few weeks.

When working with this image, I kept recalling the images and illustrations from children's classic literature, particularly those by N.C. Wyeth (Andrew Wyeth's father), Arthur Rackham and Maxfield Parrish.

There is a kind of woodcut look to this particular technique and believe me, it was pure hit-or-miss.

Sometimes we stumble along various paths, not quite sure where the path is taking us, just letting the mistakes and back-tracks lead and guide.

So, digitally, I wandered -- until I reached this point.

I had to stop, not because of any pride at what I had done (that was the question: what had I done?), but because the nature of the image had morphed, had spread little delicate wings and offered me a peek at the blush of its' newly softened hues, the quiet of its' waters and the dreaminess of its' new self.

I was honored.

Give us unquiet dreams
leaning softly out
from ferns that drop their tears
over the young streams

William Butler Yeats

Mid-Winter Thoughts

"Winter Trees"

original photograph by artist
(background texture by Telzey)

Closing in on the middle of Winter. Although the light is slowly returning -- what a delight not to drive home in the dark -- the bleakness of it all is wearing me down. It's right about now that I yearn for tropical colors that punch and pulsate and for fragrances that make one swoon.

I feel like I have been wearing black, brown and gray for decades. The house is filled with cooking smells and the scents of frustration, entrapment and just plain old crabbiness.

So, I feel a shift in palette coming on -- let's break out those fiery reds, those neon yellows, those party-animal oranges! Turn on the salsa and brazilian jazz and dance around the living room, scaring partners and the mailman alike . . . or not.

The spring will be here soon enough, along with the list of gardening jobs to be done, the spring cleaning -- all of which I am anxious for, don't get me wrong. But that also signals to me that my quiet hours of being holed up inside my studio area are over for the time being.

So, it's a catch-22. We humans are such an odd lot, never satisfied with the here-and-now, always glancing over the next ridge, hoping for a quick skirmish, a climb up Mt. Everest, a leisurely swim across the Channel.

Another thought to leave you with, my blogging friends . . .

" . . . the living world is the natural domain of the most restless and paradoxical part of the human spirit. Our sense of wonder grows exponentially; the greater the knowledge, the deeper the mystery and the more we seek knowledge to create new mystery."

Edward O. Wilson, Ecologist

Creativity and Chaos Soup

"Chaotic Pips"
photo by me - :~)

The age-old question: what am I doing here on earth? how can I create? where did I put my ATM card? Burning questions that badger us, shove us around in a kind of whirling dervish spin until we drop from mental and emotional exhaustion, and quite literally end up doing nothing.

And where does it get us, may I ask? Same spot, just deeper into the hole.

I was just reading Marla Baggetta's blog where she writes: " . . . I dance to the stupid songs every day. I keep myself happy and warm. I live large in my own little world. . . . Did you make something? Did you write something, paint something . . . ? I hope you did. If you did, you made this world a better place."

Or in the words of Sir John Eccles, Nobel Prize in physiology and medicine:

“I want you to understand that there are no colors in the real world.
That there are no textures in the real world.
There are no fragrances in the real world.
There is no beauty, there is no ugliness.
Nothing of the sort.
Out there is a chaos of energy soup and energy fields.
Literally.
We take that and somewhere inside ourselves we create a world.
Somewhere inside ourselves it all happens.”

That is my entry for today. I hope it encouraged you
to dance with your energy soup of chaos!

Serendipitous Emphasis

Sometimes, when least expected, odd things happen. You're tripping along, doing this, doing that -- and then wham! Now this could be a good wham or it can be a bad wham. Today, it was a good one.

I was working on a new digital image and, after two hours' work, I decided to take a break. I needed to just play for awhile, poking at some old flower images I had stored on the computer. Here is the original photo, nothing special except for the beauty of the blossom itself --


I then shifted it into its negative state and played with the hues until I reached this point --


Now I was intrigued. I opened an image of water in a glass vase I had taken this summer, overlaid the blossom and began to fiddle some more. After a few minutes of experimentation, this is the final result --

"Abstract Rhodie"

I feel like the photographic nature is almost gone except for the shape of the blossom, while the painterly aspects of the manipulation have evoked another image altogether, filled with energetic brushstrokes, highlights and a palette of colors I would not have thought of on my own.

Like I said -- wham!

"It is only by selection, by elimination,
by emphasis that we get at the real meaning of things."

Georgia O'Keefe

Solutions and Resolutions

What is this? What's that floating in the middle? Where did this "muddle" come from? Ahhh . . . so many questions when one begins to paint differently, to tramp along the margins of non- representation (especially when the photo is a bit blurred -- sorry!).

During my little "hiatus," I was putting my big toe (creative-wise) in the dark and threatening waters of Abstract painting. Coming from a middle-class background and trained by nuns (!), this was a difficult step for me, especially at my age (I know I don't look my age -- that's what you were going to say, right?!) -- anyway, I digress . . .

After 3 attempts -- yes, there are about 3 paintings under this one! -- I finally achieved a level of comfort with the "surface" of this painting. It is a combination of acrylic, pastel and graphite, layered many times, wiped out many times, and re-layered again. I used gesso like it was white-out or an eraser. Not sure that's a good practice, but what the heck . . .

Anyway, about a day or two before New Year's I finally stepped away from the canvas, tripping over reams of paper towels and napkins that I used to wipe and decided to leave it alone. I was impressed on how well the canvas stood up to my attacks; often I worked on the floor as this was a large canvas (24 x 36), at least for me; I swiveled this baby like we were on a dance floor -- poor thing. It looked tuckered out. I know I was.

Then I hung it on the wall last week so I could become acquainted with my work, sort of introduce myself to it and vice-versa. I think that if I feel comfortable having the painting on my wall, meeting my eye day-in and day-out, then I know it is done. As I watched it, that amorphous blur in the middle took on a kind of personality; I recognized what it represented -- to me, at least.

Solutions -- dis/solutions -- re/solutions -- unre/solved thinking . . . is this word play? No, just a trail that leads me into my creation, allows for that moment of recognition, of coming to a level of closure with a work.

So, it is christened: "Unresolved Thinking"

How's that for ambiguity? Break open the champagne! :-)

The whole story doesn't show --

Farm History

The [artist/]writer is either a practicing recluse or a delinquent,
guilt-ridden one; or both. Usually both.
Susan Sontag

My respite is over. It's been too long, and I miss communicating with my fellow bloggers. But I just had to get through these last weeks. There is something about this time of year that just drags one down. Creative energies were at a low ebb, and all I could cope with initially was painting my living room.

But then I turned to the camera.

Why? I've given this great thought (or almost great) and conclude that, for me, it was something I could control. I could sit for hours doing the processing, fidgeting, starting over, creating my own textures for overlays -- so you see, the creative spark was still alive, just operating at a different level, a more controllable level unlike oil paints and watercolors that don't cooperate, that slide around and do what they want to do -- sort of like children or a herd of wild kittens!

I also like learning new things, new techniques and reading fairly boring how-to manuals. It takes my mind into that left side where I did not have to be creative, just thorough -- no, make that thorough and boring.

And I've learned so much, not only about the photography, but also about seeing, perceiving and composing. This was something I had always struggled with on canvas or paper, feeling clumsy and stumbling around in the dark.

Old Apple Farm

But with the camera and a viewfinder/grid I was suddenly composing vignettes and making images come alive. Now when I review my photographs, I can "see" them as paintings in my mind. The potential, the possibilities are there; I know now a bit more about how to tease the image out, to make it visible -- intellectually and emotionally -- how to translate and interpret.

Waiting Beneath

Also, I think the season allows for a different way of perceiving -- the excessiveness of colors and brightness we have in summer and fall are now gone. As Andrew Wyeth put it:

“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.”

. . . and so I hope that as time goes by my creative story will begin to emerge, a slow process of repousse, of pushing out from behind . . . or from beneath!

peace and joy

Winter Barn
photograph by K. Marszycki

Winter solstice is approaching . . .

A quiet time of year, one would think. But with the holidays we are forced into a breakneck pace to prepare, shop, cook, travel, visit, clean -- and then drop in exhaustion. Our bodies are still adjusting to the time change and the loss of sunlight. We have trouble sleeping, our minds crowded with lists and lists of lists of more things to do.

Winter solstice is approaching . . .

In centuries past, it was a time of darkness, lit only by candles and fires. Warm corners and rich foods were sought and the starkness of winter whiteness was softened by gatherings of natural greens and red berries, symbols of the natural world and of renewal.

Winter solstice is approaching . . .

Can we slow the pace down? Can we seek quiet corners and warm fires? Instead of gold and silver, can we festoon our homes with holly and juniper, perhaps play the music of earlier times when human voices soared high up into the rafters, across rooftops and deep into the night, as if to keep the darkness at bay.

Winter solstice is approaching . . . and I wish you peace, paix, paz, pax . . .