Ode to Barbara Rae

Oh, this craving for color is driving me wild! We are inundated with about 2 feet of snow and ice here in New England, with two more storms coming through later this week. 

Ugh. And ugh, again. 

Last weekend I was poking through my baskets of quilt fabrics -- way too many for my health, I think -- and nothing seemed to strike me. I have piles of UFOs (unfinished objects) and WIPs (works in progress), but have not put all these random pieces together into something whole and complete. 

Another round of 'ughs,' please! 

And then just as I was about to abandon my workroom/studio for an afternoon by the fireplace, I looked over at my painting area and spotted this book about the Scottish artist, Barbara Rae, which I've had on my bookshelves for several years.

  
Every time I open it, I am astounded at the range of colors, textures and patterns she creates through the monoprint and stenciling processes she utilizes in her work. If you ever have a chance to buy or borrow this book, do so! 

I stood for a few minutes flipping through the pages, half my mind still on the waiting fireplace upstairs, when I opened to the two pages displaying "Carrowteige-Yellow Field."

"Carrowteige - Yellow Field" by Barbara Rae

I stopped and sighed. The rich purples and blacks, the striations and that powerful vivid red/pink rectangle made my skin tingle [this image I found on Google does not do the work justice, sadly]. I carried the book back over to my sewing table still filled with scraps and started to sort through, pulling colors and patterns that I thought would evoke Rae's own. 

I found myself selecting colors I might not normally choose -- dark, brooding, heavy except for the vibrancy of the red/pink shape. So this is what I created in the next hour -- my humble ode to Barbara Rae's 'Carrowteige-Yellow Field.'

Color Study I (hand-stitched, machine stitched, cotton batiks)

I think of this 8"x8" work as a color study for a future art quilt, possibly incorporating the other half of her work. But for now I plan to stitch this to a large piece of heavy watercolor paper and frame it.  I want to hang it in the living room by the fireplace so that I can rest my winter-weary eyes on it whenever I feel the need. Perhaps this will get me through February and March, nourishing my spirit? 

All I know is that just when I was about to give up and walk away, a vibrant piece of artwork shook me up and inspired me. 

A random moment, yet ever so welcome.

Your Choice (collage on nujabi paper, fabrics, rice and specialty papers)

 On this slushy, cold and damp Sunday afternoon, I find myself moping around, moving from one unfinished project to another.  I touch papers and canvases, fiddle with the oils and pastels, picking up, putting down, shifting side to side.

Ho, hum . . . this is not good.  Usually I go charging ahead in the new year, filled with goals and promises.  But not this one.  

This year it's more like a total pull-back.  For so long, I've dashed about, becoming a jack of all trades, master at none -- except at my work.  Over 25 years in the world of libraries and information research.  Nothing to sneeze at . . . and yet --

Feeling anxious, tired of the same-old, same-old.  Of course, as soon as you say that, watch out.  Life throws a whammie your way, and you instantly regret those thoughts.

Like the small work above, I suppose it's a choice of whether to continue moping and sighing, or just to get on with it. In a bit I'll light the fire, pull some crochet (my "gargantuan" granny afghan) onto my lap along with a mystery book and settle in for the duration.

So, hold tight, listen for the bird calls, find the tiny footprints in the snow -- the little things of life -- simplicity, a time for a general hunkering down and drawing inward.  Just like the natural world.  

I think I just convinced myself that this ennui is part of the seasonal process.  Soon the gardening and seed catalogs will start arriving in the mail, a sure sign that spring is on the way.  

*   *   *

“I prefer winter . . . 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.”

Andrew Wyeth 

 

The Creative Struggle

Navigations [scanned quilt piece with digital embellishments]

 

things that do not seem to be working with one medium, come alive in another --

it's sometimes a frustrating journey, even from one step to the next --

sometimes it means going backwards to move forward --

and then again, maybe one doesn't want to move forward

but rather scuttle sideways . . .

how often do we get lost in the tangles of good intentions and great ideas?

quite often, for me anyhow --

the clock always seems to be ticking, a constant drip on the brain --

so what is one to do?

The creative process.  It's an arduous journey, a slow trek, a humbling process that demands your respect yet also your faith.  It reminds me of "Jacob wrestling with the Angel," that has been depicted by many artists over time --

Who at some point has not felt like Jacob, a mortal struggling with the Divine, holding fast to the angel all through the night and refusing to let go until, at dawn, he prevails and receives a blessing – an answer to his prayers. 

 Since the Renaissance artists have found in this tale a metaphor for the creative struggle. Rembrandt depicted it as a tender embrace . . . while Donato Creti portrays the struggle as more like a dance with the angel seeming to struggle more so than Jacob.

The British film director Sally Potter used the painting in yet another manner to depict the very basic struggle between the masculine and the feminine in The Tango Lesson.

So I suppose those of us who attempt to create should not despair as this has been going on since the dawn of time.   Ah, I feel so much better now -- 

"If you decide to enter the page

take a knife and some matches,

and something that will float. Take something you can hold onto,

and a prism to split the light and a talisman that works,

which should be hung from a chain around your neck:

that's for getting back."   

                                                 Margaret Atwood

Marking Time

And still it goes . . . time compressed, hours in the car commuting, juggling budgets, hiring, training, publicity . . . poor right brain! It sits quietly squashed into a corner, waiting patiently for a gesture, a signal that it can function once again.

But I know the time is approaching. Perhaps the Solstice is nudging things along? More and more, as I work, commute, do laundry, food shopping, weed the garden, part of my mind is shifting and sorting, fingering ideas of color and shape, of how the light spills at a certain time of day. For the first time in months, I picked up the camera to catch the early morning light on some roses. A kind of coming home after a long departure . . .

When time is short, simple papers and a glue stick work for me. What works for you? These could end up as note cards for friends and family -- or they could be framed up as small works to be arranged on a white wall that catches the summer sunlight, a kind of paper quilt . . .

Archipelago

6" x 8"

collaged papers

Translation iii

5" x 7"

collaged papers and fabric

Totem

6" x 8"

collaged papers; fabric

The Source

5" x 6"

collaged papers (sold)

Translations ii

5" x 7"

collaged papers; paint; text

Even if it is only the tactile movement of touching papers and fabric, of moving small masses of color and textures around on a clear, white space . . . it is enough -- for now.

What art offers is space - 

a certain breathing room for the spirit. 

~John Updike

Update on Creative Paralysis & Procrastination

So I've tried to follow what I wrote last week, trying to build up that "one thing" creative savings account throughout the week so that my weekends are relatively task-free.

Tuesday I did this one thing:

If you haven't heard about MOO cards, check it out -- it's fun, very user-friendly and you can't beat the price! I love the tips that other artists and marketers share. I will post a pic when I get mine next week.

Wednesday I did this one thing:

I have used this company before -- again, very efficient and easy on pricing: Documounts for custom-cut mats and backing, as well as a host of other accessories most artists need.

And today I cheated a bit -- nothing to help my art business but rather something to help my spirit. We all need that from time to time, don't we? I found Copper Canyon Press, a wonderful publisher of contemporary and international poetry. What I love about the site is that you can sample bits of poetry from the various books and then share them via email with friends and colleagues. Cool! If you download their catalog, you can browse through and read excerpts. That's where I found a backlist of Pablo Neruda's works -- excellent treat for such a wet and dreary day.

So now I've cleared the deck of "have-to-do's" and can devote that much more time to working on the art. I've still got so much more to do before the Hartford Open Studio weekend, but now I feel I've achieved a bit more balance by keeping the menial things off to one side.

Out of clutter find simplicity;

From discord find harmony;

In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.

Albert Einstein

Creative Paralysis

Last weekend I was feeling overwhelmed with too many projects, deadlines for shows, my workspace cluttered and confusing, other demands on my time. I know that when this becomes unbearable, I become paralyzed with not knowing where to start, what to put aside and often just wondering where the heck is everything I need to get started?

So much you want to accomplish but so little time . . . sigh.

And then that growing stagnation, that feeling of why bother? begins to take hold.  Did you hear that?  That was the sound of your creative life coming to a screeching halt, of slamming into the wall of despair.  This happens in my work life, too -- budgets, grant deadlines, building projects, keeping up with technology -- the list goes on and on.

What to do?

We've all heard it -- the whole is the sum of the parts, but sometimes there are just too many parts, and they tend to scatter like a herd of kittens.  The solution is not to be overwhelmed by the big picture but to deal with the parts one at a time.  Not easy to do in this society that thrives on multi-tasking, is it?

So back to basics, back to dealing with the one part, to distill all the lists to one element that is conquerable, do-able now, today, this minute, this hour.

Just do one thing today, just one thing that will help your art, your passion.

Just do one thing that will take no more than an hour, preferably less.

One thing, no matter how small or insignificant, that you can point to when done and say it is done.

One

Thing

And when you've finished, you will write that one accomplishment down and feel good about it.

And tomorrow you will start again -- just one thing.

And as the days go by, these one things will add up so that by the weekend you will not feel as stressed to get ALL things done because you've accrued these little one things all week, a kind of creative savings account.

And you can feel good about that.

Two books I recommend are:

Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit

Eric Maisel's Fearless Creating

Let it snow, let it . . .ah, heck!

Not much to write about -- lots of white stuff came through yesterday and today; drifts and piles now up to about 6 feet -- spent hours digging out cars and driveways and decks, carving paths like a troop of ants . . .

This winter is sapping any creative juices that still exist.  There's no continuity at work -- open, close early, hope the staff and clients get home safely . . . Come home only to pick up a shovel and attack as the paths and drives begin to narrow again . . .

When I do another run to the laundry room to get things dry again, I glance over at my workspace.  Now blank white canvases make me angry and resentful, too much like snow --  I wonder if I could create some kind of painting incorporating rock salt and sand -- ha!

You see, just like that wonderful classic novel of 19th century America, Ole Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth, the pearled edge of lunacy creeps in with the snow drifts . . . or like Conrad's Heart of Darkness when the Congo River and the jungles carried men along to madness . . . With all our technology, we are still very much at the mercy of Nature, a force that has no allegiance, no likes or dislikes.  It just is.  No matter how hard we rail against it, it wins. 

Well, at least the sun is out and fairly high in the sky.  The sparrows and buntings flit about chirping happily (that's one more path -- to the feeders -- that I must keep open), with a battalion of crows flying maneuvers, riding shotgun on the winds.

God, what I wouldn't give to see a bright fushia hibiscus blossom right now . . .  Take care and stay warm everyone.  Until better times are upon us . . .

Dreary Sunday Blahs

It's baaccckkkk . . . good 'ole March has returned -- why should I be surprised by that? -- and it's windy and cold and windy and cold and cold! Walking this morning was like running hurdles (not that I do that on a steady basis, mind you) and the poor daffodils and snowdrops were being beaten by the slice 'n dice winds.

Came home and kind of banged around into walls, picking up this, putting down that. I hate these kind of Sundays -- no motivation to start a painting, to work on something new or to finish up something begun. So I just rolled with it. Ate chocolate cookies, drank lots of java (decaf) and played on the computer, visiting blogger friends, fiddling with some photos:

"Sunlight & Shadows"
digital image by artist

This is actually the same image, just duplicated and blended somewhat differently, then layered over a texture from Playingwithbrushes . This was truly an experiment, so am happy it came out.

This one is a bit different -- a shot of the Baldwin Bridge that spans the Connecticut River just at the point where it empties into Long Island Sound. There's a boat launch under the bridge, which I never knew. I took this shot last December -- a beautiful sunny day; the next day we had our first snowstorm!

"Span"
digital image by artist

I was trying for a "vintage" look, and was pleased with how the opposite shoreline came out -- reminds me of a Constable or an Inness. Believe it or not, the texture is the bottom of an old cookie baking pan that I scanned -- ha! -- see how desperate one can get on a dreary Sunday afternoon?

Well, I'll stop complaining. Time to get things ready for another work week. Let's hope that Spring returns soon -- these cold, blustery days are wearing me down!

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!

Stendhal's Syndrome Updated

For those who have never heard of the Stendhal Syndrome, here's a brief re-cap:

Back in the early 1800s, Stendhal coined this phrase to describe the violent emotional and physical reaction to great art -- crying, fainting, trembling, fever, even hysteria, of whom Stendhal himself was the most famous example during his tour of Florence in 1817. He described this as a "kind of ecstacy" after viewing Santa Croce.

Over the years many writers, such as Henry James, depicted similar reactions, often for those individuals who were making the Grand European tours so popular in the 19th century. Henry Ward Beecher was another who experienced this "absolute intoxication" at the Palace de Luxembourg.

Then, in 1989 Graziella Magherini, head of the psychiatry department at a major hospital in Florence, wrote an article about the Stendhal Syndrome after treating myriad tourists who had suffered symptoms similar to those described above. Her remedy? Bed rest and spending time away from art.

Where am I going with this? Well, like some fellow bloggers who have written about frustration and the inability to create, I wonder if we are suffering from a cyber version of the Stendhal Syndrome?

After a day's work on the computer with excel spreadsheets, online ordering, staff schedules, budgets, then I go home and after dinner am on the computer surfing blogland, offering comments, following up on comments on my blogs, viewing artworks of all kinds -- and this can go on for hours. Then I try to go to sleep. HA!

My mind is spinning, images are flashing, I'm planning on what I can write/upload next . . . and I find that I'm wandering the house at 2am, 3am.

On a deeper level, I am fearful that my own efforts to create are stymied, mainly because I am spending all this time in cyberland. I am beginning to question my ability to create in my own "voice," of merely becoming a derivative artist who hops from one project to the next.

All the hours I spend online -- I could be painting or writing.

All the hours I spend online -- I could be reading or taking a walk.

All the hours I spend online -- I could be spending time with my family.

The upcoming weeks are a difficult time for many of us. The encroaching darkness and cold is one element we have to deal with; also, the past and memories of family who are no longer with us emerge with greater urgency than at other times in the year. There is little need to add more stress to this season then already exists.

I will be taking a break for some time. I won't be visiting your blogs either -- not because I don't enjoy viewing your work and creative endeavors, but because I don't want to end up convulsing on the floor in sheer ecstasy! :~)

I guess my days of swooning are over -- at least for now. I'm sure I'll be back sometime later in the winter. But I have plans for some workshops and classes -- activities that are tangible and that will make me sweat and work with my hands. No more point & click for awhile.

So, happy winter solstice and adieu, adieu, adieu . . .

Playing with Art Redux

Following up on my last blog and another I did for ArtID, I'm continuing this idea of challenging myself to foster a sense of change so as to push those comfort levels just a bit more. . .

This is an acrylic/gouache painting I did earlier this spring on 200 lbs. acrylic paper. Now, sometimes when I stand in front of the easel or worktable and want to do something along a similar theme but with a different palette, I go blank. I freeze. I cannot seem to think of a group of colors. Silly, I know. Afterall, I can do it for when I coordinate my clothes and acessories for work; I can do it for my makeup; I can do it for quilting or knitting. And yet it seems so much more difficult with paints. Go figure . . . ?

So I turn to my computer and my graphics software and begin to play the "what if" game. Here is a small slice from the above work, then altered by using the negative tool and working the hue/saturation from there:
Now what I have is a very interesting nightscape or a fantasy celestial combination of colors, all of which I can work off of. Now I can begin to visualize a new painting. You can see how some of the paint spots turned white and appear to be glints of light or starlight.

I did this exercise with several older works, cropping, flipping, adjusting colors, moving to negative and then adjusting the colors -- all to see how different a painting can appear with a change in palette and/or focusing on a portion of the larger work.

The trick is not to spend all your time on the computer! At some point it becomes "step away from the computer, nice and easy now!"