Running with Scissors

Sometimes it is so quiet in the studio that I swear I can hear the paper rustling in the files.

Sometimes it is so busy that it looks like the aftermath of a tornado. (and having lived through a tornado and seen the aftermath, I know whereof I speak.)

I always carry with me notes on my current projects. I always travel with art supplies. You never know when you will need them. And I want to be ready when a new idea strikes me.

Isn't that an interesting thing...an idea hits, or strikes. Like a bolt out of the blue.

Art can be a dangerous thing.

I fret sometimes when I don't have enough energy or time to work on a project which is calling out to me. But I suspect a worse danger would be to ignore the call of inspiration, because there may come a time when I can't hear the call if I keep on ignoring it.

Artists have always lived on the edge. The Garret of Starvation is real.  It  is Hunger which drives us to create, a lust more powerful than procreation.

Run with the scissors. Live on the edge. Be the Artist. It's gonna be okay.

Waiting for Spring

The crocus is usually the first flower of spring where I live. Small, unassuming, low to the ground, hardy, and on the first warm day, vibrant. All the promise of summer is held on these tiny flowers.

Sometimes a sketch is like a crocus. It may be something you dashed off on the back of a napkin, or doodled in the margins on a newspaper, or even fingered in the condensation on the window while waiting for the light to change. It may not seem like much, but somehow you just know it is important. There is something in it...a line, a place where two lines intersect, a shading, a shape, something that is in your personal shorthand which only you can read.

I have a special box where I keep these important sketches. I write notes about them...where I was, what I was doing, time, how I came to draw it. And most importantly, what I think it might be useful for in the future.

When I embark on a major project, I line the walls of my studio with these notes and the sketches. I make sketches of sketches. I elaborate, I simplify. I expand, I condense.

And in the end, if I am reallllly lucky, the finished product will have the initial enthusiasm and joy of the sketch. Because the sketch, is, after all, like the crocus, the promise of good things to come.

In Pursuit of the Perfect Paintbrush

You know it exists. You've seen ads for it in magazines. You may even own one or two yourself. But now upon embarking on a new journey of creativity, you, for reasons which are never quite clear, have lost the all important tool without which the whole project comes to a complete standstill.

What makes us obsessively cling to our tools as if they alone created the artwork? Why do we allow them to have such power over us?

"I cannot possibly paint with out that particular paintbrush." 
"This is the only paper I use, none other will do."
"If I can't use those pencils, it just won't happen."


One of the most liberating exercises from art school was when we had to bring in our favorite pens, then leave them in our bags. Instead of pens, we had to draw a realistic drawing, from a live model, using a piece of string, a thing with no fine point and no stiffness or control whatsoever. It dripped, it flopped, it blobbed and rolled across the paper. After fighting with it for an hour or so, suddenly I gave in, and allowed the tool to be what it was, which was certainly not a pen. I began to explore the innate nature of the string, and allowed it to be a string full of ink and I began to draw, really draw, with a lovely freedom of expression because I no longer had preconceived expectations from my tool. I let the tool be itself, and somehow that released my inner artist.

Now, I am not saying to discard your favorite pen, or to chuck your best paints out the window. Tools and materials are very important, and you should always use the best you can possibly afford. The reason for this is that you don't want to spend all your time struggling with crappy tools and materials. But the lesson of the string taught me to allow the tool to be what it is, and simply that.

Yesterday I was painting as I waited for my meal in a restaurant. The lighting was dim, but there was just enough for me to draw and paint by. But the table was small, and so I had barely enough room for my little box of paints and my tiny "Here's where I ate today" sketchbook. So I had to grab the first drawing pen I could, rather than reach in and fossick about for the my favorite one. This pen was on its last bit of ink, sometimes scratchy, sometimes very faint, sometimes dark. I had to accommodate myself to this very rebellious pen. After a few moments of struggle, I started to understand the nature of this almost dead pen. I used the faint lines and the scratchiness and the sudden darkness with skill, trusting that my inner artist, who can draw people with ink laden bits of string, knew how to get the best effects from a faulty pen.

Yes, pursue the best paintbrush. But if, when inspiration and opportunity coincide, do not halt the process looking for it. Just grab any old bit of string and be the best artist you can be!

Immersion

The tap is on. I hear my muse, and my response is to throw my whole self into my work. I surround my self with the tools, materials, resources, inspirations, and the beginnings of the actual work of art.

I reserve judgement. I hold my critical mind at bay, and work without heeding the analytical voices in my head. I ride the current.

I work all day long. I breathe, eat, draw, paint, shit,sleep, dream, contemplate the work. It is all I do, all day long. I have freed myself from the mundane...this is red alert, this is full status, this is a situation, which if analogous to mundane critical events, requires key personnel to leave their families and homes and devote full attention to the crisis at hand. This is the marathon 26 hour surgery, this is the week-long diplomatic mission.

Think about it for a moment. The governments of the world devote billions of dollars to the arts...museums, cultural sites, historic places, universities and libraries. They know the importance of culture. Whether they are as enlightened as Japan is where artists are accorded the exalted status of Natural Treasures, or in cultures the aristocratic awarding of honors to artists whose contribution to society elevates them above the ordinary folk, or the spiritual reverence given to people whose creative gifts connect the average person to the divine....it is all the same thing. ART MATTERS.

So in this manner I honor the artist within me. I surrender myself, I immerse myself, I abandon myself to my work. It is my vocation, it is my holy calling. The talent I have is a Gift of God. The Muses speak to me, and I listen. I create.

Being an artist is more than a job. It is a Vocation, and I am the High Priestess of my Art.

Does my physical infirmity impair my ability to create? NO! I refuse to allow my disability to limit me from doing what I am meant to do. I work within the limitations, to be sure, but I push push push the physical boundaries, make accommodation for that which makes it difficult. I embrace my limitations and then fly above them.

I am an Artist. I am Making Art. This is what I do. Now hand me that pencil. I have work to do.

Irons in the Fire

There is a time in the creative proceess where I must stop and simply think. I get very still, and let the work sink deep into my mind and heart. I cogitate. I let the pot boil.

A clever blacksmith keeps several pieces of iron resting in the fire. While you work one piece, the others sit there getting hot enough to work. When the piece you are working on grows too cold to form, then you place it back into the heat, and pick up another piece, and work on that one. And so on, and so on.

My mind, my subconscious, my heart, the inner I, these are the fire where I keep the pieces on which I am working. Sometimes it is good to just let the pieces rest in my mind as the heat of my creativity makes them ready to work on physically.

Sometimes it is good to lay down my brush, stop gathering my materials, and simply allow the piece to form in my mind.

This requires, like all other aspects of the creative process, great trust in my ability to let my mind work, to set free the reaches of my creative being. I trust that I know unconsciously more than my waking mind reveals to me. Sometimes I dream the piece, wake, and then make a physical reality of what was in my dream.

So today I will sit back, and allow my work to permeate the depths of my creative self.

A Valentine Garland

Here's a simple and fun garland to make for your special Valentine!

Time: 1/2 hour to 3 hours, depending on number of hearts and length of words.

With pinking shears or other interestingly edged scissors, and textured card stock, cut out hearts. Random Hearts, my friends...no two are ever alike.

With a red crayon, oil pastel or watercolor bar scribble a Slightly Shady Background. No Heart is Perfect, so do not worry about it. Work quickly, have snappy music in the background to put a little dance into your drawing.

Using alphabetic rubber stamps, in purple, write words which Speak your Love. If you don't have rubber stamps, use a purple magic marker.

You can string these up like the Christmas stars...especially useful if you are like me and haven't taken down that particular Christmas tree yet.

Or you can glue or sew them onto sheer red ribbon, and then cover the words with a sheer ribbon of a different color. Or colors.

You can glue the hearts on ribbons onto a card...and then give it to Someone Special!

This project can be very simple, or really elaborate. You might want to write in pink ink a very explicit love letter as the background on each heart. You might want to sew them vertically onto many ribbons, and use them for a curtain to your bedroom.

Enjoy your Valentine's Weekend....the holiday is on Monday, which gives us Friday, Saturday and Sunday night to celebrate.And Monday too.

Fueling Your Inner Fire

So here I am...surrounded with the bits and pieces of my new project.

I select a commodious bag and carry them with me where ever I go. I keep a selection of my favorite tools handy also. I give myself permission to work on this project whenever the muse calls to me.

Sitting in the car...(not driving it) and later in a restaurant. I am soooo past feeling shy about the stares of people around me. I am an artist at work. This is what I do. I don't give the waitress or the fellow at the checkout the hairy eyeball when they are at their work. But the sight of an honest-to-goodness dyed-in-the-wool in person artist at work does attract attention. I don't care. I am at work. This is what I do.

So what if I fill the table with my art supplies and sketch journals? Other people are reading newspapers, books, laptops. I am painting.

I stop in the middle of the supermarket to make a note in my journal. Perhaps the woman next to me thinks I am checking my shopping list. Perhaps not.

I am immersing myself. Abandoning my self into my art.

Whoops....I have been working at it for hours. Well, most people work an eight hour day...don't they?

I prowl my studio, pulling sheets of paper here, fetching a book there, finding the elusive .03 leads for my favorite drawing pen.

I give my self over to the process of creating this art. I passionately fall into it. I have a pact with my family...I am making art, so I may not be as attentive to them as I would be if I were not making art. And that is how we live. We give each other permission to create.

I gather more fuel for this fire of creative energy. Burn, baby, burn!