​2018 started with great art flow.  I painted daily-- sometimes in 8 hours stretches.    A wonderful beginning and some of my best work.
 
And then in March, it was like the faucet turned off.
 
I felt twinges of panic that my creative juices had been used up...My mojo washed down the drain while cleaning my brushes. 
 
And yet, I kept showing up. 
 
Talk about unsatisfying…
 
I spent hours throwing paint on canvas only to paint over it the next day.  At one point I was rotating between seven paintings waiting for something to happen.
 
In the midst of my creative angst,  I looked for new inspirations.  I made museum  visits.  I splurged on new art reads.    I marched in protest of gun violence.  Practiced yoga and tried to be mindful of all the things that sparked passion.
 
And yet my stall continued.
 
About 2-3 weeks in, a light bulb went off.  Maybe I was moving to a new place—growing.  Maybe this was something to embrace.
 
I reminded myself of how infants advance physically only to regress verbally in the development process.   Growth isn’t linear.   That thought was helpful and I committed myself to be open to where my journey might lead. 
 
Maybe this was a PAUSE.
 
An invitation to be fresh.
 
Perhaps I was exactly where I should be-- this was a bridge to a new journey.
 
Something happened this week.   With Alice Merton cranked up, I found myself dancing -- mesmerized by color and creating with my boldest voice. 
 
 I did my best to stay out of my way.
 
 In it, this work “I Ain’t Pretending,” flowed.
 
I am still mustering the courage to be new.   To not rest in my comfort zone.  I am looking at this pause as excitement. And trusting I will always have much to say.
 
Oh… this creative journey forever surprises.  Wishes for all your cylinders be firing and finding ways to express them…Namaste.

​It’s been 5 days since the women’s march in DC—my hometown.  I felt such exhilaration and hope that day being with kindred spirits who support so many causes but united in assuring that we more forward with a nation that supports the Constitution, honors human rights and creates a better place for our children.
 
Since then, I have been in knots.
 
Many voices trying to splinter the unity that came from that day.  And many changes coming from the new president that appear to threaten the basic tenets of our country—freedom of speech, assembly, accusations against facts and attacking the press for putting forth truthful information.
 
My heart aches.  I vacillate between less news & social media—and the need to know and be well-informed.  The right balance, the right amount of activism for me is still unknown.
 
But I continue to find my studio to be a place of peace and clarity.  I put brush to canvas and heart felt emotions come forward—many I am still attempting to make sense of, but they are there for me and offering themselves.
 
After working on this piece for many, many weeks—this one came to fruition today. I offer it as some visual clarity of my journey in finding my place. In exploring what is there for me.  Of attempting to look deeper and be open to all that presents itself. 
 
Hopefully in this effort to better understand myself, I will be a better person in this world and add to these crazy times in the most of beautiful ways—through art.
 
Here’s to finding beauty and a sense of place for yourself as the world spins in such  an unprecedented, warp-speed rotation.  Namaste.

Last week I spent an entire day titling this painting—I see titling as a way to capture my experience & make quiet references to what stirred as I created or even after I birthed the art.

There was a lot for me to take in with this piece.  Much that I did not see until well after the painting hung in my studio.  I was shocked, last week, when several figures emerged that I had never noticed.

This painting is a metaphor for taking in what is before you.  For resisting quick glances and appreciating the deeper parts of something or someone who may seem transparent and easy to initially dismiss.

As I prepared to enter this piece into a show related to race and the ease with which we make assumptions about one another,  I began to explore the concept of bias in art. 

Many of my works are unidentifiable as to race, gender, place.   The ambiguity provides a Rorschach for exploring your presence.    About diving in and seeing where you are with it—how you see it, what or who emerges as you sit with it. 

So what do you see?  In the soup that has become our current culture, it’s important to consider. 

Can a piece of art make you better understand how different your experience might be than that of someone from another culture/ethnicity/gender?

This was my quest as I titled this piece.  I poured over poetry and lyrics to see where it took me, if these art forms enlightened me—heightened my compassion.  Spoke to me. 

My reading/listening took me back more than 80 years as other artists expressed themselves about social injustice, bias and inequality. 

For the first time in my life, I read Rev Martin Luther King’s I Have A Dream Speech. 

Having listened to the melody of his words many times, I was floored when I actually read them.  His imagery was powerful.  With the poetry of his thoughts, he lit me.  His insights were inspirational.  I could feel his frustration, his determination and loving nature.  I was moved by his genius, his patience and his clarity.  His words made me want to do better and made me want to motivate others.

I don’t know that MLK considered the artistry of his speech, but his ability to express himself in such an open way, moved me in a way that art can move.

It’s fitting that MLK spoke those words 52 years ago this week in my back yard of DC and that I can read them today and feel the richness and importance of his message in every way that he intended.

Most profound to me were his words about how the fate of the races depends on all men enjoying the richness of justice—the freedom of all us is “inextricably bound” to one another:

And most powerfully:  “We cannot walk alone.” 

This phrase not said in a needy way, as if we need you to fix this problem, but more…look at this world, if we do not find justice in our world, we all suffer from injustice.  That hate hurts everyone—even those espousing it.

Ok—off of my soap box, but the impact of this titling journey was profound for me…I continue:

Because where I landed was in reading poetry and not surprisingly by Langston Hughes. 

In a 1935 poem entitled, “Let America Be America Again” about the promise of an America that never was for countless many, but surely could be one day,  I found a stanza that spoke my art:

“Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?”

And so it is that this work of mine, “Who Are You That Mumbles in the Dark”  lands—asking the question through the art, through the journey and through our culture today.

Look long, think deeply, feel fully…who are you that mumbles in the dark?

Namaste’

When I let go and allow the process to lead me, I am never disappointed.  Tonight I finished “Infinite Beauty”—the first in my Legacy series.  Art inspired by old photos. And a journey to both old and new places.

Infinite Beauty was inspired by an old black and white gem that my father snapped circa World War II.  It’s a photo of my Aunt Thelma—newly pregnant—serenely napping in a hammock on the family farm. 

The photo captures her essence.  A simple woman with a beautiful spirit.  A woman who burned her bra decades before it was popular—a feminist who probably never heard the term.  Her no-nonsense approach to life was magnetic.

I started Infinite Beauty a few months ago and the art flowed easily.   Creating it was a delicious experience.  And then I was stuck.  The image was complete but begged for poetry.  And that was nearly 6 weeks ago.  Night after night I poured over poetry to find just the right words to express what this artwork—and this woman—inspired in me.  I kept coming up blank.  Hundreds of poems later and nothing I read belonged on the canvas.

About a week ago, I stumbled upon a poem by Rumi and I found it reverberating in my head:

“The inspiration you seek is already within you.
 Be silent and listen.” 

So for several days, I thought I had found the poem to include with Infinite Beauty…And yet it didn’t fit.  Why was I so enamored with this poem that didn’t fit my art.  I read and re-read the poem.   I sat with it.  Quietly.  And it became clear…the poem was a message to me.  The poem I sought was to come from within.  “The inspiration is already within you.”  And so as Rumi said, I was silent & listened.  And this is what came out of me:

“In every quiet moment, the universe is yours. Be present.  Be open.”

The words fit the art and Aunt Thelma.  The potential for infinite beauty in the birth of her first child.  The potential for infinite beauty in the choices you have before you every day.  If you quiet your mind, if you are mindful, if you are open, you have the potential for every thing the universe can offer—there are no limits beyond those that you impose on yourself. 

And the beauty of this process for me is that I that went beyond using someone else’s words to express my art.  I found another octave in my vocal range.  A new voice.  And inspiration from a poet who lived some 800 years ago and from my aunt who passed away decades ago—but both so alive—so able to share their Infinite Beauty.

So in sharing this art with you—I wish for you to be inspired to find new beauty—new potential—a new voice or just a new way to see something…in quieting old voices, a chance for new ones to join the conversation.  For finding the inspiration within.  Connecting with an old muse.  Or beginning a new legacy.

Namaste’

Being creative is about trusting yourself and trusting the process.  I dare say, Sigmund Freud would like mine.  I say this as I type away in my family room--about 10 feet from me sits a huge pile of nearly  every accessory, sculpture & art piece  I own.  You may wonder what on earth that has to do with creating art...but today, that is my process.    I'm  currently working on a piece. I've even tentatively named it (ironically: "Restless Spirit")  and I can't wait to get back to working on it.  In fact, when I think about getting back to this canvas, it feels like I am getting ready to have dessert...it's that pleasant a thought.  Yet despite my excitement, I haven't touched it in about a week.  Is this willpower or something more?

For Restless Spirit, this is my process--a one week gap in working on it.   It doesn't always happen this way, but sometimes it does and I've really come to appreciate the interruption.  It's not clear to me when I take this break,  what is going on in my brain around creating, but I know that something is brewing in my unconscious:

This past week, I planned several days where I knew I was going to work on Restless Spirit.  Instead,  I  got distracted.    So today was the day to really jump in with both feet and yet, I felt a need to reorganize my space and change the aesthetics--witness the pile of goodies nearby.  I won't finish  this artistic nesting until tomorrow and I know that during this time, my unconscious  will be laboring away--as it has all week-- about something it wants to jump on artistically.  Being willing to let go of all plans and follow this instinct to work things out through intuition has allowed me to take risks and go down paths that I've never walked.  

So who knew that creating this latest artwork would involve a week gap and art moved around the house--but more interesting to me is what comes out on the canvas once I've allowed this little detour.  Of course it's tempting to push forward and just get to the canvas avoiding these unexpected side trips, but I truly believe there is something there for me when I wander off path. And even wander away for a bit.

So ask yourself...if you take a side trip, look at things from a different view and allow yourself to meander a bit more than you had planned, will you possibly stumble upon a view you would never had seen?  I'm betting yes--enjoy your journey--Namaste'