Paint to Music
Looking at Art:
Art is pretty fascinating in its ability to create “responses” within us. This may seem pretty obvious a statement for anyone who has stood still in front of a paintings. Yet, as a painter, I am fascinated by the variety of energies one experiences in creating a piece. Some paintings take out a huge amount of energy in their creation, coming from a deep place, with a breathless quality in their making. Others emerge slow and rubbling underneath conscious thought, seemingly to appear from nowhere. Then there are the ones that "paint themselves", like painting with light, free and easily moving, a simple song with a recognizable melody. Sometimes the paintings finished reflect those energies, but not always. That’s fascinating too. I am intrigued that individual paintings seems to evoke similar responses in others. I somehow capture an specific essence, yet all are abstracts.
We realize that some paintings pull us in, some inspire, some repel, some intrigues, some we look for meaning, some we admire, and the list goes on. Art watching is so much more than a quick decision of “I like it” or “I do not like it”. Whenever I am showing, I encourage individuals to stand just a little bit "longer" and gaze. Ask a question, then allow the painting to speak to you while you listen to answer.... it's often a quiet whisper.
Grief leaves behind a creative void.
It was a long time that I was able to write again. I could paint, but writing seemed somehow more painful. A close death can take away so much energy, your creative energy, and leave a sense of nothingness in it’s wake. Grief tends to demand inner attention that doesn’t allow the outer peripheral to penetrate for awhile. Time passes, and you realize that those two fields seem to merge, the inner and the outer once again. One finds that the sharing of stories initially too emotional to tell, you now laugh over the memory rather than cry. It’s a process...a very individual process.
My mother-in-law died. My sorrow may be shocking for some, who have within their circle a stereotypical “mother-in-law”, but for me, it was a large loss. She was a very energetic, "bull in a china shop" kinda personality that was never far from laughter.
I paint often thinking of her, not that she loved my art, in fact, she wasn’t overly fond of my abstracts at all. I clearly remember her puzzled stare at my easel, some recent work and simply stated, “don’t you ever paint anything pretty?” It was after that moment that I painted her some hydrangeas, just to show her I could. However differing our taste, she was proud and took any opportunity to show off her family’s and my achievements with great flourish. I remember when she was shown a newpaper article about a recent art show. She burst with pride (although she still didn't like the work much).
She brought into our lives, a huge love of life that permeated every corner and crevice. My mother-in-law was a force, short as she was rounded, large hearted and a stubbornly determined soul that forged ahead into every project or idea that circulated in her head (which very often meant dragging you for the ride should you be there at that particular moment) It was always a good time! I miss that.
"Outside the Canvas" is the bits and pieces of my eclectic musings, my work, poetry...and hopefully, some interesting discoveries I make as an artist shred along the way. I'll try to keep it short and sweet, since my son pointed out "nobody wants to reads blog novels Mom".