Enable me Muse
Prescribe your sweet medicine
And I will create it’s witness
Enable me Muse
Prescribe your sweet medicine
And I will create it’s witness
after 6.75 years
I finally made an artwork about you
It was a different day than most
as I was angry with you
years of saying what a good guy…
now I stand corrected
I drunk with life and you with booze
letting your pain get the best of you
injuring what we had
yes, you were the one held to the highest esteem
now fallen to the ranks of the broken hearted
stupid sharings, immature reactions
floundered on the school grounds
anger greets me
and I meet it with a scissor and some medium
finally to make a piece about us
In the end I am inspired
Giving up something can be difficult and personal. You may be giving up: time with friends, vacations, reading for enjoyment, or even a relationship to make art. It seems unimaginable to most, but when a passion dictates most of your every move, sometimes there’s no choice.
Personally, my goals rule my life. I wake as early as I can, drink my first cup of coffee and write a thank you list to the Universe. Next, I jot down the steps I will take towards that potential I’m fighting for, then head upstairs to the studio (currently I’m writing a book) ,or shower before spending the day at school teaching art. I still make art; just putting the book first these days.
Writing a book sounds like a “fancy” thing to do. It’s not, I am just trying to help people understand the lives of people who live like artists do. Why? To understand the mystification of art and it’s makers would make the concept and more digestible. Perhaps people will want to buy art, your art, my art. I don’t want all this completed art clogging the walls of my studio… it invades my new ideas. Sales are important, because art is a business too… It’s not a bad to make money.
Often, I sit in the studio thinking, I’d like to be at the bar with friends, traveling, or catching up on “Younger” (an addictive t.v. show). However, the drive to grasp the ideas filling my head is pulling on my skirt hem. It’s like being in the middle of a thought all the time… This kind of energy will need a resting point and soon my mind will pause, and I will catch my breath.
Then I will question what I gave up, and try to do it all again. Perhaps this time I’ll be able to do it all? There’s always hope.
Randy is one of our two baby chickens. She was named by my son Jake, and well, that says enough. She and Penelope (my choice for the other) are a breed called, Brahma. Chicks or Pullets integrating into an existing flock is a difficult process, as bullying is an integral part of the “gang” like membership. Our daily conversations usually begin with, “The Babies” or “The Big Girls” as we watch them slowly become part of the flock and roam around my house and studio.
Randy is a scaredy cat – afraid of any move the big girls make, running for her dear life as they come near her. You can her her “honk” all the way in the house if she gets a little peck from our head hen Buffy. But, Randy is the largest of all our chickens, all of them, and she’s only a baby. We are always shaking our heads as she doesn’t realize the power she already could have at 5 months old.
Sometimes when I walk past a mirror I stop and look again… I don’t look like I think I should look. Not that I know what that is. It happens when I look at a picture and sometimes when I look at my art. (Looks like somebody else’s art (blog entry)) Does it happen to everyone? I remembering telling my counselor the same thing, years ago. Like the persona and person are not connected. Perhaps it’s all the facets of being human. The many faces we must wear in life… a friend and student in my Wednesday night class is working on a piece dealing with all the masks she wears in a day.
My body is petite, my personality grand, my artwork is not subtle, and then I have the responsibilities of being a single mom, teacher, business owner, girlfriend, daughter, animal keeper, and the like. We all have these parts that make our whole. But, do we really know who we are? What we are?
That outer image is not necessarily our reality but, it is a big part of what others think of us. And that, sometimes is important for us to see as we may be much bigger then we think we are.
Shouting out to my family and friends who have watched me take a little dream and make it real.
Driving by that old red barn, sitting next to the pink house on route 9 made us look twice. Even at closing when the owners never really moved out at all, leaving their toothbrushes, silverware, dishes, and rugs all behind…
The place where every sweat drip, brush stroke, shovel strike was mostly mine. Sacred circles carved in the woods, favorite pets who passed feed the ground, Jake’s silly tree hugs… This is my sanctuary, my heart space.
The Barn has it’s own obvious progression. Taking someone’s sacred, creative, hive and altering it to become yours is a careful situation. Moving into the carving workshop of famed Harry Shourds, was gentle. Jamie Prady was my trusted friend who brought his tools and put up ceilings and removed rotted floors, and supported me when my life did a cart wheel. I too was there when he was told his beloved was sick… In between it’s renovation and life, I worked on my art and taught a class or two. Now, years later Randy Yarowsky has a mill cut rough cedar like the Amish did 300 years ago, starting it’s outside restoration. It’s a slow process because it’s expensive, and time consuming. As the barn’s revitalization takes place, summers are filled with classes, parties, and artists all who make The Barn possible.
Often times I find a surprise in my mailbox, Dad helping me with my bills, or mom giving me pieces of her memories helping me get by. I recently sent a simple text to my brother for ideas and it was returned was an email full of promise. Even you “sharing” statuses on Facebook or Twitter, lending me tables or giving me your Mom’s chairs after her passing… Thank you.
I see it from the road, that beautiful red barn, with the stain glassed window, the doors open, the easels up and color filling it’s walls. I see it… and it’s not finished, love is never finished.
I’ve eaten too much and wore no sunscreen. We’ve sung silly songs, danced awkward dances, and lit the Menorah.
Today is Christmas Eve or better known as my son’s birthday. This marks the day, 16 years ago that the universe gave me my greatest education and my only unconditional love in this world.
So as I wait for the sun to rise I stop to embrace the gratitude and wonder of this life. I sit here in awe as I experience life while renting this body. I do hope our souls connect when we leave this world- to be with him again.
I welcome the sun. I welcome this day. I celebrate each breath, touch, sound and moment of today.
Happy birthday to my beloved you are the light in my life.
Recently I purged myself of something and someone. It was really scary because it was risky. So much seems to be at stake when you take a stand against a mainstream thought. Yet, as I rid myself of this person, who oddly enough I called a friend, I disposed of a theology that doesn’t match with my life.
Sitting this morning in the darkened silence, IT spoke to me, I was given Freedom.
Social media is a unique lesson, we post, comment, paste, and use our masks to guide our hand. Who are we? What do we want others to believe? Ridding myself of this ideology and the person that came with it has me typing faster and truer. I have learned much about me, I was a coward. I feel free and awake again.
I just love this painting- by Anton Mauve. I visit it every time I go to the PMA.
We had yesterday and today off for Teacher’s Convention. If you didn’t know I am a public school art teacher. I usually spend one of these days not at the convention but, in the studio and at an art museum. The convention doesn’t have much for me and it is a waste of my quality art making time to go.
Yesterday I got ready to work in the studio, and that is a task in itself. The OCD or whatever I have makes me clean the house first, allowing me to then work. Makes no sense as my work is more important than what the house looks like.
Jimmy came to paint with me today- he’s my favorite Renaissance man friend (I wonder how he feels about this label I have attached to him). He worked at the standing easel and I on the table top, next to each other. Jim is a musician and a really good “untrained” artist. He just can paint, and does it clean and pure with intention. We had some sort of concert music on (now I know what the heck it was…) and just made art.
The kids at school are working on their art show pieces for “In The Garden” and one class is creating owls. So I told them I’d make one too. Ugg … it’s terrible. So I worked on that a bit and started just a random piece. I put a black frame around it to see if it’s ready… Don’t know what direction it works just yet. That was my 1st convention day. Continue reading →
So I’m at that point, is what I’m making art or crap?
Firstly, I’m working with collage and that can instantly become Eric Carlisle like immediately. Especially that I’m working with an animal subject. God that sounds like crap just typing it. I wanted to do an owl, crap again… Embarrassing. Well, it could be a freaking lighthouse, so it’s not as crappy as it could be. On a side note I did make a lighthouse for an old boyfriend once, out of spite and anger at his innocent taste (I’m being kind here). He hated it. Notice the “old” next to boyfriend.
Where was I? Ok, yes, crap. Well it started off well with lots of layering and hand made papers, then I put purple tulle in. Yeah, purple tulle over an overly shiny bronze background. No, I’m not putting in an image.
Reason for this post, how do we know if what we make is art or not? I don’t know, in the past I’ve made some truly good work and some pure crap. Often I think when I work over a piece that sucks, the suckiness comes through. And this piece does have a bad painting under it… like covering up those extra pounds with a big dress. You still know what’s under there.
Wish me luck-