still your hands
screen your thoughts
exhale, inhale, pause
At least these days. Life moves at the speed of my feet and for several hours every day I cover ground while seated on a local bus.
I attempt to be productive in those hours. I am a looker. I may read or write. I never make it the entire length of the southbound bus ride without getting lost in light or shadow, tempted by a color or the sway of a tree.
Life, then, is an Eggleston flipbook. Depending on the bus, riders and scenery alike can take on the tint of David or Frank…
I am slowly moving towards a new space. Finally a website dedicated to my work. The blog will tag along. Here is a preview, a stepping stone.
Finishing this work took:
(aka why the artist feels like there should be a higher price on their art than the market may support)
4 killer batches of homemade caramel and 2 flops
1 prompt from a mentor
a critique group
1 online art therapy class
losing the cockroach battle
3 new living situations
my 1st ever two week vacation
3 composition notebooks filled line by line, morning by morning
2 homeopathic remedies
hours searching the internet
brainstorming trips to the hardware store, the art supply store
an inside joke with a fabricator
becoming a hardcover book stalker here
18-20 months of on again off again cutting, pasting, arranging, writing
2 hours in a small office one June day
the innards of 26 books sacrificed
the passage of milestone after milestone until it didn’t take a few girlfriends, strong coffee, and pastries to make it through the next one
multiple video calls to India at ridiculous hours
a wink across the room at breakfast
And finally, there will be art on walls. If you are in the neighborhood, consider yourself invited.
My photo is in part four of the series, fourth from last. (You’ll have to click through to see the image.)
For a delicious little trip around the globe, click through the four sections and see if anywhere looks familiar to you.
What’s the word hometown mean to you?
In light of a photo of mine showing up somewhere besides this blog, and a few other websites without photo credit, I thought I would take a moment to expand on the theme of the soon-to-be-published image.
The image that will be up on Lenscratch on August 27th, was part of a portfolio from ages ago. As far as portfolios are concerned, this wasn’t much of one. More of a themed group of images that I couldn’t quite let go of, so I labeled it a portfolio and off I flew to Portland Maine, for an interview with SCAD.
I made it into their Master’s degree program. Was granted a scholarship on the spot.
The group of images however did not get much attention from various jurors and galleries that came later.
Later, after I chose to not go to SCAD and put off my MFA.
Sometimes the lessons don’t stick the first go around.
Sometimes a theme doesn’t let go.
These images are from my hometown and have been filed in my photo-a-day folder. They speak to me about many things but they have yet to construct a coherent paragraph. So they end up here.
Watch this space for a few more images leading up to the posting at the end of the month over here.
..or rather the alphabet project. The mixed media one that had a title, that I have forgotten and which had the vague beginnings of an artist statement which has been misplaced.
I am slow. I make art at the same pace most 90 year olds would run the hurdles. Slow and accomplished mostly with a sideways approach to the obstacles, or rather hurdles in this illustration. The current project is by no means my longest endeavor. In fact, once I finally can approach the hurdle of the book page that is the surface I am to work on, I can usually have the piece finished in under an hour. A 25 piece portfolio created in less than 30 hours of hands on work is rather fast.
It is all the intentional non-work thinking and fussing and writing and paper shuffling that feels endless. It also throws my productivity curve way off.
I’ve been on pause for about 6 months with this portfolio. Ok. 6 that I admit to and maybe 3 more that I am in denial about.
This week though, the fits of frustration have finally reached a boiling point. The fever of focus has broken and art is being made. Paper is getting cut. Words are being written. Needles are being threaded. There is progress once again.
Perhaps then, tonight, there shall be rest.