Separation Anxiety

I took some time today to print out a wallet size photograph of all of the art that I have completed thus far. I’ve actually accomplished far more than I realized. I also discovered a few unfinished projects that I started as a result of this project and didn’t complete. With the exception of my oil painting of Jessica, I plan on finishing them all this week. I really want to work on the oil painting but have two weeks to wait for that doctor appointment. Many of the pieces I have done are small, very small, a few were artist cards, but there are also a few that I know I could sell. Therein lies my dilemma. I have sold at art/craft shows for years, small wooden painted pieces, folk art, some holiday ornaments, and have also worked as a muralist. What I have not done a lot of is sell my paintings. To be honest, I’ve sold only one painting. I’ve sold drawings, portraits to be exact, where I was hired to draw someone in particular. I sold my first piece of art when I was fifteen. That was the one painting I sold.  It was before I stopped believing in myself.  I actually began painting at about fourteen. Back then it was sheer enjoyment, I didn’t know enough to know that I didn’t know anything. I have loved art as long as I can remember.  The absolute rush of emotion I get when I have finished a piece that I love has been with me my whole life. When you are a shy kid, have no friends, you feel very small, you feel bad about yourself, you feel nonexistent. Art was my friend. It is my safe place.  No matter how unhappy I was I could lose myself in the creative process. Despite everything I have written in this blog about not being good enough, not feeling good enough, I still hung on. It has been for me in my life, a lifesaver. I did a lot of work I didn’t care about, not that it wasn’t good, I always do my best, but it was the craft show stuff. I don’t intend for that comment to demean what anyone else does, I just knew that I was capable of so much more.  I am beginning to do the work I have waited a lifetime to do, every piece I do means so very much to me, but I can’t keep them all, despite the fact that each and every piece of art is like one of my children. I also feel like I need to prove to myself that I can be successful at this. I realize that money doesn’t mean success in art, at least it doesn’t for me, but my family has found itself in a difficult situation and it would mean the world to me to be able to help our situation doing what I love. I know I can make prints, or keep photographs of my work, reminders for myself. I just need to send my “kids” off into the world, and just like my daughter and son, hope they find someone who loves them as much as me.

Acrylic again this evening. That shy little girl still lives inside me and she really loves a good hiding place. Maybe that explains my love of these old secret garden gates.

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The “P” Word, Yet Again!

 

Perspective. Just the sound of the word makes me freeze in horror. No, I am not admitting defeat. If you read last night’s post (and twenty other posts about it) you know that my evil nemesis had thwarted my plans to do a painting with perspective. Yesterday I had this grand plan to do a complete series of gates, windows, and doors. Then last night happened. I’m truly not giving up, just giving myself a break from the aggravation and frustration that I experienced last night. What you might find at the very least mildly amusing, is that I actually spent a good part of my afternoon beginning the panels for a paper doll house for a very special little friend of mine. Several weeks ago I did a pastel chalk of Emily. I turned that portrait into a paper doll, complete with wardrobe. Emily the paper doll needs a home, a friend, maybe some pets, probably some furniture for her paper house…..getting carried away here. There is no better thing in this world than the smile on a child’s face, I wish I could do it for every kid. I said I needed to do some catch up on my project, Emily’s house will be part of that. It might not be “fine art”, but quite frankly it’s so much fun I can’t wait to get back to it. I love design. As a child I didn’t really enjoy playing with Barbie dolls, I did however really enjoy designing their house. I have three sisters, and we never really had one of those factory made Barbie houses. We had random furniture, some Barbie, some generic doll stuff. My doll’s house was fabulous! I used a checker board for my flooring, (still love a checked floor) my mother’s jewelry box as an armoire, and her good Waterford crystal bowl as my pool, complete with color tinted water, that was accomplished by taking apart markers and dragging the inside material (not even sure what it is. Felt?) across the water to dye it to my color of choice. When my daughter was young and I worked at a grocery store I brought home empty cardboard cartons, which I then turned into individual Barbie rooms. Wrapping paper wallpaper, carpet sample flooring, artwork cut from magazines, and real fabric curtains. Eventually two stories high along a wall in her playroom. Barbie had quite the pad! I did stop playing long enough this afternoon to do something else for the project, a pen and ink drawing of a Day-lily. The ink sketch is what I will be posting a photo of tonight. Emily’s house is still under construction and will have its own special reveal, hopefully some day later this week. As I said, mildly amusing, the girl who can’t do math, and hates perspective, is creating an architectural doll abode. I guess even when you really don’t enjoy the process, (at least the perspective part) in the end it’s who and what the project is all about that makes all the difference. I guess you might say it puts things in “perspective” ( I know, insert cringe here).7 2

Nemesis thy name is Perspective

The battle rages on, I lose yet another battle to my evil nemesis. I pull out my ruler, I measure the page, I measure my photograph, I make my sketch, and (silent scream inserted here) it doesn’t work! Let me make this clear, I am so not mathematical. In high school, after a disastrous freshman year, I begged Sister Joan, my algebra teacher, head of the math department, and cruel decider of my mathematical fate, to let me take basic geometry instead of regular geometry (the kind for people who can think logically). Her response? I quote, ” Your reading scores are those of a junior in college. A girl as smart as you does not need to be in basic math.” Really? Does the fact that she graded me with a “D” for all four quarters (I’m not complaining, I deserved those “D”s, I earned them) not have given her some clue? So what did I do? I skipped math sophomore year, put it off until junior year, delaying the agony for a while. Thank God for Ms. Von Laven, she of the single barrette, that hung without purpose from the front of her hair. First quarter, “D”, second quarter “F”, third quarter “D”, fourth quarter??? “D”. I didn’t deserve that last “D”, I deserved an “F”. A truly Christian woman, (as opposed to Sr. Joan) who saw my struggles, gave me a tutor, realized that even that wasn’t helping, took pity on me and let me go. I love Ms. Von Laven. Have you taken the ACT college entrance exam? Possible high score of 36. In all sections across the board I received 28’s through 31’s, except for…math, I got a 9. I retook the test because I was dying with the flu on the first attempt. The second time? I got a 7. I did better while delirious than I did in my right mind. Pathetic.

I have a book, (OK, ten books) on perspective, I really meant to read them, but I think that Sr. Joan has scarred me for life. No not really, but I am so frustrated, (I know, I need to read the books!) that I almost gave up tonight That however, is a big no-no where this blog is concerned. So here is my slightly off kilter watercolor of a window. Is it possible that my brain is off kilter?

I will try again! The war isn’t over yet.image

A Missing Day

I didn’t post yesterday, not due to illness recovery but because a household project very much got in the way. This wasn’t a roadblock that I threw in my own way, but something that had to be done. Just last week I wrote about not letting this blog turn into the Monday morning diet syndrome, I can’t let this happen. This project has become entirely too important to me. For the first time in my life I have a sense of accomplishment and true happiness. Like many people I spent years looking to others to make my life complete. It’s taken me a long time to figure out that only I have the key to make that happen. I’ve never felt the kind of pride I have in my accomplishments and in my work before. Of course I’ve done things I liked or loved over the years, but this is the first time that I have fought myself to make me a priority. I’m finally feeling better, there are no excuses to not get back on track. I find it ironic that tomorrow is Monday after my little rant, but it is, and I will start working on making up lost time. For tonight, after a very, very long day, I decided to just grab the watercolors and see where it led me. I was playing with color, still unsure of my project when I looked up to see Riley, my cat. She was laying in front of me in a rather cute position, problem solved, tonight’s subject, Riley.

No pencil sketch, just painting her as she lay.Image

Broken Promises

Did I break the promise I made to myself last night? Of course I did. The last thing I wrote last night was a promise to myself to start my day with my work. As usual I let everything else get in the way. Cleaned my house, ran errands, you know the “anything I can put in my way” stuff. Are you like me? Do you keep your promises to everyone, everyone but yourself? Why is that so easy? When I say I’m going to do something I do it. Sometimes I don’t even feel like it but I do it anyway. Like telling someone you will call them when in fact you really don’t want to talk to them. I call. Or agree to help a friend do something, and then you are tired or lazy or just don’t feel like it? I do it. I have a sneaking suspicion that Catholic guilt plays a role, and I’m a woman. Women seem to feel bad awfully easily, at least I do. But if it’s for me, bottom of the list. I think I need to do a “Stuart Smalley”, remember Al Franken on SNL? I need to sit in front of a mirror and repeat, “I’m good enough”. But only after I clean the house, right?  I did finally sit down to do some art.  “And what time was that?” you ask. Well, if I’m going to be honest, about 7:30 this evening. By that time I was quite frankly ready for bed. Still unbelievably tired, but I was upset with myself last night. I did last-minute, under pressure homework for this blog last night, and it was crap. I really didn’t even want to post it, but I did say I would put up everything, even the crap. So as tired as I was tonight I was determined to put up something to be proud of.

When Dan and I went to Paris in 2009, I took in excess of two thousand pictures. The most beautiful, in my opinion, were the ones I took in Giverny. Every home and garden were spectacular. I looked through those photos today and pulled a few of my favorites. I believe I have mentioned my odd love of gates, windows and old doors. (If I haven’t then here’s the scoop. I take many, many photos of old doors, gates and windows. I never, ever take photos of people, except for Dan, who is of course my favorite human) I chose a photo for tonight of a gate I liked because of its color. Watercolor on paper. It was sort of last-minute, but its work I like, not something that I will feel bad about in the morning. No promises as far as a schedule for tomorrow, only the promise that I will put up work that I am proud to put my name on, and I will try really hard not to put myself last…I’m smart enough…I’m good enough…

 

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Recovering

I’m back, and I hope this time it’s for good. This pneumonia took an awful lot out of me. I don’t ever remember being this tired. I had every intention of posting yesterday, but early in the day I overdid it, and by evenings end I was in no shape for anything. My dear husband stepped in as I drifted off on the couch.

I’ve missed being here. This blog has done so much for me and my creativity. I’m feeling more at ease and creative than I ever have. It really has changed my life. I’ve spent most of my life being a “next Monday morning dieter”, and I did make several good attempts, but I would always fall back on my old ways. I was the same with art. Many, many false starts, but I never stuck with it til now. In the last several days as I struggled with illness I was afraid that when I tried to come back, when I tried to work again, that it would be another failed Monday morning. I’m sure your all familiar with it. You do one wrong thing and then it’s a private conversation in your head, goes something like this, “Well, I blew it now. I’ll just eat whatever today, and start again tomorrow.” Tomorrow never comes, or it doesn’t come for another six months. It took me so long to get here, and trust me there were days when I came really close to letting myself off the hook, but I didn’t, I followed through. I’m proud of that. I’m not giving up. I am a few days behind of course, three hundred sixty-five days, three hundred sixty-five pieces of art, I need to play a little catch up. I’m not worried, I know I can do it. I am however going to be realistic. I have been sick, very sick, and I need to take it easy.

It was very hot here today and our house felt like an oven. We decided to sit in the garden tonight where it was cool. I grabbed a couple of tomatoes off the vine. Tonight’s very simple exercise is a watercolor of my tomatoes. I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully with something a little more ambitious. For now I’m tired…again. Goodnight.Image

What Makes An Artist?

I’ll begin tonight with a definition. I of course have my own theory, but I will give you one I googled, and found on The Free Dictionary.

Artist

1. One, such as a painter, sculptor, or writer, who is able by virtue of imagination and talent or skill to create works of aesthetic value, especially in the fine arts.
2. A person whose work shows exceptional creative ability or skill: You are an artist in the kitchen.
3. One, such as an actor or singer, who works in the performing arts.Nov 17th (4)

If you are curious about the food photo, the explanation lies ahead, and at the end of this paragraph a photo of our bedroom, all in an effort to prove a point. I bring this up because of the conversation that I wrote about the other evening, (OK, I’m obsessing. It’s a problem of mine) but I also had an encounter a few months back that stuck with me. I was having coffee with a friend at Starbucks, we ran into two women, one of whom I had met before. I was introduced to the other woman as an artist. I didn’t bring it up, I usually don’t unless asked what I do. Many people, including family, refer to me as a “housewife”. Let me begin by saying I have no problem with the housewife label, I don’t work outside the home except for occasional odd artistic jobs. But I am first and foremost an artist. My entire home is a work of art. There isn’t a single square inch that hasn’t been creatively transformed by me, including my garden. I work hard every single day, and every day I do something artistic. For me creativity is as natural as breathing. If I’m not working on an art project, I’m photographing something, or I’m cooking a meal that would knock your socks off, and that meal would be very artistically arranged on a plate, a particular plate since I have way too many plates, all white, in an effort to display my food in the most beautiful manner possible, and more than likely taking a photo of that meal. Whew! Long sentence, but all true. (So that’s why the food photo) When I was introduced as an artist to this woman I was meeting for the first time, she turned and said, “An artist? Are you a real artist, I mean do you sell your work?” Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that unless I turn a profit I’m not a real artist. She apparently never heard of all of the great artists whose work was worth zip until they were six feet under. The conversation of the other night was headed in that same direction. No, I don’t have training, and yes, I have nothing hanging in a gallery for sale, but I am an artist, just one without a profit sheet.Master (2)

For tonight I revisited another orphan tucked away in the studio. I chose this one in particular because tomorrow is Father’s Day. My father-in-law passed away five years ago in July. He was a really lovely man who I liked very, very much. Last year I decided to paint a vignette of some of his belongings as a gift for my husband. Like so many other paintings before it, I gave up. I have felt bad about not finishing it, but I wanted Dan to love it, and I didn’t feel like I was good enough to paint this painting. I was at times sorry that I started the project because for me, (and I never told him this) I thought that the fact that it was unfinished only proved to Dan that I wasn’t good enough to do so. He has never shown anything but complete support for me, I was putting my crap on him. So much of the world around me has not given me the respect I deserve for my work. No schooling, no paintings currently for sale, but I have more talent than many of the “professionals” can claim ownership of. I don’t care for a great deal of modern art. I am entitled to that opinion, but I would never dare to say that the people who paint them are not artists because I dislike the work. When I spoke to Dan about this subject earlier this evening he said, “A baseball player is a baseball player, not just because he plays in the major leagues.” To use his analogy, I have “major league” talent, but I skipped spring training, much of the season is past, but I think I’m beginning to realize that I might just play in the all-star game and possibly the world series. I am feeling more confident in my painting daily. Dare I say it? Even a little fearless.
Oil on canvas, and I am proud to say it is almost finished. (Only because the Hawk’s are in the Stanley Cup, and we went out to watch the game. Maybe I should have used a hockey analogy instead)
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Using The Gift

I never quite understand people who,because they have a particular talent believe themselves to be better than others. I have a gift, an artistic one, but so do millions of others. I have often said, “Sure I can draw, paint, cook, do pretty much anything creative, but the laundry list of what I can’t do is ten times longer. There are those who can dance and sing, talents that I would love to have. I am sorely lacking in the coordination department, which essentially cuts out pretty much any athletic prowess. I bring this up for a number of reasons. I have had people suddenly become interested in being my friend because they see what I can do, and trust me, I can spot those ones a mile away. I have had more than my fair share of snide comments from other women who see my abilities as competition. I don’t feel that way about things that other people are good at. I admire what others can achieve. I will admit to having a little “hair envy”, basically mine sucks and always has. These days, much to Dan’s amusement I comment on how nice other women’s knees look. (If you saw mine you’d understand..six surgeries have done some damage) Do I wish I were thinner,richer, or more accomplished? Sure I do, I’m human, but I am more of the mind-set that when someone else looks better, or does something better or different from what I do, I applaud them. I had the conversation that I wrote about earlier in the week, the one that took a swipe at my self-esteem. Then yesterday I saw a neighbor, a woman who I at one time considered a friend. I did a lot for her. I foolishly gave and gave of my artistic self, doing things for her and her kids. She turned into one of the women who made the snide remarks. I’ve been accused of “showing off”, all because I made a beautiful dish to bring to a neighborhood gathering, or gave a hand painted piece of furniture as a gift to a neighborhood child. (Believe me, I was invited to the party for every kid on the street) My point, the reason I write all of this, is that I don’t show off. I never think I am better than anyone else, and I shouldn’t let someone else who has a ridiculous issue about me, (envy) to cloud my thinking, to get in the way of my art. I have given myself a stern talking to, and have had encouragement from a number of people in regards to that post.

Back to the “gift”. The best thing about having the ability to do everything I can do is that I can create something special for people I care about. I have a very dear friend in the midst of a horrible problem. She means the world to me, and other than letting her know that I am here for a shoulder to cry on, there isn’t much I can do to help her situation. We are good friends because we are much the same, nice, decent, thoughtful women. We accept each other, we share our lives, we support each other. We love our husbands and our children. We joke that we get along so well because we are both middle children. She is one of the finest people I have ever known. I can’t fix what is happening in her life, but I can use what I have, my artistic gift, to let her know that she is loved and thought about. So tonight I decided to make my project for her. She will be mad at me, she says I give her too much, but she is wrong. She has given me through her friendship more than I can ever repay. She loves pears. To eat, to wear, (her favorite pear sweater), she has pears all around her house, I think she needs one more. I raved about the wood burning and the pearl paint when I did the table. I’ve been anxious to try something else. I have some scrap wood in the garage, so I drew a quick sketch of some pears, and pear flowers, and grabbed the wood burner. I have barely begun to paint it, but it is late, so I will post part of the started project. I know my friend will read this, she is so very supportive of what I am doing, so I don’t want her to see it all yet.

In addition to tonight’s post is a quick pen sketch. I had a lovely day in the vineyards with Dan. As we sat on the terrace of one of the wineries I drew the scene in front of me. I have photos of this same location and think it just might need to become the inspiration for a painting.leoness photo

Back To Normal

Last night I posted a page that was part of a larger project. Several weeks ago I published photos of other pieces. A box that I covered with book pages, the inside cover had a copy of a page from an old drawing book. I also created a page with a photo of myself as a child, again with words and phrases that were of significance to me. That was as far as I had gotten, I put it to the side and considered it a work in process. I had created another page that I hadn’t posted. It is a page with a photo of me as a twenty year old, and again there are words. What this box has become is a journal of sorts. Each page I have made thus far has been on a day when I was struggling with my project. I am using the pages and the box to express some of what is going on in my head on those days. I decided today that I will continue to work on the box over the course of the project to help me express the difficulties and the good days too. I will be attaching the pages to the box tomorrow. For tonight a simple drawing. Pen and ink of a tree. I love trees and the texture of bark. I really enjoyed drawing tonight. I’ve stopped obsessing about the conversation of the other night and I’m back to the reason for all of this, Art! image