I was definitely over optimistic about this door project. It is taking me much longer than anticipated, and will most like turn into a four-day project. I’m really enjoying the process, but it is definitely time-consuming. I applied two coats of gesso to the fabric, but the texture is definitely rougher than using a canvas that has been factory prepared. I’m using some Folk Art floating medium which is certainly helping. I started with only Titanium White and Yellow Ochre on my palette, initially thinking that I wanted to work in only two colors, but I wasn’t achieving the depth I was looking for. I added some Folk Art Metallic Taupe to the mix and it was perfect. I didn’t really have a particular design in mind when I started, sort of the “flying by the seat of my pants” work I enjoy. Here’s my problem now, it’s a problem I often encounter, I’m falling in love with this piece. I have a very intimate relationship with much of the work I produce. I’ve denied my artistic soul for so long that I often fall head over heels for the piece of the moment. The thought of selling my work is something I have yet to come to terms with. I’ve been selling things for years of course, but mostly the kind of craft stuff that I just don’t care that much about. I sold my first painting at fifteen, and not much since then, but I can’t keep everything. I would also like to earn a living at this, I can’t do that if I can’t let go. Many years ago in response to my Dad giving my work away, I began to give my work to my boyfriend. Then we broke up. It meant I broke up with my paintings as well. I heard through the grapevine that his apartment was robbed, and to add insult to injury the thief or thieves put a knife through one of his paintings, my painting. I was heartsick. I really do put so much of myself in my work, even the craft stuff that I claim to not care about. The thought of selling my work and never seeing it again kills me. (Do you think I could arrange for visitation?) I know I will have photographs to look at, but it just isn’t the same. I’ve agonized over it here in this blog before, I still haven’t bitten the bullet, but I will. I took the first step by opening a Facebook page to begin showing the work. I’m hoping to start listing prints on etsy soon. As for original pieces (I think I just felt my heart drop) those are next. Someone will break my heart and take my babies away. This is assuming anyone wants to buy them. Maybe I’ll just be happily ensconced in my piles of work by the time I hit my seventy-fifth birthday. I’ll leave all my work to my kids. (They had better like it, it’s all they’ll be getting)
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Finding Meaning In The Words Of Others
I started a new piece of upcycling the cabinet doors tonight. I decided to turn one into a table. There are recessed panels in the doors, which call to be filled. So far there has been the child’s chalkboard, the cheese tray, the menu board, and the piece of art I made for Dan with the business card from our anniversary dinner in Paris. It occurred to me today as I looked at one that the surface could easily be used as a table if I cut a piece of glass to set into the recess. I began to tinker with the idea of creating a piece of art to put under the glass and turned to my new-found love of pen and ink. I decided to draw an open book, but then decided the book needed to be written in. I have mentioned my love of quotes. I went in search of one pertaining to books and found this one by Cicero, “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” I feel that way. I consider myself very lucky to have what I have in my life. Things are not perfect, Dan is still looking for a job, my Dad is getting older, and more frail, my knees like to remind me daily that they are not happy, but I am. We are readers, we love books, there are people who think we own too many books, though I strongly disagree, one can never have too many books. From our living room/library windows there is a view of our beautiful garden. One of the pleasures of Southern California is that there is always something in bloom. I can sit in that room with the person I love, surrounded by the books I love, and gaze out at the beauty in the garden, my own little heaven on earth.
In my search for a quote I also came across another that really spoke to me:
“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” Issac Asimov
I mentioned my knees, I have often said that I will take all the pain that my knees have to offer, but I can never lose my hands. Mr. Asimov’s quote is the perfect explanation of my blog, and a perfect explanation of my creativity. I spoke last night of the disconnect between what is in my head and what I hope to put on canvas. I may not get exactly what I want, but all that I am comes through these hands. I struggle daily to think of what it is I want to do artistically, but every night I sit here in front of this computer and think, and then I type. I never plan on what to write, I simply sit here and it flows out of me. I have always loved to write. I have many short stories in notebooks, and pages of poetry. I don’t share most of it with anyone. Dan of course has been the recipient of more than a few poems. Now I’m wondering if its time for those other pieces to see the light of day as well. Something to think about.
More work to be done on this piece. A last-minute addition of a trompe l’oeil pencil. I also think the addition of some color around the edges is called for, but that will have to wait until morning.