The Light of Attention

I step from my study into my bedroom, thinking I've forgotten to turn out a light.

But, no! The light left on is early morning sunlight bursting through the eastern-facing skylight to splash onto wall, chair, carpet, and dresser with unabashed brilliance.

Something else that finds its way to my attention this morning: a line from the novel I am currently listening to.

Shake hands

with your decision

and move on.

Unabashed Conversation
4 x 5.5" postcard; acrylic, oil pastel, and collage
on card stock
abstract
2022

Noticings

I step into each day with … well, with steps! 

The ditty on Dave's phone gently nudges us from rest to wakefulness, we move out from under the covers and make up the bed, and I dress and head outdoors into the velvet of predawn for my daily prayer walk of 5,000-6,000 steps. 

With my feet in motion, I set intentions, open my heart to listen and notice.

From there the rest of the day unfolds, with all its colors and layers and surprises and mistakes and excavations and accomplishments and inadvertencies. 

I notice where my attention is as often as I'm able.

The following passage by Myla Kabat-Zinn in Everyday Blessings catches my attention a few days ago. It is exactly what I need to hear.

My ten-year-old daughter, in bed, lights out, says to me:

“Mommy, I feel so confused.”

I reply: “What are you confused about?”

She says: “I don’t know, I just feel confused.”

I struggle with my urge to make it better … “It’s okay to feel confused.”

She says: “It is?”

I say: “Yes, it is.”

Phone Conversation on a Snow Day
4 x 5.5" postcard; acrylic, collage, and oil pastel
on card stock
abstract
2022

 

Scrappy, part II

My dad and mom, born in 1926 and 1929 respectively, are the ones whose early childhood years take place during the Great Depression of 1929-1939. 

I'm the baby-boomer who grows up in a time of plenty but who has a mile-high stack of good-on-one-side paper at the ready for further service, who saves fabric scraps and buttons and ribbon and elastic bands, who reuses items until they are threadbare and beyond re-use.

At some point—before I start painting in 2014? after? can't remember—I begin amassing what becomes a scrumptious and sizable collection of print matter of every hue, collected from magazines, calendars, and junk mail, which I sort by color for use as collage. The best!

When I set out to make what becomes the series of postcards featured in my blog the past three days, I'm not thinking collage. But collage is what becomes the fun and flow of making those cards; collage becomes the fuel that sets my creative energy on fire. 

I rummage through my scrap collection looking first to match the background ink colors of magazine pages to the acrylic paint colors I've brushed into place, a very appealing visual task. Then I scrutinize for words that intrigue or resonate or bristle or surprise. Next come the very satisfying tactile tasks of tearing and gluing. Finally, after making discerning selections, affixing them with the greatest of care, and fussing attentively to detail, I subject the completed work to my paper cutter, letting the blade fall where it will with regard to the art, boldly chopping the completed piece into three postcards!

A scrappy little project from a scrappy little artist.

project as painted/collaged on a 5.25 x 11" piece of card stock

that was formerly a calendar page

project chopped into three postcards 

and rearranged just for fun

Scrappy

The word scrappy floated up in a hypnagogic moment of partial wakefulness during the night. It popped into my field of attention a second time in the light of day. 

scrappy • made of scraps; consisting of odds and ends; composed of disorganized, untidy, or incomplete parts; disconnected, disjointed

scrappy • having a determined spirit; feisty; exhibiting firmness of purpose and energetic pursuit of results; manifesting moxie or demonstrating grit; stepping into the arena

YES!

Look Around at the Terrain of Possibility
3.75 x 5.5" postcard, acrylic, collage, and oil pastel
on card stock
abstract
2022

Wide Open

OK, I have to tell you about a collage class I took probably 20 or more years ago. Local live class about twelve minutes from my home. First time I'd signed up for an art class probably since college back in the early 70's. Turned out to be horrible. 

Turned out I didn't really undertstand what collage was and I had no idea that it had any relationship to painting. Turned out the instructor was not a good fit. Turned out I cried driving home from class more than once. 

GOOD thing I had a friend who said, "You can drop the class, you know." Hadn't even occurred to me.

I dropped the class.

Whew! That was a relief.

---

Turns out all these years later: I LOVE COLLAGE! 

Who knew?!

The artist in me has her heart and soul wide open to the fun of it!

I present you with a little light reading here.

A Room Full of Open Windows and Doors
3.75 x 5.5" postcard, acrylic, collage, 
and oil pastel on card stock
abstract
2022

He Sees a Bug

He sees a bug 

that is smaller than a period 

on a page. 

He sees the sky, 

bigger than all that's in his head. 

An overwhelm 

from two different directions, 

vast and tiny, 

together.

     —Lauren Groff, Arcadia

---

This pint-sized postcard is nothing I could have envisioned before walking into my studio—and yet it is exactly what I sought.

Aim the Flashlight of Awareness on Your Own Interior
3.5 x 5.5" postcard; acrylic, collage, and oil pastel 
on card stock
abstract
2022

Beginner's Mind

I don't have to recreate beginner's mind as I return to painting after a significant-enough pause of most of many recent months. 

I am living beginner's mind. 

I am a beginner. 

What happens if I do this? 

And that?

doing this, doing that

This Fair Lady

Henry Higgins to Colonel Pickering, in My Fair Lady, about women: 

                                    Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags!

My head—the head of this fair lady artist—is decidedly full of cotton, hay, and rags lately. Nonetheless, off to my studio I go. I make a start at clearing my head.

tearing

gluing

moving color

Happy New Year!