Some might look at today's outcome from my time in my studio and see a scribble. My mom, for example, were she alive, would probably see just that and wonder why I consider it art.
After a considerable stretch of discomfort with my art in recent weeks, I reveled in a totally satisfying free-flow of expressive creative energy today, and, when I look, here's what I see hidden in plain sight on the page:
• I'm missing my dad today. Again. Still. Piercingly.
• Jane Davies has been exploring an inquiry related to scribbling for which I am grateful.
• My studio is a mess.
• I have been feeling bunched up, aimless, dissatisfied with recent paintings I've started.
• I miss making postcards for my dad.
• We're having a gentle snow day here in my neck of the woods.
• Sylvia and I have been talking tons about all manner of topics tied to art and to our own personal art.
• I'm wearing the chickens-and-chicken-wire pattern sweater my mom knit for me decades ago.
• I picked up a new book at the library this afternoon and have an engaging audiobook in progress also.
• Dave and I watched a fascinating webinar last evening about elements of musical genius in the songs of the Beatles.
Can you see it all?
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| Pain Pushes Until Vision Pulls 4.5 x 6"; acrylic paint marker and water-soluble pastel on a book page abstract 2023 |
6 comments:
As I am looking, on the TV is a tense, dramatic montage, and hyper excited, violin music. The perfect pairing. Haha. I am seeing the music. :)
Sheila—wow! Thank you for your feedback!
Seeing and hearing the pain and loss. Love scribbling sort of lets you free because you aren't thinking of the end result, liberating. Maybe find another recipient, maybe your granddaughter that you paint with.
Carol, thanks for hug of thoughtful comments. You've got me brainstorming now : )
I am sure that your father wouldn't want you to stop making those beautiful cards!
❤️
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