Showing posts with label book art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book art. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Alchemy

Artist Jacqui Beck's thoughts about a series she's painting called Inside Outside accompany me as I begin working on a new painting. She articulates the following in a short video:

As an artist I bring my inside outside,

Who I am gets expressed into the work.

How I think about the world,

How I encounter the world,

How I experience the world

Coming inside me,

Getting churned around,

And then coming out in my work.


At the tail end of a(nother!) day filled with more cyber challenges than I can handle with any grace, let alone savvy, I am called strongly to play with line and color. I am pulled to paint on a page torn from a copy of Little Women given to my daughter by my mother, a book that ends up becoming, decades down the road, a comforting art journal for me during a dark time. One of the pages has paint on it from two years ago, an expression of my inside manifesting itself outside in that place at that time. And, of course, whatever is inside has been forged by many outside encounters and experiences. 

I grab a paint pen now and begin drawing lines around patches of paint to create shapes. 

The outside that influences and impacts the inside churns around unceasingly and, as an artist, that who-I-am gets expressed into my work every single time I paint.

The alchemy amazes and sustains me.



work in progress



Thursday, May 5, 2022

I Am the Boss of Me!

I have a vivid first grade memory. 

Teacher distributes a mimeographed worksheet with eight circles drawn on it; each circle has a color word printed below it. 

Directions: Use crayons to fill in each circle with the color named below it.

Easy peasy. I recognize the color words. I begin coloring.

Teacher circulates around the room to check on our progress.

Teacher stops me from using a back-and-forth motion with my crayon, informs me that the correct way to color each figure is with a circular motion, insists I do so.

What??! 

I am still annoyed.

But! I am now The Boss of Me, and I get to color any which way I choose.



A Cheerful One-Room Schoolhouse
5.5 x 8"; ink, acrylic, and oil pastel
on a book page
abstract
2022

———






Sunday, March 1, 2020

Blast from the Past

During my junior year in high school when the Beatles and Stones were rocking the pop music world, I simultaneously held a soft spot for the three-part harmony of the Letterman as they sang sentimental tunes such as Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing.

That tune surfaced today as I reflected on the history of my recent painting below. I found myself singing the following in full voice, with the imagined swell of several violins in accompaniment: art is a many-layered thing!

Once on a High and Windy Hill
7 x 9"; acrylic, pencil, color sticks, collage, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract floral
2020

History of a many-layered thing:

  

 











Friday, February 28, 2020

Transition

I first thought of the two-page spread below as transition pieces, each piece with one foot planted in my time in Virginia this winter and the other foot planted in my first two weeks back at home in Massachusetts.

Then I wondered, Isn't every painting a transition piece? Isn't every brushstroke one of flux, capturing movement from one moment to the next? Doesn't every painting reflect transition, a journey?

an illusion of permanence

Friday, February 14, 2020

Marblehead

I live on the North Shore of Boston not far from the picturesque coastal New England town of Marblehead, Massachusetts.

A regional expression we use as a way to acknowledge the sudden realization of something obvious:

Dawn breaks over Marblehead!

I pause this morning to evaluate the day-after-day frustration of trying to get decent photos of book pages I've painted, pages that I leave bound in the book, pages that curl up, won't lie flat, have shadows near the binding, and so forth.

Dawn breaks over my hard stony head: I can step back and let go of perfect!


To Wake When All Is Possible
Before the Agitations of the Day Grip You
7 x 9"; acrylic and hand-painted collage
abstract
2020

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Unseen Forces

So many forces at work that we are not able to see with the naked eye.

Harnessing My Belief That Something Wonderful Is About to Happen
7 x 9"; acrylic, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on a book page
abstract
2020

Monday, February 10, 2020

Elemental Wonder

I have early childhood memories of being at the seashore, of taking evening walks with Grandpa Chase beside a sea wall along Long Island Sound in Connecticut, hearing the splash and whisper of waves, breathing in smells of tidal gurry, noticing shingled cottages with reflecting balls in their flower gardens across the street from the water, feeling rough stone against the backs of my legs while sitting on the sea wall savoring the sweet conversational attention of my grandpa.

The mystery and elemental wonder of the sea found its way into my heart back then when I was still losing baby teeth. And there it has stayed.

I have made my home just minutes from the Atlantic coast for decades now.

For the past two months, however, I've lived in Shenandoah Valley surrounded by vast stretches of open land bordered in every direction by mountains.

And yet, it is the saltwater of my soul that has been speaking through my hand and brushes in recent days as I've painted.

 A Poem Come from Silence
7 x 9"; acrylic, latex, collage, color sticks, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract seascape
2020

Sunday, February 9, 2020

Baby Steps, Baby Steps

I think my perception in college was that the kids taking art classes were already artists, the ones taking poetry classes were already poets. How was it that I didn't really get that students take classes to study? That they choose to reach into new and unknown places to learn new things? That anyone can take an art class?

I could feel regret now, looking back.

But, no worries! If I don't learn something one way I usually learn it another way. And mostly not in classes designed to instruct me in something I specifically set out to learn. Rather, if I stay open-hearted and curious, learning is there for the learning just about anywhere and anytime.

Actually, when it comes down to it, open-hearted and curious are not even prerequisites.

Lessons have a way of finding me.

A recent 'art lesson' appeared embedded in the neural retraining seminar in which the concept of incremental training was addressed. While extreme avoidance may decrease symptoms in the short term, in the long run, it may actually be reinforcing the fear association to the stimulus. Incremental training can be broken down into very simple terms: determine the ways you currently feel limited; then be creative in the ways you work with that challenge.

So, yeah, art class. Anywhere, anytime.

an increment; work in progress
another increment; work in progress
another increment; work in progress

Friday, February 7, 2020

Watch Your Language, Young Lady!

I have a vivid memory from childhood: my friend Betty sasses her mother who says Watch your language, young lady! and washes Betty's mouth out with soap; Betty exits the bathroom blowing bubbles.

I'm thinking today about the power of language.

On the Optimal Health Highway, there aren't any speed limits. Whatever speed you travel is the speed you travel.

But there are language limits. No talk about symptoms, no talk of illness. Instead: challenges, opportunities.

OK. We're game—we commit to playing by the rules, we watch our language.

Skies immediately brighten. It is indeed very different to hear Meg say, with a bit of lightness in her voice, Wow, lots of opportunities today! instead of … oops, I'm not going to articulate the instead-of, am I?! The brightness, the lightness—they're contagious and they effect a favorable difference in how I feel, too, and in how I participate in interactions.

It takes two days for me to recognize and integrate the deeper force at work. A wave of limbic dysregulation really is an opportunity—not just euphemistically, but literally. Each flare provides an opportunity to practice the training steps, and the practice will be more effective if Meg consciously interrupts the limbic system when it's in the process of an overactive misfire.

Each flare is an opportunity to redirect and build new neural pathways in the brain.

Bring it on!

So it is with painting, too.

Think back to Jacqui Beck's modus operandi:
I painted so much black over this.
Yes. Yes, I did.
What next?

An opportunity! Multiple opportunities! Opportunities everywhere!

work in progress; opportunities everywhere!

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Change of Address

Road trip! Road trip!

Closing ceremonies have been held at Lyme Camp, and now we're cruisin' the Optimal Health Highway!

At Takodah, everyone receives a white candle on a small round of birch at a candlelight service the last night of camp. The following morning everyone leaves for home with candles, memories, and dreams of returning the following year.

Lyme Camp's a little different. We're not leaving a physical place; we're leaving a mindset. We leave with protocol medications and supplements still firmly in hand (new ones still to come), many memories, gratitude beyond measure for all that we've learned and all the ways we've grown, and no plans to return.

We've pointed ourselves with commitment and laser focus towards the home base of wellness, navigating the Optimal Health Highway with neural retraining as our GPS. We're actually building the highway ourselves as we go!

Very good.

Very good.

Yay!

work in progress

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Unexpected

Yesterday's churning seas tossed up unexpected bounty.

I set out to layer, layer, layer.

Got the beginnings of one layer in place, stepped back.

Spied a lobster.

Wasn't expecting that.

Let some rapid-fire short-lived intuitive oil pastel-play express itself.

Stopped.

No Carry-on Luggage Allowed
7x9"; acrylic, pencil, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract
2020

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Going Your Way

It Is Going Your Way: Towards Darkness, Towards Light
7 x 4.5"; acrylic, latex, oil pastel, color sticks, and collage
on a book page
abstract seascape
2020
If Something Is In Your Way, It Is Going Your Way
7 x 4.5"; acrylic, latex, oil pastel, color sticks, and collage
on a book page
abstract seascape
2020

-----


diptych

  
  



Monday, February 3, 2020

What Next?

I left off painting and musing yesterday with a whole bunch of white and the question, What next?

what came next, WIP

Sunday, February 2, 2020

"Curiouser and Curiouser!"

Lyme Camp now includes intensive education about neural retraining exercises that calm an overactive limbic system stuck in the on position. A component of the program includes becoming the Curious Observer of what is. 

To notice without being reactive.

To notice without buying into all the false messages the limbic loop presents as truth and repeats at full volume ad nauseam.

To stay curious, open.

I am no stranger to being a curious observer but my engagement with neural retraining here is a gift that increases my mindfulness and moves me to become a more steadfast and curious observer than I might otherwise be.

Seattle artist Jacqui Beck has a video that delights me every time I watch it, addressing as it does the curious observer attitude she brings to her work. 

Oh man, this thing
     Jacqui says, observing with curiosity and playfulness as she paints. 
This black,
I painted so much black over this.
Yes. Yes, I did.
Now what?

---

Oh man, this thing,
     I say as curious observer today while I paint.
This white,
I painted so much white over this.
Yes. Yes, I did.
Now what?

another layer; WIP


Thursday, January 30, 2020

Complaint Department

Complaining comes naturally to me.

Totally second nature.

A ready default response to all manner of circumstances, no circumstance too small.

Hold that thought, and picture me waiting in the checkout line at Stop & Shop overhearing the following conversation between Louise the checker and the customer ahead of me.

Louise: Hi, how are you? 

Customer: Nothing to complain about.

Graphic-novel-style thought bubble above my head:

SERIOUSLY???

NOTHING???

I CAN HELP YOU!!!

-----

Gratitude/simple pleasures:
• the quiet sifting-down-from-the-sky of just-barely-accumulating snow;
• the reflection on windows above the kitchen sink of metallic decorations from Emmy's 10th birthday party, creating the illusion of flickering colored lights on the leafless pear tree in the back yard; and
• remembering from Camp Takodah days this breakfast-time 200-voice-strong chant—
     ToDAY I'm going to be happy,  
     ToDAY I'm going to be glad,
     ToDAY is the day that's GOing to be,
     The BEST day I ever had!


yet another layer of pasta-pot steam on the window; WIP

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Camp Program

When I attended Camp Takodah as a camper, and later as a cabin leader, the programing structure was tight, the rules strict. Infractions tended to be slight, in amusingly inverse proportion to the severity of feared punishment. Sneaking a box of Dunkin Donuts onto camp property after a leaders' night off, for example, was high crime, and we went to great lengths not to get caught.

Lyme Camp is characterized by neither tight structure nor strict rules. And yet I find myself doing some 'sneaking' even here, keeping an eye trained—in this active, busy, be-ready-at-all-times-to-respond-in-the-moment kind of operation that calls for significant presence of mind and availability—for little snippets of time in which I can pick up my paints and a brush without getting 'caught.'

another layer of pasta-pot steam on the window; WIP

Sunday, January 26, 2020

What's Cookin'?

You know how pasta boiling on your stovetop expresses itself in steam on your kitchen windows? Its energy and story make themselves known graphically, without words, without sound. And then evaporate, giving a fresh view out the windows.

That's what painting here at Lyme Camp often reminds me of. In about the same amount of time it takes to bring dry orecchiette or linguine to a lovely al dente, my internal energy and story express themselves in paint, without words, without sounds. And then, a day later, or three, dissipate, giving a fresh view as—in this case—a new layer covers a prior one.

today's pasta steam on the window; WIP

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Evanescence and Consolation

From Ruth Ozeki's novel All Over Creation, which I read seventeen years ago and about which I remember nothing at the moment, this tiny poem posing originally as prose:

Life is evanescent
but left to itself
it rarely fails
to offer
some consolation.

---

Gratitude/simple pleasures:

• the tik tik of expansion as the cast iron wood stove heats up;
• the grace of these words of poetry that found their way to my eyes early this morning—the wind is blowing out of someplace we do not know; and
• ten minutes outdoors, turning my eyes to the encircling Shenandoah, Blue Ridge, Allegheny, and Appalachian mountain ranges.


The Wind Is Blowing Out of Someplace We Do Not Know
metallic latex, acrylic, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract
2020

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

What Does She DO All Day?

I have a vivid memory of coworker Mary Jane's stopping by the supervisors' office at Landmark School over forty years ago with her weeks-old son. She was the first of my group of colleagues to have a baby. She reported that she couldn't get anything done—could barely get to the bathroom or take a shower or eat. We cooed over her baby's soft skin, took turns holding him, admired his cute little outfit.

Several of us scratched our heads after Mary Jane left, asking each other, "What the heck does she do all day with that baby? How hard can it be?"

hahahahahahaha.

Not only did we find out soon enough on our own what she was talking about, but also …

here I am at Lyme Camp, scratching my head again at how a life situation can turn a previously orderly, intentional, productive, and in-control modus operandi upside down, inside out, and sideways.

Control?

An illusion.

We're never in control.

We just suspend disbelief.

Or forget.


The Thresholds Where Dualities Meet Each Other
acrylic, color sticks, oil pastel, and pencil on a book page
abstract landscape
2020