Presence

New each and every time, the way painting a tiny bit of paper real estate permeates me with here and now. 

I am fully in my body.

Courtesy of an overhead fan, breezes cool my bare arms and legs. 

Color dances in front of me. 

The mail truck traces up and down my neighborhood on its stop-and-start route, its engine distinct from all others that travel Prospect Street. 

Sharpie pens and later Krylon Triple Thick Clear Glaze High Gloss Aerosol Spray (I know, I know, my bad for using indoors) fill the air with their signature scents. 

Lightning-speed traffic buzzes on the information highways of my body, connecting hand, eye, brain, arm, paint, water, ink, oil pastel, and a way teensy brush appropriated from the box in which a bottle of essential oil was packaged.

From nothing to something. New each and every time.

Most of My Research Surprises Me
and Kicks My Ass
1.5 x 6" bookmark
ink, watercolor, gouache, and oil pastel
on a Funk & Wagnalls dictionary page
abstract
2022

Cartography

I make a map for my day.

And then I get off track.

All good!

I Am a Mapmaker and a Traveler
1.5 x 6" bookmark
ink, watercolor, gouache, and oil pastel
on a Funk & Wagnalls dictionary page
abstract
2022

 

Figure-Ground Perception

Chop, chop!

I swung the blade of my paper trimmer today, extracting slim rectangles from my work in progress.

My eyes kept dancing between alternating perceptions as I worked on the extractions. With the larger context removed, a given piece would present as a deep fathomless black background with shapes floating in what appeared to be outer space, especially when I was working close. Then, I'd perch the piece at arm's length and suddenly I could see thick black lines superimposed over colorful shapes that had receded below those criss-crossed streets paved with a Sharpie chisel-tip marker.

And, of course, that is how my days unfold in any case, always shifting between figure and ground, sorting what in my lived experience is illusion from what is not.

In a State of Pure Attentiveness
1.5 x 6" bookmark; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel
on a book page mounted on card stock
abstract
2022
[gift]

On the Receiving End of Unfolding Wisdom
1.5 x 6" bookmark; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel
on a book page mounted on card stock
abstract
2022

[gift]

All Hands on Deck

I use my hands to create my art; I bring what is inside outside through the agency of my physical body, most specifically my hands.

Yesterday, when writing (also using my hands) my blog post, I noticed I used the expression at hand. I caught myself musing about the expression to hand, an expression I think is the British version of the same concept, i.e. to have something conveniently nearby. 

Similarly, if someone or something is on hand, they are nearby and able to be used if needed.

Then there's the word handy which gets rid of the above potpourri of prepositions altogether.

So, the opening sentence of yesterday's post started with these words:

    I continue to grab what's at hand.

I could have easily have said any of the following:

    I continue to grab what's to hand.

    I continue to grab what's on hand.

    I continue to grab what's handy. 

Or, I could have phrased my thought in the manner of my youngest sister, Marjorie, who as a child evidently subconsciously sorted out the existing options and created her own:

    I continue to grab what's on handy.

On handy! Top choice, hands down, and one that remains in my active personal lexicon.

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I have moved my current neuroart experiment along since yesterday, and here's what I have on handy to share with you.

work in progress