IV Infusion

Investigative 

vulnerability. 

That's the infusion that penetrates the cells in my body as I conduct my surrender experiment. I move organically and intuitively from mark to color to splatter to snip to adhesion to completion. 

I generate a rectangular tiny-art painting and then cast about my messy studio for materials with which to create finishing touches. I mount the painting on black paper just barely larger than the painting itself so as to contain the composition by outline. Then, in riffling through a bin of potential collage material, I bump into a gardening calendar page featuring up-close-and-personal, larger-than-life Gerbera daisies.

Bingo!

A frame!

Telegram From the Heart: Sit Out in the Sun
4 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, pencil, ink, and collage
on canvas-textured paper
abstract
2021

Surrender Experiment

Mid-afternoon, I let myself stand still. 

Fully.

Physically and mentally.

Cleared the kinks from my body, the clutter from my mind.

Decided to act on inspiration from a post written by my friend Simone.

Grabbed a tiny piece of paper canvas.

Scribbled with a mechanical pencil.

Grabbed quinacridone nickel azo gold.

Used my finger to spread some color.

Added some white gesso.

Felt great to surrender to whatever transpired.

tiny art start on paper canvas

The Inner Life of Hibernation, 4

In discussing her coming to understand that God loves her no matter what, no matter what, no matter what, Shauna Niequist, author of Present Over Perfect, writes these words that jump off the page at me, feeling up close and personal:

I can't imagine anything more life-changing for an earner like me.

detail from work in progress
36 x 36", acrylic

The Inner Life of Hibernation, 3

In Present Over Perfect, Niequist adds:

[God's] love is secure
no matter what,
no matter what,
no matter what.
No matter what I do
or don't do.

detail from work in progress
36 x 36", acrylic

The Inner Life of Hibernation, 2

Speaking about God's love, Shauna Niequist continues in Present Over Perfect:

And also that there's nothing

I can do in this new day

to ruin or break that love—

nothing.

detail from work in progress
36 x 36"; acrylic on canvas

The Inner Life of Hibernation

Shauna Niequist writes in Present Over Perfect:

Before the day begins—

I remind myself what is true:

that God loves me,

and that there is nothing I can do 

in this new day 

to earn more love—

nothing.

detail from work in progress
36 x 36", acrylic on canvas

You Can Lead a Horse to Water

... but you can't make it drink.

As you may recall, I had a happy little patch going at a trot in Core Values a number of days ago.

Led it to water.

It ran away.

---

Took a happy little sister patch out for a run two days ago. Led it to water yesterday.

Same thing.

It took off! 

Not too far, but it wanted no part of taking a drink.

So I took a long drink of water as well as a long deep breath; will have to see what I can sort out.

patch in progress

Furnishing

I recently read an exquisitely written memoir by David Giffels entitled Furnishing Eternity.

When I paint, I think I furnish not eternity but right-now. At least sometimes. Often enough, in any case, to bring me back to my studio day after day.

Giffels, telling the story of using a router outfitted with a tongue-in-groove bit to shape the edge of a long pine board, gives words to what I think of as the now of painting: An hour passed, then another. Eventually, I became one with the process, a transformation I've always savored. First one enters the work, then the work enters oneself.

First I enter the work, then the work enters me. I am grateful each and every time the work enters me.

There has already been much back and forth with my patch in progress below. I enter the work, the work enters me, I enter the work, the work enters me.

Gonna let it "chill" overnight and see what I think tomorrow.

 

---

History thus far:

    


     

        

          

Another Quiet Gray Winter Afternoon

Tiny tweaks.

A title.

And spray paint on the message side of the postcard!

The Land Rolls a Little Like the Sea
4x5"; acrylic, ink, and collage on card stock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Quiet Gray Winter Afternoon

Moseyed into my studio on a quiet gray afternoon last week and enjoyed the weatherlessness of starting another card for my pink collage postcard series.

Fun:

• tearing pieces of handpainted pink collage paper;
• tearing and cutting pieces of handpainted black collage paper;
• cutting a piece of black and gray collage (the vertical strip left of center) from a Shutterfly calendar I made using images of paintings from a Jane Davies class I took in 2016;
• arranging and rearranging all the bits and pieces into a composition;
• spreading glue;
• pressing all the bits in place; and

Funny:

• discovering, once done, that instead of covering the printed side of the piece of card stock I'd garnered from a recent solicitation from my son's alma mater, I had covered the blank side, leaving myself no place to write a message on my postcard!

This piece has been under refrigeration for a few days. It could stand as is (once I paint over the message side of the card!), but I'm going to take one more look tomorrow, after it's been online overnight, and consider some possible tweaks before making a final decision.

work in progress

oops!

Popping Out Postcards

A painting exercise I did two years ago using cruciform composition caught my eye today. A cut-up holiday card sat on the same dresser-top. One thing led to another.

A Whole New Generation of Time Researchers Has Evolved
4x5"; acrylic, latex, fabric and India ink, pastels, and collage on card stock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Pretty Darned Good

I'm pretty darned good at making accurate time estimates in my day-to-day living.

But in my art-making?

I Thought We Said the End of the Month
4x5"; latex, acrylic, ink, pastels, and collage on card stock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Moseying into Monday

I've got one eye open, my nose sniffing the air; I'm just starting to stir after my self-crafted hibernation of the past two weeks or so.

Yesterday a post from Nicholas Wilton landed in my inbox. 

I went to delete it because, well, because I was hibernating, ya know? But I noticed the title: HOW TO START AFTER YOU HAVE STOPPED. 

Wilton made mention of having to regain buoyancy and momentum.

Indeed.

I play with a postcard today—tear and cut some collage paper painted awhile back, tear some pieces from a calendar page, get my hands sticky with glue.

Might just curl up and take a nap now.

Into the Great, Wild Dark
4x5"; acrylic, pencil, ink, and collage on stock paper
abstract
2018