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.

---

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

Grab and GO!

I continue to grab what's at hand and then just GO!

Today I grab the 1927 Funk & Wagnalls Practical Standard Dictionary originally owned by Mrs. Carr Brackett of Monhegan Island, much later available for the taking at some kind of help-yourself clearing out of books somewhere on the island (perhaps set on a table in front of Monhegan's L. Brackett & Son grocery?), picked up by artist Judy Caldwell, and generously given to me by Judy when we painted together one summer morning.

I tear out a page, grab my Sharpie chisel-tip marker, and I'm off and running. I have a loose 'plan,' a plan that has an intended end 'product' and an intention to go where the painting takes me in the making.

grab-and-go work in progress

Afternoon Fix

I reach a point nearly every day now where I feel a hankering to get my creative fix via restorative neuroart.

Today:

Grabbed a piece of unsolicited mail printed on good card stock. Turned it to its blank side.

Reached for my container of ink pens.

Cast my eyes about for something I could use as a reference for a sketch, wondering how blind contour drawing and the rounding-the-corners nature of neuroart might marry.

Way fun.

Love the organic unavoidable imprecision of blind contour drawing.

Love the inner hush that comes from the neuroart practice of smoothing all the linear intersections.

Love this little sketch.

A Kind of Miracle, I'd Say
3.25 x 8"; ink on card stock
abstract blind contour sketch
2022

Therapy

Midafternoon yesterday, I got the itch for ink pen in hand. I grabbed the first thing that caught my eye, a piece of card stock which had as its first life to sport a table number at Scott and Alisa's wedding and to invite guests to Save Room for Dancing*. I'd painted the start of a so-called chaos layer on it at least two years ago to obscure the text on the card. Then it sat in my studio since pre-pandemic days.

Perfect.

The therapy is palpable.

Haven't yet decided if this is a 'completed' sketch or work in progress.

Have decided to see what else is up for grabs and up for neurographia in my studio this afternoon.

Save Room for Dancing
5 x 7"; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on card stock
abstract
2022

* If you look closely, you might discern some of the text!

More What If

What if I tear another patch of food wrap paper with lifted paint on it and adhere it to a square of watercolor paper with matte medium?

What if I search through my pens-and-markers stash to find a fine-tip pen with ink still flowing?

What if I blur my vision, soften my mind, and then trace whatever fine lines ask to be traced on my collaged food wrap?

What if I keep responding intuitively and playfully to the marks I make?

What if I stop here?

To See More Fully What There Is to See
7 x 7"; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on watercolor paper
abstract
2022

And then, what if I rotate this piece clockwise 45˚?!

On Stage

My latest neurographic art, with all its many embedded backstories. Thanks for joining me behind the seens.

 

There Is Always More to Tell Than Can Be Told
4.5 x 6"; acrylic, ink, collage, and oil pastel
on drawing paper
abstract
2022