The sea has always
whispered to me,
all down my life
it’s been there.
And with that endless
restlessness
come other sounds—
seagulls shrieking and
mast wires clinking as boats shift;
pebbles turning and
waves tapping sea-worn rocks.
—Jules Hardy, Altered Land
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Saltwater Whispers, Sea-Worn Rocks 5 x 7"; acrylic, ink, and watercolor pencil on card stock abstract 2022 |
I was really hankering to settle in with some linework and rounding of corners Wednesday afternoon but I was on the fly, prepping for a day trip to Maine the following day.
I circled back to the idea of wanting to try my hand at a neurographic painting on a neutral atmospheric background, an idea that had caught my attention a few weeks ago.
Only got as far as the neutral atmospheric background.
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a start |
I spruce up yesterday's messy-middle work in progress—I mix colors to match early layers, paint additional layers for more depth, bring more fullness and polish to the piece. I get out my ink pens, sharpen the definition of lines, clean up edges.
Then, nothing.
The painting isn't in a mood for conversation. It still seems to be in a middle place, now a tidy-middle, a cleaned-up version of itself, a middle that nods off and falls asleep.
I turn my attention to other pursuits.
Some hours later, I return to find that little painting wide awake, chatty, and interactional. It's not shy about prodding and nudging.
Get messy, it exhorts. Splash around a little! Get some sand between your toes!
So, I do.
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Splashing at the Water's Edge 4.5 x 6"; ink, acrylic, and oil pastel on drawing paper abstract 2022 |
I've long been a bit of an archivist.
I started writing a journal in 9th grade to vent my extreme irritation that my younger sister Laurey had somehow wheedled a rule-breaking extra cookie for dessert. Following that start, I kept journals faithfully and regularly for about 20 years.
I started a diary of sorts my senior year in high school, using an engagement calendar, in which I jotted activities, books I'd read, correspondence, and the like. I continue that practice.
I started keeping photo albums once I had children and kept up with albums until my kids were grown and on their own.
I like having personal archives I can reference for all manner of reasons … including messy middles, which brings me around to this blog of mine in which I have been keeping a record of my painting adventures for the past seven years, starting a year after I took up painting.
I love seeing process both in my own blog and those of other artists. I love seeing starts. I love seeing messy middles. I love seeing starts and messy middles resolve into completed paintings.
Here is today's messy middle, a rough draft, if you will. It awaits revision, editing, and polishing. I'm eager to see what surprises emerge once I begin playing around with it.
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messy middle—work in progress |
You know how good-byes feel.
How the air gets excited
when all its ions
and electrical charges
are disrupted,
first by the intent to leave and
after
by the leaving itself.
Then,
when the bodies move away
through space,
they create empty pockets
where feelings get caught
and eddy around in the vacuum,
creating little vortices
of sadness.
—Ruth Ozeki, All Over Creation
That's how it felt when Martha left on Sunday after a laughter-rich five-day cross-country visit.
I selected a sheet of drawing paper, picked up markers, and turned to mark-making and softening sharp corners.
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little vortices of sadness as a work in progress |
Well, really, my question is this: which comes first on trees, blossoms or leaves?
Depends on the tree. They don't all follow the same sequence.
My bare branches blossomed first and then began leafing out.
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Springing Forth from the Ground of Being 4.5 x 6"; ink, collage, and acrylic on drawing paper abstract 2022 |
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experiment in progress |
