Freezer therapy...

Pastel on paper from aeons ago…

Most of us have heard the story of the guy who adopted an ill-mannered parrot. The parrot had a hard life so the guy vowed to woo the parrot into changing with unfailing kindness. No matter what he tried the parrot was incorrigible. The parrot swore abusively, was rude, disrespectful and yet the guy held forth with forbearance. The parrot mocked and ridiculed the very person who saved him. This went on for some time with no effort on the part of the parrot to repent and change. One particularly difficult day, the guy lost his patience and tossed the parrot into the freezer hoping the parrot would cool off a bit. A couple of minutes later he opened the freezer and the parrot sidestepped docilely up his arm.

“Sir,” the parrot said, “I’m profoundly sorry for my ill-mannered behavior after you were kind enough to take me in. What I said and did was rude and loutish. It will never happen again.”

Very quietly the parrot asked,

“Sir, may I venture to ask what the chicken did?”

We drop the friend who is all about themselves, adroitly negotiate the intrusive co-worker, confront the abusive boss, and have at hand numerous ways to leave the narcissistic lover.

So. Why do we let our critic beat us up every time we attempt to make art, write the novel, play the concert, design a building or invent an easier way to install plumbing?

Here’s the news flash. The critic is ours to manage not the other way around, so why do we tolerate the disparaging voice in our head? We wouldn’t consider letting someone talk to us that way in any other situation and yet we do the dance with our critic, and possibly our shrink who is making a lot of money off of a non-existent figment of our imagination.

I’ve read we should give our critic a persona and name. Identify the gender of our critic. Really? In the same amount of time we could make work to get the happy hormones flowing. In the last century we’ve invented as many propitiations to our emotional insecurities as our ancient ancestors did to the volcanos. We’re supposed to eschew victim mentality, yet we let the critic badger us to creative death. Is there a certain cachet if we have an especially cranky critic?

Why spend any time on this dark-side brain candy? The critic only exists as we allow it to. If the critic is ours to create let’s conjure up a well-mannered, cultured colleague. The critic must be trained as we’ve trained our family, friends and coworkers to respect our boundaries. When we need an edit or critique, we can invite the critic in as a trusted collaborator on our terms. Under those conditions, the expertise our critic offers is invaluable. Any other time, the critic should live in the freezer.

Lenny would be proud...

Can’t remember what laws of physics, biology, gravity et al I bent to deserve the boot. Didn’t seem to get in the way. Breaking out my first metal pour.

Recently, a friend challenged, “It’s like you have to prove you know how to use every medium.” The question resurrected an injunction from thirty years ago to “settle down and do one thing.” I seriously consider the things friends say before choosing not to take them too seriously.

In college, I decided to proficiently use as many mediums as I was exposed to. The idea was not limiting myself when an opportunity came along. How can I know which mediums I like if I don’t experiment? Is there some rule about having to grow up and pick one thing? (Actually, there is but that’s for next post.) Early on, I was commissioned to produce anything from a pen and ink brochure master to oil portraits. I was paid for being good at the medium the client wanted. And how is that a different kind of compromise from posting a couple of paintings a day onto an internet shop?

What’s not to like? My polymath’s constant curiosity is satisfied on a regular basis, although an eagerness for expansion is often misconstrued for inexperience. One of my role models is an ER doc who plays tuba in the orchestra, lives with a sketchbook as constant companion, paints stunning watercolors and carved the Stations of the Cross for the church. I mean, what if the Gods of Art had whispered to Lenny, “Stick to science and leave Mona to Buonarroti. Europe is gonna need your bridge designs in the 21st century. BTW can you hustle it up on the helicopter?”

It’s the difference between the person who moves around a lot, initiates into global citizenship yet suffers attachment disorder and the person who lives decades of complacent security in the same town knowing the same people. One way is not better than the other although the ones who never experience a different environment are occasionally frightened by those who have.

News Flash! We all come to art making from a different perspective. Some truly feel our way through a piece while others of us think all the way to the finish. Nothing dictates we have the same process. Let’s not let our prejudices and preconceived ideas decide who is acceptable and who isn’t a “real” artist. There’s enough bigotry in the world.

Did I miss out on the deep dive? Possibly, yet as long as I keep waking up each day there’s time. The exploration of mediums informing each other is thrilling for me. There are a few I’ve let go of through the years because they don’t help articulate my vision. Others have strengthened and matured as relationships do over time. Now I’m exploring ways to combine mediums. Do we eat broccoli simply because it was served at every meal growing up or do we take the time to consider we might prefer kale?

Deconstructing Mother Day

My respect to women and girls everywhere who make it through Mother Day. A calendar day for courage. Not my point to go there in this essay. My point is let’s get back to the point of Mother Day.

A brief history of ancient times. The Greeks and Romans had cults to celebrate mothers.

A brief history of Mother Day in the last 150 years. Mother Day was intended as a tribute to our individual mother. In a country notorious for desecrating the English language, with the rare placement of a grammatically correct apostrophe, the day became a public commodity. Anna Jarvis is credited with developing the modern Mother Day, however, her own mother Ann Reeves Jarvis had a far more interesting and socially pertinent concept in mind.

Ann Reeves Jarvis was a peace activist who advocated for health and sanitation in the camps of both sides during the American Civil War. She formed in essence grief groups for mothers whose sons died in the war. The public service the women performed gradually evolved into an international peace movement. When men got wind of a growing threat to their favorite game of mayhem, they lobbied for a day to celebrate the women behind the “great men” of this nation. They adroitly returned the spotlight to themselves and their economic self-interest while subtly reminding women of their place. Anna Jarvis advocated for a Mother Day celebration upon the death of her mother Ann. Mother’s Day now extends to over 40 countries. Anna Jarvis was later arrested while protesting the commercialism of Mother Day. In 2019, In the United States, Mother’s Day was expected to gross 25 billion dollars. Billion. 5.something billion dollars in jewelry alone.

I appreciate when my children and friends acknowledge me. They are conscious individuals who don’t need a calendar reminder to be kind and considerate. Mother’s Day has been a can of worms for me since I was a child. I decided to study the history in an effort to reduce the dissonance. Instead, I’m flabbergasted to realize all of the angst and years of anxiety feeling beaten up by an arbitrary date were in reality wasted on an annual event solely intended to realize profits for retailers.

25 billion dollars a year is an astounding figure. What would that much money do for health care, education and poverty? Would people who had food and education be so willing to fall for the promotion of aggression and violence? When people have a safety net of health care they have the emotional and physical strength to look outside of themselves and contribute to easing social ills. And on and on. I’m stating the obvious. The only thing I know for sure is as women, we are better than letting ourselves be used one more time and one more way to make a profit.

We have a year to ponder and decide what we are going to do as individuals to return to the original intention of Mother Day. While acknowledging mother and her contributions, is it possible to simultaneously promote peace? Resolve griefs. Serve others. Donate our segment of the 25 billion to an ethical cause? If we spend the day as intended will we ease our own issues? Of course, this might require investment of self instead of a credit card swipe to assuage our conscience. You’ll have your own ideas if you think about it. What if we take back our power, step out from behind the shoulders of the historical menfolk and make this day a contribution?

Everyone's a critic...

Some of you have already seen this series of photos. One of the top-all-time-favorite stellar moments in the city. What doesn’t show was the week before. The same squirrel vying for attention with the journal I was writing in. This was the second time the curious little rodent showed up and a friend captured the moment. Thanks Sarah @makelemonaide.

A couple of artist friends recently questioned the point of spending their studio time trekking outside to paint or draw and expressed feeling pressure to produce “real work” for sale. I spend roughly 70% of my art making time in a studio and can attest inspiration abounds whenever and wherever we have a making idea and decide to act on it.

The interaction with even proximate nature, i.e. sidewalks through a city park, have nothing technically to contribute to the latest studio portrait or abstract. They have everything to do with keeping us alive and interested. Studies show getting out of our comfort zone increases our creativity.

For several years, at my favorite painting park, one goose slowly waddled in as close as possible and stretched its neck until it could look over the edge of my knee to eye the sketchbook in my lap. Stood there. Stared while the goose pals moved on. This happened enough times I could rule out the seeking free food theory - especially after I explained I don’t feed the Wild Things people bread because most of it will kill humans let alone the birds. The goose hung out for as long as I painted and found me every time I went to the garden. I’ve felt sad since it hasn’t been around last season or this spring. Either the goose found a girlfriend, met an unfortunate demise or didn’t like the direction my art making was going.

I’m posting a painting soon of a heron who let me photo and sketch him for over an hour from a few feet away. Then, the beautiful creature literally followed me from tree to tree while I walked through the park. When I left, he escorted me out to the gate. Some say herons can be mean and to take care. I feel companionship. I’m not worried. Watching birds in their natural space can teach us a lot about balance in our lives. Especially watching a heron do Tree Pose for an hour.

Last week, I went out for the first time this very cold spring. Easel set up, deep into the moment. Gradually an awareness of sound, plops at regular intervals around where I was standing, brought me back. My first thought was I don’t want bird poop on the page or down my neck. I investigated and discovered the miscreant was a squirrel perched on a high tree branch pitching rather large, and when they found target painful, seed pods. Aiming. On purpose. I don’t know if it was the same squirrel from the photo op last year saying hello or a stranger squirrel commenting on the quality of my painting. Everyone’s a critic.

The interaction got my attention. I researched the characteristics and behaviors of squirrels to ponder the example they may offer for my art and life. One of the most applicable learnings is squirrels have a lot of fun while they are working hard. Point taken.

These informative experiences are available for all of us if we are willing to be aware and respectful when they occur. Walking the neighborhood, the trees in an area about five blocks from my front door kept catching my eye. Motivated by fresh curiosity about the configuration for a possible painting, I pressed further into the growth and stumbled on a natural area! Thirteen years I’ve walked by. The beauty of the few acres with snow falling sparked a new painting series.

When we venture out in the world, we find surprises. These may become our primary subjects or the energy of discovery may suffuse other work. We develop a personal connection to the image when we make a record with sketches or photos. We own the piece with our whole being and all of our senses contribute if we choose to bring the moment to life again through our art.

If studio painting is your thing, I fully support you and go back to work.

If you have disabilities discouraging you from being out and about, know there are many safe parks with paved walks, easy parking and access. Paint the reflections of apartment windows across the street or the florals in the local grocery store.

If you want to join the conversation or have questions, please leave them below. I’d like to hear from you.

Next, some thoughts on how changing up occasionally in the studio benefits our creative work.

Guardian...

From the same era as the moose, a colored pencil sketch of a Lynx. One followed me home from grade school. I remember the rustle in the leaves, the weight of the body landing on the earth behind me. I wasn't afraid of the wild things. I felt instead as if the cat were a guardian seeing me safely in. My father told me I was making up a story, then later after he'd gone out to find and follow the tracks, apologized. Different family dynamics when you grow up wild.

An extra hour...

An old pencil drawing from the dark ages… on BFK in a triangle sketchbook I made.

Palmer, Alaska has a current population around 7,000 ish so imagine how modest the population was in the dark ages when I was young. The Dark Ages used to be the ten centuries prior to the Renaissance. Now the Dark Ages is reclassified as anything before Apple. Palmer is located in the Matanuska-Susitna valley, the Tigris and Euphrates of The Last Frontier. The 43 mile drive from Palmer to Anchorage on Highway 1 is about 45 minutes on a good day. Before Sam Hill’s revolutionary vision of paved roads made it to the Far North, the trek between Palmer and Anchorage seemed interminable. Of course, it was Much Longer the reverse direction.

Now, Highway 1 runs north and south while the moose still run east and west. The ineffective merger creates confusion for moose and drivers alike. Add snow and it’s a 3-D, real time Dodgem. On any given day, part of the scenery is at least one car whose driver lost. Even in good weather, Alces Americanus may unexpectedly become a new hood ornament.

Ted Pyrah commuted almost three decades from Palmer to teach in the Culinary Department at University of Alaska at Anchorage - in addition to running a farm, now the largest U-Pick in the Mat-Su valley. In a passing comment about his morning, Ted shared one idea that’s stuck with me and changed how I view personal time and contribution. Thank you, Ted.

He told me he built in an hour every day specifically to be available to help people in trouble along the road during his drive to or from work. He said if he didn’t need the time he had a whole unplanned hour available every day.

People need help at the most inconvenient times. If we’ve allotted time to help into our schedule, we have the time available. Yes, sometimes the incident doesn’t fit the agenda, however, it all works out. We really do have all the time we need.

Footnote: On a serious note, Moose are one of the most dangerous animals on the planet and may cause serious injury or death in altercations or collisions. Moose kills are given to the first-up organization or individual on a roster to harvest the meat. Alaska is not keeping up with the rest of the world by installing animal overpasses. Overpasses attempt to alleviate human and animal suffering, however, it hasn’t yet been determined who will teach moose to use them. The animals were here first.