Ray and Kiki and Me...

Segment from a 12” x 13.5’ work in progress. The point of these under layers is to disrupt the surface and get over the “preciousness” of the white space. Trust me. Will document the layers as they go.

Ray Bradbury is my new hero. His solution to creative block is fascinating. Basically, he said a creative block, drawing a blank means we’re not doing the true work we’re supposed to be doing and our subconscious is mad at us. I don’t know about you, there’s hell to pay when my subconscious is angry with me.

When computers came roaring into our lives I was excited and savvy. I’ve lost precious time since chasing the market and angsting over systems designed to change faster than most mortals can keep up. Many of us who run on a natural clock struggle when we think social media is requisite for marketing our work. Bradbury offered a bottom line solution: tech is “flimflam.” Succinct, and for the most part true, if the evidence of this moment in time holds.

I’ve been dragging my feet for years on a newsletter then compromised my integrity on promises of sending one and not come through. I apologize. I don’t like being intruded on and hesitate to intrude on others yet, I don’t sleep when I don’t keep promises. This is my happy version of a newsletter. Realized this week I’m not a photographer., rather a documentarian. I’ll share what I’m doing and what’s happening in my creative world. Stop by with your tea and curiosity when you’re in the mood. You’re welcome anytime.

Rumor on the street out of Europe is newsletters are becoming a thing of the past since we’re all inundated and over the novelty. I enjoy the few I subscribe to and read with the purpose of learning something new, enjoying beauty shared, or hearing what a friend is up to. Hope this evolution of a newsletter will bring at least that much to you.

I’ve given Bradbury’s words a think in terms of actual application, and had a conversation with the best coach out there, Megan Macedo. A read about how she encourages people to build a body of their true work is well worth the time.

Immersion in tech keeps most of us drugged so we don’t have time for personal decisions, time to sink into ourselves to consider what we really want. Tech tranquilizes our intuitive voice, shouting down our knowing to terrorize us with FOMO and what should be done to promote and grab our share of the pie. In reality, when we do our real work, we have our very own pie. Possibly a whole bakery! Or a franchise of pie eaterys. Worrying about success in the art market place distracts us from our fears around actually making the work. About this time we hear, or don’t hear, from our subconscious.

Distraction is a technique we perfect to keep us from the frightening prospect of knowing ourselves through our work. For most of us, tech is not our true work. If tech is what rocks your socks, sincere best to you as you enjoy what you do.

What is to be gained by eschewing the current pace and propaganda of social media? Peace. Contentment. Satisfaction. Freedom. Pure and simple. Cut the umbilicus to the need for competition. Make what we love and believe in our true work supports us every time. And yes, sometimes we need a supplemental day job to fill our stomachs while our true work supports our soul.

In the middle of nowhere in Alaska a couple of decades ago, I was doing portraits. In frustration I yelled to the Universe if I was supposed to be making portraits the folks who want them could show up at the door. Literally, a few days later, a young woman came to the house (in those days, anyone could give basic direction to each other’s home) and commissioned a portrait of her parents. Literal proof the world will find you. Being human, in the external crazy, I’ve forgotten too many times through the years and as a result, lost faith in myself.

Kiki Smith struck the gold of truth …“Just do your work. If the world needs your work it will come and get you. And if it doesn’t, do your work anyway. You can have fantasies over having control over the world, but I know I can barely control my kitchen sink. That is the grace I’m given. Because when one can control things, one is limited to ones own vision.”

What is your true, authentic work that makes you feel real? What have you sacrificed of your true work that you want to recover?

Pairing words and art...

“All There in Black and White”

I show up to paintings as I would a huge breaker, rush to the wind and fling myself into the wave or the work. The canvases are large, between 3x4 foot and 4x6 foot. However, when I’m metaphorically crawling onto the sand with a back scraped raw from undertow, coughing up my guts, I curl around a 6” square sketchbook of collage. I explore what’s broken with synonyms, clawing the rotting skin of words away, going deeper and deeper until I find peace. Working primarily with Shizen paper, dried palette papers and up cycled envelopes, I push images to define the words and emotions. The first few pages slog around in the morass of amorphous feelings until they find purchase and the concepts become clearer. By the time a book or two is full, I’m amazed at what I discover by allowing the images to perform as mirror.

Clara...

Thursday, 13 March 1852.

“I have found it extremely hard to restrain the tears today, and would have given almost anything to be alone and undisturbed. I have seldom felt more friendless, and I believe I ever feel enough so. I see less and less in the world to live for, and in spite of all my resolution and reason and moral courage and everything else, I grow weary and impatient, I know it is wicked and perhaps foolish, but I cannot help it. There is not a living thing but would be just as well off without me. I contribute to the happiness of not a single object; and often to the unhappiness of many and always of my own, for I am never happy. True, I laugh and joke, but could weep that very moment and be the happier for it.”

The Life of Clara Barton by William E. Barton, Vol. 1, p. 79

Had the good fortune to find the two-volume set of the life of Clara Barton recorded from her papers by her nephew. The books were purchased for pennies at a sale somewhere and are worth gold to me for the contemporary lessons I’ve learned. I’ve admired Clara since I was a child and was moved to read she had dark days as well. The above dedicates one of my journals.

Entering her thirties in 1852, Clara enjoyed romance, had founded several schools and quit a position saying she’d not work for less than they were paying a man. She was the first woman to receive equal pay working in the US patent office (much to the resentment of her fellows) and was best known for her later work in the American Civil War. She went on to establish the American Red Cross, serve in war-torn countries across the globe and was reportedly supple as a girl in her 90’s. She left an impressive inventory of decorations, commendations and medals from all over the world awarded to Clara Barton for her contributions and service.

Thirty years ago a wise woman told me not to do anything drastic when we’re down because we never know what will happen for our good in the next second of our lives. I’m profoundly glad Clara pressed on with life even in her dark days.

When later reminded of the cruel treatment she’d received on the way to her achievements, Clara replied, “I distinctly remember forgetting that!”

The Beguines

Fascinating look at a forgotten women’s movement from the 1200’s to the last Beguine, Marcella Pattyn who died in 2013. They were not associated with religious orders instead, in small groups or large, walled communities, lived a life of service. Intelligent, great business women and self-defined in their approach to the world. 13 Buguinages are UNESCO World Heritage sites.

How long...

Photo Credit Sasha Makoviy.

One of the most interesting and well crafted novels I’ve read in awhile is Kristin Harmel’s The Book of Lost Names. The story of a young forger in WWII who provided papers to children being evacuated from Nazi occupied countries. Concerned about the children reuniting with their parents, she devises an ingenious code to record the true names of the children in an innocuous book. WWII ended in 1945.

The short length of a lifetime later, Sasha Makoviy codes her mother hope into her child’s back with marker to identify her child if she and Vira were separated, or Vira’s parents were killed while fleeing a despot invading Ukraine.

When will we learn?