Compost Studios

Seascape Number One

She was restless,  then tense,  riding a wave of emotion pushing up and out of her chest.

Her head falls forward. She covers her face with her hands.

Nothing to do but cry now. There's no turning back.

Her throat is constricted.  She can't swallow any more disappointment. She's full.

Full and yet empty. The great paradox.

In the last year her life has been dismantled piece by piece, and each time she's been close to rebuilding it, teetering on the cusp of normality, Fate has knocked her down again.

She is a woman drowning in slow motion, bobbing to the surface but never catching her breath. She is out of her depth.

She is weary of the relentless waves, the currents pulling her out to sea, the loss of footing, the salt burning her eyes.

She is tired.  So very tired.

Not just tired of dealing with her misfortunes, but tired of giving herself away, of tossing her words into the wind, of pouring her time and talent into a sandy pit, of watching the tide rise and erase her. 

The water is getting higher.

She is stuck treading water, always waiting for a sea change.

Waiting for children.

Waiting for things to be clean.

Waiting for things to be fixed.

Waiting for rescue.

Waiting for a message.

Waiting for a reason.

Waiting for approval.

Waiting for gratitude.

Waiting to be seen.

Waiting to be loved.

Waiting for Meaning to throw her a lifeline and pull her to shore.

July 2, 2008

Yesterday we had a mini family reunion with relatives from Virginia.  My son, age 12, led all the younger boys in a hunt for critters in the forests surrounding the picnic area. My Boy is a lizard whisperer. Even lightning fast wild things will sit quietly in his hand. If you look closely at this lizard, you'll see he's smiling.

While the work I encounter in the blogosphere often moves me or makes me laugh out loud, it's rare for me in my time-pressed and word-soaked world to come back to a blog post and read it over and over and over again. 

This piece by Jane has me doing just that. It is poetry and prose melded into one.

It's mothers and daughters.

It's Good Girls and the Grrrls Who Just Want to Be Free.

It's the voice of every artist and thinker who has nurtured their creative impulses like a child that needs discipline, freedom, and unconditional love.

It's our ongoing struggle to be fully ourselves and fully present in the world.

It's ALL that and more.

Check it out.

I dare you to read it only once. Tell me what you think.

June 28, 2008

In my eagerness to get moving studying art, I signed up for both a watercolor painting class and an acrylic painting class, one on Wednesday, one on Thursday.

 This was a mistake.

Both classes demand more time than I anticipated, and it's been expensive to purchase supplies for two classes at once. (I didn't have a supply list in advance for either class, and because I'm truly a beginner, I'm having to get everything. I can use the same brushes for both classes, but everything else is different--stretched canvas vs. watercolor paper, easel vs. clipboard, acrylic vs. watercolor paint, etc.)

Another issue is that the techniques and approach to the two media are completely different. I think I'd do better to focus on one at a time. Without thinking, I bring acrylic techniques to watercolor and use too much pigment or muddy my colors with attempts to paint over an area. Other times I use watercolor techniques with acrylics and end up with too much water in my paint and too much white space peeking through.  It's better to be grounded in one media before trying the other so that if you bring techniques from one media to the other, it's done strategically and with purpose.

I've loved my acrylic class, which is small and personal and is very much a learn-by-doing atmosphere.  The participants are all true beginners, and the instructor paints as we paint, explaining her approach and methods and giving tips as we go along.

In creative work, if I'm subjected to too much lecturing and too many rules, my brain becomes preoccupied with sorting out and organizing all the information, with doing things "properly."  The thinking half of my brain overcomes the intuitive side, and I become blocked, my work loses its energy, I stall and can't find my way out. The acrylic class is a good match to my learning style. 

My watercolor class has been much less satisfactory. As I mentioned in an earlier post, it's a large class (25 students!)  with a broad skill level. Some people are true beginners; others are seasoned artists who have exhibited or sold their work.  Because of the size of the class, there's very little, if any, personal attention. The instructor doesn't paint along with us, so we don't get a demonstration on how it's done.

Some of have no idea how to even start, others are eager to advance skills that are already good. We're taught by doing homework on our own and having our work critiqued in front of the class. For me, this has been less effective. I don't feel I'm learning enough for the time I'm investing, both in class and out of class.  I don't know any more about watercolor now than I did when I started. I have learned some composition and perspective lessons, but not how to handle the paint. So yes, I'm disappointed, and I won't pursue another watercolor class like this anytime soon. Yesterday I decided to stop attending as the class is almost over anyway. 

So one class has been a joy, the other more work and less satisfaction. The plus side: now I know what I'm looking for in a class. If you do try a class in an area of interest and it bombs, don't give up. Analyze what went wrong and look for an opportunity to pursue your interest in a setting that better matches your learning style. 

I'll close with my one and only completed watercolor. The composition  is static and it took me forever to do:

Thanks for all the comments on my last post and my journey into painting. I hope that by putting myself and my art out there, I'll encourage some of you to try that "thing" you've always been interested in but either didn't think you had the talent for or didn't have the time to pursue it. Maybe it's some genre of art or cooking or photography or creative writing or gardening or geneaology or history or sewing or quilting or knitting or carpentry or woodworking or working on cars or something else altogether.

I think everyone has "something" that bubbles up and keeps being pushed down by circumstances or self-doubt. Pay attention to that secret wish that keeps bobbing up to the surface and pluck it out of the water and give it life.  Don't let your dream drown and become your secret sorrow, your private regret.

Dare to try something new or reacquaint yourself with an old love. Allow yourself to be mediocre at something so you can learn to get better at it. It's a cliche, but we have to risk failure to succeed, and risking failure and judgement is hard. Those who are very successful in some area of life don't like to start at the bottom with a new enterprise. Those who have fragile self-confidence don't want to be criticized and have any more negative voices joining the chorus in their head.  I am both those people!

I have to constantly push myself to step out of my comfort zone, to remake my image of myself, to see a different person than the one I've been conditioned to see. We have to be willing to make compost out of some of our old ideas about ourselves and fertilize new growth.

Where to start? Try your local community recreation center. It's been a great gateway for my journey into art. The classes are not too expensive and encourage people to come as they are--with whatever level of interest, skill, or talent they have. There's a time and place for you to explore new territory--dare to find it, dare to just do it, dare to do it badly and improve.

(What hobby/interest would you like to pursue?)

June 25, 2008

My first art class was all about painting a landscape in black and white. I was stunned at the results. I expected to be embarrassed by my efforts, and instead I felt pretty good about them.

For our second class meeting, we had to bring a photo of a flower arrangement and paint a still life inspired by the image during class. Here's the photo I brought with me, a scene from my kitchen in Belgium:

It was encouraging to see how much I improved from the first canvas to the second. I'm not good at spatial relationships and perspective, and that's something I have to work on. As I train my eye to "see" in new ways, my ability to add dimension to my compositions will improve. Now they all seem a bit flat to me. In time I hope they'll become more dynamic, especially as I master light and shadow. Lots to learn, but I'm making progress and that's what counts.

June 23, 2008

Photos of a local natural area by my daughter, age 10.

(No cropping, no photo editing techniques.)

June 22, 2008

she sits on the patio and smokes

inhaling and exhaling     with deliberation

remembering that summer

savoring the taste     of  it      of  him

stirring      her feelings

turning over    and sparking

like the embers     smoldering      in the fire pit

like the diamond ring      winking in the fading light.

dusk slips quietly toward night

the mosquitoes are out     for blood

but as her cigarette traces

arcs of loneliness      in the dark

her eyes are on the fireflies

twinkling in the deep green     shadows

signaling to the world

they are looking for love.

June 19, 2008

by Robert Graves

He is quick, thinking in clear images;

I am slow, thinking in broken images.

He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;

I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.

Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;

Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.

Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;

Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.

When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;

When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.

He continues quick and dull in his clear images;

I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.

He in a new confusion of his understanding;

I in a new understanding of my confusion.

June 17, 2008