It's funny how I'm often just barreling along with the art without conscious thought. Then, when called to come to a stopping point and reflect, it can be surprisingly challenging but - wow - REWARDING - to make heads or tails of what it is I've been doing. I was recently asked to write a title and brief description of an upcoming exhibit, and although what I wrote for the event is much briefer, I also wrote the following words. I knew I needed to give myself an understanding of where I was, so that tomorrow at the show, I can communicate it verbally to anyone who might have questions. It turns out, it required a lot of thinking. I credit my son Nicholas for prompting me as such.
As a collection these pieces represent where I am presently creatively – I titled this exhibit “Light of Play”, because I am usually in a state of trying to communicate the experience of the world as seen through the eyes of a child. The reason for that, is that I feel many times I do see things in such a way. This is not only in childhood, but in times where we are at a place of peace, of joy; a time in our lives when there is wonder, when the everything coming to us is almost too much. Think of the word “wonder” as in “wonderful”- when things were in awe, but in a good way. For me personally, (and I’m not sure if we are all wired this way or not,) I remember seeing things not so much in ‘still life’ or ‘static’; what comes to memory are things that are so difficult to explain- my memories overlap senses, sometimes they seem to move. You can think of this almost as today we have the “live” photos. A snapshot,, but not static - and what if you could also taste what you’re seeing, or hear it, or smell it, or a combination of several.
Many years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder – as that is sometimes something that can destroy someone, there are gifts too. It took me many years of struggling to come to balance. Everything was fine for me as a design architect, and as a mom, until I fell into a very deep clinical depression many years ago. For many years I couldn’t produce anything at all, and then all at once I started to do so much fine art that I had to stop doing architecture. Since then I’ve been drawn into a sort of impressionism: My dad taught me as a young child, and I have a distinct memory of him stressing that painting from life is ESSENTIAL. I didn’t really understand completely why at the time, but the older I get the more I realize it is because by doing so, you access those parts of your brain that can overlap those senses. Feeling the air, seeing the nuances of the light as it moves, or the subject, smelling the flower or the fruit that you’re painting.
The medium of alcohol ink on Yupo paper really allows me to express those emotions. I must let go and trust. I have to work very fast with the alcohol ink because it dries so fast, and so I’m having to rely on a different part of my brain than I usually do. I have to make very quick decisions. It absolutely delights me to no end that thinking more usually produces less. I feel like we all have so much in our subconscious that never sees the light of day. Accessing that part of me, I believe, allows me to make that connection – to be able to communicate. I like to think that in that level of the subconscious, we all have a lot in common. There’s a certain type of lighting inside that room in the brain. It looks a lot like the sunrise. Or just around the eclipse. Its cool and dappled. In that light, in the light we used to be in when we play and laugh and wonder. – that’s where we connect.
Nowadays I do paint also from photos, but not as a direct translation. In fact if I do try to translate a photo eye-to-hand it will completely die underneath me. The only way to truly make it come alive is to access that part of my mind that is memory. For instance, If I’m painting from a photo of being near the sea, I have to feel it in my mind’s eye; I have to remember everything that was happening when I took the picture for it to translate - to smell and taste the salt air, to see the sun dappling in real time, to feel the waves at my feet.
I also paint now a lot just from my own minds eye with nothing in front of me. Being at my age and having done enough sketching from life has afforded me the ability to trust my hand. That trust is crucial to letting go and allowing my hand to make the changes it needs to – in order to tell the story. And still, pulling from memory.
The black-eyed susan piece came out of an interesting place of memory. I was actually talking to my son about it last night – he was asking me the story behind it, and I had to put it into words. It started with a photo actually. I take snapshots often, if I see something that sparks inspiration. In this case, it was great because I happened upon a photo I had taken of a large group of black-eyed Susans. I remembered that at the time of the photo, the experience was so overwhelming. Again, it was one of those moments, full of wonder. For whatever reason, what I was seeing at that moment in time was so beautiful to me - I know it sounds silly, but for some reason, that little patch of flowers was almost too much to take in.
When I saw the photo on review, it was still beautiful, but the experience wasn’t captured just by the snapshot. I had the same emotion happen to me that often does. (In counseling, I’m told that the is emotion of sorrow, and loneliness, comes from a feeling of not being able to share the beauty that I see. Feeling that no one can understand the enormity of the joy that I feel when taking things in.) I came up with the idea to merely copy the scene the way it was in the photo, but to eliminate the color out of all but one of the flowers.
It was an experiment, but it I hadn’t expressed it or really formed it out….my assumption was that in the end, it might express my feelings by making the viewer feel the same sort of longing and loneliness that I feel in my life - that I simply can’t get across to others the enormity of beauty in the world. I was trying to pass on that wistful feeling. In this piece, I only rendered one flower in color as a poetic metaphor to maybe make the viewer think: “I wish they were all yellow.” parallel to my feeling , “I wish they could see what I see.”
When I finished the piece, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like it said what I was trying to say yet. I thought about doing more to it – adding some other media, adding words... My daughter is also an artist- but much more talented than I. I often send her process pictures to get her thoughts on my work. I sent the Susans piece to her just as it is now, almost apologetically. I didn’t think anyone would get it- I was almost afraid. What I was surprised about is that she saw it the absolute opposite. Instead of seeing it as something sad, the art brought her an incredible amount of joy and peace. She was overwhelmed with hope, and she told me that seeing the art actually turned a very bad day around for her. J. I asked her if she thought it looked finished, and she said - 'ABSOLUTELY'. As soon as she saw it that way, I could see it too, and I left it exactly as it was. It was finished.
I hope that some of you reading this can come and enjoy the exhibition tomorrow, Friday, August 2, 2019 at FAVO (Faith Arts Village Orlando) from 5-9 pm. Location is 221 E Colonial Dr., Orlando FL 32801.
More info on the event can be found at Light of Play . Many thanks to the host, Art For All Spaces, and to FAVO!
