Which got me to thinking, when in my own life (creatively, professionally, personally) have I remained trapped in a metaphorical tower while the path to freedom was right within my grasp? And oh, dear reader, there are many times. The "towers" that trap us might be in the guise of security, predictability, fear of (insert any word you'd like here), or the things we've been told (and come to believe) about our own strength, talent, tenacity and creativity. I think I build my own towers, mostly. Fortunately, there have been people along the way who have opened my eyes to the ladders hanging from the windows. And now and again, I've cut off all my hair.
The Wild Edge of Sorrow
About the art: after a long, rambling creative session with the AI bot, from cyborg fairies all the way to ballet, a tiny snippet of one of the resulting images inspired this piece. Beginning with a canvas toned with the general range of background colors planned for the piece, I drew a colored pencil sketch and lightly painted in the shapes with thinned oil paints. The key to this one was keeping the abstraction of the figure and background, so many big steps back as I over-defined and had to dial it down again. Ending with a final coat of thick paint applied with a palette knife. That pop of minty-ness makes my mouth water. Yum.
I am in a bit of a conundrum. Puzzling through the path to growth, happiness, flow and finding it increasingly a journey un-embraced by others.
This happens in art just as in life - people love a style or subject matter and are disgruntled when the artist wanders away from it. Change is unsettling, unnerving, sometimes scary. And in life, when people love you for being a certain way, they may get jumpy when you grow into a new version of you.
In the poem, Gill grabs this concept and anchors it to my very bones - there may be snowflakes (or sundogs, or eclipses) in my eyes - I am becoming another season.
In this painting, the motion of the ever-changing landscape spins within the very bones of a tree, which transforms even after the final winter of its productive life. It is never too late; you are never too old for transformation. No matter what others may say.
The April Reader Giveaway is here! Wonder Mike and Lilly are busy choosing which original artwork will be going home with one lucky reader. To enter, subscribe to the blog (see column on the right) and then leave a comment below answering this question: do you find yourself creatively (or personally or professionally) stymied by the expectations of others? If so, how can you best grow anyway?
It’s a BIG question! So this month’s prize is not a tiny painting. One commenter will win BIG!
(note: if you are already subscribed, just leave a comment to enter! yay!)
They Caught the Wild Children
It is April and this morning it snowed.
In the studio, the wild god continues to nudge and prod - there are directions I'm heading in which are mighty peculiar. The inspirational can of worms has been opened and the horse is out of the barn. I fall asleep visualizing brush strokes and color. I awaken thinking of composition and subjects, stories and themes. Oh!
The A.I. bot and I are heading down the rabbit hole of fairytale and fantasy. If only I could paint faster! And yet, the whole point is to paint more slowly.
Perhaps the morning snow is a message - slow down, Lola. It's too soon to put away mittens and boots.