Lola Jovan Art Musings and Random Thoughts

How to Apologize, I, II, III, IV

12/18/2023

I can hardly believe it. NO WAY!

This is the last post of 2023 - where did the time go?

But here we are, so let's go out with a grand finale - a series of four abstracts (a four course meal) paired with a poem that grabbed me (a deep red wine with a heady bouquet and a lingering, oaky finish). For dessert? How about some winning readers (a warmed, rich berry pie topped with ice cream). Oh, oh and OH! Now we're going to need a long winter's nap.

How to Apologize I

HOW TO APOLOGIZE - by Ellen Bass

Cook a large fish — choose one with many bones, a skeleton
you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying
silver carp that’s invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling
the others into oblivion. If you don’t live
near a lake, you’ll have to travel.
Walking is best and shows you mean it,
but you could take a train and let yourself
be soothed by the rocking
on the rails. It’s permitted
to receive solace for whatever you did
or didn’t do, pitiful, beautiful
human.

When my mother was in the hospital,
my daughter and I had to clear out the home
she wouldn’t return to. Then she recovered
and asked, incredulous,
How could you have thrown out all my shoes?
So you’ll need a boat. You could rent or buy,
but, for the sake of repairing the world,
build your own. Thin strips
of Western red cedar are perfect,
but don’t cut a tree. There’ll be
a demolished barn or downed trunk

How to Apologize II

How to Apologize III

If you venture further.
And someone will have a mill.
And someone will loan you tools.
The perfume of sawdust and the curls
that fall from your plane
will sweeten the hours. Each night
we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night
we could dream back everything lost.

So grill the pale flesh.
Unharness yourself from your weary stories.
Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt.
There is much to fear as a creature
caught in time, but this
is safe. You need no defense. This
is just another way to know
you are alive.

How to Apologize IV

Thank you to everyone who participated in 2023's monthly Reader Giveaways. More than 25 parcels were delivered to lucky winners over twelve months. And the final winners of the year (selected at random by Wonder Mike) are: Dotty S. Trina T., C and Carl S. Email [email protected] with your shipping address, then watch your mailbox for a sweet surprise - and thanks so much for reading and commenting.

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We Are the Thing Itself

12/11/2023

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We Are the Thing Itself

"We Are the Thing Itself" - oil on clayboard, 14 x 18 inches. (Click on the image to purchase)

Behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern… the whole world is a work of art… there is no Shakespeare… no Beethoven… no God; we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself. VIRGINIA WOOLF

Here we are, near the end of the year, and the full weight of introspection about all that has happened in those twelve months - all that has been said, done, created, destroyed, messed up, built upon, toppled, exulted, celebrated and mourned is upon me.

But maybe we can narrow that down and contemplate just one piece of that big ol' pie: what is the state of the art situation?

Woolf's words grabbed me and plopped me in a chair to face this: we are the thing itself.

Oh. Wait. Hmmm. My own words fail me, even as the thought of this concept has my brain (and heart and spirit) on high alert because THIS IS SOMETHING BIG. The separation between everything begins to fall, and the words of Thich Nhat Hanh softly nudge me:

"About thirty years ago I was looking for an English word to describe our deep interconnection with everything else. I liked the word “togetherness,” but I finally came up with the word “interbeing.” The verb “to be” can be misleading, because we cannot be by ourselves, alone. “To be” is always to “inter-be.” If we combine the prefix “inter” with the verb “to be,” we have a new verb, “inter-be.” To inter-be and the action of interbeing reflects reality more accurately. We inter-are with one another and with all life."

And there we have it. We cannot be separate from our art or those who see it. The state of the art situation here in December is: I can see how I am the thing itself. And the art is a part of that big ol' pie - it is berries and sugar and butter and flour. Not just a piece of the pie, but the pie itself. And all the things that make it - the inspiration, the paint, the brushes, the paper, the sun through the skylights, the music in the background. I inter-am with the art, and with you, dear reader - we inter-be. Lucky, lucky me!

The annual gesso murder/vandalizing has begun! Take a look!

It's time for the last Reader Giveaway of 2023 Leave a comment. below describing your big AHA of the year. One (or more) lucky reader (s) will be selected at random to receive something free from the studio. Hooray!

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The Chops and Changes of Time

12/4/2023

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"The Chops and Changes of Time" - oil on paper, 21 x 21. (To purchase, click on the image, right)

Since the only test of truth is length of life, and since words survive the chops and changes of time longer than any other substance, therefore they are the truest. Buildings fall; even the earth perishes. What was yesterday a cornfield is to-day a bungalow. But words, if properly used, seem able to live for ever. VIRGINIA WOOLF

Oh, the lifespan of words.

Words from long ago, ages and ages before, still rolling around in the modern world creating thoughts and emotions and AHAs and oh-OHs. Woolf is right. But sometimes, the words that linger aren't an AHA or an oh-OH but an oh, no.

The Chops and Changes of Time

You know the ones - we spoke them when we didn't mean to, or didn't mean them, or didn't know any better. Or they were spoken to us - in anger, in frustration, in hatred or without understanding or compassion. Those words seem to live forever, too.

I'm trying to be better with words. The words I speak and write, the words I read, the words I hear and mostly, most importantly the words I say to myself on the inside. If words are like construction materials - surviving longer than any other substance - then what are my words building? The inner visual of this city of words under construction is enlightening. Methinks the city could use some soft play spaces.

Big thanks to everyone who rescued art from "gesso murder" (as one collector brilliantly called it) during the once-a-year save-the-art-from-the-gesso sale. My heart is full knowing all the paintings that whispered (or shouted) are heading off to the place they truly belong.

And stay tuned for the last Reader Giveaway of 2024 - the twelfth month of giving away art! Woot!

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How to Apologize, I, II, III, IV

We Are the Thing Itself

The Chops and Changes of Time

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