- Published on
Sustainable Waiting
(an exercise in patience)
26 x 32 x 1 inches
oil on linen canvas
This item is unframed but ready to hang.
Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable— a place with its own harvests. - KAY RYAN
(an exercise in patience)
26 x 32 x 1 inches
oil on linen canvas
This item is unframed but ready to hang.
Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable— a place with its own harvests. - KAY RYAN
My relationship with patience has been, for the most part, adversarial. Patience interferred with productivity, with meeting metrics, with getting things done. And patience made it more likely I would recognize the monstrousness around me. I was always in a hurry.
But when the life I had so fiercely and energetically cultivated fell to pieces some years ago, I thought hmmmm. Maybe I could slow down. And so I left space. I embraced unknowns. I waited to see what would happen if I did, well, nothing at all.
And those empty spaces (in my life, in my career, in my home, in conversations, in friendships, in love) began to slowly, magically fill with just the right people and things (including my husband, who is the emperor of positive procrastination and the grand wizard of patience - from him I learned how waiting to take action often allows everything to resolve on its own.)
But when the life I had so fiercely and energetically cultivated fell to pieces some years ago, I thought hmmmm. Maybe I could slow down. And so I left space. I embraced unknowns. I waited to see what would happen if I did, well, nothing at all.
And those empty spaces (in my life, in my career, in my home, in conversations, in friendships, in love) began to slowly, magically fill with just the right people and things (including my husband, who is the emperor of positive procrastination and the grand wizard of patience - from him I learned how waiting to take action often allows everything to resolve on its own.)
As in life, it is in art. I recall the incredible artist Stan Kurth saying something like "art is 50% doing and 50% looking." I began to slow down and look. At the art of others, at my own art, at dance and sculpture and whittling and metalwork and fiber art - just looking. Which requires patience. Especially when looking at things I may not appreciate and asking questions - like why? Why do others like this? Why don't I?
When I fell into oil painting a few years ago, the brakes were put on with a grinding (can you hear them? Train brakes on the tracks? Screeching and scraping, metal on metal?) HALT. Oil painting takes time. Patience. Endless, exhausting patience. Layers upon layers and no hurrying that drying time with a hair dryer, no sir! Slow curing. Slow hardening. Slow.
Something happened while I was waiting. (Impatiently at first.) I began so see what Kurth meant. When I looked (really looked) at the art sitting around just drying (the nerve! doing NOTHING BUT DRYING) I began to see parts of each piece that were way better than I thought, and also, ouch, way worse. I began to ask questions of the art and to offer it the time it needed to answer.
Now there are at least half a dozen pieces in process at any one time in the studio. Each one gets as much time as it needs to tell me what's next. And the more I look and listen, the more easily the answers come.
When I fell into oil painting a few years ago, the brakes were put on with a grinding (can you hear them? Train brakes on the tracks? Screeching and scraping, metal on metal?) HALT. Oil painting takes time. Patience. Endless, exhausting patience. Layers upon layers and no hurrying that drying time with a hair dryer, no sir! Slow curing. Slow hardening. Slow.
Something happened while I was waiting. (Impatiently at first.) I began so see what Kurth meant. When I looked (really looked) at the art sitting around just drying (the nerve! doing NOTHING BUT DRYING) I began to see parts of each piece that were way better than I thought, and also, ouch, way worse. I began to ask questions of the art and to offer it the time it needed to answer.
Now there are at least half a dozen pieces in process at any one time in the studio. Each one gets as much time as it needs to tell me what's next. And the more I look and listen, the more easily the answers come.
Big thanks to Avery Caswell, author of Dry Spell, for suggesting this topic for the blog!
About the art: How long did this piece take? Maybe three years? Because the underpainting (a figurative piece) is the entire reason for the texture. I turned the figurative piece upside down and stared at it for months. What did it want to be? Something maybe pastoral, maybe Oregon hills, maybe sunset, maybe wildfire. Maybe all of these things. With the upside down painting on the easel, I roughed in the big shapes with a wet, paint-laden brush. Then broad strokes of the main colors to set those shapes. Drying and drying. Looking and looking. A small brush to rough in buildings and a path. A palette knife to create hard edges for rolling hills. A wide brush for tree shapes. More drying. 80 million layers of sky. A palette knife to further refine trees without being overly detailed. More layers of color on the hills. Dragging lavender with the knife. Dragging orange. Dragging darks across the dried hills (with a nearly dry knife) to add more texture and to soften those hard edges. Drying, drying, drying. Refining buildings and path without getting precious about it. A sky ablaze on the far horizon. More drying. Varnish! Voila!
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Watch and listen to today's blog post HERE!
Bonus malarkey!
And THEN your WRITING. Also stunning. Captivating.
Keep on keeping on, Lola. You have got it GOING ON, my friend!
I so appreciate your feedback on the writing as well. Yay. That means HEAP LOADS to me, especially coming from you!
Keep going you say? Yes, ma'am! xoxo
Once again a similarity between us. I think you are my fraternal twin stolen by gypsies or something. I spent so much of my life hurrying and scurrying in part to avoid looking too closely at my career or at things I didn’t like about myself. Either genuine or imprinted in me by hooligan kids from my neighborhood. In my fifties that changed. Everything has a season became my philosophy. I stopped chasing so hard. I decided I would focus on the work and let the world come to me. I know longer accept every single gig. I ask if it furthers my goals as an artist. Picasso (I think) said the muse favors those she finds busy. I like this but I’ve expanded the idea of busy. It could be doing research, writing, reading about art going to a museum. Now what I thought of as guilty pleasures I now see as things I do as part of my practice to keep the ideas coming and the work fresh. The shift required patience from me too. I still paint quickly and that’s why my primary medium is watercolor. Oils which I also love take much longer. As a teacher the toughest thing to teach my students is patience. Not mucking about with layers when they should be drying is the first one. I recently realized I was jamming too much into my classes trying to provide value to my students. In reality who cares if a painting takes 2-3 classes instead if one. The idea is to learn and grow. So I relaxed a bit and I think my students are enjoying the more relaxed pace. Stan is right a big part of art is looking. Finishing for finishing sake leads to crappy painting for me.
Carl
CS
Your words on what "busy" means really resonate with me. Busy can mean tidying the studio, collecting bits of poetry, brushing gesso on canvases - whatever. I think as long as you show up, the muse will find you.
Love your new approach with your students. Even though YOU can whip out a painting in one go, most of us need a bit more time (and practice). Exploring the painting slowly is (I now know) one of the best bits!
And thanks for liking the painting, too! xo
But it eventually allows us to reach our dreams faster, right?
And I nodded my head at Carls point about slowing down when teaching. Same goes for coaching. When I slow down and leave more silence and space for the needs of the other in front of me to unfold in their own time, magic enters.
Thanks Lola for your writing and art.
Leaving silence and space for those in front of you is a huge gift to those humans. Love the visual I get from "magic enters".
And gosh you are SO welcome! Yay! xoxoxo
A path/river leads to and from the homes. The sky is formulating something! But everything seems calm, waiting!
Your use of bright orange mimics the sky in anticipation.
All is on hold! Sustainable Waiting!
Mix some cold wax in your oils,, rich buttery material, dries faster and allows depth in layering.
You might recall I do use cold wax now and again. It is, indeed, buttery and lovely. I chose not to use it on this one. But who knows? Maybe on a future painting. xoxo