- Published on
"Billy is Anything But Boring" - oil on wood panel, 16 x 20 x .75. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
"Mortimer is Not Mundane" - oil on wood panel, 16 x 20 x .75 Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase
The older I get, the more I realize that success at most things isn't about finding the one trick or secret nobody knows about.
It's consistently doing the boring, mundane things everyone knows about but is too unfocused/undisciplined to do.
Get good at boring. - MARK MANSON
"Mortimer is Not Mundane" - oil on wood panel, 16 x 20 x .75 Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase
The older I get, the more I realize that success at most things isn't about finding the one trick or secret nobody knows about.
It's consistently doing the boring, mundane things everyone knows about but is too unfocused/undisciplined to do.
Get good at boring. - MARK MANSON
Billy Is Anything But Boring
Mortimer Is Not Mundane
I would so love to be a dastardly super-villain femme fatale with mischievous eyes and a wicked, echoing laugh.
Imagine the super-human superpowers (and wardrobe) such a super-villain would have!
But we each have our own unique superpowers, right? My superpower is super dull - I have the ability to do something repeatedly, observe it, refine it, do it again, add more boring tasks to it, repeat them, keep a list in my head of the mound of the mundane, oversee it all and then do it again into infinity. I remember taking a career aptitude test in high school. No surprise - the results showed I'd be great working on an assembly line. Yawn. It doesn't inspire a fabulous mask and costume, just a reliable metal lunchbox full of executive function.
Imagine the super-human superpowers (and wardrobe) such a super-villain would have!
But we each have our own unique superpowers, right? My superpower is super dull - I have the ability to do something repeatedly, observe it, refine it, do it again, add more boring tasks to it, repeat them, keep a list in my head of the mound of the mundane, oversee it all and then do it again into infinity. I remember taking a career aptitude test in high school. No surprise - the results showed I'd be great working on an assembly line. Yawn. It doesn't inspire a fabulous mask and costume, just a reliable metal lunchbox full of executive function.
I am actually grateful - this ability is pretty good for keeping life from going off the rails. But a day of leaping tall buildings, invisibility, flying or even just figuring out who done it in the crime novel we're reading would be nice.
Just saying.
Just saying.
What's YOUR superpower? Leave a comment below! One lucky commenter will win a piece of art FREE, just for participating. The winner will be announced at the end of the month.
SUBSCRIBER PERKS!
This month, take 35% off anything in the shop with coupon code SPRINGFORWARD35.
Books, art cards, paintings and prints! Coupon expires March 31.
Thank you for being a subscriber and for participating in this little zone of connection and art.
I so appreciate you!
This month, take 35% off anything in the shop with coupon code SPRINGFORWARD35.
Books, art cards, paintings and prints! Coupon expires March 31.
Thank you for being a subscriber and for participating in this little zone of connection and art.
I so appreciate you!
- Published on
There is a rhythm here. In life and in art. The art rhythm sounds like this:
inspire inspire inspire
create
look look ponder
create
look look ponder
create
look look SEE
c-o-n-t-e-m-p-l-a-t-e
fuss, fuss, dab
document, photograph
l-i-s-t-e-n
write
post
p-a-u-s-e
and then - inspire inspire inspire again.
inspire inspire inspire
create
look look ponder
create
look look ponder
create
look look SEE
c-o-n-t-e-m-p-l-a-t-e
fuss, fuss, dab
document, photograph
l-i-s-t-e-n
write
post
p-a-u-s-e
and then - inspire inspire inspire again.
1600 is grin-worthy
Here in the p-a-u-s-e there is a big grin. In the documenting (a spreadsheet which I have kept for over a decade) I recently typed 1600. As in 1600 paintings. One thousand six hundred pieces of art. And this really means something to me.
When I first began this journey from right-brained banker-type to left-brained creative, a workshop instructor, when asked how to become a good artist, said something like "There is no shortcut to being good. Paint 400 pieces. Then you'll be an artist. Or, at least you'll have some clue about what you're doing. Four hundred. There is no other way." (I am paraphrasing for sure, this conversation having taken place looooooong ago). I sat in that workshop and decided in that moment to paint 400.
At 400 pieces I did have a clue. At 800 pieces I no longer cared so much what other people thought and became rather fearless. At around 1200 pieces I sort of lost my way and totally cared about what other people thought and tried to paint for others and questioned everything. And now, at 1600, I am back to having a clue again and not giving a whip for the thoughts of many (but caring deeply about the thoughts of a vetted few).
So I am standing here in the pause, looking at this wall of drying paintings, wondering what the next 400 will bring and knowing knowing without a doubt that each of you, dear readers - those who read silently and anonymously, those who read and comment, those who read and share, those who maybe skip reading and go right to the art and those who take that art home with them - you are the melody to this rhythm. Thank you, thank you. I am so grateful. xo
When I first began this journey from right-brained banker-type to left-brained creative, a workshop instructor, when asked how to become a good artist, said something like "There is no shortcut to being good. Paint 400 pieces. Then you'll be an artist. Or, at least you'll have some clue about what you're doing. Four hundred. There is no other way." (I am paraphrasing for sure, this conversation having taken place looooooong ago). I sat in that workshop and decided in that moment to paint 400.
At 400 pieces I did have a clue. At 800 pieces I no longer cared so much what other people thought and became rather fearless. At around 1200 pieces I sort of lost my way and totally cared about what other people thought and tried to paint for others and questioned everything. And now, at 1600, I am back to having a clue again and not giving a whip for the thoughts of many (but caring deeply about the thoughts of a vetted few).
So I am standing here in the pause, looking at this wall of drying paintings, wondering what the next 400 will bring and knowing knowing without a doubt that each of you, dear readers - those who read silently and anonymously, those who read and comment, those who read and share, those who maybe skip reading and go right to the art and those who take that art home with them - you are the melody to this rhythm. Thank you, thank you. I am so grateful. xo
- Published on
The Wondrous Dance of it All
Dear reader - I don't always know what these art pieces mean until after they are completed. The stories seem to fall into my lap at the right time, and I suppose that is just the magic and mystery of art.
I did not know, when creating this peculiar dancer, that I was about to get a message from a friend I'd never met - an artist I'd known for years. And I did not know the message would begin with I have a short time to live.
I did not know, when creating this peculiar dancer, that I was about to get a message from a friend I'd never met - an artist I'd known for years. And I did not know the message would begin with I have a short time to live.
Over the three weeks following that message, I met Valerie for the first time, and then said goodbye for the last time. The incredible artist Valerie Thomson passed away in her own home yesterday.
She was a fount of knowledge, sharing her passion for plastic-free art and environmentally-gentle packing materials, paints, substrates (and even tape!) with anyone who was curious. And she painted like the muse was in her own two hands. Her entire home was her studio - no space was left for anything other than art and the creating of it. She collected art from around the world (including many of mine) and sold her paintings around the globe.
During the last visit, I asked her what she wanted the world to know. She said, without hesitation, "there is always room for more kindness." And then she proceeded to give away her entire studio of art supplies and her entire collection of art. To me and to others who responded to her messages. This amazing woman, who had been reclusive and hermit-like for the last decade, found herself in tears over the people who said "YES!" and rushed over to meet her and help in any way possible. And there I was, on the end of her bed, crying with her. Over bagels with scrambled eggs, just the way she liked them.
My studio is packed from floor to ceiling now. Canvases, boards, oil paints, oil sticks, papers, pigments, brushes and wedges. Including several of her unfinished paintings, of which she said "finish them. Or paint over them. You'll know what to do." It's a daunting thought.
From her diagnosis to her final day was just a few short weeks. Once again, the brevity and fragility of life overwhelms me.
She was a fount of knowledge, sharing her passion for plastic-free art and environmentally-gentle packing materials, paints, substrates (and even tape!) with anyone who was curious. And she painted like the muse was in her own two hands. Her entire home was her studio - no space was left for anything other than art and the creating of it. She collected art from around the world (including many of mine) and sold her paintings around the globe.
During the last visit, I asked her what she wanted the world to know. She said, without hesitation, "there is always room for more kindness." And then she proceeded to give away her entire studio of art supplies and her entire collection of art. To me and to others who responded to her messages. This amazing woman, who had been reclusive and hermit-like for the last decade, found herself in tears over the people who said "YES!" and rushed over to meet her and help in any way possible. And there I was, on the end of her bed, crying with her. Over bagels with scrambled eggs, just the way she liked them.
My studio is packed from floor to ceiling now. Canvases, boards, oil paints, oil sticks, papers, pigments, brushes and wedges. Including several of her unfinished paintings, of which she said "finish them. Or paint over them. You'll know what to do." It's a daunting thought.
From her diagnosis to her final day was just a few short weeks. Once again, the brevity and fragility of life overwhelms me.
About the art: beginning with an A.I. prompt asking the bot to create a "killer robot samurai dancer in the style of Degas" and the bot's response image below, I created a notan and a notanized grid, sketched the composition onto some Arches oil paper (a new favorite) with colored pencil. Thin washes of oil paint to rough in the shapes and the background, then increasing thicknesses applied with brushes, rubber wedges and paper towels. Veering away from the inspiration image to create my own version of this strange little one. Oh, the wondrous dance of it all...
