- Published on
"The Unknown Forces Beyond All Wonder and Catastrophe" - oil on cradled wood panel, 11 x 14 x 1. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
We gave name to the unknown forces beyond all wonder and catastrophe, by telling each other stories. - ALITHEA, Three Thousand Years of Longing
Every day, we tell stories.
Stories to each other, for entertainment, for encouragement, for validation, for safety, for connection and comprehension. Some stories are true. Some stories are slightly true. Some are complete fabrications, some delightful and others malevolent. These stories build the fabric of our relationships with each other and the world around us. It helps us make sense of things - sharing and hearing these stories.
Stories to each other, for entertainment, for encouragement, for validation, for safety, for connection and comprehension. Some stories are true. Some stories are slightly true. Some are complete fabrications, some delightful and others malevolent. These stories build the fabric of our relationships with each other and the world around us. It helps us make sense of things - sharing and hearing these stories.
The Unknown Forces Beyond All Wonder and Catastrophe
Art is visual storytelling. Each painting has something to say, or to hide, or to shine a light upon. These stories emerge from within - the stories the painter tells herself. Whoa.
I find myself examining those inner stories recently. The brain is a powerful tool, and the thoughts we think are mighty. Artists are notoriously riddled with self doubt, imposter syndrome, criticism and anxiety about their work, their talents, their value and contribution to society. I've got plenty of that. But if I see those thoughts, observe them and then ask myself what if I think THIS (or THAT) instead, they lose a bit of power and free up a space for bold adventuring without hesitation.
As this year begins to wane, I find myself asking what if I paint over everything and begin again? What does that story look like? And my brilliant husband, an extraordinary and insightful artist, reminds me there is beauty in destruction, too. So I begin, painting over, building the new on top of the ashes of the old, freeing space for bold adventuring. Oh, oh, oh. Here we go.
I find myself examining those inner stories recently. The brain is a powerful tool, and the thoughts we think are mighty. Artists are notoriously riddled with self doubt, imposter syndrome, criticism and anxiety about their work, their talents, their value and contribution to society. I've got plenty of that. But if I see those thoughts, observe them and then ask myself what if I think THIS (or THAT) instead, they lose a bit of power and free up a space for bold adventuring without hesitation.
As this year begins to wane, I find myself asking what if I paint over everything and begin again? What does that story look like? And my brilliant husband, an extraordinary and insightful artist, reminds me there is beauty in destruction, too. So I begin, painting over, building the new on top of the ashes of the old, freeing space for bold adventuring. Oh, oh, oh. Here we go.
About the art: a board covered in black gesso, with multiple sketches and value studies on top. None of them were just right. So I grabbed the rubber wedge, the oil paint, the chopsticks and let the cosmos begin to reorder itself right in front of my eyes. My first real grid composition - something I told myself I would not like. And then I did. Oh.
PULLS. ME. RIGHT. IN.