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Get Up And Wander
"Get Up And Wander" - oil on gallery wrapped canvas, 18 x 36 x 1.25 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
Up too early again. Listening to the patter of rain dripping from the tree limbs onto the tent and the hush of the creek in the darkness. Breathing in the scent of earth and rain. I can’t believe we are here, surrounded by these old trees and mountains, with days ahead of us. I’m a little boy all over again, incredulous that this place actually exists, and I am here in it. I want to get up and wander down to the creek and feel its black, wet, cold aliveness on my skin.
- RICHARD J. NEVLE
There is nothing quite like old trees, mountains and the ocean to make grown humans feel like kids again. And the exquisite luxury of time to enjoy it, more than just a day or two, makes the experience fully immersive.
Up too early again. Listening to the patter of rain dripping from the tree limbs onto the tent and the hush of the creek in the darkness. Breathing in the scent of earth and rain. I can’t believe we are here, surrounded by these old trees and mountains, with days ahead of us. I’m a little boy all over again, incredulous that this place actually exists, and I am here in it. I want to get up and wander down to the creek and feel its black, wet, cold aliveness on my skin.
- RICHARD J. NEVLE
There is nothing quite like old trees, mountains and the ocean to make grown humans feel like kids again. And the exquisite luxury of time to enjoy it, more than just a day or two, makes the experience fully immersive.
I get a little antsy if I don't get outside enough. My nervous system responds to nature with a deep exhale, sheds its anxiety and just is. Even when the hike is long, hard and uphill both ways. Even when it's raining and cold. Even when it's blisteringly hot and oppressively sunny.
The world we live in sends us messages which can keep us away from this balm - too busy, too tired, it's too far, it's too buggy, it will take too long and so on. And yet every time I overcome these ne'er-do-well thoughts, I am instantly glad. And feeling like a kid again? Heck YES!
About the art: this is a large piece created over top of another murdered painting. I fussed with the original piece until it just felt hopeless, dark and unsatisfying. What's the fix for that? Heaps of softer, brighter colors and some groooooooovy texture (thank you, failed underpainting!) along with a hint of whimsy (the heart just revealed itself - not planned at all). I lost count of the layers, and it took months (not weeks) to dry.
Big thanks to artist and blogger Dotty Seiter (dottyseiter.com) who recently posted about tearing up a piece of art that just wasn't working. It inspired me to rip a piece to, um, well, pieces. No worries - those pieces will become fodder for collage later. Yay!
It's time for the JUNE READER GIVEAWAY! This month's reader question is: what do YOU do to refill your creative tank? Leave a comment below. One (or more) lucky readers will be selected at random and win an original piece of art - FREE!
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Strange Gods
"Strange Gods" - oil on clayboard panel, 14 x 18 inches (this item is sold unframed) Click on the image to purchase.
That I am I.
That my soul is a dark forest.
That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.
That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back.
That I must have the courage to let them come and go.
- D.H. LAWRENCE
Strange gods come forth from the forest, the ocean, the prairie, the pond, the paint.
The visuals conjured by Lawrence's words are powerful to me. I've been spending a lot of time in the little clearing of my known self, reconciling with and learning to accept the strange gods that come and go.
That I am I.
That my soul is a dark forest.
That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.
That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back.
That I must have the courage to let them come and go.
- D.H. LAWRENCE
Strange gods come forth from the forest, the ocean, the prairie, the pond, the paint.
The visuals conjured by Lawrence's words are powerful to me. I've been spending a lot of time in the little clearing of my known self, reconciling with and learning to accept the strange gods that come and go.
And one might think I am far too old to be wrestling with all of that.
Except that to stop investigating the clearing and the dark forest around it would be to stop - well, everything. Learning, growing, expanding, understanding, flowing. Certainly, creating would be come something less.
This piece is inspired from an outrageously beautiful sunset on the Oregon coast, a place where the odd gods are seemingly easier to understand.
Blogger and blog will be on an adventure for the remainder of the month, recharging and refilling the reservoir of inspiration. Look for a bevy of new work in June, the return of the monthly Reader Giveaway, and an announcement of one stellar show coming this summer!
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I Can Do This, I Say
"I Can Do This, I Say" - oil on cradled wood panel, 18 x 18 x 1.75 . Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
So often I dream you’re here and I wake in the middle of a prayer from my muzzled
childhood. Jesus Mary and Joseph, I say, appalled that I’m stuck in 1955 when I need
something profane to see me through. Serrano’s submerged cross. Ginger tea.
The idea that we’re moving between horizons and the Earth is so wise she sends us
Winter and red-tailed hawks when we least expect them. I can do this, I say,
and the planet shifts imperceptibly. From a great distance she appears to be at peace.
-FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
So often I dream you’re here and I wake in the middle of a prayer from my muzzled
childhood. Jesus Mary and Joseph, I say, appalled that I’m stuck in 1955 when I need
something profane to see me through. Serrano’s submerged cross. Ginger tea.
The idea that we’re moving between horizons and the Earth is so wise she sends us
Winter and red-tailed hawks when we least expect them. I can do this, I say,
and the planet shifts imperceptibly. From a great distance she appears to be at peace.
-FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
A month of Fiddleheads lands us here, with the planet shifting imperceptibly as she/we sees the small beauties in an otherwise difficult life, and knows she can do this.
The things we can do when we think we can do no more astound me. The pain we can endure, the exquisite joy we can feel wash over and through us even though there is pain. The beauty we can see in a world bursting with conflict and crisis and chaos.
Winter and red-tailed hawks when we least expect them - yes. And spring and river otters chirping, wild turkeys calling, crows raucously defending their turf. I can do this, I say.
The things we can do when we think we can do no more astound me. The pain we can endure, the exquisite joy we can feel wash over and through us even though there is pain. The beauty we can see in a world bursting with conflict and crisis and chaos.
Winter and red-tailed hawks when we least expect them - yes. And spring and river otters chirping, wild turkeys calling, crows raucously defending their turf. I can do this, I say.
About the art: beginning with an old acrylic painting and a tub of black gesso, murdering the old painting to make room for the new. Carving back through the wet gesso to reveal a spot or two of the underpainting color. For this piece, I used no inspiration image. Just a color palette and my Planes of the Head mannequin - https://planesofthehead.com/products.php. I sketched a basic shape and features with a small brush and some thinned oil paint. Then the requisite 80 million layers of thin washes - darkening the background, highlighting the face, the flower petals, the hair. Allowing the texture of the original painting to create a kind of old-world crackling of the skin. OH! A walnut-oil laden brush over wet petals to create the dripping effect. A final layer of Gamvar gloss over the dried painting to make the darks sing.
Congratulations to Sara V.H.! Wonder Mike selected your name at random as winner of the April Reader Giveaway. Be on the lookout for your prize package in the mail. And thanks to all who participated! Hooray!
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Her Imagination Tends To Run Wild
"Her Imagination Tends to Run Wild" - oil on cradled wood panel, 16 x 16 x 1.5 inches (click on the image to purchase)
Continuing an exploration of Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Once when you hurt me I slept at a Red Roof Inn. I double-locked the door and tried to
watch talk shows to keep my mind off sounds like someone suffocating someone
in the next room. I thought I saw blood on the box spring and imagined needles and bulgy
veins, there’s something odd, I thought, about someone whose imagination runs this wild.
-FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Seaton's words are visceral and uncensored, off-putting.
Continuing an exploration of Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Once when you hurt me I slept at a Red Roof Inn. I double-locked the door and tried to
watch talk shows to keep my mind off sounds like someone suffocating someone
in the next room. I thought I saw blood on the box spring and imagined needles and bulgy
veins, there’s something odd, I thought, about someone whose imagination runs this wild.
-FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Seaton's words are visceral and uncensored, off-putting.
She invites us to look at things we might not otherwise care to - especially those things that run through our own minds during challenging times.
Visual art can be like poetry in that way, making us feel squirmy and uncomfortable because we feel stuff when we look at it. I suppose that is part of our jobs as creatives - to invent a way to look at a thing that allows us to approach and sit with it for a moment. Long enough for an aha, perhaps. Or even just an oh.
Visual art can be like poetry in that way, making us feel squirmy and uncomfortable because we feel stuff when we look at it. I suppose that is part of our jobs as creatives - to invent a way to look at a thing that allows us to approach and sit with it for a moment. Long enough for an aha, perhaps. Or even just an oh.
About the art - another piece created on top of an old one, using the underpainting colors to enhance the background and to cut through some of the foreground. In using the poem as fodder for the art, I used harsh, edgy brush strokes and wedge edges for some of this piece, keeping the colors fairly stark and full of contrast. Some soft blending, but mostly allowing the piece to fill with unrefined texture. Especially important to resist perfecting this one, which feels Seaton's poem so deeply.
It's the last week to enter the April Reader Giveaway! This month we're talking about poems (or lyrics or quotes) that hit you in a visceral way. What's your favorite? Leave a comment to enter - one lucky reader will receive a piece of original art FREE, just for participating. Hooray!
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"In the Shimmering Black Soup" oil on paper, 20 x 20 inches. (click on the image to purchase)
Continuing an exploration of the poem Fiddleheads:
I think I’ll come back to life now. It’s odd to think of something so big we could miss
the elephant we’re living on, like this planet Earth, is she alive and we’re her brain cells,
each one of us flickering, going out, coming back to life? Even Chicago looks poignant
from the top of the Hancock, organized and sincere. Think if we were photographing
Earth, how dear she would be, how we’d watch her shimmer in the shimmering black soup
of the firmament, how alone she’d look and how we’d long to protect her, the way it feels
Continuing an exploration of the poem Fiddleheads:
I think I’ll come back to life now. It’s odd to think of something so big we could miss
the elephant we’re living on, like this planet Earth, is she alive and we’re her brain cells,
each one of us flickering, going out, coming back to life? Even Chicago looks poignant
from the top of the Hancock, organized and sincere. Think if we were photographing
Earth, how dear she would be, how we’d watch her shimmer in the shimmering black soup
of the firmament, how alone she’d look and how we’d long to protect her, the way it feels
In The Shimmering Black Soup
to protect a woman at the height of orgasm, the liquid giving, the seawater slide of coming
back to life. When you hurt me, I evolved like a backboned sea creature, translucent
nervous system sparking along in the meanest deep where I was small enough to not care
and my passions ran to swimming, gulping, spitting bubbles back into new oceans.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Seaton's poem takes us on a ride, sliding into the worst of things, the deepest ocean, the blackest soup and yet leaves us shimmering and sparking, resilient and curious and compassionate.
back to life. When you hurt me, I evolved like a backboned sea creature, translucent
nervous system sparking along in the meanest deep where I was small enough to not care
and my passions ran to swimming, gulping, spitting bubbles back into new oceans.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Seaton's poem takes us on a ride, sliding into the worst of things, the deepest ocean, the blackest soup and yet leaves us shimmering and sparking, resilient and curious and compassionate.
And that's the trick, isn't it? Shielding our spark, evolving our shimmer so we can see all the beauty and feel compassion for our small selves and our large world and each other in the soup. It isn't easy, and it's not for the faint hearted. But Seaton says of course the Earth would be dear to us if we saw her there in the blackness - and maybe, just maybe, seeing ourselves from afar, sea creature, translucent we evolve compassion for our bubble-spitting selves.
About the art: another piece on artist printer paper, an absorbent and fairly smooth substrate. I learned from prior pieces on this medium to go heavy with the paint, build layers and allow tons of drying time. This figure began as an idea for another queen (I so enjoy painting them) whose crown became heavy, jester-ish, weighted. Sometimes when you follow the paint, these things reveal themselves. Rubber wedge, brushes, fingers, paper towels and chopsticks used in creating this piece. She's been given a coat of Gamvar to deepen the darks, making her even more mysterious.
It's time for the April Reader Giveaway! What poem (or lyric or quote) gives you a deeply visceral response? Leave a comment and you'll have a chance to win an original piece of art - FREE - just for sharing your thoughts. Huzzah! The winner will be selected at random by Wonder Mike and announced at the end of the month.
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Turning Within and Blossoming Without
"Turning Within and Blossoming Without" - oil on cradled wood panel, 18 x 24 x 1.5 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
Continuing our exploration of Maureen Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Similarly, when you hurt me, I curled like a mouse behind my third eye. I realize what an
odd thing it is to believe as I do in my third eye and the mouse behind it that furls like a fern
and whimpers like a fern being boiled on a monster stove beside its brothers and sisters.
Poor mouse. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Think of DNA,
Continuing our exploration of Maureen Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Similarly, when you hurt me, I curled like a mouse behind my third eye. I realize what an
odd thing it is to believe as I do in my third eye and the mouse behind it that furls like a fern
and whimpers like a fern being boiled on a monster stove beside its brothers and sisters.
Poor mouse. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Think of DNA,
the way it resembles the rope Jack climbed to secure his future and that of his aging Mom.
Or the way a sudden wave can drag a child under, that addiction to adrenalin, her
siblings farther away and more powerless than she ever imagined, the pure and ecstatic
irreversibility of undertow. It’s odd to come back to life, as they say, she came back to life.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Or the way a sudden wave can drag a child under, that addiction to adrenalin, her
siblings farther away and more powerless than she ever imagined, the pure and ecstatic
irreversibility of undertow. It’s odd to come back to life, as they say, she came back to life.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Think of DNA, Seaton writes.
Oh, I do. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Oddly, 50% of my DNA is mysterious, of unknown origin, vague shadows of Turkey and Italy and other unexpected lands. An unknown father. A story that died with my mother, before it was ever told. It remains her secret.
It's odd to come back to life, says Seaton. And yet we do, cycling through seasons of turning within and blossoming without, coming back to life when we rediscover lost parts of ourselves and when we discover new parts we perhaps never knew existed. Seaton's words take us down into that dark valley, hinting at the irreversible and then suddenly resurrecting us with a single sentence - she came back to life. Oh!
Oh, I do. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Oddly, 50% of my DNA is mysterious, of unknown origin, vague shadows of Turkey and Italy and other unexpected lands. An unknown father. A story that died with my mother, before it was ever told. It remains her secret.
It's odd to come back to life, says Seaton. And yet we do, cycling through seasons of turning within and blossoming without, coming back to life when we rediscover lost parts of ourselves and when we discover new parts we perhaps never knew existed. Seaton's words take us down into that dark valley, hinting at the irreversible and then suddenly resurrecting us with a single sentence - she came back to life. Oh!
About the art: beginning with black gesso over an old acrylic painting and carving through the gesso while wet to expose some of the original colors. Once dry, a loose figure sketch in white. Working from the outside-in to further define the figure by using a rubber wedge and walnut oil thinned paint. For the figure and the moon, many layers of thinned paint with broad strokes, keeping it loose. Blending with fingers and a soft cloth. Allowing some edges to remain crisp while blurring others. Carving through the wet paint with a small rubber edge to create texture in the "fabric". Standing (or sitting) ten feet back periodically to keep from losing the gesture of the piece. I've got a small sofa at a set distance from the work in process now. Sitting there and contemplating each piece daily has helped me see better where a painting works and doesn't.
- Published on
The Realization of Her Own Oddness
"The Realization of Her Own Oddness" - oil on cradled wood panel, 12 x 24 x 1.75 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
The first time I saw hundreds of fiddlehead ferns boiling in an enormous pot I realized
what an odd person I must be to hear tiny cries from the mouths of cooking vegetables.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Around this time last year, a poem (Sometimes A Wild God, by Tom Hiron) inspired me to create a body of work. (See The Wild God)
The poem informed the work, which informed my understanding of the poem. I don't know how poetry works for you, dear reader, but for me the best way to really "get" one is to spend a little time each day with it.
When I first read Seaton's Fiddleheads, I had the same visceral response as I experienced with Sometimes A Wild God - Oh! THIS!
So off we go, a little piece at a time.
The first time I saw hundreds of fiddlehead ferns boiling in an enormous pot I realized
what an odd person I must be to hear tiny cries from the mouths of cooking vegetables.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Around this time last year, a poem (Sometimes A Wild God, by Tom Hiron) inspired me to create a body of work. (See The Wild God)
The poem informed the work, which informed my understanding of the poem. I don't know how poetry works for you, dear reader, but for me the best way to really "get" one is to spend a little time each day with it.
When I first read Seaton's Fiddleheads, I had the same visceral response as I experienced with Sometimes A Wild God - Oh! THIS!
So off we go, a little piece at a time.
Seaton's opening sentences in this poem give us the opportunity to play fill in the blank in our own lives:
what an odd person I must be to__________
what an odd person I must be to__________
- feel the sighing melancholy in the tilt of a robot's head
- delight in the madness of big storms and thunder and raging wind, hail and rain
- wonder what goes on in the minds of ants and spiders and what their eyes see
And so on. But in asking (and answering) the question, there is a slight lift of the spirit - I am odd, but so are all people, really. We're connected that way.
Embracing each other's oddness is a lovely thought for a Monday.
Embracing each other's oddness is a lovely thought for a Monday.
About the art: the AI bot is learning my innermost ballgown bot dreams. It has begun layering my reference images with dripping fabric and paint, spring pastels and the soft hint of wings. Oh oh and OH! Beginning with a cradled wood panel gesso'd in white and drawing the form shapes with colored pencil. Working from the outside in for the base layers to keep the form edges crisp, then from the inside out to allow the oil-thinned paint at the bottom of her gown to drip and mix with the background underpainting. Brushes, rubber wedges, fingers and a soft cloth were used in creating this piece. Allowing the thickness of final paint layers to create texture and fabric folds. As always, resisting the urge to perfect, walking away and looking back from a distance to see her essence. I think she's quite content.
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Stop Badgering Me
"Stop Badgering Me" - oil on wood panel, 24 x 18 x .75 Ready to hang.
"Fear, Illuminated " - oil on Yupo, 18 x 12.5
"Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks" - pen and ink on Yupo, 8.5 x 8.5
(click on the images to purchase)
"Stop Badgering Me" - oil on wood panel, 24 x 18 x .75 Ready to hang.
"Fear, Illuminated " - oil on Yupo, 18 x 12.5
"Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks" - pen and ink on Yupo, 8.5 x 8.5
(click on the images to purchase)
In the midst of a breakdown, we often wonder whether we have gone mad. We have not. We’re behaving oddly, no doubt, but beneath the agitation we are on a hidden yet logical search for health. We haven’t become ill; we were ill already. Our crisis, if we can get through it, is an attempt to dislodge us from a toxic status quo and constitutes an insistent call to rebuild our lives on a more authentic and sincere basis. It belongs, in the most acute and panicked way, to the search for self-knowledge. - Alain de Botton The School of Life: An Emotional Education
If you've never had a panic attack, this post might feel a bit foreign to you. If you have experienced a panic attack (or more than one, or many), then you've got an intimate relationship with what we call the "Honey Badger."
Panic, or fear of fear, originates in the amygdala, the primitive brain over which we have no control. It's great when you're in danger, but maddening when you're not in danger, but it decides you are, and also that you have no say in the matter.
Fear, Illuminated
It can begin with a fear of public speaking, or heights, or social situations or something seemingly silly and benign. It may be based on a frightening or painful past experience, or it may not. The why does not matter to the Honey Badger. You can waste a lot of time asking why.
The real question is: what? What is your body experiencing, what was the situation before hand, what can you do to feel better?
Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks
There is no easy remedy for panic.
Curiosity helps. And patience. And a willingness to look the Honey Badger in the eye. Because the more you despise the old HB, the bigger he grows. You gotta make friends with the badger if you want to survive. Because, believe it or not, HB wants to push you to the other side of something.. And the only way through is through. Not over, not under, not around. Through the gaping maw of the badger and chomp chomp chomp. Down through the stomach and out the other end. Messy, smelly, and so damned uncomfortable.
Thank goodness there is art.
Curiosity helps. And patience. And a willingness to look the Honey Badger in the eye. Because the more you despise the old HB, the bigger he grows. You gotta make friends with the badger if you want to survive. Because, believe it or not, HB wants to push you to the other side of something.. And the only way through is through. Not over, not under, not around. Through the gaping maw of the badger and chomp chomp chomp. Down through the stomach and out the other end. Messy, smelly, and so damned uncomfortable.
Thank goodness there is art.
About the art: sometimes it is easier to approach a challenging topic visually. In this series, panic (as the Honey Badger) is depicted as initially an overwhelming experience (this HB is TOO BIG!), then as something perhaps more manageable but still alarming (especially when it is brought out of the dark corner and illuminated), and finally as an ally - the thing within you that leads to examining, accepting, rebuilding the framework into something adventurous and strengthening.
Have you had experiences with panic? I'd love to know. Leave a comment below!
Have you had experiences with panic? I'd love to know. Leave a comment below!
Congratulations, Candis and Thea! Wonder Mike chose your names at random as winners of the March Reader Giveaway! Email your mailing address to thewanderingsofllola@gmail.com and your free art will be on its way to you. Thank you for sharing your super powers with us. xo
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Esme, Self-Liberated
"Esme, Self-Liberated" - oil on gallery wrapped canvas, 16 x 20 x 1.5 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
I release you, my beautiful and terrible fear. I release you.
You were my beloved and hated twin, but now, I don’t see you as myself.
- FROM FEAR...I GIVE YOU BACK BY JOY HARJO
Fear. It can be a motivator, an instigator, an investigator. It keeps us safe - warns of danger. But it is also sneaky and takes us hostage, holds us back from growing, learning, leaping, bravely conquering. It can become the tentacles that bind us; hold us imprisoned. It can cloud our perception and obscure the truth of things.
I release you, my beautiful and terrible fear. I release you.
You were my beloved and hated twin, but now, I don’t see you as myself.
- FROM FEAR...I GIVE YOU BACK BY JOY HARJO
Fear. It can be a motivator, an instigator, an investigator. It keeps us safe - warns of danger. But it is also sneaky and takes us hostage, holds us back from growing, learning, leaping, bravely conquering. It can become the tentacles that bind us; hold us imprisoned. It can cloud our perception and obscure the truth of things.
And once in a great while, fear can create an infinite loop, making it very difficult to step out of it. Fear of fear, which results in anxiety, panic and panic attacks. It would be funny if it weren't so awful, being afraid of something and then being afraid of the very act of, well, being afraid of that something. Maddening! Frustrating! Illogical! The human brain is both a wonder and a ponder.
So the thing about fear is that you can't dodge it. You have to look it squarely in the eye, like a bully, or a honey badger (more on that in a future post). And when you look at it, you're really looking at yourself, or rather a part of yourself.
So the thing about fear is that you can't dodge it. You have to look it squarely in the eye, like a bully, or a honey badger (more on that in a future post). And when you look at it, you're really looking at yourself, or rather a part of yourself.
As Harjo says so beautifully in She Had Some Horses: She had some horses she loved. / She had some horses she hated. / These were the same horse.
Esme has looked herself in the eye and stared down the bully. I think liberation looks good on her. :)
Esme has looked herself in the eye and stared down the bully. I think liberation looks good on her. :)
There is one more week to enter the March Reader Giveaway! Leave a comment - what's YOUR superpower? (see last week's blog post). One lucky commenter will win a piece of original art - free! Huzzah!
About the art: this piece sits atop a gesso-murdered acrylic painting. Often, I work from the outside of a piece (a base background) to the inside of a piece (the figure) and back to the outside (background details and blending lines between figure and background). For this piece, which is more illustrative, I worked from the outside in and the top down. Crisp lines for the basic composition and softer lines for the figure. Lots of layers of glazing (walnut oil-thinned paint) and drying time between layers. Esme's head is held high! Perhaps she is pleased with the final result.
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"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.
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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!
