- Published on
Your Heart Will Touch Everything It Meets
"Your Heart Will Touch Everything it Meets" - acrylic on aluminum panel, 12 x 16. Available here and at Artfinder.
We've arrived at the final chapter in The One Life We're Given by Mark Nepo. Whether the chapter, Staying Tender and Resilient, is better than all the others or I am just reluctant to put the book down, I've underlined every sentence.
Before you panic and leave the blog page in fear of a million quotes, I think we can safely sift the chapter down to handfuls of words in which Nepo expresses his hopes for us, his own dear readers:
We've arrived at the final chapter in The One Life We're Given by Mark Nepo. Whether the chapter, Staying Tender and Resilient, is better than all the others or I am just reluctant to put the book down, I've underlined every sentence.
Before you panic and leave the blog page in fear of a million quotes, I think we can safely sift the chapter down to handfuls of words in which Nepo expresses his hopes for us, his own dear readers:
"...I hope you softly trip into unexpected moments of bareness, where the glow of your heart will touch everything it meets, and you can't help but remember how dear it is to be alive."
That's a heap load of whoa there. How many of us hope to trip into moments of bareness? Or allow our hearts to touch everything they meet? How to stay in that openness and vulnerability and to stop resisting where life wants to take us - that is the challenge. How to lean in when all of our instincts are to look away. How to listen to our pain and figure out what it is saying to us. Sharing our stories is a good way to lean in. Sometimes we learn something in the telling. Other times in the listening. And now and again, a story shared in a moment of vulnerability helps us softly trip into bareness together.
That's a heap load of whoa there. How many of us hope to trip into moments of bareness? Or allow our hearts to touch everything they meet? How to stay in that openness and vulnerability and to stop resisting where life wants to take us - that is the challenge. How to lean in when all of our instincts are to look away. How to listen to our pain and figure out what it is saying to us. Sharing our stories is a good way to lean in. Sometimes we learn something in the telling. Other times in the listening. And now and again, a story shared in a moment of vulnerability helps us softly trip into bareness together.
- Published on
"They Are Obviously Headed in the Right Direction" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 20" x 24" x 1". Ready to hang (back has been pre-wired for hanging). Available here and at Artfinder.
How do any of us know where the heck we are going?
Ok, ok, we point ourselves in a direction, set goals, take some steps and maybe, like me, look for signs. But here's the thing about signs. They are only useful if you see them. And then they are only meaningful if you spend some time reflecting on them. If your family happens to have a bit of a science slant to it, you might also find yourself doing little tests to verify what you think you glean from signs.
Or, you can just head off down the path that has you enthralled and just see where you end up. :)
How do any of us know where the heck we are going?
Ok, ok, we point ourselves in a direction, set goals, take some steps and maybe, like me, look for signs. But here's the thing about signs. They are only useful if you see them. And then they are only meaningful if you spend some time reflecting on them. If your family happens to have a bit of a science slant to it, you might also find yourself doing little tests to verify what you think you glean from signs.
Or, you can just head off down the path that has you enthralled and just see where you end up. :)
They Are Obviously Headed in the Right Direction
I suppose the point of my meanderings here is that we really can't know until we know.
Until then, we're required to sit patiently (and maybe a bit uncomfortably) in the pocket of unknowing even as we take steps in that one direction...because, "a point in every direction, is the same as no point at all" - Harry Nilsson, The Point.
And that is exactly where we are supposed to be.
About the painting - this is a "paint over." It has been a good long while since I was painting over older pieces of work. In truth, I was out of boards and grabbed the nearest one. You can see the smallest bits of the underpainting through the layers on the new piece, which has been reoriented to a horizontal.
This piece is also painted entirely with a squeegee. Because if you are going to impulsively paint over your work, you might as well go crazy.
This piece is also painted entirely with a squeegee. Because if you are going to impulsively paint over your work, you might as well go crazy.
- Published on
The Knowable Point of Love
"The Knowable Point of Love" - mixed media on panel, 18 x 24. Ready to hang, (hanging groove on the back) or can be framed. Available here and at Artfinder.
"One thinks of the smallness of human hands, of how soon they weary and of how little time is granted to their activity." RAINER MARIA RILKE
I've been pondering hands.
Makers of things, writers of words. Gentle comforters, dramatic actors. Mine are a bit gnarled and generally covered in paint. They tell a story.
Hands can give and take away. Lift up or hold down. Push or pull. And when we place our own hands in the hands of another, worlds are joined and oceans of distance crossed.
"...the knowable point of love is always the hand that helps another up." MARK NEPO
"One thinks of the smallness of human hands, of how soon they weary and of how little time is granted to their activity." RAINER MARIA RILKE
I've been pondering hands.
Makers of things, writers of words. Gentle comforters, dramatic actors. Mine are a bit gnarled and generally covered in paint. They tell a story.
Hands can give and take away. Lift up or hold down. Push or pull. And when we place our own hands in the hands of another, worlds are joined and oceans of distance crossed.
"...the knowable point of love is always the hand that helps another up." MARK NEPO
Nepo, in his way with the most delicious of phrases, brings us to the very point when love is knowable.
"We're all born with a depth of heart that only unchecked love and care can open. We become of utmost use when we act on this opening of the heart. Once we act, we start to live a life that is tender and resilient." (Nepo)
We act when we offer our hand, but also when we accept a hand offered, hold it closely and allow our hearts to open. The reward - a tender and resilient life - can you imagine? I am heading in that direction. It is the right way to go.
"We're all born with a depth of heart that only unchecked love and care can open. We become of utmost use when we act on this opening of the heart. Once we act, we start to live a life that is tender and resilient." (Nepo)
We act when we offer our hand, but also when we accept a hand offered, hold it closely and allow our hearts to open. The reward - a tender and resilient life - can you imagine? I am heading in that direction. It is the right way to go.
- Published on
Waiting For Santa
Peanut
Norman
The Other Reindeer
"Waiting for Santa", "Norman", "Peanut", "The Other Reindeer" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, each 12" x 6" x 1.5". Ready to hang. Available at The Salty Teacup.
In a wild pivot from Monday's painting, here's a little whimsy from the studio as the holiday season begins (already?) and sleigh bells echo in the distance. These cuties are heading to The Salty Teacup in St. Johns to join in the good shenanigans which are a daily activity there. :)
In a wild pivot from Monday's painting, here's a little whimsy from the studio as the holiday season begins (already?) and sleigh bells echo in the distance. These cuties are heading to The Salty Teacup in St. Johns to join in the good shenanigans which are a daily activity there. :)
I've spent more than a year with Mark Nepo's The One Life We're Given. It's not that I'm a slow reader (I'm a known book gobbler), but this one is so densely packed with things my heart knows that it is almost too much to read. I have cried onto the heavily underlined pages until the ink smeared. I have dog-eared the edges and broken the spine. I have smiled into its folds. It is my dear old friend.
The next several posts will be the last from this book. Fortunately, the universe plunked a couple new books in my lap to attempt replacement. It will be hard to beat.
The next several posts will be the last from this book. Fortunately, the universe plunked a couple new books in my lap to attempt replacement. It will be hard to beat.
"When the tangle of the daily has us forget how precious life is, we tend to keep what matters from what needs to be done. Somewhere in the press of our day, in the press of a conflict that we won't let go of, in the press of a fear that makes us forget the deeper order of things - suddenly there's this shift and we make what matters a reward for getting to the end of trouble. But trouble never ends. It comes and goes like clouds. That is why what matters needs to come first." (Nepo)
I wonder if Mark Nepo knows how often he slaps me in the head with his words.
Recently, I've begun to reverse the priority of things. What matters comes first. The "tangle of the daily" comes after. You might be wondering what this looks like....an often empty refrigerator, a pile of ironing waiting for attention, a hike before working, a snuggle before errands, chowder with my sister before art deadlines, a long phone call with a dear one instead of sleep, painting past meal times, porch sitting in the sun. You get the idea. The resulting mind shift is flabbergasting. True, I don't get as much stuff done. The old stuff, that is. Instead, I get this other stuff, the stuff that matters, fully completed and stuffed in my joy pockets until the task list isn't even on my mind.
For you, dear reader, this might be easy and done every day. For me, the one who always focused on "getting to the end of trouble" before sitting in the preciousness of life, this is monumental. I'll stay here awhile. You know where to find me. :)
I wonder if Mark Nepo knows how often he slaps me in the head with his words.
Recently, I've begun to reverse the priority of things. What matters comes first. The "tangle of the daily" comes after. You might be wondering what this looks like....an often empty refrigerator, a pile of ironing waiting for attention, a hike before working, a snuggle before errands, chowder with my sister before art deadlines, a long phone call with a dear one instead of sleep, painting past meal times, porch sitting in the sun. You get the idea. The resulting mind shift is flabbergasting. True, I don't get as much stuff done. The old stuff, that is. Instead, I get this other stuff, the stuff that matters, fully completed and stuffed in my joy pockets until the task list isn't even on my mind.
For you, dear reader, this might be easy and done every day. For me, the one who always focused on "getting to the end of trouble" before sitting in the preciousness of life, this is monumental. I'll stay here awhile. You know where to find me. :)
- Published on
"Radiant & Broken" - mixed media on aquabord, 18" x 24". Available here and at Artfinder.
"...then show me a heart that hasn't been broken by pain or love. Or a mind that hasn't been knotted with the tensions of life. To be alive is to be radiant and broken. Living with an open heart is the art of meeting our brokenness with our radiance." MARK NEPO
In a perfect alignment of epic proportion, my inner state of being lined up with both Nepo's words and the trust-fall painting methods of Stan Kurth. With a nod to the more visceral art style of Rick Bartow.
"What is opened in us is always more important than what has opened us." Nepo's words here are probably the best in the whole book. We are given permission, sweet reader, to focus our energy on what has opened in us, and to release our grip on what put us in that opening space. Whoa.
"...then show me a heart that hasn't been broken by pain or love. Or a mind that hasn't been knotted with the tensions of life. To be alive is to be radiant and broken. Living with an open heart is the art of meeting our brokenness with our radiance." MARK NEPO
In a perfect alignment of epic proportion, my inner state of being lined up with both Nepo's words and the trust-fall painting methods of Stan Kurth. With a nod to the more visceral art style of Rick Bartow.
"What is opened in us is always more important than what has opened us." Nepo's words here are probably the best in the whole book. We are given permission, sweet reader, to focus our energy on what has opened in us, and to release our grip on what put us in that opening space. Whoa.
Radiant & Broken
A little about the painting (for those who are curious). It begins with random marks and watercolor on aquabord. Kurth calls that building a library. In this case, the board was turned many times, many layers and marks added until, at one point, it was a hot mess.
Going with the emotion of the day and viewing the mess from many angles reveals a shape or two. I use acrylic Posca Pens to sketch over top of the watercolor, isolating the shapes. If they work, acrylic paint mixed with gesso goes over top, filling in and then sprayed to run off and reveal a bit of what is below. The vibrant openings in the background are nearly pure watercolor. The contrast with the more matte gesso and acrylic mix is Kurth's secret weapon, I think. It grabs me every time.
Going with the emotion of the day and viewing the mess from many angles reveals a shape or two. I use acrylic Posca Pens to sketch over top of the watercolor, isolating the shapes. If they work, acrylic paint mixed with gesso goes over top, filling in and then sprayed to run off and reveal a bit of what is below. The vibrant openings in the background are nearly pure watercolor. The contrast with the more matte gesso and acrylic mix is Kurth's secret weapon, I think. It grabs me every time.
After spending time with Rick Bartow's work, I am even more convinced that we must to keep our mitts off the painting and resist over defining. The incomplete body form of the woman in this painting, along with the shredded, ragged textures, hints at the parts beneath the skin. And that's what we're all gunning for - in art and in life - the parts beneath the skin where our hearts are open. I'll meet you there. :)
- Published on
"Teach Us to Sit - acrylic, gesso and walnut ink on aquabord, 11" x 14". Available here and at Artfinder.
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks
- T.S. Eliot
This quote, tucked within The Five Things We Cannot Change, made me chuckle.
Oh yes, I've been learning about caring and not caring, being still among the rocks and sitting with this feeling and that thought and watching without being defined by it. And I'm learning to say yes to whatever conditions the universe presents, dropping my resistance and following the flow. Mostly.
But I've also been teaching Wonder Mike to sit.
This really means I am teaching myself to sit among the rocks of dog training. Patience, repetition, eye rolling (whoops! did I say that?) and more patience.
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks
- T.S. Eliot
This quote, tucked within The Five Things We Cannot Change, made me chuckle.
Oh yes, I've been learning about caring and not caring, being still among the rocks and sitting with this feeling and that thought and watching without being defined by it. And I'm learning to say yes to whatever conditions the universe presents, dropping my resistance and following the flow. Mostly.
But I've also been teaching Wonder Mike to sit.
This really means I am teaching myself to sit among the rocks of dog training. Patience, repetition, eye rolling (whoops! did I say that?) and more patience.
Teach Us to Sit
It is funny to me how the universe plunks a lesson down in front of me, and then proceeds to wrap everything else around that lesson.
Wonder Mike, on the other hand, tethered to my belt loop by a long rope which requires him to follow me everywhere and set his alpha dog aside, is quietly plotting to steal another ink pen and chew it on the rug. Ink pens, of course, become rocks to sit still among as I am scrubbing the carpet.
This piece, a little return to whimsy, was an experiment with the rich walnut ink used by artist Carl Stoveland in his recent series of work. Ink requires patience (rock sitting) while it dries, even when blended with gesso and acrylic paint. But the deep, murky darks it creates are worth the wait. Don't worry - the walnut ink is safely tucked away where my little troublemaker can't reach it. :)
Wonder Mike, on the other hand, tethered to my belt loop by a long rope which requires him to follow me everywhere and set his alpha dog aside, is quietly plotting to steal another ink pen and chew it on the rug. Ink pens, of course, become rocks to sit still among as I am scrubbing the carpet.
This piece, a little return to whimsy, was an experiment with the rich walnut ink used by artist Carl Stoveland in his recent series of work. Ink requires patience (rock sitting) while it dries, even when blended with gesso and acrylic paint. But the deep, murky darks it creates are worth the wait. Don't worry - the walnut ink is safely tucked away where my little troublemaker can't reach it. :)
- Published on
Rodomontade
"Rodomontade" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 24" x 26" x 1.25". Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
Portland is a crow mecca. They gallop across the road in front of my little dog, as if to say "we can't even be bothered to fly away from you, tiny creature." They accept offerings in my front yard and ask for water during the dry summer months. They fly the same path past my back door each evening on their way home to roost. And I do believe they hold sway in the Portland fashion world, as so many of us here have a wardrobe which is 99.9% black or dark clothing. :)
As I sit with the work of Rick Bartow, there appears the crow archetype as viewed by First Peoples - the trickster. We might be tempted to make a host of assumptions given the word "trickster". But, dear reader, you know crows like I know crows. We aren't fooled by their antics and charm. They bring us secret messages - if we dare to open them.
Portland is a crow mecca. They gallop across the road in front of my little dog, as if to say "we can't even be bothered to fly away from you, tiny creature." They accept offerings in my front yard and ask for water during the dry summer months. They fly the same path past my back door each evening on their way home to roost. And I do believe they hold sway in the Portland fashion world, as so many of us here have a wardrobe which is 99.9% black or dark clothing. :)
As I sit with the work of Rick Bartow, there appears the crow archetype as viewed by First Peoples - the trickster. We might be tempted to make a host of assumptions given the word "trickster". But, dear reader, you know crows like I know crows. We aren't fooled by their antics and charm. They bring us secret messages - if we dare to open them.
The trickster archetype (our black-garbed avian) exists to question, to cause us to question and not accept things blindly. This meshes nicely with one of The Four Agreements - "don't make assumptions."
When a way of thinking becomes outmoded and needs to be torn down and rebuilt, trickster appears. If you're like me, the first response to the mere suggestion of tearing down and rebuilding the ways you are thinking is to dig in your heels and furrow your brows. I chuckle as I write this, because I'm learning that these responses are exactly the clue that says - yep, girl, this is what you need to dive into. - take a breath and get on with it already. Dropping the resistance makes everything easier.
When a way of thinking becomes outmoded and needs to be torn down and rebuilt, trickster appears. If you're like me, the first response to the mere suggestion of tearing down and rebuilding the ways you are thinking is to dig in your heels and furrow your brows. I chuckle as I write this, because I'm learning that these responses are exactly the clue that says - yep, girl, this is what you need to dive into. - take a breath and get on with it already. Dropping the resistance makes everything easier.
This archetype also materializes when you are stuck chewing on your anger and frustration. I know, those two can be mighty tasty, and it may feel temporarily good to roll them over your tongue. But they can be transformed into humor, into acceptance and perhaps even a new path in the road to consider skipping down if you're willing to set them free. Humor tastes like cotton candy rolled in chocolate and dipped in crushed potato chips. Maybe yours has sprinkles and a cherry on top?
- Published on
"The Ferryman Proves to be a Rascal" - mixed media on 300 lb watercolor paper, 15" x 22". Available here and at Artfinder.
I will be moving on from my self-directed study of Rufino Tamayo this week, as I dive back into one of the artists who grabs my gut with every painting and wrings out emotion like a merciless washerwoman....Rick Bartow. His ability to both capture the essence of something and often use unexpectedly joyous colors even for the most somber of topics makes me catch my breath.
His work does not invite sketching and skewing. Rather, contemplation and an invitation to archetypes and peculiar proportions and colors. And again, as you hear me repeat, repeat, repeat, a willingness to keep your mitts off the paint and relinquish the need to hone and refine.
I will be moving on from my self-directed study of Rufino Tamayo this week, as I dive back into one of the artists who grabs my gut with every painting and wrings out emotion like a merciless washerwoman....Rick Bartow. His ability to both capture the essence of something and often use unexpectedly joyous colors even for the most somber of topics makes me catch my breath.
His work does not invite sketching and skewing. Rather, contemplation and an invitation to archetypes and peculiar proportions and colors. And again, as you hear me repeat, repeat, repeat, a willingness to keep your mitts off the paint and relinquish the need to hone and refine.
The Ferryman Proves to be a Rascal
Crow Dancer - Rick Bartow
Returning to today's "ferryman", this one was completed over several weeks using Stan Kurth's method. It has been turned around again and again - I couldn't settle on a composition - until finally there he was. This piece was a lesson in sticking with something, even when your frustration level is going berserk in the studio and you'd really like to tear it into smithereens. There are many potential meanings behind the title (courtesy of a line from the book The Five Things We Cannot Change by David Richo). But it also applies to a rascally figure, who gave me quite the runaround before appearing with a wink. Wishing you a rascal-free day, dear reader! :)
- Published on
"The Whole Sky to Fly In and No Eye Watching" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 24" x 36" x 1.25" . Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
The rains have arrive in Portland. Rains and a wind that bangs the deep-toned gong in my backyard. It is tempting to make the act of going outside a thing of necessity instead of the fun frolic of summer. But a walk in the forest in the rain (thank you to a sweet friend for that), mud-covered boots, leaf-littered dog and the sound of an owl reset the mind to seek these soaking adventures. Now we are ready for fall in the PNW.
This piece, perhaps the last in a series of weeping women, is the largest in a good while. She's seen me through some sleepless nights, angsty self-questioning and ultimate surrender.
"Creative work needs solitude. It needs concentration without interruptions, It needs the whole sky to fly in, and no eye watching, until it comes to that certainty which it aspires to, but does not necessarily have at once. " MARY OLIVER
The rains have arrive in Portland. Rains and a wind that bangs the deep-toned gong in my backyard. It is tempting to make the act of going outside a thing of necessity instead of the fun frolic of summer. But a walk in the forest in the rain (thank you to a sweet friend for that), mud-covered boots, leaf-littered dog and the sound of an owl reset the mind to seek these soaking adventures. Now we are ready for fall in the PNW.
This piece, perhaps the last in a series of weeping women, is the largest in a good while. She's seen me through some sleepless nights, angsty self-questioning and ultimate surrender.
"Creative work needs solitude. It needs concentration without interruptions, It needs the whole sky to fly in, and no eye watching, until it comes to that certainty which it aspires to, but does not necessarily have at once. " MARY OLIVER
The Whole Sky to Fly In and No Eye Watching
I've been cultivating a delicious sort of solitude. It is heady, so much uninterrupted time. After a lifetime of raising children (and a grandchild), working for others, managing things and priorities not my own - this long stretch of unfettered days is a luxury of the sort not found on vacation. This only ends if I wish it to. Oliver puts it best: "And that I did not give to anyone the responsibility for my life. It is mine. I made it. And can do what I want to with it. Live it. Give it back, someday, without bitterness, to the wild and weedy dunes."
- Published on
"Things the Heart Knows" - mixed media on 300 lb watercolor paper, 15" x 22". Available here and at Artfinder.
This is the final piece from the Freedom in Watermedia workshop with the incredible Stan Kurth. Ten paintings in four long days. Many of them already sold and delighting the eyeballs of others. Artists - if you are considering a Stan Kurth workshop - do it! (this message brought to you by FANS OF STAN KURTH, an imaginary organization of which I fancy myself to be the head cheerleader)
There are many shadowy images layered within this one. I find another each time I look. Kurth's process facilitates this. When you suspend planned paintings and launch yourself into a fully intuitive process, the things your heart knows but maybe your mind can't see end up sandwiched in the paint. Your job is then to keep your mitts off of it and resist the urge to polish and perfect. Let it be what it is. Hmmmmm, what if we could do that with ourselves?
I'm trying, in my newly upended life, to notice the imperfect beauty in others. To place weight on the vulnerable and quirky and odd. To allow space for others to let their authentic selves be present and restful. And to keep my own imperfect self front and center.
This is the final piece from the Freedom in Watermedia workshop with the incredible Stan Kurth. Ten paintings in four long days. Many of them already sold and delighting the eyeballs of others. Artists - if you are considering a Stan Kurth workshop - do it! (this message brought to you by FANS OF STAN KURTH, an imaginary organization of which I fancy myself to be the head cheerleader)
There are many shadowy images layered within this one. I find another each time I look. Kurth's process facilitates this. When you suspend planned paintings and launch yourself into a fully intuitive process, the things your heart knows but maybe your mind can't see end up sandwiched in the paint. Your job is then to keep your mitts off of it and resist the urge to polish and perfect. Let it be what it is. Hmmmmm, what if we could do that with ourselves?
I'm trying, in my newly upended life, to notice the imperfect beauty in others. To place weight on the vulnerable and quirky and odd. To allow space for others to let their authentic selves be present and restful. And to keep my own imperfect self front and center.
Things the Heart Knows
Not an easy feat in a world of enhanced images, carefully curated words, autocorrect and delete. It is so tempting...so easy to refine, polish, edit, enhance what we show to the world, just as we have difficulty letting the hand of the artist (that stray pencil mark, that dripping paint) remain uncovered in our work. But I am convinced, if we crave authentic connection, we must resist - mitts off! Let your own self shine.
And now, we return you to your regularly scheduled day. :)
And now, we return you to your regularly scheduled day. :)
