Maybe I just can’t paint anymore. What is this. Maybe I can’t let it all out anymore. Onto the canvas. Maybe nothing’s there. Is something there? Do I see something starting to form? Do you see something? Do I do this every time I start a canvas? I don’t even know anymore. Why bother. Should I?
Once, for a short time, we were separated. He was lured away by a siren with a pack of lies and a pied piper with an ample supply of pot.
Soon after, he saw through the haze and found his way back to me.
And once again his books, his records, his clothes, and all his favorite things came back into my life along with him. I loved being surrounded by his things. It made me feel close to him. I still do.
The Weaver Academy of Art students are coming!
I was honored to be chosen as Juror for the 2018 Students Select exhibit for Weaver Academy for Performing and Visual Art in Greensboro, NC. When I walked in to the exhibit and saw their work I was delighted and impressed! It was thoughtfully and imaginatively created, in a variety of mediums, sizes, themes…these students have been working hard!
With all this really well crafted work it was difficult to choose the recipients for the awards. I fell in love with so many of the works. Here are details from a few of my favorites…
I attended the opening reception/awards ceremony and met and had lots of conversations with these bright, enthusiastic student-artists. I had a blast! The parents were cool, too.
I now have renewed faith in the art world!
I’m in the forest, approaching a small log cabin overlooking a still cool lake, a snowy mountain in the distance. I step back, startled by a sweet little fawn creeping through pine needles. As I step back I trip over a branch, I mean the rug; I’m back in my studio…
I’m painting a picture of a picture, a vintage picture painted on a slab of wood with visible tree trunk edges which sits on a fancy vintage hand crafted shelf. The light makes fun shadows on the wall.
When I look back at the photo of this in-process painting I’m fooled into thinking this is a photo of the actual object. The small ceramic deer looks three dimensional with the shadow projected on the painting behind it. Wow… trompe l’oeil! This is fun!
Nope. Not pregnant. Ha ha! This baby is on the way to her next display location, to hang around and wait for the right person to purchase her as a holiday gift for that special someone. Because, after all, doesn’t everyone need a painting of a baby doll hanging from a nail.
Actually, I love this one. I wouldn’t mind at all if she never gets sold. I have the perfect spot for her in my house.
- You wrote it.
- You didn’t care if you received 1 or 100 likes.
- You sat and bled just as Hem said to do and it makes perfect fucking sense to you.
- You read your work the next day and squirmed. You’re onto it. Keep going.
- You haven’t any choice but to write so you do. And you do. And you do.
- A family member read one of your pieces and said nothing. Instead they cried.
- You love yourself enough to write. So fucking write.
He was a beautiful corpse. That phrase keeps popping up in my mind. I think it’s the first line of my book. The book that’s inside me that I need to write.
I keep painting about him, hinting, being ambiguous, hoping others will connect with my paintings because they are slightly vague and more universally appealing, and at the same time including specific details so the people who knew him and loved him will recognize that my work is about him.
My book will be very specific. It will probably be described as heart wrenchingly tragic but sweetly beautiful. Certain people will probably disapprove and want me to keep quiet. But there will come a time when that swirl of feelings, visions, emotions leap out of me and into an organized pattern of words that tell the story.
In the meantime, I’ll keep painting. Now it’s his leather jacket. There’s still a cigarette butt in the pocket.
A work in progress….