As ever, stay hungry and curious.
I am tired and I do not know why. Even people in writer's group have sinus infections that have lingered for weeks. To me that means spring is here along with all the allergies. Meanwhile I am trying to lift my spirits by finishing out Nebulae y Estrella. I posted three from today and have three more to finish the series. If I promise myself play every week, the work might change. New vistas is hopeful promise, but I am not done working what I have started. Friend told me to rest. So I am. If I post again before Sunday, it means I desperately had to share.
As ever, stay hungry and curious. If there is one thing to remember about my work and me is this: I m extremely attached to what I create. What happened today was a pinnacle of what tends to happen when I m enthralled in the work. After three hours of hand quilting, I put everything away and collapsed into my bed. I started crying. It was not so much that I pushed myself beyond my normal limits it was that I felt part of myself embed with each stitch. MQIV took the wind out of me and now speaks for itself. I became silent and the work is standing alone. I imagine this is the point every artist hopes to attain. It can hang on the wall and command a presence. Meanwhile my drive is deep in the quilt heart. All those times I collapsed into the desk holding the quilt top in one hand and threaded needle in the other must have been for the same reason. Forgive my insanity, but I talk and hug the quilts while I construct them. Singing them into existence in my own mind makes me a student of shamanism and sympathetic magic as well. There is more to say that maybe wrapped up in tales of observation and nature. Either way I am still shaking and waiting on lunch to heat up. Tears are starting to form in the edges of my eyes. What I triggered in my consciousness I do not know, except the quilt. He is ready for the next session and I have group to attend.
As ever, stay hungry and curious. One thing I can say is that today was awkward. Beyond picking up stomach bug, the air has been sticky and wet. The only thing that has me putting on my big girl panties is getting writing ready to read at group tomorrow. I've been gutting, rearranging, and seaming for over two weeks. My first two paragraphs of the essay have been chewing me up and spitting me out at lest twice day. Last night I resolved to stop no matter what else was made obvious. I broke in half come midnight and made more changes. I think I m done. If the other writers have comments, I'll listen. Last night I wrestled with angel and lost. Most happily so. It was good feeling not to give up. Coming back to the text every few days taught me endurance. I'm less likely to leave my ides to the wayside. I'll fight for them just s much s they want to be realized and articulated.
So, I m officially sick for at least another week which explains losing my hunger and finding it at the most odd of hours. This feeling overrides me at least once a day. It seems to tell me to leave two dimensional work and quilting lone. It intimates for me to write. I feel the pull and acknowledge that I have been seduced for few months. Still I am not walking away; I cannot walk way. The rest is good for now, but I still have more to do whether by schedule or inspiration, I m never leaving collaged works permanently. This rest can only make me stronger in the long run. I will write until I have to draw it out then make fetish out of old books. I am on the edge of losing purpose, well perhaps mission as well. I need to think bout why I love this and what that means now and in the distant future. The pain in my head hurts right now. gotta go. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I am itchy, feverish, and, no doubt, tender to the touch. Taking benedryl is on this list of before bed notions while I try to figure this out. My conundrum is born of having a visual artist's blog, but nary a picture to post on regular basis. I seem to have slipped into a coma of writing an emerging artist's life without images. I will post photographs of the three quilts I am working, but only after the show comes down in March of 2017. If I do have a chance in hell of winning, I will not be giving competition a clue as to where every stitch lay. So, a year lies between us and I am officially clueless. For now I can not see beyond thread and needle. Still other, simpler, notions have arose and I will keep the faith by drawing. More inspiration rose today and I'll be in the files resurrecting doodles and notes. What I left in 2009 may not have been such fruitless act after all.
I have been seven years at this, non-stop. I scripted every notion and illusion from nightmares to day dreams to make sure I had a well to pull from. With writing, my mind has shifted, and I proceed the days differently. I have no complaints. The whole method is rooted in growth. How could I ever argue against that and why would I want to? So, I am opening myself to other discussions and tasks that have fed my wellspring of creativity since 2004. I may write of my trials' in the studio a little less. Know when I do, I might not have the right language, but I hope my enthusiasm strikes as true. Art in Primitivism - Yes! To the last paragraph. Art Dubai - If not, but for the photograph. Paul Klee - He is in my book reading pile. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I got dressed this morning in hopes of trimming back the climbing rose bushes. I planted them about six years ago and have rarely trimmed. So, walking out the back door I was met with rain and cold wind. Backup plans yielded better fare. The quilt I m giving myself two years to forge, I started today. It will be completely hand pieced and hand quilted. Not feeling as though I was under heavy weight of schedules made a difference as well. This little detour has me psyched and hopeful. The other part of happiness is that what is in my head is manifesting. I did not make detailed sketch for guideline. Just measurements on page and for now I know I'll need master drawing.
Capping off the day, I started dinner with a written appetizer comprised of finishing the series of guts to Chapter I of The Raven King. Typing edits will occupy my brain for good stretch of hours tonight and/or tomorrow. I am feeling better and sincerely appreciate my process to clarity. Honestly, I never knew I would enjoy writing so much. Meanwhile, I am a bit tired. I will go take care of myself. as ever, stay hungry and curious. Today's front runner for a road block is a PDF file. I picked back up on Tarot studies this past weekend. I've been down many a link and lead since then. Today I finished up reading and followed more notes. Thus I arrived at a online PDF file that was so tantalizingly appropriate I played between the file and Word 2007 till I realized I could print directly from the net. I sent the job to the printer and waited. It printed without a hitch, except the word were not words but a conglomeration of consonants and accent marks. Go figure the online display is in English. Besides the volume being slightly disturbing, I'm trying to meter out my ink usage. I'll come back to it later and take notes from the screen. Meanwhile I have a tidy some of scratch paper to use.
Quilting is good, but writing is where it is at today. I was bright-eyed around three this morning and could not get back to sleep. I dug in on an article I had just started and did not look back. After sleep again, come eleven I moved the workshop to the kitchen. I took up The Raven King in hand and started gutting the manuscript. After walking away from writing a few weeks ago I was able to see all that I glazed over before. I was warned not to do so much I change the story. Thanks to friend, I kept mindful and continued to unearth Galetea from the marble. The nuances become confirmed subtleties and I am editing toward confidence in the script. If I can make the read physical see the context and plot, I will be ecstatic. I also forgot to tell you one of my book ideas finally congealed. I feel I have a solid approach. Mission statements and outlining aside, I think fleshing this animal will be fun. Meanwhile I have to unearth the original idea and all its notes and glory. Quietly, I am praying I can read my handwriting. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Last post I was left with a mental image of works by Claes Oldenburg. You got it, one big fat burger with mayo made out of plastic loomed before my eyes. I wondered. I had to think. I had to think hard about what the hell I was not doing in the studio. If you haven't figured it out, I chase down even the whims if the vision strikes me inert. Somehow it all is about beauty and draftsmanship. Though, mind you, I refuse to draw a double burger in charcoal through until Pentecost begins; no matter how hungry I may seem. (FYI: I realize it is not lent, but I've switched to a diet of fish, whole grains when available, vegetables, and rice. The less beef and pork right, now the better. Meanwhile, an occasional trip to the bakery is in order. Learning the expanse of the Lord's bounty is difficult right now. Though where I once hated brussel sprouts, I have recipes that changed my mind.)
So, the reminder of sculpture has me questioning how I am going to do something about this hint to go play. As I sit here I remember books and slides of Earthworks and Abakanowicz. Calming down, I am mustering the reserve to draw the abstract as the iconic. Tribal design is good reference, but I'll reserve my pencil for the garden's shadows than repeating the black marks of mine and other's ancestors. Also, those dodadas I've been collecting come to mind. "Found objects" may be what I need to sit, observe, and draw. Another source to play out would be to create small forms with clay bodies both supple and dried out. >Forgive me, I'm brainstorming and sharing for the sake of both our curiosities.< I remember an installation of handmade clay pieces that could all sit in the human palm. They might have been terra cotta and seamless. To see them you had to crowd around the wall to see the shape, curve, and line of each intimiste. For their creation I wondered if someone had clued into the variety of shapes that is in a car mechanic's manual. Maybe a stop at AutoZone would have met my comparisons to what was on the wall. Fascinated with each shape, I could not help but wonder what the artist broke into pieces, or was each intimiste a piece of romance of an earlier era. So I am back to exploring that relationship between viewer and object. Pulling you in closer; building at least one fascination onto the wall. I need to by a copy of experimental drawing again. I also need to learn to work smaller. For the collages and drawings that may work, but the quilts. I am going to cry. My design tactics will have to change. I just got a clue of where to go and it maintains a high level of discovery. More options and two books later, I think by God Jeeves I have it! I realize I come to these thoughts every few months, but if I could explain the torture of figuring out how to live and work as an artist for the rest of my life, no matter where I live, you might cry too. Hope the weekend is well with you. It is cold here and we are waiting on thunderstorms by afternoon tomorrow. They may strike tonight. Remembering dreams of water and church steeples.... Bring mindful of the nature and weather notebook gets me a little closer to writing in the journal instead of everywhere else. Making symbols and sign just became daunting. I do not think I will be pulling from American Sign Language and I do not have to be conventional. In sleep I'll consider over another night. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I thought I would share the piss off moment of last month. The pencils I buy for sketching have a tendency to break inside the shaft of the pencil. I sharpen every few minutes and the lead falls out. This keeps going till I widdle down to nub with the pencil sharpener. By then the pencil is too small to hold. Regretfully so, I have not invested in the little contraption yet that holds even the last inch of a pencil so you can get the most bang for your buck. For now I hold back the frustration and run to the expensive end of graphite pencils. It does not matter. From Royal to Derwent and the Dollar Store, they all break at the wrong moment. The flip side is I know I put over pound of pressure on the sticks when I am digging in and making a profound mark. Sharpened tips fracture first and am left with a blunt that cuts both ways. I wonder if shaving the pencil with an Exacto knife with remedy some of my frustration. Maybe pencil is for the delicate hand. I may need to venture back into my charcoal mix and jockey for position in front of a photocopy of Motherwell and De Kooning.
Meanwhile, I am here. Mulling over typos and a sticky "a" key. I am here, wondering if I am understood in places other than through my art. Maybe that is why I work, but that would be too much vanity for me to conquer in a life time. My intellect pulls me toward so many fascinations. As a result, I can not help but be torn away from professionalism honed by concentrating efforts on one topic. I fear if the wonder stops, so will I. Still, staying interested is not a problem right now. Working on Medicine Quilt IV has me dreaming into years beyond my understanding of who I will or want to be. I do this work to codify what I have experienced in the forest, on the back forty, and research. In making the quilts, I honestly thought I could form medicine notes in images that address core health issues in North Texas. The problem is I get lost. I get sidetracked. I get redirected. Why? I do not think I have fleshed out an artist statement that would direct my efforts. That goes on the clip board in the hour. Despite my thoughts about naysayers, I have no desire to quilt little pills and embroider notes from the back of the medicine bottle. It is harder than that. Thinking through the psychological foundations for the quilts brings a profound urge toward Jung and Joseph Campbell. I don't doubt in the least that my studies in herbalism will pull me through to a visual play of vegetable, water, and herb in fabric. Yet, that is far too easy as well. I'm starting to bank on what I see, smell, and taste. I am also banking on my personal health. I am counting on first hand experience and interpretation. I am seeking foundations in a little sympathetic magic and Christian prayer. I banking on my attentions changing and yielding to the peace of being recluse. (Meaning more like David Thoreau in his backyard shed writing Civil Disobedience and the rest.) I stepped outside of the realm of classroom exercises years ago. Although I get flack for not writing or painting standards. Right now I give one damn less. So, I know how Medicine Quilt V starts and how its core has to come from telling the autobiographical. I used to balk at that. Though it seems I have returned to autobiography with an understanding heart. I used to argue about telling tales like the symbolists. I use to argue the function of still life painting as a start before you find the subject that sings for your interpretation in oils. Most times I dwell in abstraction because my sightline is so far into my thinking mind that figurative studies never sat well with me. Truly though, I find my calling in the caves at Lasceuax and the painted pottery of my ancestors. Mind you, not for gimmick sake, but I can not seem to function in the studio without understanding sign and symbol in my environment. I do the work in and out of the house. I do not wait for a vision after concentrating on a drawing for a tattoo. I go out. I seek nature on its own territory. Passive encounters yield no fruit that you can fill on day after day. This year I hope to learn from spring electrical storms and summer's heat. The benchmark will be finding one lesson in every season through until next year. Then I will review my notes and most certainly stay conscious of the lessons for life. I needed this. Thank you. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I rescued my soul tonight, and with help. Friend is always right on time and well as a few echoes from around the hood. I was elbows deep in chopping ginger when friend told me to write. He said it did not matter what it was, just write. So I picked up from the green spiral notebook and picked up from where I left. This was after dinner and I followed up with a round of edits on the computer as well as finding other things that need polishing. I feel pretty good and have more work to detail memories.
I prefer to wait till I can read it through without trouble before I share. Maybe I need to wait even longer and past a handful more of edits. Maybe, you've experience this? I was about to never let another soul read my writing. I was convinced not to share anything for any editing purpose. I figure I need distance from my writing for the sake of my emotions. Then ask for an opinion, maybe. hmm. WMDs next to my book shelf. Doctor approved writing and therapy never ends. A friend told me after it is over we are all in recovery for life. So no matter how many times you change the character's names, somehow we all know it is you. For some of us, yeah, I said it. Friend came up with an offering earlier today that maybe, just maybe, my writing is more suitable to being read, then understood. This instead of reading my text directly. I was also told my writing is more suitable for spoken word or singing. I may have mentioned that. Either way I need to learn to fly with more meat on the offering. A book on writing, grammar, and style may teach me something versus doing the work. Another point is writing my raw edges out of me. I am deathly afraid of that. I refuse to be formed by a cookie cutter and predictability. Which might make this journey every more precarious for the sake of publishing. At least I am considering this and also trying not to throw the manuscript out with the bather water. I hate what I do to my work when I get angry. Not good. not good at all. I've learned over the years to back off and put it away till I can act with some reason and tact. I do not feel I am being silenced. I hear the winds of change in my ear and I try to hold on to elucidating and sharing a thought. Whatever spirit is trying to teach me I've got to hold on and listen. I know I have got to take risks, but I think I am having trouble to start. Maybe not, I am writing still and the cache grows. Today I downsized. Anything I could not rationalize keeping is gone. It is mostly from my fabric stash and scraps. I know the pieces and remnants will find a good home at the local second hand shop. Meanwhile I can gauge what I need to quilt and gift a little easier. Having a little art sale every year is also on my mind. I'll flesh that out another year. Meanwhile I'll tackle the oil paintings tomorrow. Spring is here. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I am trying to play out the last 48 hours like an adult, but inside I am crying. I am ok. I just forgot what it was like to get core constructive criticism whether or not tact is present in the delivery. As I thought, the writing needs more work, The Raven King that is. Since last night I've been mulling over how important people's various reading comprehension levels are versus sacrificing personal style. For now I am backing off this gung ho road that leads to everything being published. Despite that I went to OfficeMax and got the Master printed. I want to start again tonight. It is almost like I have something to prove. Sunday I was in the deep end of the water and had to float out to safety on friends and strangers comments and recognitions. I was sad Sunday afternoon, but I understood the honesty in the comments. In my heart I ruminate over the weeks before wondering if I was ready to share. I'm glad I did and I am glad I had an extra pair of big girl panties in the proverbial bureau drawer. So, Raven King is on the barbe and I am fleshing an outline with notes and paragraphs for another book. All this not to forget encouragements to keep writing and edit my poetry written between 1994- 2009. If it were not for their insights, I might have packed it all in. Funny, I know how to defend my visual labors, while I seem to lay more sensitive at the seems with writing. My confidence comes and goes it seems. I wonder if I write in the dark, working diligently to each piece's finish, and remove all obligations of publishing, will I set an excellent groove to work and take risks? I'll take the chance and learn how to do the hidden work as well.
As ever, stay hungry and curious. |
N.A. JonesPicking up where I left off. Archives
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