As ever, stay hungry and curious.
FYI: I have updated the Bio, Artist Statement, and Curriculum Vitae sections of the website. If you are curious, I encourage you to take a look.
As ever, stay hungry and curious. Sunday, May 27, 2018 1:30pm Bedroom, The House The Colony, Texas, U.S.A. Lifestyle is never what I intended to write. Insight, application, and a free exchange of ideas is all I ever hoped to begin. Know in that my defense against this blog being a suggestion of lifestyle, I do not have a cadre of commercial enterprise who want me to hawk their wares to you. Nor do I have a bevy of guest host to proffer my ideas. Know I am still a solitaire with a hand full of experience and many a question. As a result what I also have is a two-fold instigation. One is born of being an artist, the other born from chasing my favorite pens and the end of the ream of computer paper. With this instigation, I have a presumption that you missed the cloud of dragonflies moving up the ridge of the field to the street. It was an amazing sight. Maybe your instincts directed you to a cup of coffee laced with three shots of espresso. I would also have you heed the unlabeled turtle crossing on the highway past the lake. When the shell and flesh spurred out from beneath your car Thursday, I could only pray that death be a little kinder to you as well. My point is to ask you to slow down, breathe, and take account of your heart beat. Beauty for an artist or writer can all too often get caught up in the mandates of time, the drive of technology, and the ever present push of intellectual novelty. For myself, having started counting my steps and where the shade falls in the yard from the sun; I feel now that I do not have to be such a voracious consumer less again risk being consumed. Remember that somewhere the edge drops off. Pushing without guards into unknown territory can cause an imbalance within human mind. This problem can become ingrained in artistic practice unless it is checked by your ability to incorporate lessons of slowing down into daily living. Reflecting on my own trials, I decided to dig into my collection of contemporary artifacts and share what my foundations are. These are the site and sound I have have take timid steps to watch for. The occasion of collection is not one of living the classic“artist life” of poverty and daily chance. My practice to ground in a creative identity is hardly trite; nor are they a matter of bragging. On the contrary, this is a different path to follow. It one of being in observance as welling a perceiving it. You will find a life that mediates solitary practices and social interaction is rough territory to walk. By sharing an uncommon source of inspiration to work, you may find yourself with new eyes to the world. Slowing down and becoming integral to the landscape allows you to be accountable to yourself and become less fearful and more balanced when it comes to execution. It is partially learning the practice of making meaning. As a result, there is no more rushing from place to place never knowing where you are. The world may become as intimate to you as your own clothes. Eventually, you will find more than comfort, Everywhere you go will become home. Dog Tooth Long ago and far away I spent time with a friend working on a farm. One of the bonuses there was being able to set up my studio after graduate school. Nestled near the woods in the outskirts of the county, I could harvest anything on the property to use in artwork. My stock was fill with seed pods, insects, animal bones, and sections of gnarled wood. I no longer have my stash, but that did not stop me from collecting everywhere I went after that. No matter what I lose, nature still provides me an opportunity to gain new insight and an opportunity to return to lessons thought lost. Finding the tooth was a lark on the side of an old highway. This was a few months into being on foot and searching my way through the streets. Like some short legged dog, I watched my steps instead of the horizon. If not but for my curiosity around my feet, the tooth and skull section would have been overlooked and forgotten in the mud. I do not have much left of my time in Tarrant County, but the memories sometimes flood my eyes in crystal colors when I look over remnants of a former life. As for the skull fragment, I kept it for a few years. It was later discarded because I could not figure out how to use it. My tools stash was meager to work with something so delicate. As for the tooth I assumed it belonged to a dog. At one point fantasy and journalism made me wonder if I was wrong. Still someone would have told the police if they saw a dead body decaying on a main walking path – at least I hope. Sound Base
There is that occasion of being homeless where you constantly feel you have to collect things to feel orientation and purpose again. Picking up from parking lots and back alleys, where does all the time go? I have no real guess except to understand that the stash in your pouch becomes full of precious significant things that you can not seem to part with. I have spent time walking with an fabric side satchel. I walked so much that I have sustained damage in my right hip. Despite that, I do not regret the time. On those walks, coming into contact with self can be tricky and full of moments of shadow in personal evolution. So, where I have landed, I have a box of mementos full of odds and ends I can seem to resist rust or odd shapes. It seems to hearken to a time of a copper crown enthroned. Pointless, you may think, but I collect to eventually sit down and draw. I can never seem to find anything fascinating around the studio. I need to renew my eyesight. The piece above is from one of my favorite places to gather, Wal-Mart. Frequently I pick up objects that are interesting in themselves. However, I do not go wandering for logos and wrapping, that is a little on the hazardous side. Food, saliva, and insects laced around metal are popular some seasons. As a result, I have to consider the difficulty of cleaning each item. Still, some crusts of dirt make everything worth snatching up for a closer look. Most of the objects I do not know their origin. Speculating that is a writing journey on its own. As for this piece I think is belongs to a small radio speaker. The foam part must have separated from the base long before it was found. Dreaming into the shape I thought that it would make a nice neck ring for a fairy woman who was first wife. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Update:
As for studio work, I have kept my mouth shut. There has been little bragging and no complaining. As for practice, I needed to concentrate and not be persuaded by other's opinions. Keeping to silence was not a matter of yielding a crop of work. Silence resulted in straight stitches and balanced forms. The hardest two things to do in the last three months was piecing a top by hand with 100+ inch seams and trying not to play with the pieced animals I created for the show chair's theme for the Dallas Quilt Show next year. Little accomplishments move the days peacefully on to weeks and into months. As of earlier this week, I moved on to quilting the large top. That is when the strain occurred, it was long over due. I did not mention that I have been going full steam since the 2018 show. No doubt something was bound to happen. Still, the place where I sit now is at a better advantage point than before. I am counting on rest, writing, and simple observance to yield depth instead of number. The bottom line is that I am taking several weeks off. Boredom will no doubt tear me apart, but I am looking forward to old struggles renewed. Besides, the occasion will give me the opportunity to catch up on old episodes of Doc Martin. Declining television and Netflix for over seven years makes this decision special. Observation: I turned on the air conditioning unit and made a b-line for the work table. A few more hand stitches into the body of a snake was the only thing I had to do today. Damn the dishes! Damn the garden! Damn the bath tub! If I did not turn the curve from the head into the neck in the next hour, my week would be lost. Needle in hand, I plowed into the fabric in the silence. Then came squawking and crying at the window. The blinds were closed but I could tell by the shadows that something was dancing the Watusi on the unit. After I turned the conditioner off and the fan on, the noise stopped. I went back to sewing. Getting comfortable in the next few seconds of silence was brief. The squawking started again. I went back to the window and slipped a thumb underneath a slat in the blinds. To the left of the window is a wide Holly bush. At the bottom were three blue jays, one adult and two large children. One child roosted in the brush of the Holly bush, the other opened it's beak wide as the adult dropped food inside. I had seen mother birds feed children before, but only on the Discovery channel or on PBS. By watching on television there is a feeling of been removed. Hidden behind the blinds there was no need for the birds to fear. I was no more than 20” away and concealed by a window and slatted blinds. Voyeur was not a word that came to mind, but what I saw was an intimate moment that is understood across species. As ever, stay hungry and curious. |
N.A. JonesPicking up where I left off. Archives
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