Doing Art vs. Making Art

Yesterday I re-read the aforementioned article by Julie Fei-Fan Balzer and decided it was time to take action beyond reading the article.  Thinking about the advice to "do" art as opposed to "make" art, I picked up a small blank canvas and just started painting it.  With the tub of paint tubes within easy reach, I just started squeezing blobs of paint on the canvas, squeezing on a blending medium, and moved it all around.  The idea of creating a collage on this first canvas occurred to me, and I thought about the fact that my sister-in-law is celebrating a milestone birthday this summer and it would be fun to make something for her.  While that canvas dried, I grabbed another and just started putting bright colours on it.  My intent was not to create a masterpiece.  My intent was to smear paint and have a good time doing it.  How fun to ignore chores and make a painty mess without the pressure of a deadline or having to have a finished project.  This is my happy mess, phase 1.

On the mom front, I've got two kids at home now which means bigger messes and more chores.  I say kids, but they are 17 and 27.  I find studio time easier now that it's out of the house, something I thought was going to be a major inconvenience.  It is inconvenient at times, but at other times proves to provide a necessary separation of home and creative time.  This summer we will be college shopping for Kevin, which means a lot of time away from home.  Finding time to work in the studio is going to take planning.  It is time for me to start being more serious about it and make it as routine as when I went to an office every day.  Being creative definitely makes me a happier person, so I'm going to tell myself that I'm doing it for my family just as much as I'm doing it for myself.  Does that sound like a big fat fib?  ;-)  It's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Throwing in the Towel

There comes a time when there is no choice but to accept that a piece of art is, in fact, an epic failure and that it is time to throw in the towel.  This piece is just NOT going to happen.  I will never be satisfied, I will always be annoyed with the fact that no matter how much I paint it, attach wires, or change the mount, I just hate it.  This piece has been torturing me for almost two years.  I made a mistake in the form the day I made it, then tried to make the form work.  It doesn't work.  It started off beige and grim.  I tried incorporating fiber and wire and, as I observed back then, the result was a terrorist in a fluffy skirt.  It was horrible.

Next came more paint, removal of fiber, addition of wire, then more wire, and little metal bits.  I tried too hard to save a piece not worth saving.  Tossing this piece won't mean total failure for me.  I've learned what doesn't work, to trust my first instincts, but to also just keep handling a variety of materials in an effort at getting better with those materials.  I can throw in the towel and not feel as if I've completely wasted my time.  Well, I can try to talk myself into believing that if I say it enough times in my head.  In any event, I'll never feel free to do something else until I can just give up on this disaster. 

This last month I have tried harder to find that balance between mom and artist.  It's hard.  I still feel like a fraud when I call myself an artist.  I make stuff, but not even enough stuff to justify the title of artist.  Maybe I'm just a slow crafter.  But I'm spending more time than ever in my garage studio, hoping for continued moderate weather so that I can work in here in peace and mentally begging for creative juices to flow more freely.  Now all I have to do is make a sign for the back of my chair so that solicitors don't feel that an open studio door is an open invitation to interrupt with their efforts to sell me meat from a truck (seriously, it's disgusting) or their fumigation services or their religion.  Time to sport a holster loaded with an air horn.  It works on teenage boys...

Time to move on.

I Thought I Was Swedish (at least a little)

Do I ever take my own advice?  Just get into the studio and make something instead of doing housework or run errands?  Today I did.  It was time to do what I know I should and just go to the studio to play with no plan.  It's amazing how just picking up a piece of wood, cutting it (and thankfully not terrifying Tabitha the Studio Cat into a fuzzy frenzy) and picking up the gesso.  I figured one of two things were going to happen.  I'd either come up with an idea as I worked blind, or just get messy and enjoy the process.  It worked.  The messing around resulted an epiphany about the figurative piece I've been working on for months, following my cyber mentor Debbie's advice to just let it happen and let the ideas flow.  I'm sketching, jotting downs ideas and actually having a hard time watching paint dry so I can move to the next step.  But step one and the ideas for step two have caused a flow of other new ideas that, thank goodness, are coming from my long-dormant brain and not one of my magazines or reference books.

Last week my husband took me to a museum in Los Angeles that featured an exhibit of women Surrealists of Mexico and the United States, knowing that I am a huge fan of one of the featured artists, Frida Kahlo.  The autobiographical nature of her work always impressed me, particularly her almost unkind but honest portrayal of herself.  It dawned on me that the piece I've been struggling with has been slow in the making while I was constantly distracted by a recent revelation about my own family, now an inspiration as I plot the completion of the work.

I grew up with one side of my family having been in America since the late 1700's at which time they immigrated from Ireland.  But on the other side of the family, I am a first generation American.  My grandparents immigrated from Finland and Sweden to Canada, and when my father was young, they immigrated to the United States.  I always felt very connected to my Scandinavian family.  The frequent visits by aunts, uncles and cousins from Sweden were fun and I loved listening to the elders struggle with English while they taught me a little Swedish (about one phrase of which I remember!).  I adopted many of the Swedish traditions in my holiday cooking and decorating, trying to teach my children about that part of the family, many of them long gone.  I was proud to insist on retaining my maiden name when I married, compromising by hyphenating it with my husband's very English (and sounding like someone with allergies) last name of Hewitt.  What a strange thing to be 51 years old and find out that the man that I loved (and still do) as my grandfather and whose name I carry is no relation to me whatsoever.  Maybe there was never a time for them to feel they should or needed to tell the truth about the family?  Absolutely never?  I discovered that my father came to the U.S. two years later than we thought (no big deal, I know) and that his younger brother was also born in Canada, not New York.  What else do I think I know that is wrong?  My last name doesn't quite feel the same to me and, frankly, I think I would like to have known that a long time ago and maybe even had the chance to choose.  Some things will never change, like the fact that I loved my grandparents to death and miss them every day.  But I'm not Swedish.  I didn't have an answer to, "Where did you grow up?" because I was an Air Force brat, but I always had an answer about my family heritage.  They didn't exactly lie, but I feel like that was a pretty big piece of information to keep under cover for a lifetime.  If it weren't for the internet, I'd never have known.  I resent it just a little bit.  However, I will think of my glass as half full and, inspired by Frida Kahlo and genealogical research results, I'm ready to work.

I'm not Swedish.  Not even a little bit.  That's a bummer, but fodder for thought while I work at expressing how I feel about it in wire, wood and clay.  If I'd carried on my father's real last name, I'd have been spelling it and correcting pronunciation for my entire life.  At least everyone knows how to pronounce Carlson.  There, the silver lining.

Finding New Inspiration

My hair stylist is an artist.  I mean the kind that really generates art work, displays it and even sells it.  Every time I come in for what I know will be a lengthy appointment, I bring my own reading materials.  Inevitably, I nab a book or magazine from my studio shelf and we gab about the contents.  Today I was bemoaning, as usual, that my mind is drawing a blank when it comes to making art.  The article that appeared in this month's issue of Cloth Paper Scissors by Julie Fei-Fan Balzer spoke of daily practice to keep creativity flowing.  Haven't I fussed about this a few times?  So yesterday I got out a sketch pad and pencil and just sat there with the tip of the pencil on the paper as if it were a Ouiji board and the pencil would start magically making art on its own.  My mind was whispering, "OK, now what?  This is stupid.  Draw something!"  But I don't draw.  Round and round we go.  Again.

As I was describing my interminable blank mind to the stylist, she picked up the magazine and ATC book that I brought in and suggested that if my creative juices have gone on hiatus, maybe I should stop looking for motivation and inspiration so close to home.  She suggested giving the "craft" books a rest and look elsewhere, anywhere, for inspiration - fashion or decorating magazines, photographs, anything that could get me started at least on looking at pleasing color combinations.  She recently picked up a book filled with nothing but photographs of butterflies and was inspired to work on a painting with a new colour palette.

I picked up my camera and started looking at the photos I took recently at the San Diego Zoo, Sea World and of my freshly planted garden (while the plants are still alive and my fingers are crossed).  One of the photos I took was of what I thought was THE coolest dressed father at Sea World, thinking the amazing graphics could serve as inspiration.  There was also a great exhibit of very bright poison dart frogs that reminded me of an Aboriginal painting I have at home.  These slimy but brilliantly coloured critters could serve as inspiration too.  We'll see what happens next.

Being creative seemed to come more easily when I wasn't trying so hard and over-thinking every step I take.

Finish Something Already!!!

Studio time continues to elude me.  On the mom front, I am scrambling to get my son ready for a Spring Break trip to Germany.  As the mother of a teenager, I should be immune to his disinterested, uncooperative efforts to pull things together, particularly when his brain is focused on *#*%&@ video/computer games.  We have created a monster.  He thinks "old people" are nuts for wanting to spend money on things like travel when they have nothing to show for it, as opposed to spending money on a new hand-held game system that will be obsolete three hours after production when a newer, shinier, faster model comes out.  Not that I'm feeling a bit sarcastic or unappreciated.  Oh, no.  But I feel better after 1) having found the plug adapter he needs for his charging devices in EXACTLY the spot I told him to look yesterday (he said he did and it wasn't there) and 2) tossing the enormous pile of clothes from the floor of his closet to the middle of the bedroom floor (I should have been wearing a gas mask) while the monster load he did manage to get into the laundry room (two days after laundry was finished) is being washed.  Grrrrrrrr.  I think the next trip will be reserved for the parents who appreciate it!!!  The little savage....

On the art side, it's Monday.  This is the regular day that I bring home from school my young friend and Kevin's classmate Jasmine, a mature and artistic young lady who inspires me to get to work.  We decided last week that we need to craft while we yap or we'll get nothing but yapping (OK, and a little snacking) done for the afternoon.  Jasmine stays through dinner until her mother is finished with graduate school classes, so it's one day a week where I'm guaranteed getting a little something accomplished.  I'm quite tardy, having made incredibly little progress on the project for the Susan Sorrell online course.  Today's the day!  Tomorrow is a post of the photo!

Alas, having a studio cat has been a little bit of a problem when that cat frequently an upset stomach.  I will spare the details other than to say that I am the happy owner of a carpet cleaner and my rug isn't all that big.  Another ugh.

Lessons Learned the Hard Way

I have been advised in every way, shape and form of the importance of sketching and brainstorming on paper, but never really got it.  Today I got it.  I have spent two weeks bonking my head against a virtual wall trying to complete step 2 of the online class I'm taking.  It shouldn't be this hard!  I think I've said this a few times before.  The task was to come up with a quote or lyrics from a song or something and create a simple image for it on a 7 inch square of assembled fabric layers.  I looked at books, magazines, clip art, junk mail, and web sites, all the while having a blank brain.  Argh!  I have had to remind myself over and over again that the point of this exercise is to learn a technique and NOT to expect to produce a family heirloom.  There is seriously no chance of that happening!  This is where I am so far:

Initially, the inner "filling" was too firm and impossible to stitch through with a full six strands of embroidery floss.  I took it apart, replaced the filling, and settled on a theme.  We'll see what it looks like after tomorrow.

I Have a Studio Cat!

About a week and a half ago, I saw a scroungy black cat skulking on the back deck and shooed it away.  I noticed the cat stagger a bit, lean on a bucket, and thought that it looked quite ill.  It slunk under the deck to hide.  The next evening I saw it again, and this time I noticed that it was more than just sick.  It appeared to be starving and, worse, blind.  I started putting food out for the kitty and on closer look, saw that the poor thing was also de-clawed.  This is clearly a lost pet.  With no success combing adverts for lost kitties and posting my own "Found Cat" notices on the internet, I knew I had to either take her in or find her a suitable home or she would likely die and soon.  Days of torrential weather and neighborhood gardeners scaring her to death with lawnmowers and leaf blowers delayed our trip to the vet.  We finally made it yesterday.  We were informed that "Tabitha" is 14-15 years old and is, in fact, blind due to detached retinas as the result of hyperthyroidism and related hypertension and cardiac issues.  She is free of all of the bad and communicable kitty cooties, and has now been vaccinated for anything and everything.  If we were to treat her hyperthyroid condition, she'll go faster into kidney failure.  The vet suggested that no matter what, she'll eventually just poop out.  Giving her love, attention and plenty of food will make her last days happy.  We're hoping for a lot of days.  Because we have two indoor kitties, one of which is a bit of a bully that delights in the whooping of weaker kitties, Tabitha is in the garage studio.  She actually seems to love her spot.  She's assumed ownership of my work chair and immediately discovered the makeshift litter box (an overpriced service tray from Target with the handle holes taped shut as a regular litter box has sides that are too high for a blind kitty).  She's eating like there's no tomorrow, adding a tiny bit of weight so that she now weighs 6.5 lbs.  Only 6.5 lbs.  I hope that she is just a lost kitty and that she is not here because some horrible pet parent decided to just open the door and be rid of a kitty with medical issues (which the vet reported they see a lot).  I can't imagine how terrified she must have been in the dark, lost and starving, not even able to hunt (we saw lizards run past her unnoticed, then saw a gross possum eating her food one night just a few feet away from her, to which she was oblivious) and then terrorized by the sounds of packs of yipping coyotes at night.

I'm happy to have another kitty to love until and unless someone else wants to give her a quiet little indoor home.  Studio cats are a good thing.

OK, I know she's not in the studio in the photo, but all the noise in there today scared her.  I HAD to make a cover for my Bernina, so she zoomed outside to enjoy the super hot day (following sleet just six days ago?!?) until I got her settled in for the evening.  All is well.