Celebration, memory, and world building

I will make a new world with your rubbish

It's my Birthday weekend here at the Studio Blog. 

I think I started celebrating last Friday with my "Good Morning" painting as it was a wonderful gift to myself in action and result. I have enjoyed being greeted by my painting each morning since. 

On Tuesday I spent all day in my garden tackling an ancient vine because I was inspired by a piece of discarded fencing that had been catching my eye for months. I had a vision and knew what I needed to do. There is nothing I like more than finding something discarded and creating a new world and home for it. It is the ultimate thrill and mix of creativity and gumption. I ended up reworking my whole garden due to someone's rubbish. Both the day in the studio painting something full of joy for myself out of an "old bastard" of a painting and creating a pot stand out of someone's rubbish are examples of decisive action and world building. Two things that I thrive on and want more of. A great way to celebrate my life and understanding of how I best operate within it. 

Paul Gauguin, Vision of the Sermon (Jacob Wrestling with the Angel), 1888

Continuing on the themes of celebration and world building, I took myself out to the National Gallery of Scotland on a quiet Wednesday morning. I decided to take my time and scan several of the audio descriptions of the works around the gallery. I enjoyed being still and listening to various scholars tell me the hidden insights of the paintings in the collection over my earbuds. It was a luxurious treat to really look at the paintings with new purpose and fresh eyes. 

I especially enjoyed the audio descriptions of the following pieces: 

Leonardo da Vinci, The Madonna of the Yarnwinder, about 1501
Attributed to Grifo di Tancredi, The Death of St Ephraim and Scenes from the Lives of the Hermits, About 1280 - 1290

Diego Velázquez, An Old Woman Cooking Eggs, 1618

Sir Anthony van Dyck, The Lomellini Family, about 1625 - 1627
Vincent van Gogh, Orchard with Apricot Trees in Blossom, Arles, 1888

Paul Gauguin, Vision of the Sermon (Jacob Wrestling with the Angel), 1888

I highly recommend the self-guided audio tours. 

Later that day I was surprised with a lovely art opportunity (more on that later, but it felt like a birthday gift in itself.) 

Dad in the 1970s, Charcoal on cardboard

On Thursday, it was the one year anniversary of my father's death. I listened to Dave Bruebeck. I thought of my father and meditated on our relationship and it felt very meaningful and cathartic. I spent some time looking at photographs and studying his face and decided that I wanted to draw him. It was such a good and meaningful way to spend time together again. The tears and memories flowed. I love and miss you, Dad. 

54

For my birthday on Friday, I had a lovely day out with my dear friend Julia. There was sunshine and a lovely walk up Calton Hill to survey the city, followed by a delightful lunch of tacos. Then we were on the hunt for the best cake with a view which we found. Afterwards, as we walked on, we encountered a street scene featuring a brass band and spontaneous street singers. It really couldn't have been much better.

It was a beautiful day full of friendship, community, and a dash of magic. I went to sleep tired and grateful. 

Thank you for spending time with me as I continue to celebrate. I hope wherever you are that the flowers are blooming and there is music in the air. 

Until next week, keep fighting - the world needs you. 

Tend to the small fires

Awake in the dark, the screen illuminates my fingers as a cup of coffee balances on the arm of the sofa. Flames of dancing light from my electric fire pretend to lap the air. Kodomotachi by Susumu Yokota plays on my big headphones.

It's Friday morning; the work week is behind me once again. This is a strange way for me to think about time. When one is self-employed (as I have been for much of my life), the work week is never behind you. Time has been bending in on itself, forward and then back. I am somewhere in between - my dreams vivid, the subconscious hard at work.

I didn't "make art" this past Sunday but I reflected on it and discussed these thoughts with my mother. We felt that this counted as a "sunday session." I hope to return to making art this weekend.

Last Sunday, I attended a cultural event, which is perhaps even better than making art, due to the energy exchange that comes from being around like-minded people with a singular focus. 

I was fortunate to see Stewart Copeland (the brilliant drummer of The Police and a gifted composer) speak about his life and work at The Queen's Hall. He was always my favourite member of the band. I still vividly recall the pride I felt as I wore my new Ghost in the Machine Tour t-shirt (a gift from my brothers who had actually seen the tour) to elementary school when I was barely ten. Years later, I wore that same shirt to a Black Flag show in 1986; at fourteen, though, I remember feeling pretty square in it. Needless to say, I left that gig wearing a different band's name. 

Anyway, I loved The Police, and Stewart Copeland was the best, so seeing him tell his stories about it all was a delight. Beyond his obvious talents, he is funny, irreverent, whip smart, and is an expert storyteller. Laughing at his antics as part of an audience of his admirers felt good and warm. 

On Monday, I met up with my good pal, Ever Dundas for a return visit to the secret garden in the city centre. With our hot chocolates, we enjoyed talking about all things music while sitting in the garden on a bench in the sun. It was a lovely outing. Music and friends make the world go round. 

Before I met up with Ever, I popped into Edinburgh Central Library to visit the Art & Design Library housed upstairs. I was short on time, but it was good to peruse a few art books and to just see what they had on offer.

Tuesday was a grey day of rain and remembrance, tears, and smiles.

Wednesday and Thursday were filled with work and meetings, and now here we are.
I am not sure what this weekend and week ahead holds. 

I'll leave you with my cheeky visage just to show off my latest charity shop acquisition (the necklace) because I love it and finding such treasures brings me joy. And we can all use a bit more of that.

Thank you for spending some of your precious time with me. Until next week, keep fighting for good, take care, and stay warm.

Working and worrying

Works in progress from last Sunday's Session with Mom

Hello, Dear Readers,

How are you doing? I’m really glad it’s Friday—the weight of the world is wearing me out. My eyes are desperate to close for the day.

Here's the week in review. I attended the Scottish Artists Union's AGM last Saturday. I gave a wee 10 minute report on the happenings of the Rep Team. Afterwards, I met up with a pal for some matcha and charity shopping in Leith.

Sunday was art day with my mom (see above—laying the foundations for two new paintings). My mother and I have been talking and working on art for eight Sundays now. It’s been a good routine for both of us. I aim to complete at least one of those pieces this Sunday.

I watched the documentary, "Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk" on Sunday morning as well. It was inspiring. 

On Monday, I ventured into the hot wilderness of the city centre and felt "all lost in the supermarket" and tearful as I wandered through the mêlée. When I got home, I saw there was a warning of an active shooter at the University of Arkansas back in my hometown. This was very alarming. Thankfully, everyone was okay in the end, as it turned out to be a cruel and terrorising hoax. However, later in the week, there was another shooting, this time in Minneapolis. I can’t stand America’s relationship with guns.

On Tuesday, I participated in four video events—a training, two online workshops, and a meeting with a friend. On Wednesday and Thursday, I had work, and on Thursday night, I attended another workshop. And here we are. Today, I met a pal for some more charity shopping and a tasty vegan lunch. Afterwards, I had an art chat with a friend.

It was a busy week of working and worrying. But there was also a lot of learning, expanding, and feeling excited about possibilities.

I was strangely tempted to rescue a TV/VCR combo from the street but decided against it. And this is where I leave you.

the revolution will not be televised

The Small Furniture

a collection of weeks

I can't believe it's already Friday (says every older person everywhere). Time slides past at a rapid pace. Why do the first 18 years of life go at a snail's pace and then pick up speed steadily thereafter? Do our developing brains perceive time differently?

Regardless, here I am sitting in my favourite chair by the open window. Today's song endlessly loops on my headphones as I write. A strong matcha over ice in a tall blue handblown glass from Terra Studios in Arkansas will light the fire within. 

I am going to take a page out of my friend Julia's wonderful blog this week, and perhaps just share a few flashes from my week. 

You can see the paintings (above) in progress on my easel from the weekly prompted sessions with my mother. Last Sunday, I didn't have much in me, but I did work on two pieces rather than just one even if it was mostly just painting things black. Progress, not perfection, and all that. 

But I have gotten ahead of myself. On Saturday there was the Stop Trump Rally and demonstrations at various locations across Scotland. I went along with my neighbours and it was good to see so many people out and outraged.

Scots give good signage

On the way home, after the protest, I took a photo of the St. Columba's Charity Shop window as they do a good job of their display. It is always full of colour, pattern, and a sense of nostalgia. I needed and enjoyed the visual relief.

Charity shop vibes

On Monday, I took a bright neighbourhood walk around some of my favourite parts of the Water of Leith. I have been dealing with a random hip injury and haven't been walking quite as much this past month. The sun was bright and lovely and the sky was blue. I went to visit my Scottish friend tree (my original friend tree, was my childhood touchstone back in Arkansas). I was unnerved to find my local tree had been cut back significantly by the council. I hate that it has been disturbed but I also know it was diseased in parts and they seem to be doing a very careful job trimming it. I must have faith that it is being cared for and not that it is about to be destroyed - that would be too much for me to bear. I told it that it was strong and resilient, and to root down and resist if needed. I kissed its knobbly bark and thanked it for its grounding presence in my life. I have two wee branches of it now in my home - I love it so.

water of leith

Scottish friend tree

On Tuesday, I met my pal Julia in the city centre for lunch and a blether. We met on the steps of the National Museum of Scotland on Chambers Street. It was a strange thrill to sit on the big steps and wait for my pal. I have always liked sitting on the sidewalks/pavements and I used to say that anywhere I could do that, I felt at home.

School children waited in a line with their minders to go in and have a big adventure. It brought to mind field trips of my youth, and how exciting it felt to be somewhere new as a group - wild, free, and out of the classroom! 

Waiting on a friend

this must be the place

During our outing, I spied some handmade dollhouse furniture in the window of a charity shop in Morningside. I exclaimed when I saw it and had that instant rush of being pretty sure that I needed it in my life. My palms tingled - the same way they do when I see art that I resonate with - that "got to have it" energy flooded my system, worried someone might beat me to it. But it was doll house furniture... Did I really need it... What would I do with it? Why did I love it so much and what did it really represent?

I took a picture of it in the window and looked at the picture the whole time we were browsing inside. Never one to make a rash decision, we left the shop to look at a few others nearby, but I was distracted, still itchy and worried someone might get it. We walked back up the street and looked in at it one more time, and the tears came. I had to have it. It didn't matter if it didn't make sense; it made sense to me. It represented something important to me - it reminded me of home, my mother, and my brothers. It reminded me of the dollhouses and the furniture that they made together late at night for me after my mom had worked all day. It reminded me of all the love and care that goes into the making. It deserved a good home that would understand and love it the right way. I needed my mother to see it and to know that I was thinking of her.

When I walked in to buy it, the relief was immediate. The shop volunteer called out for an assistant to come and retrieve the pieces from the window. I caught the eye of a man who smiled at me knowingly regarding the handcrafted treasure I would be taking home. I was excited to unveil it to my mother over a video call a couple of hours later. She understood and appreciated it just like I did. It was worth every penny.

On Wednesday and Thursday, I was busily back at work, but rest assured, the small furniture was set up nearby so I could steal glances at it.

I am thankful for the moments of joy and the crashing waves of sadness. I am grateful that I feel big emotions and that I have friends and trees that I can share them with. I am grateful for the family that created me and shaped the things I value.

Here’s to the things that bring us joy and tears. Until next week, keep fighting for all your small furniture moments.

Funny faces, piss and vinegar

My dad Stephen Chapman died on March 5th. He was 90 years old.

My dad was made up of words and music

A house full of books and records

Built of films and movie star trivia

A wild nest of knowledge

Jonathan Winters meets Raymond Carver

Speaking in tongues

Homebrew beer caps exploding and hitting underneath the basement stairs

He was a charming character

Driving gloves and no stops

Old Milwaukee and a book in bed in the afternoon

"Sunrise, Sunset" on a turquoise painted piano

Funny voices, laughter and thunder

Funny faces, piss and vinegar

Opinions, passions, and outrage

A complex collection

Wild loud jazz

Enunciation and projection

An abstract painting come to life

He wasn't like the other dads. He was something else

and I love him exactly as that.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for your encouragement and understanding of me as a painter.

___________________________________________

I turned 53 the next day.

You can read next week's post here.

She is an imaginary girl

This girl from Arkansas was influenced by David Lynch

Dear Readers, Art Lovers, and Friends,

It was fitting that the soundtrack to last week's post was "Dark Night of the Soul" featuring David Lynch.

I was so shocked to hear of his death that I actually gasped out loud when I read the news in a message from my brother Sean. I wrote a few friends in particular who I knew would be upset and then I shed a few tears myself. I started watching old clips and reliving memories that revolved around David Lynch's work and art.

Like many others, I took to the internet to share my feelings:

"I'm so sad about this loss. David Lynch gave us so much vision and new ways to see. He offered up validation and permission. Meditations on darkness and love. Twin Peaks beaming into the house when I was in high school was as important to me as witnessing the dawn of MTV when I was child. Style, colour, art, mystery - everything was suddenly available to me. I could understand my own sensibilities and appreciate them even in Arkansas."

Looking back, I realise how much he had influenced me in the 80s and 90s and how he continues to influence me today. How often I quote his work. He was and will forever remain a true artist and an original. We are so lucky for all he gave us. 

Thank you, David Lynch for sharing your vision.

Two Sad Clouds, mixed media on paper, Megan Chapman, 2024

Temptation, mixed media on paper, Megan Chapman, 2024

How can we best show up in this crushing world with our own singular visions? How can we support each other and ourselves in our purest most expansive forms? How can we bring more delight, humour, wonder, and understanding into this world?

Let's catch some ideas.

I click my heels together

Listen

Conduit

I'm trying...

Rest

Dedication

 

Thank you. 

Weather report

 

Created in its wake

We've been here before

mixed media on paper

29.7 x 42 cm (11.69 x 16.54 in)

£125

The sun has been out but it has been bitterly cold. The blue sky and the brightness have been a welcome change. It's even staying light well after 4pm. Spring is around the corner (a long way around the corner, but around the corner just the same).

Memory Serves

mixed media on paper

29.7 x 42 cm (11.69 x 16.54 in)

£125

I took two walks to post three of my works on paper to their new homes in the States and to Glasgow. 

Monday: Post office walk number 1

I enjoyed the sun and even saw my first snowdrops! I gasped out loud when they caught my eye like a long-lost friend, a sort of "what are you doing here!" moment. That pretty much sums me up - I am constantly amazed by the world and nature's beauty. It truly brings me such comfort and joy. Listening to music and walking in nature feed into everything else I do.

Wednesday: Post office walk number 2

It was crisp and cold out, but no snow. I visited an old graveyard on the way home. One of my favourite things to do. I love the old stones covered in lichen. Reading the names, running my hand over the symbols - angels, skulls, and masonic imagery. Always astonished by the dates from so long ago. I walk over the frozen grass looking at the skeleton trees of winter, breathing it all in.

Sequence of webs #3

mixed media on paper

29.7 x 42 cm (11.69 x 16.54 in)

£125

I would like to walk to the post office again soon. Five works on paper remain. I am enjoying featuring specific works during the month. This will continue, it helps me focus and not get too overwhelmed. I have created a lot of work over my lifetime and during these past 9 plus years in Scotland. Not only have I created it, I have managed it - stored it, moved it, packed it, documented it, and kept up with it. Every time I create something, it feels like a billion-step process is created in its wake. I am becoming more discerning that what I create must warrant all the steps and all the expense and energy.

I am also thinking about what I want and need to say, as well as, how to say it in my future work. This all takes time, so it's a good thing it's still winter. While I ponder it all, I will keep featuring specific bodies of work from my studio. Let me know if you have any questions about these works on paper.

Rebuilding. Sketches for a new tomorrow #3

mixed media on paper

29.7 x 42 cm (11.69 x 16.54 in)

£125

Sequence of webs #1

mixed media on paper

29.7 x 42 cm (11.69 x 16.54 in)

£125

In other news, a bit of culture I've enjoyed: 

Films: 

Saltburn 

The Holdovers

Television: 

True Love (6-part series on Channel 4)

Music: 

Pictish Trail 

Books: 

Daily Rituals: Women at Work by Mason Currey 

(just picked this up yesterday - excited to read it)

Thanks for popping by the Studio Blog. I hope you are well, happy, and inspired and if not, tomorrow is another day. Thank you for being here. Keep fighting.