Coming down

The opening for Connection was last Saturday, December 2 from 2-4pm at the &Gallery at 17 Dundas Street. It is a lovely exhibition, filled with many heavy hitting pieces of abstraction. I was, of course, delighted to have my work included. The exhibition will remain up until December 23rd so if you are local to Edinburgh or passing through please check it out. If you are not local to the area and want to enjoy the works and artists included in the exhibition you can see it on the gallery's website.

This week in the studio was a washout and there was just no getting around that. It happens. My Tuesday Studio Video Visit alluded to my frustration. It was quite freeing to share how I was feeling and I heard from many artists currently feeling the same way. It always helps to hear that we are not alone and that we are often more similar than we are different. You can catch my video again here if you missed it on Facebook. Thanks to everyone that shared their own burnout and frustration stories with me. It all helps.



Until next week, keep fighting

a series designed to break your heart.

This is typical but I feel like I have to warn you or give you a disclaimer. I love art, artists, talking about art, making art, selling art, etc etc.. If you know me at all, you know this is true.

But for this blog, I have to vent a bit. There are a several cool things going on in my art world right now, so I am not complaining and I know I am lucky etc etc..(see, more disclaimers) but right now I just have to express my complete and utter frustration in my lack at being able to paint. I mean, I really can not paint right now. It is like that part of my brain has slipped far away...

This is not the first time this has happened, more like the fifth or sixth... or perhaps this is the eighteenth time. I don't really know and it shouldn't come as a surprise or warrant a blog post but I feel if I don't write about the frustration of it all, I won't move past it. This is typical for me and for a lot of other artists. I just had a show. I worked almost all year on that show. That show is still on display and my studio is feeling a bit lonely- it misses the new white series, the hum of activity, the burst of inspiration and the direction that only a series can bring.

I spent some time looking at my paintings in the gallery the other day and I wanted to cry. I looked at them closely and I wondered if other people looked at them as closely and I wondered what the experience would be like for a stranger to look at them for the first time. Then I felt like I was a stranger. It just didn't feel possible that I could have painted those paintings. I could barely remember the sensation of the brush hitting the canvas, or the flicks of water that beaded up on the oiled surface. I couldn't remember the sound of that water running down the painting onto my paint encrusted easel and the onto the floor and then pooling below staining the concrete. I can tell the story but I can't remember the sensation. I remember jumping up and down in front of my easel. I remember screaming, singing, dancing, crying, writing the flurry of words that would burst into my head as I applied the paint. I would have to quickly scrawl them on my studio wall. Those words became titles and concepts and are woven throughout the white series and became A Manual for Living. I remember shaking and running down the hall to get my studio mate to see something new that I was unsure of. I remember taking snapshots and sharing them with my online studio mates across the ocean. I remember questioning and doubting, and then I remember things being revealed. Suddenly, the path clearly lit for a second and then pushing through to actualize the painting.

I want that all back. I want that back now, I want to get back there! When I stand in front of my easel now, there is nothing. There is no story, no longing, no expression, it feels like repetition, it feels like being born but all my dreams and talent are gone, it feels like a void, a deep absence.

I know I want it too much, and that I am holding on too tight, I can't go back. I know all this. I know this is just the customary post show blues. I know this is fear talking. On my studio wall, more scrawled words, "There is no room for fear in art"- those words emerged while working on one of the last massive pieces in the series.

The other day in an inspired flash, I had an idea for a new series of paintings, it would be called "a series designed to break your heart..."

I think I may have already painted it and I broke my own in the process...




Until next week keep fighting, and I will do the same.
This week.. leave a comment and be entered to win a 9x 12" paper painting. Yes, really. I will draw one random winner and announce the winner next week.

The Evidence Continues...Vlog

Dear Friends,

I hope you will enjoy today's Vlog.

For those of you celebrating the holiday today, I hope you have a happy and safe fourth of July.

For those of you in and around Arkansas, I will be at the Blue Moon Gallery tonight, Friday July 4th from 5-9pm for first Friday gallery walk, as my exhibition is still featured. I would love to see you there.

Thank all of you for reading and watching, and for sharing the next nine minutes of your life with me...

Megan

Oh no! It's the post show blues...

The paintings are painted, the titles ring true, the work is signed, the hanging wires are on, and the show is documented. The press release has gone out. The work is expertly placed on the walls of the space that you are showing with.

The artist statement is crafted and placed on the wall, and all your tags are straight. Even your website has been updated to showcase your latest body of work. You are exhausted, happy and amazed that you managed to pull this off again. You are giddy for a day or two, you love the way the work looks on a well lit wall, and that there is space to stand back and really take the work in. Perhaps you feel this is the first time you have been able to really see your own work.

Oh, what a relief it is... Or is it?

Don't be surprised if a nagging hollow feeling sets in, a sadness, a "what now" kind of feeling. You've worked so hard for months, maybe even a year or so to pull this off and now people are complimenting you, and you are connecting to the public in a positive and powerful way, so you feel you should be over the moon, but it just doesn't connect. You are pleased but not giddy anymore, and now you are beginning to feel a bit adrift.

You may feel silly or even guilty for thinking this, so I am just going to say it. You have the post show blues. So now that you know, here's a few things you can do about it.

I still deal with this process after a large show is completed. It sneaks up on me and surprises me every time. My natural thought pattern after a show is "wow- good job that was a huge undertaking, it's time to kick back and be a zombie for awhile." I don't go up to my studio for weeks, I watch more TV/Internet than normal, I just kinda kick back in a major way, but instead of feeling any peace or relaxation, I start to feel worse, and more bummed out. So, even though it may seem counter-intuitive to get back into the studio after a big show, I recommend it highly.

Get back on the horse, and regain focus. Try little doodles, collage, perhaps even a medium that you don't normally work in-just keep moving, and don't let inertia take over. Create for fun, not for show, and take a little of the pressure off.

Realize that your life isn't falling apart, you are just in a jumble temporarily. If you think about it, it makes sense to feel sad after completing a body of work. While creating this body of work you had a strong sense of purpose, you had a goal, a theme, a deadline. You created these works, and you created the time and memories surrounding these works of art. When the show is done, you are then releasing all that to the public, and there is a letting go.
This is a wonderful part of it, the letting go, but is may always hurt a little. This just means you are emotionally invested in the work, or the process of creating the work. Trust me, this is a good thing, people who view your work can sense this.

Try to view this time not as an end, but as a beginning. The paintings are about to be thrust into a new life, a new understanding, and atmosphere. Many things were learned while creating this body of work and while these paintings have been fully actualised, think of all the little tricks and ideas that popped up while you worked on this body that you couldn't fully explore. This is your fuel for the next work and the next show.

Be honest with yourself or someone close to you about how you are feeling. It is hard to admit you are feeling less than stellar, when everyone around you is happy and excited for you, and you may also feel pressure to project a certain image to potential clients. Hopefully there is at least one person that you can express these feelings to or perhaps you can write about it in a journal and let it go. Keeping it bottled up will only make you feel more alone and stuck. Let it go so that you can start to free your energy up for the next exhibit or creative project that comes your way.

Take time to celebrate yourself and your accomplishments and then get back to work. Have a nice dinner, throw yourself a party, buy yourself flowers or a gadget, and then clean up your studio space, make it inviting, and start anew.Think of all the new paintings that are waiting for you. They can't be created without you. You make these paintings, your ups, your downs, your passion, and your perseverance.

Post show blues? Don't go down without a fight.