I am thankful that I wrote last week's post as it seemed to lessen an existential burden and helped me to solidify my thoughts. And this week, the flood gates opened - a whole series, a whole concept, and something that I had been wanting to do, came to me as a completed vision. Well, complete enough to begin.
But I had to set the scene for my brain and for the concept to feel safe enough to show up. I needed time and I needed the right internal environment. I needed to trust the vision.
The relief I feel is immense and I am sleeping better than I have in ages. The food tastes delicious, the music is wondrous, and the films I watch are masterpieces. The birds are singing and the grey skies are perfect. I am in flow. Hello, old friend. Hello, Megan. I am glad to be back.
I don't want to write much about the actual concept just yet as we are in the protection and nurture phase but I am excited and this has been a long time coming.
Wherever you are I hope you are well and inspired. Keep fighting.
I am talking to strangers on the street, at the bus stops, in shops, and on the pavements as they clean out their cars. I am talking to them like they are long lost friends and they are letting me. We are laughing, sharing, and relating - we talk about music, politics, and despair. We share favourite bands - an obscure Interpol song radiates out of a car window. We smile, we nod, and we bond.
A woman takes a photo of something I'm wearing - a shared political belief. The artist on the corner tells me about his paintings and challenges my history. We laugh, we know, we have lived similar lives.
The worker in the tea shop enjoys our banter and gives me my matcha for free. I'm touched, I'm thankful, my day made.
I find more things I need and some things I don't on the street. A friend helps and supports me with a task and then we eat strawberries in the sun.
Old things remind me of who I am and new things flesh it out even more. My hair grows longer and a bit wild. Glances shared through windows, laughter of later stories. Daisy bouquets and sunshine.
It's 2 am and after being awake for the last hour in the dark, I finally concede and get up. It is cold in the house, I wrap up in my favorite alizarin crimson Dr Who length scarf. I put the kettle on. There are so many words ricocheting in my head, I visualize them spilling out like marbles and rolling into the corners of the room.
Things are not perfect in my world and I don't want them to be. Things are pretty okay though. I hit repeat on this morning's song. I drink my hot tea, it burns the roof of my mouth. My mind turns to art. So many things have happened with my art that I never would have imagined, but at the same time I can't imagine them not happening either. I have been working on my art for so long now, showing it in galleries for the last fifteen years, since I was twenty three. It came about so organically when a friend saw my work on my apartment wall in Oregon. A painting of a shy demon with big eyes. I smile when thinking back to the painting that was my first entry in a long string of juried exhibitions. School came and went, I was in and out of my element, older than many of the students yet younger than some. I remember feeling so old at twenty seven when I graduated, as if I had missed the boat, but today at thirty eight I feel like I have just been born.
My work has changed and grown, always evolving over the years, not staying stuck in any one place for too long, yet always consistent within each series and new body. As I get older my work is becoming more personal and perhaps even more romantic as I settle into this role of story teller and artist and as I realize this is my true calling, and surely it is too late to turn back now.
When I doubt this, I remind myself that people from all over the world own my work, not just a few people but a lot of people. I remind myself that I have made and sold hundreds of paintings. Hundreds of incarnations out of thin air, hundreds of stories and secret wishes pulled out of the ether and realized in painting form.
My mind drifts as I look down at my glowing computer fingers. I hit repeat on the song once more and smile.
Thank you all so much for your comments last week. I really appreciated every one's suggestions, empathy, and insight. The winner of the paper painting is Lady Wrenna!! Congratulations! Please email me so I know where to send your painting.
The manual is not exactly new but certainly not old, and I need to remind myself of it often. I remember working on a manual for living: a ten page guide in the beginning of the year, in the coolness of January and February. I remember the thrill of it, going back in time and as well as into uncharted territory. I remember the pace and the excitement as I watched it lead to many more paintings, the new white series. I remember feeling satisfied.
This week in the studio, has been more administrative rather than creative. Getting ready for the next exhibition, working out the upcoming schedule for the underground studios for next year, cleaning my studio. Nuts and bolts operational things, but at the same time I have looked at art, read about art, talked to artists near and far, I have held and sorted through my materials. It has not been a complete loss. I can not paint every week the way I would like. When I run my hands over my paints, when I sort through my supplies, I do smile. These are my tools, these are the materials I know; my things. These things help me communicate. These things communicate with me.
Here again is a manual for living: a ten page guide, but here also are the words that go with it...
I have three new paintings on the go currently in my studio. I have been attempting to work on them to the point that I could share them with you today, but it just wasn't meant to be. There were too many voices, too many outside influences and gibberish. I could not connect or find the track I needed that would allow me to be the conduit this week. I tell myself this is okay, I can feel something at the edge, an inspiration welling up. There are stories I want to write, photographs I want to take and of course these three paintings I want to complete. It is interesting to me, that I can have a completely uplifting experience last Friday with a patron and then the week following takes me far away from those feelings and leaves me grasping.
Let's focus on the uplifting experience. Last Friday, a patron came into the Underground and we looked at all my paintings, we sat in my studio and I felt like we both reallylooked at my work. Then we moved some of it into the gallery and we really looked again. It was a unique experience to stand next to the patron while he intensely studied my work. We both just stood there looking for a long time, and for an instance it was not my work we were looking at, it was just work. It was art on a gallery wall. We were silent and then there was a moment where we turned and looked at each other, the silence was broken with a smile and perhaps a laugh because I think we had both been caught in a space far away just for a moment. It was a wonderful feeling. To know that my work was taking us somewhere and words were not needed. Even if he had not chosen to purchase my paintings, I would have treasured those silent moments. However, he chose all three that he viewed, and it was the right choice. I was then asked to deliver my work, and that was an extra treat for me. Upon entering the patrons home I understood at once, why he was drawn to my work. He and his wife seemed thrilled to have it in their home. We placed it around the house and we looked again and we talked about it. It was another wonderful moment, where I knew how lucky I am to have the job that I do as a visual artist. I will never get tired of these connections, these moments outside of the regular humdrum of daily life. I left with a smile on my face and a gratefulness in my heart.
It is a job, but it is more of a calling. Everyday, I know more and more that this is my life. There is much more to me than just painting and art, but it is central to my happiness and well being. It is central to how I relate in the world and with others. It has brought me in contact with some of the most beautiful souls on the planet. It has expanded my horizons, my self confidence and worth. I am writing this so I will remember. All of these feelings are so easy to forget. Such as this week, when the art was not flowing and it becomes scary and frustrating. There will always be weeks when my confidence is shaken and it feels as though I have never held a brush and have never had an inspiration.
When these thoughts get too much, I will remember the silence shared in the gallery and I will remember diving into my work with a stranger only to resurface as friends.
