thoughts on art and creative living

Anyone following my blog must be wondering by now what happened with my moving plans… or if I’ve simply fallen off the face of the earth. It turns out that I was left waiting for a full 3 months for a particular house I’d been waiting to share with some other artists (see details on my previous blog entry, ” A Portland Housing Story”). Long story short, we decided once this house was finally available NOT to take it. We had to leave our previous situation before it could be available, and even after that we would have had several weeks of work to do to make it live-in ready. By this time, we were no longer up for the overhaul and simply wanted to find a move-in ready home. We tried to find another place that would accommodate all of the house-mates we spent so much time assembling, but the search proved unpromising.

Luckily, my partner and I did find a house that works out nicely for the 2 of us to share with a midwife and her two daughters (8 and 14). I wasn’t specifically looking for a family situation, but as it turns out I’m very happy that this is where we landed. We’re now in Clinton, our favorite Portland neighborhood. We are close to natural foods groceries, a great strip of restaurants and cafés, and next door to a community garden and school. We have a large yard, a garden, 4 chickens, 2 pet rats, an orange tabby, a trampoline, a huge basement/studio, and wake up to the sounds of school children playing in a nearby playground. The kids add a lot of life to our new home, and I have no doubt that this will be a good place for creative blooming. One small coincidence: our house-mate works for the Alma Midwife Center, which is mentioned in my previous entry regarding the belly-cast.

I took this photo before the move, but I hope to replace it with one that includes all of us, and some of the creatures that make this place already feel like “home”.

I’ve finally completed painting this belly-cast that was given to me by a woman who is the founder of the Alma Midwifery Center. Actually, it was lent to me, with the purpose of having me paint it for an upcoming event, which will display the artistic transformations of 12 Portland artists.

The cast was very bumpy when I picked it up, still revealing the gauze that was used in its creation. My first step was to mix up a new batch of plaster and smooth it over the entire cast, let it dry for a day, then thoroughly sand it. I wanted the outside of the form to reveal more of the details that could be seen within the inside, so I added details such as nipples, which are an important element of a pregnant woman’s form. I then applied several layers of acrylic paint, starting with blue, then turquoise, then metallic gold for an iridescent effect. I decided to paint the form of a tree, bending along the curves of her form, to symbolize the growth process. The branches wrap around the belly and breasts, signifying the gentle movement from seed to maturity. In addition, the branching itself reflects the structure of the vascular system… the blood that brings oxygen into the fetus, sustaining its life.

I feel that it is a triumph to get anything at all done in the studio these days, so it’s actually good to have a deadline on something occasionally. Plans are still on hold for the move to my “art house”, and I’m still going through all of my stuff. Organizing and packing takes forever for someone like me. I have a lot of stuff I’ve collected over the years. Part of me wants to throw it all out just to save the trouble of moving it. Another part of me is still pretty attached, knowing that everything I’ve collected has some purpose and can be used in future artworks…. some day. So I’m taking the middle road. If I’m not absolutely certain I’m going to use something within the next year or so, I’m giving it away or throwing it out. My goal is to get rid of at least 1/3 of my possessions. The process feels a bit like giving birth.

It’s about all I can focus on right now. We got our notice that the house we are currently renting (which has been on the market for a while) has now sold. Looking for housing is such an intensive process, and barely making our bills does not make it any easier. After weeks of hawking Craigslist ads and hoofing it to unpromising prospects, a gift of the Universe fell into our lap in the form of a huge Craftsman house in the historic Irvington neighborhood… renting at half it’s market value. I saw the ad on Sunday night and called Monday morning, to find out that 21 voice-mails were waiting to be returned on this particular house. I was told that the first application to hit the realtor’s desk that didn’t get disqualified is in (only disqualifications = evictions and convictions). We ran over to the house to peek into the windows, then put our application and $70 combined fees in within the hour, before we had a chance for a walk-through. An opportunity like this doesn’t come up every day. I felt like I was buying a ticket for the lottery. I never buy lottery tickets, but I was willing to gamble that this was one to put my money on.

Our plan now is to turn this incredible house into an Artists Cooperative House. We’re seeking artists in all medias (including visual, music, performance, healing arts and gardening) to share space with me and Christo. I’m getting really excited just from meeting so many creative people. Finding the “right mix” is the hardest part (especially when considering who’s signing a year’s lease with you, based on a meeting or two). I’m learning to trust that the right people will be attracted to it, based on the intention that we’re putting into it.

The house is renting low simply because it was previously an assisted living facility. Overall, it’s in good shape and completely functional… it just has some funky features that would make it non-desirable for the average family looking for a home in this (upscale) neighborhood. Nothing we can’t deal with. The whole interior needs repainting and carpets need to be torn out. The bathroom and kitchen fixtures are sub-standard and pretty ugly. So there’s work to be done… but artist’s love to customize living spaces and we can pretty much do what we want with this space.

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April 27 Update:

We’ve had a lot of delays with the house. After spending a few weeks interviewing and selecting house-mates and doing a lot of planning around the house regarding the updates we will do, we’ve been waiting for them to clean it and move the remaining stuff left in the house. After waiting for several weeks, the realty manager called and gave us some bad news. The owners found out that there is a clause in their mortgage that they can only rent to people with mental handicaps. They had purchased it from the Portland Housing Authority, which is a funded trust to help the disadvantaged. So we are now waiting to find out if they can buy off the mortgage. If things can’t be worked out, then we’ll be looking for another house together. It would be really hard to find one that has as much space for as little rent, however.. and I really dread the process of starting another search, so I hope this one works out!

(pic. 1) I’m not completely finished with this painting, but I’m eager to get something new up so that I can convince myself that I’m making some progress. Backing away from the actual painting and seeing it in a photo actually helps me to see what is NOT working as well as I want it to. I’m currently in a mental space where I simply want to move on and not get too stuck on any one painting right now. I have a lot of ideas I want to get to, so the fussy details can wait. Whenever I get into a period of time when I’m not in a completely regular painting habit, it takes a while for the ideas to begin to emerge. During these times, I feel it’s best to stay open to practically anything my mind wants to entertain.

So why am I painting a lady with a funny hat? Something about painting faces gives me an immediate sense of grounding. I don’t know who this woman is, but she feels oddly familiar to me. Yet, painting a simple portrait feels pretty boring to me. I need some element of fantasy or outlandish detail that keeps me entertained. Now I’m amused by the idea of creating a whole series of people wearing funny hats… or perhaps things that aren’t supposed to be hats (like animals and flowers and birds-nests).

The content aspect of my work often trips me up. The first question is always WHAT to paint. And if I’m feeling stuck, the question becomes a painful deliberation between numerous prospects. Sometimes I have too many ideas. The best thing is just to start with something… anything that I feel I can commit to for the first 10 minutes, and then the creative pixies keep the juices flowing.

(pic. 2) update: The artist’s cooperative gallery that I belong to (”Six Days”, on Alberta Street) are having a group show related to the theme of Las Vegas. We are calling the show “Six Days in Vegas”. I came home from a meeting on the subject, complaining to my partner that I had to come up with a painting with a Vegas theme, and I’m pretty anti-Vegas in my aesthetics. He pointed out that I already had a painting on my easel that would do the trick. So I added some feathers, changed her blouse to a silky spaghetti strap, reversed the orientation of the background panel… and, Voila!… she’s a show-girl! I renamed the piece, “Vegas Night, 3 a.m.” I’m still contemplating whether I should add a cigarette danging from her mouth.

I woke from a dream this morning which I felt was interesting enough to write in my journal before returning to sleep. A larger part of me wanted to crawl under the covers and forget all about it, but since the dream related to my creative process I thought it might help unveil some things about the difficulties I’m having with balancing my work and creative life. Before this dream, I was pretty sure my next blog entry would have to be titled “Why I’m not painting”. Here goes the dream:

I am walking through an exhibit of artworks, and come upon one which is my own. As soon as I stop to look at it, it makes an eerie sound… sort of a singing of bird chirps, followed by my own voice telling a story. It’s a painting, but the forms within it are moving, as in an animation. It begins as an abstract face, becoming more distinct as the story unfolds. The face is in profile (pointed to the right), but by the time the story drifts to the end, another face (less distinct) is forming out of the back of the head (pointing to the left). The picture and voice then loops back into its original sequence. Though it’s difficult to make out any resembling features, I know that the face is my own.

It is obvious that I am within a group show, and the other artists are present, mingling around the gallery space. In addition to our group show, we are all here to take a workshop based on our individual creative processes, and how to bring it further. Before we settled into the workshop, I remember seeing a woman carrying a sculpture in the shape of a cat. I realize that it is actually a portrayal of a mummified Bast, (the Egyptian cat icon who is goddess of the underworld). As soon as I realize that it is an urn, I can see that some grey sparkling dust is on its surface. I ask the woman if she has dumped the ashes, and she says yes, that she has just returned from the river.

Now the group commences into a circle, and most of us are sitting on the floor. Someone begins to speak about their creative process. It seems to be more about psychological process than the physical process… describing the unfolding meaning behind the work. Before the first person has finished more than a few sentences, a group of people have stumbled into our space. They are here to see the art exhibit. Someone is telling them that they will have to come back after we’ve finished our workshop, but then we see that a whole crowd of people are outside of the window, following them. We decide to end the workshop and the group disperses.

The next thing I know, I am walking down a road, but it is such a steep decline that I am no longer walking, but falling (as if down a long chute, though there are no walls). I am floating down past some of the other members of the group and am about to fall past a man who engages me to tell him about my process. Just as I am about to describe something about my work, I realize we are about to hit bottom. At this point I am falling face first and need to re-orient myself. Just as I’m about to hit the pavement, I swoop back up… dipping underneath a car that nearly hits me. The only other thing I can recall now is looking at another one of my paintings. This one is an abstracted image of a figure who is falling face first, and though the body is distorted, I know it is me.

It’s been a busy, busy week. I needed to complete some of my current paintings for a new one-person show that I hung last night. I also was just accepted to be a member at an artist’s cooperative gallery, so I’m hanging there tonight. In addition, I already had a show up at another place downtown. If you are in Portland, please check out my shows page for details on the locations.

As usual, my favorite paintings of my collection of works are whichever ones I just finished. And.. as usual, whenever I get on a creative roll, I always wonder about the time I spend struggling with my creativity. At this moment, I feel like I have hundreds of paintings waiting to get out, which makes it difficult to comprehend the times that I feel at a loss for what to do. Here’s the completed “Songbird” painting:

I also finished the other painting that I spoke of in my last post. This time, I’ll just post a detail that illuminates the parts that I resolved.

What made this painting come alive for me was when I started adding the dots and dashes to the background. Interestingly, this idea came about in a very happenstance manner. There was a small dark speck embedded in the plexiglass, located over her left shoulder. Since I couldn’t wipe it off, I decided to add something in the background that would camouflage it (where the background is the darkest). I started adding dots of color there to add some interest, then ended up following through with dots and circles that got progressively larger as I continued down the panel. I then decided to add vertically dashed lines above the horizon, which emphasizes the vertical flow of the larger blue-green drips. Now the drips more specifically related to the idea of rain, so I decided to call the piece “Day of Rain”. I felt that the title completed the piece because it ties together the idea of rain bringing flowers. The oddity of a nude woman standing in the rain adds an edge to its poetic sensibility, I feel.

Yea! I’m finally on a roll, after feeling like I am only half into my process lately. I could note a few excuses, such as my recent activity creating other people’s websites…. or spending the past week interviewing prospects for a new housemate… but the truth is that this has been going on for quite some time, and I was beginning to wonder about my dedication to studio work. I think a lot has to do with shifting gears between producing stuff for street shows, wearing out my creative impulse by forcing myself to crank things out for a while. I’m not a very good art slave, as I tend to resent it rather quickly. I did learn a lot about marketing, what images people are most often attracted to, etc. That’s all very valuable. But now that I’ve run myself through the wringer, I’m actually glad the winter is here so that I can get more focused in the studio and do my REAL work.

That said, I’ve been starting out a little dry. I didn’t really want to pack up my lovely balcony studio and put everything in the basement. Weather wimp that I am, I couldn’t get myself to paint outside, even if the strong winds and rain are only occasional.  For a little while I was moving back and forth between the balcony and basement, but I’m not organized enough to maintain 2 studios.  There’s a huge part of me that resists being underground, though. Perhaps I just needed to sort things out in my head first. I’ve been doing a lot of meditating and image research… figuring out what I want to do. After spending too much time in my head, I just want to paint without a thought for a while. So much of my first steps was centered on creating a handful of new panels with abstract painting. I like to start out with absolutely no idea where I am going… just following my momentary impulses toward particular colors, shapes, and textures.  The panels are each 17 inch squares, made from a combination of sponging, brushing, stenciling, and embedding textures.

These are all groundwork for layered plexiglass paintings. I decided to paint a woman over the first panel. She’s been in evolution for the past two weeks, but I finally feel that I have enough figured out to want to share her. She’s a funny little woman, but lovely.

A few days ago, I also started another painting with another background. This songbird hasn’t progressed as far, but has gotten off to a good start.

In the meantime, I’ve also been playing around with some collages, which I then started painting over:

The first of this pair is vertical diptych, utilizing a frottage drawing above, and a charcoal drawing below.
“Frottage” is a word used by the surrealists (I think it may have been invented by Max Ernst), which describes a way of discovering imagery by rubbing various textures. It, like the drawing below it, was originally turned vertically (the drawing was of a Buddha face, originally). I turned it sideways to get a new vantage point on what to do with it. I had been painting them separately, then decided they looked good together. For some reason I actually like the head turned on its side.


Similarly, I like the somewhat disturbing feeling that the swirling figure gives. Perhaps I was painting my inner turmoil, as I started this while I was still feeling conflicted by the angst that was building up from not painting for a while. The image started with a photograph of a Greek bronze statue that was discovered in the ocean some years ago (this discovery was probably a decade ago, after the sculptures had lay undiscovered in the ocean for several hundred years). I collaged his arms to some tree images, then painted a vortex of swirling sky around it. I plan to re-paint the face eventually (it was so scary that I had to partially obscure it). Both of these pieces need to be mounted to a wood backing before I can take them much further, as the paper is starting to buckle from the paint.

So there’s my revelations from the studio! I had to prove to myself that I was actually making some progress.

My process in the studio is a bit slow at the moment. I don’t feel like revealing what’s going on there now, because it’s still in a progressive state of constantly re-deciding what I’m doing there. One day I think it’s a good time to complete old projects, another day it’s a good time to start a new one. In the meantime, I’ve got about a dozen ideas I’m working on… and none of it at lightning speed.

I decided when I started this blog that it should be about anything that relates to my creative life. Part of my creative life is my spiritual life. In fact, it is the grounding for my creativity (especially when I’m feeling somewhat ground-less, as I have been lately). Therefore, I’ve decided to do a little exposure about my altar, which has been in re-development over the past month. I used to have my altar set up in my attic, as it seemed like the best place for it. It turns out that I rarely went up there, so I bundled up all of my altar objects and brought it down to a space in my bedroom. It’s now much easier for me to remember to sit daily. I usually do this as I begin and end the day, or anytime I feel called for a little silent contemplation.

All of the objects on my altar are of personal significance and aid me in finding my connection with spirit.

The most personal object is a photograph of my father. Looking up into the trees, I feel that it is the one photo that captured his transcendent spirit. I’ve recently been told by a couple of intuitives that he is a guiding angel that is always near me. I was told that he watches me as I paint, and as I sleep. Recently I’ve had a lot of dreams about him, so I’m inclined to believe this (or perhaps I just want to, as I miss that connection I had to my dad). For months after his death, he would come to me in dreams. Often he would transform into an animal… or tell me secrets about “the other world”. Sometimes he would speak to me with no words (yet, it felt like a thousand words at once)… all through his gleaming eyes, letting me know that all was well and that he loved me. I felt like I could have stayed in that moment forever. I know that when I die, he will be the one who brings me over.

Currently, the central object on my altar is this abalone shell, given to me by a friend and spiritual guide. Inside the curve of the shell is a mirrored pendant that belonged to my mom. (It makes me smile to remember a photo of her when she received it as a Christmas gift. She put it on her head and it got stuck on her nose). Thinking of it as a mirror, it reminds me never to take myself too seriously. Also in the shell are about a dozen fragments of writing. I recently decided to write down all of my blessings (because I often forget when I get into my complaining mind). I wrote them on pieces of rice paper, which I plan to glue into a paper-mache bowl.

Other objects include a lovely scarf that my sister gave to me… it’s too nice to wear, and I’d rather contemplate it’s patterns as a backdrop for my Buddha sculpture, prayer bracelets, crystal pendulum, and special stones (picked from the Columbia River banks).

I love this photograph of a Buddhist monk that I got from photographer Lenny Foster when I was lived in Taos. He did a series of beautiful photographs of the hands of the spiritual ordained of other cultures. I love the detail of the patterned robe, the waterlilies in the background, and the ceremonial touching of the prayer beads. While I don’t necessarily call myself a Buddhist, it’s probably the closest alignment I have with “organized religion”… mostly because it relies on personal reflection instead of intermediaries. I do believe that all humans have a Buddha nature, which for most of us lies undiscovered. I also believe in reincarnation. Sometimes it takes many lives to evolve into the discovery of our higher consciousness. I have a hard time remembering prayers, so I’m making it a practice now to place near my altar prayers or poems that inspire me.

There was a point earlier this week that it suddenly dawned on me that summer was over. Realizing my tendency to shrink into the indoors during winter months, I’ve been making sure that I get some outdoor activity every day before the rains hit. I just came back from a rather magical walk which reminded me why I made a commitment during the spring to take my camera around with me whenever I take my afternoon walks. Well, I started to amass a collection of hundreds of photographs (mostly flowers, plants and textured walls which, for some reason consumed my attention for the moment)…. But I failed to do much of anything with them and didn’t see any reason to add to my unsystemized files. It just seems like such a load of work to go through them all and figure out what’s useful to me.

This evening I went out and began the habit again. Gotta catch that last golden light. It’s always a revelation to me how much more attention I give things when I look at them through a lens. It focuses my attention on the macro-world which one fails to see when keeping a pace to simply “get somewhere”. Another thing that happened this time around is that children playing in the neighborhood were very interested in seeing what I was doing and wanted to talk to me. Usually it’s the cats that come up to me to accept a little cooing and stroking. This time, on 3 separate occasions, children came out to talk to me (first a couple of sisters, then a boy with his dog, then a group of 4). Each incidence had a bit of magic to offer me.

I don’t spend much time with children, so I am pretty out of touch with the way children think sometimes. Being involved with something I am interested in doing somehow makes me less intrusive to their world, as they become inquisitive and start looking at the flowers with me, or start telling me stories, or simply play with each other in my presence. The child above spontaneously bowed a flower down to smell it as I walked away.

I’ve just begun the process of getting back into the studio. I can’t say I’ve made a LOT of progress… but I’m starting to play. I’m just layering colors and patterns, trying to figure out my next step. I also started a new painting based on the process workshop I took a couple weekends ago. So far, I like the original piece best, though it does create some presentation problems (painted on buckly paper that’s not easy to hang). I wanted to re-create it as a layered glass painting. So far it lacks the intensity of wildness of the first. Maybe it’s not a good idea to try to re-create a painting. But I also don’t feel that I should have to reinvent the wheel every time I begin. I know there’s more I can do with this idea, and it’ll be interesting to see where it goes.

The technique of painting on glass is inherently less spontaneous than tempera on paper. It’s necessary to keep areas of the painting clean, so that the lower layers are revealed. This requires me to adopt a more careful attitude towards the work, and it’s already looking more stiff in its composition.  (The “moon” in this photo is actually a reflection of the paper lantern hanging in my studio, but it gives me another idea to add to the painting.

In the meantime I might also dig out some of those photos I’ve been collecting. Might be some food for new imagery among all the botanical studies. Though I am transferring my balcony studio back to the basement and it’s starting to get nippy, it can still be a time for blooming.