New Painting, "Look at Your Feet; You are Standing in the Sky"

Look at Your Feet; You are Standing in the Sky

24" x 36" x 1.5"

Oil and Mixed Media on Canvas

Available

Some works come easily and flow through me almost as if I have nothing to do with them but act as the vessel. Not so with this one. I fought and fought with this painting.  


It started off as the one in the middle with all the reds at the top. Initially, it was my favorite in that whole bunch I was working on at the time. I loved it that day when I took the pic below sooo much and thought it was nearly finished...but then things took a downward turn. I kept messing it up. I was trying too hard with it; my expectations were so high from the very beginning that every time I touched it I was disappointed. 

Each time I would go out to the studio I would try and try to make it something better,  more significant. Then for the past week I moved it to a dark area in the studio and have literally been hiding from it.


In a parallel universe, the same sort of thing was going on in my yoga practice. One of my favorite things in the world to do besides love on my babies and paint is to practice yoga. Thanks to this journey into getting to know myself better, as well as wonderful community of friends and teachers at Exhale, my daily practice has become a well that I draw endless amounts of strength, energy and inspiration from. 


The elusive handstand is something I attempt nearly every class. When the kids and I are horsing around in the playroom, we often do our handstand hops. (My five-year-old is pretty fantastic, BTW.) I am far from getting it, but every day I try.   As my teacher Brooke says, "You will never improve at a posture if you don't at least attempt it. it is in the trying that you grow."  Sometimes I can't even get my hips over my shoulders, sometimes I get it and hang on for a second, sometimes I fall.


This morning in class I tried. And lo and behold I caught some air. I could tell I did something differently because this attempt felt effortless. For what felt like an eternity (but was probably more like 8 seconds), I hung out in my handstand.  I could feel the love and support of my teacher from across the room. For some crazy reason, my mind wandered to my art sketchbook from Senior Year in high school, and this particular sketch I had done that had always seemed sort of random but all of a sudden made perfect sense: 

(That is the picture from my actual sketchbook, done in 1997.)  

The words, "Look at Your Feet; You are Standing in the Sky" clicked into realization. And then just as my mind wandered, I fell--very ungracefully, but luckily didn't get hurt--out of my handstand. The moment passed and class moved on, but for me a fundamental shift had occurred.

(detail)

I raced home, filled with energy and adrenaline. Luckily I had time in the studio today, and instead of running away from the painting I had grown to detest, I embraced it full-on, and added the layers of white and cream. Then I scraped away.  Then I added more layers of blues and turquoise, then I scraped away.  Vertical lines appeared, a virtual linear portrait of me in class this morning. 

Triumphant, the painting emerged.

So I will try again tomorrow, and again the day after that to do handstand. And I may get it but I probably won't. And my body will continue to be a vessel, a conduit, of energy and life and creativity. And I will remember that every day is a journey. And the journey itself is home.

Newly Commissioned Painting, "Come Boldly to the Throne of Grace"

"Come Boldly to the Throne of Grace" 

36" x 36" x 1.5"

Oil and Mixed Media on Canvas

Wallace Collection

I came across the following scripture verse yesterday 

and it stuck with me:

"Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace. That we may find mercy and grace in time of need. (Hebrews 4:16)" 

What a great reminder. I knew it belonged to a painting, but only when this one was complete did I see how the two fit together.  To come boldly, fearlessly, to something new and surrender to it offers the opportunity to find the grace within.

This client had a specific color scheme and style in mind and then let me run with it. Here is what emerged. I love working on commissions and allowing someone's vision to speak through my own. This union never fails to lead to something beautiful.


There colors were a bit of a departure for me, and already they have found their way into several other paintings I am simultaneously working on in the studio. I love how each painting influences the next and leads to progress and growth in this little artistic journey I'm on.

New Painting, "Stand Calmly"

36" x 36" x 1.5"

Oil and Mixed Media on Canvas

"Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. there is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." -Leonard Cohen

This piece is 36" x 36, a little on the large side of normal for me. Sometimes working bigger is so intimidating for me, yet then when I finally suck it up and get to work on a large canvas I am usually pretty happy with the results.  I think it's the journey to the finished product that can be long, arduous and keep me up at night that scares me.  It's hard to believe the painting above started out as the painting below a few weeks ago....

but I just wasn't feeling it.  I would go out into the studio after leaving it alone for a while and hope to look at it with a different perspective, with a new appreciation, but every time I laid eyes upon it I was  overwhelmingly aware that it was not where it needed to be.  It was screaming at me to evolve.  Which was frustrating because at one point , the point it was at in the pic, I thought it was nearly done. As my mom (who is also an artist not to mention my biggest sounding board) says, "It's only paint, you can always paint over it if you want to change it"....that's what I did. 


And if I hadn't put all the blues and browns underneath the trees that manifested themselves yet again on my canvas, there would never be the subtle layers of color, the rich texture of unintended but beautiful shapes, the carved lines that give the finished piece depth, and substance, and "me-ness"...

Another reminder that it's all about the journey.  The twists, turns, doubts, discoveries, uncertainty .... that's how the light gets in.