i have coffee in my cup and a fresh layer of deep grey oil down on a super massive canvas. the scent of it laying in every inch of my small home. a wonderful start to the week, to the day. and it is sunny already. i'll suck up the sun while i can. the rain has not finished with us yet and will be back tomorrow for the majority of the week- no outdoor painting for me... or jogs unless i want to get drenched again. but it's alright. i've been working working working and feeling good about myself. i don't mind the rainy days so much anymore. it's become my acceptable excuse to be reclusive and spent the entire day reading, writing, drawing, painting in my pajamas, drinking too much coffee, and forgetting about the dishes in the sink.
i spent the weekend stretching canvasses and writing a short story. it was nice to step back from the internet. more and more i've been feeling the desire/need to step in to natural light and away from the glow of this rectangle... to spend more and more time with the work and digging through ideas. i've been reading "The Triggering Town" by Richard Hugo, a book about writing poetry. and the subject of finding one's voice is applicable to painting too. in fact, i think it's not something a person only wrestles with once. i think that as i change and grow and explore, my "voice" needs to change and grow too. what worked last year, what felt true to me last year, has shifted a bit... and so i wrestle to shift the voice, marry it to who i am today. right now, i feel that voice is erupting in such a fiery, honest way. it is exhilarating and comforting and all the pieces of my world begin to line up... begin to make sense again. it is relief and an honor and something i am very protective of at present. and proud too. not in an egotistical way, but that sense of pride everyone needs in order to keep chasing the dream... self-acceptance.
last night, i started reading "The Land of Green Plums" by Herta Muller. every single line, every word in this book is a fucking gem. and already, i am inspired in such deep, personal ways. it is shattering and lovely. i only got to page 17 before i decided to let all those words sit in my brain and my stomach overnight. she's a powerhouse. absolutely so. and something about the search for voice, the things i've been wrestling with, Richard Hugo's book, my own writing and the dreams i have for it, elsie on my living room wall, huge and beautiful and full of secrets, images images images and then the passage in her book on page 9:
"The child goes on talking. As she speaks, something gets stuck on her tongue. The child thinks, it can only be the truth sticking to her tongue like a cherrystone that refuses to go down. As long as her voice keeps rising to her ears, she will wait for the truth. But once her voice grows silent, thinks the child, everything will turn out to have been a lie, since the truth has tumbled down her throat. Because her mouth failed to say the words and ate them."
such a bell! such a bell rung out in me when i read this, curled up in my white quilt last night, such a huge haunted resonant thing cried along with this passage and i thought... isn't this what we artists are all doing??? talking, moving, exploring in order to stumble across small truths here and there? or at least to avoid the big lie? and when we stop trying, when our voices no longer vibrate in our own ears and we fall silent, the "lie" sweeps in. i tend to think of the Lie as resignation. i will not be resigned. no no no. there is coffee in my cup and huge canvasses clogging the living room and i finally got more of the lovely 9XXB pencils. there are books in the case and ideas everywhere and the sun is out and the dog is snoring sweetly next to me. the day is wide open. no resignation. none. never.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.