The Waxing & Waning Of The Inner Landscape

10"x10" cold wax on panel

Almost a week has passed since I loaded the last wet painting into my car at the end of the week long workshop I attended with Rebecca Crowell.  I was drawn to the quiet strength of Rebecca's work when I saw it in Santa Fe four years ago. So to find her not far from home ( Vancouver Island Art Workshops) seemed an opportunity.  The days were long but structured well between painting and presentations. I love the ability of cold wax to deliver texture and surprise through the use of built up layers. It was fun to watch the different ways each of the 12 artists manipulated the same material, from bold graphic work to soft and ethereal.  There was an open invitation to work until 9 pm each evening. I knew ahead of time I wouldn't do this, given the restraints of both body and mind.  We had tons of workspace which was great considering that we worked on multiple, slow drying panels.  If you were stuck on one, you could turn your eye to another. Experiment was encouraged and we were reminded that finished work was not the goal, though the mind often wandered from this. I think I might have needed a flashing neon sign over my work tables to keep me on top of those.

There were lots of take-aways from the week about materials and process and points of contemplation.  And  I expect things will continue to slowly seep and settle into the blood and bones of me and my paintings.  At least I hope so. It is always so interesting to see what we absorb and internalize from any teaching.  It has everything to do with where we are in our life and work and what rings in our ear afterwards and how we synthesize it.  I will continue to explore questions like "what inspires me", "what do I hope to express in my work".

As painting is such a solitary practice it was nice to paint in the company of others for a change, to share a laugh or an observation.  Participants were generous and open. The atmosphere was supportive but with a strong focus on work. Kind of like a silent retreat in some respects, you appreciate the energy of others while focusing internally.

Cold wax and charcoal on terra skin

I am an incurable people watcher. It's so much fun to watch human nature unfold before you (your own and others).   I found myself equally interested in how people expressed their personal energy and shared it with others.  How did we manage our needs, our frustrations, our stress, how did our habitual reactions play out?  There were parallel teachings going on for me, always the art, and always the dharma. We are such a curious bunch, us humans.  I watched myself make a conscious effort to be who I am: quiet, quirky but friendly. Not always, but sometimes I can see my own inclinations to chat or engage as slightly needy (we want to be part of the tribe, a respected member, even).  I decided to check this need at the door (as much as possible) in the interest of work and experiment with how that felt. It was fun to watch this impulse arise and subside and to just be, to just work.

I watched my own human inclination to enjoy praise but reminded myself what a false wind this is, being constantly tossed about in the opinions of others.  I have learned that outer acceptance is a pale friend compared with my own inner acceptance of whatever is.  This has been such an important lesson for me over the years.  My strong inclination to feel frustrated with what I achieve and then to fall into mucking and discouragement came to visit. Sometimes it took a good while to catch myself and redirect.

More Cold wax & charcoal on terra skin

The one on one exchanges with Rebecca were helpful. In my search for "form" in my work she suggested the question to toss about, "what shapes out there in the world do I like?" To my surprise I was initially stumped by this question. And perhaps a search for form might better be thought of as an evolution of detail?  I am thinking it also has to do with variation in value?

And after my hours of painting I returned each evening to the charming home of artist, Carole Reid and our lovely feline host Isabelle.  I have never met a friendlier cat. She looked forward to me sitting on the couch each evening so she could purr and sleep and I could let the day's work steep and percolate.  It was a great house swap that Carole wrote about here and here.

I don't know if I had any expectations going into the workshop. Perhaps not overtly, but I think there are always hidden ones simmering below the surface.  I feel fortunate to have been part of this richly textured week and look forward to following the tendrils and threads as they spread themselves out into my work.

The Chicken of Thought, The Egg of Feeling

Road Through The Mountains 24"x24"

Yesterday when I was working on this piece pictured above I noticed a tightening in my body, a sense of nervousness. "What's this?" I thought? And then it struck me that this was my body responding to subtle background thought "I'm  afraid of making a mistake." The sensation and thought  were sewed tightly together, in the same way you might wonder what comes first, the chicken or the egg.

This time instead of being captured by this familiar lurker,  I caught him red handed and had a little laugh, which made him slink away. "Now what am I afraid of, this is my painting. That's a crazy thought. How could I make a mistake? And if I don't like the next mark, I can paint over it or wipe it off." But I can't tell you how many times I've been captured and thrown in the trunk by this thought.  And sometimes when we look we'll see a seminal thought like this one, that has run like a long thread across the days of our lives, tying us up in little knots along the way. On how many occasions have I frozen for fear of making a mistake of some sort?  See how therapeutic painting can be!

I am getting more comfortable in my exploration of abstraction. Maybe it's partly because I'm finding materials that seem to lend themselves more to what I want to translate onto the page or .... maybe I've just worn down the part of me that cares so much by painting some pretty awful stuff!

I made my own cold wax using an organic orange cleaner called Orange a-Peel. I cut up chunks of beeswax and dropped them into a jar of orange stuff the same way you would make regular cold wax. It melts into this luscious creamy goo. I must warn you this mixture is stinky, in an orange solvent sort of way but more tolerable to me than the chemical or turp based solvent ones. I bought some white oil paint that is water soluble and odourless (doesn't necessarily mean it's non toxic though)  to go with the earth pigments I ordered. I am also using ash from the wood stove and some powdered milk paint.  So I am the studio witch of the north, mixing up strange things to rub and brush onto my canvas. Haven't resorted to eye of newt yet (it's not vegetarian).

Route 42

I have discovered I like things that look like rock and old cement floors, these natural and neutral palettes with organic and intricate patterns and textures. Go figure, but there you have it.  I started looking around for what really interested me as a basis for my abstraction and that was it. I have no idea where I'm going but I feel some sense of going somewhere, if that makes any sense. For a long time it was just pure frustration, but that landscape of ennui seems to have faded in the rearview mirror (at least for now). I went to a great artist's talk last night by Jason Pollen and he said the difference between art and craft is that with a craft you know where you are going (I'm building this bird house, I'm making this quilt) but with art the final destination is unknown. And you know how that makes us feel a lot of time. We like to tie all those loose ends up and feel in control. Yes I know where I'm going, it's that little town about 100 miles away and I have a hotel reservation there tonight. Standing on the edge of the unknown is one of those valuable principles of the Dharma.

And I am lucky I still have most of my hair (this has nothing to do with orange solvent or ash from the fire). I just finished building a Wordpress website and was reminded what a low tolerance level I have for frustration.  Ah, more good Dharma practice. Be civil and kind to that online support guy who is giving you advice that requires a Martian translator and tells you to read the instructions again, more carefully, this time because it's all there.  But in the end I have a place to house a good sampling of my images. And it feels good to have wrestled with wordpress and won. Go have a peek here if you feel inclined.

That's about it at this end of the world. It feels like it's getting ready to rain for 40 days and 40 nights. And this has nothing to do with the American election, I'm pretty sure. What are you wrestling with these days, or smiling at?