Boldness

“Boldness be my friend.” 
― William Shakespeare

     I like to paint.  When people ask me, "So what kind of paintings do you do?" the words that always comes to mind are abstract and BOLD.   Clearly abstract works to describe what I like to do with paints.  Seldom do I paint something that is representational.  In other words, I am not about painting realistic pieces.  I often paint the conversation that is in my head.  I frequently  paint what I found in my night time dreams.  There are many times when I have no clue about what it is I am painting.

     My work is seldom soft, warm, and fuzzy.  Generally speaking, the colors are vivid, the texture is rich and sometimes harsh.  On occasion, there is an edginess, sometimes a starkness about the works.  My paintings can be infused with playfulness, anger, despair, fear, confusion, joy, and more.  Pretty much they all have one thing in common:  boldness.

      And I find it both amusing and perplexing that boldness shows up in my paintings.  There is nothing bold about me or my life.  I live in a conventional home, in a conventional small town.  I have a conventional job, a retired and conventional husband, two conventional children, and two conventional mutts.  Boldness implies audacity, courage, adventurousness, maybe even brazen.   I wish I could say I were any of those things.  Instead, I mostly feel like a robot that has marched through a predictable life. Maybe the boldness of my artwork is the me who wishes she were someone else.

   Just for fun, I am adding some photos of original work.  The colors tend to be muted on the computer screen so use your imagination to amplify what you see and you might get an idea of the real deal.  Most of these paintings are 18" x 24" unframed (which translates to typically about 25" x 32" framed). The size only magnifies the boldness - a big wall is required for hanging.

On Being a Robot

“Be self aware, rather than a repetitious robot” 
― Bruce Lee

     Odd revelation from the other day:  I was born a robot.  No, really.  It's not a bad thing.  It just is.  I was born a robot and someone wound me up from day one.  You know? That little key thing in the back of the old fashioned robots?  The key that you twist and the robot moves and doesn't stop moving until the key is unwound?

    Robot?  Yes, I think maybe most of us human beings are born robots.   I know I was born into a family and into a culture whose directions dominated my life.  This is not to say that it has been a bad life.  Quite the contrary but, from where I sit after almost six decades, I can see now that the path was pretty much  pre-scripted.  I suppose I could have deviated from the path but that wasn't part of my programming.

     I like what Bruce Lee says above.  Maybe now I can finally find a way to take the key out.  Hmmm - a bit risky that.  Perhaps the robot will stop moving then?

On the Edge

“I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all  kinds of things you can't see from the center.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut


        What do you think about this notion?  It appeals to me so much but I can't seem to put my finger on why the attraction.  That's me on the edge of that fire engine's 175 foot extended ladder.  It was  a demo for the school kids and they asked for a volunteer (adult!) to climb the ladder.  And so I did.  And I hung out there on the edge and experienced the adrenaline and watched the world below me.  I saw all kinds of things I could never have seen from my feet-firmly-planted-on-the-ground place on earth.

       I am a huge fan of the ocean in all its glory.  The ocean sits on the edge of the earth.  I am spellbound by ocean breezes, depths of color,  dangerous cliff edges, and the potential drop to the sea. Scared but  alive.

    Sometimes edges have warnings.

    But, just as often, they don't.

     In everyday life, I encounter edges, places where you can see the end of something.  Sometimes, it is a storefront jumping to the sky or the edge of humor touching the edge of hurt.  It's common stuff but it is the edge.

      There are the times when the illustrious sit on edge with the commonplace.  I sometimes get the feeling that  expectations are on the edge of reality, ready to jump off and see what really is.

    Edges don't have to be straight, you know. Edges can be torn or undulating.  They can start and stop, appear and disappear.  Sometimes you find edges with cracks.  I think I find those edges with cracks on the most interesting days, the days when I am no longer sure of who I am, what I am doing, or where it is I am going.  Nothing is sure on those days, except uncertainty.

  It isn't very often but the edge can be soft and gentle.  It can feel warm and fuzzy, not at all sharp and, well, edgy.  It can feel like, if you were to jump off the edge, the landing would be harmless and maybe even fun.

 
    Edges don't have to be high up there like that first picture.  No, edges can be small but, if you miss a step, the edge can make for a painful fall.  And, when edges are small, you have to look more carefully before you step, lest you crush something of beauty.

     I don't know about you, but sometimes I make my own edges.  I create the excitement, the fear, the messiness, and sometimes I go over the edge and sometimes I don't.

      A week or so ago, I had a dream in which I was walking on the southern end of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Impulsively, I decided to climb the chain link fence along the edge (is there even a chain link fence there in real life?) and, yes, leap off the bridge. In the instant that I jumped, my self yelled at my body, "NO! THIS IS IRREVOCABLE!"  Too late.  My body dropped through the air, sailing from the bridge's edge to the edge of the sea.  CRACK!  I broke the surface of the water, body snaping the cold, mind catching the flash of light.  What an edge!  Interesting end to that dream.  As I gurgled my way in the cold, murky Pacific Ocean, I thought, "Ah, but I am still alive!"

     Edges.  What do you think?  Do you like to stand as close to the edge as you can?

Ssstupid

Lately I hear myself muttering the word stupid a lot.

Sounds like this:

ssstupid hair cut
ssstupid culture
ssstudid shoes
ssstupid headache
ssstupid WWF game
ssstupid  work
ssstupid  life
ssstupid  dinner
ssstupid people
sstupid dogs
ssstupid fog
ssstupid laundry

You get it.
I got to wondering:  Why is everything ssstupid?

Of course, I looked up the definitions of stupid.  Perhaps the two that fit the best in this context are stupid as annoying and stupid as pointless.  Oh, but then there is stupid as tediously dull.  Hmmm, I like that.

How About This?

How about this?

How about I wake up some morning and I know,
 I just know, that I am doing the best that I can?

How about I take life one moment at a time,
knowing that most people are doing the best that they can?

How about I make a place for irritability, for kindness,
for creativity, and for anger?

How about I watch my dreams and feel the mystery
around me?

How about if I welcome a little fear, take her hand, and let her walk with me?

How about I tell the fool that she is invited to stay for the party too?

How about I let life unfold as it will?
How about looking at time with curiosity?

How about I open up to life?
How about I spill all that craziness in my head
on the ground and in the sky above me?

How about I love the messiness of crazy, the craziness of life
the messiness of life?
What colors and brightness that would create!

Ms Melancholy Revisited

     Over a year ago, I introduced my readers to Ms. Melancholy.  As noted in that post, Ms Melancholy has been a resident in my head since at least adolescence.  There really is no understanding her, only acknowledging that she seems to like hanging out with me.  Go figure.

    What I notice is that she is back and back in an unusual way.  She must have developed a night life because these days she is not sitting on the couch next to me at night but rather is climbing out of bed with me in the morning.   It used to be that she was an early morning sleepy  head and I could get my day started without her obnoxious presence.  But now?  Now she is happy to push me out of bed and hang around, hovering over me as I attempt to get my day on track.  She smothers me while I do my exercise routine, and scowls when I complete the walk or the crunches.   She gleefully jumps when she sees that the house is a mess and I am chastising myself for not staying on top of the housework.  She smiles big time when I sigh in discouragement at the long day ahead or the frigging fog hanging in the oak tree.  She LOVES it when I trudge out to the garage, backpack on and shoulders stooped, pull out my bike and head off to work.  This is her quintessentially joyful moment.

   Odd thing is,  she doesn't actually come to work with me.  She tries.  I know she tries.  But I think is afraid of that place.  Or something.  Maybe there just isn't room for her there.  There is so much activity, so many people to whom I need to answer,  so much going on and she can't find me in the busy-ness of work.  Ha!  I disappear from her view!  I wonder where she goes during the workday.

   And after work?  After work, she must be bugging someone else  because she leaves me alone.  When I get home from work, I can chillax without her. Yes, she is still makes me her biggest priority on Sundays after about noontime.  Ugh.  But I know her and I actually make room for her on the couch.  How do you shove someone away who has been there on Sundays since you were in second grade?

      I am going to watch her this fall.  I am going to see if anything changes about her.  She still wears that funky dress and really should be wearing a bra.  Those old lady shoes need to go.  I wonder if I can persuade her to try some cool boots?  Maybe I just need to accept her just the way she is.




       Some recent art work:

Blood, Skin, and Bones #1

Blood, Skin, and Bones #2

 

Water Play

Arts

Please note:  I found this piece in my archives.  Originally written last February, it got set aside for some reason long forgotten.  I want to post some of my more recent  art work but decided to first post this for some background.

I knew I liked Kurt Vonnegut:

        Reading this inspires me to show off a few more of my paintings.  Back in early December I opened my personal gallery  to the blogging world (just for fun).  I promised to bore you again with some more original pieces so, on this lazy Sunday, I am going to take you on a tour of a different wing of the gallery.

     To wake you up a bit, I will start with this one.  I completed this one probably two years ago, just kicking around the universe.  Nephew Casey look a liking to it  and, for all his wonderfulness, I could't resist sending it his way.

   This next one has got to be one of my all time favorites.  I love the delicate yet complicated textures and colors.  I think the colors are so much richer in person but the camera gives you an idea of what I see.  It didn't start out to be heart like, I assure you, but in this view I can clearly see that image.  For fun and games, I am including the full picture as well as the enlarged left hand corner.   I recently had it framed and matted.  If only I had the perfect wall on which to display it.

       The Hand is a captivating piece.  I painted it about four years ago.  It so captured my attention that I now have it hanging in my office at work.  Here's the question:  What is the hand doing?  Some say the fingers are reaching out; others say the hand is holding on.  I know I was in desperate straits at the time I painted it.  Perhaps that is one reason it is so appealing to me.  When paintings speak to me, I listen.  Sometimes the rawness of artwork is painful but, then again, sometimes it is joyful. Check out the next two!
       Is she not the most spirited little girl bike rider ever?















And who is that peeking out?

This one is a mystery, even to me.









We'll tour a little more of the gallery later this week.