Tucson Museum of Art's Arizona Biennial '09 & Ich Bin Ein Artist

Yesterday, I sent out the first invitations and postcards to the upcoming Tucson Museum of Art's Arizona Biennial '09 and this got me to thinking about validation, confidence, hard work and the power of other artists' support through blogging. Because of your visits here, I have grown, experimented, and learned so much. Thank you, everyone. I am very grateful. I wish you could all attend the event and exhibit. Here is a link to some pre-buzz on the show and to Mat Bevel's page. Also, here is a link to another artist, Monica Aissa Martinez, in the show. Most of all, I hope that you will read the following and appropriate the message for yourselves. I recently received permission to share a mail art piece that I made for my son, Ell, last September 2008. Yes, I know. The sentence, "Ich bin ein Artist", is grammatically incorrect. However, I found this jewel in the New York Times Magazine in an article featuring a young artist. In this mailart (I painted a watercolor image of a ceramic fox that he made years ago and used copies of his inked stamps of an Icelandic flag and a dragon along the bottom), I wanted to let him know that we often don't see ourselves as others do. We are so much harder on ourselves than we need to be. Certainly, we are far more critical than our friends are. Why not treat ourselves as kindly as we treat our dearest friends? The words: In everyone else's eyes, you are always more creative than you think. When you make something with your hands, you have a process & a dialogue with yourself. First, an amorphous blob dares you to begin. Pulling the clay, asking yourself Questions: How do I make a fox? How large should it be? What are its proportions. Your hands work. The body is the foundation. The legs come next, one by one, Supporting the whole. The head and tail are developed last like the punctuation in a lovely paragraph. There is an observer present who says, "You're tired and this doesn't look like a fox. Quit now. This is not good--not at all like a picture, not at all like I imagined, not at all like... An allegory, an analogy, your life begins too, as an amorphous form, slowly developed thru a lifetime of questions--never turning out exactly as planned. Yet, the energy and movement that is the artwork of your life is more than you can see from the middle. Page two: Blurry from here, but clear on the outside...You can see there is a code, a secret message Back page: Albert Einstein said, "In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." ....Be true to yourself, think about quieting the 'censor' and seek an honest, loving image of yourself. "A discovery is said to be an accident meeting a prepared mind." Albert Szent-Gyorgyi Here's a link to my new website. Thank you, Mr. Artyfice!

More Fun with Scraping

Today, I thought I'd continue experimenting a bit with scraping oil paint and spritzing portions of paint on some small 5" x 7" panels. These surfaces were different from the artboards that I used in the last post, but the process was the same. Again, I'm using water mixable oil paint from Winsor & Newton Artisan and Grumbacher Max. Thank you, Karen for inspiring me to detail the process and to push a bit. First, I drew a quick sketch and with a palette knife laid down the sky.

  Then, I spritzed the sky with a water bottle and let it sit a few minutes. The photo has some glare from the camera's flash, but you can see how the water works on the paint.

  The next two show the paint layers, without any scraping on this one.

  In this next experiment, I knew that I'd have to scrape, so I didn't put great gobs* of paint on. *Is this a technical term? I did spritz the sky, holding it upside down, and you can see the drips forming cloud-like elements. The bright center of the painting is where I scraped.

  It's really fun to use these paints because they can be used like watercolors, thinned with water as an extender, or used as oils with a water miscible medium. I've titled these two paintings, On the Road to Silver City, One and Two.

A Scrape, A Spritz and a Happy Result

Working today on an artists' board (from Dick Blick art materials), I again (!) failed to check the back of the panel for the built in hang hole. Yikes. Of course, I had a nagging thought two hours after I had painted the image. That old axiom about the preciousness of one's work reminded me that it was okay to scrape off the paint and begin again. As I did so, I enjoyed the process half way through and documented how this looks. This view shows the hill scraped away and the sky still in place. Then, I spritzed the painting with a spray bottle of water (I use water miscible oils) and loved that effect, too. Didn't take a photo of it, but I will be experimenting with this in the future and I'll share anything I learn. Here is the result, after I flipped the panel and re-painted the image with palette knife and brush. This is a 9" x 12," artists' panel (Pink Sky New Mexico). Wish these panels were a bit more affordable because they are really wonderful to work on.

Shook Up, Show Up, Make a Mark

So I'm sitting here on a Sunday afternoon, pleasantly and lazily enjoying the company of my family, listening to Tucson's community radio, KXCI, cogitating on the 36" x 36" canvas that is pale and hungry, begging for paint only twenty-two feet away in the studio, when I hear sounds next door, like someone's there. Sure, I freaked out because the woman who had been evicted had come back to forage for things...again. Why would I notice? This woman is a sociopath, the common, garden variety kind that stalked, threatened and tormented my family and me for the last eight years. Panic. What to do? This is the moment that I realize how art not only created the world, but also saves it (and, me), when things get a bit dicey. I was reminded of a really funny cartoon that Mr. Artyfice has on his office wall. Donning my artist's beret and my painterly smock that says "Good girls go to heaven, but bad girls go everywhere," I leapt into the studio with a mighty purpose, mixing and sloshing paint like a maniac: First, a four inch brush to lay down a layer of blue; Then, a combination of swashbuckling palette knife action for the sky and the hill below; Ending with a gentler swish and a smear for clouds hugging land. Two hours later, we have two more clouds over Patagonia. I've included the small, 8" x 8" study previously posted. Whew! I could write a book about sociopaths...Oh, wait, someone already has: The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout.

Drawing Moments

Just a quick post this week. While waiting for food to cook, I had a moment to draw sunflowers in a tall vase. The flowers in the garden are nearly past their prime, but the finches are eagerly harvesting the seeds and a quail family with seven little babes are enjoying the seeds that fall to the ground. I wanted to include lots of fun quotes for today, but ran out of time. However, if you've ever heard Steven Wright deliver one of his quirky observations, you might get a chuckle from revisiting these quotes. Some of my favorites: "It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it," "I have an existential map. It has 'You are here' written all over it," and, "Anywhere is walking distance, if you've got the time." But, my favorite quote is from either Edmund Gwenn or Sir Donald Wolfit, "Dying is easy, comedy is hard." Having a successful work of art is a bit like comedy, isn't it?!

Self Portraits Like Hybrid Flowers

Here's something to ponder. How many different ways would you consider painting a self portrait? What kind of freedom would you allow yourself and what is your statement on 'you'? You can see that my approach has been all over the place and this has been a good practice over the years, yet... Self portraits have always been most uncomfortable for me. Unless they are in some way self narrative or abstracted, it is hard for me to do them. This last week I gave myself permission to do a representational one and, am not too disturbed by the likeness. This painting is 8" x "10," oil on canvas. The others are: Doglady self portrait (37" x 48," oil on canvas), In Your Face (15 1/2" x 20," monotype), and Churchlady (38" x 48," oil on canvas).

Painting to the Music

Love has no pride--Bonnie Raitt. Take Me to the River--Al Green. Oh, My Gosh It's Mighty Mouse!--Black Lodge Singers. Sittin' On Top of the World--Jack White (Cold Mountain soundtrack). Every Little Bit--Patty Griffin. Joue pas de rock & roll pour moi--Johnny Hallyday. Columbus Mississippi Blues--Bukka White... ...These were just a few of the songs that came up on shuffle while painting today. What do you listen to while painting? I would love to hear from you hardworking, enthusiastic and devoted artists. Sometimes it's difficult to keep painting when a particularly good song comes on (Blues, especially, for me). I want to rush back into the house, fire up the tube amp, and pretend I can play guitar, wailing away with abandon. Yet, smearing paint assertively (almost casually, the way a cat saunters across an open yard), feeling the color without reservation (like a prism held in a child's hand) is, is, is, transcendent! This painting is 8" x 8," oil on an artboard. Titled: Two Clouds Over Patagonia.

Moonshine, Starburst Aura, Chianti

Every year I take a little time to grow hybrid sunflowers. I have a small plot on the north side of our yard that is just right for morning light. I like to call this 'the north 40--feet, that is.' The sunflowers seem to explode as soon as there is warm weather. These hybrids are so easy to grow. They provide dramatic cuttings for a couple of months until the zinnias take over. It's so hard to grow any flowers in the desert, so this is a huge treat for us. Some frustrated gardener, William Alexander, wrote a book about how expensive it is to grow food anywhere and titled his book, The Sixty-four Dollar Tomato. I haven't read it, but would have to agree that keeping plants alive until they bloom or are ready to harvest and eat can be a very expensive proposition. This 9" x 12," oil on panel painting is of three of the hybrids. They are called Moonshine, Starburst Aura and Chianti. (Sold)

Strawberry Banana Acoma

What a glorious time of year it is. Spring time is here and the desert is blooming. We've had the oddest, but, most wondrous rain this past week. The hybrid sunflowers are blooming with rich, intense color. Photos coming soon.

This painting is a 9" x 12," oil on canvas of the northern New Mexico region, Acoma, in the Diné (Navajo) Reservation. It reminds me of an ice cream float. I must be channeling my admiration for Wayne Thiebaud and Fritz Scholder again. I must be ready for a delicious smoothie on a warm Sunday.

Reading Art & Fear (Bayles, Orland) has been good this weekend. As I traveled around looking at other artists' blogs, I was encouraged that our thoughts and feelings are the same. We struggle, triumph, we grow despondent and try again. "Some people who make art are driven by inspiration, others by provocation, still others by desperation."--from the book. Aren't we all, in discrete moments, all of the above?

Yet, I am ever stunned slack-jawed as I contemplate nature....

Or watch the new color rising from the richest ochre soil
like some fancy dancer making her big leap,

Or make the first swish of paint on the fresh ground of canvas
that amazes this maker, nearly freezing in mid stroke, joyful, wholly grateful to be.

What if our paintings make poems of landscapes, songs of flowers that mirror all that we can see?

 
"History doesn't repeat itself - at best it sometimes rhymes”--cousin Mark Twain
Let's rhyme in a good way.

Critical Sub-Angstrom Measurements

Sometimes we don't realize what is going on in the right side of our brains because it's just not telling. You all know what I mean. We train our left brains, as much as we can, to change negative and self-criticizing words into more hopeful pronouncements. And, we become more successful as we make routine the practice thereof...Ah. Word for the day--the title of this post. Now, an angstrom is pretty small, but when it comes to being self-critical, our thoughts can be smaller. And meaner. It was bonnieluria who tipped me into thinking that this is why I haven't finished some recently started paintings. Frozen. Too excited. Concerned about future work. This got me to thinking and moving toward the studio and, to finishing the portrait of my son, Ell, who is returning at the end of this month from his second year of college. As I wrote the equations on the canvas (and the photography terms on the right side), I could sense how very creative math and science truly are. Even though I could not understand any equation I copied, it felt right, felt good, felt creative. I wish I weren't so afraid of math. I'm still hoping to be less afraid of failure...or of canvasses that seem to defy me. I've titled this painting, His Mind is Full of Good Things, and it is 22" x 28," oil on canvas, with chalk. We are not our thoughts--for which we can be grateful! Let's be generous to ourselves today...Say, maybe for the rest of the week? Then we can consider extending this freedom to the following weeks.

"Not Sleepin'---Sonoran"

I've seen bumper stickers lately that have this statement and it made me think how long I've been away from posting. You might think I've been snoozing. Not so. We've had to have some major repairs and upgrades done for the old fort. While I have been in the studio, I've not made any new works. I've been finishing the edges on several paintings while.... Oh. My. Goodness. I received the most beautiful email from the curator of the Tucson Museum of Art. Let me repeat. Oh. My. Goodness. After ten years of dreaming and submitting work to the Arizona Biennial, my painting, Sabino Hill on a Snowy Day, was accepted into the upcoming exhibit along with other Arizona artists. As those of you who have followed this blog for awhile will remember, I've worn the t-shirt of rejection, with great pride, on previous years.

  So, see, I'm not sleeping, I'm jazzed, floating on air, getting the house ready for the heat of summer and daydreaming about the opening reception for the exhibit. And, I'm ecstatic that my work is going to hang on the very same walls that Fritz Scholder's, Jasper Johns', Maynard Dixon's, Chuck Close's, Ernest Blumenschein's works, and so many of my favorites have hung. Oh, yes, I'm dreamin.' That's fer sure. If a video of the show is made, I'll link it here as soon as it is uploaded. The exhibit will be from July 11th through September 26, 2009. Wishing you all a magnificent day in the studio. Words for today: Mirabile dictu: A pedibus usque ad caput...I am euphoric!

Spring, Flowers, Product of Canada!

It's hard to believe that I could be away so long from blogging. I've been visiting and thinking about painting, but have been consumed by errands and a quest for getting a cooler set up for the homestead. But... Whoo-hoo! It's spring and a trip to Trader Joe's inspired me to buy some beautiful yellow flowers...daffodils, the label said, on the hottest day so far in Tucson this year. In 1989, the temperature here was 104 degrees (40 degrees celsius). Why do I mention this? My boy was only a month old that year and it got over 115 degrees during that summer! You can imagine how challenging having a newborn with that kind of heat can be! I like to tease him that it was his fault. So, today's 97 degrees was pretty balmy. This happens nearly every year--a few really hot days, followed by normal, warm days, ramping up to June's furnace-like temperatures that build up to the monsoon. Painting the daffodils (Jonquilles du Canada 8" x 8," oil on canvas) that came with the lovely tag, "Product of Canada", made things nice and cool. Of course, turning on the air conditioning in the studio was much better than having only a fan on in the house! I thought of all of you today and must ask, how are you all doing? Are you ready for summer? This painting: $200 (Sold)

"Recurrent Bits of Form"

In Art & Fear (David Bayles & Ted Orland), the authors talk about the ritual of artmaking and how we all discover ways to keep ourselves headed toward the studio and toward the making of more art. 

If you are isolated in the studio, as most of us are, I'll guess that you've found that super-imposing small, but, significant tricks or rituals assist you in overcoming the many distractions of daily life. The whole focus is to get into the studio without feeling guilty, creating freely and happily! 

Bayles and Orland wrote, "We use predictable work habits to get us into the studio and into our materials; we use recurrent bits of form as the starting points for making specific pieces." That rings true for me. When I've been blocked in the past, I'll super-impose a dictum that I can work only on Tuesday and Thursday. Of course, on Monday I want to paint and on Tuesday, I do not. However, if I stick to this, eventually Tuesdays and Thursdays are exciting days I look forward to. 

What is so intriguing about the authors' reference to recurrent bits of form, is that the familiar methods we use in our approach to the canvas are also solid, structural discipline. This series of landscape paintings is my way of re-using elements that I've recently discovered. Repeating them, these bits of form, become like Tuesday and Thursday in paint and brushstroke. Once the structure is built, embellishment and variation, I hope, will follow. This piece is a 9" x 12," oil on canvas, of the Sonoita, Arizona area looking east. What kinds of tricks do you play?

Paint Horse Racing and Pranked Car Sitting

Very, very sleeeepy. Very. But, oh, I wanted to post this little painting (5" x 7," oil on art panel) of one of the horses I photographed last month at the Rillito Race Track. This is my way of sneaking up on portraits with my new style. We'll see how it goes.



I'll bet you can tell I really enjoyed the mask this horse wore. The horse was pretty frisky, too. Fun to watch most definitely. They were all so well loved and cared for.

I started another painting and will probably add it to this post tomorrow. Unfortunately, I didn't photograph it before it got dark.

Today, I finished the following and wanted to include it in the post. This is awfully real. Wonder if I'm a little anxious about the new, freer style. Hmmm.

But, here's a funny. For a serious, reclusive, sometime deep thinker (ha) like me, I do like a friendly prank on April Fool's Day. Always the challenge--to be funny or clever while maintaining safety and the law.

So, here are a couple of photos of a prank some people (I resemble that comment) very close to me pulled at a school well known around the country, if you read Newsweek, and also very close by...but I know nothing! Disclaimer: no autos were harmed in any way during these playful activities. I blame Christo.




Happy April Fool's Day. What could you do to make a day fun while maintaining a semblance of decorum?!

El Fuerte And A Plassion for Painting

No time to paint this last week--too much staying up late, visiting with our college boy and submitting three pieces to the TMA's Arizona Biennial '09. While this is something I've done for the past eight years, always rejected alas, it is still a thrill to consider the possibility. A good exercise, yes, to keep going, not caring about rejection, not marking any particular event as an ultimate goal, but always looking forward to the next opportunity?! So, it was really nice to sit outside this morning and make a small caran d'ache drawing of our little adobe (5 1/2" x 8," on Moleskine paper). Looks like it's smiling. I think this week it is--having the pack altogether again. And then, I visited Barbara Paints and, to my surprise and delight, she listed me and others for the Passion for Painting Award! How cool is that?!! I hope you'll visit her blog and drink in her colors and her passion for life and art. It is such an honor to be named with the fabulous artists she also awarded. Please take a look at their work too. 

What are the seven things I'm most passionate about? Ah... 

1. Doing some kind of good each day, looking for some opportunity to help someone, encourage someone or to offer a small measure of gentleness to a person or animal in need. 

2. It is very important to me to stay informed about politics and how it will shape our collective future. Haven't we all learned that being educated, asking the right questions, taking time to think about the serious issues are not mere hobbies, but affect each of us locally--sometimes in short order?!

3. Family...need I say more? 

4. Color 

5. Composition 

6. Artists: from the past, male or female, and the contemporary ones working today. Mostly, I am passionate about the artists working in the last 50 years because they don't get enough recognition. 

7. If I could sum up the heart of my passion, I would have to say living as authentically as possible, being true to that still small voice within you that knows what is right...and not wavering to please others, no matter how well-intentioned, or to be or do something that just doesn't ring true. 

Here are seven artists I think share in this kind of passion for painting: Jeane Loriann Signori Joyce Washor Katherine Treffinger Karen Phipps Susan Hong-Sammons Joan Breckwoldt

Skipping Step #3

Reading a bit of Art & Fear today brought to mind the new process I've been working with. Just in the first couple of chapters, I've seen how good 'ordinary' feels. 

Sounds rough, doesn't it? Really, it's liberating. The locus (bonus word of the day) from which the authors begin their treatise is that "creatures (perfect beings) having only virtues can hardly be imagined making art. Art is made by ordinary people." 

This being so, this thinking provides freedom for us to paint in a way that is uniquely our own. Karen asked, in a comment recently, how I feel as I approach these new landscapes. 

I feel ordinary, like me. Ah, ha! As I was pondering this subject, I realized that I had changed my mind about painting. You know how it is. You decide that something isn't working for you, and you drop it. There isn't a great epiphany or anything at that time. You merely do things differently. It's almost as simple as deciding not to touch a hot stove. And when something pleasant happens and you don't get burned, well, you experience a revelation. 

There is, of course, the fact that we are all visiting fellow artists online and enjoying certain elements of each of their works. If we collect the most successful of these and apply them to a painting, we cannot help but imbue the work with our own distinctive and personal signature. 

There is something else that I'm finding, too. I'm now approaching the work without any concern for audience. Again, sounds rough, but you'll understand how subtly we artists are influenced by the push toward pleasing others (approval/sales). What if we let that go, too? 

So, I will choose an image that I find interesting, start a painting of it, see too much detail (get annoyed here--step #3), wipe out detail, and finish by stepping back and analyzing what I do enjoy about the image graphically, color wise, etc.

Today, I was able to skip step #3.

Molino Basin #2 Study in Process

After an exhausting week, I've only got a quick post of another version of the Molino Basin in my new and improved process. This painting is also 9" x 12." I got stuck in step #3 for awhile, but this may be done now. I took a chance on revising a landscape from a few weeks back, too. I think it's better, but sometimes it's hard to tell without a bit of distance and time. This is also a 9" x 12" painting.

 

Quick Study After Many Hours

"Success is not a function of individual talent. It's the steady accumulation of advantages." --from a very smart scientist whose name was torn away when his picture and quote were snagged from a magazine article on talent, luck, and the success that 10,000 hours can bring to anyone sufficiently diligent, blessed, and a little bit crazy, and how they can enjoy the benefits of success as long as they have patient and supportive family members who will help maintain an environment for growth, practice, and occasional appropriate praise, and then, placed on a refrigerator for perusing and meditation each day, as one reaches for the vitamins that sustain the body but not the soul--like paint and canvas and the smell of medium and good Blues music wailing from the boom box in the studio. Whew! (Gee, I love a run-on sentence now and again...) Actual credit to Malcom Gladwell, Outliers: The Story of Success.

But, I digress. This painting is of an area near Molino Basin at the base of Mount Lemmon. It's about forty minutes from my home. It's a great spot to see the transition between the desert and the Catalina mountains. It is 9" x 12," on canvas. Again, I am attempting to start with the image and then react to how the landscape influences my mood.

Day Trip to Tombstone: a video

This is a little different today. For about three weeks now, I have been working on making my first video. It is a lot like composing a painting, but not as tactile. I wanted to use music to tell a story, set the mood, and show how popular music can be for expressionistic statements, while juxtaposing them against images. I'm such an amateur at this (am receiving helpful criticism from family), but I offer it to those of you who have never been to the Southwest and would like to see what it looks like around here today. Plus, learning the terms of film editing is challenging. The terms don't have any concatenation* to the process of moving, splicing or manipulating images. I suppose that non-artist types (N.A.T.s for short) would probably say the same about such painting terms as: vanishing point, scumbling, golden mean and alizarin. Some movie editing terms I learned, but have no real understanding of: "ripple delete", "cross dissolve," and "default still." Now, I must get back to making that mailart piece I promised Ell this week. Oh, yes, and sidle up to that new way of painting that gestures feelings more than an academic rendering. Please forgive this change in medium. I'll behave better again soon. *Another word I've never heard of...Concatenation. Who will use a synonym of this in a sentence first?!

Sister Sky, Turquoise to Place

Like spontaneously finding the best parking space at the market, like finding the sweetest blueberries on a day in which everything else falls into place, followed by a spectacular sunset, good food and a great night's sleep, the paintings I last worked on surprised me so, and stopped me in my tracks--like a race track smooth and level--harnessed to hold the sky, just for pondering and quiet consideration. I excogitate further and offer a realistic study as a short interlude.... Made me think about this horse competing in the last run of the season here at the Rillito Race Track in Tucson last Saturday. We went to see these glorious creatures and I took a bunch of photos of them, of course. I hope to do more studies of them during those times I'm afraid of abstracting landscapes! This study, 6" x 4" on paper, is a study using the 'three sisters' and Caran d'Ache with water. I'm hoping to post more of these in the future, but here is the photo I used as I drew from the monitor today. Extra credit for those of you who know the word "excogitate". I stumbled upon it while correcting my spelling and thought...why not?!

...Und Vahlet....Und Vahtch

Put on a sweater, wear long pants. Oh right, don't forget to change from the summer flip flops (white) to the winter flip flops (black). Grab camera, forget dogs, race for Sabino Canyon once again. This time with the pre-paid, displayed, Park tag. Alright. Maybe race isn't quite my style anymore. But, hey. A scientist recently wrote, "The early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese." Snow on the Santa Catalinas, cool air, crisp blue skies, and the sights and sounds of the desert are so exciting that it inspired a completely different approach this week. Here are the three paintings (9" x 12") My goodness, one painted each day. I chose to simplify and ask how the landscape makes me feel rather than try to capture the stunning sights before me (often, I feel too inept for realism). I took many photos and I've linked a slideshow of them at the bottom of this post.

DeGrazia's Refuge in the Foothills

The weather was so beautiful this morning that we thought we'd hop into the car, take some photos, and come home and paint. Little did we know that nearly everywhere we would go, there would be some reason to keep moving. 

We headed for Sabino Canyon. We knew that we couldn't take our dogs on any trails, but figured that we could park nearby and walk along the road or just outside the park. Not so. There were 'no parking' signs everywhere, 'no outlet' signs when we turned to the west, and a fee station to park--except dogs not allowed out in the desert. 

I remembered a comedian from years ago remarking that everything you might want to do in California cost money. In fact, he said that at the state line, he thought there would soon be signs stating, "Do not back up, tire damage." Yes, I was feeling like Arizona had become a place where only the wealthy could afford to live and walk in the most spectacular wilderness. 

We considered driving up to Mt. Lemmon, but we were told the road had closed because (you snow people will love this) snow had begun to fall, i. e., a few snowflakes were observed near the top of the mountain. We drove west to DeGrazia's Studio. I took some photos while Mr. Artyfice sat in the car with the dogs. I don't know how many of you have heard of Ted DeGrazia, but he had a pretty bad reputation among serious artists in this town because of his kitschy Native American children with the gigantic eyes. Yet, I remember reading an article about his early days here in Tucson and saw some photos of his work. He was a good artist. He found a way to make a living from his art, but it was never easy. He built an adobe home, studio, and chapel, that became a gathering place for his artist friends. He was a generous person. While it is disturbing to see the two story apartment building a few feet from his few acres, we found it to be a welcoming place today. 

No charge for parking. The views--stunning. If he and his family hadn't fought so hard to preserve the acreage that they owned, there would be a multi-million dollar home or three on the site and I would be persona non grata today. Here's a quick study of the chapel he built with his own hands. It is 5 1/2" x 8," on watercolor paper. We left feeling a bit better, and so, I offer the beautiful rendition of One Love, Playing for Change.

 

Reaching into the Medicine Bag

What do you put in your medicine bag? Walking the dogs this morning (a crisp, clear, warm, and sunny morning), it occurred to me that I need to consider the kind of medicine that we give to one another and the kind we give to ourselves. 

Poison...We give to ourselves when we listen to the negative thoughts from an unsettled mind, from the unwarranted criticism of others, the result of our choices, or about art, and then act upon them.

Sustenance...Ah, this is what we give and receive when we count as legitimate the good comments and the healthy internal dialog that we speak out loud. We recognize the courage it takes to approach a canvas and to make a mark. We decide who we are. As we present ourselves to the world, it is not always possible to be received well. 

What will we do with those responses... I reached into my medicine bag today and found some healing medicine: 

My fellow artists: I'm fed by your work. You can do no wrong when you are authentic, and because of you, I am drawn to go forward. 

My artistic ancestors: How did Frida overcome? How did Joan Brown navigate a path with family and professional art? What did Georgia O'Keeffe say, and how powerfully did she dig in her heels for her own beliefs? How hard was it for Käthe Kollwitz to create uncomfortable works and thereby comfort us?

Words that comfort, in winter, in recession, in the face of an unpredictable future: "Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are pure....think on these things." 

Symbols: A leather medicine bag (drawing, 5 3/4" x 6") that I made for Ell before going off to college. Secret nourishment inside that I cannot reveal. 

But in mine: There is mesquite meal that always calms my tummy if I've waited too long to eat. Prickly pear fruit that reminds me that I am often hard to get close to, but I do have a colorful center that is not too sweet. A sacred rock that informs me that there are immutable things that cannot be traded for shifting sand. A feather telling me that my spirit soars like an eagle whenever I connect with paint---when I dream. A container of water like my body--changing as it moves through the landscape, yet forever able to erode that which seems to be more powerful than I. Water wins every time. May I always offer you good medicine as a fellow traveler.

P is for Cactus

She dared me. That's it. That's the ticket! I promised Silvina I would attempt a painting that she suggested I make. Mmm, hmm. The gigantic cactus in this painting is here as a result of a short discussion about dreams and our quests for visions...regarding our art endeavors. I thought it would be fun to make a kind of narrative piece that is somewhat like the mailart pieces I've made on paper. It was a hoot! I hope I can make you chuckle. Did some research, too, on the use of hallucinatory medicinal plants in religious ceremonies. Did you know that in Arizona there is a non-native church registered to use such plants (not too far from Tucson)? However, they are in a kind of legal limbo, as Arizona allows religious use, but Federal law does not. Interesting. So, what does it mean? I don't feel we really need these medicinal plants to trigger a vision. We carry in our own hearts and minds the most powerful chemicals for illumination. We can encourage them to gain heaven and healing with our better angels, or we can devolve into darkness (the internal monsters to unleash). The road is...The drive is...a quest toward happiness, if we'll hang on long enough to complete the journey. Sounds perfectly legal to me...Oil on canvas, 22" x 28."

Elegy for the Loss of a Child

Remembering an important day. I'd like to dedicate this poem to all those who have lost children. May they all be visited by angels of comfort, angels of restoration, angels of peace.

    

The Baptism--2007 (4' x 4,' approximate) © Melinda S. Esparza 

 Solomon Who (10 January 2002) 

 Solomon Rey who

twenty-eight years ago to the day

Died. quietly napping in his baby-sitter's bassinet

while the woman screamed

and an ambulance pierced the winter sky

as cars waited at red lights.

Solomon Rey who left so suddenly right after lunch while the older children played 

while Mama built the missiles Phoenix,

Who loved piano sounds but not riding in cars Who cooed when Mama sang 

Who didn't like to sleep

in his crib maybe afraid to sleep at all

Who can't go to college today or talk of poetry, girls or brothers

But, 

Who can make you think twice about having baby

Who gave me long love looks just days before

I buried my flesh today in a powderbluevelvet casket

while the crisp and cheerful chirps of birds 

 and while the puffy shimmering clouds

Above the priest 

Above the people in a day 

in a moment

changed the world

And, Solomon Rey Who, 

through smaller threads of memory is fading from detail--

just couldn't stay

© Melinda S. Esparza