Balance is an unruly dog forever digging beneath the fence and running away.

“Balance, get back here. Bad dog, bad, BAD DOG! Go home, Balance, Go home!” (Out of breath, with hands on her hips, she stamps her foot indignantly.) End scene. The work continues.
Life continues.
The work cannot move forward without me.
Life doesn’t hesitate to leave me behind.

Some days I would rather paint than attend to life.
Wrestling beauty from chaos, my painting process,
is very much like living life.

Very much, but not quite

When I am too long in the paint,
the living becomes thin.

Not the good kind of, “oh, I lost three pounds!” thin,
but the thinness of shallowness.

The process of painting
is the solution of,
the resolution of,
the re-solution of

one problem after another.
The process of art
is the scaling of obstacles
created
by the prior solution.

Problem-solving is addictive.
It is the “solving” that keeps the artist going.

Each painting begs the next.
Before the paint is dry,

the next has begun.

If not on canvas then in the heart and mind.
There is never “left-over” paint.

Never.

In lies the dilemma: never.

The artist must fight to create a pause between works.
To live in the work is easier than living in the world.

A concerted effort is required to stand by and walk out one’s priorities.

Life informs creativity. When this is not true, you can see it in the work. The work reveals technique rather than the heart.

Years and life develop character and art.

The line of separation
between art and life
is a fine line indeed.

Creativity and life are inconvenient.

It is significantly easier to deal
with pigment and substrate
than to engage
emotions and humanity. Honestly, it is easier to paint than deal with myself.

Artists forget that art flows from the living.

The cart is in front of the horse.
The horse is confused
and we wonder,
“Why we aren’t getting anywhere?”

Art for art’s sake.
That old trope?

Yes.
And
no.

Art is not either/or.
Art is both/and.

We (and by we I mean I.)

We
push and push
until there is nothing left to draw from.
There is only technique.

Thinness. Shallowness.

The work! The work!
It becomes idol

Idols are attractive because of their ease.
No thinking.
No questions.
Dogma.

The work! The work! A calling.

When does one’s calling become one’s idol?

Through social media, I recently reconnected with an elderly artist. Almost seventy years of stellar work. In his late 80s, he continues to create achingly poignant work.

Alone.

Divorced several times (still looking for that “sugar-momma”.)
No children.
“Children are a distraction,” he told me. And yes, all six of my children were and are glorious distractions. They are also inspiration.

Before I had children I “did not have time to paint.” For me, children brought focus. Clarity. And, yes, distraction.

Elderly artist lived a life dedicated to the work. His focus was always first and foremost his art. He was bitter when I met him a dozen years ago and he remains bitter today.

Rattled- I turned to the powers of Facebook- I looked up some of elderly artist’s peers.

I found another artist friend also dedicated to his craft but who just celebrated his 90^th birthday and sixty-ninth wedding anniversary with wife, children, grands, and greats. From his LIFE flowed great art and generosity.

Both men painted and taught. One joyous. One bitter. One alone. One surrounded by family. Both made beautiful and significant work. They began in relatively the same place and they have ended up artist peers.

It is their journeys that diverged.

Sobering. Sobering is a good word because there is an addictive euphoria experienced when the artist is in “the zone.”

You can’t drink from a dry well.
What fills the well?
Values? Priorities?

When how we spend our time does not line up with our stated/believed values and priorities, it is time to ask if those truly ARE our values.

Talk.
Walk.

Saturday I stopped in the middle of “the work” and a tight deadline for a museum festival, coconut ice cream, and artist lecture at the Amon Carter with Jubilee.

I did not want to stop. Jubilee did not want to go. Niggling at the back of my consciousness were two elderly artists. Life called. The work called. For a few hours I chose to allow life to inform the work. And we had fun.

The work is not my life.

The work is an important part of who I am but it is not who I am.

The workflows from living.
Work from work produces technique. Work as an overflow of life produces heart. When I paint I put my heart into the work. I am giving the best of me in that moment. The best of me is less when I am consumed with the work.

(Make no bones about it, being consumed by the work is AWESOME!)

Some weeks play out better than others.
This past weekend I chose wisely.

It takes more discipline than I am usually able to muster to keep first things first. Family. Books. Journaling. Nature.

If these are not in place the art suffers.
My soul suffers
– and yet –
I continually neglect family, friends, reading, horses, all the things that make me who I am.

Thank goodness I am not a weaver or it would be quite the tangled web. I am discovering, gradually, that during those seasons when I am most vigilant to protect my values, those seasons when I diligently stand by my priorities, that I am at peace and the art flows.

Today I know my priorities.
Next week I may forget.
If
I forget,
WHEN
I forget,
will remind me?

Go now,
live and love.
There are no guarantees
that the work,
no matter the work,
is anything but an empty idol.

Never lose perspective…
and when you do lose perspective-
course correct.
Don’t waste time beating yourself up.
There is neither time nor energy for that.
When you recognize the drift, straighten up.
ASAP.

Create a life
from which flows
abundant beauty.

PS I was reading e.e. cummings and how he diddled with fonts and word placement.I have always loved to diddle with the words and after reading about cummings I am giving myself permission to diddle with the words.I do hope you were more entertained than annoyed. Peace out, Gwen

PPS or PSS
I had my hair done today. Laura Valles at Salon District in Fort Worth. Monday they open in a new location at 207 South Main FW. A talented array of creatives. We have worked with Laura for going on 11 years. I had color in my hair back in the day. I HAVE COLOR AGAIN! And it is SWEATER weather today.

PPPS. (or whatever) The images are work in progress shots of a painting I am creating as a storyteller for the Human Rights Initiative 2018 fundraiser. It is not finished yet. The reveal will happen at the Rock Your HeART Out October 27th, 2018.

If you are in, near, or can get to Dallas. It will be worth your time and money to attend. Here is a documentary about one of last year’s clients. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNlpfm_2VYs&featur…

And a final note, PPPP?S? I am planning on learning how to crop my images before the next email, but let us NOT hold our collective breaths. PEACE Y’ALL!

March 27, 2018March 23, 2018

Missing Denial

Dear Ones, Have you noticed how sometimes life is funny? Sometimes it is not. And sometimes it is hard to tell the difference. When I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I just do both. There has been a lot of both as Winter gives way to Spring. Spring tends transition for me. The North Texas winds always stir up something that is best not stepped in.

So, I was remembering when Jubilee was little. When she was little EVERYTHING was family.

“Oh, a family of trees.”“Look a family of clouds.” “Yummy, a family of broccoli!” “Awe, cute, a family of rocks.” You name it, if there was more than one, it translated into family. This ability to transmogrify just about anything was likely the result of being the adored youngest of six siblings. 24/7 there was someone waiting in line to hold Jubilee and we did not set her down for six weeks after her arrival. Thus, she saw the world as family.

Humans love to personify everything. We give animals, particularly those closest to us: dogs and cats, personalities. While they DO have personalities, sometimes the motives we assign to their actions and expressions push reason

Does that cat truly hate me or is that just resting cat face?

Inanimate objects garner personhood. MY PHONE HATES ME! My car has it out for me. Heck, there are those in our government who deem corporations people, too!

Denial has been a HUGE part of my life.And you know what?I miss denial.I am not certain if I miss denial as a person or a place.Either way, I miss her.
OH! A person.

Lately, I have been considering, reconsidering, and restructuring my relationship with denial. Denial was a safe place to visit, but I planted stakes and built a home.
Ah HA!! A place.

Thinking I was doing myself and those I loved a favor, I camped out (place) with her (person) for far too long.The trouble with living in or with denial is that denial is not a real place nor is she a real friend.

Denial is a protective mechanism, but a false defense. Eventually, the edges fray and it all begins to unravel. (Wow, a thing!I wonder how many metaphors I can incorporate into this sordid tale?)

A recent Friday resulted in a complete unraveling of my delusion. No more pretending. It was interesting because I had already begun gathering my things from Camp Denial. The first draft of the break-up missive had been composed.I was steeling myself for a new reality when the phone rang. I usually cannot find my phone.T his particular Friday it was in dang my pocket.

While I am no longer living in denial, every now and again I remember something and I run back to collect it. The soundtrack of this breakup is Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” which begins, “Hello darkness, my old friend…”Paul Simon said, “…we have people unable to touch other people, unable to love other people. This is a song about the inability to communicate.”

“Alexa, play The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel.” “Alexa, play it again.” “Alexa…”It reminds me that things are not hunky dory and that the reality of NOT hunky dory is still better than the delusion of denial.

Denial, person, place, or thing, is an inability to communicate clearly with one’s self. While I miss the pretense of safety and well-being of denial, denial crippled me, estranging me from myself and from people who love me and from people who might love me.

Processing what I miss, I am discovering that what I miss was only a vapor. I am enjoying discovering me. I don’t know how this me interacts with the world. I am nervous about how the after break up me, in a new location, will paint.Like so many artists, there is discovery in the process of painting.

Spring has sprung here in North Texas. The windows are open. The birds are singing. I just saw the largest coyote I have ever seen (my heart claims it was a wolf, but google searches say there are no longer wolves in North Texas). The family, my family, and a dear friend are meeting for a birthday picnic at the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens. Maybe I don’t miss denial after all. HAPPY SPRING, ALL Y’ALL! Much love, Gwen

March 23, 2018

2048 Distractions

Hello, Dear One,
I hope that you have enjoyed the reprieve from gray skies and welcome rains.
(At least the rains were welcome in my neck of the woods.)

I have been SO busy! Two thousand and forty-eight distractions eating away at my time and vitality.

Two thousand and forty-eight. A rather specific number. Did you catch the reference? If you did I am quite sorry because if you did it is also quite possible that you also have 2048 distractions sucking the brains out of your head.

For those of you who have yet to succumb to the addiction- DON’T! There is a computer “game” called 2048 Tiles. A small box in the top right-hand corner of the screen tracks your high score. The high score sits, in the upper right-hand corner, TAUNTING me!

It is insidious. Was my high score a fluke? Luck? Skill?
If it was skill then – surely – I can do it AGAIN.Go ahead, PROVE that it was more than luck. “Do BETTER and THEN you can quit.” Each time I fail to achieve or best my “high score” my ego punches me in the gut and snarls, “IDIOT! Can you NOT do BETTER?” Sometimes there is only the internal, “Grrrrrrrrrrowl.”

It.

Mocks.

Me.

The “game” is not inherently evil, but it is akin to the Amazon Book Addiction Wraith which perpetually asks, “If you like THIS book, surely you will love THAT book.” (Okay, so the exact wording may be a little off, but if you have ever hit that button to look at that next book, well, my sympathies.)

What does this have to do with art?

Everything.

Forrest, my eldest son, was paid $150 for a t-shirt design: I have not yet begun to procrastinate.

Tree.
Apple.

Truthfully, while Forrest can indeed procrastinate with the best procrastinators, he is, more often than not, laser focused.

Apple.
Tree.

I, too, am capable of both. World class procrastination and laser focus. When I had six small children at home there was no time for procrastination. Twenty hours a week painting and the rest of the time was mommying, homeschool, horses, the occasional friend, and the sacred nap.

Thinking is harder than doing. With so many precious ones underfoot, all I could do was DO. There was no time for second-guessing.

Now with only a single middle school daughter at home and there is time to think. There is time for second-guessing. Oh, and second-guessing is brutal. Brutal and paralyzing.

Rather than deal with self-doubt and second-guessing, I self-medicate. Enter 2048 Tiles. There are myriad of self-medicating procrastinations available to us all. The only question is, “Which poison?”

Preparing for Centering Abstraction on the heels of the holidays kept me focused.
Preparing for the DTS show in Dallas kept me focused.

Then I sat down to catch my breath. Catching one’s breath is a good thing.
Picking up the computer mouse is not a bad thing.
Playing a couple games on the computer is not a bad thing.
Playing more than a couple games…
a.
bad.
thing.

So I stalled out for a few days. Spun in the breeze like a wind-sock on the end of a pole. At the end of the pole, spinning in one of our infamous North Texas thunderstorms, I saw the heart of my particular form of procrastination. Fear. Fear of “what if?”

What if my parents are right?
I will never amount to anything. No one will love me. I will never be good enough.
What if my sister is right?
I am a talentless c#%+.

THIS TIME I was armed. This time I had answers to the question, “What if….?”
The answer is, “It was never about me.”

This past week I pushed through some procrastinations. I reworked my artist statement for two different venues. I applied for a scholarship and asked for a job. I have not heard about the job – yet- but I did get a magazine cover and the check is in the mail! There were successes that I pooh-poohed because I “could have…”

I caught myself and I took time to sit back and see that, while I flitting away too much time on the computer, I had actually spent six to eight hours a day painting and writing and following through with responsibilities and possibilities. I also made it to bed before 1 a.m. FOUR TIMES this past week- just call me Susie Sunshine!

The last Sunday of the Gallery 414 show included a closing reception and an artist panel discussion about artist journeys and creating the Centering Abstraction exhibition. The panel discussion took a turn and our fearless leaders, John Hartley and Barbara Koerble, laid down some serious wisdom. It was the insight that I sincerely needed to hear. Insight made tangible because I was standing in a gallery space with my work hanging with the other three artists. So, what if my degrees are in computers and statistics. I have put in the time and I have studied with master artists. I am qualified. I felt something shift.

This week self-doubt wiggled in but armed with a new understanding of where I am in my art journey I wiggled free. I have plans for next week, but I am holding them loosely.

Art is so weird Artists are so weird. What is art? What makes a person an artist?

Like the proverbial Facebook status: It is complicated.

I will not attempt to answer either question EXCEPT that one knows it when one sees it. If the art tugs at your heartstrings, it is art. If it calls to you might need to take it home. Art in an investment in your soul.

May your heart find joy this week.
Joy in art.
Joy in nature.
Joy in the smile of a stranger.
Joy.

Peace out, Gwen

June 28, 2017June 26, 2017

But, WHERE AM I IN THE BOOK?

Art is not created in a vacuum. The solitary artist is influenced by living.

The line drawn between art and artist is not often a straight line, but a culmination of what has been, what is, and what might be.

Creating is a hopeful act. The creator hopes or the creator would not create. Some days I am bold enough to say that without hope, creation is not possible.

I paint hope.

Hope that the mess of living will ultimately resolve into beauty.

Hope is the faith component of my work. Hope is the human component of my work. Hope qualifies my work as a contemporary artist because I paint in response to now. Hope, while addressing what has been and what might be, deals directly with the here and now-today.

Awareness of past mixed and with consideration for the future empowers and enables now.

The balance is delicate.

My faith tradition is one of happy endings.

To leave unacknowledged the struggle and pain of living is disingenuous. No life is without struggle or pain, no path is without obstacle.

This summer as a church we are reading through the book of Genesis. I find these stories painful, partly because of how they have been preached in the past. These are ancient and difficult stories. So what do we do with these hard stories? We cast them aside as fodder for the children’s programs.

Unexplored since childhood there are surprises for the adult heart.

Most of us who grew up in church heard sermons by males who failed to present a full spectrum of characters in the stories.

There are always women in the stories.
Women who are seldom considered.
Women who are dismissed, glossed over or present with bias. The female characters are presented as NOT-QUITE-HUMAN.
(Did Michaelangelo never see a nude woman? ) The image of women is not only distorted by the greats in art but by the greats in theology, today and throughout history.

One of th

e joys of attending Trinity Episcopal is the consideration of the women in the stories. These women are invited to come forward, to step out from behind the wall and share their stories. Women who have been treated as aside are treated with respect. The women’s stories are not just included, but celebrated.

Agency is returned to the women of the Bible stories.

WHAT does this have to do with art?

Is it even remotely related?

Painting is my voice. Visual art is my avenue to be heard. Art gives me agency.

This past Sunday Amy Haynie, one of our priests, shone a light on an oft-maligned or even ignored character: Hagar. The sermon is not yet up on the podcasts and I am so sorry for that. I don’t know when it will go up. I will let you know.

Here is an excerpt from the Monday morning email, this one sent by Mother Amy Haynie concerning her sermon on Hagar, “In studying the two stories of Hagar we get in Genesis, we find a remarkable woman to whom God speaks to twice. She is much more than a “slave woman.” Phyllis Trible, in Texts of Terror, wrote of Hagar,

“Most especially, all sorts of rejected women find their stories in her. She is the faithful maid exploited, the black woman used by the male and abused by the female of the ruling class, the surrogate mother, the resident alien without legal recourse, the other woman, the runaway youth, the religious fleeing from affliction, the pregnant young woman alone, the expelled wife, the divorced mother with child, the shopping bag woman carrying bread and water, the homeless woman, the indigent relying upon handouts from the power structures, the welfare mother, and self-effacing female whose own identity shrinks in service to others.” “

This is a painting of the sacrament of Holy Communion. The Eucharist. Lords Supper. 45 x 75 inches acrylic on paper by Gwen Meharg

The word Gospel means “good news.” In today’s world, what is presented as gospel is too often wielded as a weapon of destruction.

Sunday, the third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Amy offered extraordinarily good news.

Two Choices by Gwen Meharg 30 x 22″ watercolor on paper

Amy held out evidence from the Good Book that God sees women. And not just neat and tidy women. Women rode hard and put up wet. Women who have thrown under and driven over by the proverbial bus.

And the proverbial bus?

It is real.
So very, very real.

The driver of that bus looks like the invented, man-made, created God revered by generations of empowered men. Men who have failed to use their power to

Gwen Meharg in front of Transition painting.

empower, particularly failing to empower women.

The first recorded name of God is assigned by Hagar, “God Who Sees Me.”

Another commonly used name for God is God Almighty. El Shaddai. The Breasted One.

The Breasted One is NOT driving the bus.

Giving voice to the women in the Bible takes nothing away from men.

Giving voice to women in society today takes nothing away from men.

This is my baby, Jubilee. She is empowered by her four older brothers and big sister. She is empowered by El Shaddai, God Almighty, the Breasted One. Jubilee doesn’t know the bus driver and our prayer is that she never meet him. Our prayer is that she continues as a walking, breathing, living image of God.

And so I paint. I paint hope. I paint to give voice to stories old and I paint to make old stories new. There may be nothing new under the sun, but that does not mean there is not something new for you and me to see.

I hope you have an enlightening week. I hope you are seen. I hope you are heard. I hope that your heart and mind find peace. Sincerely, Gwen

PS A plethora of names for God are scattered throughout the old and new testaments. El Shaddai, the breasted one, God Almighty is in there.

NONE of the names of God is “The Penised One.”

JUST SAYING!

August 25, 2016

Kiss My Great Aunt Fanny

Confession. I do nor did I ever have a Great Aunt Fanny.

I had an Aunt Mary who was ALL KINDS of magnificent.
Aunt Mary is my Auntie role model. Everything I know about Auntie-ing I learned from Aunt Mary.
She could balance a tea cup on her massive breats! She rocked full figure.
I was enamored as a child and after I grew up we developed a deeper relationship and she was even more awesome. I saw her cut out a blouse pattern and sew it by HAND in an afternoon.

There was a cousin Franny and there was a Boo bouncing around the family tree, but no Fanny.
But
-honesly-
you DO know what I am saying, dontcha?

This morning I took Wesley on this morning walk before Jubilee left for school. If I leave before 7: 45 my walk is in the shade. I love shade. Not all of it is in the shade.

I was wearing my, “Oh Lord, I am gonna sweat and I hate sweating!” clothes. They fit close and are supposed to magically wick away puddles of perspiration. They sorta work.

Freedom From Expectations by Gwen Meharg 30 x 22 " watercolor and collage on watearcolor paper — Freedom From Expectations by Gwen Meharg 30 x 22 ” watercolor and collage on watercolor paper

Passing between shadows the morning sun caught me from behind and there to the left and in front of me, N by NW, was my shadow! I liked how the low angle of the sun elongated my physique. From the inside of my head I look like that shadow. Long and lean.

From the outside I am formerly 5’6”, currently 5’5”, and 175 pounds. I have been 175 pounds since my bonus baby arrived 11 ½ years ago. I am reconciled to 175. I am less reconciled to outweighing my father-in-law by 40 pounds, but such is life!

My shadow melted back into the tree shadows and my mind took a meandering journey.

Carolyn. Carolyn was one of my best friends. She died when Peter was four months old. Peter is 17. I have lost a great many friends. Carolyn is the only one who I still reach for the phone to call.

Carolyn was brilliant. She was talented. She was kind. Carolyn could say things and I would hear her.

My shadow reminded me of one time when Carolyn came for a visit. She would bring her embroidery scissor and snip knots from out Ribbons’, mane. Ribbons, our black and white long haired cat with the spirit of a dog. Snip. Snip. Snip. Just a few hairs at a time. She was so careful and gentle.

Ribbons loved Carolyn, too.

One visit I opened the door and she was so thin. She looked great! Just like a magazine model!
Carolyn had been away for treatment and my voluptuous curvy friend came home model thin.

She was sick. Very sick and she looked magnificent. We talked about it. How horrifying that to look like the models, the ideal, one had to be dying.

What is wrong with us when death is our standard of beauty?

Perspective by Gwen Meharg 22 x 20" watercolor on paper — Perspective by Gwen Meharg 22 x 20″ watercolor on paper

Wesley caught scent of a bunny and my mind wandered down its own rabbit trail. Models. Magazines. Clothing. Thin Within. Thin Within is a women’s large size clothing catalog that showed up unsolicited in our mailbox. UGH!

Husband David doesn’t rant or rail often but Thin WIthin set him off. “Look at the name of this catalog. Thin WITHIN! It is so offensive. They are targeting large women and through the title insinuating that they can gain value by embracing their inner thin-girl. That by wearing cloths offering the illusion of thinness they are okay!”

My misogyny radar is usually tightly tuned but I missed it. David, deep thinker that he is, did not miss it.

I remember hearing conversations in both Poland and Ukraine that ran along the lines of, “How can she let herself be so fat? Why doesn’t her husband leave her?”

Maybe she was THIN WITHIN! (She replied snarkily through clenched teeth.)

Jonquel Norwood. Holiday Series 2015 https://www.instagram.com/p/BAz9VckSfMG/ — Jonquel Norwood. Holiday Series 2015
https://www.instagram.com/p/BAz9VckSfMG/

Look! Geese migrating! Migrating. Migration. Jonquel. Jonquel and Kirkland moved from New Orleans to Atlanta to NYC. Thriving. Jonquel’s art is taking off. Jonquel, her magnificent self and magnificent art. Isn’t Jonquel the best name ever for an artist!

Jonquel and her husband are Ruth and Matthew’s dear friends from SCAD Atlanta. Jubilee and I stayed a couple times with them when we were in Atlanta to see Ruth. Jonquel came to Ruth’s wedding and fixed Faith’s hair. Her illustrations are all sorts of wonderful. She is building her name painting curvy women.

Jonquel is a curvy woman. Through her art she and others are seeing and embracing the beauty of curves. I am so proud of my beautiful friend.

Jonquel Norwood Fashion Illustrator. — Jonquel Norwood
Fashion Illustrator.

Death be afraid.

I am learning to embrace myself. I have a way to go. I have not worn a swim suit in years. Before Jubilee was born I swam 3 to five miles a week. In July for Josiah’s 21st birthday the entire family floated down the San Marcos River together. Six kids, two spouses, and my spouse, David, the aforementioned feminist hero. IT WAS AWESOME.

I could not even find my swim suit so I wore my nifty sweat wicking pants and a long sleeved shirt. I looked thin within. SNORT!

I don’t look like my shadow.
Do I have to be a shadow of myself before I am acceptable to myself?
Am I playing into death’s game?

I DID eat a doughnut and a mini-cinnamon roll and almond and ginger cookies for lunch yesterday, but I had company so it doesn’t count.

Squirrel!

I am 55. I am strong. Mostly. I compensate and find ways to work around the inconveniences of aches and pains. Genetically speaking, I have another 40 years to go. It is time to love myself and my body. Within and without.

A shadow is not a good role model.
I don’t want to be a shadow.
I want to be the whole enchilada.

Hmmm. Enchiladas.
Didn’t eat breakfast.
Wesley and I walked over a mile this morning.
(Uphill both ways!)

Gotta go. Eat.

August 23, 2016

Transition Into Now.

Transition by Gwen Meharg 4 x 5 ' Acrylic on Canvas with Rice Paper Collage — Transition by Gwen Meharg 4 x 5 ‘ Acrylic on Canvas with Rice Paper Collage

Transition
Season
Today
Now
Each word.
A finer point.

Fine points.
Sometimes they hurt. If they are mishandled.
Fine points.
Sometimes they are just what we need. If we know how to use them.

My friend Claudia introduced me to felting.
My artist daughter Ruth taught me how.

Paintings March 2014 074 — Searching for Home. by Gwen Meharg 22 x 30″ 2014 Acrylic on paper with Hand Carved Linocuts

Long thin notched needles are used to hand felt.
I’ve felted my way through several packages of 50.
Ruth still uses her first felting needle.

Stylistic difference?

Today my bonus baby, Jubilee, waited under a pomegranate tree for the school bus.
I home schooled for 22 years.

For both of us this year will be vastly new.
This year I focus on the marketing side of my art business.
This year Jubilee is going into 6^th grade.

Benbrook built a new “middle school” this year and we thought Jubilee would go there. Nope.
They decided to move the elementary school students into the new building and move the middle school students into the 28 year old elementary school. (I watched the elementary school being built so to me, it will always be the “new school.”) The street between the elementary school and the middle/high school was closed off to make one enormous middle school/high school campus. The middle school students will cross over to the high school for extra curriculars and lunch.

Sixth graders are so tiny. Twelfth graders are SO BIG!

Paintings March 2014 068 — All That Glitters by Gwen Meharg 12 x 10″ Acrylic on Paper

Jubilee has five older siblings.
Jubilee is NOT intimidated by the older kids.
Actually, she is not easily intimidated.

Not easily, but occasionally.

This morning Wesley, our 70 pound boxer mix, and I walked the half mile to the bus stop with Jubilee. (Uphill in the rain!) She did not need us there. She rode her brother Peter’s scooter. We could not keep up. Infrequently she deemed to wait for us. We were thankful.

Jubilee was chill. Wesley was NOT chill.
He suspected something ominous was about to go down. It did. Jubilee pulled her chair out of the neighbor’s bushes and plopped down to wait for the bus. We left Jubilee at the bus stop.

Wesley and I walked home.
Wesley whimpered. I groaned about the humidity.

At 8:30, school start time, Wesley and I drove to the bus stop to take Jubile to school.
The bus did not come.
She was chill. Wesley was ecstatic.
We drove the two miles to school and spied a passel of students in a myriad of sizes trudging up a zig zag wooden pathway to a bottleneck of a door. They disappeared into the building.

3419b106-0cad-4a1e-befd-4439be107afc — River Glow II by Gwen Meharg 24 x 24 ” Acrylic, Gold Leaf, Acrylic Collage on Canvas. Available at Dahlia Woods Gallery in San Marcos, Texas.

An image of German prisoners marching to the gas chambers flashed before my eyes. I shook it off.

I pulled our painted van over and told her to follow the crowd.

That is not really what I want her to do.
Follow the crowd.
I want her to make her own way.
And try not to step on others along the way.

This morning,
she followed the crowd.

As an artist the push and pull of the crowd is very real.
Follow the muse.
Keep clients happy.
Consider this year’s Pantone IT colors?
Consider decorator trends?

Does SIZE MATTER?

I want to make paintings that invite stories. I want my paintings to create ambiance. I want my paintings that invite contemplation. ( I read that looking at a painting for three hours can make you smarter. I want to paint paintings that won’t be boring after three hours. ) I want to make paintings that incite passions.

River Glow I by Gwen Meharg 24 x 24" Acrylic, Gold Leaf and Acrylic collage on Canvas. Available at Dahlia Woods Gallery in San Marcos, Texas — River Glow I by Gwen Meharg 24 x 24″ Acrylic, Gold Leaf and Acrylic collage on Canvas. Available at Dahlia Woods Gallery in San Marcos, Texas

I am prolific. A jump in with both feet kind of spirit. Juggling children and art has been my passion for 27 years.

Can I even make art without the energy of children in the house? Can I paint if I am not juggling? Do I even remember how to focus?

I hope so.

It is 2:15 and I have a business call at 2:30. I pick Jubilee up at 3:30. We have an appointment at the barn at 4. I don’t even know if swim team starts today, later this week, or next week. The boys were supposed to tell me and we all forgot and watched the closing ceremonies of the 31^st Olympics. My calendar for tomorrow is full. Next Wednesday my eldest and her husband move to Italy.

It was good to have Ruth and Matthew home today. I helped with a photo shoot. I was not lonely. It was not silent. I don’t remember silent.

Poor Wesley. He is hanging off his doggie bed, his head under my chair. Wesley reveled in the early summer hubbub of everyone here. Eleven human beings. Family dog heaven.

Harvest Moon mixed media on paper (acrylic, watercolor, collage) 22 x 22 — Harvest Moon
mixed media on paper (acrylic, watercolor, collage) 22 x 22

Every once and a while Wesley and I hear thunder.

It is 2:28.
I am glad I have you to keep me company.

Very sincerely, Gwen Meharg

May 25, 2016

The Uncrossable Line

As an artist I work with lines every day. Literal and figurative lines.

Identifying,
following,
creating lines
is my passion,
my profession,
and
my way through life.

Finding the line that pulls you into a painting is my joy.

As a human being I deal with lines every day. Literal and figurative lines.

We navigate through life not all that differently than when we were children skipping down the sidewalk avoiding the cracks.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.”

It was not until this morning that I realized how much wisdom is hidden in the ancient children’s game.

DSCN7977 Beware the cracks.
Beware the lines.
Step on a crack and you can’t go back.

Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

Late last night I was painting and I did something I almost never do.
I usually let what happens happen and deal with it later as part of my process.
Life happens.
You deal.
It becomes part of the journey.

13139001_1145873785465033_6540681328239293239_n - Copy Last night I laid down painted lines that did not belong. In a heartbeat I knew it was wrong.

The lines did not move the narrative forward. Using a large, stiff paint brush and clean water I scrubbed away the offending paint from the canvas.

It was not too late.

13173971_1145926835459728_2620417145335302122_n The water and friction dissolved the offending lines and the diluted paint ran down the canvas. Using a bath towel, decorated with purple roses, from my childhood, I wiped dried the canvas. The “mistake” was erased, the lines were gone, but other areas were erased as well. “Undo” works great on computers. Not so well with art or life.

There are always consequences when we go back.

I crossed a line. I was able to go back and make reparation.

This is not always the case. Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

Sometimes it is too late.

The offending lines were caused by my carelessness.
It was late.
I was tired.
I was jacked up on a second pot of oolong tea.
The lino stamp I carved was complicated.
Ever so carefully I aligned the stamp and, with confidence, pressed the stamp onto the canvas.

Stepping back to admire my handiwork.
The right stamp.
The right place.
The right time.
It. Was. Upside. Down!

My heart was in the right place, but the result was upside down.

We don’t always have everything we need to do right.

And sometimes we do have everything we need and it still isn’t enough.

User error.

We are careless with what is in front of us.
We don’t recognize the dangers.
We don’t recognize the privilege.

We are mindless of repercussions.

13245225_1156519771067101_1591953359326822326_n - Copy An old towel, a stiff brush, and water are seldom enough to erase our mark.
Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

Awareness of lines is healthy.

Lines delineate boundaries.
Lines define space.
Lines indicate direction.

Lines communicate.

What is the written word but a conglomeration of lines assigned meaning.

And then there are mean words.

(Mean is a complicated word. A noun, a verb, and an adjective.)

Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

I have been contemplating lines. Literal and figurative lines.
13237636_1155098661209212_3025817784781848464_n (1)

In life there is no going back, only forward.

I know what forward looked like today.
I do not know what forward will look like tomorrow.

My paintings are my attempt to encourage myself,
and in the process,
encourage others
to keep moving forward.

My paintings are a declaration that beauty is possible.
The lines on the canvas
and the lines on our faces form our stories.

Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

Some lines, crossed, deserve celebration!

April 27, 2016April 28, 2016

The heart and the painting want what they want.

The heart and the painting want what they want.
Neither should be forced.

Honestly, I am not certain I have a process.
Do I HAVE a process? Yeah, yeah I do, but not just one. Storm and Roys pillow

**The process I am embracing right now is most closely akin to not looking before I leap.**

I like to starting. Anything I can lay hands on is fair game. Not a lot of thinking and I like some skin in the game. This video shows me quite literally doing just that. I had fewer finger prints when I finished than when I began.

The thinking comes later, usually accompanied by moments of deep regret for not having begun with a plan.
Sometimes I do begin with a plan, but held very loosely. Usually it is more an idea than a plan. I start with a strong determination to resolve the painting, to find beauty. I start.

DSCN9504 start with feeling, start with color,
start with a prayer for someone or about something,
start with an experience: good, bad, otherwise.
resolving chaos to beauty,
remembering beauty and pretty are not synonymous,
beauty freeing hope.

Starting is exciting, but in the excitement chaos shows up and builds a camp right in the middle of everything. What began in abandon becomes something else. This is where the fight begins. This is where the struggle takes place. This is where the rubber meets the road. Starting may be fun, but finishing is the difference between fun and joy.

Resolving the painting brings SATISFACTION and sometimes UNDERSTANDING.

Looks like life.

It is often repeated that each work of art is a self portrait. It is kinda true.
Process also reflects the artist.
I use what is at hand. Process is marginally important and somewhat interesting. It can be part of the story, but if the end product, the finished artwork, doesn’t tell the story without knowledge of the process it is a weak story. ArtForStripes012

(WAIT! I LOVE CONCEPTUAL ART! Honest, I do, but I did not love it until I learned the stories behind the concepts. I don’t want to do that to people. Conceptual art, without the story, leaves viewers feeling stupid or feeling that the artist is stupid. Not my scene. )

I create art that releases hope not frustration. Hope that the big hot mess that is so life will ultimately resolve into something beautiful. Hope that, no matter how messed up we are and life is, there is a bigger plan that will resolve our chaos into beauty.

I paint hope. My process is a search for beauty. A search for hope.

September 17, 2015April 27, 2016

Pie, Creativity, and the ART of MORE!

Pie is an excellent dessert but a poor mind set.

Pie, Creativity, & the Art of More

I like pie.
Crust.
Filling!
No ice cream. Ice cream is like sugar in tea.
It is only necessary if there is a problem with the tea.

Some places don’t have pie.

Poland – no pie. I fantasize moving to Poland, opening a pie shop, and becoming rich and famous. The hitch? Besides Poland being in Eastern Europe, the hitch is I have never made a pie and I am a very bad cook. I mentioned making dinner today and Peter (16) laughed out loud and said, “No, Momma, seriously.” A shadow of fear crossed his face and he offered to make dinner himself. Maybe I will keep painting.

I digress.

Pie. Pie is an intimate dessert. Pie is difficult to share with a crowd. Wedding cakes and birthday cakes can be sliced into a plethora of tiny pieces and slapped on a napkin to be eaten standing up. Pie will have none of that. Pie begs a comfortable chair and demands a fork and a plate! Tiny slices of pie? HMMPH!

Pie, with all its benefits as a dessert,
is not a healthy mindset.

The pie mindset sees a set number of slices. Each time a slice of pie is handed out there is less to go around. It is a scarcity mentality. It makes us selfish. It turns us against. It kills possibility.

But I am an artist so let us speak not of scarcity,
let us speak of creativity, art, and abundance.

Art, the manifest expression of creativity, is not diminished through sharing.
Art shared is multiplied. Creativity blooms in an environment of generosity.

We see it in children. Watch a young child share a drawing with an appreciative adult. Sparkling in the acceptance of her offering, she rushes back to create another. Confession time – I am no different. Adult artists are not that different from the child sharing her creative endeavor. Acceptance of, appreciation of, our work makes us sparkle. (I am so glad my teenagers don’t read my blog or I would NEVER hear the end of sparkle.) Some artists hide the sparkle, but believe me, it is there. I am far enough into my journey as an artist that my work is not dependent on universal acceptance or appreciation, but when it comes along it is definitely encouraging.

Some in the art world would push scarcity. Artists end up competing for limited wall space in galleries. There IS a scarcity of wall space within galleries and there are fewer and fewer galleries. The economy closed doors and poor management closed even more. It is easy to be discouraged, looking at an empty pie tin. But I am a more-the-merrier kind of gal. There IS room for more.

We are in a season of flux. Social media and the internet are making room for MORE. There is a new abundance in the art world. There has never been a better time to be an artist or an art collector. The world of art is at our fingertips and we can visit in our jammies!

Did you see the quote from President Obama floating around facebook today? Set politics aside for a moment and imagine why artists of all varieties are sparkling today:

“The arts are what makes life worth living. You’ve got food, you’ve got shelter, yeah.
But the things that make you laugh, make you cry, make you connect – make you love are communicated through the arts. They aren’t extras.”

The pie mentality says that the arts ARE extra. There is not enough to go around. Not enough time. Not enough money. Not enough pie.

I grew up Southern Baptist. Now somehow my little corner of the Baptist world mine was a kinder, gentler Baptist. We danced AND played cards- oh my. Still, there was pie-think. Not enough. If your work didn’t point people to Jesus it lacked value. Imagine what that kind of pie mindset does to an artist, actor, writer, dancer? When “gifts” were discussed, art was NOT ON THE LIST! “Art is a talent not a gift. We will put you down your gift as hospitality.” (SOMEHOW the musicians and singers could be gifted but not visual artists or actors or dancers.) Hospitality was the catchall gift when the labelers couldn’t squeeze the congregant into a gift box. Turns out the problem was with the boxes, not the artists.

So many of us grew up with the mindset that the arts are extras, frivolous. Sometimes the old sound track creeps onto the play-list inside of my head. I fight it by painting furiously! Sometimes, not often, but sometimes it wins.

“As American as motherhood, baseball and apple pie.” Somehow we stopped embracing the artistry of apple pie and started seeing the pie as embodying limitation, not enough, scarcity in America.

It is time to ditch the pie mentality and embrace a PI mentality.

Mathematical pi never ends. It keeps on going.

Because creativity thrives when shared it offers a path for combating scarcity. The arts (participants and supporters) have a purpose beyond “frivolous extra” in the fight against scarcity. FIGHT FOR MORE! Embrace creativity and embrace abundance. The arts make something out of nothing. The arts bring life back to dying neighborhoods. Arts make life worth living.

There is enough to go around, it just sometimes takes a while. Watching the refugees/ migrants on the news it is easy to believe that scarcity wins. The pie mindset can’t see solutions because it doesn’t believe there is enough. If you don’t believe there is enough you are blinded to possibility.

I am a tiny cog. I mourn with those who mourn, but I also celebrate with those who celebrate. I can be happy for their success because I believe there is enough for all of us. I paint paintings that move from chaos to beauty. I paint paintings that defy the disorder of the world and proclaim the possibility of beauty.

Today Steve Garber wrote:

What we believe about the end of the story shapes the way we live the story.

I believe the end of the story is beautiful and generous and lacking in nothing. My paintings give voice to hope and happy endings. So, THANK YOU!

Thank you for joining the newsletter. Thank you for visiting my website. Thank you for liking and commenting on facebook. Thank you for sharing my work with your friends. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to spend with me and with my art. Thank you for being part of my story.

Thank you for inviting me to share my art with you. E-cards of my paintings are free and so are encouraging words. Prime your creative juices today and send someone an encouraging note. And maybe enjoy a slice of pie while you write it. (Let me know what kind. Strawberry rhubarb is my favorite, well maybe blueberry, but then raspberry, than again coconut cream…)

EAT PIE!

Gwen

PS: I have added a few new places to interact more directly with me and share some of my art that isn’t on a website.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gwenmehargart

https://www.facebook.com/drawneartogodart

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/liturgicalsketches

August 14, 2015April 27, 2016

3 Essential Rules For Collecting Art

I just read a very nice article on collecting art, “5 Unspoken Rules of the Art Market New Collectors Need to Know”. Sigh. My favorite was rule number five: gain a seat on a museum board or START YOUR OWN MUSEUM! Double sigh. (I am sure it is a very nice article for someone and if that someone is you, here is the link: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-5-unspoken-rules-of-the-art-market-new-collectors-need-to-know )

Today I am feeling bold enough to suggest 3 rules of my own on collecting art for your living and work spaces. (Home and office sounds so 20th century. Some of us work at home and others live at the office.)

I just brewed a fresh pot of PG Tips, my favorite cup is steaming on my right, Wesley is snuggled up on my left so here goes: 3 Essential Rules for Art Collectors (who are not looking to open their own museum- not yet!)

Rule #1. Wait, wait, wait! We have a problem. If you set a rule in front of an artist the artist is obligated to break it.

Can’t help it.

It is a rule.

Do you see the dilemma?

Instead of rule, I will call it a suggestion, a very strong suggestion.
Like when I SUGGEST my teenager take out the trash – NOW. Yeah, a strong suggestion.

Suggestion #1 Love it.

The other article never mentioned love. Maybe it was only about the market and not art but
if you don’t love it, leave it.

A few decades back an artist and his marketing genius brother sold the public a bill of goods wrapped in well lit velvet paneled rooms with stories of paint daubed onto prints by master hands. They applied Beanie Baby theology to prints and sold high quality posters in gilded frames for extravagant prices, convincing customers they were in fact investors and their children would be able to sell these framed posters for a profit. They were duped into believing they were not buying art, but they were making an investment in their future. Art is an investment in the present that might, possibly payoff later. You must love it now.

Like all true fairy tales, the sort the Grimm brothers collected, the ending was more cautionary than happily ever after. Some purchasers truly love their posters and are still happy with their fantasy cottages twenty years later. For them the artworks were a true bargain! Those who purchased their light paintings as an investment, well, dark clouds may have dropped a little rain on that parade.

The result of all this chicanery was a public who no longer bought art because it touched their hearts or because they loved it or even because it matched their sofas. People bought into the LIE that art was valuable only as an investment. A generation forgot that art feeds the soul. Buy art for an investment, certainly, but first, LOVE IT!

If your pocket is modest start small. Small in regards to price or small in regards to size. If it is important to you to have a certain name, it is possible to find something affordable in a mono print or a drawing or very small canvas. I go to the Art Fair in Dallas and I see things by my art heroes that are very nearly within my means. When college for my six is over and done with I will be purchasing one of those names. For now I am collecting small works by friends and acquaintances who are ahead of me in their art journeys. Sometimes I settle for purchasing their show catalogs which I cherish. I see it as an investment in my art education and their careers even if it is only my little mite.

Beautiful work is available even for very shallow pockets. There is truly something for everyone and with a little due diligence you will be able to find your perfect match. Online shopping is always fun because you can shop in your jammies. You can buy art like you buy vegetables: local, at craft fairs, boutiques, street vendors, local art departments (high school, college, junior college), coffee shop walls, restaurants, the possibilities for well priced art are endless. As a matter of fact, my work is quite modestly priced and would look great with your sofa.

Hubby, David, reminded me to tell you about the Nancy Lee and Perry Bass family collection that we just saw (twice) at the Kimbell Art Museum. They focused on what they loved and were ahead of the curve with some of their selections and with others they joined in with what was trending. Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed as though I could feel the love as I moved through their magnificent collection.

Maybe the works of those friends and acquaintances that I am collecting now will one day be spotlighted on Antique Roadshow 2075 with my great great great grand child jumping up and down cheering and exclaiming, “We had no idea!” If that happens, hallelujah, but I am not worried about it because right now, I LOVE IT! My soul is well fed.

Oh, I promised 3 rules.

Rule #2 See Suggestion #1

Rule #3 Ditto

fade out to the Beatles singing LOVE LOVE LOVE……

The heart and the painting want what they want. Neither should be forced.

The process I am embracing right now is most closely akin to not looking before I leap.