Rats Scurry. People Ought Not.

I am writing from Holly Colorado. I am sitting on the second floor (corner room) with a lovely window that rounds what would typically be a square corner. Since I am working that makes this a CORNER OFFICE! I. Have. Arrived.

Looking out I see other buildings, like mine from the mid 1800s and all the inner corners facing the cross streets are rounded. It is quite lovely.

It was also disorienting during the night trying to find the bed in a room with five walls instead of four. I was the thing that went bump in the night.

This morning I am brewing PG Tips tea in a clear water bottle sitting on my corner window ledge. It won’t be ready until this afternoon, but today I am not participating in the rat race.

Today I will not scurry. Rats scurry. People, while more than a few are rat-like, ought not to scurry. Nothing good comes from the scurry.
For the past month I have been scurrying. Yes, I finished three paintings, but the scurry did not get them done. Actually, IF I had avoided the scurry I am certain that at least one more would be complete and possibly one or two more. Scurry shuts down the brain’s ability to truly prioritize.

The urgent obliterates the important.

I KNOW this and yet….

Today I am on my way to Denver to spend time at the Denver Art Museum (DAM) and the Stills Museum next door. Maybe some Red Rock hiking. We will see. We will see. Instead of scurrying out and speed (not speeding!) towards Denver I decided to sit down. I am sitting in my simple corner room and watching my tea begin its slow brew.

It is quiet except for the occasional passing pick up truck. The sunshine is nice. Breathing is nice.
(Wow, that last pick up had a muffler!)
Carley Hughes, our priest at Trinity Episcopal Church in Fort Worth, challenged us to take 30 seconds- just THIRTY SECONDS- five times a day and be still. I wanted to do it. I was certain I could do it.

I have not done it yet.

It has been two weeks. TODAY I am taking my 2 1/2 minutes to just be still. Maybe I’ll talk to God. Maybe I will just listen. Maybe I will just be.

My art comes from connecting with the world around me. From readi
ng. From journaling. From connecting disparate ideas and concepts. I can’t do that scurrying. I have to be still. In my mad dash to “get it all done,” to “do it right,” TO JUSTIFY MAKING ART I have cut myself off from the joy of what I do and who I was created to be.

Scurrying is not good for anyone.
It is not good for me.
It is not good for my family.
It is not good for my art.
It is not good for my community.

I wager that it is not good for you.

Give Carley’s challenge a go this week.
Thirty seconds, morning, meals, bedtime.
Find two and a half minutes to connect with yourself and your greater purpose.

A purpose beyond politics.

Time to check out. (Literally, it is check-out time at the inn.)

PEACE!

September 12, 2016September 12, 2016

YOU PEOPLE!

Last week I was YOU Peopled!

Can You Hear Them? 22 x 30 watercolor on paper — Can You Hear Them?
22 x 30 watercolor on paper by Gwen Meharg

in the Park Cities Presbyterian Church parking lot.

A woman 10 years older than myself with salon blond hair and an old wine-skin mind-set felt obliged to YOU PEOPLE me as I was leaving the parking lot after delivering art.

I use the old wine-skin metaphor for two reasons. She looked like she had spent a goodly amount of time poolside and/ or in a tanning bed. Secondly, her old-time religious ideas were so firmly set in stone that she felt obligated, or justified, in voicing her disdain for me.

Her designer clothes, jewelry, and very expensive car all said money, money, money.

I am more than okay with people who have money, money, money. Some of them buy art. Some of them lavish their earnings on charities. I hope to join their ranks some day!

Monotype Acrylic on Paper by Gwen Meharg

Money is not the problem.
Money is not the root of evil.
Money is a construct that works quite well.

And it is way easier than hauling around chickens, precious metals, and beads.

What one becomes when one has a good amount of money is where the potential problems lay.

I know “salt of the earth” people with lots of money.
I know “salt of the earth” people with very little money.

Money, having or not having, is not the problem.
The problem resides in the heart.

On a beautiful sun shiny morning last week this woman spoke from her heart and labeled me – wait for it! – liberal.

Her presence in the church parking led me to believe she was quite possibly a follower of Jesus. A sister in Christ.
Her mouth and judgmental words and attitude implies otherwise.
The exact words out of her holier-than-thou mouth were,

Kept 6x6" watercolor sketch on paper by Gwen Meharg — Kept 6×6″ watercolor sketch on paper by Gwen Meharg

“YOU PEOPLE SCARE ME!”

With my eyes popping out in disbelief, I demanded,
“WHO is YOU people?”

Bottle Blond with her right hand raised to her heart and her fingers fluttering spit an explicative, “Liberals!”

And she stomped off in a self-righteous huff. I really wanted to say something ugly but I had been YOU PEOPLEd!
My privileged middle-class white lady position had spared me until that moment. It stung.

What set her off?
My “Black Lives Matter” bumper sticker.

I ordered “Blue Lives Matter” bumper sticker over a month ago and was going to put them side by side. My “Blue Lives Matter” bumper sticker has not come. The Blue Lives Matter bumper sticker people stole my money.

Want to know what is WRONG WITH CONSERVATIVES?
I can clear up a great deal of political turmoil toot sweet.
What is wrong with “conservatives” is that I am no longer considered among them.

Watercolor Sketch 5x4" on paper by Gwen Meharg — Watercolor Sketch 5×4″ on paper by Gwen Meharg

How does one get more conservative than me?

I am a 55 year old white woman. Southern Baptist until Easter 2014. College educated at BAYLOR, a Baptist University. Married 35 years to the same guy who I met in the marching band. Did you catch that? The MARCHING band! David and I both played trombone for God’s sake. Six children. SIX!!! Two cats. Two horses. One large dog. A fish pond, a miniature cricket farm, and a cabinet full of tiny tarantulas. I live in a suburb of a suburb. I scrub horse buckets every Sunday morning. Wear spurs in public. Drive a 21 year old conversion van. Don’t smoke. Don’t chew. Have friends who do. Seldom drink. Own a gun. Get caught with a knife in my purse every time I go to the airport. Actually READ my bible. Pray. Attend church regularly. Read out loud to ALL my children. I have serious body issues but am unwilling to give up popcorn or pie. I home schooled for TWENTY-TWO years!

HOW MUCH MORE CONSERVATIVE CAN YOU GET?!?

The problem is not money.
The problem is not how conservative or how liberal a person is.

The problem is as it always has been, with the heart.

It is so much easier to go to church than to love.
It is so much easier to label than to listen.

I have written and painted about the lie of the easy answer.
You people-ing is an easy answer that covers a world of lies.

Money is not the problem.

Watercolor Sketch 4x4" on paper by Gwen Meharg — **Watercolor Sketch 4×4″ on paper by Gwen Meharg**

Race is not the problem.

The heart is the problem.

Now I am gonna toss out a scripture and see if it sticks:
1 Timothy 6:10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil…

It is not about conservative versus liberal.
It is not about haves versus have nots.

It is about love.

It has always been about love.
It will always be about love.

Who you love.
What you love.

YOU PEOPLE,
you have a grand week
and may love inspire you
as you pursue life well-loved and well-lived.

August 29, 2016

Its Monday AGAIN

Strength Triptych each section is 40 x 25" acrylic on paper. Framed — Strength Triptych each section is 40 x 25″ acrylic on paper. Framed

It is Monday again.

Monday with all that entails.
The hopes and dreads.
The fresh start and the repetition of again.

Opposites colliding? Maybe.

Opposites inhabiting a shared time and space? Definitely.

We don’t live in an either / or world.

More often than not truth is found in both / and.

Black or white is not so black and white.

Gwen Meharg 30 x 22 " acrylic on watercolor paper. — Gwen Meharg 30 x 22 ” acrylic on watercolor paper.

I love painting with black. A rainbow of hidden colors explode when water is added.
Black paintings are “hard to sell” and that is too bad because a black painting makes a statement.

The statement? Well, there will be many,
but the statement is always one of defiance.
A refusal to be defined. A refusal to be limited. A refusal to be seen one dimensionally.

It is Monday again.

The last Monday with my eldest daughter, artist and author Ruth Meharg, and her husband, artist and men’s fashion illustrator Matthew Sunflowerman Miller. They leave on their next grand adventure Wednesday. They begin in Italy. Then an island off of Africa. Then who knows.

To say that we will miss them is an incredible understatement.
To say that we are thrilled about their adventure is another understatement.
Opposite emotions residing in a single heart, a single mind.

Easy answers are cheap. Certainty is cheap.

Detail of work in progress by Gwen Meharg

Faith. Not knowing. Hope. Defying not knowing.

I used to believe in either / or.

I don’t any more.
I am becoming ever more intimate with both / and.

August 25, 2016

Kiss My Great Aunt Fanny

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

Gwen Meharg in front of Transition painting.

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.

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

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!

May 24, 2016May 17, 2016

Painting by Gaslight

Have you seen the movie Gaslight?
I have not and I am torn between curiosity and fear. Maybe I’ll watch it next week.

My husband handed me an article, “10 Things I wish I’d known About Gaslighting” by Shea Emma Fett. If I read no further than the first sentence it would have been enough:

“Gaslighting is the attempt of one person
to overwrite another person’s reality. “

07 Oct 1935, Finsbury Park, London, England, UK --- A lamplighter lights a gas streetlight in London's Finsbury Park during a foggy morning. October 7, 1935. --- Image by © Hulton-Deutsch Collection/CORBIS — 07 Oct 1935, Finsbury Park, London, England, UK — A lamplighter lights a gas streetlight in London’s Finsbury Park during a foggy morning. October 7, 1935. — Image by © Hulton-Deutsch Collection/CORBIS

When I googled the article to find ya’ll the link I was SHOCKED that so many articles with the same title existed. This is NOT an isolated or rate problem. It is good to know when you are not alone or crazy.

Gaslighting is the new black.
It goes with everything!

9b8e4b97d8fcd95d082f8e151ebf146c I grew up believing that TRUTH sets us FREE.
I still believe. It is the mantra inside my head, my heart, my body and my soul.

A liar knows the truth and chooses to tell a lie. A gaslighter may not know they are lying.

Unable or unwilling, to pay the price for freedom, the gaslighter creates a new narrative to change reality. Each time the narrative is repeated it becomes more concrete until it solidifies into their reality. At this point the alternative reality has become fact.

ArtForStripes014 We all stray from the facts. Honestly, just how big was that fish?

Fish stories are not gaslighting. Fish stories are entertainment!

Gaslighters create their narrative to justify behavior. Sometimes gaslighting is a survival technique. When reality becomes too painful another reality is invented.

A gaslighter is often articulate, passionate and sincere.
A gaslighter passionately and sincerely believes the created reality.

To question that reality is to assault their character. Collected Memories(1)
Facts, as everyone knows can’t be changed.
Facts just are.

Except when they are not.

How do you resolve conflicting realities?
How do you communicate with someone who believes you are the liar?
How do you maintain relationships with someone who questions your heart?

A story repeated often enough becomes truth. Hitler was a master gaslighter. www.Snopes.com is a website devoted to dismantling oft repeated stories.

“Gaslighting is the attempt of one person
to overwrite another person’s reality.”

Gaslighting is scary s#it!
Having a name for it is helpful.

Freedom is never free. Truth, the price of freedom, is not cheap. Some pay a higher price than others. Life is not fair.

Now that I know the truth about gaslighting, what it looks like, and how it impacts lives, mine and others, WHAT AM I GONNA DO ABOUT IT?

Drumroll ………. What am I going to do with this revelation?
I don’t know.
I do not know.

When I don’t know I write, I knit, I walk, I ride, and I paint what I know.

gaslight_petrol_lamp_by_jantiff_stocks-d6cf08t I paint hope.
I paint beautiful abstracts that embody journey.

Hope and journey.

Parts of the journey are breathtakingly beautiful.

Parts of the journey are mundane.

Parts of the journey are not just ugly but they smell bad, too.

I paint.

Every brushstroke is an affirmation that beauty is possible.

I cannot imagine a way forward.

gaslight-fog The way forward is not limited by my imagination.

I cannot imagine a way forward, but I hope for a way.
I hope for beautiful endings.

I hope.

I paint.

I search for the next step.
I paint hope.

May 3, 2016May 3, 2016

Penis Butterflies and Wonky Boobs

Have you ever NOT seen something that was right in front of your face?

Maybe you were proofing a resume and you had worked so long and so hard on it that you just could not see the looming typo that sunk ANY chance of gaining an interview?

Untitled You proofed and proofed EVER so careful and yet a typo slipped right past your brain.

In a proof-reading fog, believing you have achieved perfection, you gingerly fold the resume, printed on cotton rag paper, into thirds and place it into a matching rag paper envelope with a patriotic stamp. You travel to the post office and pop it into the mail shoot.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you climb back into your car when suddenly your brain awakens from its proof reading coma and – big as day – you see the typo flash before your mind’s eye.

It is too late … the next resume will be better.

(Rag stationary might be from the olden days, but typos still carry the power to devastate, only they devastate much faster these days with email and auto-correct.)

This happens with art, too.
Sometimes there is a penis in the middle of a butterfly painting. Sometimes you don’t see the penis until it is framed and hanging in the group show at the local community center.

Rest assured, YOU might not see it but SOMEONE will!
It will often be the person with the loudest, most shrill voice. Think 9 year old boy. They will notice and point and call others over to see the penis.

Once you and the audience have SEEN the penis you can’t unsee it.
It is all over. Nothing to do but change the title to Penis Butterfly and pretend there is a deep, but not perverted, meaning to the piece.
“Ah, yes,” you mumble and scurry away hoping the cookie table is well stocked. Leave them wondering. And giggling!

Honestly, the painting hung for several years in the boy’s room before anyone noticed. Once noticed the boys thought it was so hilarious that they re-titled it and proudly show it to all guests. SIGH! (I will NOT reveal the child who penned this masterpiece, nor the child who first discovered the penis. (It just doesn’t matter.)

When you are a grown up artist, it does matter.
Before a work of art is sent out into the world most of us take the time to look for things that we did not intend to be there. The big five are: penises, potatoes, boobs, figures, and eyes.

Heaven help the artist who is working from multiple reference photos. It is devastatingly difficult to get things “right.” You want wings on a horse? No problem, just print off a photo of a bird and a photo of a horse, right? Yeah, it would SEEM to be that easy, but it is not easy. It is painfully difficult. The longer you work on the artwork the harder it is to see it as a whole. As each part is perfected the whole becomes lost, even to the greats. (Michelangelo!)

It is easy to miss the image “typos.”
Critique groups and teenage boys are adept at finding artistic typos.

It is ever so easy to paint rocks that look like potatoes. And to paint potatoes that look like rocks. “Those beautiful river rocks, did you INTEND for them to look like a pile of potatoes?” UGH!
“Nice barn. Maybe you should add eye lashes to the windows since they look like eyes.” UGH! UGH!
“Cool phallic image. Interesting colors.” UUUGGGHHHH!
“CLOUD CLEAVAGE!” ugh…….
The human brain is designed to identify faces. It is also quite adept at finding figures and figure parts!

MOST artists would rather discover that something is not READING as intended before the artwork is finished. michelangelo-night
Who hasn’t done a portrait with something wrong with the mouth?
Who hasn’t been in a museum and suddenly noticed that legs are attached to the body at an unnatural angle.
Boobs! Oh my.
What was Michelangelo thinking!

It isn’t a skill issue,
it is a SEEING issue.
As the RockMan said, “You see what you want to see.” screen-shot-2012-04-03-at-11-04-44-am

Dear friends and family.
PLEASE, if you SEE something BEFORE IT IS FINISHED, please let me know.

IF I have attached an arm to a torso rather than to the shoulder, please let me know. If my wings are flapping independently of each other, speak up ASAP! If genitalia is the focal point of my abstract painting, it was UNINTENTIONAL!

Michelangelo Buonarroti TitleNude Woman, Kneeling Work Type drawing Date around 1500 Material pen and brown ink, heightened with white wash, on white paper Measurements 26.7 x 15.3 cm Repository Muse du Louvre, INV 726, recto. — Michelangelo Buonarroti
Title: Nude Woman, Kneeling
Date around 1500
Repository Muse du Louvre, INV 726, recto.

AFTER THE PAINTING IS COMPLETE FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE!
(And feel free to giggle in the corner.)

We all have opinions.

I do a lot of non-objective work.
It is NATURAL to look for SOMETHING in the painting.
IF I do my job what you will find is a memory, an idea or inspiration.

HAPPY MONDAY!

PS There were typos in my last email. EVER SO SORRY.

PPS If you are interested in a small print of my newest work, please subscribe to my occasional email. VIP members receive a small print.

PPPS! If you are already subscribe and want to upgrade, send me your snail mail address and I’ll get the print out to you ASAP!

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.

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……

Have you seen the movie Gaslight? I have not and I am torn between curiosity and fear. Maybe I’ll watch it next week. My husband handed me an article, “10 Things I wish I’d known About Gaslighting” by Shea Emma Fett. If I read no further than the first sentence it would have been enough: