A co-worker of mine has a son, Edvin, who is a creative soul. She shared some of his work with me and it made me smile down to my very toes. He's young and he's doing it for the sheer love of doing art. I have to share it because that's what we creatives do for one another. Pass it forward. Share. Send it out to a wider audience. Enjoy! :-) Peace, L~
I took a trip to the MOMA on this damp grey December day. They have a Pollock retrospective that I've wanted to see since November. What amazing work!! I've had a bit of a soft spot for this particular artist for quite some time now and every time I think that reverie will finally subside...I have a moment/an encounter with his work. I looked over his earlier work, it's decent and well worth a look-see but when his work started changing to the drip technique, that's when the music started to come out in his work. I stood in front of the larger pieces and took it in as a whole piece and then took it in section by section. His pieces surprise me. There is a moment when the black and white paint blossom together but keep the edges too. There is a moment when a red streak is intersected with a black stripe it's hard to describe how my skin tingles and the goosebumps i get because I am looking at genius work. It's painting in pure form and that's what I LOVE about it. I looked for an image to put on with this entry but really his work can't be experienced in miniature form...it needs to be seen in actual scale to take it in fully. I get that his work isn't for everyone. But all you have to do is really look at the large scale piece and let the crowds melt into the background and open your being to understand how connected Pollock was to the flow of Life/ to the Universe. His work reminds me to keep going, to continue to write in hopes of getting the work in a better place. I am inspired.
On the F-Line at Broadway Lafayette there is this wall where rusted water has leaked down and created this pretty amazing abstract piece. There is texture where the paint is coming off the wall. The background wall is brown but there is this reddish hue mixed in with yellows and white. And it keep developing out, especially after it rains. Yes, this wall is probably a toxic combination of mold and who-knows-what else but it is absolutely beautiful to me. Sometimes these hidden gems are enough in themselves. Water created this piece and it continues to change and grow. I'm sure some inspector will see this one day and decide it's hazardous to our health and wipe it clean but until that happens more visual stim for me.
In the meantime, I've picked up a couple of sketch books to paint again. I had set aside art for awhile when I was trying to figure out my writing "focus." I'm learning that I could paint and sketch and write at will. The only limitations are the ones that I impose upon myself. Time to break out my knives/brushes and paint for the sheer joy of it. I've decided to go back to painting on paper because they are easier to store than canvas. Let's see how long that stays true once I start working.
Monday— I took a day to myself and I went to see a little
indie flick called Mental with a friend.I absolutely loved Toni Collette in it.It’s a dark comedy and I really enjoyed it.Afterwards, we went to have drinks and
just chatted the afternoon away.I
under-estimated how cold it was going to be so I was chilled to the bone.Still, it felt good to be a bit
decadent and enjoy an afternoon.
Tuesday—I spent the day working on my novel.After finding out that I lost pages
again, I decided not to throw a pity part for myself.I just put my head down and wrote up another 45 pages.I didn’t even bother proofing the pages
before I sent it out to my writing group.Next Saturday is my turn to present.Hopefully, it’s not all crap.And even if it is…rewriting is always possible.
Wednesday—I spent the day sending out resumes.Job hunting is not much fun. I also
broke things off with the new person I’ve been dating which was a bummer.Definitely not my best day.Boy, did that make me grumpy.
Thursday—I spent the afternoon at MOMA to check out the
Abstract exhibit. Overall, it was a decent collection.For the first time, I actually appreciated
Mondrian’s work.Mostly I was
reminded that Professor Horrigan really liked his work because he found it
peaceful.Isn’t it interesting how
someone else’s appreciation helps you take a fresh look at a body of work. Mondrian
has never been one of my favorites but I think I’m seeing his paintings with
new eyes.
There is also a beautiful blue watercolor by O’Keefe that
took my breath away.I’m attaching
it here but the pic does not do the original justice.
Blue II by Georgia O'Keefe, 1916
There were some mixed-media paintings that I found really
interesting because I think layers are wonderful.
There is also an Edvard Munch exhibit that I spent some time
on.I remember creating a
lithograph very similar to the Scream.It was amazing to study the actual piece up close.
And of course, I sat in front of a Pollock.It always feels like I’m visiting a
friend.As I sat there and watched
visitors trying to take pics of his work, I realized that trying to capture
that painting is just impossible.Digital pics only flattens out the piece.I sat there and took it in.The painting definitely soothed me from my blues.
Friday—I spent the day embroidering.Okay, this is definitely a girly girl
thing to do but there was a couple of pieces in the Abstract exhibit that used
embroidery as part of the medium.I’m not very good at it but for the small piece that I’m working on it’s
fine.I wish I had smaller hoops
but a 3” hoop is as small as they go.Anyway, my fingertips hurt today from poking myself with the
needle.Argh!!And there is blood on the cloth from
the deep pokes…I’m not sure there is a way of incorporating drops of blood into
the piece. Hehehe.
Music-- I keep playing this song Open by Rhye over and over again. It's haunting me today.
It’s been damp and grey the last couple of days. Yesterday, I took a walk down by the Lower East Side and came across this wall of urban painted pictograph on E. Houston. I had to take a pic. At first, I wanted a shot of it straight on but I liked the details on this piece. The paint was running down the wall. Unlike ancient glyphs, there was no etching into rock for longevity. Instead, the temporary aspect of the piece made me pause. The city keeps evolving and changing each year with a quickening pace. I looked down to see if the paint had reached the sidewalk but the rain seems to have washed it away.
Anyway, I kept walking, listening to Ani DiFranco on my iPod, and on Lafayette something caught my eye. On Bond street, there is this amazing iridescent green building that I haven’t seen before. I was trying to get a decent pic to show off its colors but alas I only pinned down a corner. The building has a stone gate that reminded me of Gaudi. Lovely.
Every once in awhile the writing becomes difficult for me. The words are forced, the process becomes thick and dense. The pleasure is sanded down and I can't bear to sit in front of my laptop or write in my journal. Yesterday, I took a holiday from writing and decided to use some of the art supplies around the studio. It was completely decadent letting this painting unfold in front of me. I took my time and the world seemed to disappear. I used pallet knives to add and subtract acrylics until this piece came into being. It's been a long time since I've worked on such a large scale, really who has this kind of space in real life.... ;-) and what pleasure to play with the colors, to angle the knives just so, to mix and streak the white before it turns to mud. Of course there were mistakes but unlike the frustration I feel with my writing it felt loose and open because the opportunity to correct was half the fun. The creative self, the part of me that seeks pleasure when I connect was completely satiated. I spent the better part of the morning and the early afternoon (losing time in the process) to just work. It's 36 inches wide and 60 inches tall (1 meter x 1.5 meters). I tried to keep the paint as flat and as thin as possible since I think I'll probably roll these canvases to take back to NYC. The smile that keeps bubbling up comes from the center of my being. I can't wait for the paints that I bought off Tony to come in the mail. He's moved on to a different medium so he has all these tubes of acrylics....it'll be good see what more comes through then. I feel like a kid in candy store. YAY!
Better to leave than to get caught up. Better to duck head into sand than stand feeling foolish. Better to dream about spitting broken glass than grind teeth into chips
Not roots but trunk Not trunk but bark Not bark but branches Not branches but leaves The sky blows away on the next strong gust of wind.
She lets me notice the back of her legs when she walked up the stairs. I wanted to feel her dark smooth skin beneath my fingertips. I dare not cross that line.
Your language clicks under your tongue in the aftermath of summer storms.
When did we break contact and become scavengers? Do you know what it’s like waiting for you across the span of days?
You showed me strands of your lonely soul then hid away in your blanket of grief.
I was her. She was me. Back then in the past tense.
Seldom do I hear the whisperings of the earth beneath me. Seldom do I trust the music that resonates beneath my skin. I question the song as it breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.
Succulent language tumbles out in neat phrases. Seldom do I need convincing of its own self-importance.
Wires tangles and notions tremble in the dense night. Too quick to capture…. too easily forgotten…reticent to sit and lean quietly against the night.
Fondling the common themes that sway in the dead of night when quiet lays open with her legs parted wide. Cheeks bloom red with shame….as the Catholic guilt burns knuckles with rulers.
Gather moss in your arms please…show me your gentle ways Gather moss in your mouth so you can quiet the incessant chatter.
Pour a shot for the ancestors… they are dying of thirst. Pour a shot for yourself… your troubles are barely contained. We hold on too tight to our demons.
Fuck sake, kill the beast the way you kill the lights. Don’t ask for forgiveness lest you can accept it. This is not a psychological exorcism drowning in holy water being prayed over by a righteous priest. Casting demons… casting dispersions… casting for compliments.
We have lost the ability to understand each other’s quiet ruminations.
In a sour country she stares at the dying sky and wanders spiral mountain paths where she hungers for a careless word. A mild breeze barely makes her tremble, barely leaves her breath…less. Time strips her of her reason and compresses her into dense matter.
Her words tumble out like broken rocks Heavy lies the tongue when she forgets the taste of affection. She reclines against the earth to cool her flowering fury. Otherwise everything around her would burn.
Every stem, every green budding flower would scorch. She reverberates like aftershocks. as she leaves behind the woman she does not love abandons her language with its crushing capacity in wild red flames. The land lies heavy upon her chest.
What I know of desire would fill a teaspoon. Small doses, swallowed whole Not enough to devour Only enough to taste.
Sticky baked banana from fingertips to lips seducing you with sweets licked up extra with a pink tip.
I’ve been told I am the type of woman who would drown in a puddle of water.
Cold glasses of vodka martinis chilled ‘til our teeth are set on edge biting ice chips from the canister on a sweltering July night.
What I know of her desire scrapes language from my tongue overcomes the flames in her bone marrow creates dark expansive space between us and does not leave orange-scented tenderness behind
Instead…what’s left are mere shells of dented armor…to be hammered.
Sliver of moon in a dark winter sky Fingers trace the outlines of my bones tears down the walls exposing my yesterdays living wounds bleeds whenever salt penetrates.
Inarticulate cries wrenched when there is no mercy with forgive me words Quiet, quiet, quiet goes the song in a tunnel of strangled moans from the ache of I love you words stuck in my mouth on the tip of my tongue I dare not speak her name
The chalice has been dry for oh so long not even a sip to escape, nor an answer to unfold.
Have my bones turned cold yet? Has my skin started to pale?
Having lived in a common way Forgotten on a shelf in the back of the closet somewhere. Yearnings so bottomless it weakens. In the presence of she who does not carelessly end. Shreds my walls mercilessly
What made her think I had it in me to try? Her languid woman’s song in the place where there is no mercy Where nothing is every too late and the sound in the back of my throat is quiet, quiet, quiet.
She watches us with the lens of an outsider looking on. She is unhappy with the lazy sunlight and the large bumblebee hovering nearby.
She gives away her sex with her eyes but not to me. Instead she gives me pretty green picture-setting and holds her words away. I listen to the sound of toddlers crying in the distant playground. I am too old to whine but it doesn’t stop the “but why?” that escapes my mouth.
I lie down on the blanket in the middle of the field and watch clouds skim by realizing this ending will be too difficult to bear she runs too deep within my skin.
And the children cry in the distance because they don’t want to share. Her pale thin skin turns red but she is calm as she seeks shade alone.
She abandons me tonight feeling under-appreciated.
I’ll follow her until she lets me ride her grace Enslaves my imagination Fractures me with a phrase Covers me with dirty little secrets Scrapes up the language from my wandering heart and presses them to the page.
She is the one who prevents the walls from tumbling in Forbids me to walk the streets alone when she binds me with metallic strings as her wild lovesongs burns rivers down my veins.
Winter leaves an ache in the middle of the body Radiates into a yellow-hazy night bent limbs on bare trees
Want to race across the wide span of a baseball field at full speed but a gaggle of geese slumber on the path sun will be up soon.
A hawk’s call arcs through the ether Sewer rats skim the edges of shadows Murky waters do not ripple but gurgle as a thin wind glides across the surface.
This is what it means to disappear to sit on a ledge and watch the dawn pierce the skyline Listen to the distant traffic rumble and waking echoes of stirring lives.
I’ve lost my language deep inside a pair of faded blue jeans Hand delves deep, I come up with a couple of dirty coins and a slip of fortune cookie paper “a thrilling time is coming in your immediate future”.
If all things are created equal why do I have a naked window? A saffron-dyed bed sheet with Indian motifs use to cover it. It was supposed to be a happy color… it’s not and I’m not.
Big gaping orbs tease me out of my skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve danced naked and eaten succulent juice from cold prickly pears.
I get that I’m the one who walked out. I get that you’re the one who’s considered the “hurt party”
But I’ve lost my words inside your jacket, the one you let me wear that last time at the concert The one with enough room for my pack of cigarettes, your eye drops, stash of weed and lipstick. You told me you loved me in a quick rush of words, a crowded space, bodies pressed too tightly was the only thing holding me up.
There was no quick reply No valley of twinkling lights No orange-scented tenderness in return And no reason why.
You’ve taken the bed sheet away leaving behind a stark landscape while the land spins a little more slowly these days.
I write and I paint. Then I try to articulate some coherent thoughts about the creative process on this blog. In between those moments of producing work, I take photos, listen to groovy music, watch indie movies, read (a lot), go hear live music (preferably someone that rocks), go to the theater to see a new play from time to time, watch sci-fi movies, and continue to cultivate my curiosity. Then I write about that too.
