Spring Cleaning and Other Myths

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Spring has come to the desert, and I have been woefully neglectful of all things blog and website lately. Life has been busy and full and crazy and emotional. Much of the winter was spent "coming to terms" with things that were beyond my control, but couldn't not be dealt with.

I'm now back in the desert and back to work like someone lit a fire under me. I have just finished three new, relatively large, paintings of the beautiful sandhill cranes, after seeing them crowding the wetlands at Whitewater Draw in Wilcox, AZ. They are spectacular, and even I could hear - and feel - the cacophony of their calls. They demanded painting. Two of them will be shown at the upcoming opening of Toscana Gallery's show featuring birds on April 1.  Judging by the pieces I saw being dropped off, its going to be a spectacular show. You can check out my recent, figurative work here, and please remember - I love doing commissions and would love to paint more birds!

Like No One is Watching, 24x24 Oil on Canvas

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Pas de Deux, 24x24 Oil on Canvas

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In the past 4 months, I have spent about half that time in Nashville, TN. There's a whole lot to love about Nashville, and I will be there more in the future. I kind of have to since Max-the-dog met Rocky-the-dog and has discovered how very very much he loves other dogs. 

Where is Rocky? Why he no here?

In between travel (driving driving driving), I've managed some valuable time with dear friends from NYC while they were visiting, not nearly enough time with dear friends here in the  Old Pueblo, and am greatly looking forward to visits from friends from other places who are coming soon soon soon.

Mostly, I'm just really still grateful for what I have, and the amazing people I know. And today, I was reminded after a talk with a fellow artist - that the tendency toward hermitage (those who know, will know why that's funny as hell), isn't always a good thing when it comes to interpersonal relationships. (But it IS a good thing, for those who know. <grin>)

Speaking of that artist? I'm honored to be the proud, and excited new owner of a table saw with a fantastic creative pedigree. If you don't know his work, do yourself a favor and check him out. I fell in love with his pieces on first sight, and the shine hasn't dimmed. Keith Marroquin, over at Stinkbug Studios.  Go ahead. Go look. I'll wait.

See? Grateful! And another artist traded me for a veritable boatload of dry pigments. Yep. Color me happy. I'm pretty sure I got the better end of that deal. 

So why the title on this post? For me, spring cleaning was always pretty much a myth. The closest I ever really got to anything close was opening the windows. Sometimes though, its enough to open the windows and let the air in - let the birdsong in - let the scent of orange blossoms and the promise of rain in. Sometimes, just opening the window is enough.

Minor Angel

in my emotional state. i got her birth year wrong. it was '97, not '98. but i don't suppose that matters much. she's home with me now, along with 3 blessing stones - two of which will go to my kids, along with small vials. the very kind woman at the pet cemetery, offered to fill them, but i told her i would be opening the container anyway to incorporate her ashes which are not ashes, but bits of bone, into a portrait - celebrating the fact that she LIVED. and that she loved - and was loved - down to her bones. when i told her this, she asked for a card.

i wandered the grounds for a while, feeling disconnected and surreal here in the desert without her. we came here together. and while she missed the smell of grass (and geese poop), she loved the sunshine on her back. ringing the bell to acknowledge her wings, i knew that i couldn't say goodbye because my memory will always miss her and never stop asking about her.

right now, my eyesight is far too blurry from the unpredictable tears to even think about painting, but that will happen. sleeping was strange last night. too quiet without her sleep-sounds. the bed without her felt foreign and large. i am used to these things when i travel without her, but here at home - her marked absence makes home not feel like home. and i have become increasingly cognizant of a deep desire to move. go somewhere - else - experience something - else. even though my energy levels are far too low to consider it, my mind and heart want to be anywhere but here - where she is supposed to be - but isn't.

much gratitude to those who have reached out to me. i know i haven't responded to each of you individually, but your words and thoughts do help me through the grief - they are not lost in the ether. i'm also keenly aware that she was "just a dog," but, in the words of jonathan carroll; “Dogs are minor angels, and I don't mean that facetiously. They love unconditionally, forgive immediately, are the truest of friends, willing to do anything that makes us happy, etcetera. If we attributed some of those qualities to a person we would say they are special. If they had ALL of them, we would call them angelic. But because it's "only" a dog, we dismiss them as sweet or funny but little more. However when you think about it, what are the things that we most like in another human being? Many times those qualities are seen in our dogs every single day-- we're just so used to them that we pay no attention.” 

anyone who has shared a bit of their life with a remarkable dog knows this to be true beyond any shadow of doubt. they are indeed angels among us.

Multitasking Mayhem

Somewhere around 3pm this afternoon, after too many (or not enough) cups of coffee, I realized i was multitasking like a mad woman. Cleaning up my iPad:synching, deleting, installing (and learning) new post-processing photo software in preparation for using the iPad for travel photography. Experimenting with a new camera. Making food (from scratch) for the dogs. Keeping an eye on email and Facebook. Taking the dogs outside. Or cleaning up after the elderly dog who no longer seems to have much discernment around outside vs. inside. I mean, I know its Arizona, and its hard to tell the difference sometimes, but still. Paying bills. And somewhere in there, making more coffee and something that looks like lunch.

Multitasking. And after a few moments of multitasking more by thinking about multitasking, I found myself wondering if we are really any where near as effective as we think we are when we are doing a gazillion things at once. The term originated, I believe, in computing as a term that meant a singe CPU could perform two (or more) tasks simultaneously. Humans don't task simultaneously. We switch our attention - however quickly - from one thing to the next, meaning nothing really gets our full attention. No wonder its so exhausting. 

I've always prided myself on being fairly organized and capable of accomplishing many things "at once." But today I started wondering when that computer term became so routinely applied to humans.  

When i was in school - eons ago - we were "trained" to pay attention and focus. We were expected to do that, not to flit from one task to the next and back again in some dizzying roulette of "did i actually get anything done?!" It makes me wonder if there's a connection between the rise in ADHD and the push to multitask along with the vast over-stimulation of computers and television and electronics. No wonder our brains are never quiet anymore, we no longer teach our children that its ok to seek quiet, that its ok to do just one task at a time, that its ok to focus. 

I suppose the large doses of Cafe du Monde coffee i poured into my system today didn't help.  

Laying it Bare

When someone lays their soul bare in front of you, without conceit or pretension, just lays it there for the taking, they demand your attention, in their raw bravery, they somehow speak for - and to - us all. 

Last week, I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation from a new friend to go hear John Gorka play. You’ve probably never heard of him, since he’s a folk singer, and folk singers rarely have hit songs. Gorka is an awkward and shy fellow, but that’s part of his charm. He’s found a way to sprinkle that with a healthy dose of humor, and it works for him. He took a potential weakness and made it a strength. 

We were lucky enough to get front row seats, and it was like having a private concert in my living room. Sitting and listening to his songs, the very personal lyrics, and the banter in between, I was struck by one thing. Many of us, as artists, are highly personal in our art - in hopes that the personal finds its way to striking universal chords. We put down in words, or music, or paint, those things which sit at our core. And, we share them. With complete strangers. Who does that? If someone at the bus stop did that you’d most likely move as far away as you could get, while watching closely for overt signs of crazy in their eyes. Normal people don’t do this. Where would we be without the pioneers of the abnormal? They connect us and open our hearts and eyes. They, quite simply, make magic.

Artists tell stories. Our stories. Even when they are other people’s stories, they are ours, because they are told through the lens of our perceptions and frame of reference. Its personal. The audience now feels like they know these stories, and thus, know the artist. Whether this is true or not, is nearly immaterial, because the bond that happens - even if its just for a couple hours while a troubadour sings - is real. Humans crave connection. Artists facilitate a safe place for that to happen.

When you lay it all bare, that’s when things become interesting.

My own work continues to evolve and grow. I’m currently hard at work on a secret series, which I am not yet ready to unveil. I’ve also been creating some lovely abstracts which are blurring the lines between internal and external landscapes.  More to come soon. Much, much more. 

I wish you bravery and beautiful colors,

-greta

Walden Revisited
12x24 Oil on Panel

Art Featured on K.O. Jewel

K.O.Jewel.com has graciously featured my work on their site. I'm honored to be a part of their site - and in the company of so many other wonderful artists!

Re:Patterning Day 1

Prelude

Every so often we all get stuck in patterns - which may, or may not work for us in the long run. Lately, I have realized I have been stuck in a less-than-ideal pattern which is colluding with my lackadaisical streak. Well, perhaps that isn't completely fair. Its not laziness. Its grief. But that is another matter, and the end result is the same. The matter at hand, is "changing patterns." Shift. Growth. Consistency. 

For the last 5 months or so, I have been out of synch with my previous work pattern, and instead, have been allowing myself to get sucked into the great, dark time-sink that can be "life online." Facebook, email. Sure, those. But they are just the gateway drug to a magpie like me who will pick up and fondle every shiny bit of information; every "must see sale" and every damn new online game. 

Its almost like I have, in some ways, been in a fugue-state while sorting through grief. Here, but not here. 

Theory

I have been working with a wonderful mentor lately. Yesterday's weekly phone call was all about switching things up so that work can actually happen. So here's the plan. No more immediately checking Facebook and email when I wake up. Instead, grab coffee, go to work. I've been wanting to do a plein air series and this seemed like a good time to have my feet held to the fire. So that was the plan. GO OUTSIDE and PAINT. Until 1pm. Then break for lunch and check the social media. Sounds good, yeah? In theory. Let's see how it goes in practice.

Practice

Dogs woke me at 4:30am and I learned that my neighbors are actually awake at that time. Crazy morning people. I, however, went back to bed after letting the pups outside and proceeded to let my unconcious do its thing until nearly noon. I guess I needed the sleep/dream time. 

Got up, got cold-brew coffee, fed dogs. Glanced longingly at closed computer, but forced self to resist temptation, realizing it feels a lot like breaking the nail biting habit. Gather panels, paints, and step outside and realize it just too damn hot. What was i thinking?! Its summer monsoon in the Sonoran Desert! Fine. Back inside. But I will be damned if I will let the computer win. Nope. Sketch book out. Play with geometry while considering patterns and letting mind wander. 

I made a conscious decision to allow today to be a sort of warm-up day. To let today not be about the work itself, but about the shift in habits. In that way, I think it has been successful, but gods, I do hope this gets easier as the days go by because right now, like any addict, my mind kept wandering back to the shiny closed computer with all its distractions and immediate gratification. 

Experimenting with skin tones, and new Rublev paints

"Held" Work in progress, 16x20 oil on masonite

Since I was never quite happy with the skin tones on this painting, I'd put it aside for a while. Now I have new paint to try, so back on the easel it goes! I have concepts in mind for a new series...we'll see where it goes. In the meantime, I'm thoroughly enjoying the quality and consistency of the Rublev paints. They have yet to disappoint!

There's something to be said, I think, for not skimping on the tools of the trade - for valuing one's own work enough to invest in it, in the same way we, as artists, expect our collectors to invest. Its a symbiotic relationship of the best sort.

Rublev skin tone paints all spanky-new and ready to be squeezed from their tubes.

Good Enough

Reading a book by Robert Genn tonight, i came across this passage.
"Jane Hopkins said, 'Genius is the infinite capacity for taking pains.' I was looking at an eagle that Robert Bateman had painted, and it looked natural and beautiful. He told me that he had scraped off and re-painted the head four times to bring it to where it was. I am sorry to say there are times when most of us say, 'That will be good enough,' and it isn't."

I read that passage and it stopped me cold. "Good enough" is a concept I have struggled with all my life. Going as far back as I can remember. My mother in her warped perfectionism always pushing me beyond any rational or realistic expectation - no matter what I did - it was never quite "good enough." I was never quite good enough. No prize was ever enough; no room clean enough; no piece of music perfect enough. I spent many years sorting through these feelings of inadequacy in therapy. Trying to get to a place where I could accept for myself that something was "good enough." Through all that struggle, I often felt there was something inherently 'bad' or 'wrong' in this constant striving toward better. That I needed to learn to be ok with "good enough." I never really got there.

Tonight, i realize that there is another side to this. There was, in fact, a blessing in those horridly painful pushes toward better than good enough. I am not sure its what my mother intended. In fact, I am pretty sure she didn't intend it at all. But tonight, never the less, I find myself feeling more than a bit of gratitude. And a keen awareness that the unintended consequences of her harshness on my work are ultimately quite positive. The self-portrait which recently won first place was at least 3 other paintings before it became that strong portrait.  I know from experience that I will scrape paint off and re-paint as many times as I need to, or I will burn a painting and start over before I sit back and say, "That will be good enough."