The fall ended with an exhibit, Intersections of Vast Things, at Friesen Gallery in Ketchum, Idaho.
I am back in the studio preparing for an exhibit with Mark Woolley Gallery in Portland, Oregon.
It has been a bit tough getting back into the groove after a month-long break. Lightness of being seems to be temporarily on the shelf. Sometimes deadlines push me into gear. Other times, I freeze, and all avenues to a groove of working seem to be nowhere in sight. Looking for the door, the shimmer of light, I pace; pace around like a dog looking for the perfect comfort spot in which to enter. I know this process. I have been here before, many times. Not quite sure why every time feels like the first time. The beauty is, once you’re in, the dialogue can begin, but the waiting is a form of magic. Painting is not done alone. There is a cohort that beckons. Sometimes it speaks through the painting itself and I can enter into relationship, and sometimes it just comes where a harmonic symphony takes place with three or four pieces at once. I paint waiting for just these moments.
I have been thinking a lot about how all this translates into teaching. How to communicate what happens in the studio. If I have left my process for a time (a week, a month), I have to search out the delicate balance between who I was when I left the door and who I am now in the moment—pick up and carry the conversation forward. Do the work. I just want all to know that we are not alone in this process
John O’Donohue said it so well in his book, Beauty:
“No person is a finished thing, regardless of how frozen or paralyzed their self image might be. Each one of us is in a state of perennial formation. Carried with the flow of time, you are coming to be who you are in every new emerging moment. Life is a journey that fills out your identity and yet the true nature of a journey remains largely invisible."
Here is a piece just finished but untitled as of today.