Creating the Big A...or Not

Geez, it's hot in here today.  I guess it's no surprise.  I looked up the temps a little while ago and it was 86, with a heat index of 96.  Phew!

Today was spent in one of my favorite ways - building supports for the birch boards.  The gallery owner gave me an idea based on the Revenge painting and said I could have a week or so to do more paintings before the show became too hard to rearrange, so...

I came home yesterday and did my research on tomato pests.   Today, I made the supports and got them gessoed.  I thought about working on the painting on the easel while the glue dried and I had used all my clamps (I really need to replace some and add to the collection.  Like brushes, one can never have enough clamps.) but it took much effort than I was willing to put in after several hours of measuring and sawing to switch back and forth between 'building' brain and 'painting' brain.

Someone told me yesterday that she hadn't painted in fifteen years but has been getting the calling to pick up the brushes again and it's scary.  We agreed that on one hand, it could be a freeing thing - she doesn't have all that academic stuff in her head and she can just play.  Then she said an interesting thing: "Well, plus I finally realized I'm not going to make some Big Art.  I think we all through that at some point."

It's true.  There used to be that little voice at the back of my head.  It said that the art had to be Good - a Masterpiece - that could  hold up against Masters of Art: Dali, Miro, Warhol...of course, I would do it all my own way too. 

I wonder why we think that?  Is it more than just artists that go through this?  Is it just one of those engrained childhood things?  I mean, don't most parents say their kid is going to do Big Things?  "My kid's going to be a Doctor!  A Lawyer!  The PRESIDENT!"  I know it's a good thing meat to be positive thoughts for the future but I just wonder.  Maybe I'm just warped.

One thing to remember is that Van Gogh sold just one painting during his lifetime.  It also strikes me as a lot of trouble to have so much attention on your work.  I read somewhere about an artist (I can't remember his name) who got so popular that the business side of things took up so much of his time that he had two hours a week in  which to paint. 


I have ideas of how I want my art career to go from here, plus I have a standing invite for the gallery as well (that will and can be a post all in itself.)  I may as well get off my ass and do it.  It's not going to make itself. 

Why honor the savage gods?

Black Cat's radar is in working order.  More times than not, I sit down to write and he's right here, looking to see if there are any edibles - and to look at me as if he is a poor, Dickensian starving waif asking, "Please, Ma'am.  A scrap, a morsel of food is all I ask..."
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Now that it's a bit later and Black Cat has found a scrap of food in Kuma's bowl (read: it was half full,) I guess I can write.

John Beckett and Galina Krasskova had articles today about honoring and loving fearsome and savage gods.  They ask why anyone would want to do so - why not just focus on the positive and beautiful aspects. 

I agree with their reasons.  When we reject certain aspects because they make us uncomfortable, it stunts our relationship with Them.  That's not to say it's not terrifying when our gods show their more awesome sides.  It most definitely is.  Sometimes it comes, not in a big act, but in the smallest thing.

I lost my great aunt in a tornado several years ago.  It was truly a terrible storm and it could have well earned the epithet 'Eye of Set' (in fact, one man who survived the storm with a broken leg was quoted, "The Lord grabbed my leg and kicked my ass.")

It was hard for me to believe that this wonderful, funny woman had died in such a horrible, terrifying way.  In my grief, I asked Set that night why - why did this happen to her?

I'm not entirely sure what I was looking for but if I was looking for comfort, I didn't get it.  I was deeply grieving my loss but in response to my question was the completely dispassionate, what-the-fuck-is-it-any-of-my-concern answer, "Sometimes, things just are."

It was one of the few times I understood the phrase, "my blood ran cold."  It was a reminder that the gods are not human, even if they can sometimes pass.  We humans also forget ourselves and act like we are the end all, be all and occasionally we need reminders that we are so not.

After I began to get over my grief and think about the answer I received, plus my daring to ask a storm god why a storm took my loved one, I started to respect Set even more.  In that one, toss-away answer, I caught a glimpse of the terrible awesomeness of this god.  Plus, there are multiple layers in that one answer.  Sometimes, it is the direct answer that is the most helpful, more than any platitude, no matter how well meaning it is. 

Getting back to the original point of all this, why not just focus on the positive and beautiful?  Because when you reject the parts you don't like, you saying that you can't accept that deity in totality, or at least as much totality as we measly humans can comprehend.)

The Art Police

Neil Gaiman gave a great speech at the University of the Arts back in May.  In it, he talks about something I struggle with all the time, despite my brave declaration (rambling?) in the last post.

He said:
"The first problem of any kind of even limited success is the unshakable conviction that you are getting away with something, and that any moment now they will discover you. It’s Imposter Syndrome, something my wife Amanda christened the Fraud Police.

In my case, I was convinced that there would be a knock on the door, and a man with a clipboard (I don’t know why he carried a clipboard, in my head, but he did) would be there, to tell me it was all over, and they had caught up with me, and now I would have to go and get a real job, one that didn’t consist of making things up and writing them down, and reading books I wanted to read. And then I would go away quietly and get the kind of job where you don’t have to make things up any more."

Oh yes.  I know the Fraud Police well.  I call them the Art Police.  Sometimes, I see them as Men In Black - the weird, anachronistic ones rather than Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith.  I would be there, standing in front of the easel when they drive up in their 1940's but brand new looking sedan.  They would get out of the car and in their strange, robotic voices, tell me they were on to me and I would have to put down the brush and stop Right This Minute  because I was perpetuating a major fraud on the world and if I didn't, then Dire Things may happen.  I may even have to ask people if they want fries with that.

I'd like to say that I always know how to deal with the Art Police.  I don't.  Sometimes, yes, I can turn the imagery on its head and invite the MIBs to sit down and have some tea.  I can question every Dire Thing they threaten me with and they stutter and stammer.  But just as often, I still get caught in the trap and their lies about the Dire Things, especially when those Dire Things seem to happen when things are starting to go well.

Yes, it happens sometimes.

That's when I just have to remember - and sooner or later, I do - the Art Police don't have any power over me, unless I give it to them.  That goes for crazymakers and busybodies too.

Art isn't some elitist thing.  There is no "You must be this educated/talented/crazy" bar to stand next to in order to get on the ride.  All that is required is that you show up and do the work.  The ride takes care of itself.     

Tangible Proof I'm Not an Artist Wannabe Poser

I feel good today. My paintings are in their new, temporary home at the gallery. I ended up turning in just two: the 'jester' and another where the tomato is a half finished puzzle.

I had a lot of craziness going on in my head as I walked in. I was sure I was going to be singled out as soon as I walked through that door as the Artist Wannabe Poser. Never mind the fact I made it through the selection process for this show. Never mind all the great comments left on this blog about my work. I kept hearing Ms. Mulcahy (one of my instructors from college) in my head, "Look at all that rubbery brushwork!" Then I saw some of the other entries.

My paintings were as good as any- and everything in that room. I got several great comments - one woman has already said she may just have to buy them. My work belongs in that show.

So yeah. I feel really good today.