I remember I was a painter

Red autumn leaf on the ground.

Look at this...

Something reminded me I used to be a painter.  I’d forgotten.  It seems so long ago that it feels disconnected from me somehow.  But then I was given a roll of paper that had been stashed in an attic for 20 years. Continue reading I remember I was a painter

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Art fragments

I’m feeling fragmented at the moment, like I’ve travelled too far from where I’m meant to be.  I think of making art all the time, but I’m distracted by so many other things.  I love to explore these other things, quilting, horticulture, knitting, but it’s leaving me no time for the important thing in my life: making art.  And then of course there’s the intrusion of ill health.  That takes up a lot of precious time, whether it’s appointments or learning to deal with intense emotions that swell from nowhere, or mood changes that change like the wind. I’m longing for some kind of discipline back in my life, some sort of rhythm; everything else should centre around making art, but it feels like that centre’s gone.

Ill health and making art were inextricably entwined.  Not that being ill made me physically unable to make art, but when I did I was hyper-critical destroying so much or scrawling hurtful messages to myself all over it (messages that made me feel completely worthless).  Somehow making art had become a way of tormenting myself, so I deliberately took a step back and put my creative energies into ‘play’, into craft.  I’ve learnt so much that I will take to my practice.  I’ve relearnt how to be more accepting: just because something isn’t perfect it doesn’t mean it isn’t good – or doesn’t have worth.  I’ve learnt about other materials, I’ve rekindled my love of colour and texture.  Finally I feel like I’m coming out of a nightmare.  But I do have to find that centre again.

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Meant for me

I want to share this beautiful blog: Ilka’s Attic.  The first person that ever worked for me was called Ilka.  She was sixteen and it was a lifetime ago.  Ilka was also beautiful and helped me learn a lot, not least that her name is Scottish.  Ilka’s Attic actually belongs to Susan Tuttle, who’s an artist in Maine in the US.  She describes her process of working in a very spiritual way:

I feel a calling to put my work out into the Universe — to create it and then let it go — as it was meant to be shared. I feel privileged to be the medium through which each piece can flow — from my heart, mind and hands to the receiver, whom I believe was meant to have it all along. In this way I can make small differences in the world, and potentially, a big difference in someone’s life.  Susan Tuttle

People often ask me why it’s so important to me to show my work (I’m ususally moaning because I don’t think enough people see it!) and don’t understand why I can’t just do it ‘for myself’.  I can’t do that because for me art is about communication, and honestly I get fed up talking to myself!  I was really struck by the way Susan refers to her work and says that she believes that “…someone was meant to have it all along.”  It suddenly made me realise how introspective my work has been for such a long time, and that some of the best work I’ve made recently has actually been made specifically for someone else.  So, that’s got me wondering would my work be ‘better’ if I imagine someone specific when I make it, rather than simply making something that I hope someone will want to engage with?

I used to find any notion of spirituality difficult to deal with and understand, a bit fey perhaps, but latterly I’m drawn more and more towards appreciating it.  It could just be age!  On the other hand I like to think that maybe all this therapy for clinical depression has actually opened my eyes to something that could be helpful, sustaining even.  Being mindful, appreciating the present moment without judgement, just observing with your eyes, ears, touch…allowing yourself to be and to feel, that’s what I want from making art.  But it has got so bogged down with harsh judgements and self-criticism that if I hate it so much, why would I want to burden others with it?  No, I think I need to step back, believe that someone was meant to have it, and make it for them with love rather than anger and hurt.

I’m sure Susan’s photograph ‘rebirth‘ was meant for me and that I should save up to get a copy to hang over my bed!  As you know, I’ve been a bit obsessed with birds (dead or otherwise!) and this image of eggs and the potential life and change that they hold seems very symbolic.

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