I start to say, 'Mom! It's not a hobby! How many times do I have to tell you this?' But I already know that if I do that, I'll be in the phone all day. So instead I take a deep sigh and say. "Ok, ma. I'm going to be late."
"No time for your old ma. I understand. knock 'em dead honey. I love you-"
"I love you to mom."
Click.
This is not a story about my relationship with my mother. It just happens to be a great place to start. It might explain to you a little bit of my craziness. My mother lives half way across the state, but with one phone call she always manages to get me worked up over my life choices. And when I hang up, I feel like I need a nap.
I have no time for a nap today however. Although I lied to my dear sweet mother about having a meeting, I do need to get some productive work done. The problem is, I finished my most recent painting two days ago, and can't quite seem to get inspired for the next one. I know that I can't just sit around waiting for inspiration to strike, however so every day no matter how I feel, I make a point to go into my studio (more about that in a minute) and set up my supplies. Sometimes when the blank canvas becomes too intimidating, I just dip my brush into my paint and streak a swash of color across the white board. It doesn't always inspire me, but it makes me feel better. It's sort of like giving the demons of self doubt a big middle finger.
Now about my studio. I live alone in a one bedroom apartment in a college town a few blocks from the campus were I used to attend. It's by far the arts capital of the world, or even the country but it's nice here and there are plenty of opportunities for a talented artists who's willing to try. Of course it's the talented part that always hangs me up. I mean, I know that I'm good. My pictures usually look like what they are supposed to be and all that- but do I really have talent? Of course that's a subjective question and my artistic need for creating my own agony keeps me from being able to firmly settle on any sort of definitive answer to it. Some days I'm convinced of my own genius, while others I cower in fear that I'll be found out for the hack I really am.
So anyway, this studio of mine is in the bedroom. I myself sleep on a loft bed in my living room. I tried the futon thing, but it just didn't make me feel like I was at home in my own home. So I traded it in for one of those beds with a seating bench were the 'first bunk' would be and a nice firm mattress up by the ceiling. At night when I can't sleep, I like to reach up and trace designs with my finger on the stucco. I think it's good practice and it helps me focus my subconscious mind on creative things. Then again, it could be just that I can't sit or lie still.
Ok, the studio. Well, as I said, I sleep in my living room in order that I can turn the one bedroom in this apartment into a studio. I keep my easel, my supplies and my art books in this room. I have a window with a view of the street, so I use white curtains to let in the natural light when I want to block out distractions. But just as often I like to look out at the business below me. It helps me to get energized, it makes me feel less lonely, sometimes it inspires me or sets me off into a daydream. I'll admit it, sometimes it's just a technique to procrastinate.
I also have a radio that plays CD's, tapes and records. Yes, records! I have a bunch of them from my childhood and I love to listen to them while I paint. Especially Leslie Gore, and my best of the sixties and seventies collection. I like that I can shut the door, play my music and enter into a new world. Then I can take that world and put it on canvas to share with the rest of the world.
Is this talent? Bringing my vision, my world out were others can see it? I don't know. But it keeps me sane. Or relatively so, I should say.
After a conversation like this with my mother, it defiantly helps to listen to the tunes. Nothing distresses me like bopping around to "sugar, da da dada da da, ah, honey, honey; you are my candy girl... and ya got me wanting you..." Yeah, that shakes the cobwebs out.
Well, I'm still stuck here facing this mocking white canvas, so I guess I better just splash some goldenrod across it. Yeah, that looks good. How 'bout some more? Now I'll blend in some white and give it a little bit of an ethereal feeling. I like this already. You just gotta put that brush down and move it. It's the only way to start, to get something good. To get anything at all. Who cares if it's good? As long as at the end of the day I can say I did something, I painted something- I feel better than if I painted nothing. And I've got a lot better chance of painting something brilliant, something wonderful, something passable if I do something than I do if I do nothing at all.
Sure it seems obvious. But I have to remind myself every day.
Swash! More color. It's bright and soft at the same time. It's the perfect background for something with wings. An angel? A fairy? A butterfly? I think a pixie it will have to be. Something mischievous, slightly naughty like I'm feeling now. About to start some trouble, splash some water in a cat's face.
That's it! That's my painting, my inspiration. Thank the muses! I've got my subject- and now the work begins. I've got a file box of clippings and I start to dig through it. I find a cat who's eying a goldfish. It's perfect. This cat is being bad, the pixie is being bad, wonder what this fish could do that would be naughty too?! I'm going to call it Misbehaving. I think it's a good sign. Sometimes I don't think of a title until my piece is done, and it's always more difficult this way. The sooner in the process I know what to call it, the more I feel like my work will be successful. I guess it's superstitious, but I think most artistic people are. Besides, it provides a focus, it really let's me know in a concrete way, what the painting is all about.
I flip through some pictures, culled from magazines, catalogues and other sources looking through a variety of fantasy creatures. There are pixies and other fairies in this section, but nothing really strikes me as right for this picture. I think back to my original idea of painting a butterfly, and I realize that those are the kind of wings I want to pain. I have nothing in my file box, but I have a few books that showcase many beautiful butterfly species so I look through those and find just the right one. Irreverently, I rip out the entire page so that I can tape it up by my work station.
Now what to do about this mischievous pixie? She needs a body and a face. This is the easy part, because I know that I really am the naughty little fairy in this painting. Not surprisingly, I do a lot of self-portraits of this sort. It seems I'm always putting a lot more than a little bit of myself into my work. So of course I have a few mirrors in my studio. I drag my easel over to the full length mirror. Now standing in front of the mirror, the light from the window comes in over my left shoulder and from behind. This is perfect.
Now, I tape the large butterfly picture on the wall next to the mirror, and set the smaller cat picture right on my canvas. It's time for pencils. I've got to draw my vision.
Interstingly, this is the time when I start thinking of reason's to procrastinate. I should get a drink, or fix something to eat. I think I have to go to the bathroom, but realize that I really don't. I run my tongue over my teeth though, and realize that they could use a good brushing. And I should change this shirt, it's really to nice to be working in.
I know that all of this is just a way to avoid potentially spoiling the beautiful golden background I've created by putting down my pencil and what? Finding that it won't yield under my hand, won't turn the way that I want it to or dray the lines that I see in my mind. Sometimes this happens, The pencil draws, but it bears no resemblance to the thing I wanted to create. When I was a kid, I used to think that artists were people who could just put down there brush and beautiful masterpieces would flow right out, without fail. Perfect every time. Well, there may be some body out there who can do that, but I've never met them. Most of the artists I know throw away at least twice as many canvases as they keep.
Of course, I never really throw away a canvas. That would be silly. I just paint over it with white paint, or some other color and begin again. Canvas is to expensive for a starving artist to just throw out. Again, there may be some wealthy painters who just throw them out the window, but I've never met any.
I went to work sketching out my vision, integrating the features of each picture and making it my own. In a couple of hours I was finally finished with stage one and I really did need to eat, use the bathroom and get something to drink. My throat was dry from all of my thoughtful and slow breathing, usually from my mouth despite the hazards that this presents.
Its ok, I've gotten enough done now that I can cut myself some slack, stretch out a little rest my eyes and fill my tummy. Besides, this book really isn't about my painting career either, although that too is a big part of who I am.
