It's finally here. The day, a time and payoff for which I have been waiting and working for so very long. As I write, I am watching each and every page of my artwork – all 118 pages (winnowed from many more choices, only to be pared down again) – hum through my printer and out the shoot.
I tenderly admire each, as if a child, and place them on the pile while another births itself through the printer. They seem to come back to life after sitting in a frame or dusty pile in my studio. They took on another life, when I periodically would line them up to photograph them. They continue to speak to and teach me.
It gives me such joy. And, I knew it would. It's almost indescribable and there has been so much in the way and obstacles to surmount. I can see them with perspective, in departure from when they were originally rendered. And, now, I can view them in comparison to each other, newer work and even fmy very first water color (which still speaks deeply to me), side by side and witness how I have grown, not just artistically, but spiritually and as myself.
Color and energy are the constant. But in later pieces, I see more subtlety. Maybe maturity and then I spy the fire-engine red blob that so speaks to me of being a three-year old I know I just did it a few weeks ago. I think I am recognizing and responding to many of the aspects of myself.
It's like flashes of my life, not events, but how I felt and who I was. A true gift. And, I like, really like what I see. Unlike when I flip through old photos. Those speak of what some machine captured that usually didn't feel as I did. Someone else, someone distant. Not me. The art is me, my soul.
There are the sticky-wicket times, when the world appeared bleak or I was hibernating. Yet also a large proportion showing an open heart, embracing the world. Images reflecting on unexpected gifts, tastes of the Universe, its goodness and oneness. Recorded times when I felt like goddess or running around in my birthday suit like a toddler. Many of interior spaces, water and periods of deep contemplation and reflection. So much that flashes through to me as an echo of what I have learned. In a way so different than my written words in journals.
I seem to paint what I feel and emote. Which, to me, if far more valuable and trueer than what I see with only my eyes. I paint my heart in the moment.
• What records my growth and maturity over the years?
• Do I take the time to sift through and reflect?
• What do I see?
• How does that make me feel?
• How do I capture my heart in the moment?
No comments:
Post a Comment