Walking Away

I was working on this yesterday and got to the point where all I could see was a big blob of yellow. It made no sense. I couldn't tell one part of the flower from the other.

At times like these I remember a drawing class I took. There was a member of the class who everyone considered to be the "best" artist. (That's a whole different topic.) One day when everyone was quietly zoned into their work he let out a blood-curdling scream. He said he wanted to take a knife and shred his drawing. Everyone gasped. We all thought it was good enough as it was. He didn't even need to keep working on it. What in the world could he be unhappy about? He confessed that he regularly shredded canvases when he got so frustrated in the process and couldn't make the images do what he wanted. 

I didn't quite feel like taking a knife to my canvas, although I admit I have reached that point before, but I did know it was time to walk away. Before long I came back with the camera to document my progress for the day and when I looked at the canvas voila! There was a daffodil! Mind you, I am absolutely not finished with it. But it's amazing how much perspective we can gain on our problems when we are smart enough to walk away for a while, let them simmer, let ourselves cool down, and them come back with new eyes.

The Little Engine That Could

I was able to find some good resources and get the cars done. It was a fun day of things coming together. It was interesting that while I struggled physically to feel energy or the physical drive to paint, I was able to get myself to the canvas and then things just took off. 

One of the things I love about teaching is that I see this happen time and again with my students. It is validating to me that this is a human phenomenon and not just me. It also gives me the insight to reassure and support my students when they have days that they, as Nancy likes to say, "aren't feeling the love." 

I think it is often the case when we are struggling with any task initiation, that if we can simply get ourselves to the "canvas" an inner drive takes over and we kick into gear and do what needs to be done. Sometimes it's just a matter of getting ourselves in the right place at the right time. After that, it's just a matter of repeating, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

Moving Forward

This sketch was done on a day when I was remembering my brother who passed away in 1999. I was struggling and my thoughts and focus were on simply moving forward.

Moving forward isn't necessarily a linear process. For me it rather often starts with just a speck of hope and will from the center of my being. Then, 10 minutes at a time, I act on the promptings of that hope and that will. If I can keep listening, keep acting, and keeping believing, before long the speck has taken on a life of its own and suddenly there is something that I can really see and believe. 

UnStuck

I'm happy to report that I took my own advise and headed back to the canvas. I admit that it was a bit of a mind game. I noticed it during art school, I definitely see it in myself, and I see it in my students as well... it is hard to get oneself settled into the process. As artists we seem to always be fighting task initiation. Once we have our canvas just the right height, our brushes in perfect reach, our palette adjusted perfectly, then we still have to wander around, in and out of the studio until there are no more excuses. Finally we sit down, stare at the canvas, and eventually touch brush to canvas. Once that happens, though, it doesn't take long to get in the zone. And then the magic happens. Even if it's frustrating and things don't seem to be going right, it's hard to tear away. Eventually, however, hunger, the clock, or someone pries us away. And if we are away too long, we have to go through the painful initiation process all over again.

I did finally get settled in today and made great progress. I think tomorrow I will be able to call the painting finished!

Stuck

I'm stuck on a painting. I'm under contract for the author of a children's book, so it's not a painting I can share visually. But I'm trying to do a sour face and struggling with the fact that he keeps looking either angry or constipated! 

I've learned over the years that these are the problems that both make me crazy and make me love what I do. The struggle may not be fun, but once the puzzle is solved I am joyous. And that's what it is - a puzzle to be solved. What is that color combination, value adjustment, brush, stroke, or angle that I am missing that will suddenly make his face sing? Or pucker as the case may be... 

In the end there is only one way to find the solution... Get back to the canvas...