life by the bucketful

Looks like another of this blog's favored topics will be food, currently fruit-gathering. Following on the heels of last week's strawberry picking, I went up to a farm in Hudson yesterday and returned laden with no less than 25 pounds of sour cherries. I did have help in obtaining this vast amount, and hopefully will have help pitting 'em all too. Plans include pie, freezer jam (I can't can), cobbler, and bread. From the photos I took in the cherry orchard, I also plan to make a painting, in a similar vein as the grass painting I did at the farm. That one was from direct observation (immersion in the green), and so I'm more into the 'working from life' idea now, but it's not always possible. I actually haven't painted in a week and, needless to say, it feels strange! Still, I know I will soon. It feels good to reconnect with people and get back into the swing of things around here.

loose ends

face painted by niece Lauren (7)


Concrete Gallery, Cold Spring
Yellow Chevy from NM (yeah, same perspective as the blue truck) & some collages
Really, I did not plan this color scheme. But I like it

I thought maybe everything could be framed in terms of a residency. Life as art as life and all that. So, the day after returning from upstate NY and installing the show, I completed a 2 1/2 day residency in PA at my sister's house with (most of) my family. I brought red & blue paints and paper and instigated a painting party with my nieces and nephews, making decorations for our 4th of July festivities. We swam and played games and ate flag cake. Now I'm back in Beacon and feeling like everything is catching up to me, from tasks to thoughts to emotions by the truckload. Admittedly this is not too unusual but it feels somewhat overwhelming right now. It's easier to feel optimistic in the summertime, though. I sold a small painting already, and while I was away I'd sold four dummy light t-shirts and earned a % of proceeds from my art guitar. Among many things, I'll be posting new images on my website, getting prints & paintings out to the people who helped support my New Mexico trip (making new prints from the new work soon) and filing the final report for my NYFA SOS grant for the Better Farm residency. Also, following up on the various new contacts & friends I've made in the past two months! Yes, I'm lucky to have had all of it.

berification

short-term solution for the blues
5"x6" watercolor of Kaiser, the lovable and emotionally complex dog of a friend at Better Farm.

Forget about the consolations of art. Today, I comforted myself with strawberries. Driving back downstate, having stayed the night in Cobleskill, coaxed the horse and admired the flowers, I stopped at a farm I like and picked most of the berries left in the fields. It's nearing the end of the season, but I hoped I'd be able to get my hands on a few, even if I had to really hunt for them- as opposed to earlier on when a sneeze in the rows will yield an effortless boxful. Yes, I needed something to help me deal with some of the intense feelings I've been experiencing after reluctantly leaving Better Farm, and the end of these two months. They don't call me strawberica for nothing. (Actually, that was a completely self-imposed name I came up with years ago, from a fruity poem I wrote.) After breakfasting on strawberry pancakes with my parents and, um, lunching on homemade strawberry ice cream, I feel a bit better. You do what you have to do.
Tonight we've been hanging the show at Concrete Gallery in Cold Spring (137 Main St), which opens this weekend- though the reception is July 9, next Sat. It's a quick shift of my mental gears, but I'm really glad to have the chance to show off some new work and see how it looks together in a space. Part New Mexico and part upstate New York. The other thing to ponder is how, instead of having it be the 'real' world I'm returning to from the 'ideal' (and idyllic) creatively charged atmosphere of an art residency, I can make a focused effort to conflate the two and try to live that art life ever more sustainably. Possible? The ongoing dilemma. But the idea of it feels a lot more real than anything else I can imagine doing. The support and perceptiveness of others has hugely nourished my spirit (and I've just received some emails and messages that have cheered me), and even if I'm a bit blue, I can remember that.

barn dance

A few pictures from my art opening last night. Nice to be barefoot. Needed to ride my bike for a while afterward to let off some accumulated energy and to gather daisies.
full moon, 6"x6". tiny field, 2"x2".
us & the bus.
doesn't everyone loll in empty bathtubs at their art openings?
You can see why I'm reluctant to vacate this workspace. On the wall's an oil painting in progress, that I hope to finish in the next couple of weeks.

of nature of art of memory

Grass, oil on canvas, 30"x30"
Orange cup & saucer, acrylic on wood, 5"x8"
Mike's guitar, acrylic on canvas, 6"x6"

I'm still painting, and soon we'll be readying the barn for an art show this evening, which is open to the community. Last night we made a really pleasant outing to a friend's tiny island in Goose Bay (off the St Lawrence River) for swimming and a cookout. Very beautiful. There have been many different kinds of inspiration to be found here, in the people as well as the environment, quietly and profoundly affecting me.
I just reread The Accidental Masterpiece: On the Art of Life and Vice Versa (by Michael Kimmelman), I'd read it 5 years ago but thought it was time to check back in, especially after reading Dyer's The Ongoing Moment last month. Each essay illuminates a different perspective of art's effects on everyday life, its truths and its power to transcend the moment. Not only visually, but in terms of things like exploration, adventure, collecting, survival, artlessness, deliberation. Living life more alertly through deeper understanding of all the ways art 'gets down in there', as I like to say. I've been on board that train all my life, but I am always looking for new ideas and reminders of why it's important, or as he puts it, its 'consolations'. The final chapter, The Art of Gum-ball Machines, feels to me like a culmination of some of my own thoughts on why I make art.
Much of the commentary centers on Chardin, Thiebaud and Hopper. Their pictures prompt something more than joy, closer to the nature of memory. The 'gap between what was and what we wished the world to be'. (From my vantage point in history, all I have is my own observations and daydreams, besides the stories of those who did experience them. The act of painting those objects now, provides a new context for looking.)
Joy yielding to memory yielding to melancholy yielding to a satisfaction in good craftsmanship- the dedication to pictures lovingly and expertly made. The American can-do spirit, and the sometimes deadpan wit evolving from that combination of joy and melancholy. The humor (which deflates pretense) and the abundance is there but also a faint dread in isolated shapes and wide open spaces. But they can provoke happiness because they are content to be what they are, which is plenty.
Quality of paint being the measure of subtle change; whether affectionate or detached, the works are far from mechanical. In a ruthlessly forward-moving world, this isn't always easy to find. They conjure up feelings and associations, if we choose to see them. I may have my own motives, and I am actually moving into more self-expressive work (readily apparent or not), but they also appear as free-floating signs, wide-open to our dreams.

awake

I've been subsisting on only 4 or 5 hours of sleep each night, but I still feel so good every day, clearheaded and full of energy and cheer. There's a few reasons for this, of course, the main one being that I get to fully inhabit the life that I want. Following my natural rhythms as I move through my day, clearing the space to create and be free, easy, myself. Or as close to it as I can get, with the mind that I have and all the stuff that's in it. Yes, I am starting to feel a bit glum about the approaching end of these two months, endings are always hard for me. But that's why I need to do these things, to get used to the changes and to look forward to what's next, which hopefully, is to continue working, wherever I am.
Can't find the cable that connects my camera and computer, but I've finished two more small paintings that I am very happy with, and working on another large oil. I've spearheaded a few 'art parties' in the barn, urging the interns to come down and paint stuff in their free time, and it feels good to provide them the space- not that it's my barn or anything, but to welcome & encourage anybody who wants to be creative, and to be around to help with materials or whatever.
On Tuesday I'm going to hang the work and have an art show. I'll scrub the paint off my knees and we'll have a grand time. I won't miss the mosquitoes but I will sure miss walking into that barn with a cup of coffee and starting my day, painting or thinking or talking to people who make me feel like I AM getting closer to understanding what some of this is all about and figuring out how to make life work better for myself. It occurs to me that this may all be fuzzy because of those 4 hours of sleep 16 hours ago, so I'll retire and aim for clarity in the morning. Today I was thinking about the last essay in a book I just finished rereading, so maybe I'll begin with that thought tomorrow.. or maybe there'll be something else.

perched

I was going to post about why I haven't been posting very often (compared to the regularity of last month's entries) but that seems unnecessary. When I hadn't written in my journal for a long time I would self-consciously start off by writing about why I thought I hadn't been writing, and feel like I'd never be able to catch up with myself. And that was only for me. There's been too much going on in my head these days and I lose track of writing, internet, telephone. I spent half an hour staring at a butterfly. I know that upon my return I'll need to attend to things while continuing to process my experiences (from last month too), even though I'm not certain where I'll even be spending my time. I'm uneasy that I won't have a conducive, steady place to work anymore. I admit that with only a week left, I've got mixed feelings and wish I could continue living like this. The challenge will be to keep generating the momentum and energy that I've found. It's not even that I am making prodigious amounts of work, although I feel good about what I've done. It's that I get to think about it more steadily; bigger (and more unsettling) concerns occupy my thoughts beyond the one or two pieces before me. I tend to get reflective anyway so it's hardly surprising that I should feel both grounded and restless, emotionally and creatively, at the same time. This was what I wanted-- to stir up the pot, toss in fresh ingredients, close the cookbook and start improvising downright. (Been doing a lot of cooking/baking with & for everybody.) I've gotten really used to having a bunch of cool people around to talk with and listen to. This can distract me, but I know I need and welcome the interaction. I absorb and redirect the energy inward while sharing my own, and feel stronger for it.
I just painted the inside of the birdhouse. I was the first to perch here and feel honored to be able to leave my mark as a contribution to the farm. Part of it is inspired by a bird mural I did last year, but it (and the other elements) felt right for the space, and I was able to use paint I found around. Today I'm finishing a small self-image in oil using a photo my friend took. Both aspects outside my realm of comfort, which is why I need to do it even as it evokes some strange feelings. I used to say that the objects and places I paint express something about myself too. There's still plenty of truth to this but it's starting to feel vaguely disingenuous, as if something inside is trying to emerge.