looking at you through the glass
As much as I hate to admit it, Soleil is getting old. When we go to the park, I don't throw the ball as far, nor as many times for her, and after a while she's content to find her shady corner under one of the scrubby trees by the fence, and watch Arwen rocket around the field, fetching at full tilt, in an endless loop. She has aches and pains that she can't hide, and she needs occasional doses of a doggy analgesic to sort out a wonky back or a gimpy foreleg. She's gone nearly entirely white around the eyes and the muzzle, but that's easier to ignore because she's a light-coloured dog to begin with. She snores when she sleeps, and she does more of that too (the sleeping, I mean).
She has been raised in relative isolation; for her entire life, we've lived either in an entirely rural area or in a small village. We are both rather introverted people, so we don't have a lot of visitors either. As a consequence, we've got a rather introverted dog, and she will sometimes physically remove herself from situations that are noisier or busier than what she's accustomed to. So it was no surprise to see her sitting off at a far corner of the deck when the family got together. She'd found a comfortable distance to participate at, and she simply sat quietly, gazing off at some distant point. She seemed so peaceful and at the same time so vulnerable and alone...it's a strange mix, this territory occupied by an introvert, especially looking at it from the outside, when I normally see it from the inside, with my own eyes, and my heart melted with empathy and love.
There was an opened casement window between Soleil and myself when I took this picture, and the window not only provided a frame, but also a barrier that reinforced the sense of isolation. I knew it was a poignant picture when I framed it in the viewfinder, and that it will be one of those images that I will keep in my mind as a remembrance of her many years, after she has gone. When I converted the photo to black and white, it became even more emotionally charged.
A line from the band Stone Sour came into my head as I took the photo, and when I looked up the full lyrics, they truly seemed to belong to this image, that moment:
I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time has passed
Oh God, it feels like forever
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home
Sitting all alone inside your head
'Cause I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time has passed
All I know is that it feels like forever
When no one ever tells you that forever feels like home
Sitting all alone inside your head
How do you feel? That is the question
But I forget, you don't expect an easy answer
When something like a soul becomes initialized
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope
And while you're outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me
Dog Paddle
I have had this paddle ''blank'' sitting around for at least a couple of years; I'd intended to participate in an art contest but I didn't work up the courage to do so, and I'd almost forgotten that I had this paddle.
It's a simple piece of pine, and I gave it a cursory sanding then went to work on it in pencil. I did front and back views, and then sprayed it with a fixative, and over top of that I applied a few coats of Krylon gloss varnish. I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out, and I am considering doing more as commissions. I am sure that it would work well with acrylic paint, to create colour versions, but I also love letting the wood grain play a part in the finished piece.
Relaunch
Last year, I used another platform to do a daily painting blog, and I did manage to complete the project of 365 paintings last December 31. Since then, I have been enjoying creating things at a much more leisurely pace, and investing in the details. This has not only allowed me to make better art, but it's also given me the chance to hone my skills further, taking as much time as I need in order to develop a piece into the vision that I have for it.
I've also had some time to contemplate what direction(s) I want to go in, and the first real insight I've gleaned is that plans have a way of changing. And you have to accept that as a necessary (and generally enriching) part of your evolution as an artist. If you attempt to tread too rigorous of a path, creativity will only suffer, and the joy will empty out of the entire experience.
I do have several projects that I want to undertake, most notably :
-writing and illustrating my own children's book(s)
-taking commissions for dog/cat/horse/people portraits
-mastering aquabord
-doing more scratchboard
-publishing my personal writings, including poems
The obvious point about this list is that it's not limited to visual art. Being creative with a paintbrush and pencils has awakened my desire to write.
I don't really want to put any limits or terms on what I will or might do, so instead I am going to give myself a list of Thou shalt nots.
To give some context, up until now I have been drawing and painting and literally giving away what I make. Most people are grateful and touched by the gesture, but the ones who aren't - well, that stings, and 10 gracious, effusive thank-yous can be completely trumped by a single act of indifference. And I am not going to expose myself to that anymore. Recently, I created what I considered to be one of my best pieces yet. Because it was a delicate pastel, I framed it, carefully packaged it and paid to mail it to the owner of the subjects. The dog in the image had recently passed away; the image itself was several years old and was a beautiful capture of friendship between the dog and a cat. I included a note with the pastel expressing my condolences. The recipient reacted poorly. I get that. Grief, especially the kind related to losing a companion animal, can create profound wounds. That said, this person did not need to lash out in the way they did. But beyond that, I was upset to have given away something I'd poured my heart and soul into. So I decided to create another one, for myself. It is always a challenge to replicate a painting, because it's not just the re-drawing of the composition, but the reproduction of colour choices and mixes. No two paintings can ever be identical, even if they are done by the same artist.
I actually like this second version better, and it will be framed and hung on my wall, where I will appreciate it not only for the inherent sentiment in the image itself, but also as a reminder that I need to create things for ME, and stop trying to please other people.
I am also finding, now that I am spending much more time on a single piece, not only is the end product more developed and more proficient, and therefore more satisfying, I am finding it more difficult to part with these pieces, because they feel like I've birthed them in a way; I spend so many hours with the painting or drawing that it seems like it becomes a part of me, or I leave a piece of me in it. I did a drawing of Arwen recently and Tim admired it and encouraged me to put it ''out there'' for sale, and honestly my initial reaction was a bit horrified, as if he'd asked me to peddle Arwen herself. I know that this is wrong and counter-intuitive, however it did make me conscious of the fact that I have developed a certain sense of pride and connection with what I am creating. I think I can maintain an emotional distance with commission pieces going forward, but a lot of that will come from the very fact that these will be paid pieces that will need to be regarded first and foremost as work that is ultimately destined for someone else.
In that spirit, here is my list of Thou Shalt Nots:
Thou Shalt Not give your art away, ever.
Thou Shalt Not compare yourself to others.
Thou Shalt Not neglect your photography. It is art too.
Thou Shalt Not shy away from writing, even about uncomfortable truths.
Thou Shalt Not avoid putting yourself out there. Let go of the wall in the shallow end, and swim.
Thou Shalt Not ever stop striving to improve and grow.
