I have had a cold for the past couple of days.
The first time I’ve been sick in years.
There is a roll of toilet paper
next to my easel
so I can blow my nose
in between brush strokes.
The desire to paint is irresistible..
and art is good medicine.
Inside an art museum, when you look at the people around you, you can always tell who the artists are.
They are the ones trying to push their faces up against the artwork. Balancing gracefully over velvet ropes to lean in as close as possible to the art. They examine every inch of a painting.. every brushstroke. The tiniest detail cannot escape their inquisitive, hungry eyes..
At least until security tells them they need to take a few steps back.
Maybe it’s just me.
At the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., as I was leaning in to examine The Human Condition (La condition humaine) by surrealist painter, Rene Magritte… I noticed something astounding.
Near a corner of this amazing work of art, there was a brush hair stuck in the paint.
A brush hair stuck in the paint!
Sometimes, that happens to me, too.
Suddenly, I realized that even Rene Magritte was not above experiencing the same little moments of imperfection during the artistic process that I experience. He was not some unearthly creature performing feats of flawless skill and mastery over his materials…
When I was invited to participate in the upcoming exhibit, BOOKED: Contemporary Literary Art, I got a really late start on my painting. The exhibit is a group show which embraces the art of the story teller, and pays tribute to beloved authors whose works have moved us, inspired us, and enriched our lives.
The problem was – I couldn’t make up my mind.
I love to read, and have so many favorite books. The deadline was approaching, but I just couldn’t decide which one to choose.
It occurred to me that I was thinking too much.
So I stopped using my head and painted with my heart.
“We Need to Talk About Kevin” by Lionel Shriver is a brutal book. Horrific, yet beautifully written. It took me by surprise.. and left me wandering around stunned for days after I finished it.
This is where my art wanted to take me..
and when I let go
it stopped being the painting I thought I should do
Years ago, I had a studio space above the art gallery that was representing my work. It was a large, open space occupied by several other artists. I was fascinated by all the little environments these artists created for themselves – tables littered with weird objects, drapery, stacks of art books and reference materials. The walls surrounding each area were plastered with photographs, photocopies and rough sketches of works in progress.
When I was alone, I would secretly wander around from space to space, examining everyone’s work and the little worlds they had created for themselves.
One evening, one of the other artists approached me. Apparently, he too enjoyed looking at everyone’s stuff. He was curious why my work area was completely empty. Nothing but an easel and a chair facing a blank white wall.
Everything I need exists within the vast universe of my imagination. My work area is a place without limits or boundaries.
I have made some large paintings in my time, but mostly I prefer to work small.
I like to scoot up real close to my canvas and work lovingly with my tiny brushes for hours on end.. applying layer after layer of color. It is an intensely intimate experience that I enjoy very much.
Throughout my years of exhibiting work in galleries, I have had many people tell me that I should paint larger. Explaining to me that larger work would have more of a presence… would get more attention somehow. In group shows, my little paintings may be overlooked… hiding away in corners.. lost in the shadow of larger pieces.
Sure, I imagine there are many people who go through life and only notice the big things.
Big buildings. Monster trucks. Giant paintings. Huge sculptures.
But there are also people out there who will notice a tiny flower reaching out through a crack in the pavement of a crowded parking lot.
I guess I am one of those people.
Little moments of beauty are everywhere.. but they are only visible to those who will take the time to look closer.
So, I will continue make my small paintings.. with great love.