Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Night Breeze as an Artist
September 18, 2007
It has been a while since I have made a thoughtful entry in my journal. So much has happened. More than I care to tell and more than you would want to know. As many of you know, I am on a path of rediscovery. When walking this path I sometimes find that I have many forks in the road, leading to places yet unknown. Sometimes down one path, I learn that this is not the road for me. In my mispaths, I learn more about whom I really am and who I am not. I feel as long as I keep trying keep moving and never give up I will eventually find my path that fits me.
Through managing the Plein Aire Event on Downer, I learned a great deal about my self, when I do not allow myself to be defeated by opposition or disappointment. I learned a little bit about what it means to live closer to the edge, its terrors and thrills. I learned about fame and its deceptions. I learned how much I enjoy being with people and yet fantasized about living alone or at least nearly alone in the wild for an extended period. I love both I think. I want to go away for a time now to write, think, and paint. I do not want to wear classy clothes to fit the role of “artiste.” I want to wear flannel shirts and corduroy bibs with big sweaters and hiking boots. I look forward to the fall, the crunch of the leaves underfoot and the smell of coffee percolating on the morning campfire. I look forward to the frosty dew and crisp blue skies turning misty gray into November.
I intend on camping at the end of September in the south of the state and maybe if I am brave in the middle of October in the north.
Tonight I am sitting in my yard on the bench. Its 10:48 pm. I am surrounded by the hum of crickets and a distant katydid. The wind rustles the leaves above me. There is a distant hum of motor cars. The best part is the silky breeze on my skin. I feel like I could float away. Oh how I would love to paint the feel of the wind on my face. I can only tell you about it.
I could be sitting in my air-conditioned house, separated from this feast for the senses. What would I loose? I look around me down the row of houses on my street. I see no one else insight. Is everybody locked in his or her homes, reading about the earth, or watching nature in a movie? Am I so peculiar that I appear to be the only one up enjoying this spectacle? Why live here if you do not drink it in?
Ah, a man walking his dog. Is he enjoying the night or his he carrying the burdens of today and tomorrow with him?
It has been a while since I have made a thoughtful entry in my journal. So much has happened. More than I care to tell and more than you would want to know. As many of you know, I am on a path of rediscovery. When walking this path I sometimes find that I have many forks in the road, leading to places yet unknown. Sometimes down one path, I learn that this is not the road for me. In my mispaths, I learn more about whom I really am and who I am not. I feel as long as I keep trying keep moving and never give up I will eventually find my path that fits me.
Through managing the Plein Aire Event on Downer, I learned a great deal about my self, when I do not allow myself to be defeated by opposition or disappointment. I learned a little bit about what it means to live closer to the edge, its terrors and thrills. I learned about fame and its deceptions. I learned how much I enjoy being with people and yet fantasized about living alone or at least nearly alone in the wild for an extended period. I love both I think. I want to go away for a time now to write, think, and paint. I do not want to wear classy clothes to fit the role of “artiste.” I want to wear flannel shirts and corduroy bibs with big sweaters and hiking boots. I look forward to the fall, the crunch of the leaves underfoot and the smell of coffee percolating on the morning campfire. I look forward to the frosty dew and crisp blue skies turning misty gray into November.
I intend on camping at the end of September in the south of the state and maybe if I am brave in the middle of October in the north.
Tonight I am sitting in my yard on the bench. Its 10:48 pm. I am surrounded by the hum of crickets and a distant katydid. The wind rustles the leaves above me. There is a distant hum of motor cars. The best part is the silky breeze on my skin. I feel like I could float away. Oh how I would love to paint the feel of the wind on my face. I can only tell you about it.
I could be sitting in my air-conditioned house, separated from this feast for the senses. What would I loose? I look around me down the row of houses on my street. I see no one else insight. Is everybody locked in his or her homes, reading about the earth, or watching nature in a movie? Am I so peculiar that I appear to be the only one up enjoying this spectacle? Why live here if you do not drink it in?
Ah, a man walking his dog. Is he enjoying the night or his he carrying the burdens of today and tomorrow with him?
I enjoy being an artist. I relish it. I really know I was meant to be an artist. Yet, are artists the only ones who drink deeply of life. I doubt it. I am sure those in other professions drink deeply of these evenings... or they dream of doing so, while their busy finishing the last project for the company or tallying the grades or writing a work preformance report. Yes drinking deeply of life is necessary for me to connect and create. I love it. I am so thankful.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Treehouse in the Garden
Treehouse in the Garden
Memories of summer and tea with Mrs. Mayer, mentor and friend. She was an avid gardener, gourmet cook, reader of novels and books. She created her world and when you stepped into her life you were treated in a special way. Once living five minutes away off a busy street in Hales Corners, she moved to raise goats and chickens in the Michigan country where it was quiet.
She made a lovely place for my daughters and I to visit together.
Mrs. Mayer mentored my oldest daughter into her professional life from the beginning of her leaving me for adulthood. She smoothed the path for both of
us.
us.
This is Mrs. Mayer's treehouse... and her daughter Rachael's.
Original Graphite circa 1998
28" x23" $250 matted $350 matted and framed
28" x23" $250 matted $350 matted and framed
Print 15.5" x 20" $ 75
Monday, January 15, 2007
Speaking without Words
Monday, January 15, 2007
Sometimes words are not enough.
The Spirit helps our weakness; for we so do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints (us set apart to Him ones) according the will of God. (Romans 8:26-27)
This past month has presented unprecedented challenges.
Although I have written some on the difficulty in my blog, Art Thoughts with Judith Reidy, I have wanted to create a painting that reflected an unbifricated view the world God had shown me at this time.
I wanted to express a truth as I saw and felt it, a truth that if expressed in words could not assault our minds eye and capture our attentional amazement.
I wished to create a piece that was
not merely narrative
and definitively framed.
I desired to relay the tension and mystery attending the vision.
I had reshaped an old image in view of recent revelations.
The painting needed to reflect a truth.
The strength and resilience of the bold colors of the past were
recast in gray,
like gauze over a wound
or a cloak over an exposed soul.
Humility before Him overshadows the power of self-sufficiency.
Will the day dawn and morning star arise in the heart?
Will attention be given to the lamp shining in a dark place?
Who is the naked one? Who covers their head? Who is broken before Him?
Who is the naked one? Who covers their head? Who is broken before Him?
Why?
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
a reflective prayer in a journal
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
I have nothing to say. Too much has happened. I am numb from trying to sort it all out. Sometimes our lives are like brown paper packages tied up in string.
I was once told by Him, not in an audible voice but in a quiet whisper, “I made you for Myself. You were made to rest in Me. That is your home, where you are whole. There you radiant light as well.”
You know what? It is true. It is resting in and basking near Him that I don’t have that restless urge or anxious talk. Just like I practice drawing people every day and my figure drawing improves, so as I practice resting and trusting in Him, my trust grows and my rest deepens. Practice the Presence of God. It is like breathing in and breathing out. Rest come to those who wait on Him.
Once I prayed for a Christian Husband, even before I knew what that was....before I was a Christian. I was taking Yoga. I was seeking. I forgot my earnest request, yet God did not forget. He gave me what I asked and reminded me that I had asked for that as well as the fruit of a Christian marriage, a Christian family, godly offspring. For I asked for that which was according to His will, He will surely give it. “Every good and perfect gift comes from above from whom there is no shifting shadow…” Though I forget, he does not forget. He is faithful, when I am not. He cannot deny Himself. God has a long nose according to the Hebrew Scriptures; He is slow to anger and abounding in loving kindness. I guess, now has come the time for me to learn what it means to wait upon the Lord, to soar on eagles wings and to walk through the valley. Selah.
One undeniable fact remains His Son, Jesus, came in the flesh, died according to the Scriptures and was buried and descended into hell and on the third day rose from the dead.
In His resurrection, he is declared both Lord and Christ. As Lord and Christ, in view of what he has done for us, we owe Him our very life and are now through Him are able to freely and gratefully offer our new life in Him. We no longer live in fear, for perfect love casts out fear. If we still know fear, we can look forward to being perfected in love each day through a love that casts out our fear.
Perfect love casts out fear. If we fear in His holy presence we are not perfected in love, yet we are not without hope for He has come to destroy the works of the devil and to bring to completion the work He has begun in us. He gives us new life and a fruitful life in Him. I am my beloved and my beloved is mine. He, distinct from any, will never leave me or forsake me.
It is good to remember His words and His work. For in them we have eternal life and our soul is nourished, even when “too much has happened and I am numb from trying to sort it all out.”
I have nothing to say. Too much has happened. I am numb from trying to sort it all out. Sometimes our lives are like brown paper packages tied up in string.
Most of the time they are not.
Sometimes one realizes that no human person can make it work together in a sensible way. That is where trust is important, knowing ones boundaries of responsibility is helpful and finally resting in faith while oddly enough being vigilant in prayer. Such is my current state. I was once told by Him, not in an audible voice but in a quiet whisper, “I made you for Myself. You were made to rest in Me. That is your home, where you are whole. There you radiant light as well.”
You know what? It is true. It is resting in and basking near Him that I don’t have that restless urge or anxious talk. Just like I practice drawing people every day and my figure drawing improves, so as I practice resting and trusting in Him, my trust grows and my rest deepens. Practice the Presence of God. It is like breathing in and breathing out. Rest come to those who wait on Him.
Once I prayed for a Christian Husband, even before I knew what that was....before I was a Christian. I was taking Yoga. I was seeking. I forgot my earnest request, yet God did not forget. He gave me what I asked and reminded me that I had asked for that as well as the fruit of a Christian marriage, a Christian family, godly offspring. For I asked for that which was according to His will, He will surely give it. “Every good and perfect gift comes from above from whom there is no shifting shadow…” Though I forget, he does not forget. He is faithful, when I am not. He cannot deny Himself. God has a long nose according to the Hebrew Scriptures; He is slow to anger and abounding in loving kindness. I guess, now has come the time for me to learn what it means to wait upon the Lord, to soar on eagles wings and to walk through the valley. Selah.
One undeniable fact remains His Son, Jesus, came in the flesh, died according to the Scriptures and was buried and descended into hell and on the third day rose from the dead.
In His resurrection, he is declared both Lord and Christ. As Lord and Christ, in view of what he has done for us, we owe Him our very life and are now through Him are able to freely and gratefully offer our new life in Him. We no longer live in fear, for perfect love casts out fear. If we still know fear, we can look forward to being perfected in love each day through a love that casts out our fear.
Perfect love casts out fear. If we fear in His holy presence we are not perfected in love, yet we are not without hope for He has come to destroy the works of the devil and to bring to completion the work He has begun in us. He gives us new life and a fruitful life in Him. I am my beloved and my beloved is mine. He, distinct from any, will never leave me or forsake me.
It is good to remember His words and His work. For in them we have eternal life and our soul is nourished, even when “too much has happened and I am numb from trying to sort it all out.”
Friday, December 01, 2006
Nails
Friday, December 01, 2006
I woke up at 10 pm, three hours ago. I kept seeing nails, huge nails. I held them firmly in my hand imagining them pressing on my hands and feet and into my heart. In my dreams, I stored the nails in my work apron pocket. I passed them out. I tied burgundy ribbons on them and hung them on a tree.
What does a nail mean? Nails bind objects together like glue or tape or more aggressively staples. Nails bind wood to build homes. Stakes, huge nails, bind tents to the ground. In Roman times, stakes bound criminals to crosses of wood.
Sometimes words just do not say it all. Nails speak to me and for me. They say more than I can manage with words. Pain and beauty in one place. Sorrow and acquainted with grief, those who bear the mark of the nails are bound together by One. Alone and not alone. Hopeless yet not without hope.
Oh, if only I could say thanks for the nails, I would be brave and strong. However, I do not want to think about nails that I carry in my pocket. I want to give them away. I prefer to share my grief that is meant for me to bear. Unresolved and trembling I look for a brighter day. But not for now, not for me.
It is not about me or... my nails. I am part of something bigger than me. Bigger nails. Huge stakes.
Do you have nails? Where did you get them? How do you bear them? What do you do with them? Do you identify with those who carry a hammer or a cross?
I woke up at 10 pm, three hours ago. I kept seeing nails, huge nails. I held them firmly in my hand imagining them pressing on my hands and feet and into my heart. In my dreams, I stored the nails in my work apron pocket. I passed them out. I tied burgundy ribbons on them and hung them on a tree.
What does a nail mean? Nails bind objects together like glue or tape or more aggressively staples. Nails bind wood to build homes. Stakes, huge nails, bind tents to the ground. In Roman times, stakes bound criminals to crosses of wood.
Sometimes words just do not say it all. Nails speak to me and for me. They say more than I can manage with words. Pain and beauty in one place. Sorrow and acquainted with grief, those who bear the mark of the nails are bound together by One. Alone and not alone. Hopeless yet not without hope.
Oh, if only I could say thanks for the nails, I would be brave and strong. However, I do not want to think about nails that I carry in my pocket. I want to give them away. I prefer to share my grief that is meant for me to bear. Unresolved and trembling I look for a brighter day. But not for now, not for me.
It is not about me or... my nails. I am part of something bigger than me. Bigger nails. Huge stakes.
Do you have nails? Where did you get them? How do you bear them? What do you do with them? Do you identify with those who carry a hammer or a cross?
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
On a Roll Now Off a Roll
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
I had been on a roll this summer painting everyday several hours, completely innumerable paintings. Now as I have been preparing for the fall, registering for a drawing class at the university, preparing to teach my own classes, preparing for the work of exhibition chair, and setting up my son’s half days homeschooling subjects, while I oversee as he scrambles to complete his Biology before summer ends, my head spins and Duh ….I find it hard to focus on painting. I squared away time to work yesterday morning, but all I could do was pace or yawn in my upstairs studio. I was disgusted with myself and my lethargy, when I had looked up and noticed that the clouds and rain had dissipated. The sun is shinning. On the spot I realized I could finish my lagoon painting. Still a bit sluggish, I packed my gear into the back of the van, picked up something to drink and drove off.
The moment I unloaded the car and started walking down to the site, everything changed. I felt alive. This painting spot is a blessing. The world is good. Thank God I am a painter and can be surrounded by this teeming life and beauty. I set up and began painting, for several hours.
Many people walked by, asking the usual, making comments, and giving me the oohs and ahs. It was amazing the number of people yesterday who lived in the area 20 years but had never been in this park until their walk yesterday. They were like kids who had just seen their first fireworks. They were dizzy with exuberance.
As for my painting it is nearly done. I need to watch how far I push the detail. I am working on simplifying and getting the striking essence of the scene, not a photographic image. I want to keep the brush strokes loose and organic to the movement I see in the scene as well as motion record of brushing the paint. I was in a rut in my studio. I think I need to get out of my studio to paint, when I feel like I can’t focus at home. Trying to avoid become too detailed with the site in front of me, this morning I will finish the piece in my studio giving myself a 45min limit. Then I think I will work on anatomy drawing for several hours until lunch.
I am not going to touch my computer today again till after 3pm after I post this reflection.
I had been on a roll this summer painting everyday several hours, completely innumerable paintings. Now as I have been preparing for the fall, registering for a drawing class at the university, preparing to teach my own classes, preparing for the work of exhibition chair, and setting up my son’s half days homeschooling subjects, while I oversee as he scrambles to complete his Biology before summer ends, my head spins and Duh ….I find it hard to focus on painting. I squared away time to work yesterday morning, but all I could do was pace or yawn in my upstairs studio. I was disgusted with myself and my lethargy, when I had looked up and noticed that the clouds and rain had dissipated. The sun is shinning. On the spot I realized I could finish my lagoon painting. Still a bit sluggish, I packed my gear into the back of the van, picked up something to drink and drove off.
The moment I unloaded the car and started walking down to the site, everything changed. I felt alive. This painting spot is a blessing. The world is good. Thank God I am a painter and can be surrounded by this teeming life and beauty. I set up and began painting, for several hours.
Many people walked by, asking the usual, making comments, and giving me the oohs and ahs. It was amazing the number of people yesterday who lived in the area 20 years but had never been in this park until their walk yesterday. They were like kids who had just seen their first fireworks. They were dizzy with exuberance.
As for my painting it is nearly done. I need to watch how far I push the detail. I am working on simplifying and getting the striking essence of the scene, not a photographic image. I want to keep the brush strokes loose and organic to the movement I see in the scene as well as motion record of brushing the paint. I was in a rut in my studio. I think I need to get out of my studio to paint, when I feel like I can’t focus at home. Trying to avoid become too detailed with the site in front of me, this morning I will finish the piece in my studio giving myself a 45min limit. Then I think I will work on anatomy drawing for several hours until lunch.
I am not going to touch my computer today again till after 3pm after I post this reflection.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Choice in the Rain
I seem to like to write when it rains. I enjoy the sound of the patter on the roof window overhead. There is a distant rumble of thunder. All this sentiment does not meet the bottom line of political correctness. We Americans pride ourselves in being practical, get the “job done” kind of people. It’s either political progression and social justice or meeting the region’s sales quota. It’s all about doing not listening. As a Congolese Doctor once expressed, "Americans have much to learn about listening. We in the Congo rather have you come alongside to listen, than to come and do." I think he did not know it know it but he was talking about gratitude within a relationship.
Whether we listen to the rain or one another it is about time and choice. What do you value and choose?
Whether we listen to the rain or one another it is about time and choice. What do you value and choose?
Friday, August 18, 2006
Plein Aire Painting this Summer for Judith Reidy
This painting, Summer Stroll, is one of three paintings I made and sold at the June Cedarburg , Wisconsin Plein Aire Event. All three of the pieces were made with pastel. This is the only one I had time to capture the image of before it was sold. 
These following paintings are made in oil, a media I returned to after years sabatical. This Arched Trellis is located on my front yard.
This view of my neighbors patio was a study in light and reflection. As I travel through the series of plein air painting I see my brush stokes loosen and and color explode.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
More Summer Paintings from around my home.
This is a continuation of the experimenting with oil painting. This view is from my back patio.
This was a challenging morning to paint because the weather alternated between sunny and torential rain and mist. I painted this looking out from inside my garage to our neighbors across the street. I call this Across the Way.
The previous paintings were relatively small all around 10 x12 or 8 x10 inches. This unfinished piece is about three times that size. I have some questions about the buildings and the "veriticals" in this piece. Any critical comments would be appreciated.
This View from the Hammock gives you some idea of the lush greens in my shade garden in the front of the house.
I feel like I am growing in my use of paint and structuring form with color. I really feel a need to explore my "imagery." I have ideas about the power of the figure set in various settings. I would like to include the figure more in my painting. however, my neighborhood is very suburban and empty during the day. Studying the figure in various ways, anatomically, through gesture drawing and finally developing figure work from my imagination is one way I conceive of developing my work further. One of the reasons I took the CIVA workshop session Figure in the Environment was to get my visual mind immersed in the figure. I still feel a need to work with the figure. My sketchbook is developing into a place where I experiment with inventing figures in various postions and settings.
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