Emerson, and lots more.

Emerson: One Who Grows Like A Weed!I am definitely liking this:  See that face?  He likes me, too!  I am supposing that one can never 'get enough' liking packed into one day, but that does not discourage one from trying, right?
And this, right here and now, is the "meat" of things: the first layer.  Often I rave on about how much I love to gesso the panels.  It is the beginning, the starting point, the launching pad.  It is where the movement begins, from opening the can and stirring the white, gooey stuff, to the dipping of the brush into it, from there to the sweeping movement across the surface.  Working on a large panel can be extra exciting, using big brushes, and gobs of gesso, and large, swinging motions.

Having several "irons in the fire," it feels as though, once again, I am emerging.  I believe I am starting to know how the perked coffee must feel... you know, when the pot is just starting to send up little bubbles from the bottom, the bigger ones have yet to move along the bottom and up the stem, and there is the roar which starts out familiar, faint, which builds in volume and strength.  Funny how that roar changes, softens, when the movement begins.  The heated water pulsates up the stem and burbles over the freshly ground coffee (oh heavenly!  need coffee now!), and the sound is "perky!"  Lighthearted, rhythmic, dancing, it makes the music to which it moves.

"You work best to a deadline," my friend N2 says.  It's true.  Painting into a void is difficult, frustrating.  Writing is similar; writing for no apparent reason can put the kibosh on the whole effort.  Then, a deadline appears on the horizon... movement!  I soften into the work at hand, allow myself the love of it, accept the joy of it.  Hanya has renamed the deadline, "I call it my life-line."

Much of this speaks to how much I, as artist, need the completion of more eyes than mine seeing the work.  There was a time that I thought that this need, as all other needs, was indicative of my narcissistic ego driving my boat, perking my coffee, so to speak.  Obviously volumes have been written about (and for!) the ego, an aside for this moment.  Art needs audience.  Art needs eyes sweeping across it, perceiving it, loving it, judging it, to reach its purpose.  Art even needs the ensuing discussion, "What IS this?"  "I liked it when you painted flowers,"  "Do you ever do horses?"  "HOW do you do that?"  "I feel something deep inside when I look at this..."

So, here we go!  Painting.  Participating in NaNoWriMo.  Working.  Fun fun fun!

xoxoLC