The Forgotten Works Challenge and the first painting I've ever done.



These are the final 30n30 for the Forgotten Works 7th Annual Challenge. I'm headed out later to drop them off to the curator's. A few of the paintings have drastically changed from when I first showed you all 30.

Some I'm very pleased with and a couple...not so much. It's one thing doing this challenge for myself and another doing it to show. But, I would do it again.

It's a full exercise in letting go. Although there is an artists preview the night before the opening, I have no control over the work after it's painted. I can't do presales, reserve work or even request not for sale.

Whatever happens, happens.

This year for the first time, the curator is offering an additional show for the 50 artists. We are invited to submit one painting from our regular work (not part of the 30). It can be a new or older piece that represents what we do. Those will be hung, beginning with November's First Thursday in the Mneumatic Gallery, on the 4th floor of my building.

Now...over the last few months I've been thinking about the first painting I ever did. I knew I brought it to Seattle with me but had no idea where it was and hadn't begun to look. On one of Matt's visits, we stored a few of his boxes in the closet that used to hold all my art stuff. When we opened the door to dump the boxes, there lay the painting. Turned over. On the carpet.

It must have fallen out of a box when I moved stuff to the studio.

This is where it gets weird.
I realized it was an 8x10 on canvas board. Other than the 30 paintings in 30 days, also on 8x10 canvas boards, that first painting was the only time I had ever worked on canvas board. Flipping it over, I had written a date and title after completing the little acrylic painting.

Date: Sunday, October 28, 1973
Title: The Lone House

I was 13 years old. Exactly 34 years to the day of the deadline for submission of the challenge...today.

"The Lone House"

I've been hiding out in the studio. Paint doesn't have the ability to hurt you the way people do.

Since Sunday I've begun 7 new paintings of various sizes. 5 are fully abstract and the other two from observation. The one pictured below will get blown apart. I went in yesterday morning to redraw it. From there, I'll push it past realism. I've upped the contrast in the jpeg quite a bit to let me think about the piece in a different way.



4 private viewings this week. One on Monday, one Thursday night, another yesterday morning and then again last night.

On Monday I sold one of the male masturbation drawings and left the studio with a check in my pocket. Last night, someone else had set up time to view the work and again, much to my surprise, sold another...also leaving with cash in my pocket.

Today I need to contact a photographer to take good images of the two pieces. Then I can get the drawings to the new owners.

As I've said before, I can kind of see the light on the other side. It's a matter of trudging through this part, filled with brambles...shredding my skin with every step.

I don't want my success with my art to be contingent upon the amount of pain I'm in. I've been heavily immersed in survival mode. Not really living, but knowing I have to get up in the morning, remember to breathe and do what I need to do. Until it's time to go home, curl up in a ball and cry. It's not a pretty existence.

But...I'm fucking painting.

And it will get better. It has to.

It's a shaky photo, but it's a photo from this morning. As I've been closing into myself, I learned how intimate my photography was. Not only couldn't I share it but I couldn't even take a photo unless it was for the sole purpose of less emotional documentation.


False beliefs I've held forever (two which appear in direct opposition):

~I'm invisible (not seen)

~I'm untouchable (seen but people recoil after seeing me)

~Needs are important and wants are wishes - meaning if I dream to manifest those dreams, they better damned well be practical and needed. Wants are frivolous and therefore only good for fairy tales.

~I'm too broken to ever have a healthy relationship.

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Big insight:

Don't breathe through the pain. Breathe into it.
Very important difference.

Yesterday morning, thanks to a photo from Bitterlawngnome, I gained this powerful insight regarding my current state. It may be a time of broken sex and broken me and yet, it's perfect for now. Like a garden which goes through a death cycle on the surface, I need to trust it is right. I can't force healing. Breathing into the pain means submission to where I'm at…right now. Learning patience and accessing forgiveness of others and of myself.

I was working furiously on breathing through the pain. If I worked through it, then it (me) could be repaired quickly. But the actual truth is that in doing so, I again outsmarted myself by not letting myself really step into the full uncomfortableness of the emotion. Instead, I grabbed the pain and attempted to sprint to the finish line.


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I met with someone last night for almost 2 hours. Talking…opening. In the initial hug, I felt my wounds by recoiling from their touch. I'm a hugger and a toucher, yet I've been so stiff I couldn't even look them in the eye. It made me cry because I saw how although contact is craved, in this current time I haven't been able to bear it (except in the very rare case).

In addition to so many things, I spoke of how I had glimpsed into my potential and need to reconnect myself to access the beauty and power I saw. I ache to reclaim my vulnerability and soft underbelly side.

After our time together, I felt nurtured…emotionally held and incredibly validated. The space was a salve. Subsequent appointments will be 2 full hours of erotic, full body touch in a clean-boundaried space. My only responsibility is to arrive with clear intentions, be present and receive it all. Allow them to lavish full attention.

Just be in it and all that arises from it.

Spent the bulk of the day in the studio, which was an unexpected and wonderful surprise. Traditionally, after an all day meeting, such as yesterday's staff/board retreat, I'm spent.

Worked over 4 of the 30n30 paintings and then I needed to work on something else. I ended up pulling out 3 canvases begun before the project and began reworking them.

It felt very nice to paint something that had no deadline...and instead, paint simply to paint.
Move colors around.

I'm feeling the pressure.

It's funny. A few years ago I told myself that I would not book another show unless I already had a body of work to show. All my shows were created under deadlines. Not my best way to work. So what do I do? The first show (First Thursdays don't count) I book since that statement is an intense deadline show.

I had forgotten all about my promise until yesterday while I was reworking 5 paintings in the studio. The struggle to remain free with the pain is great.

(an aside: Wow. In rereading after I posted I noticed a powerful freudian slip. So much so, that I will leave the sentence as is. But what I meant to write was- "the struggle to remain free with the paint is great.")

I plan on spending the bulk of today working. I'll bus it down, bring my laptop and a book...and it'll keep me in the space longer.

Still not taking my b&w photos. Really don't have the creative room for them.

In my eclectic music tastes, one of my favorite (of many) songs is ACDC's Hells Bells. Normally, it's lyrics that are a big draw. With this song, it has nothing to do with the words, yet the music. It hits me big time. Yesterday, on Radio Paradise, I heard an absolutely fabulous cover done by The Dandy Warhols...a band I wasn't familiar with. Their rendition is smooth and mellower. It grooves. Here is a You Tube video of them doing the song. Note, the video is much shorter than the version I heard which is from their Bohemian Like You Australian Tour EP.

Found a new blog yesterday, via a tv commercial - TheWinger.com, created by a member of the New York City Ballet.

From their website:

THE WINGER is a community oriented dance website that shows the lives, insights, and personalities of professionals, students, experts and pioneers in the dance world.

The photos are quite lovely. And it offers a wonderful peek.

(Edit: fixed the image link)

18 days in and all 30 are in various stages of completion: done, almost done, have a ways to go and two that I'm definitely fighting with. The stool and chair in the front are kicking my friggin' ass. I may just obliterate them and start fresh. But as of last night, there is paint on every single board. Here's the kicker: I have until Friday night to finish them.

Saturday, we have an all day staff/board retreat. They tend to knock me on my butt...for that day and the following. So although I'd love to go in on Sunday and paint, I can't count on it. I could work on them Monday, but seeing I need to drop them off on the 28th, I want to make sure they are dry.

At some point I'll write out the thoughts that have come to me in doing this project. And...I think I need to continue this pace in some fashion and not wait until next year.

(Another edit: I just figured out why I'm stuck with the stool and the chair. There is so much fear wrapped up in those two. I can visualize where I want each painting to go, can see it in my head. And yet...

...But they'll get there.)

In the 30 in 30 series, I began four new paintings today and reworked an older one. This is a brand new one. I love where it's headed. I love the simplicity of it. And, like all of them, although pleased, they aren't the best of me. I'm so disconnected from my belly and cunt and it's showing in my work.

It's not a good place to paint from, but I refuse to not paint.

And I've taken a huge, terrifying step to rectify the situation. We'll see what happens.

I'm feeling a tad better and so am taking advantage of it by sharing. Yesterday afternoon and evening I was blessed with some big insights. These insights have pushed me to a different level.

Day 16 of the 30 in 30 days challenge. Most are still in progress.

Update~

Tough, tough time.

Yesterday my shrink said that this is probably the most difficult thing I'll go through. He speaks from experience.

I'm saving my energy for getting up in the morning, going to work and then painting. There has been nothing left for blogging. No photos. I'm too raw, too vulnerable to post new work. And I'm rarely taking photos. Again, the little creative energy I have is being saved for painting. Or, like tonight, setting up a private showing in the studio.

Most of my time is spent alone in my office, alone at home, alone in the studio. I can't even bear to go for walks or take the bus. It's too much exposure and I have no reserves for dealing with crazed stranger energy. Happy, shiny people grate on me right now. And excess joking is like nails on a chalkboard. As is being overly solicitous. I don't need polite care-taking.

Taking the space and time to be present to every emotion that pours through is important right now. I'm being vigilant to make sure I don't get stuck and loop in one place. I'm learning to let go of discomfort brought up by certain feelings. And yet in it, I'm exhausted and am beginning to wonder if I have the strength to continue.

I've gone through periods of darkness, and a greater sense of being alone in each one. This time carries the most amount of aloneness...a feeling it is infinite.

The only thing that keeps me going is a very quiet voice inside saying I'll get through it.

The shrink is being very supportive and is pleased to see the amount of self-care that is happening. He's told me that there's nothing else to do but what I'm currently doing. Small comfort, but comfort none the less.

From the Rijks Museum.

Notes from First Thursday-

Last night's showing was good. Good, considering I was dealing with a nasty sinus headache. But cold meds, and then wine helped ease the pain some.

It was interesting to watch people approach the drawings. Some, clearly were embarrassed once they realized what was depicted. One guy and his friend were discussing whether or not there was a dildo in the model's ass. I jumped in and said yes.

One man looked and looked...for quite a while. He began nodding, and then went to the wine table, grabbed my card and left. That made me happy.

Another man engaged me in conversation and thanked me for the drawings. He said it's rare to see a woman do art of men with such respect, and not strictly porn or in a man-hating sense. His comments moved me.

Yes, the drawings are very sexual and yet there is more. It's the more that turns me on. Most porn bores me - being one layer...surfacey. Porn is needed. I understand that and support those who do it. But, as my shrink has said, I'm into multi-facetedness, complexities, tapestries of feeling and many layers. Having said that, tomorrow I'm going to the screening of HUMP's annual amateur porn contest. It's their 3rd year, and I've enjoyed it each year. It's really fun to see fresh ideas...mostly amateurs attempting to create something sexy.


One comment from last night, "these are gorgeous drawings." Another loved the way I worked the paper...feeling the struggle and the marks. And even another loved the mystery in the work.

It was interesting. Overall, more men than women spent time in front of the wall, looking, searching. And my gaydar wasn't going off with all of them. Honestly, and I know I'm assuming here, but it felt like it was the straight guys who'd stop, look and I could feel them relax in front of the drawings. That was wonderful to see.

I'm not into preaching to the choir. For me, that's not where my activism lies. It's another reason why I didn't want these particular pieces hung in an "erotic art" venue. I will only submit to an EA show if powerfully moved to do so. In that, I know there's a greater reason for the act.

Watching the energy of folks last night, feeling the bits of healing taking place as some looked, felt and immersed themselves in the work...seeing a validation come across their faces...was powerful.

In addition to the drawings, I had to hang the 7 very wet, in progress pieces from the 30 in 30 show. So they were at the end of the wall, tucked together.

I discovered that people's reactions to the male drawings were so personal...that unless someone approached me, I didn't want to invade their space in that moment. Yet, when some were spending time in front of the 30 in 30 ptgs, that's when I'd go over and talk to them...explain the challenge. From there, many would then ask me about the drawings.


Also exciting was the reception to the in progress paintings. I spoke at length with the creator of the challenge, who spent time in our space last night. He was thrilled with what I was doing, and especially loved that I was painting an homage to the space.

And...I sold a piece.

These evenings although very difficult for me, are becoming important. I'm learning to see myself as a professional and observing how something that comes from my hands can actually move people...consistently. Yes, my friends tell me they love my work, but they're my friends. It's different when it comes from strangers - people who owe you nothing.

All in all...despite everything else going on in my life...it was a wonderful evening.

The painting depicted is from the one of the two photos used for the drawings, but begun a year earlier. It's not complete...almost, but not quite.

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In other news:

Yesterday an email was forwarded to my work email. It included the resignation of the first and only openly transgender member of the board of HRC.

Donna Rose posted the letter on her site. It's a powerful, albeit long, letter.

This line, from her letter, is wonderful. (The bold is mine):

"History teaches painful lessons. Any celebration of rights gained at the expense of others is not a celebration. It is a failure of effective leadership. It is to offer the promise of a tomorrow that you know in your heart will never come. It is to choose to turn your back on those who need you most, who do not have the voice or the stature to speak for themselves."

HRC had backpedaled and chose the safe route, Donna's response was resignation. Since then, HRC has changed their stance (but it still hasn't changed my feelings for them).

This is what I'm showing tonight for First Thursday.
Charcoal/watercolor and graphite.
Each about 15x20 inches.

Rob Brezsny's take on Capricorns.
Very timely!

"Jackson Pollack (1912-1956) was a pioneer painter. Instead of using an easel, he laid his canvases on the floor. Rather than manually applying paint with a brush, he poured the liquid colors out and then used his whole body to shape his creation, crawling and walking on it. Sometimes he'd employ trowels, sticks, pieces of glass, and other objects to further manipulate the paint. He's your role model for the coming week, Capricorn. I hope he will inspire you to expand the way you carry out your specialties. Try new techniques. Involve more of yourself in the process. Be willing to get messier than you've been before."


And here is yours.

Putting up yesterday's painting was a good thing. Although not in the studio, I've been able to stare at it quite a bit and today know the sections that really bug me and what I can do to complete the piece.

Uppity Faggot has chosen seven of my interests and asked me to write about them. As I settle into the painting a bit more I'll write about them...one a day. The seven are - singletails, cigar play, blogging, food, walking, service, and the unknown.

click for bigger image

This is more like it!

Sinus headaches or not...I spent two hours in the studio after a 10 hour work day. And the paintings flowed. After two days, I'm almost finished with this one, and have 6 others under way.

I made one small change to my palette. Pthalo blue was added to my other colors. It's been years since I've used it and while at work this morning, the color came to mind. It's made a big difference.

After working this little piece as much as I could before it was too wet to continue, I was shaking with joy.

Snippets of space and light. Moments. Another painting begun is the corner of a wall...while the last one I worked on is a minimal painting of...my easel. A few lines and much light.

The series of 30 paintings in 30 days are a love letter to my studio, my art...my heart.

Drizzly, dark day. I do like such days. Especially after months of the bright, glaring sun.

I think my cold has turned into a sinus infection. Two days of nonstop pressure and headaches. For lunch, I've indulged in Pho Tai both days. The basil, lime and peppers are heaven. I want to swim in the broth.

Yesterday's Pho whet the appetite of a couple coworkers. One left to eat it at the restaurant and the other offered to run out and pick some up for the rest of us.

I've made a decision to switch from acrylics to oils for the 30 day project. I became frustrated with not only the handling of acrylics but losing the type of light I can achieve with oils.

It means I'll have to paint fast so they have time to dry before october 28th.

Protection...

I work so very hard to protect myself. Yes, at times walls are needed but at some point they have to crumble.

We live in a tit for tat world: I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Otherwise, I'll hide...fearing foolishness, vulnerability, hurt.
Pain.

I'm learning that I can't protect myself from pain. And, I'm learning that the pain is greater when I block myself...not being true to myself, my heart...all that I am. What hurts the most is hiding.

In an attempt to squash, it comes out in other ways. It has to. So it'll show its face in anger, in cynicism, in analytical thought...creating the most brilliant reasons why something isn't right.

This is a big struggle.

My first favorite shrink, back east, once told me my analytical and emotional parts of my head were equally as strong. It can lead me to interminable debates with myself. Infinite struggles between following my head versus my heart.

The only way to know the truth is to strip it all away - dismantle the complexities I've built and find the core. It returns to asking why. Why...over and over again, why until I can't ask why anymore. Each answer in my head can be met with another "why?" until I get down to the real issue.

I've outsmarted myself.

Because I am a big feeling person, I've allowed myself to immerse in the dark parts of my life, thinking I'm doing all I can..."See how I hurt? Yes, I'm so active in my healing." Stepping into some pain because it let me believe I was really tackling the core wound in that manner.

Yet those dark parts are safe in a way because I'm fooling myself into believing I'm really working on my stuff. And yes, in a way, I am. There are valuable lessons and skills gained. But the shadow side of this scenario is that I'm also avoiding the big thing. The deepest part.

It's a smokescreen, protecting me from the real truth...the truth that I really don't deserve full happiness and therefore why go for it?

If there is love inside, I just gotta let myself feel it...regardless. I can't pretend to be wise and all-knowing. It's no longer working. And it wasn't a good tactic. I can't be so afraid to love...and to the possibility of being loved that I let my fear of great risk paralyze me.

I surrender...knowing there is no plan, knowing I have no idea what life has in store for me, knowing I have no control. I can't fix anything or everything.

All I can do is love...

Yesterday I picked up my 30 canvas boards for the challenge. It's almost a little intimidating.

Today, I spent 4 hours in the studio. First toning all the boards so I can begin painting tomorrow. It gives me 28 days to do 30 paintings. Almost nuts.

But, I am excited because I'm curious to see what it does to my painting, during and after the challenge. I'm going to work on studio interiors. Simple, nothing hugely realistic. We'll see what happens.




After covering the boards, I worked on two small paintings in acrylic. One I began on Friday and the other, a new one. They are test paintings, getting used to working with acrylic paint. And then I worked some more on a very large (22x28) graphite drawing that I began last Saturday. It's a relaxing thing to do. Much different than the freneticism that comes with working in oils. I don't rush through building up the layers.

I'm not sure where the drawing is headed and it doesn't matter. It's more of a meditation piece.

I can slow down...

And my favorite~

Sometimes it's the simple things that can be important: a nice glass of merlot or nothing more than stepping in the studio to clean off a palette and tend to brushes.

Sometimes the simple things are what is needed.

First Thursday quickly returns.

Although 8 paintings in, and I could show them as work in progress, I don't think I will.

I've been pretty sick since last Saturday night with a really nasty cold. It's the first in over a year. Since then, I haven't spent any time in the studio.

The cold was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to stop. I had been pushing myself to do some intense emotional work, jumping into all that I needed to experience. Although I had pretty much reclused myself to work, painting and being alone to facilitate this work, the attack on my physical stole all my energy.

In a way, it was a reprieve...a forced escape from the tumultuousness of life.

Yesterday afternoon I could feel the damned cold shifting and moving out of my system. With that, life in all its ferociousness came charging back.

This Saturday I need to pick up my 30 canvases and begin working those. I'll start by toning every one, so they'll be ready to paint.

It means that for now, my current paintings need to be tucked away.

So, unless something else comes to me next week, for first Thursday I'll be showing a series that is just over a year old. The timing is perfect. Until now, only one person has seen the series as a whole.

They are charcoal/watercolor and graphite pieces, about 15x20 each. There are about 12 pieces (can't remember the exact number right now). The totally best compliment I've received on my art has become a part of one of these pieces.

Here's a sample...my favorite one~

self portrait

Over the weekend I rented a really not so great, overly dramatic, filled with stereotypes and a "geez, how many famous characters can you pack into a movie?" account of the painter Modigliani, played by Andy Garcia. I cringed many times in the viewing. So the plot...not good.


Visually, it was beautiful.

Stunning. Stunning. Stunning. Paintings in many shots. The light is gorgeous. Despite many problems with the story telling, it was what I needed.

The soundtrack is luscious. Especially, one particular song called Ode to Innocence, by Sasha Lazard. Sadly, it's not included if you purchase the cd to the soundtrack, but it is on her Myth of Red cd.

Yesterday, Patti Smith's Dancing Barefoot played on Radio Paradise. That song speaks to me. And it reminded me that I don't own any of her work….and sadly, not familiar with most of it.

So, I indulged. I purchased Myth of Red, Smith's Wave and another called O: Operatica, Vol. 1.

Myth of Red led me to the third. The reviews and the song snippets drew me in.

Lately, I'm seeking music where it's the sound not the lyrics that hit my belly. It creates a freedom within, regardless of how I'm feeling.

It assists with soaring...

"There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious–painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and labour–but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore."

-Mary Shelley Frankenstein, Letter 2

What I find strange about my new paintings (see yesterday's entry for sample) is how bright and clear they are, considering my emotional state as of late. The shrink told me I was in a much different place this time and therefore, even though this is a most challenging time, it would be handled differently. The paintings do seem to reflect that. In a way, it puzzles me.

On another topic, here is a powerful and very moving video of Jerry Sanders, the mayor of San Diego. It's a little speech from last night regarding his shift from support for gay civil unions to full on gay marriage, knowing "separate but equal" isn't right.

It goes to show the impact of change of heart, even with a Republican, conservative ex-cop.

If you watch it, and are so moved, you can email him your support at:
jerrysanders at sandiego dot gov

(click for better color)

One of my in progress pieces. It began very realistic and as you can see, I'm beginning to blow it apart.

I'm struggling with color....and have been for about a month. I feel inept.

After working, I wound up at Elliot Bay Books and ended up with major retail therapy by splurging on 3 art books. I was seeking a colorist....and found one, as well as two other books. All spoke to me in a different way, feeding different parts of what I seek in my art -

The Drawing Book, filled with drawings by creative people in various fields. As soon as I picked it up I was drawn in.

The other two are about new to me artists:
Gordon Matta Clark: You Are The Measure. His work struck me.

Emily Mason: The Fifth Element. Flipping thru this book felt almost familiar. Here's a page with some of her work.

Gordon and Emily are both new artists for me. Emily's work feels similar to what I'm trying to do and her color is luscious. I'm seeking colorists...to study. I want to define space and light with color and don't feel as if I know how to do it. If it happens in a painting, it's not an intellectual process...yet intuitive. But I want to learn the skill.

In the last couple days, I'm slowing down the color mixing. Today, I tried to force myself to only mix one color at a time....lay it down, then from there decide what I need.

Study. Study. Study.

It's work.

Every day I drag myself into the studio for a bit. Sometimes, only one hour. Sometimes more. Sometimes it takes all my energy to get there.

What keeps me going, pushing me, is that it is the only thing I have to hang onto. Painting. I've just claimed it and it will not be taken away from me.

There are 8 paintings in progress. Two big ones, 6 small. The paintings are messes. But I need to continue to work. One of the smaller pieces is a self portrait.

Painting one's self while in the throes of grief is a most surreal experience.

One day, all I could do was tape paper together to make a large 4 by 6 foot sheet. On my hands and knees, I marked the paper with charcoal. Smudging, blurring, wiping.

Sobbing.

The fire is hot.

My shrink says I'm being forged. It's preparing me for greater adventures. He also says if I weren't strong enough I wouldn't be going thru this. My strength is little comfort. It's a double-edged sword that slices back.

I know there is something on the horizon. I've been acutely aware of it for the last few months. Something is coming. Something grand. I can visualize it, feel it, smell it, taste it. It is the one thing that gets me through.

And still, knowing this also brings very little solace.

Alizarin crimson mixed with sap green makes a beautiful, rich, deep brown. It's the way I begin, have begun...for over 10 years. The first mix on a fresh palette. It's my base. My grounding color. The earth.

Today I knew what I was going to paint. Grabbed an armful of small canvases.

Towers. Towers upon towers. Towers crashing.
Two towers in rubble.

Fast, little paintings.

I approached the easel and looked at the large painting, barely begun on Sunday. Only one layer of thin paint. My eyes moved toward the bag holding all the small canvases.

No more hesitation, I grabbed 3 brushes in my right hand. With my left, selected the largest of the three, soaked it in medium and then the brown, quickly glazing over the large painting. Repeated the process over and over. Then I slammed my brush in the alizarin, mixed it with medium and continued to coat the canvas.

Long, thin streaks of dark red began to show. Yes..blood. My blood.
It's perfect. A long sigh of relief escaped my lips.

My blood.

Time to go darker. Mixing some ultramarine into the brown creates a black that's alive. Today is a day for more blue than black. It's meant for the bottom of the painting.

Now, I've lied a little.

Although I always begin with the alizarin/sap mix, this painting session had one step before the mix. For me, an odd move. Very curious. Bright, light blue. Titanium with a small dab of ultramarine placed near the center of the painting. Quick and clean.

Then it was followed by my ritual glaze all over, except for that blue patch. From there, I began to build on the paint. Laying it thicker.

I thought I knew what I was going to paint today - two towers crashing.

Instead, it desired to be Two Chairs.

(clicking on the image shows more vibrant colors)

This week's Astrobarry 'scope.

Yesterday, although very well-intentioned, I never painted. I did get to the art store, dropped off my purchases at the studio, went into our storage room and pulled out the easel and worktable and set everything up to paint. For First thursday, we all throw our stuff in our storage room. It's a guarantee that we clean the big space once a month.

Today, I went in and began two large paintings. Well...large compared to what I'd been previously doing...an 18x24 and a 22x28.

I finally finished watching the Firefly series. Not being a fan of westerns or sci-fi, I dragged my feet on viewing these. I tend to enjoy films set in either but only after I'm pushed into watching them. With Firefly, it took about 8 shows for me to warm up to the characters. Then, I was a sucker for the remaining episodes and annoyed that it was such a short-lived series. Whedon is genius.

So now I'll watch them all one more time before returning the dvds to Dan & Craig.

The slow pace was needed after Thursday's exposure.

In my email was a notice for a series of very groovy art events known as the Motel Series. A few motels, slated for demolition, will be the venues for performance art and installations just before demolition.

I received details on the first one being held on September 15th.

From the website:

The Bridge Motel (3650 Bridge Way N, off Aurora, in Fremont) will host a one-night only event to kick off the MOTEL series on 15 September 2007, 5 PM - midnight.

Built in 1952 by a retired policeman, the motel has anchored the north end of the infamous Aurora Bridge for decades in welcoming glory. Originally a place frequented by tourists and traveling salesmen, the Bridge Motel has over time become more a place for those living from paycheck to paycheck, and whose lives involve drug use, prostitution, and the like. In the popular imagination, the place embodies and realizes that underbelly, shady side of life's toiling. There has been murders here, and numerous drug busts, its decaying artifice contains the stories of a full lifetime of drama, and the day by day passing through of souls...

For one night, its last night of existence, the Bridge Motel will be dressed up and called to shine and dance ... Numerous installation/performance artists have been given full rein the week prior, to transform each dilapidated pocket into whatever they could imagine. The opening evening will reveal the Bridge's final blossom before its inevitable razing. And to top it off, every inch of the motel will be crawling with performance artists, injecting the animation and energy of truly ephemeral art. The stellar roster of artists involved is sure to create a cacophony of sights and sounds to inspire the mind and heart, and give the aging motel a proper dress-up before it's demise ... This night is not to be missed.

Check out the participating artists and descriptions here.

What an incredibly sexy idea.
This turns me on big time.

Going painting today.
My truth is found in the paint...therein lay integrity.


This morning I woke with the desire to paint big. In October I'll be bound to a multitude of 8x10's, so now is the time to immerse myself in larger work. As soon as Utrecht opens, I'm headed over to pick up some white and then off to the studio.

Snippets from First Thursday:

An elderly couple walked in the studio about 6:15. They explained they have been attending First Thursday for about 20 years, and have come to prefer exploring our building instead of the galleries because there was more life in the 619 building....more artistic excitement. It gave me warm fuzzies and showed me that I was in a good place.

In addition, and what thrilled me even more, a handful of folks walked in throughout the night and all mentioned to me that our studio space has always been the one they looked forward to seeing because there's always something exciting happening in the room. And that's with an evolving group of artists who work in the space. It seems The Sophia Room beckons a certain energy of artist to work within her.

I chose not to price my work because being all new from this past month, I'm not ready to part with them. In case someone did ask, I mentally had prices set. Two different people inquired about the very same painting. And it's the one painting I almost didn't hang yet made a very last minute decision to show! In addition, it was the one painting I felt wasn't fully complete. Damn...you never know.

What was unsettling to me was that many times throughout the evening I was asked to explain my work. The impetus, what it meant...etc. The unsettling part was that I really couldn't. Last month, even though I was showing abstracts as well, those ink pieces were speaking to my fear of potential ovarian cancer. It was clear and therefore I could articulate a response.

These paintings...all of them...were born of a desire to step into the unknown. I literally didn't know what I was doing, where I was going, what it would look like. I didn't have a vision of their completion. Nothing. It was simply a matter of immersing myself in the blackness found in my belly and allow the brush to move on canvas. Yes, I would begin with a rectangle for one reason: it felt simple...a basic shape...as we all are before we're tainted with the complexities of life, the hurts, the wounds, the abuses.

I couldn't have even written the above while I was working on them. It was just a sense I had...of needing to go back to basic. Stripping myself and my work. Allowing greater vulnerability. In painting each, my head really didn't know where my body was taking it. This was the most unintellectual series of paintings I've ever done. And in being such, they are the most honest and most powerful.

Because I couldn't come up with an intellectual response to their inquiry, I felt at a loss. Where are the words for something so visceral?

People's responses to the paintings thrilled me big time. Yes, quite a few gave a cursory glance and walked past...in the same way I've done to work in galleries. But there were so many who would stop, look, walk up and down the wall. Others would come close, then step back to the other side for a distance view to then return close. Really looking. And a handful throughout the night came up very close...noses almost pressed to canvas, studying them. It warmed my heart.

One man walked into the room and made a beeline for a certain piece. He approached me after and said that painting caught his eye as soon as he stepped into our space.

Another, after doing a microscopic study of the work walked away nodding, with a big smile on his face. I almost cried with joy.

First Thursday is from 6-9pm but apparently it's not a strict time. I had to tear myself away at 10:30 due to exhaustion, and the room as well as the building was still full of folks!

It was a very good evening.

And I've noticed that since then, I've been jacking off like crazy. It's not a sex that comes from running away or distracting myself as I do at times, but a full immersion into who I am.

First Thursday Art Walk




Steph's work on the right


Trina's artist statment


Trina's paintings


Dave's work


Phil contemplating the great truths hidden within the paintings while someone is sharing his experience of my work


A very tired me