then again

Speaking of time capsules... all of my artwork is turning out to be an accumulation of years and bits of inspiration and ephemera. I do have a special fondness for geological phenomena, so maybe it's an unconscious nod to layering on a planetary scale.You know, it's like, The Way Things Happen.

This is the partner of piece I posted recently; I started them both together, so it's only fair that they evolve together, too: 

"Then Again" 

12 x 12 inches, oil and mixed media on canvas

I think it's done.

(But did you know the Himalayas continue to grow a centimeter every year?)

*

time capsule

I was going to write something about how packing things into boxes during a move makes each box an unlikely little time capsule.

I thought of it when I was taking apart my drafting table: loosening wing nuts was like reading a log of all the other times I have taken it apart and packed it away. Songs and conversations and the kids just the way they were at that moment -- it all gets lodged into the things I'm packing up, like an entire exact snapshot of my life, revealing later the things I don't see right then, busy as I am with my screwdriver and sharpie.

And, to accompany this witty and poetic something about time capsules, I was going to put in a photo that Jason took in the midst of our packing, of Isla, gracefully contorted in a wee box and taken from above; her sweet little face the very specimen I most wish I could preserve.

But I couldn't find the picture anywhere (and OH, I looked). It's probably on the hard drive of the big computer, the one that got packed away and stayed behind, and that's just it, isn't it? That's just the rub.

*

where we go from here

Two semesters of school swallowed me up. Only 4 classes, and they weren't even that hard. I think this is why they leave college to the young and childless.

I came up for air twice... once around Thanksgiving and once briefly during spring break (not really a break). Some days going to classes felt like a relief from all the overthinking that goes into my painting (and my parenting, too, for that matter), and other days it felt like a yawning drag to sit still for two hours at a stretch and take notes and write essays in bluebooks. I enjoyed it for the most part, though, and got along famously with my professors. Probably because I am closer in age to them than to my fellow students. 

I don't know how to tally up yet another random year in the patchwork medley that is my higher education; but while the outcome of getting an art degree remains somewhat undefined, there are two things I know I got from taking classes this year:

1. permission to make mistakes

2. I'm so glad I'm not 19

Both invaluably valuable, those.

So, things got intensely local for a while there... there was energy in the hive and for the hive, but anything outside of a 10 mile radius, I did not know about or have the time to find out. Or that could just be what happens when you live in Rhode Island. 

But here's a kid with some long-term vision, or, as he puts it, "I'm a distance-seer."

And when distance calls, you get dressed...

And you learn to speak the language...

And then you take apart the furniture...

... and put everything in boxes and get ready to go.

So, yes, distance...

Japan!

How could we say no?

Even as hard as it is to pull up our nascent roots here, to maintain the momentum that gathers no moss, it is also unspeakably good to imagine navigating again the enchanted city of Kyoto, whose moss is composed, cultured, cultivated. We shall borrow hers, then.

Countdown to leave Providence has begun, and we have a lovely summer in Michigan ahead before we go abroad, so of course I am a jumble of sadness and nerves and utter giddy delight. How can it be true, this life?

It's less like stacking cards -- carefully, one on top of the last -- and more like flinging the deck and jumping on whatever lands face up. We keep moving: I keep making amazing friends and I keep taking classes and I figure that it amounts to something, somehow, but how do I hold it all? How do I assemble it and make it useful? Maybe it's less important where we go, and more important how we go from here.

*

if you're willing

This painting used to look a lot different. I think I started it when Auden was a baby, five years ago. (Wait, what? Rumination on time's passing, etc, etc) The last time I worked on it was a year and a half ago.

Mostly I'm of the mind to stop messing with a piece after a while, because IT'S DEAD ALREADY move on. But this step was not so much about resuscitation as it was about completely starting over in the spirit of total experimental abandonment. So for that it was okay to use a canvas that was already worked on and overworked on. In fact, it was sort of perfect for what I've been trying to accomplish, which is, of course, layers upon layers:

"If You're Willing" 
12 x 12 inches, oil and mixed media on canvas

I blotted out most of what was there before, which was extremely satisfying, but I like how you can still faintly see through to what's underneath. I collaged in those ink-drawn hands -- which I made in Japan years and years ago -- because they seemed to fit & give a little focus to the piece. And probably because the original had hands in it, too. I like them hovering near the periphery though; I've been wanting to explore with compositions that are a little off-kilter, with objects framing negative space in the middle instead of the other way around.

I feel pretty excited about the new directions I'm going in, so even if this piece & the others don't ever get resolved, it's been really fun to keep pushing them. If I am willing, indeed.

*

more generations

I painted this portrait of my step-grandma, age 93, as a present for my step-mom on her birthday.

I thought and thought about how to write that out -- isn't there a less clunky way to say that? Less distancing terms for these women who are not my biological family, but whom I love and cherish with my whole heart?

I was always reluctant to use the word step-mom, at first because I was just a punk kid too caught up in my own drama to appreciate my dad's new marriage, and more importantly, the actual person who was his new wife. But later, after mellowing out (some), it still strikes me as an awkward way to describe a relationship. 

Doing this portrait made me appreciate them all the more, the people that they are. Families who come together after divorce or death have to do double the work sometimes, and my stop-mom and step-grandma have always been gracious, generous, and kind. As I painted this portrait, I was struck again and again by how beautiful she is -- how our lives accumulate within us over time and intersect with others... how we create meaning, and meaningful bonds.

It was an honor to paint her; and it's funny that I made it as a birthday present, because I received such an amazing gift in doing it.

*

generations

I always joke that Jason and I both got a mini-me... Auden looks just like him, and Isla looks just like me. But then I looked at these pictures of Jason's paternal grandmother, and the resemblance took my breath away.

             

She's Danely all the way. Thank you, Grandma Lois, for passing on these lovely genes.

*

as promised, pink

A long time ago, I promised I would paint in pink.

My palette has been so murky for so long, it was positively shocking to use pigment straight from the tube.

I've been diluting the paint with turpenoid to do these block-y color washes. No canvas is being spared.

With the paint so thin, they dry quickly and I've been able to do lots of layers one right after the other.They're all evolving dramatically, good practice in not staying too attached to any one layer. Except this one... I'm too attached. 

It's terrible -- the ones I like too much, I unintentionally stifle by protecting them.

But it's good, too, to see that. To work in batches, and evaluate which ones are successful and why. Often it's the ones I don't like that change the most and pull ahead in the end. Not that I have any idea where the end is.

To the process! To color!

*