I have three projects waiting to be completed this week; I have yet to start any. I am almost kicking myself for missing a deadline earlier in the month. I have also forgotten to bring a ballpoint pen, let alone a pencil to draw with.
I've been relocated this week, living in two homes and trying to maintain balance.
Sometimes it's easier to ignore and ferment, even though the healthier option is to embrace and love.
I've been rewarded the past couple days with easy work schedules: reading Deleuze and magazines, holed up in a library. I wake up when the sun does, washing off the night. I write three pages on scripture handed to me on a small, white paper. I work from 8:30-5, eating when I can and running to meet plans, elsewhere. I am being called.
I have made it through two pages in The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, and I am hoping for another two today. Writing my notes just ten minutes ago, I knew déjà vu.
This means I am in the correct place. I am centered and moving on the right path.
Cold water rush of oil pastel drawing, I filled eight canvas pages last night. Detailed painting is coming soon.
Yet to have quiet time at work, so Folds research is fairly slow.
I haven't known color in over three years, just blue and values. I am wondering if this is immediately relevant to fold research or if I have finally built my foundation.
More green tea matcha, what a world needs.
Four projects from the master list in-progress, nearly all are housecleaning and strictly cosmetic. I've been swallowing House M.D. episodes as of late, the same disorganized gnat presenting himself periodically. I find myself salivating over House's think sessions, wanting the same filtered light and intense obsession.
Blessed amounts of alone time are longer than they appear. I deflect with the notion that soon the semester will begin, where sleepless nights are justified. Yet, objection rises minutes later when I am reminded the jail cell ends come this May...
Yes, I am still making things from muslin. No, I am not sleeping any easier.
The most important thing you will read today is "See it Again, Say it Again: The Artist as Researcher—Introduction" by Janneke Wesseling. I have finally ordered my copy of the book.
A few things to know if you don't have time to read the introduction:
I will finally begin rewriting my artist statement, hopefully reposted by the end of July (here I am, promising). Reading this introduction has given me the correct cornerstone and I am incredibly excited for the months to come.
I've set my research deep inside folds and I have too many canvases to love. Stuck on The Heist, stuck on WWII, stuck on. No more floundering, just forward movement, when. Set free, you say.
I can't decide to commit a year in advance, let alone a week in advance. I'm allergic, I say.
I will restart my five artworks. I have enough blank pages.
Ventured into grad school research. I've skimmed several programs now and I still only love my first two choices. I have decided to pour my energy into them and we'll see what we will see.
You can buy Ayah's and my card (https://www.threadless.com/designs/a-birthday-card) at Target stores beginning June 16th, 2014.
I've completed two organized paintings; I am in need of a third plus two regular paintings before July 14th (a total of 5 paintings).
Sometimes it's easy to forget where a root is, how the trunk happens. I am having fun watching the universe make its own way for me.
"I won't lobby to finish the book before, it wants to be left alone as of yet.
This book arose because I needed a coping tactic. I began drawing 'Abstract Expressionism' because I knew I would have to feel the hurt sometime, and the longer I put it off, the more I needed my hands to stay busy.
So I crossed my eyes and let the patterns run. I stopped looking and set to work on compressing. I grew further inside myself, organizing the trauma in neat little boxes that were made to not spill anything. So stoic I didn't even have to crack a smile.
But then came deeper the blue and I could not shake the attention. I drew big heads and stared straight into my eyes, looking for nothing on purpose. I did not want to face that I had made a horrible mistake, choosing body over spirit (already my handwriting has begun to evolve...)
I write this in a blue pencil form. It's so much easier to declare the hurt as futile because others have suffered much deeper than I; at least I have a bed and people to love, even if they live far, far away.
So 'we' stick our nose up, declaring we are perfect and the hurt can't touch because it lives in boxes with anti-leak. There is useless reason to boast weakness. But love as a cure to this, fills up and takes away the need for these boxes. The music is the finishing wire to pull me out when too deep because I ignore it 95% of the time when I am making.
It is an artificial save from myself."
She wrote,
I've found two jobs to tackle and a pile of books to mow, miles and miles of project thinks and nowhere to put them.
Enlarged embroidery might be coming to a theater near you...
Swimming in Justin Timberlake and Macklemore, the cars carry my thoughts toward and away, pulse. Mt. Rainier came out behind clouds yesterday, his presence a grace.
I could pretend to be lost. I could say, I don't know what I'm looking at, where to go.
I bought a Paul Klee self-help book. I also bought a book on how to write about art. I am lapping up Tar Baby and looking out of windows.
I could say I don't deserve, but that isn't it, either. I could say I am sad, still--forgiveness not budging. These are false, too.
I am still in need of The Heist. It's hard to ignore my anxiety regarding framework, thinking the voices messed me up and prevented any kind of movement.