Heartsong Studio

The Voyage Continues

Since the very long drawn out death of my late husband, it has felt almost like I’ve been recovering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had expected to get painting again right away, but somehow I didn’t.

This rushing into things attitude has blocked my creativity many times, and is something I am only now beginning to temper. Could it be that finally I am learning to take life easy, without stress-induced worry?

At first I blamed poetry writing for stealing my time and juice from painting. I’ve been a visual artist most of my 72 years, and a poet only 9 months and I have often painted at the same time I’m writing a poem. 

Last time the Speakeasy poetry group I attend planned on having several art groups pick one of “our” poems out of a hat, then “paint it in 30 days”. This raised my hackles. Why don’t they reverse this and write poetry about paintings? Or better yet, write poetry and paint themselves at the same time as I often do?

After many twists and turns, this poem sifted out. Some wisdom somehow finally penetrated my “jack rabbit” brain, so I followed its advice and bingo — began two canvasses.

Here’s the poem I wrote. This is about painting, poetry or most any form of creativity. It came through me and it proved its own wisdom.

Voyage of Creation

A work of art is a voyage of discovery,
not merely a trip to a known destination,
but with courage to find something new.
Conceived in intimacy, real inspiration
must have a say, for it thrives on rapport.
A cacophony of colours or a mess of metaphors,
like too much talk overwhelms its growth,
starves gestation, ensures miscarriage.
True art can be found by asking what it needs,
then waiting, open to its subtle response,
for you must go through the door of yourself,
nudging, retreating, polishing, working
until you are surprised by what you learn;
then the pleasure of creation really begins.
Sight is a faculty; seeing is an art.
There’s humility in recognizing beauty.

This is the painting I made right afterwards. It’s about the stormy seas I’ve been through before arriving at the best of my life, no matter how late. I had been trying to avoid “going through it all again” but found myself more willing to see beauty in darkness, thus enabled to come out the other side into the sun… but my poem says it best.

The Arrival
30″ X 24″ acrylic on canvas
Double click to enlarge picture.

There are as many reasons for painting as there are pictures, but this is the first time I’ve made a painting for a frame’s sake. Here’s the story of Bouquet for an Old Frame.

My late husband roomed in college with a friend, Bo Frame, who later became a successful artist. I admired Bo’s work when I met him. Many years ago, Bo gave his room mate one of his early paintings on plywood, framed in a honking big, gilded frame. Many years later when we married, this was brought into our house. I never liked it.

The frame was ostentatious for the amateurish painting, I thought, and was chipped, broken and dirty. So it was crammed away on a shelf gathering dust till now. Lately, I removed the old painting, a dingy semi-abstract of fish and avocados, and made my own rendition of a vignette of an “old masters” painting, to suit the old frame. Here is:

Bouquet for an Old Frame

10″ X 18″ acrylic on raw canvas
Double click to enlarge picture.

First came the words, in poetry, as I witness the prolonged death of my husband in: Transformation Trilogy — Part One. My thoughts on an afterlife follow in: Part Two.   My next step comes crystal clear in: Part Three — Starting Now.

I am admittedly staggered at my own transformation. Though it has taken my whole life ’till now, I am stunned by the speed of it’s expression, and the strength of its final conclusion.

Transformation Trilogy — Part One

My feelings long neglected, my plaints unheard,
I absorbed his rage against the agony of slow descent,
feeling his anguish,
the shredding of his understanding,
watching him shrink
bit by random bit,
caught by sparks of humour and terror
that stuttered out into
the black tunnel of an endless nightmare,
with only one terrible prospect of relief . . .
I had expected time enough to pass through grief
before death finally called.
But there wasn’t.

We cannot know how another’s death will come upon us,
only gasp as raw reality rolls over us,
creeping to the edge of the abyss to watch,
while music eases the tumble of laughter and tears.
Absent is any comfort held out by well-meant wisdom.
We move helplessly among mysteries,
longing for a holdfast,
trying to stay open to life,
though this ‘becoming real’ grinds us without pity,
until, eroded and bared,
resistant or ready to let go,
we too will stride, stroll, stumble or sleep,
transforming, in spite of ourselves,
into renewed and renewing essence,
the stuff of earth.

Transformation Trilogy — Part Two

What of our spirit, does it not stay on awhile?
Living life to the full, or suffering a long drawn-out end,
who would want to hang around after death,
unseen and unable to take part,
along with so many others amassed over eons,
what room would be left for you,
without a voice, face or body to feel or express?
I do not long for anonymity, immobility, or silence,
witnessing over and over the non-stop carousel of life
that I’ve already ridden to excess.
My aging eyes hold time’s increasing blur,
as a promise to one day tuck my worn remains
into blissful eternal sleep.
The ultimate out-of-body experience for me
would be a zephyr of my spirit –
a momentary glow at sunset –
and then sleep.

Transformation Trilogy Part Three — Starting Now

I wondered when life would start for me,
not knowing I’d keep on evolving,
or that transformation never stops,
wounds can be healed and dissolved.
Entrusted duties completed wholeheartedly,
now is my time to rest lightly awhile,
then continue to follow the healing paths,
interwoven, dovetailing, begun long ago,
renewing my quest to be whole and authentic.
Though determined to count plain evidence alone,
delicious miracles have not gone unheeded,
nor is there need to try to name sources;
instead, with a newfound certainty,
I choose to join the dance of perfect steps
that carry me into my cherished present,
and expand into my full-fledged lovely self,
starting now.

After the words, next I would expect images. Actually, they might have already shown themselves ahead of the words and even ahead of the experiences, in my paintings such as:

Awakening  48″ X 36″

The Long and Winding Road  18″ X 24″

Make of Yourself a Light  30″ X 24″

Patiently awaiting what visual images will next express themselves,
I wish you all the best, Celeste.

Can you grieve in slow motion and rejoice in life at the same time?

Seeing a dark sunset, sadness overcame me. Was it something I was trying to avoid? I was reluctant to go deeper into my own sadness and loss. It seemed too selfish to give into the occasional bouts of grief, because for me there was always the promise of a continuing future.

I had to stay strong for Bill’s suffering a very long, agonizing decline into Alzheimer’s disease. Recovery after each visit to him in the rest home was hard for me, but probably nothing compared to my husband’s losing himself.

Part of my reluctance was coloured by a wish that I’d done things differently; made other decisions; recognized my anger; and so on. There’s no benefit in revisiting the past of “what if’s”, I told myself.

Once I saw into my reluctance, I started to work inward to explore my own incompletely allowed sense of loss, resulting in this painting. No surprise that it was difficult for me to work with such dark colours. Technically and emotionally.

Though my intention was to explore my own loss, I learned that there’s no separating losses. Grief is grief. Once given space to be felt, these feelings stopped looming over me.

This painting is named from a line in a Beatles’ song: “The Long and Winding Road” which conjures up years long ago, when we first met.
Click picture to enlarge.

The Long and Winding Road 18″ X 24″

As I play with poetry lately, I have seen an old humour come back. Who knows, maybe there’s a chance that opening myself to my own losses, may in some way have eased his letting go too.

Let me introduce you to Bill. He would often introduce himself this way:
“They call me: Sweet Old Bill, or sometimes just the initials”, he used to joke.

Sweet Old Bill

Deep within the earth, where pink worms thrive,
tender shoots and fertile seeds are sprouting.
Digging up the pesky weeds, contrary fools like me
cannot stay eternal spring from its reckless splurge.
From somewhere in his crumbling mind, rare shards of humour spark:
“I’m in here still”, he seems to say.
Despite the loss of words and grasp, yet embers stay alight.
An air of baffled absence hangs, the power of choosing gone,
reverted childhood beckons him to rage against the night.
In this the harshest winter of his suffering,
might some relief come gently,
like an ever certain spring?

As he faded further away, Bill seemed to be beyond the suffering of recent months. That was a real mercy. He was unable to speak at all for weeks, yet 3 weeks before the end, after we’d wheeled him to see the boats at the water front and eat chocolate ice cream, he spoke his last words. He looked up and said: “It’s magic.”

Now, as I post this, blessed relief has been given to dear old Bill. On 24 August, 2011, he left this place enriched for his unique and generous life.

He finally got what he’d always wished for — a “green” burial in a coffin he built for himself, and a New Orleans style funeral, adapted to Pender Island.

I read “Reluctance”, a Robert Frost poem to start, as six of his dearest friends carried his coffin, topped with a gorgeous spray of scented, star-burst lilies, while the band played bluesy versions of jazz classics like “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” and “Basin Street Blues”. Then I read “The Earth is Waiting for You”, by Thich Nhat Hanh at the grave. Then, after he was lowered, I read this from Dostoevsky:

“And so we will remember him all our lives, how good it was once here, when we were all united by loving feelings, which made us, for the time he stood among us, better perhaps than we are.”

Then the band played “Saints Go Marching In”, and other very upbeat jazz classics, as we twirled white ribbons, New Orleans style and danced to the hall where we held a Memorial celebration of Bill’s life. In sharing “Bill” stories, we found the mixture of tears and laughter, eased our loss and lightened our load.

As we left, music from WW2 played — a very young Frank Sinatra singing: “I’ll be seeing you” and Vera Lynne singing “Auf Wiedersehen”.

Now I am exhausted, after caring and staying strong for him for so very long. Now it is my time to grieve for my own personal loss.

Bill and Celeste’s wedding Dec 22 1977.

Bill on his 90th Birthday, Feb 8, 2011.

It didn’t occur to me at the time.  I was resolving some personal stuff when the painting and a poem I was working on turned out to be about the same subject. Not that I set out to illustrate this, in either paint or poetry. I had something quite mundane in mind. I was just the technician, as the paint, the words, and my emotional freeing expressed themselves through me.

Looking at this finished painting as I ate lunch, the connection suddenly jumped out. It feels like I have awakened, for the very first time, once again. Miracles just keep on happening when you least expect them. “All” you need do is stay open to the possibility and do your own work.

My very first memory has always been of being an infant lying swaddled in a blanket on the forest floor. I remember forest sounds and the soft brush on my face of an owl’s wing, and feeling perfectly safe and belonging. There’s no way of checking if this is factual, only that it has always been quietly beside me.

Here is the very large acrylic on canvas. Click to enlarge.

Awakening 48″ X 36″

Here is what I wrote at the same time.

Awakening

I awoke and everything was new, that first time,

the earth supporting with a subtle strength,

no sense of the unseen, nor warning hush of fear,

it was enough to feel a soft owl’s wing waft innocent cheek,

to be secure in the forest’s trusted lullaby —

later, seeking solace among unknown tangled roots

of conflict and wild woods I came to recognize as myself,

instructive hints prodded my skin from all directions,

until — realizing that perhaps all my life I’ve longed

many times for some miracle through the maze,

and even found contentment once or twice

in the tiniest drop of glistening water, a noble beetle,

tracery of cedars, doves’ voices settling at dusk –

then suddenly I awaken, and everything is changed

as though for the first time, to find myself blessed

with a clear light high above, and to taste

the essence of wholeness and wild potential,

open to the chance of yet another miracle, who knows,

possibly already unfolding on my path.

“The first time I picked up a paintbrush I was a natural. It’s been uphill ever since.” But the essence is still true. Exploring creative solutions might be seen like experimentation to an adult. Children call it play.

It has been shown that a group of children given a new fangled toy, with instructions on how it works, actually discovered fewer things to do with it and played with it shorter times than another group of children who were just given the toy and told to play with it.

Why play as an adult?

Nature is not entirely visible to the eye; it also includes the inner ruminations of our souls. We have our own, quite personal and extraordinary, inner landscapes. All the arts offer different ways to access our inner landscapes or meanings.

Playing with paint is scary sometimes, possibly because it cuts close to the bone where we’re vulnerable. Lest you think I’d never be scared of painting, you’re wrong. If I haven’t done it for days, but especially if I’m feeling down about anything, a large canvas can be intimidating.

Playing can be fun too, but only if we’re willing to pay attention to what the paint — or our insides — is reflecting. This requires a more tolerant attitude than simply flinging around the paint in wild abandon. (Not to say that this isn’t fun at times.)

As evidence that I can play at painting, here’s a miniature abstract painting made on raw canvas with very wet acrylic paint, and afterwards named: “An Early Autumn Walks the Land”, the name of a nostalgic song way back when I was young.

An Early Autumn Walks the Land     8″ X 10″

Easier for me is playing with poetry, an art form I’m not so experienced with. I wrote this “abstract” poem, aiming purely at the sounds of words, their rhythms, and not their meanings.

Trying to ignore the word meanings was just as impossible as stopping an abstract painting from suggesting meanings on its own. Once I recognized this, I went along with the suggestive sounds, and the fun began. Let your mouth enjoy itself out loud.

Abstract and Back

Horror of dorkness bemoaning its snicket,
broodled in gloomy industrious norc.
Facebook, Tweet, StumbleUpon merrily thighs,
cacophonous roar-agog leprechaun’s chide.

Moxy-gong silly, a whack and three jillies,
she strode with her four fellows wide;
hefalump’s head spewed oodles of cariboo,
long-legged, tweezled and shorn.

Swashbuckled knuckles in purple beguiling
came over all loverly, smuggled in smut;
chortle quite brutal he laughs under cloak:
Unhobble your pogostick! Foible the cusp!

‘Twas foolish the brou-ha-ha spied them of late
o’er myriad vaseline wrinkles oblique,
wither fandangos jump hide-over-wheels,
commingle embroiling plump little cheek.

Inferno runs bareback, burnt trousers unzip
with beer going down grizzly swell;
big orange swath of wide bullocks astride,
perturbing all four frothy stallions. Oh well.

Another playful idea I had was to choose a familiar piece of music to set words to. I chose Beethoven’s 5th symphony. It ran away with me. I got into things I hadn’t counted on, like having to learn the entire tune so that I could find words to fit the rhythm.

I was very enthused by what this music felt like. Easy to take chances like this — play — with an art I’m not very invested in. This music moves so fast that I almost choked reading it to the music. Above all, it was fun. Here’s an MP3 of my “performance poem”:

“Beethoven’s 5th”.  Click here to hear: 002_B_001_cvarley

Years ago, when I was painting wolves and more wolves, I saved a worn old piece of plywood in the rough shape of a wolf’s head. I got it out recently and painted a portrait of my last living Shetland sheepdog, Cheyenne. To match her new personality, a couple of years ago, her name was changed to Shiny.

Shiny makes a very difficult portrait sitter, so painting her capricious nature required a lot of play on my part. She is much cuter in person than she is in my painting, or even her photo. Trust me. Here is:
Shiny – the portrait impression… and

Shiny – the photo.     Woof!

Although Nicola Temple was already a painter when she took part in some of my classes, she embodies the spirit of creative play in her artwork.  She also passes on this playful chance to her remarkable 3 year old son.  He’s a natural too.  Here’s where you can see her latest painting and his version of the same subject.  http://seasquirt.org

Intrepid Spring

It rains all day again;
oh, when will spring begin?
Then suddenly through drizzly woods I spy one
newborn wobbly fawn beneath its mother’s legs;

And wild pleasure billows forth
as it does every year when the first new leaves
unfurl to the beckoning Pied Piper sun.
Who could ever doubt certain spring!

Yet there are times when inspiration eludes,
fogs in, hides behind screens of sullen rain;
times when I do not chance upon a fawn, a bud, or blue eggshell;
when poetry or painting a sky that’s green as grass does not shift the longing.

Until I remember again to rest my eyes in readiness,
for surely my vision will slide out of the mist or the dark rumpled sea
along with the brilliant, heart-swelling sun. Amid the bursting spring,
I wonder how long it has been since the sap surged within me…

Only but a moment ago… how soon I do forget.
But now when it rains, what a curious difference
with speckled fawns, bright green leaves, and shiny wings.
As befits this time of burgeoning, inside and out, all’s right with the world.

“Intrepid Spring” 16″ X 20″ acrylic on canvas

This painting is one canvas of a group of four, each a different season, in different locations on one tree.

One Wild & Precious Life.

Inspire, breathe in and life begins;
breathe out, expire at the end;
Life is simply a moment, the in-between,
a pause to gather, to taste, to respond.

Caught on the cusp between wonder and fear,
pushing the river erodes me away;
yet letting up means the end is near.
To surface comes this pivotal wisdom.

Become one with the longing to float,
it says: embrace both fear and passion;
nor have, nor cling, nor push, nor steer;
trust with conviction in mutual love.

Old rhythms forever will rise and fall,
but a moment is all I can know.
Simply be. Let Life do the work.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still.

“Bluebird Nest” 12″ X 9″ acrylic on board

“Make of yourself a light”. What a beautiful idea to muse upon were the Buddha’s last words before he died. It suggests a common goodness in us, though I don’t know the meaning for anyone else. I suppose it’s up to those who are interested to find out the particular meaning for themselves.

Though I yearn to make of myself a light, how can I?

My favourite poet Mary Oliver wrote: “The Buddha’s Last Instruction” which truly grasps with yearning my dilemma of ignorance. Especially these lines near the poem’s end speak volumes:

“And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire –
clearly, I’m not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.”

Echoing back to the Buddha’s last words, is: “Going out, I found, was really going in.” and: “The sun shines not on us but in us.” John Muir, the great American founder of the Sierra Club, would go out in the wilderness and mountains, and find he had gone inward to find his soul.

I decided to investigate through my own wilderness, painting, what it might mean for me to make of myself a light. I’ve also been experimenting writing poetry, another genuine aid to exploring the meaning of ideas alongside the process of painting. No way does my poetry stand up beside Oliver’s, but it did extend my vision deeper in my painting.

Now the painting is finished, I’m facing the same photography problem as happened with my latest figure paintings. What looks like amorphous darkness or lightness in the photo is seen in person as subtle colour layers as the figure gradually becomes one with the light. So, for now, this is the only way to show my result, unfortunately minus many nuances.   Click on the photo to enlarge.

Make of Yourself a Light    30″ X 24″

“Make of yourself a light”
the Buddha spoke before he died,
but how can you possibly do that,
if you don’t know what’s inside?

The Buddha spoke before he died,
although it may seem bizarre
if you don’t know what’s inside,
unleash the truth that’s there.

Although it may seem bizarre
even if it’s your last breath
unleash the truth that’s there,
my friend, what have you got to lose?

Even if it’s your last breath
of all your precious time on earth,
my friend, what have you got to lose
by opening up at last?

Of all your precious time on earth,
you are full of pure potential,
by opening up at last,
your light will find how to shine.

You are full of pure potential,
so find a way to open at last;
your light will find how to shine,
showing the way to love, my friend.

So find a way to open at last,
but how can you possibly do that?
Showing the way to love, my friend,
“Make of yourself a light”.

I found this heading logo on Send Out Cards new website.   At first it looked like an edge of a maple leaf on a white background.   At second glance I saw how the cutouts of the leaf edge were human shapes. Some folks see the people first and the leaf only with difficulty.  Could be it’s a cultural thing, for a Canadian to see a maple leaf.   What do you see here?

What struck me about this design was how without the people the leaf shape would be nothing, and without the leaf shape the people would be invisible.   But this negative-positive interplay is a visual metaphor for everything in this world, is it not?

I played with this abstract design with no particular intention other than curiosity.

Out of my play came:    (Click image to enlarge for detail.)

Letting Go

18″ X 14″ acrylic on canvas

It seems to me like a play on the sense of life gradually aging, transforming, disappearing In The Flow of Time, or Into Thin Air which are other possible titles.  It also seems to hold a sense of how everything physical, emotional and spiritual is a Continuity, interconnected in some way.

I also hadn’t noticed another contradiction until I showed it to a friend. I’d needed the tiniest pointed brush to paint much of it.   I’d often advised new artists against doing this as it tends to make you uptight, the opposite of how the painting felt to me — letting go.

What title fits it best from your point of view?

Letting Go
Into Thin Air
In the Flow of Time
Continuity

or something else?

By the way, I can find 5 leaves and at least 30 people letting go.

5 or 6 years ago I painted a large canvas out of despair titled Dawn of a New Year. It depicted an ocean view of a sunrise through very dark looming clouds, darts of cold rain sliced down and drops hung on forlorn branches of a bare tree. Pretty depressing.

This February I got it out with an idea from an old Bing Crosby song. If you’re too young to remember WWII, it probably won’t pluck at your heartstrings.

Here’s an old vinyl Youtube recording:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lN_6P509Dw&feature=related

Some of the words are:

It’s June in January, because I’m in love,
It always is spring in my heart with you in my arms.
The snow is just white blossoms that fall from above.
And here is the reason, my dear, your magical charms.
The night is cold, the trees are bare,
But I can feel the scent of roses in the air.
It’s June in January, because I’m in love,
But only because I’m in love with you.

Here’s my old canvas of despair updated with pink blossoms and lightening sky to become my valentine to the world in 2011.

Click on picture to enlarge:

It’s June in January
30″ X 40″ acrylic on canvas

After I mustered the courage to attempt this painting, I knew it would be a challenge. I had no idea that it would be the hardest thing I’ve ever painted.  While it was challenging, loads of fun and well worth the effort, I also learned a lot.

Here’s a portrait of my friend Nicola with her baby boy Morgan.
Click on the photo to enlarge.

Sweet Slumber 16″ X 20″

To paint this portrait with the subjects absent, a photo was an indispensable reference. I was fortunate to have several good photos of them both, taken by Morgan’s dad, Shelby.

Even though a reference photo is most useful, there comes a time when the photo needs to be put away. There’s a real risk of it becoming a technical exercise in copying instead of a painting from the artist’s own experience of the subjects. Small distortions, omissions, etc., on purpose or accidentally, often reveal truths of the artist’s relationship, conscious or not. This is at the heart of art.

This photo was also misleading in another way. Its composition is interesting, featuring a strong shadow from a window thrown across both faces. The shadows are so dark though that details within the shadows are barely discernible.

The original photo

In real life, shadows aren’t like this. Check it out for yourself, as I did. You can see a lot of detail within even strong shadows, and in this one there were many shadows within shadows too.

In a photo, shadows on skin usually look dark gray, whereas in reality, the colours of shadows on skin appear different on different skin tones. Warm flesh tones have cool shadows, and cool flesh tones have warm shadows, for example.

The more colourblind a person is, the better their ability to see values (lights and darks). People like me who are very colour sensitive are challenged to see values as easily. So I took the time to imagine it in black and white. When I moved the photo around different lights, I began to see more detail.

How to keep from covering up so much luscious detail with dark gray paint?

Instead of mixing black + white, which is very opaque, one way of handling shadows on skin is to produce interesting grays by mixing only the three primary colours in transparent acrylic paint. Though the same colours are in each, the different proportions can make ever so many different grays.

Of course, they are all too dark, so instead of adding white and rendering them opaque, I simply added lots of water, and applied it in layers, giving me some control of varying darkness.

Another reason to put away the reference photo is so that your feeling about the subject has a chance of being expressed. At many stages along the way, I felt very excited about coming pretty close. Though I added many little touch-ups at the end, I knew it was accomplished when I watched myself sign it.

The truest evaluation of this work for me was after I’d first sketched the outline on the canvas. Morgan, now 3, came with his parents for a visit. He walked right into my studio and announced: “That’s Mom and me!” His mom paints too, as you can see on her blog:

http://www.seasquirt.org/

For now, it hangs in my entrance hall, where the light changes radically. It looks especially good in dim light, though this effect doesn’t show very well in my photo. The camera is no replacement for eyes.