There are so many demands in our daily lives, from people, paperwork, chores, errands… in fact the “responsible” reasons NOT to create our art can be overwhelming, seductive even, and they can overtake.
The bread turns into a kind of tender cake that sits in the midst of a creamy custard, while the apples and raisins somehow mix all through the whole dish offering sweet little surprises here and there. And the layer of bread on top turns into a crunchy, sweet crust that is making me weak in the knees just thinking about it.
I haven’t been painting. Forever. In fact I’d wondered if I’d forgotten how or if I’d somehow just stopped being a painter. When I did last paint, I fell back on a formula that had worked for me before and, while I do like those paintings, they were “safe.”
And of course it is moments like these, all knitted together in one fine tapestry, that make me unspeakably grateful to be living this artful life, on this priceless land, in this remarkably rich part of the world.
This brings up the OTHER side of living our truths: making room for others to live theirs. It can mean letting go of how we want them to be. But if we love, we must allow our loved ones to be who they were born to be—even if that makes us uncomfortable…
But here is the thing about clearing, about paring down to what is essential in a life: you will need to make difficult choices. And these choices can put into motion things you couldn’t possibly have foreseen.
Imagine coming upon this remarkable house, sitting in a quiet little neighborhood, totally unawares. It really blew my hair back I must say. I know nothing about it except that it is beautifully artful.
Painting isn’t just about stepping up to the easel. It’s about living a life that is filled with inspiration, about creating the space to ruminate and consider and to pursue what fills me.
I set out walking. There is no other way of putting it. I walked and walked, taking in this new place I called home. It was a need, a sort of walking meditation, that soothed something deep inside me.
I was living in a pale blue world. Snow covered the ground and the shadows cast on its surface offered up just about every shade imaginable—the sunlit sky of day with its blue and white clouds… pale blue everywhere.
Apparent or not, these pieces were all born of the land. They illustrate a period of intense soul searching and growth that could only take place in the embrace of this place I had come to trust.
There was also a small herd of horses pastured on the four acres in front of my house. They were rather skittish at first but, slowly, we got to know each other. Then, in the middle of what could only be called a blizzard, a little one was born. I saw her with her mama just after the sun came up. This wasn’t good.
… when a local artist accused me of painting wallpaper, I had my first glimpse of raising the bar. Welcome to New Mexico kid! The home of the big boys and truly exceptional art.
… it was with some incredible hubris, if not utter disrespect, that I’d made these plans. I knew nothing about Truchas–its rich and complicated history, its heritage, its people, its simple AGE (the village was founded in 1754).
A birthing that necessitated pain, as all birth does, was taking place and I was in it. I was coming into ME. And my paintings reflected all of it–the growth, the pain and the confusion.