Note: This piece was originally published on January 20, 2012, just one day more than a year ago. I am re-posting it because it captures a moment in time when none of the worries or fears, inherent in this life I have chosen, were touching me. As in everything, the life of an artist embodies all of the lights and darks the universe has to offer, as well as its many shades of gray lying in between. But the truth is, my life is filled with magic, even when I’m in darkness. As Stephenie Meyer, author of Twilight says, “I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.” Indeed. And without the dark, there would be no artists. Even when I’m in the midst of it I have to appreciate the struggle because, whether I want to admit this or not, I really believe it is where a part of our art begins.
What do Artists Know?
I am sitting at my kitchen table with a mug of steaming coffee this morning, watching a snowstorm move across the mountains. A profound silence fills me with peace and I am so very grateful for this life I am privileged to live. Earlier today a friend said that we are in a state of grace and I don’t think there is any better way to say it. Not only are we out here, deep in nature, our pastures and homesites cut from the forests long ago, nested high up on the sides of this mountain, but we spend our days creating. What could possibly be better than that?
It is a spare, simple life I’ve chosen, having pared down over and over again through the years. And it is this self-same simplicity that offers its grace. Everything stands out against it—the light of the moon at night on snow, a coyote trotting one pasture over, my breath coming in and out, feet solid on the ground. Nothing slips by me. Everything stands out in perfect relief, beauty showing itself there, the common made uncommon.
The same friend recommended that I also write about the other side of grace, that I offer some balance. Because it certainly isn’t always easy living this blessing of a creative life. There is a price we all pay. I’ve said it many times before on this blog: the life of an artist isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes courage to get up every day and “make ourselves” as Robert Henri said. To dwell in the unknown, and to keep producing anyway, to keep an open mind, to learn new ways.
But in moments like these, sitting at my table with a mug of good coffee next to me and a storm coming in over the mountain, I feel my soul in this body’s housing. I understand why I came into this physical form. I came for this: to feel the stars in my heart and to care. To do what I can.
I look out my window. The sun has cut a swath through the clouds and it has started to snow.
Love to you all,
Jeane
Your blog gave me chills. I feel exactly the same. Although I have not reached that place where I have ‘simplified’ enough and I do not live exactly in the place I know I was meant to be, I am in that same emotional space where I am so grateful to be able to do what I do every day. I have a voice and that voice is expressed in colour, shape and form. Thank you for your posts.
Hi Sharon–I’m so glad this post resonated with you. I know that we artists share so much of the same experience, no matter our circumstances. It’s what we celebrate and what shores us up when it’s hard. Living in this village of artists gives me regular contact with others living the life. A real blessing.
I can’t tell you how meaningful your words are to me. We all struggle and have doubts. Sometimes I feel like the blog is going out into an empty void. To know that it is, somehow, meaningful to you, sustains me and the work I do. Thank you. And I think you’ve found a brilliant solution for yourself: searching the ground and the sky is something I often do here. No matter where you are there is magic to be found beneath your feet and over your head. I look forward to seeing you back “home” in New Mexico as soon as the universe supports you doing that.
To find oneself in a perpetual state of grace no matter what is in ones surroundings is the ultimate goal. That is what the rougher times are for I reckon…to test our inner peace:)
I couldn’t agree with you more. Grace is always there for each and every one of us. And, often, it is all the more transcendent when we find it in the dark.
Thank you, Nancy, for all your good thoughts. I love your blog–have posted it on the HRA facebook page. Could wander through it all day. I’m so gratified to be a link for you to New Mexico and am grateful to be able to share this extraordinary place.
I too love being alone with the morning and a cup of coffee. It’s a short, fragile peace. Maybe that’s why it is so lovely.
Definitely a special time. I agree. I’m fortunate in that most mornings (unless I’m sitting the gallery) that kind of peace is extended into writing the blog or painting–both very peaceful as well.
Well, Julie, I feel it’s so fortunate for ME that you found the blog and are enjoying it. I so appreciate your obviously sincere feelings about what I’m doing. Thank you. Thank you, too, for offering support as I work my way through a rough patch. Ahhh, Wild Geese–one of my favorite poems–and, yes, one I’ve often turned to in times of trouble–but I’d forgotten it this time. So thank you for the gentle reminder and the video. That’s posted on the blog somewhere…
I love this line ….”But in moments like these, sitting at my table with a mug of good coffee next to me and a storm coming in over the mountain, I feel my soul in this body’s housing”. I grew up on a farm in the beautiful Drakensberg mountains (South Africa) and I long for that quiet simpler way of life. Your blog takes me back to that time.
What a truly lovely compliment, Robyn. Thank you. It is challenging to live in remote, beautiful places and still earn a living. I’m so happy the blog takes you back to a treasured time and place. Thank you for letting me know.