About four or five years ago, I started my "bucket list". You know, the list of things you want to do before you die. On the list was to play my guitar and sing at an open mic night. Now you have to picture this, I am the oldest of five girls, and they are all very good singers, they have all been at one time performers in one way or another. Each one at their individual high school graduations, were selected to sing at the graduation ceremony. I love to sing, I love to play my guitar, but I would not say I am at their level of ability.
I also have severe performance anxiety.
So I went to a therapist and underwent a therapy called EMDR.
I sat down in the therapist office and she explained the process. I had the choice of, either, hold in each hand a alternating pulsating disc, or look at a box that had blinking lights flashing back and forth for your eyes to follow, or wearing headphones that alternated in each ear, back and forth. Because I was well acquainted with the severity of this challenge and chose all three. I knew it was going to take something short of a miracle for me to overcome my extreme shyness.
She began to guide me through a relaxation technique, and then she led me through a visual scenario.
“Imagine yourself as a horse, confident, strong, and fearless.” And so I imagined it. Then she said, “you are running through a field, the wind blowing through your mane and you feel good and confident and strong and fearless." My imagination was fully present and I was a horse and I was running through the field.
" Now you are running through a forest and you are feeling strong and confident and fearless and you are jumping over logs and," suddenly while in my mind's eye, I blurted out, "my horse fell" I had in my mind really become the horse and while jumping over the logs I tripped. We both started laughing and I explained what happened. She helped me get back up and we brought the session to an early conclusion.
Oddly, what I took from the session wasn’t talking myself into being confident, strong and fearless, but it’s ok to trip and get myself back up and go on.
A week later I did perform and right out of the shoot, one of my guitar strings went out of tune and I had to retune before I could go on and I was amazingly calm. While tuning my guitar, I told the audience my EMDR story and they were thoroughly amused and it was a good experience.
And I got to take performing at an Open Mic Night off the list. Not to mention, it was alot of fun.
I picked up a book at the book store the other day, "How to think like Leonardo DaVinci" Seven steps to Genius Every Day. Wow, what a great book. I have only started it but I am totally hooked already.
Yes I am one of those self help junkies. Self Help, self taught, self diagnose self-help junky.
In the book it describes seven Da Vincian principles they purpose for everyday use to lead one to their full potential.
The first principle is Curiosita'- An insatiably curious approach to life and an unrelenting quest for continuous learning. (i.e. my blog)
The second principle is Dimostrazione- A commitment to test knowledge through experience, persistence, and a willingness to learn from mistakes. Now there's an ego buster.
When I started this Blog, quite honestly I thought no one would be reading it and just the imagining that someone might stumble across it was good enough for me and anyway this whole project was like singing in the shower, I was doing it for my own personal pleasure and learning. I did not expect much attention about it. Through circumstances, the museum expressed interest and we set up a show for the work produced from my studies when I am done, July 2012. Immediately the walls started closing in., well I'm over it now, I have climbed back up on the horse and we are one and going full steam ahead, lesson learned through another experience.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
What's next...
After finishing Frida, I realized I didn't really know where to go next. I have my favorites but I really felt that I needed to consult history. so I started in the present and worked my way back. It was like reading Leviticus, but much more interesting. I would read about an artist and his or her influences and then I would go to those artists and do the same and before I knew it I had walked myself back through history to the Middle ages. I have to say that was an exciting and stimulating exercise. I mapped it out on paper. Then I was able to take the next step.
So this project is trifold, study, write and create.
I am starting my studies in the Renaissance Era. Leonardo and Michelangelo.
Now the fun begins.
So this project is trifold, study, write and create.
I am starting my studies in the Renaissance Era. Leonardo and Michelangelo.
Now the fun begins.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Frida and me
Frida was born July 6, 1907 in Mexico and named by her parents Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo Calderon. Frida’s Father, Wilhelm Kahlo, a photographer, was a German Jew born of Hungarian descent that had come to Mexico as a young man. At age 6yrs old Frida contracted Polio. Her right leg was noticeably thinner than her left leg.
In 1922 Frida qualified to attend Mexico City's Preparatory high school. Women had only recently been admitted to the Prepa: Frida was one of only 25 females in a class of 2000 students. She studied compos ion, drawing and art and was interested in poetry, history, literature and philosophy.
On September 17th 1926 Frida was riding in a bus with her friend Alejandro when the bus tried to pass a streetcar. The bus collided with the heavy streetcar. In the accident, Frida was impaled on a rod of a metal handrail. Frida was not given immediate medical attention, but eventually was taken to the Red Cross hospital for treatment.
A description of her wounds compiled by her doctor years later in a clinical history, "Fracture of the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae, pelvic fractures, fracture of the right foot, dislocation of the left elbow, deep abdominal wound produce byte metal rod entering through the left hip and exiting through the genitals.
The rehabilitation was long and difficult and for the rest of her life she would endure many surgeries and many recoveries. She lived with chronic pain for the rest of her life.
August 21, 1929 Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, artist were married. They divorced in 1939, and then remarried December 8, 1940 and remained married until her death, July 16th, 1954 at the age of 47yrs old. She said to a Time magazine reporter, "I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint."1953. And paint she did.
On April 30th, 2010 I started studying Frida and her work and I could not have predicted the profound affect she would have on me and my work. I reflect now on the obvious: her pallet was consistent with muted colors. She seemed to have shaded and highlighted her work with black and white. She was the subject of most of her work.
She illustrated her pain, physical and emotional. What courage!
I have learned so much from Frida. Technically, I gleaned the importance of painting as a practice. When we want to master a skill, this requires practice. What I took from Frida, as a person was courage. The real risk is in the attempt to be authentic.
In conclusion, as cliché as this may sound, I am a better artist as a result of this study of Frida Kahlo. I am asking the questions.
In 1922 Frida qualified to attend Mexico City's Preparatory high school. Women had only recently been admitted to the Prepa: Frida was one of only 25 females in a class of 2000 students. She studied compos ion, drawing and art and was interested in poetry, history, literature and philosophy.
On September 17th 1926 Frida was riding in a bus with her friend Alejandro when the bus tried to pass a streetcar. The bus collided with the heavy streetcar. In the accident, Frida was impaled on a rod of a metal handrail. Frida was not given immediate medical attention, but eventually was taken to the Red Cross hospital for treatment.
A description of her wounds compiled by her doctor years later in a clinical history, "Fracture of the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae, pelvic fractures, fracture of the right foot, dislocation of the left elbow, deep abdominal wound produce byte metal rod entering through the left hip and exiting through the genitals.
The rehabilitation was long and difficult and for the rest of her life she would endure many surgeries and many recoveries. She lived with chronic pain for the rest of her life.
August 21, 1929 Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, artist were married. They divorced in 1939, and then remarried December 8, 1940 and remained married until her death, July 16th, 1954 at the age of 47yrs old. She said to a Time magazine reporter, "I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint."1953. And paint she did.
On April 30th, 2010 I started studying Frida and her work and I could not have predicted the profound affect she would have on me and my work. I reflect now on the obvious: her pallet was consistent with muted colors. She seemed to have shaded and highlighted her work with black and white. She was the subject of most of her work.
She illustrated her pain, physical and emotional. What courage!
I have learned so much from Frida. Technically, I gleaned the importance of painting as a practice. When we want to master a skill, this requires practice. What I took from Frida, as a person was courage. The real risk is in the attempt to be authentic.
In conclusion, as cliché as this may sound, I am a better artist as a result of this study of Frida Kahlo. I am asking the questions.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Dancing to the Tune of Paint
I am a woman of many projects, ask anyone who knows me. Idle does not agree with me.
Last summer I decided to take out the old fashion T-post laundry line that stood in the center of my yard. Every time I would walk across the yard, I would have to bend down to avoid the line. It amuses me to think of the expression "clothes lined", and I have been. I decided to remove one pole and repurpose the other pole, paint it and put bird houses along the top. Immediately I saw an opportunity. So I called my daughter Tiffany and asked if the boys, (my three grandsons who live in Loveland) could come spend the afternoon and help. Of course she said yes, like every mother of small children, she welcomed the break. They pulled into the driveway, the van door opened like a can of sardines with a Bowes speaker system inside. Loud voices of excitement and Eveready bunny energy emerged, primed for the adventure.
I think that is the charismatic draw that children have. They are fully and totally in the moment.
We went straight to the back yard. They were excited to see this project; Grammy had invited them over for.
I showed them the paint, and brushes, gave them a brief tutorial in art supply care and then told them they could use whatever color they wanted and paint whatever design they wanted. No Rules.
Caleb was at the time 6 yrs old and has been diagnosed high functioning autistic, Zayne 5yrs old and boy as boy can be, Davey, 4yrs old and has another set of challenges but sweet and always smiling. They were very serious and I could tell they were listening intently while I gave them their charge. Then they picked up their brushes and chose their paint and began painting.
What I saw was nothing short of "the essence of life" pure unencumbered joy.
Caleb began to hum and dance. The energy was contagious, Davey followed in the celebration, though Zayne was intense and meticulous, soon his joy erupted in a chorus of lalalalas.
That was an afternoon I will never forget. I could fully relate to their joy.
The pole is bursting with color and as with all original art carries a spirit, a life of its own. I love remembering that day. It was transformative.
I cannot remember when I started drawing. I have to rely on the family folklore. I know, Art, drawing, painting, creating was the first thing that I was sure I loved. Like my grandchildren, dancing and humming around the clothesline pole with brush and paint in hand, I feel that joy still, when painting.
There is a joy present in the works of Frida Kahlo among the honest illustration of her ongoing physical limitations and chronic pain. You will find it in the paint. You will find it in the masterful images, color, and content. Frida was in the moment, Frida was that moment. It has been said " It is in the journey we find happiness" When I look at the works of Frida I see someone who did not give up what she loved, but found love in what she did. She made herself absolutely vulnerable, as a child.
Frida's paint dances on the canvas for all to enjoy.
Last summer I decided to take out the old fashion T-post laundry line that stood in the center of my yard. Every time I would walk across the yard, I would have to bend down to avoid the line. It amuses me to think of the expression "clothes lined", and I have been. I decided to remove one pole and repurpose the other pole, paint it and put bird houses along the top. Immediately I saw an opportunity. So I called my daughter Tiffany and asked if the boys, (my three grandsons who live in Loveland) could come spend the afternoon and help. Of course she said yes, like every mother of small children, she welcomed the break. They pulled into the driveway, the van door opened like a can of sardines with a Bowes speaker system inside. Loud voices of excitement and Eveready bunny energy emerged, primed for the adventure.
I think that is the charismatic draw that children have. They are fully and totally in the moment.
We went straight to the back yard. They were excited to see this project; Grammy had invited them over for.
I showed them the paint, and brushes, gave them a brief tutorial in art supply care and then told them they could use whatever color they wanted and paint whatever design they wanted. No Rules.
Caleb was at the time 6 yrs old and has been diagnosed high functioning autistic, Zayne 5yrs old and boy as boy can be, Davey, 4yrs old and has another set of challenges but sweet and always smiling. They were very serious and I could tell they were listening intently while I gave them their charge. Then they picked up their brushes and chose their paint and began painting.
What I saw was nothing short of "the essence of life" pure unencumbered joy.
Caleb began to hum and dance. The energy was contagious, Davey followed in the celebration, though Zayne was intense and meticulous, soon his joy erupted in a chorus of lalalalas.
That was an afternoon I will never forget. I could fully relate to their joy.
The pole is bursting with color and as with all original art carries a spirit, a life of its own. I love remembering that day. It was transformative.
I cannot remember when I started drawing. I have to rely on the family folklore. I know, Art, drawing, painting, creating was the first thing that I was sure I loved. Like my grandchildren, dancing and humming around the clothesline pole with brush and paint in hand, I feel that joy still, when painting.
There is a joy present in the works of Frida Kahlo among the honest illustration of her ongoing physical limitations and chronic pain. You will find it in the paint. You will find it in the masterful images, color, and content. Frida was in the moment, Frida was that moment. It has been said " It is in the journey we find happiness" When I look at the works of Frida I see someone who did not give up what she loved, but found love in what she did. She made herself absolutely vulnerable, as a child.
Frida's paint dances on the canvas for all to enjoy.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Color your way through
In researching Frida, of course I had to watch the movie "Frida" staring Selma Hayck. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it. It is a work of art in itself. Artfully and thoughtfully done. I also read "The Brush of Anguish" by Martha Zamore, my daughter picked up for me at the Frida Kahlo exibition at Philidelphia Museum of Art.
I just can't get tired of looking at her work. There is meaning in everything she did, down to the last detail. I have no wish to interpret her work, people with much more knowledge than I, have already done that.
I started drawing when I could pick up a pencil or a crayon, so I am told. I remember sitting for hours and just drawing. My childhood had alot of tramma and I remember drawing my way through it. I could go somewhere else.
Last summer I had the priviledge of being chosen to participate in the Loveland Transformation Project. About thirteen artist were chosen to paint electical tranformer boxes and my transformer is next to the Loveland Museum. WOW, sometimes, I have to pinch myself, what a source of joy that was, and it came at a time in my life that was especially difficult. Karl had just died in February and I was in deep grief. I thought I would never come to the other side and then I received this honor. For the first time in a long time I felt true joy. Painting that transformer brought me back to life, when I thought there was none to be had.
What I am learning right now from reading about Frida and looking at her art, may turn out to be a valuable lesson in art and in life. I imagine that she colored her way through much pain and anguish,I don't see self pity in anything she did, but that does not mean denying the nature of your true circumestances, create beauty from whatever you are given.
I just can't get tired of looking at her work. There is meaning in everything she did, down to the last detail. I have no wish to interpret her work, people with much more knowledge than I, have already done that.
I started drawing when I could pick up a pencil or a crayon, so I am told. I remember sitting for hours and just drawing. My childhood had alot of tramma and I remember drawing my way through it. I could go somewhere else.
Last summer I had the priviledge of being chosen to participate in the Loveland Transformation Project. About thirteen artist were chosen to paint electical tranformer boxes and my transformer is next to the Loveland Museum. WOW, sometimes, I have to pinch myself, what a source of joy that was, and it came at a time in my life that was especially difficult. Karl had just died in February and I was in deep grief. I thought I would never come to the other side and then I received this honor. For the first time in a long time I felt true joy. Painting that transformer brought me back to life, when I thought there was none to be had.
What I am learning right now from reading about Frida and looking at her art, may turn out to be a valuable lesson in art and in life. I imagine that she colored her way through much pain and anguish,I don't see self pity in anything she did, but that does not mean denying the nature of your true circumestances, create beauty from whatever you are given.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
hand in hand with Frida
In choosing a painting from Frida's work as my jumping off point, I thought about her life and you cannot think about Frida Kahlo's life without considering her intense chronic pain as a result of the trolly accident she was in as a youth and the many surgeries that left her at times worse than before the surgery and how in the midst of this pain she was able to create such beautiful art.
One cannot compare pain, it is impossible. I think when one compares one's pain with someone else’s it devalues either yours or theirs, yet we all have it. It is one of the things that make us human. Some are unable to get past it, some get through it, and some, the pain is the color on the canvas and it is beautifully brilliant.
My grandmother Dodge had polio as a child. She spent a number of years in bed. Her legs became a challenge not her excuse. My father told a story of his youth when she took him shopping for school clothes. They were downtown Canon City, Colorado. They were walking past a store front and she looked at her reflection in the window and said, "Who's that cripple". She never saw herself as handicapped. She was vibrant, energetic, creative and hard working. She raised four boys alone and had a successful career. She endured alot of pain and it made her magnificent.
The work of Frida Kahlo is not only poetically painful but also strikingly beautiful.
This leads me to my own pain and what I do with it. It is there. I don't know about anyone else, but I am on a journey through it, with it and in it and color is my companion.
What about you?
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Challenge
Fall of 2009 I was invited to participate in the upcoming Salvador Dali exhibition. The artists who were invited were charged with creating a piece inspired by Dali's work. Needless to say I was thoroughly excited by the challenge. Looking through the resource materials I was struck by this man’s fearlessness. He was so brave and honest.
I selected the Salvador Dali piece that would be my inspiration and started on a hand in hand journey through Salvador to me.
The piece title "My impression of Africa" propelled me into my impression of surrealism's interpretation of my own life as I saw it then. Very exciting, not necessarily my life was especially exciting for the story on canvas, but I don't know how to describe the thrill of creating. It could be compared to the feelings you get when a person falls in love, and fall in love I did, with Salvador, surrealism, creativity, creating.
December 11Th the show opened and with much success. it was a wonderful experience.
As I mentioned in an earlier entry, at the urging of my daughter I started this blog. I had no idea what that was. I had heard references to blogs here and there, and being the leap before I look sort of girl I jumped right into it and then after a weak start, then a burst and then a cathartic memorial of my deceased husband, i found myself found myself clueless. but what the hell, there is very little left to my left brain so the logical steps someone else may take in preparing and starting a blog just do not exist in my world.
Yesterday I signed up for netflix. Everyone i know has it and so I am trying it out. While considering my movie options, I spotted “Julie, Julia”, which I have already seen, but anyone who knows me knows that if I like a movie i will watch it multiple times. i enjoyed it the second time as much as the first time. I was once again inspired by the author Julie. Her challenge was to cook all the recipes in Julia Childes French cooking cookbook in one year.
Which, leads me to my challenge, like a light bulb at moment of surge. I will create artwork inspired by the masters and write about it. Looking at the many great painters that have gone before me, I am not sure how to accomplish this challenge in one year, so my criteria may not align with what Julie did, but I thank her for the initial inspiration.
How will I decide what artists?...
I will start with Frida Kahlo. Wow, that will be cool. Ii wonder what Frida has to say to me. I will let you know.
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