Painting in the dark
Still making art even though the conditions are not ideal
As a preamble to the following post, I wrote some of it in my morning pages this morning and debated whether to share it because of their high levels of self-indulgence. I decided to share them because I am trying to be more authentic, and what that looks like right now is a lot messier than I have been letting on. I know, can you believe it.
I spent a lot my time in LA hiding how broke and messy my life was from people out of the fear that I would be seen as a liability and not fit for gallery representation, or inclusion in the various art world circles where everyone seemed to be flush with cash despite the insane costs of living in California. But then I started writing Art Date, and a lot of my messiness came out - more than I anticipated. And surprise, surprise, nothing seemed to have too big of an impact on my life. And no one really seemed to care in a bad way that I had broken the social code by letting on how hard it is.
Plus, I am going through and re-reading and editing my first year of Art Date essays to create a compilation (date pending), and was reminded how open I was about a lot of my career-related insecurities. It felt like a relief all over again to read them and know that I gave myself permission to just be open about what I was going through rather than faking it till I made it. I’m hoping that, also, writing might offer a mirror to other creatives out there, which is why I share these things publicly.
So, in the spirit of all that, I want to admit that I am in a bit of a slow-moving, long-term spiral about my career. I went to bed feeling sorry for myself and woke up feeling similar- as well as stiff, fat, grumpy, and anxious about the future. Not exactly the vibes you want as you rise out of bed to face the day, but that’s what they are. It’s not that things are going exceptionally bad, but I will be honest, they aren’t great.
I don’t currently have a studio, or an apartment for that matter. My sublet ended and I am dog and catsitting for my neighbor while trying to find a needle in the haystack where they will accept, nay, love my cats, not have gross pile carpet, and be in one of the walkable neighborhoods in Albuquerque or Santa Fe - all while fitting my cute little non-profit budget.
Thanks to the big pitcher in the sky who likes to throw us all the curve balls, I have been feeling stifled creatively, which seems fair. In fact, since returning from California, I generously gave myself permission to not make art as I started my new job. Actually, it was more of a directive, like when you sit down and decide you’re going to treat yourself to eating an entire pizza, whether you like it or not.
Somewhere in my brain, I flipped a switch that told myself it would be too much to paint right now, so don’t even bother. I told myself it would be enough to write and consume other people’s art. Besides, it’s too hot to paint. I don’t have a studio and can’t make the big paintings I want to make. Plus, I have so much bookkeeping to do. And so on.
And yet, while I tried to ‘enjoy’ myself on my off days sans art, there was the nagging feeling that I was cutting myself off from something crucial to my existence. I am so good at compartmentalizing, thanks to my Capricorn moon, that I all but forgot what it was. And then I saw this guy while running errands, painting in the bright hot sun of Albuquerque around 2pm when it couldn’t have been less than 90 degrees.
Ah yes, painting. That old friend.
The silly part about this self-induced hiatus is, at so many times in my life, I have painted in extreme conditions. Neither the weather nor the lack of resources have kept me from making what I think was pretty darn good work. I made a whole series of paintings in Iceland in close to freezing temperatures, with birds swooping over my head, threatening to attack my eyeballs. And there were multiple murals made in rural Portugal and Greece where the weather was at least 90, with no respite from the sun and lots of mosquitos. And all those times, I was similarly house-less, in between residences with all my stuff in storage, living the nomad life. Yet, how quickly we forget what we are capable of.
Seeing this dude painting in the heat was a kick in the butt, and a welcome reminder that I, too, could be somewhere painting. Always the teacher’s pet, I accepted the homework and have since started going to the Sandía Mountain trails and making some work there in the afternoon and evening when the temperature cools.
Even with all these little nudges, I have to fight my inner resistance to do it. Last night, I got there right before sunset, and almost left after a short hike, but decided that I would try and make a few watercolors. By the time I finished, it was dark. My animal instinct wanted to kick in. You’re not safe, it said. It’s dark out, and who knows what might get you. Ther are coyotes, tarantulas, snakes - all real threats to be sure. (Also, not the first time I have written about being afraid of the dark, I’m realizing.)
But as I stayed with that fear, and continued to work on a watercolor, no predators appeared. I eventually relaxed and was able to appreciate the beauty of the dark. My eyes adjusted, and it made me have to use a different sense to interpret the colors I was using, kind of like how I imagine Beethoven did composing music mostly deaf.
The Sandia mountains from afar, during the day
That is all for now. Stress or not, public radio funding or not, lets all go make some art.
Moment of cat zen: DiDi plotting the demise of this beautiful little bird
