Tag: angst

Art & Life

Contemplation

In my more cynical moments, I am annoyed that I spend time sitting in front of a computer looking at pictures and playing with software.  Who will see them?  Does anyone care?  Even writing these words seems to be a bit of a waste of time.

Years ago, in my younger days, I aspired to be an artist.  The need to earn my keep held me back, but also fostered the question of what is the value of art?  Value implies something which can have a monetary amount attached to it, but on a deeper level it also means merit, worth, esteem and often ethics, principles, standards.  My conclusion was that if it had value to me, then it was art.  No more angst over it, and a very simple answer.

Still, life intervenes.  Things need to be done such as working, taking care of a house, paying bills.  People, too, need to be nurtured; friendships and family relationships are inherently important.  Physical, mental, and spiritual health need attention.  All of these take away from time “doing” or “making” art.  However, there is also the art of living, which is all-encompassing.

LIttle talks with myself in moments of why? are very important.  I expect most of us have these dialogs.  Our inner voices need to be heard, and sometimes the only one who can provide an answer is the voice within, from whatever it is derived.  Perspective helps; hindsight aids.

So, to answer my own question:  The value of the time I spend developing pictures is the value I place on it.  When it pales in value, my focus needs to change to something more satisfying.  Yes, life’s little chores need attending, but they are part of daily rhythms.  Questions like this may also allude to dissatisfaction with solitary activities, or one kind of activity, or sitting rather than being outdoors hiking or gardening or seeing new things or meeting up with friends and family.

Regroup, rethink, and move on!

 

Pain(ting Class)

For the past two years I have been getting a teaching credential, while teaching full time. You can imagine it – no time to do what I want to do. As time passes, doing what I want to do becomes an ever-increasing desperation. So many people and things pulling at me that it becomes difficult to know who I am at times. I am always someone in relationship to something else. When there finally is time, a sense of guilt descends. Is it really all right to be so selfish? Shouldn’t I be running off to the next project? That is, the next project for the students or the credential?? And reading for pleasure? No, it is anatomy and physiology and physics, along with making sure this “i” is dotted, and that “t” is crossed.

Now the credential is done. Most classes are prepped. Enter the California budget crisis. Thus far, I’ve been spared, but there is always that wondering in the back of my mind, the worry, the anxiety. Now I prepare for other things, being pushed into action on things I was going to do later.

Painting, more than anything, is really the most selfish thing I do in my life. No one is allowed to bother me. I get to express myself on paper. Then the doorbell rings. The dogs bark. I feel like screaming. Certainly not conducive for getting into the zen of it all. I feel angry and guilty.

The fact is, I’ve not done any consistent painting for almost two years, less in the past one. I’ve lost my connection with brush and paper, and I’ve lost my knowledge of color and how it all comes together. Tonight I was going to do the peony from class, and I got into hating my brushes. Too soft, too this, too whatever. The fact was, it was me.

I wanted to “produce” when in reality, the best thing to do was play. I pulled out a pile of various Chinese papers I’d cut some time ago, and off I went, not worrying about color or type of paper, or anything. Some of it was pure crap, other things I liked. I held the brush close to the bristles, other times I stood up and held the brush loosely, and just swooped, smooshed, and curved.

Um, I had fun!