Gratitful for the Gift of Ideas

     Ideas come to mind, which is an apt description. They arrive from an energetic atmosphere in a flash of inspiration. Ego readily takes credit, but that might be a mistake. Credit is important from a marketing stand point in this run-out-of-money-doomed-to starve world, but there are reasons not to focus too much on outcome. Soliciting compliments is a red flag that ego crept in the back door. A healthy ego is self-protective when necessary, but can let go of slights that are not truly threatening. Becoming a name brand might happen naturally, but can be a self-limiting as a goal. Ideas are always available, but time to act on them is not.           

     Almost anything can be used as an excuse to set the brushes down and life offers continual distractions, some fun, some horrible. While some paintings are ethereal joy to create others are as fun as leg cramps. Some take too long, the paint doesn’t flow and motivation stagnates. Being stubborn and dogged helps. Cantankerous brush throwing fits are best kept secret and lapses in confidence are like constipation. Nobody really wants those details.

     Living alone or together require the same expenditure of emotional fortitude and problem solving, although in different ways. Being coupled is an opportunity to master compromise. Living alone is a chance to develop confidence through independence. Artistic work originates in spite of life’s challenges, rarely because of them in my experience. Channels of inspiration are easily blocked by bitterness and resentment, with endless opportunity to focus on drama. Sadly those voices can be louder than the whisper of creativity, but our job is to tune out disagreeable thoughts and listen more carefully.  

     I stepped away from a collaborative art project for awhile because the unfathomable labyrinth of marketing and sales took so much of my time. My painting and business partner enjoyed that part of the project, but I did not. I longed to paint while staring at a computer screen. Business is best left to people who are good at it. Fortunately we preserved our friendship and The Buddha Project 100 is ongoing. More paintings will follow and I believe they will have a life regardless of my lack of business acumen. Ideas show up more readily when there is time for them. Acknowledgement and financial reward are extraordinary results when they happen, although I find that peace of mind and equanimity are more often experienced when they are the first priority.    

  

2016 Amity 

48 x 68"

acrylic on canvas 

 

Loud Rooster

    This painting started with a dream when I first got back to Molokai after a long absence. Roosters under my window woke me up, but not until I dreamed about catching the annoying birds and spray painting them all pink. After a few days I got used to them again, but the image stuck with me. Most people heading off for their first vacation to rural Hawaii don't know that very loud feral roosters are going to jolt them out of a sound sleep at 3 a.m. All I can say is be prepared. 

 

     When I finished the painting, which looks remarkably like a Sanrio product, I didn't know what to do with it. It kicked around in the potting shed for awhile. My host, who has a very colorful house, laughed when I held it up in front of one of his closet doors. His wife painted the house with the fervor of Carnival, in every possible bright color known to man. It's cheerful and wonderfully unusual. 
     The shrieking rooster painting looks amazing! It fits. It's clearly the product of this environment, the loud house, the louder creatures and well, I'm happy to say it has found a permanent home. 

Prances with Coyotes

     A scene unfolded in my friend’s yard in New Mexico of comic proportions. A roadrunner scampered around eating grasshoppers oblivious to a coyote lurking nearby. I was torn. Observe and photograph what was about to unfold or rush outside and chase the coyote away. The roadrunner turned his back ignoring the coyote, then surprisingly jumped through the fence closer to harm. The coyote crept up looking this way and that pretending not to notice the bird. I zoomed in on the slow motion action. 

     A poor, innocent creature was about to be eaten and by hesitating I had done nothing to prevent it. The roadrunner flicked its long tail and casually raised a witless topknot as if inviting the inevitable. Run, run like hell now! The coyote looking hungry and determined took another careful step forward. The bird unbelievably turned its back again.  
     Any minute flying feathers and gnashing teeth would turn an iconic southwest fowl into Thanksgiving dinner for a cunning scavenger. Dammit. 

 

 
 

      The coyote stood frozen staring intently, then took one quick step. It happened so fast I didn’t see it. My camera was focused beyond the fence and the scene with the bird was mercifully blurred. I really didn’t want to watch. 

       



      Then the coyote stopped and looked up. Nothing had happened. I refocused and found the roadrunner merrily perched on top of a nearby fence post. It had jumped straight up, an impossible leap in my mind, but those spring-loaded legs propelled it upward out of harm’s way revealing a sneaky, well planned foil. A crazy little happy dance on the fence post ensued. The coyote sauntered over and glared up at the roadrunner before jumping through the fence and trotting off through the scrubby weeds.

    The roadrunner struck a pose for victory. Then to my surprise it jumped to the ground and took off after its predator. Surviving wasn’t enough, the torment had to be repeated. I watched the roadrunner leap onto another fence post when the coyote got too close and laughed out loud. I had been wrought with concern for the poor bird only moments before and now felt sorry for the frustrated coyote. This was no ordinary bird. With amazing timing and bravado the little jerk outwitted the coyote time and again. 

  
 

     I have to admit that I had not connected the seriously obvious dots until my friend said, “Beep Beep”. Right, of course, I missed that. Who’s the superior species now? Native to the Americas coyotes have been around for at least one hundred and twenty thousand years. Roadrunners, I swear. Taunting coyotes is clearly a time honored pastime.   

 

     

 

Orbiting New Mexico

A driving tour of New Mexico with friends took us through boom towns and ruins, surface and subterranean phenomena and fields of petroglyphs long abandoned. New Mexico’s artists past and present have opened their creative hearts and minds to the magnificent emptiness, vast skies and distinct color palate of the hardscrabble landscape. A small measure of danger inherent in the high desert with its venomous snakes, flash floods, ghosts and rogue humans heighten the experience, because who can truly feel alive without a whisper of mortality.
The environment required for artwork to emerge involves a complex web woven from tangible objects, a rich inner world, dedication and time. Financial and emotional stability are optional. 

Wild animals in the desert survive the harsh environment with a balancing act of mysterious skills and the iron clad fortitude mandatory for climactic extremes. My artist friends in New Mexico are the same.
I’ve known Victoria for nearly thirty years and recently met Ricky. It was instantly apparent why they were such good friends. Their meeting must have been magnetic because they are somewhat unusual in a similar way. They each possess the ability to see alternate worlds in the gravel most of us step on to get somewhere else. A random spot on the ground reveals evidence of long extinct creatures and crumbs of civilization meaningless to most of us. They have patience, on the scale of geologic erosion, to ferret out such mysteries.
There is much to be learned given time. Naturally occurring mud balls, bits of turquoise on railroad beds, arrow heads on hillsides and burnt corn cobs in fire rings from centuries passed are everyday ordinary for slow walking explorers with refined perspicacity.  

It could be that observation and imagination stand apart, but I had the distinct feeling that Victoria and Ricky’s similarity in character was a clue to how their respective artwork evolves. Victoria paints her dreams. Ricky builds worlds that are like walking into dreams.
Orbs randomly scattered in the brush along the dirt road to Ricky and Alex’s place on closer inspection turned out to be decaying bowling balls. Great balls of wire, an elegant globe of garden hoses and unidentified plastic spheres also adorn the grounds. A number of florescent papier-mâché balloons hung on a laundry rack inside the front door, but they were not immediately apparent in the creative chaos. 
I had to quietly take in the surroundings before elegant patterns of order emerged. How was it possible? There was no direction that did not bring a smile. The house is underground, lit by a glass wall on one face and skylights through to the earth above. We eventually wandered to the back of the house to tables full of round polished stones. Ricky placed one in my hand. It was heavy and felt weird, like it might talk. An image of a sci-fi wormhole came to mind. Ricky told me how long it had taken him to acquire the beautifully polished meteor. Most people save up for cars or televisions, but in New Mexico it’s not wholly unusual to find someone who longs for rocks from outer space.

In Victoria and Virginia’s house an ascending row of perfectly formed mud balls collected from a nearby dry wash adorn the fireplace mantle. Their artwork fills the walls with thought provoking images. The yard is a haven for coyote, raptors, rabbits, ravens and more. Plentiful holes in the ground house lord knows what. The cat must stay inside or be carried off by wild dogs.
Victoria’s artwork inspires artists. She encourages old and new painters to open their minds. I love her work, although writing critically about art is a skill I will leave to experts.
What I can attest to are the moments of wonder that I experienced when Victoria handed me a potshard from a pile of rubble or an exquisite piece of petrified wood that was mostly buried in sand, because I would never have seen them if not for my friend. I left convinced that highly tuned powers of observation honed by long hours bent to the task reward the viewer tenfold, although much patience and curiosity are required. We visited Ricky and Alex’s wonderful place because Victoria knew I would love them and their work. And possibly because I stood a decent chance of being spoken to by a vision enhancing, magical meteor.
Shortly before I left New Mexico we went to a nearby riverbed after a flood to look for mud balls. I doubt I would have found them on my own because they look just like dirt until plucked from the surrounding debris.
How do they do it? Apparently, with the long stare of a stalking coyote, raptor like vision and the serenity of a hibernating snake.

                                     catherinebuchanan.com