Obviously I have been lost for a month or so - at least to my blog. It is the never-ending struggle of balancing my 'daily' life with my 'art' life, which somehow doesn't seem to co-exist very well during certain times of my life.
As you know, I don't have a 'day' job or a salary. So, what, EXACTLY, do I do with my time???
I've been trying to figure that out myself. When I do get down into my beloved, treasured studio - I am extremely productive. In fact, I am amazed sometimes at the amount of work I can get accomplished overnight. It is the 'getting down there' that is the problem at hand.
Studio Image from Fall 2009
Unbeknownst to some, the work of an exhibiting artists entails caboodles of paperwork. Some days it feels like I have made work (let's say 1 day that week), but the rest of the time is spent marketing, proposing, begging for grant money, all in an effort to have that work get out to the public. I've been struggling with this, too. Is my work created just for me? Would it be enough to make it and keep it hiding here in my house? If I do keep it here, what does that make it? A hobby?
Finished Encaustic Assemblage Work - on studio shelf
I think intent is so important here - my intent when I make objects or alter them is to make commentary on social issues. Therefore, I have a calling to do social interpretation . . . which, therefore, requires a society to interact with them. Would it not be so much easier if I just wanted to quilt something to keep myself and my loved ones warm? Here is my stick - that isn't enough for me.
So there. It isn't enough for me. So my calling is to make and my duty is to get it out there. Towards that end I had the 2 trips to Grand Rapids for Artprize in Sept/October. I still had my broken ankle and that made things more difficult - but the installations were great and it was seen by more than 10,000 viewers. I found out during that trip there is still much gender-bias in the art world. I am disappointed, but more determined than ever to move forward.
Coping Skills, as lit at ARTPRIZE 2009
Also during October were 2 of my kids' birthday parties (Claire's 7th was a happening in and of itself) . . . more company and then in November I had the honor of being chosen as the first ever seed SPACE artist in Nashville, TN. [NOTE: seed SPACE is a lab for site-specific installation, sculpture, and performance-based art that brings attention to the excellence, diversity, and interest in contemporary art in Tennessee. seed SPACE brings in nationally recognized art critics to write exhibition essays.] My art reviewer was Chen Tamir the Director of Flux Factory, Queens, NY. seed SPACE is currently developing their website - I will provide their link when it becomes available.
Having an interview with a critic is not an easy thing. I am a very open person (obviously) - but I find that each time I have had a one-on-one with an art critic (including Linda Weintraub) the experience has cracked my art spirit wide open - even further than it was prior to the interview. I have likened it to having a living autopsy performed on oneself. I maintain that opinion. The benefit of going through this process is that the critic/reviewer, from their UNCONFINED PERSPECTIVE, can see all the connections and scars and various conditions of your lifework. Talk about insightful. Revelatory. Cathartic. I could go on and on.
Thomas Eakins' THE GROSS CLINIC
This all brings me to the following responses about the experience: the first draft review is incredibly astute and I appreciated the seriousness with which Chen viewed the work and our interview. It is invaluable to me, as a developing artist, to have such direct and unconfined perspective on my works to date. Interestingly enough, these interviews always spur in me an even greater understanding of who I am becoming and my place in the world - let alone the deeper investigations with the works themselves.
There are many other things which have occurred, including the beginnings of several new series, but November seemed to focus on investigating previous works as they are being exhibited. Additionally, I have 3 years worth of blogs to re-load all the images for due to my Typepad/Wordpress transfer - total debacle!
As I move into December, it begins another year of my life - my 43rd. Although some have mistakenly dismissed me as a bored housewife, I can tell you - there is little that would be more difficult for me to attempt than to nurture my art at the same time I try to raise a family. If I only needed to be entertained, i can think of much funner, cheaper, and immediately gratifying than being an artist. It is not the easiest route. Forging a new path never is.
Read More Studio Image from Fall 2009
Unbeknownst to some, the work of an exhibiting artists entails caboodles of paperwork. Some days it feels like I have made work (let's say 1 day that week), but the rest of the time is spent marketing, proposing, begging for grant money, all in an effort to have that work get out to the public. I've been struggling with this, too. Is my work created just for me? Would it be enough to make it and keep it hiding here in my house? If I do keep it here, what does that make it? A hobby?
Finished Encaustic Assemblage Work - on studio shelf
I think intent is so important here - my intent when I make objects or alter them is to make commentary on social issues. Therefore, I have a calling to do social interpretation . . . which, therefore, requires a society to interact with them. Would it not be so much easier if I just wanted to quilt something to keep myself and my loved ones warm? Here is my stick - that isn't enough for me.
So there. It isn't enough for me. So my calling is to make and my duty is to get it out there. Towards that end I had the 2 trips to Grand Rapids for Artprize in Sept/October. I still had my broken ankle and that made things more difficult - but the installations were great and it was seen by more than 10,000 viewers. I found out during that trip there is still much gender-bias in the art world. I am disappointed, but more determined than ever to move forward.
Coping Skills, as lit at ARTPRIZE 2009
Also during October were 2 of my kids' birthday parties (Claire's 7th was a happening in and of itself) . . . more company and then in November I had the honor of being chosen as the first ever seed SPACE artist in Nashville, TN. [NOTE: seed SPACE is a lab for site-specific installation, sculpture, and performance-based art that brings attention to the excellence, diversity, and interest in contemporary art in Tennessee. seed SPACE brings in nationally recognized art critics to write exhibition essays.] My art reviewer was Chen Tamir the Director of Flux Factory, Queens, NY. seed SPACE is currently developing their website - I will provide their link when it becomes available.
Having an interview with a critic is not an easy thing. I am a very open person (obviously) - but I find that each time I have had a one-on-one with an art critic (including Linda Weintraub) the experience has cracked my art spirit wide open - even further than it was prior to the interview. I have likened it to having a living autopsy performed on oneself. I maintain that opinion. The benefit of going through this process is that the critic/reviewer, from their UNCONFINED PERSPECTIVE, can see all the connections and scars and various conditions of your lifework. Talk about insightful. Revelatory. Cathartic. I could go on and on.
Thomas Eakins' THE GROSS CLINIC
This all brings me to the following responses about the experience: the first draft review is incredibly astute and I appreciated the seriousness with which Chen viewed the work and our interview. It is invaluable to me, as a developing artist, to have such direct and unconfined perspective on my works to date. Interestingly enough, these interviews always spur in me an even greater understanding of who I am becoming and my place in the world - let alone the deeper investigations with the works themselves.
There are many other things which have occurred, including the beginnings of several new series, but November seemed to focus on investigating previous works as they are being exhibited. Additionally, I have 3 years worth of blogs to re-load all the images for due to my Typepad/Wordpress transfer - total debacle!
As I move into December, it begins another year of my life - my 43rd. Although some have mistakenly dismissed me as a bored housewife, I can tell you - there is little that would be more difficult for me to attempt than to nurture my art at the same time I try to raise a family. If I only needed to be entertained, i can think of much funner, cheaper, and immediately gratifying than being an artist. It is not the easiest route. Forging a new path never is.
So, I and my apparently disconnected legs lay tangled on the concrete. I couldn't breathe, it hurt so much. "It" meaning - everything. My back, my shoulders, my hands and wrists where I had tried to catch myself, but worst of all - below the knees just seared and sang with so much pain they were almost numb. I did some lamaze breathing. I shed tears. I collapsed when I tried to push myself up with my arms.
After about 10 minutes of writhing and gasping, I managed to sit up somewhat and although I couldn't feel how the feet were connected to my legs, I visually assured myself that they were, indeed, there. So - this is good, no? Because: 1) I don't have to wave goodbye to my own leg from the window (as did some of the Confederate and Union soldiers in the war); 2) Well, at this point I couldn't think of a 2nd good thing!
When I felt I could talk I scouted to the van on my bruised behind and retrieved the already packed cell phone. Who to call? My friend was in the house, but she was sleeping 3 levels away with the very loud, highly coveted hurricane fan on . . . in the the cave sleeping chamber . . . no way would she hear my screaming. Humm, also her cell phone was on the charger in the basement so it would do no good to call that phone.
So, I decide to call my husband. He is a PT, if nothing else he can come home and scrape me off the cement. I was so shaky I had a hard time calling the number . . . and, of course, he didn't answer the cell, which meant he was with a patient. I decide this qualifies as an emergency and call the front office - I squeak out that I need Don and that it is an emergency . . . so he leads me through a few toe moving tests and we determine that the right ankle/foot is not broken, but the left probably is. He advises ice. So I crawl back up the steps, get icepacks and lay on the couch. I figure my friend will wake up and can take me to the doctor or when my son gets home he can drive me.
Before that can happen my son calls from school saying he is sick with a fever. So. I can drive with my right foot so I go get him at school . . . he drives home and drops me at the doctor and I get xrays . . . and diagnosed, 1 sprain, another bad sprain and a crushed outer ankle bone (that triangle thingy that sticks out), do the air cast/boot, get painkillers . . . home. My son goes back to the dr. on his own. He has mono. Lauren comes home, sick. Dylan takes her to the doctor. My friend wakes up in this chaos - we laugh as I giggle on my painkillers and we imitate General Hood waving his shoulder stump as he tries to say good bye to his own arm. We are, obviously, evil beings. We have never laughed so hard.
