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"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up".
-Pablo PicassoYou got that right, Picasso. This is a picture of me, taken in the 70's, lost in a creative project. As of today, "Anne Woods' Daily Art Works" becomes, "Anne Woods' Occasional and Who-knows-when Art Works", until life shifts and changes again.Last summer, at Studio Incamminati, I chatted during a break with a classmate named Sharon. She told me it was her dream to do the full time program at the Studio. I asked her what was holding her back.
"Well, I'm 60", she said.
"But you would only be 64 by the time you finished!" I exclaimed. And then when I'm 60, and have the same fear, I can think to myself, well, Sharon did it, so can I.How do artists do it? How do they make it happen in the years between childhood and retirement, without marrying a software engineer or having to live on a scrap of bread?I made a promise to myself to make a piece of art every day for one full year. I did it. I now make a promise that I will be a full time, highly successful artist, making things I love to make, before my retirement years. I will do it. I WILL.Thank you all SO much for reading my blog, and for all the comments, feedback and encouragement you've given me throughout this year. I truly appreciate it and I will be back!
I went looking for something else, but stumbled upon this oldie. I hadn't realized that I started my brain studies so long ago! Rediscovering this drawing made my day.
Aagh, it's day one of school, let the overload begin. I'm going to miss my blog and sketching so much. I have a lovely walk to school now, about 15 minutes, where I find myself noticing all kinds of details. Is that tree a blue green or yellow green? If I were to remodel that house would I choose red trim or turquoise? I never knew cactus could come in so many shapes and colors.It reminds me of the story of a disciple who mentioned to a monk that she had studied Japanese tea ceremony. The monk asked her to share tea with him but she said she hadn't brought any tea tools. The monk replied that they should share tea whether they had the tools or not. They sat at the edge of a dock and enjoyed a beautiful tea ceremony using nothing, not even tea.So, I'll continue to make art on my walk to school, using nothing. It's what I have to work with right now. I really enjoy what I'm learning at school, it's not that I don't want to be doing it. The frustration comes in feeling that I'm artistically on the cusp of something, and I want so much to give it my full attention. It doesn't even feel as if I'm trying to juggle different aspects of my personality, but as if I'm being pulled between the desire to live two very full lives.This peach comes with a promise. That one day it will be art making that gets the majority of my day. It has waited so patiently.
Drawn on a receipt during lunch break.
I noticed this bird right away, just moments after entering my grandmother's house. I knew the exact shop it came from in Takayama, Japan. It's where I bought the monkey I drew in September. Did I send it to her? I didn't remember doing that, I was sure I didn't.
We realized that my Aunt Diane must have bought it for her during her own travels to Japan. My aunt, Diane Itter, was a very talented and prolific textile artist. I remember hearing how she loved Japan, and had won grants to study fabric dying techniques there.
I love the thought that we both found our way to Takayama, high in the mountains, both wandered down the narrow streets filled with dark wooden storefronts. The patterns on these animals caught our eye, drew us into the same store, where we both bought one to send home to our mother.
Louie and I felt that the kachina should have a name. We decided on "Horned One"I have a difficult announcement to make. One that I've been procrastinating about in hopes that something would change. Something like suddenly being able to thrive on two hours of sleep, or winning Powerball. Soon, I will no longer be able to offer daily art works. I'm starting school again on Monday, but I'll be taking double the credits that I've taken in previous semesters. It was already a struggle to try to do it all. It is my last year of school, I simply have to get through this.I've thought of all kinds of options. I now know for certain, after hearing it for years, that the most important key to growth as an artist is to do a little something every day. I thought, maybe I could just scribble on the busiest days? But I've come to a place where I want show pieces that I feel are well done. I want to put in the time a good drawing deserves, and I don't have it. When I started this blog I wanted to see if I could make art every day for a year. I did it! I'm incredibly proud of that. I posted every day, more than 90% of the time I made a drawing or painting. Originally, I wanted to learn how to oil paint. That never happened. It makes me sad to think my life is so busy it was impossible for that to happen. The oil paints are still lined up on my shelf. I know that I'll get to them someday.I want to spend entire days painting and drawing. I have so many images flash through my mind, so many mediums I want to experiment with. Sometimes it was hard to post the one piece I had time for. Often it felt like I was showing a warm up, and had to stop because of time constraints, just as I was tuning into the enormity of the iceberg that lie beneath.Over 365 seeds have been planted. I know what I've done here will grow, even if I can't tend the garden every day right now. My long term goal was to become an OT so I could support myself as an artist. It hurts that I still have so many hoops to jump through, and I can't spend more time making art right now.I've decided to keep the blog up and running, and will post when I can. Still daily, for a little while, and then I'll see how it goes from there.
Oh kachina, why do I love you so? What is it about you?
Louie bought me this kachina for my birthday. I don't know why I love it so much, but for a long while, whenever Louie and I would take a walk on the Plaza in Santa Fe, I'd say "I want to stop by and say hello to my kachina". We would both peer through the window with our hands cupped against the glass, and say "Yep, he's still there".
Now it really is mine!The owner of the store said it was carved in the 1930's and was found somewhere in Arizona along Route 66.
Yesterday was the grand finale of birthday week. I made this cake which lasted from my birthday to Louie's.
I set up the last two weeks of my blog to post automatically while I was gone. Instead of having just returned from Philadelphia, I actually just returned from Vermont. It feels strange to be posting anew again, like my blog was an old dream. And it feels strange too to look at these past posts because even though the drawing class in Philly wasn't even two months ago, it too feels like a dream. I'm glad I have these images to tell me otherwise.Time is so very odd, moving at speeds that seem so out whack with my ability to comprehend them. I only did three drawings while in Vermont, and this is the only one I liked. It's of a plaster cast coated in wax. I forgot to write down more info, but I know it was Italian, and done in the 1800's. I drew it during a heavy rain in the tiny but lovely art museum at Middlebury College.
In the midst of the post travel blues, I developed a way to help myself move through "The Freeze." The Freeze happens when you want to want to draw but you just can't. There is nothing to draw, you're uninspired, you know the only way through hell is to keep going, that a body in motion stays in motion, but still.....you're frozen. You surf the internet hoping the day will just go away.What I did was copy some of Sherrie's drawings, on large pieces of newsprint, and very fast. It helped because I didn't have to think of what to draw, I could feel the feeling of a quick and confident line, and I could start to understand what choices she was making to create drawings that I loved. This drawing warm up led me through the darkness and into drawing the bosatsu.
I tried focusing on form, and not just outlining. It's still hard to know what lines are relevant to convey an image, but I understand it intellectually, which I'm enjoying because in the beginning I didn't understand it at all.
Googling for local life drawing sessions I discovered the Spring Street Studio where you can draw from the model all day, every day. I miss New York.
I found a life drawing session where I could draw, but the model was not well lit, so I focused only on details. I miss Studio Incamminati.
Back home now, and determined not to lose the bliss of my trip, I drew my own hand because marble sculptures and ancient artifacts are now just in my memory.
This page is my favorite. I like the way the hands on the next page come through too.
Some sculptures I sketched in the American wing.
For the next few days I'll show pages from my sketchbook, made on my favorite day of all.
Back to New York, where I forgot to charge the batteries in the camera before setting out. I did manage to capture my cupcake from the Magnolia Bakery, and the corner of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My day at the Met was my favorite day of all. I spent the whole time sketching, stopping for lunch at the cafe in the new American wing, then sketching some more. It was one of those days where the weather is perfect, and it seems that the whole world had choreographed the day just for you.After sketching, I took the subway down to Little Italy, where I had a magnificent meal at an outdoor table at Il Palazzo, and a cannoli at Ferrara. I spent the rest of the evening ambling back to the hotel, zig zagging through all my favorite neighborhoods.At the Met gift shop I bought a great book called New York's 50 best places to find peace and quiet. I read it on the plane back to New Mexico and wanted to turn right back around. There are so many hidden gems in the book that I never knew about. A few places I was even at, but didn't realize there were hidden courtyards through a certain door or gate. I will definitely be bringing this book on my next trip to NYC, and look forward to visiting to the newly discovered Isamu Noguchi museum.
After a couple days in New York I took the train to New Jersey where I met my mother, aunt, and uncle to go take care of the things in my grandmother's house. Did I not say it was the theme of my summer? It was of course bittersweet, wonderful to be with family though, lots of laughs at old stories, the discovery of yearbooks, report cards, school projects.I was taken with how involved both of my grandparents were with making things. My grandfather had maps of the garden, each year documenting the yield of every vegetable. My grandmother did stencils, decoupage, and calligraphy, amongst many other things. Her specialty was stained glass. Her maiden name was "Lyon" and I've loved that sign in the dining room since I was a little kid.
This exhibition is by an artist named Song Dong. In collaboration with his mother, who had lived through the Revolution, he presented every single item she had saved over fifty years. You can watch the piece being installed here.I wish I had taken some close ups because she really saved every little thing, bottle caps, shoelaces, plastic bags folded into triangles. This subject has been the theme of my summer, as evidenced here and here. I've been troubled by the stuff of life, wondering where it goes when you die, who will have to deal with it, yet at the same time, needing to be surrounded by objects of beauty.
