Themah

I haven’t written for some time and even though it’s something I want to do, I am finding it difficult to find the words.  There always seem to be reasons or excuses to avoid putting words on paper or perhaps I should say screen, that it can become an art in itself.  For the past few months, possibly longer, I have told myself it’s lack of time and space, yet these are both things that can be created if the desire is strong enough.  Is my desire strong enough – or is it that my desire is strong enough and the impulse to act on it is not?

It is easy to imagine these creative desires in the fleeting, mercurial world of the mind where anything is possible yet, to give them form, be it a painting, writing, music……… it can seem like meeting a brick wall that has to be negotiated before the first brushstroke, word or note can happen.  It’s a point of change, of transition and transformation and one that sometimes requires courage and persistence and at other times can flow seamlessly without obstacle or restriction.

I have found one way to negotiate the “brick wall” is to turn up at the page or the canvas, breathe deeply and begin in some way no matter how small, to gently coax the words or paint from the inner world to the outer reality which gives it form.  In doing this, the boundaries melt away and sometimes a sense of oneness fills my being as my spirit give thanks for its expression and I wonder why I took so long.

It’s strange how a few words exchanged with someone you haven’t spoken to for a while can change your perspective.  You are able to see things with different eyes; in the telling of your story you are able to appreciate your journey in a way that was previously hidden from your view. In art, as in life, it is perspective that tells the story, that can change everything. 

As we live the story of our life we can become caught in the minutiae, the drama, and forget, become unaware of a bigger picture.  However, when we come to relate our story to someone else we are able to appreciate how we have travelled from ‘there’ to ‘here’ and that, actually, we’re doing ok; that maybe it’s our impatience and expectations that hold us back.

I had that experience today when I spoke with a friend – I hadn’t spoken with her since I left Italy in January – and in ‘catching up’ I began to appreciate my journey in a way I hadn’t been able to before.

I suppose in art, perspective gives depth, it leads you into the image giving the sense of another dimension, and in life, a new perspective on any situation also takes you deeper and offers new understandings.  Without perspective, art and life would be flat and two dimensional and our understanding limited.

I am therefore thankful for friends, communication and new perspectives.

As an artist walking has become in important part of my creative process. I walk and everything slows and expands, a rhythm develops as my feet connect with the earth beneath them and I often find myself smiling in appreciation of the worlds that open to me. I don’t think it matters where you walk, there is beauty and inspiration waiting to be acknowledged everywhere. When I move to a new place I take time to walk around exploring and getting to know my new environment, grounding myself in an intimacy that would otherwise elude me.

Different landscapes offer a wealth of ideas; the architecture and colours of urban life, so easily missed in the speed of a car, contrast with the natural depth and beauty of the rural landscape. We enter into new relationships with the elements as we touch the earth, enjoy the fiery warmth of the sun, feel the breath of air in the breeze and observe the rainbow dew of water as it holds to the morning grass.

There are details and nuances that are only visible to a slower eye whether it’s the curve of a stone arch above a window or the petals of a wildflower dancing in the wind. I wonder if artists have special antennae to seek out that which is often invisible, a way of seeing what others might miss or it may just be a matter of focus and intention. Just choosing to walk to the shops instead of driving can be liberating yet walking solely for the enjoyment of walking, with no agenda, can take us to worlds otherwise unvisited within and without of ourselves. It allows us to breathe and relax as time expands and our awareness deepens. It’s not that we necessarily get inspiration directly from our surroundings but more that our attention is elsewhere and as our inner space quietens and expands we are able to receive the ideas that might normally be missed or ignored in the busyness of other agendas.

In the craziness of today’s fast-paced world it seems vital to take the time, step sideways for a while, breathe deeply and explore our inner landscapes, find our own rhythm and allow our selves to be heard. Walking can be one way of doing this.

It’s an odd sort of day as the sun casts fiery glimpses through grey threatening storm clouds. Still, I risk going into town praying that the rain will remain where it is at a great height. Happily, the sun prevails and I am surprised by a crowd in the street that, as I get closer, reveal a group of morris dancers. The ritualistic nature of the dancing leads my thoughts to the idea of ritual and the part it plays in our lives, not just the greater rituals but also the smaller every day ones; the ones we maybe take for granted because they are so much part of our lives.

As an artist I have my own rituals as I approach a canvas to begin a new piece of work. I sometimes take time to create the space I’m going to work in, walking in and out of the room, going through my brushes, moving paints, easels etc. then going away, doing something else only to return again and again until I’m ready to start work. I often spend time sitting with a blank canvas, getting to know it in a way I suppose, before I even pick up a brush. As a painting develops, the rituals continue as again I sit with it waiting for it to reveal its secrets to me.

And the sun survived the day to set beyond pink edged, grey, clouds with the rain intact.

I’m just back from visiting some country friends who live a few miles down the road on a smallholding owned by a human friend who does great cream teas on a Sunday afternoon.  There are hens and cockerels, two kuni kuni pigs called Rhett and Scarlett, Buttons the pony, two geese called Bob and Widget, Becks the turkey and two young ones still inside, some quail, guinea fowl, two trios of ducks, two muscovy ducks and last but not least Darth, a beakless duck otherwise known as Ducky.

When I arrived Ducky was chasing hens, the turkey was showing his plumage, Rhett, the pig escaped from his pen and headed for the hens food and Buttons, the pony, did his best to join in the ensuing chaos.

As things settled I had a chat with Ducky.  He told me that he’d started life in the kitchen and had always been here.  When I mentioned his lack of beak he explained that he doesn’t have the same mouth as other turkeys if that’s what I meant.  It seems that Ducky believes he’s a turkey so no wonder he’s always chasing the hens although he did say this is difficult without a beak to get hold of them!

Quite the survivor, he tells me that Mrs Mum and Mr Dad thought he wouldn’t live without a beak.  Then a couple of years ago he was attacked by a fox and couldn’t walk for two weeks though he did enjoy being looked after by Mrs Mum who fed him with a syringe.

Sadly his best friend, Trouble the turkey, died recently and, to be honest, he hasn’t felt the same since.  They grew up together and he’s hoping that Mrs Mum and Mr Dad will bring in more turkeys so he has more friends.

Well, soon the young turkeys will be out and about and no doubt Ducky will want to be their friend and may never know he’s really a duck.

I never cease to be amazed by the beauty and perfection of nature and the inspiration it gives so freely.  Today I went to a garden show in a beautiful, tranquil setting.  It’s a place I love and one that feeds my spirit.  I took a lot of photographs though I can only show one or two here and it’s so hard to choose.  As  well as being a nurturing place it was also inspiring and as I watched how different people approached to take a photograph of this stone these words came to my mind.

We kneel, we sit

we pray, we chant

in surrender to our own spirit

our soul, our essence,

to the timelessness where all is one.

The words in the stone are, “In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams a cedar in this narrow cell is thrust that will drink deeply of a centuries streams these lilies shall make summer on my dust there in their safe and simple house of death sealed in their shells a million roses leap here I can blow a garden with my breath and in my hands a forest lies asleep”.

I was sitting in the cathedral  where they have free lunchtime concerts every Tuesday.  I hoped I would find a retreat from the thoughts that were crowding in from so many directions.  As I sat there half listening to the music and half contemplating the high gothic arches of the surrounding architecture the words “being between a rock and a hard place” came to mind.  Such appropriate words to describe my feelings and I wondered where is the love of god/life in these moments.  I suppose the traditional meaning is being stuck and believing that you are faced with choices you would rather not make.  Rock is hard, unrelenting and inflexible; it can make any attempt at movement painful and  seemingly impossible.  I followed my thought as it considered that it is often from such states of being that the greatest creativity can surface.

Whatever form our creativity takes there are times when inspiration seems to be so elusive that it hurts.  At the time it can feel as if it is lost forever, whether you are an artist, writer, musician looking for the next brushstroke, word or note or the next step to take in your life.  Is it then, the best way to go is inwards?  To accept and embrace the moment as it is without trying to change it, and in doing so it changes anyway.  I have found when I feel blocked creatively, and in my life, that writing my way inwards or spending time quietly in nature somehow creates a softening within that brings with it the inspiration/answer that had been so elusive.

And now? Well, I enjoyed the music, the space and feel refreshed, ready to create and open to inspiration once again.

As I try to catch up with myself, and my writing, I realise we are approaching the end of Spring and my head is full of thoughts that have not found their way to the pen or the keyboard.

I’ve been appreciating the season in a landscape that is new to me. I’m not far from the Ashdown Forest, which is, of course, the home of Winnie the Pooh, in case you didn’t already know. As I drive through the woodland there are rugs and carpets of bluebells giving the ground a violet-blue glow and higher up, in the open landscape, gorse bushes are on fire with yellow sunshine. It’s easy to see why Pooh had such a wonderful time here.

Traditionally, Spring is a time of new beginnings, new buds, and new growth and it can be a great time for new ideas and new projects. As the days become longer and the sun rises higher in the sky there seems to be more energy as everything bursts into life. Inspired by this we can follow nature in letting go of what is no longer of use to make way for something new – just as the old leaves have to fall before the new bud can grow. I was reminded of this the other day when I received an email with an attachment titled “The Principle of Emptiness”. Nothing new, just a gentle reminder of how we need to make space in our lives to allow in the new – whether that means going through your wardrobe, your cupboards, the loft or your mind. Isn’t it amazing how we can hold on to unhelpful thoughts without realising that, if we could just let them go, our inner landscape can change and that is then reflected in our lives. Going back to Pooh, maybe there’s a lot to be said for being ‘a bear of little brain’.

And now, my brain seems to be empty of words so I hope you enjoy these photos taken this Spring around Pooh’s home.

It seems to have been a fallow period for my blog. Maybe sometimes we just have to allow things to rest, to be. I’ve often thought of it, that I must, should write something and the door has just been closed – a bit like, do you know the book, The Secret Garden? – very briefly, there’s a walled garden which has a magic door which only the right person with the key can see and then open; to anyone else it’s just a brick wall. The garden has been neglected and is waiting for someone to give it life again by caring for it and enjoying it. Well, it’s felt a bit like that, I know the garden’s there and I just haven’t been able to find the door. Happily, the door has appeared and opened and like the flowers in the garden, the words are coming to life again. And, like the garden, don’t you think our creativity needs nurturing for it to flourish?

It may be that I’ve started painting again and feel inspired to do more. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for this, yet the words seem to come hand in hand with the images. I

I tried using some different paints the other day – I liked the idea that you could use them with water and they didn’t dry immediately like acrylics or watercolours. After playing with them for a while I decided they were not for me and maybe this gave me renewed appreciation for my usual paints and inspiration to create new work.

Whatever has happened, I’m happy about it. The joy of reaching the final stages of a painting – here’s the almost there one – and the urge to keep creating are, for me, beyond words and I hope I can now visit this page more often again.

I haven’t picked up a brush and sat in front of a canvas for nearly three months and as I prepare the space I feel the familiar fears and resistance begin to surface.  It doesn’t seem to matter how many years I’ve been painting, how many paintings I complete there is sometimes this sense of trepidation as I meet and face a blank canvas.  “what if I can’t…….what shall I paint…….what if nothing happens….” and on it goes.  Sometimes I’ll avoid the moment and find something to do that I tell myslef is far more urgent or important, and other times I’ll sit with the blank canvas until I’m ready to start mixing paint.  And today….well, my excuse is that it’s cold in the conservatory and I’d prefer to be inspired than freeze waiting when what I need to do is get in there, squeeze a tube of paint and make a start.

A couple or so hours later the painting I began has already changed about three times.  I started with a thought even though I’d been musing on something different for days.  I realised this wasn’t working and wiped the canvas clean.  Warm colours, red, yellow, spreading and merging to a soft coral as slowly the ‘musing’ appears and finds form.  No longer working from the mind I’m able to allow the painting to find its way.  It feels good to be painting again, to be part of the process – one that never fails to amaze me.