How to Make Art

I truly enjoy making art. I find myself returning to the act of creation again and again in all sorts of mediums. Often receiving in the process a nourishing healing from these encounters with the unknown. Finding peace in the harmonious dance between the suffering and elation of this existence.

In addition to this sort of expression, I am drawn to adornment; of bodies, spaces, land, and so on. Adornment as an act of consecration of the sacred with a blessing.

As such my work flows amongst painting, sculpture, jewelry, collage, and whatever else feels to serve my expression.

Your art and expression friend, however, can be whatever you want it to be. There’s actually very little to the act of art-making.

• Do something with intention

• Continue doing that something with intention

• Eventually it will be art

As such that something can be just about anything: washing the dishes, naming the clouds, complimenting a loved one. Merely continue doing it with intention until it feels like a true expression of your soul.

So join me friend on this journey together. I offer my work and my words as an act of invitation and welcoming. You are cherished. Thank you, I bow in gratitude.

My Creative Warm-up

When does a warm-up truly begin? Is it the moment you begin your pre-ordained ritual? Or is there some moment long before when you begin to enter in to the headspace for your act?

Regardless, the task must begin at some point. For me, this warm-up is not set in stone but rather just what I’ve witnessed myself doing again and again. I offer it not as a prescription to be followed, but an invitation to consider what might help you feel settled and prepared to encounter whatever may arise in a creative act.

Start the space heater

It’s winter and my studio space isn’t heated. I consider this phase the “get your body comfortable” stage. Warm enough, fed enough, etc.

Boil the water for tea

I almost always have tea with me out in the studio. Not only do I find the ritual grounding and calming, but it also helps me build in breaks throughout the creative process. I like considering the goal for the afternoon just to have some tea rather than create some incredible work. I like the freedom that offers to the work.

Move “out” to the studio

For me, my studio is out in the backyard but yours might be different—or even just some corner in your space. Doesn’t really matter the physical logistics, this step feels more like creating some amount of separation. Perhaps you verbally say to yourself “Now I am at the studio.” Whatever helps you feel in that headspace.

Make an offering

Life feels much more spacious if the first step we take is one of gratitude. I find myself dancing, pouring tea to the earth, chanting, and many other ways of offering thanks. Offer it to the canvas, your god, the rain, whatever nurtures your gratitude. Trust in the wisdom of your body.

Allow doubt its moment

Self doubt arrives so consistently for me at this stage that I like to consider it just another part of the warm-up. The script is boringly consistent, but still there’s a part of me that’s insistent on me hearing it. So I give space for doubt before I’ve even begun and once it has been heard I feel ready to begin.

Begin

Now’s the moment. Do something, anything. Respond to what you did. Repeat.

Honoring Our Leaders

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

– Martin Luther King, Jr.

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We have work to do, so much work to do; but the work is so worth being done.

To all the wonderful black and brown bodied folx, I am so grateful for you. I see you, I hear you. I am listening. Thank you.

Annie Peanut (Wanting To Hide)

On New Year’s Day I was laying on the floor looking over my book of Helen Frankenthaler’s work (purchased from Monograph Bookwerks here in Portland) when our new kitty joined me to see what I was looking at. I proceeded to show some of my favorites to him, and we both quite enjoyed her piece “Mauve District.”

Later that day, I made my way out to the studio to paint. I chose to begin a new canvas, for the new year. I know lots of folks who fear the Big Blank Canvas, but for me oftentimes a heavily worked-on canvas can instill greater fear—or perhaps better expressed as a deeper self-doubt. Approaching the blank canvas, I blocked off some shapes in honor of Helen and Mauve District.

I had my dance with the canvas and retired for the next number to enjoy some tea as I worked to restrain myself from adding more to the canvas. Like Mauve District, my canvas at that point displayed some lovely amount of restraint. But I find myself personally less and less interested in the idea of restraint for my life—I want abundance, fullness not just for me but for everything, every sort of creature, every person. I find myself wanting to return to the dance floor as many times as I can.

So I brought it back out a few days later. Continued to add to it, to write all my many-faceted secrets on it, to listen to what it might want next. In between sessions, I’d leave it hanging in my studio. Watching and waiting. I’d return to it again and again.

Eventually, like most canvases, it reaches a point where a presence emerges or the piece becomes precious in a rather robust way, precious as in a meaningful statement of value. Here is where the music stops for our dance. This is often the point when I consider a canvas “done.”

For that new year’s canvas, that was when Annie Peanut emerged.