See the World through your Heart

One of my fangirl friends posted a wonderful definition:

Art reveals the world as seen through our heart.

We are accustomed to seeing in a practical manner; it helps us navigate our lives safely and efficiently. Red stop sign, black on white words, the pattern of a human face — But can we see more, differently?

I challenge my drawing and painting students to awaken their visual brain, see the pattern, shape and colour in the world anew, in order to show the inspiring world of natural form. I love to watch the eye-hand-brain connection take off in a new student, I feel like I am revealing a hidden world.

We are so capable, so miraculously sensitive, with our human perception, and we are so astonishingly unique and original in our view: the same flower painted by 6 artists is a remarkably different statement. There are the obvious differences in style and skill, yes, but then there is the ocean of experience each of us brings to the creative table.

Imagine we each had our own spoken language, how challenging it would be to know anything, share with another! Fortunately we have the common language of images, but we each have our own vocabulary of symbols and shapes and ideas that influence the creations we make and share.

And the strongest of these are written in our memory and emotion, written in the heart.

Why is that little girl in love with ponies? What makes my friend dance when she wears sparkles? There’s a certain ocean green blue that takes me to the sea with my dad at age 5. You won’t have the same symbols or the same stories, but we share a good deal of common ground. The sea, the water, evokes a shared joy in those who resonate with it. My mermaid-loving singer friend and I share a love of the watery colours and the deep swirling emotion that goes with it.

Her husband, born and raised in suburban Maryland, responds to stones you might not even see in the ditch, but he finds bears and owls and whales hidden in them. He can see them before they are made; I can only see them once he’s carved them.

Open your heart today, let your heart’s voice ring in you. Cherish yourself.

And share a little HEART ART today, at your own hearth.

Headwinds

I took the dogs to the river today, the sun was out! We’ve all been indoors too much, writing, painting, cooking. Today, walking was the first priority.

The winter beech leaves can be quite a bright golden peach in the winter, contrasted with the drabness of dried leaves and bark. The green of moss and holly are most welcome. Add the blue sky and you have a beautiful winter palette.

Of course the dogs were ecstatic. Oh, the joys of sniffing! Seneca forgets she’s a gimpy oldster at the park (this one) and romps like a puppy, a comical sight as she seems to gallop in slow motion. When we rounded the path to approach the boardwalk, a brisk wind was blowing off the river.

This is often the case; inland even a few yards the climate can feel very different from what’s happening on the water. Today, this strong, steady breeze was whipping the shallows into tiny whitecaps, making a frothy sound. And the bare branches were making that distinctive wintery roar. My hair flew around and I felt the cold come through the buttons of my jacket.

In the marsh a few groups of mallards were chattering nearby, then further back a flock of Canada geese rose up and make a V heading toward open water. But in the stiff breeze they seemed to hang motionless in the air. They were moving forward very slowly, and not really moving their wings. The wind alone was holding them aloft. It was eerie and beautiful, these big birds floating strongly, as if they reached the river on will alone.

Sometimes where we are trying to go is harder to reach than we expect. But maybe there is an added lift, an unlikely gift, from the obstacle.

NaNoWriMo, the Day After

Here I am the first morning post-NaNoWriMo and what am I doing? Writing. I really thought I’d wallow in a morning without the pressure to write, and yet here I am.

Hey, it’s a good habit to have, I figure. So, onward.

• I have a new novel, my first, in a rough (very) draft. **boggles** Check.
• I have a blog, it needs content. There’s a good place start.
• My fandom experience is largely conducted via the medium of writing. LiveJournal et al are seriously neglected.
• And, it’s time for AdventDrabbles!
• AND I have a Yuletide assignment to write: at least a  thousand words in a new fandom I so far adore.

It looks like writing will continue. But wait, there’s more. I have several writing friends, some of whom need encouragement. I am already inspiring others with my NaNo project.  Stay involved/get involved!

• Start/Join a local writing group.

On October 30 I went to my old stomping grounds in Crystal City and joined a group of NoVa NaNo writers. Little did I realize that Crystal City would be mobbed by the Marine Corps Marathon, 30,000 participants and all their well wishers. These runners are committed to 26.2 miles, something I cannot even imagine. While we sat and talked writing, we watched the runners, walkers and hand-cyclists — two of them veterans with amputations — stream by. There were costumed runners, young runners, grey-haired runners, fat runners, thin runners, struggling runners, clowning runners,  even a juggling runner!

Leaving the meeting, post-race traffic jammed up in in an underground garage. No cars moved, exhaust smells were rising and I started to feel panicky. I rarely get claustrophobic, but loathe underground parking garages and their desolate mine-like vibe. In my unease I scribbled  on index cards for a while and made my first outline of the book with chapters defined. It became the backbone of my plot diagram.

As I used  the time (and the panic) to work on the book, I watched as people adorned with big shiny medals on a striped ribbon returning to their cars. This year, 21024 runners were awarded medals for completion. They looked just like ordinary people! I am challenged to walk for more than three miles, so this is seriously impressive, watching these ‘ordinary’ extraordinary people walking around as if everything is normal, and they’ve just run 26.2 miles!

Eventually the traffic jam broke, I made it out of the garage, and went home ready (so I thought, heh) to start my NaNoWriMo. It wasn’t until the final weekend of November that it dawned on me: getting tangled up in that marathon was no coincidence. NaNoWriMo became my marathon: requiring persistence, patience, rededication, tolerance of imperfection, defeating the devil of self criticism, setting and meeting small daily goals, sacrifice, dedication, and belief in my ability to ‘get there.’

I would have never signed on for the Marine Corps Marathon, but I did sign up for NaNoWriMo , and I did persevere, and I did ‘win.’  I don’t have a medal, but I have a badge (points at the shiny) and soon, a t-shirt! (man that’s a lot of work for a stupid t-shirt!) and, oh yeah, a draft of a book. And I have the powerful inner magic of being proud of myself for all of the above. I did all of those things, and I would, and will, do them again.

Onward! Daily word count for 2011-2012: 1000 words a day.
And here are 588 for today.

NaNoWriMo Week 2 progress

I am so busy writing for Nano that my progress reports are running three days late!

Week 2 began with a crash: I came to a screeching halt after my auspicious start! My daily word count plummeted and I was frozen in whatthehelldoIdonow? Desperate for help, I turned to the amazing NaNoWriMo forums and read about Plot Doctoring and Word Wars and other helpful things. I posted a distress call to the boards and my fan journals and got encouragement. And I found this blog by checking Twitter for #nanowrimo.

Martha Alderson saved my book from certain doom. Her post “The End of The Beginning” was exactly what I needed to find on that day, Nov. 8, when I had no idea what to do. The blog told me things I did not want to hear: like I needed to stop reworking the safe ground of lovely description and character backstory and get on with it. But I could feel that she was right, so I took a leap and bought her book (on Kindle; a first for me.) The Plot Whisperer: Secrets of Story Structure Any Writer Can Master told me more things that were difficult, but thrilling, to hear. Such as the way our character’s problems and our novel’s problems all lead back to our own shortcomings. And how the flaws of the character are essential for an interesting story. And that some writers are linear/action oriented, and some are description/feelings oriented, and that we each need to strengthen the side we are weakest in, in order to have a successful book. Wow.

Great things that happened in Week 2:

• got out of “the beginning” and into the action-packed middle of the book
• developed secondary characters including my most villainous one and his motivations
• went to two great write-ins where I met fellow NaNoWriMos from DC, Maryland, Hawaii and Australia!
• cranked up my word count by sticking with it even when it was tough, or I thought it was dumb
• made a good back-up system and backed that up too

By Monday the 14th I had reached  22,589, only 749 words behind a 50k-in-30-days schedule!

However, as with last week, the midweek days see lower word counts than the weekend, so here I am heading into the homestretch of Week 3 running seriously behind! So, here I go again: I am heading to town to enjoy an afternoon with a friend, and then we’re both going to do some serious wordsmithing. Writing in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery should be delightful.  And when it grows darker and we need caffeine and sustenance, we’re heading for Teasim.

 I accept all wishes  and prayers for productive, creative FLOW!

love,

Patrise

God is in the Body

After my recent mountain trip, I was pretty unhappy with my level of fitness. My balance, flexibility and endurance were not adequate for rock-hopping and hiking steep slopes. So, upon returning I got my butt to the gym (for the first time in over six months!) .  First stop: yoga class.

When last I did yoga the most difficult thing was my fear and shame. My self-criticism has been quite unbearable in yoga in the past, defeating all the ‘peace-of-mind benefits. I despised how little I could do, felt tidal waves of shame, was deeply afraid of pain and injury, and experienced profound feelings of failure. The only place from there was despair.

YUCK! Who would volunteer for this experience?

But something has changed. I went into the gym dreading that yoga class, and yet when I was there, moment to moment, I was completely OK. I would feel my limitation (“I can’t do it right”) then came the shame, then fear.  This time I was able to take in the direction “just breathe”  because I prayed for help.

I’ve recently come back to a 12-Step program after a long absence, and just celebrated 9 months of new-found serenity and health. I’ve been actively learning to pray, and with the help of my sponsor and others, get comfortable with God.

Religion was not presented to me in a favorable light growing up, and although my spirituality has always run deep and wide, I’ve missed out on so much that mainstream religion has to offer. The biggest challenge for me in 12-Step (and everywhere else?) is to Let Go and Let God.

But a simple miracle occurred in that yoga class. When I prayed deeply for help I went from feeling desperate and broken to a sense of deep peace, where I could stop fighting and let go of pain and fear. It has revolutionized not only my experience of yoga, but my relationship with my own body.

By asking for help I was able to stay present and “just breathe.”  I feel like I’ve met God inside in a really tangible way. And I carry God with me where ever I am.

Now I not only get through a yoga class, I can enjoy it. And all the benefits!

As Essential as Breathing

I found this article on creativity in Sunday’s Washington Post:

Art is to these locals like the air they breathe — an irrepressible part of their lives

an excerpt:

“The arts call them, which doesn’t always mean it pays them, merely that it takes them to another world. Or grants them communion in this one. ¶ “We can either be artists with a capital A, or we can make art with our lives,” says Patti Digh, author of the book “Creative Is a Verb.” “It’s so beautiful when you’re in the presence of someone who is letting go of outcome and making a strong offer to the world.” ¶ Some would-be artists had inner critics, or third-grade teachers, or father figures who told them to settle down, so they put their creativity away. ¶ The irrepressible ones, who make art like they breathe, never really can.”

I recognize the situation, for this describes me to a T. There have been several times in my life I tried to give up the foolish art and live a normal life.  I could dispense with mess, clutter, expenses, disappointment, and wasted time. After my divorce I moved to another state, and let go of all the trappings of artist’s life. I got an ordinary office job, and was determined to move ahead with a new life. Before long I met Myrna, who appointed herself my Jewish mother (“Because everybody needs one, honey!”) Myrna had a yard sale, and I went looking for a few things for my new apartment. I went home with a carload of supplies and furniture from her son’s former art studio. In a few weeks I was working on graphics for a friend, then working for a printer in pre-press.

Art came back to me. It was not going to be left behind! It’s like a positive version of “No matter where you go, there you are.”  I’ve had other tests of this theory. I worked long and hard on exhibiting in galleries and markets in the late 90s./early aughts, and quit after not seeing enough income for all that effort.

You know, it doesn’t matter. One of the most freeing things I’ve ever learned is that I can let my work be mediocre.  That way I can tolerate its existence long enough for it to grow into something I didn’t forsee. Something amazing. (or not!)

Follow your muse!

love, Patrise

 

 

 

Taking it to the Page

As a painter and visual artist, I have had many times in my life when I felt stuck and deeply dissatisfied with my work. If this creative malaise gets too entrenched, my internal critic gets the upper hand, and I create less and less, because, after all, “what’s the use?” I know many creatives who have experience with this kind of paralysis, and yesterday I  mentioned Morning Pages, a very effective practise of writing three pages first thing.

Cameron’s The Artist’s Way is a complete program. I highly reccomend you get the book and join or form a group to work through it all.  She applies a 12-step framework to the creative life: your higher power (pick your denomination or guiding principle) wants you to create. You are made in the image of the Creator, as in , you are a creator. It’s beautiful, and full of rejuvenating concepts and exercises.

Throughout the book you are urged to “take it to the page.” Whatever life is dishing up, work on it through your creative medium. If you are a pianist who is angry, play from your fury. As a self-critical painter I began to make images about my self-hatred and its effects, or just to warm up the painterly hand and eye by dumping out my frustration with mark-making. From Morning Pages (remember, completely uncensored!) I learned to bitch and complain and wibble until I had cleared that dreck out of my head. As I kept writing, other things would emerge.

Over time I found that stories would arise out of the mess, without apparent conscious intent. Or, a character I was writing would have insights, a crisis, healing about the issue that was moving through me.

I think the key there is moving through. As I was crafting that last sentance I started with ‘roiling inside’ and realized, no, that is what happens when I’m STUCK. When there is a flow, the issues, concerns, emotions flow through and change, and the art moves with them. You might even say it’s fueled by them.

So, for today, what’s bugging you? Start with a word-dump and just scribble or type without any editing whatever is top-of-mind, no matter how ridiculous. Keep it up for at least 300 words or 3 long-hand pages. Play with it: name the ‘character’ that’s speaking inside you. Write a scene where you tell [your boss, mother, congress...] exactly what you think of them. Let what wants to happen, happen.

And look for the breadcrumbs that will lead you somewhere new. I promise, they will appear!

Deep water flows within

This week the Potomac River is over her banks in the rite of spring, flooding streets, sending whole trees whirling through churning cafe au lait water as all the rain and snow come surging seaward.

Floodplain from lreed7649′s Flickr

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Last night  a friend and I went to a meditation group that we once attended regularly. We had heard it was going to be the last meeting, and even though we hadn’t been for some years, we felt a need to be there.