The piece I did above is in response to childhood, growing up and leaving home as I was thinking about my oldest daughter who left for college this year. I think those little childhood monsters are designed by our collective imagination to soften a difficult reality, which is that unfortunately there are monsters parading around as people after you leave home (well even before but most of us are somewhat sheltered by that, or perhaps used to be). So, for me the kiss is a wish of hope, both for our children and then for those of us who live more on the dark side of humanity.
Above are some of the many variations the painting went through.
Sitting in a restaurant in Golden, Colorado, while I was attending an art business workshop, I started watching a man at a table who looked so much like a friend in California. His mannerisms were the same, the shape of his head, even to the point where I could see an indentation in his skull in the same place my friend has had brain surgery twice. It made me feel like we could possibly be more than one person at a time. Then, on the last night of the workshop, we went out afterward and a woman asked me if I had relatives on the East Coast, since I apparently looked exactly like someone else she knew. I said “Not that I know of,” but jokingly I said “my family came over on the Mayflower, so I probably have lots of relatives there.” She then countered that she thought her ancestor also came over on the Mayflower! As I looked at her, somewhere deep down I felt she looked familiar.
My new painting, “Red Flowers That Turned Black Where Time Swallows Everything,” reminds me that we are all connected in a way that is almost beyond understanding and we need to make time ours, stopping to smell the flowers along our path.
I found in my mother’s journal a entry describing a short story she was thinking of writing but never wrote about “Time” which was launching pad for this painting.
Here is the excerpt from her journal; “Real-Time”—this is the title for a story—perhaps a story—in which the narrator writes about the game of our-time, in contrast to real-time. Our-time is magical, malleable; it can be stopped and frozen or speeded up. Real-time is inflexible linear, measured by clocks and calendars. The narrator and her cousin, Max, played with this concept as children. Now, as an adult, Max is having trouble living with real-time. The narrator asks him, “What kind of time is it, Max?” He answers, “It’s no time, no time.” And then she knew she had lost him completely.” written by Carla Chlouber.
I loved thinking about the concept of “time” and working on this piece. In a sense we have now created “our-time” with such things as Second Life and the many on-line games we now have. I don’t know how these games skew our perception of time? I know time seems to go really fast when I’m on the computer and I’m fairly sure that our perception of time is dependent on our senses. So, it leaves me to wonder if people might greatly differ in their perception of time?
This diptych is based on a poem my mother wrote “The Wild Animal Trainer”. I used a panel which I inked lace and printed using my etching press, the images are painted with acrylic paint. I toyed with the idea of using oil paint but decided not to, they just seem to toxic and now I can get the same feel with acrylic paint. I remember there was a time when I couldn’t conceive of working in anything but oil.
The poem is [Read more…]
I finished it! This piece is inspired by my mothers poem, “Sunday Evening—April 14, 1991”. My mom was a pacifist and struggled to understand her place and complicity in war. I don’t think she appreciated it being glorified. It was not long after she wrote this that the “war” on terror did effect many people through 9/11. Had they declared the “war” won when she wrote this? [Read more…]