September 5, 2011

A Revelatory Moment



Several months ago I began a simple meditation practice, helped along by this dvd. I love sitting quietly, several times a week, concentrating on my breathing; it puts life's worries into a grander perspective, reducing their import. Sometimes interesting thoughts about my work come to mind. It's wonderful what floats into your consciousness when you are trying to empty it of the bustle of everyday life. I sit on the floor of my bedroom, next to the east facing windows and often look out at the trees when I first open my eyes. A couple of days ago I looked ahead of me, at my terrycloth bathrobe hanging from a nail on the closet door. Its dark red folds were softly illuminated or sunken into deep shadow; the belt hung down with an end resting on the floor, touched with bits of dust. I felt as if I could see this ordinary robe for the first time, its rich texture, crumpled sewn edges, its touching humanness. The belt reached down, open to the world, vulnerable. This sounds very strange, but I felt a loving tenderness towards my humble bathrobe. And then I realized, Yes! this is what I hope to achieve with my painting: a sense that every object is imbued with beauty and love. I hope to have that modest tender feeling when I paint, and I hope that a viewer will sometimes feel it in the work. I realize that this sounds sentimental, even corny, but it feels true to me; it feels like an essential way of seeing the world. I wonder if any of you have had a similar surprising moment that has revealed your artistic motivations so clearly.

11 comments:

  1. Myself, I think the breathtaking beauty of the 'ordinary' is a fundamental truth about life that is hidden in plain view. I have lived in the same place in the country for over nine years but it is only in the last eighteen months or so that I began to really SEE this beauty and marvelled at what I had been blind to all this time, other than for fleeting moments. What sparked this deepening of perception was threefold, I think. Firstly, my mind had become more still, less disturbed by the turmoil that often washes through daily life. Secondly I started a blog and the wish to share my experiences caused me to focus more deeply on my surroundings. What had been purely haphazard became intentional. Thirdly, in order to be able to post photos of what I saw I began to take my camera with me every time I went outside. I discovered how taking close up photos, in particular, cuts out all the 'noise' that can distract one from seeing what is right there in front of one. So yes, I understand exactly what you are saying. And I'm sure that is a crucial function of certain art: to assist the viewer to see and deeply experience what has really been there all the time... Just hidden.

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  2. fernenland, your experiences sound so much like my own. When I began this blog two years ago, I noticed more, thought more, in order to be able to write interesting posts. I too found that taking photos and looking for interesting things to photograph helped me notice so much more of the world around me. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

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  3. love the bursting of boundaries: word, photo, paint, ruglets -- for example the text and the photo in this entry animate different kinds of responses in me -- visual, tactile, memory, -- all speaking to each other: an animated, synesthetic kind of conversation.

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  4. grnlndr, it's nice for me to know that this post brings forth a rich variety of responses. Thanks.

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  5. I haven't thought about that kind of first sightedness you describe regarding painting - although I use meditations to help me see the world that way. But now you mention it, I'm going to think about the particular qualities I might hope to bring to my art, so thanks for that.

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  6. Natasha, thank you for the name "first sightedness"; it's beautiful. And I'm glad to bring a new thought to your art making.

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  7. I have had those moments you write about. Sadly, they are lost to me after a while, and at times I have felt inadequate to act on the insights and that I couldn't "plug them into" my work. Frustrating. But those moments still happen occasionally, like an unexpected gift.

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  8. I think writing makes us more attentive to details in our art and painting makes us more attentive to details in our writing. Both Flannery O'Connor and Eudora Welty knew this. Their writings were enriched by paintings "in order to see" (Flannery) and the photographs of Eudora. When I taught drawing to kids of all ages, the first thing I said to them was, I am not going to teach you how to draw, but how to see.

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    Replies
    1. my name is Ginger Birdsey from atlanta ga gingerbidsey@gmail.com see unknown

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    2. Thanks for your insightful comment, Ginger. For me, writing this blog over the past three years has helped me to pay more attention to my thoughts and to the world around me. We all must learn how to see.

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  9. Thank you for this. I have gotten out of my meditation practice and love how you have made this visual example part of meditation.

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