Back in Oregon and Other Woes of an Artist

Well technically I'm back in Seattle as I sit her in my ol' faithful white sweat pants (see Jordan? Every gal breaks out the sweats!) but I was back in Oregon all last week.  To be more exacting, I was vacationing in a true vacation house alongside the Umpqua River in prime wine country with my BC and a couple of old friends.  It was also prime insect country as I quickly discovered (I don't care how much time you spend in the woods, when a 2.5 inch - 6.3 centimeter - moth flies into the bird's nest of hair you keep perched on top of your head, dive-bombing your scalp and trying to evade your swatting fingers, you DO squeal).  

While the house allegedly offered internet in it's long list of amenities and I had grand plans of daily blog-photo posting, the service ended up being worse than dial-up.  Dial-up people.  I just don't do dial-up (I gave it up years ago along with margarine and spiked belts).  So mercifully, it was a techie-free week.  

Does any one else find bliss in not being able to check their email and voice messages-oh-oops-I'm-out-of-range-reading-by-the-river-so-sorry?  

At any rate, the week consisted largely of painting, reading, wine tasting and eating.  As all good vacations should.

I was lucky enough to find a spare patio table, drag it off to the very edge of the yard overlooking the river and set up a mini-studio.   Absolutely beautiful, exactly what I needed and wanted.  I watched the river slur by at a fast clip and a loud swush, light playing off every peak and unexpected splash.  I sat in the phosphorescent glow of afternoon light filtered by a thousand sheer maple leaves.  I ran down to the water one afternoon, rubber gloves still on, brush in hand, to watch a whole family of wood ducks flitting across the water, the young small enough to fit in my palm and in numbers no less than 15.  I listened to the Stellar's jays fighting over the best way to build their nest, chasing robins off prime materials.  I swatted the fat summer flies and hummed little tunes to myself, the song of oil pooling on a tight drum of canvas, an ode to pushing and pulling neat piles of paint with my palette knife, a ballad of the slick bend of my favorite round brush.

And herein lies the difficulty.  

I have been suffering from an acute case of studio restlessness.  Please don't get me wrong, I love my studio, it is truly my space and I've built something there.  But sometimes I long for a space close enough to jaunt into the house to pour up that second cup of joe, a space that looks out into the trees, a space I can work late into the evening (my studio is not in the best part of town...).  I don't mean to complain, not at all, but sometimes I wish I DID just have it all AND a slice of dark chocolate cake too.

I'm writing up new goals.  I think I need them, printed in bold lettering, in my best handwriting, to clear my head and focus my direction.  I know where I want to be (figuratively), but I need to uncover where I want to be (literally).  But this time of indecision, well, I'm done with it all together.  It's just too exhausting.

I'm making my way.  A bird of bright plumage, buoyed up by the currents of her clan, flying soft across the deep summer moon.

~ Side Note ~

EEK!  It's so tiny, only 5 inches square! I've been on a bit of a kick with these little canvas, so intimate, cradled in my hand, each one a complete thought, like a single sentence in the novel of my life.  I could make a thousand and every one would still be individual, still be able to stand on it's own two feet, but grouped together they weave a complex tale.  In this, painting makes more sense to me than the very molecules of oxygen and carbon dioxide that play tag team in my lungs.  

And my eyes are filled with green...

A few short ages ago I began this painting.  With gusto and effervescent energy, I believed it would develop quickly, that all the pieces would fall into place, that my strokes would be strong and confident till the end, that the vision in my head would remain clear and my direction would hold unwavering.

And then the rains fell.  Storming on my head and in my heart.  Earlier this year, in the final fighting throws of Winter, I struggled like a drowning woman, lost in my own frustrations.  I started painting after painting, till the white walls of my studio were covered in splashes of color but there was no resolution to be found.  I spent hours, days, weeks just sitting, beseeching the paintings to speak to me, to tell me what they needed, for that moment when the clouds part and the path is clear.  But the fog just rolled in thicker and darker, my skin icy and my faith shaken.  I finally had it out with Him.  Ranting, raging, questioning why, why if this is my path (which I have never doubted that it is) would He blind me to the trail.  Why would these tools, these brushes, that I trust more than my own hands forsake me?  I bled all over the studio.  I said angry things, honest things, cried myself to sleep on the dirty wooden floor.

When I awoke, the scales fell from my eyes.  But stubborn child that I am, I refused to get up until the the dust had settled and the path was clear.

And then I painted.  

From the roots of my soul, dipped in the sap of my blood, I painted.  And rejoiced.  And painted even more.  The famine is past.  The rains have fallen so that the feast could grow richer.  I am remembering my faith.  I am believing once again.

From this Detritus springs the most magnificent elixir I have known.  I will drink deep, healing my parched throat and filling my limbs with light.  I believe once again.

Consider Yourself Invited

Question:  So what are you doing next Friday night?

If you answered "coming to UmberDove's show, ObliqueScapes at Stylus then BING BING BING you answered correctly!"   

I know, I haven't mentioned it before now, but I promise it's not because I'm not excited.  In fact I'm absolutely on pins and needles as far as excitement (as I am before EVERY show) but remarkably, feeling quite calm about with a strong measure of self-confidence about it all.  Plus we are a week out and I've already solved that oh-so-tricky-gut-wrenching-dilemma of what to wear (after all, one must stand out in a crowd when one's life-work is on display, right?).   You'll just have to wait for the pictures, but I will tell you it involves kelly-green and turquoise-surprise-surprise.

I will be delivering all my pieces, with lots of whispered encouragement to them, tomorrow morning so the rest of my afternoon today will look like this:

Finalizing price lists

A bazillion emails back and forth with the curator/BC/friends who have offered their muscles

Carefully wrapping the smaller works for travel

Gathering my physical portfolios and plenty of business cards

Zucchini-Kale casserole (hey, a gal's gotta eat!)

Sending email invites

Making sure all canvas are properly labeled

Entertaining kitty boys who have zero patience for my computer work

And maybe, just maybe, doing a little painting on some works in progress

There will probably be some dark chocolate pocky thrown in as well as a gin and tonic later in the evening too, but who knows?  I like to live on the edge.

So, see you there?

* The image on the flyer is one of Brad Strain's pieces, and I can't wait to see it in person.*

** For all you Seattlites (or Bellevue-ites, or Maple Valley-ites, or Renton-ites) seriously, come on by!  The show is part of the Belltown Art walk this month and there are LOTS of talented artist showing their work at galleries within a few blocks walk.  Plus, cheese, wine and crackers.  Don't tell me you can turn down cheese and crackers either! Humph! **