It can be awfully easy to feel defeated. We try to do something fruitful and it doesn’t turn out perfectly. We try to say something to someone and it’s misinterpreted. We buy lottery tickets and get back a $2 return if we’re lucky. We submit a piece of our creative work to a competition but never seemed to get juried in. It feels hard.
We may turn to friends or a spouse for validation and a pep talk telling us things are rosier than we feel. But then we don’t fully believe their optimism because they’re biased after all – they love us. The bottom line is we can’t let random scenarios make us feel bad. Odds are it’s not personal but just circumstantial. We shouldn’t always look to someone else to make us feel okay either. It isn’t fair to them.
Maybe we need to just have our down time. Feel it. Own it. Then find something just as random but positive to latch onto and get back up and begin again. It can be a small, positive image or moment. Here – borrow my fortune cookie from the other night. I choose to believe this message because cookies are unbiased and ALWAYS correct.
It’s funny, in a non funny kind of way, how every day has something wonderful and something mundane, something uplifting and something disappointing, something visually beautiful and something uncomfortably dissadent, and all of these mush together into this wonderful hodgepodge that our life is.
Today is a fair example. I heard that an artist I met this summer and admire was trying to reach me and it lifted my spirits. A prescription I was trying to get filled suddenly was. Then I had a creative notion about a new element for a painting I want to try and I got excited. Light came through the leaves of a tree in my yard and illuminated the berries there and dazzled them against the blue sky. I also heard back from a gallery where I had submitted some pieces for a show that they were putting together and all 5 submissions where declined. But the review with picture I wrote for an art box I bought on Amazon was accepted and put up. Isn’t it funny? What a wonderful day, really.
So I decided that instead of disappearing on this website for months at a time and popping in when I have a new painting and insight, maybe each week I’d make a post that was not profound but simply realistic.
Change is definitely difficult, and subtly more complex than expected… always. For the past two years I’ve been going through the typical retirement shift from an established lifestyle to the new ‘simpler’ one. The process is not unique to me, we all do it. We all need to find our own distinct way and learn our own personal lessons.
There are considerations of finance, health, age, and fear of change. I have to evaluate these considerations, tweak habits, and get starkly critical of myself. Identifying and working on shortcomings will help me to move forward in whatever next direction is waiting. Yes, definately difficult.
One of my shortcomings, I am realizing, is my pride. It feels embarrassing and surprising since we strive our whole life to feel good about our choices, actions and successes.
Pride is an odd and duplicital trait. It is a good thing to feel pride in what you can do, to feel pride as you succeed at something, and to feel pride in being good at something. It can make us more confident and adds strength to who we are.
But pride can also be a sign of insecurity. If the pride is springing from insecurity it can be reliant on diminishing someone else to elevate yourself. Pride can be a hollow flaw that takes away your empathetic response and rightly effects how people view you. No one appreciates arrogance and selfish pride will only erode. The true challenge is to have a healthy self-worth without arrogant pride.
Sadly, by the very circumstances of being a woman in the work environment, we are compelled to appear fearless, strong, self reliant, and self serving. Unfortunately, to instead appear empathetic, nurturing, or loving in the workplace is often cause for ridicule. Those traits are equated to showing weakness, so instead we must control the narrative and anything that could potentially knock us from a place of power where we can actually affect change and serve others.
Serving is foundational to my faith and a large part of who I am as an adult. I’ve always loved giving to other people. It brings me great joy. I have had to be subtle and intentionally careful, however, because people can feel uncomfortable receiving blessings. People often feel unworthy of receiving praise, rewards and gifts. I respect that. As I am getting older I am experiencing that firsthand and discovering a surprising level of deferred empathy. I realize one of my greatest shortcomings is the need to learn how to receive gifts.
As I reveal and face my shortcomings in this effort to become the next and better version of myself, I am feeling grateful for this process. I am becoming the truly spiritual and loving servant I was designed to be. I am understanding the complexities of true love of self and others. Real change and growth is uncomfortable and humbling and joyful and peaceful … and vital.
To truly serve I must learn to live in grace, humbly giving and receiving seamlessly and without hesitation. By relinquishing unnecessary control I can finally live at a level of harmony that will be evident in my artwork.
I process through my artwork. My artwork reveals insight to my spirit. I won’t even try to predict where this will all lead but I trust the process and trust is synonimous with faith. It’s all about life and the wonderment of all of the amazing pieces of who we are coming together to become the best gift we can give back to our maker. It’s about coming full circle.
This is a detail of a painting that is 24″ x 30″ oil on canvas and is yet to be named.
I tend to spend far too much time comparing my art to other artists and feeling inadequate. It is a self-defeating exercise since we are all unique. I am like no other artist… and yet I do not stand out from the crowd. Perhaps that is not a bad thing?
I see air, but do not see the air making the same colored swirl patterns that Van Gogh did. I see color but do not hear colors the same way Kandinsky did. I see fractured, geometric planes in the architecture of the land but do not see the world broken into blocks of color like Cezanne or the cubists did.
My style is my own, an aggregate of influences, life experiences, and growth, and I can only assume that it is the case for any other artist. I admire other artists and their methods and styles. I do not capture the light I see with the fast, gestural strokes of the impressionists who quickly reflect the fleeting light through color value. Instead, I have a blended style that starts with those fast paint methods and decrescendos down to fine detail. I see light like a flowing veil of translucent color with a sparkle of captured granulation that clings like dew or wraps around objects as if it were water vapor. I don’t glaze for that effect or opaquely build values, but sit somewhere between.
I’ve been told in classes, in conversations with established artists, and from gallery owners that I need to do things differently. I have been told I need to focus. Pick a style. Pick a subject. Settle in. I never could.
My subject matter is literally anything that strikes my fancy at any given moment and I rarely repeat any subject I have done. I just paint and move on. My style is consistent in so far as I never stop evolving. You can track my progress chronologically but you can also see the tectonic shifts continually jolting along under my work.
I’ve been thinking alot about the competitions that I have entered over the years, and with increased frequency since I retired. It is discouraging not to get in and I often find bits of my Ego showing when it appears that those who are succeeding aren’t necessarily better than I am. I ask myself what I’m doing wrong, of course. Sometimes it appears that it is the younger artist’s game. There is a freshness and a passion that is evident in the work and the jurors selected, often more seasoned artists, are drawn to them. There is a natural bias of nostalgia that is sometimes present and you might see a desire to open doors for younger artists knowing that we may not have had the opportunities in our early careers.
One show that I see come up every other year is geared for women painting representational figurative. I’ve noticed that the work selected is often that of the younger women who have passionate and edgy narratives clearly evident. I’ve been realizing recently that I spent my entire life being a warrior. I have been angry and outspoken about our environment, women’s rights, intellectual freedoms and truth. Now in my later years, I have stopped being as angry and my work is reflecting my growing peace. I know that there are still fights that need fighting and causes that need troubadours but I have changed and must pass that torch on to these new warriors.
Perhaps I waited too long to make it about me. If so, there’s no use dwelling on the what-ifs. I just need to do what makes me happy and celebrate my uniqueness for what it is now, and stop trying to compare myself, or change myself, to achieve acceptance. Simple… and hard.
Two nights ago I had been sitting on my back porch thinking of these things and watching a thunderstorm. At about 6:30 pm as it passed, I walked out in the yard and looked up at the departing storm. I saw the sky through the trees in my yard and realized what a stunningly beautiful sky it truly was.
This is a 16 x 20 oil on canvas of my perspective of the clouds in that night sky. Yes, perhaps I can be at peace just being my unique self… just being enough.
Unfinished projects. We all have them and they thrive under the protective love/hate umbrella. Their existence can feel reassuring because as long as we keep whittling on them we feel like we’re moving forward … that is, until we’re surrounded by unfinished things that can turn on a dime into an overwhelming mob. Add the hardwired rule that ‘you can’t play until your work is done’ or ‘no dessert until you’ve cleaned your plate’ and you can feel trapped. If we’re way behind, that can be a hard cycle to break.
I have been working on shuffling rooms in my home; moving my studio into what was a spare bedroom, and making my old studio into a music room. I thought that this nesting process could be done in a couple of months but I had underestimated how much clutter had accumulated and how many embedded projects were involved. It’s these embeds that fool you. The downsizing tasks alone that include selling or rehoming the excess can crush. Then, looming in my mind is the calendar and I realize that by this point in the month I should be farther along in my tax preparation, readying my work for a show next month, and basic winter housekeeping projects.
As I move things around I have begun to unearth unfinished paintings. Painting is my play and my dessert so it is especially hard to keep doing the less pleasant projects in leu of the fun. So I realized that I need to redefine balance. I am breaking up the overwhelming mountain into smaller portions – small plates – each followed by their own rewarding dessert. Today’s treat is finishing a painting of a boat I saw come into the bay in Grand Marais one evening in July. This more balanced approach has potential.
I can tell the adventure has begun and change is underway.
In my last writing I talked about being excited and open to anything but like I often do I launched into planning, listing, roadbuilding and scheduling – being completely oblivious to any plan other than my own.
I am a doer and my mind is never quiet – my inner vibration, rarely still. Usually pretty organized, I plow forward with my long range view in mind, appearing confident and perhaps even a bit arrogant. I don’t believe in passively waiting for blessings but run on the adage that God helps those who help themselves. This also feeds a personal assumption that I have some modicum of control and then find myself humbled and surprised when I am gently reigned in. Sheepishly, I then listen.
My plans had included several weeks of Christmas and holiday gatherings, events, light shows, and shopping. Then, following the first week in January my husband and I planned a road trip to Florida for the rest of the month to see sights, to spend precious time with friends, and to paint each day. Quietly and surprisingly the plan just dissolved. We got some kind of virus or flu (despite vaccinations and boosters) that put us in bed with weeks of slow recovery and coughing. The subtle cascade of events from there involved inclement weather, physical limitations, and disappointment.
Although I talk about stoically rolling with the cosmos, much to my embarrassment I chose a disgruntled response. Like a petulant child I pouted and whined that I didn’t get my way and made it clear I didn’t want to embrace this ‘mandatory adulting’. Logically I know that these events are just part of life but arrogance is a loud voice and makes it hard to hear reason. It’s not necessarily wrong to have a brief pity party as long as you don’t make it a lifestyle choice.
So the time came when I knew it was time to stop. Just stop. I began to take each element of the month long lesson and really look at it with a change in perspective. This exercise feels an awful lot like counting your blessings but is more humbling. I realized that I have been really blessed. My husband is a really fair and caring person; the days each of our illness started were perfectly timed and staggered just enough to be able to help each other through the worst part; we had simple foods in house to prepare when we needed it; we had a warm and secure home with laundry and disinfectants to get us back on track. Once I began the process of seeing events objectively the inertia made it more and more clear that things were as they were meant to be.
It was important for me to be reminded that for the wonderful adventures planned for us in the coming year to get any traction, I needed to stop trying to control everything. It was important for me to remember that there are a myriad of possibilities for each day and many of the resulting outcomes are more wonderful than I can anticipate with my limited scope. It was important for me to be reminded to trust God’s plan and know that it will be just right for us.
Now, 18 days into the new year I find myself finally sitting quietly and listening for insight on what I should do or expect next. I feel calm, well, and peaceful and took some time in my studio and painted. This is the first painting of this year and is a simple study of grapes in a vineyard that I was fortunate to be able to walk in one afternoon last summer. Now, I look forward to what the year ahead has to offer. Thanks for joining me today and in the upcoming year.
Today is the Winter Solstice. By its very nature, this is a time to look with nostalgia over our shoulder; a time of introspection as we consider where we are on the path towards our hopes, and dreams; and a time of excited anticipation for what is coming. It is a time of prayer and planning and stepping forward in faith. I can still hear my father each year excitedly telling me that today the days will start getting longer. It is the time of the year when we gather together with friends and family, and celebrate our blessings, our hopes and the amazing light and color of the season. Now is when we can feel the strengthening hope of tomorrow, despite the weariness we may feel from our heartaches or challenges of the last year.
I have begun to revisit various medium that I had set aside over the years to discover that I have changed sufficiently that they are now fun and fulfilling again. Pen and ink, graphite, and watercolor are re-emerging to join my greatest love from these last several years, oil on canvas. To add to the shifts I have been renesting my studio space in my home. That alone is an exciting and invigorating process.
It has been exciting this year to enjoy some growth, success, and direction in my artwork and know that this is merely the beginning leg of this next adventure. I cannot guess what is really coming but it doesn’t really matter – I trust the process. I am setting up the calendar for the year as best as I can with art shows, music venues, and travel adventures that are rooted in “works from the road” as I paint my way to an expanding artistic network and an improvement of my craft. The possibilities are endless.
When I was younger I discovered things on a day to day or even moment to moment basis, and absorbed quickly – rarely completely understanding what I learned until much later. Over time, I learned that regardless of initial speed, learning any lesson eventually takes internalizing, sorting, and assigning context and relevance to our life either for now or the future, to be fully effective. It is the continued accumulation over a lifetime that actually makes us who we are.
Recently I have been reminded that there is another dimentional component in our lives where you go through a rediscovery process for some lessons that may, in fact, revisit previous ones but with new eyes or perspectives. This can be unsettling in its reveals and moreover, the whole folding process gets faster as we build on the past and we age.
One embarrassing aspect of the process is discovering that I got overly confident, thinking I had achieved a status of ‘old and wise’ that would provide some sort of elevated buffer for my move to the next chapter. That is pure self-bluff and in short order I realized that I was evolving once more.
I will readily admit that all of the emotions that accompany that realization are now bubbling up. From the embarrassment at making overconfident statements about what I intended to do and be at retirement age, to all of the youthful insecurities that I had forgotten because of coping mechanisms developed in professional roles, and I am absolutely humbled.
This is not a bad thing. Once I realized I had hunkered down in the comfortable sham of the known, I stopped… and began to listen again… and I have been listening all summer.
Now I am free again to learn, to grow, to become the next unique and wonderful itteration of myself as I move forward. We never know how many days we have to live, or what our potential is, or what we have to contribute to those around us. We do know it is our charge to continue to grow, love, nurture, give, and become a worthy steward from start to finish.
“Do not fear moving forward slowly, fear only to stand still. ” It means something different to me now.
So here I am in my next chapter, the one that is earmarked retirement, and I find myself full of expectation. I am also a little embarrassed at how selfish my prayers sometimes feel. I find myself behaving like a child by asking for selfish things that my earthly father used to call ‘bicycle prayers’. My focus recently has tended to be all over the board and includes typical things like financial comfort, a little travel, the ability to paint and sell some of my work, as well as little material toys and gadgets and comforts. You get the idea.
Some of these come from increased hope for this newest chapter in my life and some, I suppose, from rationalizing expected rewards for diligently staying the course for decades, despite hardships. My logic mind knows that’s not how this works. My faith mind knows the reward comes later. My child mind, of course, is all about wanting a reward now and is perhaps exacerbated by seeing those appearing to be rolling in good fortune despite long histories of bad behavior.
I know it is absolutely destructive to start comparative thinking, especially knowing the foundation of the appearance of rewards rest on smoke and mirrors perceptions, so I find myself in the ongoing internal dialogue of a mature woman settling her impatient child. I tell myself I must be patient and have faith in what I know to be truth.
I have always believed in hope. I have hoped for good weather, and good jobs, and good friends, and . . . well, any number of things, just as we all do. I also tend to believe that hope is synonymous to faith – the optimistic belief that God will provide those things that you hope for, or pray for.
My entire life God has answered and provided good things in answer to my prayer, both for myself and for others. And like any good father He has given me what I need when I needed it, even if it’s not exactly what I prayed for, or when I expected it.
It was always better.
These last few weeks have been a reminder that I am blessed, and protected, and loved, and very much the child in this relationship. While I hoped for toys like a child my Father protected me, my husband, and our home from great harm done by spring storms.
So now I take a quiet moment to stop and smile. I remember to count all of the blessings God has given me. I stop seeing the illusions and see the truths; resume hearing the subtlety over the noise; and remember that things are just exactly as they should be.
Kelly E. James 