There is a story about this painting, but I’m not quite ready to tell it. Or maybe I just don’t know how to tell it well, so I’ll let the image stand as it is. I’m also aware that the story about this painting is unfinished, perhaps the reason it can’t yet be shared. Which got me thinking about our stories more generally. When and with whom we choose to tell them. And how we manage the ending…
This winter has been more challenging for so many of us in different and similar ways. Personally, I can see the value in periods of relative isolation and dormancy, but I am also celebrating the change of seasons, balancing my wish to appreciate the present with my intentions to create and welcome the new. The metaphors are rich, but so too are the simple pleasures of being warmed by the sun and noticing the scent and feel of the sea breeze.
Wishing you all well and grateful for the connections here!
I haven’t shared a painting here in some time, partly because I’m not sure WordPress is the best medium for sharing visual creative work. Let me know if I’m wrong! Nevertheless, I wanted to share this image because it is a re-rendered painting I posted here a little over a year ago, my third ever WP attempt.
A lot happens in a year and as one’s blog offers a potential mirror for personal and creative evolution. It’s fun to look back as we also look forward and keep ourselves rooted to the present moment. This painting is a bit of a triumph for me, which you might more fully appreciate if you read about my challenges with some earlier iterations of it here.
To all who have enjoyed and supported my creative efforts, I thank you. Many blessings in the new year, a chance for growth, and the realization of hopes and creative dreams for all. Let’s continue to shine light in the darkness.
I came to painting unconventionally, with no memories of childhood painting aptitude and little painting experience outside of my elementary school art classes. I’ve always liked to draw, but my ability to render what I saw was never remarkable. Playing sports and being a good student were more my things.
There is some photographic evidence that hints of my early interest in painting, but being an artist was never part of my identity. I’m not sure what it would mean to claim that identity at age 50. Nor do I really feel I must do so, at least not any more than I’ve defined myself in other ways. Am I a painter? Someone who likes to paint? Is there really a difference?
I don’t know. I’m just curious about these sorts of things, most especially how each of us develops and claims aspects of ourselves that have been unknown or previously dormant.