The Pursuit of Perfection

Sky, Hipstamatic photo… Its frustrating, being human. I hate messing up, missing an important detail, dropping one of the many balls I am juggling, not being able to “do it all.” I want to do everything perfectly. This is obviously unrealistic and impossible, yet I continue trying: Semper Reformata, the cry of the Protestant Reformation, “always reforming.” I’ve been watching the Olympics everyday, marveling at the abilities of my fellow human beings. These people are intense. They aim for perfection. They break world records over and over, always improving, always running faster, jumping higher, lasting longer. Today was a day of defeat; instead of seeing my imperfections as opportunities to try harder, I saw them as failure. I’m only human. But as humans, we can be better. We can keep improving, rejoicing in our progress and the lessons learned along the way, rather than sitting unmoving in defeat. We will not be perfect, but we can be always reforming.

Memories

Shepherd, Soft Pastel… On my twelfth birthday, my grandfather gave me a collection of my first “real” art supplies. Never doing anything halfway, he went to a local art store to have a professional choose the best materials: a selection of nice brushes, a set of watercolors in tubes and in a pan, acrylic paint, oil paint, canvases, papers, a set of drawing pencils, erasers, and a large box of pastels. With that gift, I moved from the childhood world of drawing cartoon characters with a #2 pencil to exploring the world of fine art. Years later, after I had painted and sketched the days away, I finally picked up the untouched box of pastels. But what to draw? It was my sophomore year of college, and I had recently returned from a Jan-term trip to Jordan and Syria (where, incidentally, I met my husband, a fellow student). There were so many new memories forever burned into my mind, but one stood out, and still does to this day: standing atop a golden ridge, looking out as the amber sun set over the Dead Sea, viewing the Bedouin caves from above, and spotting a flock of goats and sheep with their robed shepherd in the valley below. It was a beautiful moment, rich in color, that became the subject of my first pastel drawing with my first set of pastels. I have drawn it several times since, and it has become a repeated special request from my grandmother. The image has been altered as my hand has gathered new techniques and greater knowledge over the years, but here is a version from today, commissioned as a gift, sitting atop the greatest treasures of my much-expanded collection of art supplies: my Sennelier Soft Pastels.

Renewed

As I’ve said before, there are five of us, plus two cats, living in a small house. When we were house hunting, we wanted something small but with the requirement of one extra space for my art room. The “one extra room” we found is a long skinny room with lots of light, and as an artist, I have a lot of stuff to cram in there: acrylic paint, oil paint, watercolors, soft pastels, oil pastels, graphite sticks, brushes, papers, boards, easels, frames…you get the idea. The tricky part is storing it all in the small space in a way that keeps kids out of it, and making it clear enough to actually enjoy being in there! To make this space livable, there is a constant cycle of cluttering and cleaning. I purge the room (and the house!) fairly often, but this time, more was needed. My art room needed a renewal, just as my art and my outlook has been renewed. I took out curtains, junk, and reorganized to make it brighter, fresher and CLEANER. The good news for those interested in exploring pastels and fearful of what I half-jokingly call “pastel lung,” is that there was remarkably little pastel dust after 5 years of not wiping my window sills and top molding (gross, I know…sorry!). So, ta-da! I’m ready to work, the room as cleared out as its going to get.

I even cleaned off the kids’ art area. My trusty sidekicks got right to work messing it up, as expected. But what else is an art room for, if not to get messy?!

My POV

Hay Bale, Graphite Sketch…My husband and I have a ritual; it helps us decompress after our busy days, and is a routine time to relax and enjoy being together. Each night once the kids are tucked in bed, we sit on the couch, each with a glass of milk and two freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, to watch one of our recorded shows. Last night we watched the Next Food Network Star. Each Star hopeful must have a “POV,” a “Point of View” that would make their own Food Network show unique. Two weeks of my daily drawings are now complete, and over morning coffee, I reflected upon my “POV”…my own point of view around which my art revolves. I know art doesn’t have to have a “point” or a “meaning,” that it can be art for art’s sake, but my organized self loves to have everything in its place, categorized and grouped. I want my art to fit together and have a meaning, a purpose, a POV. When I reflect upon my daily drawings, I see the common thread of my own human experience: family, relationships, love, warmth, what surrounds me in my place, what is important to me in my life. Linking the theme of my sketches with my current pastels and paintings, my POV emerges as, in my husband’s words, “Southern eclectic”: a mixture of rural and city, objects and figures, past and present…the story of my place. I find warmth, family, richness and beauty in the South, in its porches and fields, its trees and marshes, its people and history, its rust and wood. A representation of the story of humanity, the South is a tightly woven tapestry of good and bad, hospitality and hatred, comfort and pain, smiles and sorrow. Despite its dark threads, my South triumphs with beauty, with color, with life, with strength; in my place and through my art, I hope to reveal and foster greater peace, honest love, and a warm, genuine reality of Southern hospitality, a welcoming with open arms.

Daddy’s Home

Daddy’s Home, graphite sketch…Today’s big event is that “Daddy is home!” My kids have been counting down to this day all week. Just as my dad did for my sister and I when he travelled, my husband always brings our kids a “prize.” This week he was in rural Alabama, not a place very conducive to buying souvenirs, but he nonetheless came home with some very interesting treasures! Cue the knitted Spiderman finger puppet made in Ecuador. It makes me laugh (it’s so odd!), and it made our son very excited. So here’s a fuzzy little Spidey: a celebration of homecoming, family and the funny things in life!

Homage to Degas

Nora, 3 months, Graphite Sketch…Today is the birthday of Edgar Degas, the French Impressionist famous for his figures of ballerinas, bathers, and other turn-of-the-century subjects. He also happens to be my favorite artist and major influence on my own art. I especially love Degas’ pastels…the vibrant contrasts, the intense markings, the vivid colors. His preparatory sketches are often a combination of strong, dark shadows mixed with precise, yet loose, lines. I like to study his work and absorb what I can into my own way of seeing color and interpreting subjects. In homage to Degas, I chose a figure drawing for my daily sketch, drawing my sleeping baby girl (who was a bit squirmier than I expected, once drawing commenced!) I used my darkest pencil, marking in the shadows, contemplating the art of Degas as I recorded this day in my baby’s young life.

The Tub, Edgar Degas, Pastel

Two Dancers Resting, Edgar Degas

Prosperity

Prosperity, Graphite Sketch…The glass Maori fish hook hangs on the wall adjacent our front door. A gift from dear friends, brought from New Zealand, the stylized hook symbolizes Prosperity: a successful, flourishing, or thriving condition; good fortune. Images of my life swirl in my mind’s eye…the colors are warm, the faces friendly, the love palpable. I sit in prosperity, a flourishing, thriving condition. I haven’t always been here; I’ve visited some hopeless places on my journey to this warm, vibrant reality. I know hard times will come again. But the prosperity I am living cannot be taken from me, because it is not a thing, nor a person, but experience. This prosperity is a thriving condition that cannot be held. My good fortune is that life brings second chances, that intentional choices towards the good are often rewarded, that I am surrounded by love in my family and friends, that I am a part of this world with all its joy and its faults.

Waste Not

Waste Not, graphite sketch… “Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in an eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand and melting like a snowflake.” -Sir Francis Bacon. Somehow I came across this quote last night and it was on my mind in the morning as I contemplated the subject of my drawing. I thought of my children’s hands, small and smooth and dimpled; about their lives which are just beginning, that are flying by in what seems an instant. I thought of holding my husband’s hand, and how we have taken successful risks in our ten years together, doing what we love and building our family with intention. With those small hands incapable of holding still long enough, and my husband’s out of reach, I looked at my own hand. I thought of my own life, my own sparkling star, my own melting snowflake, and I am grateful for today. I will try not to waste it.

Watching the Clock

Watching the Clock, Graphite Sketch…Today is one of those days. Tightly scheduled, I have to get up and go: a certain amount of time here, get home by then, meet my mom for the childcare trade off, out the door with a hamburger, make it there on time, zip by the store, back in time for baby, dinner is approaching, bedtime right behind. My creativity is sapped, my energy depleting, all I can draw today is a clock. It looks like something I would’ve drawn in high school art class, but the image of my bedside clock usurped all others. Like Alice’s White Rabbit, I’ve been watching the clock and running all day. Time can rule our life, can slip through our fingers, can wear us down with its rhythmic ticking. Time to take a deep pause and breathe in the moment, exhale the stress that schedule imposed; remember that life is for living, and seeing and being, not just leaping from one place to the next in a busy blur.

No Place Like Home

No Place Like Home, Graphite Sketch…As I lay in bed last night, snuggled in and ready to sleep, I thought about what I would draw in the morning: What do I feel like? What comes first to mind? The answers were simple: I feel content, happy and grateful; safe and warm. I am thinking of my family, my home, everyone asleep and together as we should be. We’ve lived another day, done the things we had to do, and here we are, at rest, at peace, back home together. We work, we do laundry, we cook, eat and clean; but what matters most to me is when all that is done and we are at rest together. There’s no place like home.