trailer park art and creative purpose

"True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done, the zest of creating things new."
 Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Seventeen percent of the housing units in New Mexico are mobile homes ranking us third in the nation outdone by South and North Carolina in that order.   The overall average in the US is eight percent.  I learned early in my life of a giant stigma associated with living in one of these homes especially when scores of them are stacked side by side with non-existent yards in collective “parks.” The potency of my parents’ commentaries planted this disparaging paradigm in me. But it lost much of its effect when financial necessity caused me to seek refuge in several such units and parks early in my life. The experiences served me well and the sheer numbers who are mobile home/trailer park dwellers give reason to notice and discover beauty where beauty is not expected.

Trailer park art is a theme worth exploring. I can envision the pieces: “Block Three Lot 27” is a Cezanne-like watercolor depicting some makeshift stairs leading to a rusting narrow metal door. Next to the stairs is a pile of crumpled beer cans and nearby is a pit bull tied with a frayed rope onto a car bumper.  “Contrast: lot 13 and 14” is an oversized detailed graphite rendition of an attempt by one creative voice to smarten her world by  placing several bunches of faded artificial roses in plastic pots on the railing of her tidy deck. Next door an unworking vehicle fills a littered miniature yard. “Drying on the Line” is an ink line drawing with a watercolor wash of laundry clothes-pinned onto a rope that is carelessly strung between an un-skirted unit and a small tree.

 A trailer park characterized by neglect is an image that evokes specific thoughts, judgments, and feelings. The observer might experience a spontaneous association with lack, laziness, filth, and low social standing that is mostly unconscious and unspoken or blatantly justified.  By bringing these images to the canvas, intentional and profound purposes may be served that extend beyond the limited pleasure or therapy the artist derives in the act of creating. There are intrinsic benefits that may be mined from these hypothetical works.

First, In his representation of the trailer park scenes the artist bestows the possibility of cultivating emotional intelligence in the viewer—the chance of an awakening sensitivity to internal reactions—the criticism, the revulsion, divisive assumptions, or social distancing are all potent illuminating responses that may arise in the act of even a brief silent and attentive looking. What is presented on the canvas has the potential of arresting attention away from an otherwise mechanical and benumbed response directing the observer to the gift of interior awareness and self-honesty.

A second purpose is the making of beauty from what is overlooked, minimized, repulsive, or commonly assumed to be non-beauty. Rembrandt’s Carcass of Beef comes to mind as a classic illustration of this. Something ugly and practical (a dead cow) is donned with the respect of excellent design, texture, and rich color.  One of my daughters gave me a letter this past weekend. It accompanied a book given to celebrate a milestone in my life.  In it she referred to some of my difficulties, doubts, and frustrations of several years’ duration. She stated that “one thing that remains and will survive is this drive in you to make things beautiful.” I think she is primarily referring to life situations more than a trailer park series of paintings and drawings, but her observation transfers broadly to all devotees of the creative process in innumerable venues.

The all-absorbing and mostly enjoyable nature of the creative process could easily translate as a self-focused pursuit. The benefits to the observer (or the reader, etc) are not automatic but cultivated and therefore not profitable to all. I find that I need to remind myself of the value of what I offer the attentive observer of my creation lest I forget my contribution.

creativity and unscrubbed toilets

“As a mother of five

(now grown) children, my proficiency in time management is well-honed. In recent years, though, I have tasted a maturity in this skill. Earlier in my life, my large hourly Day-timer was rigidly attended and any unexpected diversion met with a non-productive angst. As I have grown older, I notice an increasing ability to pick my battles and allow lesser duties to wait.”

This is an excerpt from a letter I finished on Tuesday. It is for a graduate program I hope to begin in January.

The “lesser duties” are certainly relative and in my case have a quotidian quality. They are the obligatory jobs of living here—bed-making, folding, dusting, diapering, etc. Most of my adult life I have sought to perform them with beauty and attentiveness and seldom with carelessness. I found them to be a source of satisfaction…mysteriously so.

Now, in another season and a fueled with a new passion that affords little time for these once high-priority tasks, I do not want to minimize the value of the ordinary. Contentment in the mundane has been the stuff of peace for me.

I have often imagined how I would fare in different situations of ordinariness or deprivation asking self -searching questions: Could you be content completely alone? Could you do this task for the duration of your life if it were required?  Could you function undisturbed with few material possessions? Could you walk out Victor Frankl’s experiences as he did in the Nazi death camps? If pondered, these foundational considerations  lend depth, honesty, and consciousness to one’s journey. I need to believe I am not running away from something distasteful, but transferring that careful attention to a fresh purpose.

I have friends with impeccably clean kitchens and orderly closets. Some of them are also people of passion and creativity and pursue those ambitions with excellence as well. Some have maids. I have yet to balance it all so successfully and a maid is not feasible.

As we pursue creative works with the kind of mindfulness those works require, then for some of us strange life forms may grow in the refrigerator, the laundry may stand in piles, the toilet may go unscrubbed, and  we may be misunderstood. A voice of shame will scream to be heard, but  I am thinking that “maturity" might respond with a convincing,  “Let it be.”

on teaching art…seeing and doing

“In middle adulthood, the challenge is to develop the capacity to focus on the generations that will follow…generativity…failure to resolve this stage will lead to feelings of stagnation, in that one has made no contribution to the world that will last after he or she is gone…” Erik Erikson, human development theorist

I think another distinguishing predisposition of Erikson’s “middle adulthood” is a healthy pondering on life-to-date. This may be because I am on the tail end of “middle” or maybe I am just a mature “middle”…..no matter. I think I would have been wise to engage in a bit more reflection in all stages of my adult life, but objective looking back for the purpose of moving forward well is hindered often by the blinding nature of our circumstances.

So, in looking at “life-to-date”, I want to waste no more time waiting for the right set of circumstances or the ‘perfect’ answer to offer clarity….In recent months I am as clear-headed as I have known myself to be concerning what resonates in me and what is deadening. Life direction seems to flow best when we follow what sings inside.

I am captivated when I paint. Nothing else matters….I forget to eat and my normal insistence on domestic order fades in a frightening manner. As much as I want and need to participate in this image creating, there is always a scratchy sense of egocentricity that calls me to a balance. 

I find that balance in teaching. I think that at least a part of my “contribution” (as Erikson discusses) lies in this arena. Teaching is an outflow of what is contained inside …as an artist these are the infinite lessons learned and internalized from repeated attentiveness to light, shadow, color, form, and nuance.

The movie, Local Color, is an entertaining testament to this generativity (and regeneration) potential of teaching. It is the story of an accomplished elderly alcoholic artist whose life is given renewed meaning when he takes on a young and eager student…

But to say, “I teach art”, to me, approaches arrogance. I think that the gift I have to offer students is not my ability to grapple with perspective, or the human form, or the world of color and mixing, or design. Granted, I need to have a working knowledge of these and these need to be shared. But the gift lies in facilitating students to see and to do: Seeing and Doing.

Seeing was not something I learned in school directly. It was not taught straightforwardly (as per Frederick Franck—in a previous post). The seeing is something most “artists” do but seldom seem to articulate clearly to the one who needs to know--the student. Once the student begins to see rather than duplicate or perform for others---once the seeing is experienced in its purity, doing “art” is never the same.

The “doing” is a bit more pragmatic and less mystical, but no less essential. Doing art (without drudgery) is the child of attentive seeing. Doing becomes the joyful and sustained response to the epiphany of a new kind of seeing. This responsive doing, when exercised with a degree of diligence, produces a lively art that evolves in satisfying ways over time.

Done. I did not plan to post here until after Thanksgiving, but was busting after an elevating conversation with some student/friends today. I am looking forward to next semester.

an unwanted blogging sabbatical

I had so hoped to post a couple of times a week back when I began in August. With my Fall schedule, I altered my goal intentionally to once per week. With more schedule additions, I am now hesitant to set a goal until after Thanksgiving. I am preparing for application to a graduate program --a process requiring forms and lots of writing and gathering of letters and on and on...

I am still painting. I am currently working on a commission for a floorcloth (look at the additions to my floorcloth page that I did last week).

As soon as I finish this rather large floorcloth--it's 3'x 5', I will post a picture.

world of detail

Bunter is an English Bulldog. He lives with me. It is late and I am sitting here at my laptop and he is busy digging into the kitchen cupboard that is home to my plastic storage containers. He is looking for a toy because he continually searches for playthings. 

Recently he was in the living room pouncing on some object of play near the window. The commotion was distracting, so I investigated and found that his “toy” was a bee. Bunter had killed it quicky without maiming (he’s much better at this than me) and was tossing it about the room.

I thanked him as I picked up the tiny insect body and added it to my collection of interesting things to draw and paint. I don’t mind working from field guides or photographs, but having the subject in hand generates an intimacy… a familiarity that is far superior to a flat photo. I ran a needle through the bee’s body and stuck it in a Pink Pearl eraser. Using a 10x magnifier with a light I began my study.

Study implies attention…absorption. Barbara and I were out walking last week and she told me how she really would like to take a year and really study just one author’s works. That would involve reading the books and the commentaries and then generating questions and feedback with others who have a similar focus. It would lend to a deep understanding of that author and the mind that birthed those literary creations. This same idea plays out well with paint and canvas….and a bee.

Under the lighted magnifier is a world of detail that is by and large valued by a marginal group of individuals like Henri Fabre and some friends (authors and fellow artists) who love to notice the underappreciated.

For several days I looked at the bee and recorded what I saw. I could not help but wonder if this fascination with my discoveries is much like the experiences of early naturalists like Fabre, Muir, and Audubon who studied and recorded the life around them. I think it is how we experienced life about us when we were toddlers.

Concentrating on a single subject…like a bee… to know it intimately and to record it well….not shifting to boredom…is a kind of contemplation or prayer that is transcendent.

I have loaded new pieces in several of the "pages" on the left.

ghosts in the studio

“Why is it that some children cannot joyfully dive in (to creating art)? There are a myriad of reasons, I’m sure, but the most common one I have seen in children and adults alike, is that they have become limited by being self-conscious of their abilities.”  Barbara Coleman

I like to think of myself as a person who is unburdened by others’ opinions. But frequently notice that I really do care and this concern is injurious to any vestige of creativity…in art, in writing, public speaking (or whatever form creativity takes). It all becomes stiff and lifeless. 

Putting my stuff “out there” is an exercise in humility, not a product of narcissism and ,hopefully, not too much a product of naiveté. (It is risky to the ego, but I am discovering value in a dose of ego mortification).

 I have been experimenting with a series of self-portraits born out of several  years  of private journaling…..some  of the drawings are imbedded in those very personal pages and I am redoing them as stand-alone images. I was sharing some of these recent paintings with a friend. He looked at them quizzically and then looked at me and said, “What are they for?...they don't even look like you." What a blow.

Crap. I really do care. He’s right I really don’t know what they’re for. I didn’t know they had to be FOR something when I play with them.

So, I stopped for a few days and cowered in fear. But quickly I resolved that I like these impressions. They are fairly good drawings. More than anything, the idea came from a good place in me. A friend on Facebook said they "are how you see you"(thank you, Laura). Without freedom of interior confidence there is no fearless originality. So, I am going ahead…..free of the encumbrance of that voice.

Barbara Coleman writes of “ghosts in the studio.” She says that those ghosts include her teachers, critics, friends, husband, gallery owners, favorite artists. I think those ghosts are ubiquitous in a much wider world than the studio. They have an almost physical presence.  So much so that it tightens muscles, knots the stomach, and constipates that needed “flow”  that  Mihaly Csíkszentmihályi proposes as “completely focused motivation.”

But, when I really paint—when I am kicking it in, the ghosts are gone. I think there may be no other way to get them gone except by proceeding as if they are not there at all. (a small glass of Merlot really does help…several of my non-alcoholic artist friends are firm believers in this)

I am proceeding with more of these (and other) drawings. I don’t know what they are for and am moving gradually to a place where it really does not matter at all….

I am going to start a new page "self-portraits" some time this coming week..