I just got word that all five of the pieces I submitted to the Arsenal Arts Center Member’s Show here in Boston have been rejected. Yikes. I’m shocked! I love the stuff I do. Both my writing and my art. But the single juror does not.

I’m experimenting as an artist. My main focus is writing but at the end of the day I sit down to explore art. It’s a fabulous puzzle—what we can communicate and how. The two creative ventures feed each other. It’s caviar and champagne. Daily.

The Impressionist’s rejection in the Paris salons of 1895 did waft through my mind for an instant. It can be useful to know your art history! My paintings were acts of visual play, authentic explorations, not art changing like the Impressionists. But then—this isn’t Paris. Well, bloody hell—there you have it. One person said no. And I love these paintings!

Does it mean anything at all? Perhaps The Grand Poobah is having a word with me—

Stick to your true desire. Stay with your passion. You have something else on the go. Don’t get distracted.

Or maybe he’s saying—Never submit your sense of things to the judgment of another.

Or perhaps he’s occupied with other things. I am too.

My friend Sally just called—also rejected. Hers was the perfect response—’Oh, well. We’ll carry on and we’ll have our own show.’

That took the stinger out. Who knows what the bigger picture is? Only The Grand Poobah knows and he isn’t saying—just giving hints. They’re subtle but rather affirming—as they always are. I’m listening. And carrying on—with everything.  Spirit and determination intact.  So there!

The peace march that took place in Boston and ten other cities Saturday drew a total of 100,000 people. That’s not very many for the whole country but there was music in Boston— The Leftist Marching Band from New Hampshire and The Second Line Social Aid and Pleasure Society from Cambridge, MA. The slogan for The Leftist Marching Band, God bless them, is—’Our music is better than it sounds.’ There’s hope.

At the drawing class on Saturday I told the ladies about James Carroll. We are all liberal in the class but I sensed a little discomfort. We’re there to study art, of course, not to talk about politics and war but I really wanted to share Carroll’s sense of America’s historical trajectory and especially his analysis of how change really happens when people step up and ask for what they truly desire—peace and prosperity for all. At first, I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark by bringing politics to the class then one of our members asked if Carroll’s talk was depressing. No! No, it wasn’t! We’ve all felt so resigned and hopeless in the face of this government that I think the class was girding for more hopelessness. They were cheered though by President Kennedy’s words about Robert Frost—’When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.’

So we did our drawing again in good cheer, not daunted by events seemingly beyond our control. Growing ourselves as artists matters. Not that we are great artists, some of us will be, some of us won’t, depending on the kind of devotion and risks we’re willing to take and other things too perhaps—but it still matters that we connect with artist within, which is with our spirit and humanity.

I did not make it to the peace march because I went to dinner with my wondrous friend, Kelly, who was in town from Ohio for the weekend. With opportunities to visit infrequent it seemed just as important to nurture a friendship as to attend the march this time. We need to create all the good cheer we can and Kelly and I did our part on Saturday.

I must note here too that absolutely no mention was made of the march in The Boston Globe on Sunday. The media seem interested only in bad news. Part of the paradigm shift that needs to happen, I think, is that we begin to pay real attention to the good. What we focus on grows. So I am deeply happy to learn that The Leftist Marching Band and The Second Line Social Aid and Pleasure Society were out in force. This is the way forward.

Last night the great writer, James Carroll, spoke in Boston about how this country has become paralyzed in the face of the aggressive power of the behemoth Pentagon machine that makes wars that so many Americans don’t want. We’ve all been asking where are the protests? Where are the photos of Guantanamo? What has happened that this war in Iraq continues when so many Americans want peace? As he pointed out, it is not a war. The Americans are an occupation force in the center of a civil war. Iraq is not our enemy. No one was attacking us but Americans were traumatized by 9/11. It fueled the paranoia that already exists in this country.
He talked about how bit by bit the war machine has taken over the government, and not just this government, but going right back to the second world war. They have become entwined in a bad marriage that nobody wants to break up because the kids will suffer economic consequences. He said it’s not just about blaming George Bush. We are all at fault. We all need to look at what we’re doing, at our complacency, at our love of luxury and at our fear.

I wish I could tell you all the things he said but I don’t have that sharp a memory and am not as conversant with history as he is. That’s a good part of the problem. We don’t know our history and the long road that led us to the disastrous and dangerous place that we’re in.

But we all know this—it’s not other countries who have most of the world’s weapons of mass destruction, it’s us. And we’ve broken international law like thugs.

And we know this too—it’s not other countries who are coming after us; we are going after them.

The underlying question is—what is this fear that Americans feel? Why have we felt this paranoia for so long, way before 9/11? Why do we think we are going to be attacked, as individuals and as a country? Why do we believe we need to own guns? Why do we believe we need to invade other countries and kill people? One million people have died in Iraq already of which less than 5,000 are American soldiers.

It’s not right.

There were 250 concerned and rational peace-loving people in the room last night listening to James Carroll at a small college. Most were middle-aged. There were only 3 students. I don’t know the reason why.  Could be that the five-hundred-billion dollars spent on this war has left education underfunded.  Maybe our kids aren’t as curious and engaged as they might be if they were better educated.
House of War,The Pentagon and The Disastrous Rise of American Power is the book James Carroll wrote to address these questions. He has a brilliant column in The Boston Globe every week and those of us who have hungered for reason in these awful times have been sustained by it. He is a sharp historian with an eye for how change really happens.

Now the good news, which he took care to point out—the end of the cold war came peacefully forced upon Gorbachev and the idiotic Ronald Reagon by pressure from the people, first in Russia then in the States. And the Russian people sacrificed economically when the arms race ended. We can sacrifice. This is peace and real security that we’re talking about. This is our planet, our only place.
So, Carroll asks us to maintain the pressure and to put our feet to the pavement. The internet does not work as a means of protest. He thinks it has been a deterrent to peace because it keeps people at home safely in front of their monitors when politicians only respond to real people out on the streets en masse.

So, on Saturday, there is a march for peace in many cities across this country and this time Dear A and I will bind on our sandals and be there. I feel my life changed last night. I bought House of War and lined up for James Carroll to sign it. When I met him I ended up saying, ‘I’m an artist. Sometimes it feels so irrelevant.’ He came right back, ‘No! No, it isn’t. Read Kennedy’s speech about Robert Frost.’ Then he smiled and took my hand and shook it.

Here is a small part of Kennedy’s speech— ‘When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the arrears of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

For art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstones of our judgment. The artist, however faithful to his personal vision of reality, becomes the last champion of the individual mind and sensibility against an intrusive society and an officious state.’

The whole speech is worth reading. You can google it.

Art is always an exploration of what is possible. May we, as artists, not retreat but step forward out of ourselves and into the world with what we have.

Keeping the faith. That’s all for now from here.

James Carroll—www.jamescarroll.net

Always good to watch the backside especially now that wild turkeys are roaming the streets of Boston. Was just on my way out this morning when I read this in The Boston Globe—

“On a recent afternoon, Kettly Jean-Felix parked her car on Beacon Street in Brookline, fed the parking meter, wheeled around to go to the optician and came face to face with a wild turkey.

The turkey eyed Jean-Felix. Jean-Felix eyed the turkey. It gobbled. She gasped. Then the turkey proceeded to follow the Dorchester woman over the Green Line train tracks, across the street, through traffic, and all the way down the block, pecking at her backside as she went.

“This is so scary,” Jean-Felix said, finally taking refuge inside Cambridge Eye Doctors in Brookline’s bustling Washington Square.”

Apparently some thirty years ago an effort was made to restore the wild turkey population in the western part of Massachusetts which is all rural. Once there was a good flock of these turkeys a few wise officials gathered some up to scatter them about the state where they bred happily and walked into town. It appears that they really, really like the urban thing and you can see from this fellow that he looks pretty dapper strolling down Commonwealth Avenue.

One woman apparently found eighteen of them in her garden. Someone else called the police to let them know a turkey ‘half the size of an elephant’ was walking down the street.

This is when it pays to wear specs. No need to be embarrassed when you make a dash for the optician’s shop.

I like the turkey attitude. This guy looks like he owns the street—and he’s just arrived in town! The poor dude has no idea that Thanksgiving’s just around the corner. Though if things keep going the way they are he might just be sitting down to count his blessings as he feasts on a roasted woman in specs with all the trimmings. Hmmm.

On Saturday when the drawing class met again we got it out into the open that our thoughts so often get in our way as artists, same as life. We’re all still hung up on judgments, myself included. Is our drawing good or bad? Could it be better? Worse? We try very hard in class just to see what’s there. Here’s a beautiful line or here’s a great use of light and dark. Here’s something playful, here’s a drawing full of energy or vibrant color. Here’s something moody and dark.

Still, our thoughts get in the way. Hurdles.

So again we did blind contour drawings and again the drawings were more free and more accurate than when we look at both the object we’re drawing and the drawing itself. When we only look at the object we don’t get to think about our drawing and the results are so full of energy and verve.

It’s amazing how our thoughts can constrict us and it’s a real privilege to see people stand up to them. There’s so much courage in the class. One woman asked why we have so many discouraging, judging thoughts. I think one answer is that our entire schooling has been about getting it right—that there is a right. It’s really cut us off from our creative selves.

So, we’re on a mission—to overcome discouragement. As in yoga, we’re watching our thoughts and learning to let them go. But the wondrous thing is that we are beginning to notice them now since drawing blind. A great exercise and we’ll use it all the time now. And, again, I’m gobsmacked by the work everyone is doing. There is an artist in everyone!

I gave them all a copy of a great interview in this month’s Shambhala Sun with Leonard Cohen. We always listen to music in class, one of the ways we get out of our thinking minds and into our feeling, creative selves. Leonard is a favorite because he opens the veins of feeling in a big way. He had a bit of a breakdown ten years ago as artists can. You have to watch those veins of feeling and not get too attached. Anyway he ended up in a Zen monastery for five years or so where he learned a lot about letting go and finding peace. He had his fall into grace which so often comes the hard way. I love his vibe now and also that he has learned what he’s learned and come out of the monastery again.

Somewhere in this time he took up drawing. A lot of his drawings are in The Book of Longing, a volume of his poetry published last year. They are mostly self portraits and he does them every morning before writing. Drawing is such a beautiful way of slowing down and getting out of our habitual thought patterns and he says it opens up his writing. When it becomes a daily practice of noticing and exploring it does take us somewhere. Art is a practice first and it does take practice. Sharing comes later. Leonard is now selling his drawings. I love that because he was in his sixties when he began drawing.
I love this photo too that accompanied the article. I knew immediately it was taken in Montreal. The casual bare-boned minimalist style is very artist Montreal. It leaves a lot of room for the art to happen. Not for everyone but I confess that I love to see a little baseboard in a home.

Okay, it’s back to the drawing board here.

We did blind contour drawing in the second meeting of our drawing class on Saturday, something we hadn’t tried before. We set up a table with an assortment of squashes which come in an amazing variety of shapes, colors and patterns—one of nature’s quieter tours de force.

We started by doing contour drawings of the squashes. Everyone produced interesting drawings from this first exercise though there were some disappointments. Lines that felt rushed or tentative and shapes that didn’t match with any real accuracy what was in front of us.

At the end of this venture we all looked at our work as we always do. We always look for the strength in a work and always find it. But there were laments as well. ‘My squash looks like a stone!’ Which is what we drew last time. My own efforts lacked any interest. They were lifeless renditions of fabulous shapes.

Then we moved on to blind contour drawing in which we looked at the object in front of us and drew its outlines without looking at our paper. Some of the class cheated, at first, with one eye on their paper, doubtless hoping they were getting it ‘right,’ as we all do. But they were soon convinced to go whole hog. What happened was mind-blowing—everyone’s drawings were fantastic. Many, but not all, were more accurate, the lines were stronger and more free, full of
energy and interest. The compositions
became wildly asymmetrical and dynamic.

Wow. Of the entire group, half of whom have not drawn since childhood, my drawings were, by far, the least accurate. One woman did images so accurate I could scarcely believe it. It was clear she observed with great care and had amazing hand/eye coordination.

So, here are two really interesting results. I have drawn for years but am not a careful observer of the material world. The blind contour drawing made this abundantly clear. I got to observe my mind and see the way it skipped over bits of the squash, just tuned out. I was not fully focused and my hand and eye are not integrally connected. So that was interesting. But, at the same time, I loved the drawings. They have so much more life and strength than the ones where I was looking at the page. You can see them here.

My student, who is obviously a keen observer, was able to draw with greater accuracy when she was not looking at the paper. This tells me something about the power of the mind and how it gets in our way as artists and how we can use it. So often we look and start to judge our drawing—this is not right, this is too big or too small, this line doesn’t work, I wish I had an eraser, I want to start over, I’m no good, I’m better at trees—all those things. It’s our thoughts, our mind, that both limit us and set us free. Just like life. Hmmmm.
So—we’re working in this class to get out of our minds—to let go of all thoughts when we’re drawing. And, at the same time, we’re working to focus the mind in the midst of the thousand thoughts that always are knocking on our doors, many of which may seem more interesting in the moment, or they often do to me, than a lowly squash, which isn’t all that lowly after all.

Finally, we moved on to working with color and, in every case, the results were splendid. I must add, it may be obvious, that we managed to get some good rude drawings when we were drawing blind as well. Squash can be good for that although as one of the ladies said, ‘A pickle is sometimes just a pickle.’ The laughter quotient was high at The Saturday Morning Ladies Drawing Club, as usual. As another one of the ladies said, ‘It’s cheaper than therapy.’ And far more liberating, I might add.

Here’s to the ladies, drawing blind, pickles, and squash!

Yup, that’s me. I’m an artist of no repute. Once I had a kind of reputation when I worked for many years as a graphic artist. People knew me and I got paid for making art, though the art was constrained in size and scope by the written word it was meant to ‘illustrate’. I’ve moved on now that a lot of my financial responsibilities have lessened. I feel so lucky to have had the work life I did—all that freedom! But it’s time to swim in deeper, colder water.

When I started this blog I thought I might use it to promote my work. Mostly I spend my time writing but art is in my blood too, something I’ve done daily since childhood. I never intended to be a ‘fine’ artist. Art has always been simply a means to express myself and to connect with the mystery of being here, to tell stories even. I love doing it and if I’m away from serious efforts for a few months, as I sometimes am, I begin to miss it in a way that causes me to throw other things aside and begin again. The same is true of writing. I must do both, just who I am.

I knew little of the blogosphere when I began here. I don’t read many blogs and so don’t build a lot of readership though I love to find other artists out there. I hope more will begin to discuss their work, to bleat and chat online about their own art journeys because we don’t see those journeys in the work itself. And I’m kind of curious—is it just me? And, well, there are so many different kinds of art. I wonder sometimes what people are thinking. Just curious, you know?

Now I’ve been at this a year I see my wee blog is something that gives me pleasure for the connections it sometimes creates and for the ways it enables me to think on the page. It’s like holding my thoughts up to a mirror. I see them a little more clearly and get to quicken my step a bit.

Here’s what has changed in this last year for me as an artist—

—I began teaching drawing to a wondrous group of women on Saturday mornings. It has made me think about the artistic process in a more conscious way and there is an amazing creative synergy working with other people. We’ve all grown as artists.

—I started painting. Just because I felt inspired to. Small things that are getting larger. Without ambition but for all the reasons I have always made art—for the ongoing exploration of what is possible.

—I continue writing because it calls me like my mother. ‘Get in here!’ I write things that make me laugh. I show up with devotion.

—I see there is a need for a reputation! Yes. Yes, I do. The work is piling up and the next art is the one where I discover the way to bring it into the world again, with the bucks.

So, that is what I’ll explore here now. It’s kind of important to all artists even those of us who aren’t trying to be ‘big show’ artists. But I’m not trying to be small either. I’m just doing what I do and I’m curious what that means.

Last year I wrote a lot here about my art class. This year I’ll fold that into my own art story here. What I do with the art class opens up my own creative path. I’m not really teaching them anything, just sharing how it is with me making art and they are sharing with me—their frustrations, their pleasures, their explorations. We’re expanding together like laughing gas and the results are showing up in my work. The Tao says everything has an ebb and a flow. This is the flow.

In setting up my new site and reorganizing this one last week I managed to accidentally delete two categories of files including one called mdf, which was intended to be letters between my dear friend, Kathy Todd, artist in Penzance, England and myself, artist in Boston, Massachusetts. There’s a large body of water between us but much in the way of shared history, paths and dreams. Kathy is a wonderful painter who takes much inspiration from having lived on the magical island of Tresco just off the southwest corner of England for many years. Although she hails from the States she has lived and worked in England for many years.

At any rate I wanted to get mdf up again so we can share art adventures. Making art is incredibly compelling work and just as compelling is bringing that work into the world. Kathy sent word that she is now preparing for the Affordable Art Show in London in October. Wishing you the best with that, mdf.

www.kathytodd.co.uk

I was going to entitle this post The Saturday Morning Ladies Drawing Club because we are, in fact, all ladies, or should I say women? I like the term ‘ladies’ because it implies a certain level of deportment that I think is true of our group—they possess gentility and wisdom, kindness and devotion. We met again Saturday, after a three month hiatus, for the first in an eight week session of drawing classes in which I am, nominally, the teacher. We meet at our new arts center which you can see in the photo. It was once an army arsenal and now is dedicated to the arts—visual, musical and theatrical, a higher use of space. It’s a grand place, large and well appointed. The window for our drawing room is on the second floor in the middle. You can see it in the photo—it let’s in a lot of light, good for making art.

It was a joy to see everyone again, of course, and to welcome three new people. I sometimes wonder if I have anything to teach them. They are all so accomplished in their own rights but I’ve done drawings every day of my life since the age of two and made my living by my pen for thirty years. There is something about that experience I can share. Dear A was just saying at dinner that art needs to have mystery, beauty and passionate engagement in it. I’m trying to teach passionate engagement. What people will do will be their own unique thing but may they love it and throw it out with their full force.

So, we begin again. I feel so lucky to have this opportunity and so thrilled to be able to witness the artistic growth of these women and their devotion. One of my students, who a year ago had not made a drawing since childhood, yesterday did one that was masterful and enlivening, full of mystery and beauty. We were drawing stones, that’s all. But, small as they are, they are full of enduring strength, as are the ladies in this Saturday morning drawing club.