Thoughts on Creativity

Leaves seem reluctant to change their colors in my part of the world, that is, save for a group of maples in a park I frequent.

They are a rich red which draws me over for a closer look.

The cottonwood trees, though, can't seem to muster their usual bright golden yellow I love, if they are turning at all. Their hearts don't seem in it, any more than my heart has been into what waits in my studio this year. Oh, there have been splashes of interest, bursts like those maples, but the interest and drive I once had waxes and wanes. Age? Health? Shift of priorities? I don't even take as many inspiration photos as I used to. And yet, I still study clouds on my walks and couldn't help but try to capture some stunning ones yesterday, having no idea how I might work them into a textile piece - clouds are really hard to capture in fabric and thread! Not even easy with paint!

I went on a bit of a rant in my last post, and confessed I'd managed to confuse myself looking at all the videos previewed during a taster offering.Why am I looking at all these painting sessions? Why am I not working with textiles? And then found this quotation in a recent e-mail from Laly Mille, one of the teachers and someone I've been following and taking free lessons from for awhile:

“You will enrich your life immeasurably if you approach it with a sense of wonder and discovery, and always challenge yourself to try new things.”

– Nate Berkus –

Well, I did allude during my rant that I do like a challenge of mastering something new and this quotation reminded me of that. Some of my earliest memories involve needle and thread, fabric and yarn, constantly challenging myself to learn a new stitch or make something slightly beyond my abilities. And this need to learn has never been limited to any one thing. That's why now I joke that I have too many interests, I can't keep up!

Ah well, I suppose there are worse problems to have. I can't disagree with the above statement. Back to work . . .

Sucked In Again

Someone should create an app that blocks all e-mails and websites offering free things, at least things related to art and crafts. I was going to make more trinket bowls but the free Year of Light Taster sessions I'd signed up for a few weeks ago out of curiosity suddenly started, and there I was, committing myself to nine days of art videos that would then disappear. I checked out how things were set up and found it very much like the Sketchbook Revival I participated in twice: A host artist (who I was familiar with from her videos on Sketchbook Revival) and 4 different artists a day presenting their classes in videos lasting anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour and a half. At least with Sketchbook School we knew we'd have a week or so following the last presentations to catch up or rewatch videos, but this taster kept stressing that all would disappear after the last day of videos. Not to worry though, the host said, just purchase the year-long "Year of Light" and you would have lifetime access to these videos plus all the other videos that would be shown during the year. I didn't check out the price of that but you can believe it is hefty, and hefty enough that the host was offering a 25% discount and payment plan. Wow . . .

Well, I got to watching. Techniques taught were predominantly watercolor with a few using acrylic paint or pastels, and a few teaching drawing skills with pencil. There was a little collage and mixed media that I found interesting, and my fave Laly Mille showed a transfer technique unlike what I'd seen before (and am anxious to try). The quality of presentations varied widely, some very fussy and having you sit through slow application of paint and layer after layer to reach the desired result, something I had no patience for, some I skipped because I'd been exposed to them in Sketchbook Revival, some good but could have been edited down, and some very well done and informative. I fast forwarded through a lot of them, and the ones of interest I watched clear through, taking notes on the printouts provided. Unlike during Sketchbook Revivals where I watched and did almost every lesson over the two weeks, I had no time to actually do any of these lessons, but would like to try the ones I took notes on eventually, hoping I can remember and make sense of the notes since I won't be able to re-watch any videos.

My brain was reacting differently from other times I've watched videos like this, it seemed. When I'd run across videos either too lengthy or not well done, I'd question if this was a good use of my time. Even on ones that interested me, I caught myself thinking how much easier some of the effects could be done using fabric. In fact, one session painting a night sky with moon and bare branches stretching across and over the moon, I HAVE done in fabric, more than once. And one showing how to paint bubbles with acrylic paint reminded me of the bubble prayers quilt I made using sheers and metallic thread for the bubbles. Feeling confused, I started to question why I was even interested in wielding a paint brush, except that I have all the supplies and it's a newish, unmastered technique I have dabbled in.

And all the while, I felt the pressure of time, knowing these videos would be going away, and feeling a certain anger at something presented as a fun, get a "taste" of the real thing which was simply a marketing ploy. Whenever someone shared that they'd been sick or busy with work or other life intervening things and "behind" or even not having been able to watch a single video, the chirpie Host would say, don't worry, just buy the year long class and you'll have lifetime access to all, or to those saying how overwhelmed they felt, you don't have to do every lesson, just pick a few. Nope, you certainly don't have an understanding of the people who would sign up for this sort of thing. We would want to take full advantage of such an opportunity for free classes. 

Granted, Sketchbook Revival is a bit of a marketing tool as well, but it is giving the opportunity to artists to showcase what they have to offer should one decide they'd like to pay for a class from them, but the main thrust is to get people using their sketchbooks again and giving them ideas of how to do that. This taster didn't feel that way to me at all; no, this was buy my pricey class, gains for you secondary.

By the last day which was yesterday, I have to say I was pretty burned out, watching or skipping through all those videos for nine days straight, and losing interest in the last set, asking myself the important question of how would I use what I might learn here and am I even interested in learning how to draw or paint the object shown? (No, I do not want to paint a fox. No, I do not want to sketch a bird.) I did watch two more but was glad I was done. Also getting overloaded with so many people posting their renditions of the lessons in the Facebook group even though some were quite good. In fact, I had to chuckle that a few came out better than the teacher's. In the end, the host relented to the cries of give us a few more days and did tack on 5 more days of access to the videos. Good on her. But I've seen all I need to see I think. Back to trinket bowls . . .

The Trinket Bowls (Or Baskets)

When I started the first of these trinket bowls, I wasn't feeling very well, but I thought well enough to sit at the machine wrapping fabric strips around clothesline and slowly stitching the coil together. And in fact I did feel well enough to do that, that is until I had to make a decision about changing to a different fabric. Where I stopped to take a picture for this blog post was where I could switch to, say, the blue fabric or continue up the sides in the raindrop fabric. I wasn't sure how far the blue strips would go and in my muddled state, I simply couldn't make up my mind and walked away . . . for over a week until I felt better. By then I'd thought it over and had a plan to just continue up the sides and switch to the blue for the last two rounds. And was disappointed with the look, plus the bowl was slightly larger than mine that I was using as a guide, and I'm not sure why. Was the clothesline slightly thicker, or the less wide zigzag not pulling together the coils as much? Whatever the reason, I forged ahead, deciding the next one would use up all the pink fabric and it pretty much did. But was smaller than the first - go figure! I had some orangy pink for the center of the last bowl, filling in the gap to the place where it shapes up the sides with raindrop fabric and doing the final 4 rows in the blue now that I knew how far each strip would go. In size it falls somewhere between the first and second one. I think I like it best although the pink one is very likable too. 

There's still maybe a 4 or 5 inch selvage to selvage strip of the raindrop fabric plus other wider lengths that run parallel to the selvage but otherwise, the rest of the fabric that went into the quilt has been used up. I like the way the raindrop fabric worked up in the trinket bowls so may put it in the bag where I have other fabrics suitable for bowls. in the meantime, quilt and pillowcases and bowls are now boxed up ready to send off.

Signs of Autumn

Spotted on a recent walk

From Joy Williams essay, “Autumn”:

There is no such thing as time going straight on to new things. This is an illusion. Okay? And clinging to this illusion makes it difficult to understand oneself and one’s life and what is happening to one. Time is repetition, a circle. This is obvious. Day and night, the seasons, tell us this. Even so, we don’t believe it. Time is not a circle, we think. Spring screams the opposite to us, of course, and summer seduces us into believing that we’re all going to live forever. Winter couldn’t care less what we think about time. But fall cares. Instructive, tactful, subtle, fall is a philosophy all its own. Occult, secretive, taking pleasure in sleep, in rest. Fall’s comfortless, honest rot. In the beginning in most places it’s showy, the better to mask its melancholy: raging leaves and spanking breezes, edgy with the real cold. And that special, solemn light. For fall is for melan- cholics and those in love. The torchy sort of love. Forget spring. Spring is nothing but promise, a reproach to melancholics. Spring makes us forget the deal, whereas fall is the deal. The unutterable, unalterable deal.

Fall is. It always comes round, with its lovely patience. If in the beginning it’s restless, at the end it’s re signed, complete in its waiting, complete in the utter correctness of what it has to tell us. Which is that we’re transitory. We’re transient, we’re temporary, we’re all only sometime. We will pass and someone else will take our place. Our pursuit of living founders each time we remember this. Fall is the darkening window, the one Hart Crane had in mind in his poem “Fear,” the window on which likes the night.

Found in Ill Nature: Rants and Reflections on Humanity and Other Animals.