 |
| Rabid Velocity |
I think it’s important to know yourself . . . Not the self you think you should be . . . Not the self your family, friends, co-workers, doctors, therapists, lawyers or spouses think you should be. Somewhere, under all explicit and implicit expectations imposed upon us from the moment we draw breath, is a unique person. Unearthing our true self is part of, if not the primary mission in being human. Erich Fromm put it this way, “We are here to give birth to ourselves.” Excavating who we really are and then living from that truth makes sense to me, it’s logical and reasonable. However, is it just me, or is that harder than it sounds?
April 1st it was official . . . I had the year I hoped for at the lake. I remember how ironic it was when one year ago I moved 7 miles down the road to a funky old month to month rental while my husband was firmly ensconced in our home in the city proper. A year ago I was purging this house of several mouse nests, and knee deep in cleaning the kind of typical mildew and mold build-up you’d expect to find in an old, uninsulated cabin type house right on the water in very damp Washington. In spite of the distasteful labor I would go to sleep relishing in the delight of not being able to see my hand in front of my face. I was hungry for deep quiet and connection to the natural cycle of day and night. I had been longing for the dark and peaceful country quiet without traffic noise and amber streetlights pouring through the windows from dusk to dawn. This kind of situation is not for everyone, and it is most certainly for me. I couldn’t wait to get here and willingly did whatever it took to make it my home.
There is a startling reality in front of me in thinking over the year--nothing has dampened my enthusiasm about living here. Not the mice past or mice present . . . Not the smokey, pokey old chimneys periodically backdrafting vile, creosote laden air in the middle of the night or anytime the wind kicks up . . . Not the constant labor of wiping off muddy wet dog paws from the swampy, water-filled yard. . . Not the sand filled water system, the old kitchen cabinets that continually shed flakes of paint, the tiny, tiny, tiny kitchen, and the inability to open almost every window in the entire house, sealed by age as if by super glue . . . Not even the exorbitant power bills reflecting the fact that everything is electric. Nothing has had the power to curb my enthusiasm. In spite of everything, I live in my definition of paradise.
I don’t know what paradise would look like for anyone else. I know what it is for me, having taken many years, many miles, and a lot of joy & heartbreak to know my true nature, and hear my true voice. I’ve willingly done what it took to uncover my genuine self, calling to me like the sirens of the sea from the depths of my being. Today, looking out on a cold, rainy, gray day in April I’m watching the ducks preen their feathers on a log in the middle of a calm lake stippled by a steady gentle rainfall. It’s damp and chilly in the house and I’m thinking about building a fire. Maybe I will, and maybe I’ll just wrap my scarf around my neck and appreciate the kinship I have with my life in this moment. It hasn’t come easy, but the choices have been all mine, coming from an awareness and connection to my truth.
Knowing true self is for me, among the most critical of elements in human development. Whatever I have ever done from the place of false or inaccurate assessment of self has been like trying to nourish my body by eating plastic fruit. Whatever I have done from an honest, clear sense of true self has been like a regenerative sumptuous feast over-flowing with genuine fulfillment that radiates from within to all who come near. Knowing true self is the basis for the best of us . . . It is also the basis for all good art of the kind that enriches the quality of your life, and can stand as a touchstone for your dreams.
The heart and soul of art is self expression. An artist picks up a paint brush, welding torch, chisel or charcoal pencil to put their unique self into form. Some see the sculpture in the stone. I see images that call to me in the night sky or in the ruffled surface of the water. I hear the abstract I paint in a small flock of mergansers chatting back and forth as they paddle around discussing their future plans, or perhaps the interesting colors of the days sunset. On canvas I represent the inquiries that live deep within me, the questions I ask and have been asking about our human existence for as long as I can remember. These are questions of destiny, purpose, hope, love, evolution, trajectory, death, existence here and beyond . . . questions I keep turning over with every new experience I live. My work is a congruent expression of my true self, never easy, but inestimably rewarding. It is the work I must do.
As I see it there are challenges for all in everything we do here, it’s the nature of earthly existence. Meeting challenges from a place of genuine connection to true self adds muscle to understanding, deepens resolve, expands our compassion, and sharpens the navigational tools of our dreams . . . Meeting the challenges in pretense is another thing altogether, generally an arduous, circular journey fraught with doubt, fear, confusion and ambivalence. More often than not, pretense takes us right back to the beginning with yet more baggage to carry on the next round.
As I see it there are challenges for all in everything we do here, it’s the nature of earthly existence. Meeting challenges from a place of genuine connection to true self adds muscle to understanding, deepens resolve, expands our compassion, and sharpens the navigational tools of our dreams . . . Meeting the challenges in pretense is another thing altogether, generally an arduous, circular journey fraught with doubt, fear, confusion and ambivalence. More often than not, pretense takes us right back to the beginning with yet more baggage to carry on the next round.
Looking over the past year, in spite of the challenges I feel a deep contentment, a sense of true fulfillment. I’m where I belong--living in close connection to the natural world, and working with paint on canvas. My work as an artist is to deliver up the genuine expression of soul, mined from the depths of my connection to the natural world. I paint the deep quiet available in every wingbeat, breeze, and cold clear waters lapping the shoreline as well as the questions of destiny that seem to hang in the very air I breathe. All these are written in every brush stroke and color speaking out from my canvasses . . . An invitation for you to ponder, to dig into the soil of your being and perhaps challenge what you’ve nourished there . . . and, hopefully provide a path for your inquiry.
That's what this artist is thinking about today . . .
About the painting . . . Rabid Velocity is all about facing into the storms in life . . . Finding the courage to be yourself, to meet challenges with resolve in the midst of the fury . . .