The Hunt, Pt. 1 . . .


Stalking a Mystery
It’s a quiet morning on the lake, the water so very still that the wild ducks are resting on the slippery, unstable log boom. They stand like perfect little statues, one leg tucked up in their feathers, the other balancing with such effortless poise it’s as if they dare a breeze to stir the water and jostle them out of their peaceful reverie. The sun has made an appearance at long last, and I am drawn to it’s light and subtle Spring warmth like a hungry little seedling bent on survival, willing to give everything to make it’s way to the surface from the depths of the dark, damp earth. I am inexorably drawn to the bright colors illuminating this sunny morning having endured an oppressive amount of rain and bone chilling cold that at times over the many long winter months has felt as if it would never end.

Just the other day, sitting in this very spot, I put a 2 quart pitcher under the downspout at the edge of the patio, and watched it fill with rain water. I sat in stunned amazement as it over-flowed in a matter of a few minutes. I did this simple experiment to verify my perception of TOO MUCH RAIN! The reality check gave me a modicum of comfort in spite of the fact that I was still chilled to the bone. After so many weeks and months of gray rainy days I have been feeling as if I was falling into a meteorologic coma. As the water in the pitcher suddenly began to overflow, I was startled awake as if by the cue of a hypnotist snapping her fingers.

It’s the somewhat time-worn frog-in-the-pot syndrome . . . Put a frog in a pot filled with water, gradually heat it up, and the frog cooks to death. Put a frog in a pot filled with boiling water, and it jumps out with it’s life. True or false? I’ve never had the heart to run this experiment to know. However, the metaphor remains . . . If I can be lulled into a kind of groggy half life by a long winter of monotonous gray, rainy days, what more might I be gradually accepting without question simply by virtue of it’s constancy? If I had been in a cryo-chamber of suspended life support for a number of years and were suddenly awakened today, what about my life and the world around me would be shocking my sensibilities? What am I living with, warming up to degree by degree that I would clearly recognize as intolerable appearing quickly rather than subtley?

I am compelled to search for those subtle and elusive exits out of the warming pot of the way we live, whether born from traditional thinking or habituated social custom. The only way I know to get enough distance and objectivity to cull through the useful and the destructive is what I think of as, The Hunt. I stalk those things that disturb my thinking, and rattle my complacency. For as long as I can remember I have lived as in the words of a Rilke poem . . .

All that the rest forget in order to make their life possible, we are always bent on discovering, on magnifying even; it is we who are the real awakeners of our monsters, to which we are not hostile enough to become their conquerors; for in a certain sense we are at one with them; it is they, the monsters, that hold the surplus strength which is indispensable to those that must surpass themselves.

I didn’t really chose this way of life, life chose me to search for exits from the accepted forms in living, those ideas and actions I’ve ‘warmed’ up to degree by degree. Buried deep within me is a compelling drive to be suspect at the faintest scent of burning flesh and find a way to leap from the pot that might be gradually cooking me to death. These pathways into disruption from the warmth of the comfortable serve to ignite my creative passions and, as with all things in my life, find their way into my artwork. I believe it is this drive to “surpass myself” that is the underlying energy that compels me to work in the abstract.

The abstract form gives you no immediate recognition that can be filed neatly away in the known of your life. The abstract form provides raw material for exploration into the untapped, or perhaps even the unknown regions of the deep stories surrounding existence. Though I love it when someone ‘gets’ my art, I am thrilled when an observer of my work confesses to me that they, “Don’t get it,” and yet, something is disturbing them and we keep talking. Often the conversation leads to a created story emanating from the intersection of the work and the observer. This intersection is readily available in the abstract form delivered from the hands of a thoughtful, skilled artist . . . An opportunity for a greater level of personal disturbance . . . A possibility of breaking out of the typical into places outside of the boxes formed from blind acceptance and complacency.

In truth, the challenge of good abstract work is immense. All the ‘rules’ of more traditional art apply . . . balance, proportion, continuity & congruence, dynamics, narrative . . . All the ‘rules’ without the aid of known, tangible subject matter. Abstract work is the process of creation from the non-existent, like clothing a form we cannot see. While challenging, I believe this nonrepresentational art form offers us a way to explore the edges of our senses, thoughts and emotions, and if we are willing, to go beyond to the territory out of the pot of warming water.

I refuse to grow complacent about life, sometimes, I admit, to my torment. I am on a life long mission to be willing to press into the edges of that which makes me uncomfortable, that which disturbs me . . . All for the sake of discovering yet another elusive little exit from sleepy solace of the familiar. I am committed to continual exploration of the possibilities of creative expression through painting and writing. In this exploration there are moments of rest and satisfaction accompanying every piece completed. Nonetheless, the completion always creates a hunger for expansion into the next foray into undiscovered territory of the human experience.

There is a gentle breeze over the water now, rippling the surface. The ducks have left their early morning post and are off foraging for food, tending nests, and preening their feathers. I’m still mesmerized by the warm beauty of this day. For a bit longer I will simply rest and luxuriate in this welcome change. Then, I will once again pick up The Hunt . . .

That’s what this artist is thinking about today . . .

About the painting . . . My energy was focused on 'The Hunt 'when I painted Stalking a Mystery.. My compelling drive to get under, behind, inside and around my thinking in order to gain fresh perspective. I painted this piece on the floor, years ago abandoning what was for me the confinement of an easel. I need to move when I paint, like a predator stalking prey. With a canvas on the floor I can hover above and work from all angles. I find this gives me an intimacy with a piece of work, like lovers entangled in a living, creative relationship. The colors in this piece are highly saturated and connect with each other at sharp angles, revealing the dynamic of my continual search for raising my conscious awareness beyond the present.