Always do your best.
All efforts get skewered by fear and skewed toward reliable non-commitment, safe numbness, and assured mediocrity.
18 May 2018
Art the Long View
“To the extent we are tenacious and persevere and remain faithful to our work we will, in the end, out distance mediocrity.”
I am letting you see my notes to myself.
Art, I mean real involved work has no place for the dross of fear. Fear destroys. You create.
Show your Art. If you hide not many will acknowledge your work. Do not be Invisible.
Set yourself free. You can if you set your mind, body, and soul into your liberation.
Be courageous. Put you into your Art. That is what people want. Your vitals and soul and brains and sinew. It is your story — make it the best story.
You are not a laser printer. You make the Art. You are the only you the world has right now.
Also do not work for free. Take the money. If you value your work so will others.
Set yourself free.
Do the work.
Show your work.
Go get ’em.
I enjoy taking materials and making something. My intention is to be original and to avoid being derivative. There is only so much I can do with a still life of fruit.
I am reminded of this advice: “Take the path.” Go on with what inspires you. Make your Art.
I have learned every attempt brings new insight. Especially be gentle with other Artists, we are all our way to self-discovery. Remember, be gentle with my own work. I cannot always see my path, always reaching.
That’s the fun part.
Color pencil on card stock ~ 15 cm x 20 cm, ~6 in x 8 in,
Some time in the past I learned to “practice the fundamentals”. This advice or maybe it was a hard-bitten lesson to my hard head, anyway the rule has followed me through all aspects of my life.
If you want to get good at something, then practice the fundamentals. Talent will take you only so far. Sometimes luck will take you further than talent. The basics make the game and in my case make the Art.
The fundamentals are the framework for your razzle-dazzle.
I learned to pay my dues. Own my mistakes. Learn and move on. Accept my successes. Learn and move on.
No one holds my leash.
In my county the cold clung to March with talons.
The sky was ice blue, more glacier blue, and ice crystal clouds played a game of crack-the-whip up next to space in the thin atmosphere.
I want to tear that picture from the sky, paste it in a scrapbook.
My paintings do no sky justice. The only hope I have is to rip the sky from the horizon and glue it on my canvas.
The air was cold but the sun was bright and made prisms dazzle.
A male Finch bumped my window a glancing blow. He was out cold, lying beak up, little feet curled as if perched.
I made a sick bed of a pasteboard box and a fresh warm towel.
I repeated, “You cannot keep a wild thing.”
Once warm and with no apparent damage the addled Finch stirred.
I placed the bird bed outside my window.
Soon the Finch flew—I almost missed its launch.
I knew that bird was back in the sky, part of a picture I had some small part in painting.