I had two daughters. They were not inseparable. Actually they were leaps and bound different. But they were sisters. They attacked life differently. One stayed in the shelter of books, and expanded her imagination, and her faith. The other grasped hold of the brass ring of the world’s excitement, and lived among the outcasts, the socially deprived and the fringe.
If they were colors, they would be complimentary. If they were lines, one would not say the were parallel, but the did have point of crossing. If they were tones. One would be a bold brass horn, the other a piccolo or the Brazilian fan flute. Yet they were first sisters.
I can see them standing in the courtyard, wrapped in sunshine, fresh are and silk. They knew each other in those moments of serenity, where no one could touch them. That inner sanctum of friendship and love, that only sisters know.
Dance is a celebration of life, and sometimes a celebration for the next life. Dance is the cultural provision for joy. We should all celebrate the good of life, rather than highlight death, destruction, social anarchy and uncivil behavior — that’s the job of the news media. Dance is always a good thing unless under the influence of some bad drugs or mojo. Are their any societies without it?
Depressed people need to dance. Sick people need to dance. Dance invigorates, and it pumps us up. So get of your duffs and dance. Find a song to inspire you if you don’t have the music in you.
Music was important to many people in my family, though I don’t remember them dancing at all. My mother, especially, was big into musicals, and I’m not sure when but by the time I was 6, I had seen all types of groups and musical, including Up with People. You may not be old enough to remember that, but I think dance can excite you, throughout your years. That’s where I remember first seeing a group dance.
Today, hip hop continues the crazed dance moves, though there are plenty of other talented dancers working broadway shows and even in Vegas, baby. Whether it be Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal” moves, or something more akin to hopping about like your pants are on fire. Keep moving.
The piece was like a dream for me. I saw it when I awoke and it took a few attempts to get the essence down. Hard to picture dance, as movement continues, long after your first blink.
We are all looking for the golden tree. The one where you pick the golden fruit, and obtain the flow of resources that never ends. That golden tree is called work. There are some who are living in nirvana and they don’t have to work, as they are the recipients of a golden teat, a flow of wealth and riches, like a sheik with oil fields as far as the eye can see.
So keep your head down, and don’t covet others and your hard work with hands, mind and back will bring in the flow of what you need when you need it. When you don’t have the goods, then be humble and rely on God and man. The idea is that when you give, give unto God and he will give to you through wondrous means when you are in need.
When angels crash
Sometimes you get inspired and other times you “funk out.” I mean art is work, not just a game of colorful play. The work is time & soul consuming. One moment you are flying at some height the next your wings are clipped or burning, and you spiral down from the clouds.
some days I wake up with my head in the sand, pull it out and stick it back in again
I’ve been working on the current book I’ve written and now am illustrating since 2005. That’s too long — I’m realizing I’ve not put the effort forth necessary to get “r done.”
That’s the difference between professional work and amateurish hobby. The focus of my hands and heart need to be readily steadfast, with my soul on fire to complete the work. Yet, then I need to had time for reflective editing and evaluating of what I’m doing.
Creative processes can leave one drained and lethargic — like a run down battery. The recharge, I find comes in reading and research. Looking at art and the process by which it flows through us, is the essence of understanding it; but it really does nothing to perpetuate the expression. Critic and analysis isn’t a creative process, but an intellectual,ego-stroking adventure. The real source for the power of expression comes from reflecting on beauty, design and life. I work in a library building where the entombed books are like literary coffins. They are musty, dusty and have a stench aura, but digging through those crypts, I can find nuggets of revelation.
Fill one’s eyes with vibrancy and detail, and the brush will drip rivers of life
Keeping the balance between art-flings that sap my soul and pools of drool, I must press on.
Below is the latest drawing for The King,the Courier and the Woodcutter.
This drawing took some time to complete. The border took two weekends — two weeks on the train as well. I’d say 25 hours. Hope you like!
Oh the pain of learning how to use Photoshop. I’m a student of the arts, and a lover of the ascetic, but learning technology for making art is explaining the need for opium. I can’t stand using the Wacom intous 5 tablet right now. The brushes are so difficult to manage.
And those training videos — half the steps go unexplained. Anyone else watched them?
Here is my latest picture using the tablet on Photoshop. I hope you like the blood turned to art.
In my earlier piece, I spoke about the poet, Bo Belokosa. She has commissioned me to do 20 little digital arts pieces for her poetry class. I am placing them up as I complete them. I am using the Wacom tablet Intous to do these. Here are my first three. Which one do you like best, and why?
A painting says a thousand words,
a gallery say a million