The Life of a Creative or There's More to This Than Meets the Eye

I've been wallowing in inspiration for the past twenty-four hours or so.  Yesterday I was invited to a salon at the home of English Professor and poet Sandra Hunter.  She included performance poets Andy King, Crystal Little Bird Salas, Julius Sokenu who is the Dean of Student Learning at Moorpark College, two musicians, and several other talented performers.

The intimacy of a setting such as a salon is unique and allows the unfolding of vulnerable new work.  I was privileged to be witness to the flexing of some considerable creative muscle.  Think of a dancer rising en pointe and taking a stage.  Years of training and hours of practice go into that mastery.

The sound bites and images I experienced yesterday will color how I see the world for a while.  To give you a glimpse into the Life of a Creative I'll paraphrase.

One of my own paintings begun on a walk

where I picked the flowers on a cool 

spring-like morning. 10"x8" oil

"Today I ignored a dog and I felt like I was ignoring myself." (Andy King)  "I sometimes confuse beauty with happiness." or was it "happiness with beauty?" (Nancy-Jean Pement)  There were images of warmth, love-making and the ocean that I want to hear again by Julius Sokenu. There was a story of a strange little man considering an epic journey told by Sandra herself. It all passed too quickly, like a sunset, a smile or love-making.

We discussed the difference between journey and destination; the necessity of an Audience to the Performer.  That will be an ongoing internal conversation for me as a process-oriented artist.  Which is which?  Is there an absolute truth?

The young cellist who played performed a rather avant-garde piece. She warned us ahead of time that it involved hitting her cello.  She assured us that her cello would be ok:) then shared her obvious technical skill. When she finished, she told us that in learning the piece, she discovered what it is to be lost in the music for the first time.    We gave it witness, support, and love.  That's art.  That's when the most deeply personal exposes universal truth.

A larger (40"x30") unfinished abstract
loosely based on the smaller piece above.

An even younger pianist, who had never performed in front of an audience, played George Winston's Autumn.  She was dressed in a little black skirt and flannel shirt that matched those of her best friend.  They clutched each other's hands before the lovely young musician walked to the upright piano at the front of the room and turned her back to us, facing her music.  

As she settled into an obviously familiar space, the tenuous first stanza gave way to a lovely piece played with skill and love.  It transformed her and made us relax into the beauty of the experience we co-created. We couldn't have gone there without her any more than she without us.  The safe space we all made opened her world to new possibilities.  We'll all have the joy of hearing her again as the cycle of her creative life continues.

At the moment I'm obsessed with 

intermingled patterns of light and 

dark punctuated by birds and flowers.  

They are simple sometime cliche 

subject matter but they are feeding 

whatever it is that I'm exploring.

One thought sticks in my mind.  It's that some of us do have skills that others don't.  I've only just realized this.  I've always taken it for granted.  My accountant can't do a painting justice any more than I can fill out a tax form as well as he does.

To take it personally,  I have the good fortune to have been blessed with generations of family members who were and are artists, poets and musicians.  (I'm Irish:) We have nurtured our individual skills and collectively supported the refinement and sensitivity required to see the world as painters, poets and musicians.  I'm completely immersed in a world where everywhere I turn there is yet another master, including my own children.  I am fortunate enough to be a painter by avocation and must share it as a professional.  It is, after all, how I pay the bills!

My obsession is everywhere.

As I listen to my own classical music strangely intermingled with the rollicking hillbilly tones from my neighbor's guitar, my heart is full to overflowing.  I have no choice but to express that.  For good or bad I enter a place where I'm lost in creation daily. I lift my pen to scratch the paper or drag the oil across the rough canvas while I work towards a mastery that's by its very nature ephemeral.  

It's raw, sometimes messed up, punctuated by refinement and carefully considered choices and comes from a place of the deepest feeling.  I'm unable to completely understand my creation without benefit of a viewer.  That viewer can be me.  In this case I'm inviting you to join me. Let's witness our lives together.

It makes beauty continue.  I often mix that up with happiness, Nancy.  Thank you for exposing that.  Brava!