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!

Perfect Puffy Penguins or It Doesn't all have to be Art With a Capital "A"

The Penguin Who Started It All

Perfect Puffy Penguins or It Doesn't all have to be Art With a Capital "A"

Last night I saw a photo of this adorable little penguin posted by a Face Book friend.  For some reason his pompom shape and goofy look appealed to me.  

Having made pompoms in the past to tie to ice skates, I knew I had the skills necessary:)  So I created a video with basic techniques and came up with this adorable prototype.  It may not look like a penguin but has a very high cuteness factor.  

Penguin prototype

It looks a little like a sheep and could easily have a couple of white balls added to his furry little body to become a snowman.  My vision last night included pre-made goggly eyes but I couldn't bring myself to commercialize the little beast like that.  I could do felt but not plastic….

Here's a quick instructional video on making the little prototype here ->

 I had started with this.

Today I went to the art supply store and got some felt, raided the yarn drawer at my art studio, got scissors and got started.  I needed to play with something relaxing and silly.  This kind of project is best done around other people so I went to find a group of other artists I know.  They were kind enough to let me join them.  I learned a little bit about penguin anatomy from them also. Like they have black backs.  I hadn't cut the ball right to make his  back.  I was a little bit disappointed that I hadn't thought of following correct penguin anatomy but kept going.

and this.

At this point my Perfect Penguin research yielded this image of a glorious Adelie Penguin.  This noble beast, whose source I've lost, made my little guy look silly.  I loved my little Puffball and kept going.  Sometimes I wonder if I should have just let him stay a little puffball but that's ok.

I attempted to fix his back with a toupee.  A Perfect Puffy Penguin with a back toupee (think penguin mowhawk) is a scary thing.  I slipped down the path of attempting to change something special to fit in with expectations. I'm a little disappointed in myself because I know better than to force something to be something it's not.  Puffy would always be a puffball no matter how much I trimmed his little fake feathers.

I expected my Perfect Penguin to look like the photo instead of…himself.  He did make me giggle at every point of his conception.  Yarn balls have a lot of character and humor when you personify them.  It starts to get tough when you give them toupees.  And use glue guns on them:( that gets very sticky.

You can see that his species is suspect here.  He looks
a little like a poodle with some weird yellow things
stuck to him.

That toupee is kind of spiffy.  He's just propped together
here.

In the MEANTIME, here are a couple of his incarnations.  I took him inside and glued him together, trimmed his fuzzy fake feathers and had a Perfect Penguin Prototype.  I'm not sure I'll continue down this path of penguin production.  This little guy is one of a kind.  He could use a younger sibling though.  You know, the kind that gets away with everything because his/ her parents are worn down from taking care of the older one!  Regardless, this was a fun experience in play and process which are essential to a happy life.  I'm looking forward to returning to the studio to clean up the fuzz from the haircut that gave him the final "polished" look.  The penguin is a little perplexed at the haircut.  He doesn't look at all like the noble beast he was (well, I was) trying to make him into.  At this point it's time to accept him as the perfect Penguin that he is.  I'd like to go back and remake him but it would feel a little disloyal.  Time to let go!  Needless to say I had a very enjoyable couple of hours just playing.

This whole thing just cracks me up.  I'm pretty sure that if you got this far you may think I'm very clever and you want to make your own penguin or other puffy creature.  Please consider jumping into the icy waters.  There's room for everyone and Puffy would love some friends to play with!

The sweet little Puffy Penguin 

shedding his baby feathers.
(He looks like a wet dog, but
don't tell him.)
It's been a rough winter.

Just don't pursue perfection with too much enthusiasm.  You'll never catch it…

The final chapter in our story is a testimonial from one of my students who owns a plush animal company.  Puffy and I are feeling pretty spiffy over this!

Gratitude

if you're here, I welcome you my friend.  I'm writing this the evening of New Year's Day 2014 and my heart is full as I listen to the last of the Christmas carols.  The bittersweet sounds of minor chords, acoustic guitar, violin and George Winston on the piano have me feeling sentimental and a little teary eyed.

I've been immersed in this season of hope and joy for the past week.  It's funny because I've spent much of the time alone.  I'm fortunate because I've learned to enjoy the pleasure of my own company.  I've read; evaluated where I'm going and where I've been (I am so on target for 2014 I'm amazed!  Look out.)  I've treated myself to a few indulgences (seeing Walter Mitty and buying a juicer:) My little OCD heart is pleased because my pantry is stocked and tidy.  I'm not looking at the jewelry I've strewn in my dressing area.  I'm in the process of organizing it….I've practiced being gentle with myself. 

I've talked many times in this blog about the things I'm doing, the hopes I have, etc.  I don't need to repeat them in my Christmas letter.  It would be redundant. I have done some amazing things though!  I've successfully launched two amazing children into the world complete with debt-free college degrees!  Laura is traveling the world and Andy is crafting a new life on his own.  They are amazing and constantly inspire me.  They show me (often) how to live life full out.  When I falter I just look at them.   I've set up a new corporation and committed myself to creating my own art and to helping others do the same.  I'm committed to helping us all profit (literally) from it.  I've discovered a mature voice in my art that I'll enjoy developing in a new body of work.  It's no surprise that I'm finding that maturity in my art as I step into ownership of a mature woman's life.

I'm constantly amazed at the life that is unfolding in front of me.  It's as if I've finally learned the secret to the whole "thing."   Gratitude, love, acceptance.  Knowing that life always changes like the tides, the seasons, the light around us.  These are the bedrocks of a happy life.  I've learned that I can be happy.  I can let go of pain and fear. I'm meant to be joyful, at peace. It's my birthright.

I am stunned by the loyalty and love of you, my friends and family.  Because I am not always lovable.  I sometimes take you for granted.  I consider myself unimportant to you and thus diminish our relationships.  I'm flawed.  I'm human.  That makes me immeasurably beautiful.  It makes you the same.  I've circled back to my old friend, Gratitude.

It's funny, but I finally realize that I can't do everything.  I wasn't meant to.  But I can do one thing to perfection.  I can live my life to the very fullest.  I am myself.  I'll love the people I'm meant to love, walk the paths I choose with equanimity and just enjoy the journey.  I'm making the world a better place by being here.

Each of you is embedded in my DNA. I guess that's the point. I love each and every one of you.  I hear your voices, see your eyes, feel your Spirits lift when I soar and feel your arms slip around me when I stumble. I am so grateful to share this journey with you.  Blessings to you in this New Year.  All my love, Mary-Gail 

Making Magic and Listening to My Heart

Make Room for Magic  

Listen to My Heart

Become More Elegant and Efficient with My Actions

Keeping it real. I spent a lot of time at home writing and 

setting up the infrastructure of Mary-Gail King, Inc. and 

found I wasn't painting enough.  This is the space between 

my bedroom and kitchen.  I was able to sneak in still lifes

on a regular basis!

It wouldn't surprise me if a lot of you are also planning the year ahead.  I feel fortunate to be surrounded by passionate entrepreneurs and artists whose greatest joy is to share their talents with others. Let 's see what else we have in common;)  Over the next few weeks I'd like to share how I approach manifesting in my business and my life.  It's very specific and so powerful that I hesitate to state my goals because naming them literally makes them happen when I use this approach.  It always blows my mind.  

Here goes! 

Set my intentions
Evaluate where I've been
Remind myself of my purpose/ my why 
Sneak Preview of Tactics

Step One Set Intentions:

• nurture even more loving, uplifting relationships
• paint 
• dig deeper to grow in body, mind and spirit; 
• take an extremely service centered approach to sharing my art and my business knowledge to very specific people and groups of people.

Step 2:  Evaluate

This past year I developed a larger vision for my career.  It's been a bit less exciting than things I've done in the past, but I've learned and quickly applied what I learned.  I dug deep to envision the direction I want to take in the next 10-15 years.  

An office like this makes it all worthwhile.

As a sole proprietor,  I was painting 30 hours per week and teaching 6-10.  Since I logged my hours I also found myself doing the marketing, gallery sitting, press releases, openings, etc. during my "off" hours.  That kind of workload probably sounds familiar to most of you. I'm grateful that much of it doesn't feel like work.  The only problem is that if I'm not working, I'm not earning.  I also had a hard time investing in my retirement.  It's literally time to make a run for it!  What to do, what to do?  The magic word is LEVERAGE.  Leverage everything.

Step 3: Overall Purpose, where does my greatest strength lie?  

Getting my head around the fact that what I do is what other people do while on vacation or when they retire….someday has been important.  That still blows my mind.  

Step 4:  Sneak Preview of Tactics:

I'll keep most of these details behind the scenes for the moment, but rest assured I've identified and developed a system that is powerful and works.  It will allow me to move into the year and make some magic both for me and for those I am able to touch through my teaching and artistry.

This makes me happy and I hope it makes the new collector

who purchased it happy as well.  It's a joy to find new levels

of skill and poetry that others want to live with.  It allows

me to make room for more.  Thank you!!!

For a sneak preview of the nuts and bolts I've systemized to help me & you make money selling your art go to:  Monetize Your Art.

You can also look at my website for  classes and workshops. Mary-Gail King, Fine Art

The schedule is up to date through through February 8!  There are lots of FREE events for artists and non-artists who want to try something new,  basic/ intermediate painting classes, and unique workshops and networking events to power your business ahead.  If your resolution is to change the course of your art career and tap into your creative potential, come join me!

Ring in the New

Ring in the New

The difficult is done at once. The impossible takes a little longer.

New Year's resolutions have a pretty bad reputation.  Personally I'm setting myself up for success and setting goals I can achieve, so I'm keeping George Santayana's quote handy.

I thought I'd spend a couple of minutes looking back at some past achievements before I move forward.  It's easy for me to ignore where I've been because I'm focused so much on where I'm going.  Of course the biggest challenge of all is to just enjoy the journey.  Here goes.

I look like a French Musketeer!
It's a bit of a caricature, but this is me in my zone.  Aka heaven

I've been involved in juried art shows in one form or another for the past twelve years.  The first one I got into I was voted in as a People's Choice from an adult ed class sponsored by the Conejo Valley Art Association.  That was well over ten years ago.  The second show I got into I received first place in the amateur division of the Ventura County Fair.  Laura and I enjoyed ice cream cones with my winnings.  The thing is that I hit the ceiling in the amateur arena right away.  It's not that it was too easy; it was just evident I needed to set my sights higher.  I also did well when I turned pro.  I was slowly juried into regional groups and even achieved signature status in the California Gold Coast Watercolor Society.  These have been important to me as I've built a reputation and credentials.  However, it's just as important to continue to stretch and grow.  I'm getting involved in some national groups and continue to refine my painting skills and create more beautiful art.

Here I am in all my bold, feminine glory.

One of the most amusing compliments I've received was from a fellow artist whose work I admire.  He meant it in a very positive way and I'm still proud of the sentiment behind it.  He said I paint like a man.    I think he was referring to the bold approach I have.  My work has a feminine perspective but I do cherish the fact that I'm daring with it.  Actually most, if not all, of the women I know are bold.  Like does attract like.

Moving forward here are the dreaded resolutions:

1.)  I'll do larger scale non-representational work in the studio using the plein air work as a jumping off point.

2.)  I'll continue to paint outdoors to keep my inspiration going.  

3.)  I'll be doing more workshops and special events. 

4.)  I'm getting trained in public speaking and brand development and will be traveling with that. 

5.)  I'll be strengthening my business with better client communication and a consistent promotion strategy.  Streamlining social media use will be important. I'll have to separate the personal and professional a bit.  The blurriness won't be good for me as the business grows.

6.)  I'll also figure out how to spend more time doing what I'm good at and getting help with what I'm not so good at.

Some of these just build on what I'm already doing.  The new things will be more challenging. 

I'm headed to Joshua Tree for a camp called Enlightened Warrior with Peak Potentials at the end of the month.  It's all about creating success in spite of any obstacles.  It's off the grid and outdoors so I'll be tired, challenged and, yes, in heaven.  Between the goal setting I'm working on right now and the jump start Warrior will give me I plan on achieving amazing things this year!  I hope you'll come along for the ride.

Here Is My Heaven

Here in California to paint in plein aire is such a way of life among artists that it almost becomes mundane and ordinary.  Each artist’s statement sounds the same.  We are all motivated by the earth’s beauty and our love of connection.  But here’s the rub.  This ordinary is as extraordinary as the birth of a new baby or the explosion of a distant star.  I paint as part of a community.  We chase the light and live for the feel of rocks under our feet and a mist of salt covering our bodies.  We live for the slick feel of paint as it caresses a rough canvas.

Me in my heaven

I paint as a meditation.  Setting up the altar of my easel in preparation for my ritual, I gently wrap myself in my paint spattered apron. My mantra is the windchime sound of my paintbrushes as they jumble between my fingers and the hollow clink of metal as I open my turpenoid can.  With a tap and a swish I enter the present moment. 

A series of moments are captured with each movement of my brush.  I connect with everything.  Within the intimacy of a relationship with a rock or the ocean I enter into the rhythm of the earth.  I sense the breathing of the earth in the ocean’s heaving tides.  My breath and movements mirror the crashing waves. 

I blend my colors as I begin my dance with the paint.  When the palette disappears into the world around it my eye knows it’s time to begin.

I close my eyes and listen....I lick my lips and taste the salt.  The scent of ozone fills my nostrils.  When I leave this place pieces of it leave with me.  What you see here are the remains of the day...

Each of these pieces carries bits of the heaving deck of the boat or the crunch of my aging knees as I carry my gear up and down mountains to enter my heaven.  

Most of my time is spent away from these places but the moments I live there last forever.  

That’s why I do this.

Fall Football Flashback

During grade school and high school I lived in one of the outlying neighborhoods of St. Paul, MN.   The oldest of four in a good Irish family of rough and tumble kids, I was an avowed tomboy.  I loved running, jumping and goofing off with friends.  It was in the days when we could safely play anywhere as long as we were home before dark.

Every year the neighborhood kids would take over the streets playing touch football.  I learned to pass with fingers on the laces keeping my eye on my target as I dodged all of the guys rushing to knock the ball out of my hands. We were actually chasing each other attempting to get our hands on each other's pockets.  For the uninitiated it's called two-handed touch football. That may explain why we played the co-ed version.  We also spent many Sundays watching the Vikings almost dominate pro football.  

We moved to Alabama in 1976 where my brothers both played high school ball in Dothan, AL.  They were a year apart and shared the same position.  I think they were halfbacks; one would sub for the other.  It could get a little competitive around the house in August. We also went through a lot of cereal. My sister was in flag corps in Birmingham. Just west of there in Tuscaloosa, Bear Bryant was considered a god.  (See University of Alabama football in the 70's.)  When Bear passed away I was at the University of South Alabama where many of the big football fans on campus actually wore black armbands the day he died.

The trigger that brought these memories flooding back today came at my yoga studio.  In laughter yoga we played "Guerrilla Football."  It's basically a non-competitive version of indoor football where we ran around randomly tossing a stuffed monkey back and forth.  When I started to look for strategic openings where I could either run or pass I realized I had automatically switched into offensive mode!  Talk about a conditioned reflex.  This was a yoga studio.  Pretty funny.

When I got to high school one of my dreams was to be a cheerleader.
After much practice and coaching from my best friend Barb Seery, I managed
to get the jumping, clapping, and shouting thing down.

That class was topped off in power yoga with the hanumanasana pose.  For anyone unfamiliar with Sanskrit, the photo here shows me in the pose at about 15.  We called it the splits and I could come from a running jump into that pose.  HELLO hamstrings:)  I don't do that any more.

Neither of my children played football but Andy was in the band and our family spent lots of time cheering on the home team.  The little SoCal town I live in now has a classic cross-town rivalry and I'm happy to say that eight years as a Rio Mesa Spartan mom gave me a California alma mater that I still love to this day.  I cried the first time I drove by the local stadium where Camarillo and Rio Mesa played the first game of my post-high school years as a mom.  Funny how life and memories can hit.

The window to my apartment faces a large playing field not unlike the one behind my old Minnesota house and I can hear a group of guys playing Saturday ball.  The sound of running feet and occasional cheers adds another layer of memories.  I love it.