It’s about the big picture and being able to let go.
Encaustic paint is my medium of choice. While I enjoy printmaking, mixed media and traditional paint, encaustic holds a special place in my creative heart. I love the smell of it, the texture of it, and especially the vibrancy and heat of it – I am a fire sign, after all. My latest flight of heated fancy is what I call She String; a translation of Bojana Randall’s painting “She is Violin” to wax.
There are days when the Spirit fills you and it cannot be contained. Once we open to it, to her, she will posses you when and where she pleases. Some call her Muse, others name her God – I like to think of her as Lover. She strokes my soul with an electric hum – vibration and movement which cannot be resisted.
She is my Love and my Life and my Savior. She is the spark which ignites me and sets me on fire.
Yesterday, her flame grew so hot she melted wax and guided my hand to create something new…a work in progress.
What ignites YOUR creative fire?
There are countless ways to feed the muse. Every successful artist or writer has had some kind of ritual they perform in preparation for the creative task at hand. Writer, Mary Popova describes a few of these rituals:
Mine is to start the day at 5:30 am, drink some coffee, practice twenty minutes of Vipassana meditation followed by a stream of consciousness entry into my journal and then work on whatever projects are in progress (usually several at a time). Since life has a sneaky way of slipping in to distract me and morning is the only time I have available for art or writing, this ritual keeps me on task.
So here’s an idea – let’s dance around our creative fires together; post your ritual as a comment and share the mojo!
Lately, my thoughts keep flirting with the idea of collaboration I would love to see manifest in wild, wonderful ways. More than the kind of collaboration found in art collectives – I want to see a huge, rollicking, ruckus puppy pile of creative energy accelerated across our local, regional and global communities in ways that impact the quality of life exponentially.
My gut tells me that where logic has failed art has a chance of finding a better way. Maybe I’m just Dada but anyone who knows what it is to be in that altered state, The Flow, has to be aware humanity’s fundamental link to the energy of possibility resides there.
But here’s the rub, we creative types tend to be solitary creatures addicted to the personal high found tripping on our own little interior worlds. We have a nasty tendency toward a deeply twisted narcissism – egos so delicately etched and fragile that when we emerge from our creative stupor, we’re compelled to race out into the world to show them all whatever it is the art is demanding be said then immediately charge back inside seeking reassurance that the illusive voice hasn’t abandoned us but is still devotedly waiting there to offer us the next hit.
Ah, I love her though she be a harsh mistress.
So, be that as it may, what could happen if we were to stop guarding that fickle, undeniably sexy bitch so jealously? What synergistic wonder could be found if ALL those voices started vibrating together in a glorious orgy of creative flow? I’d like to think the bastard children born from such wanton lust would offer a truer, more compelling glimpse of who we are and what we want to become.
Maybe I’m a dreamer – but I can’t be the only one. Our beloved American Bard said to Imagine and that is what I’ll do. Will you join us?
How do you imagine a collaboration of the arts (all of the arts) creating something bigger and better? Please, share your thoughts, ideas and mistresses in the comments below. Let’s play in our Art Box together.
Life is art. Art is life.
What could be better than to celebrate it all. The joyful tic – the skipped beat knocking at the back door of the mind found in paint, paper and the detritus of everyday.
Celebrate it all I say. Include the decay and break-down along with each new stroke of hand, finger, tip, and tongue slick with the color of yes. Yes to it all.
This – my stream of consciousness full of the shapes and hues which amuse, bemuse and suffuse me.
Come and play in Rowena’s Art Box.