Creation involves a little bit of destruction.
Or a lot, depending on how you work. 😉
Creation involves a little bit of destruction.
Or a lot, depending on how you work. 😉
Many creatives are fueled by obsession.
Obsession with a subject. Obsession with a material. Obsession with a colour. Obsession with all of the above and much, much more.
I am no exception.
April showers brought May flowers…and May, of course, brought the Long Island City Arts Open Festival.
Last year I went all in, participating as much as I could in all the ways that were available: silent auction, group exhibits, even volunteering a bit of my time as admin support.
This year I had to make the tough decision to scale back my involvement so that I could fulfill a commitment I made to myself in January – to debut a wall full of brand new work at the Open Studios weekend.
For those of you who were unable to make it to the festival itself (or ran out of time to see all the things!) I’ve curated some photos and put together a virtual open studio.
Otherwise titled: “When Saying “No” to a Perfectly Good Opportunity is the Right Thing to Do”.
In the past month I have turned down what might seem, to the outsider, to be two perfectly good opportunities.
In my February newsletter I revealed my latest passion – drawing and painting on Dura-lar. The week after the newsletter published I went into the studio and noticed this:
Some folks like to start off the New Year with a big, shiny resolution. Personally, I’m not keen on resolutions. I’d rather spend my time doing some inwardly focused planning and uncover a New Year’s revelation.
Or in this particular case, know when to fix it, know when to nix it.
I have a pretty tenacious “never say die” attitude and, thanks to my proud Scottish heritage, a fairly benevolent Level of Broken-ness Scale that I refer to when confronted with holey clothing, damaged tools and faulty electronics.
Lately I’ve been weighing options linked to the next stage of my practice. I am circling ever closer to the notion of grad school – getting past the awkward shy stage of a first idea and taking steps that make the concept of acquiring my MFA more than, ahem, conceptual.
So far I’ve been to three info/tour sessions and I’ve registered for another three in the coming months.
I’m finding the sessions incredibly valuable – and not just for logistics gathering like cost and program structure. Tours are an opportunity to try on the vibe of a place and see if it’s my size.
I don’t enjoy networking.
There, I said it.
I have a tendency to avoid openings and gallery events (note to young artists – I don’t recommend this, it puts a big cramp in your ability to foster a sense of a community).
The temperature hasn’t cooled off much, but as we edge ever closer to Labor Day I know it’s almost over – soon summer will be a sweet, distant memory.
With the academic year just around the corner it seems fitting that I write a “How I Spent This Summer” post (the verb “spent” being apropos, as summer days are such precious currency).
When I was thirty I had the good fortune to be in Paris, wandering starry-eyed through the Picasso Museum.
As I was standing in front of a piece, absorbed in the painting, I noticed a woman walking quickly through the gallery, a video camera aimed at the walls. She breezed around the perimeter of the room and then moved on to the next room and did the same.
I love reading biographies and watching documentaries – any narrative that gives the back-story on the experiences and processes that make a person, place, or thing is so fascinating to me.
My favorite subcategory within these genres, not surprisingly, is creative.
Solstice is just around the corner and there have already been a few steamy days in June, hinting at the sweltering New York summer to come.
I’m an August baby with very fond summer vacation memories but I’m also a typical ginger: extremely pale and sun-sensitive…crispy-fried-from-the-sunlight-vampire-skin-sensitive. UV exposure aside, I simply don’t function well above 84F.
Keeping that in mind, I’m starting to plan my Summer Studio Strategy.
A year ago I wrote about the perils of being too comfortable and how that can affect one’s motivation and growth.
Well, after 12 months of leaning into some terrific – and sometimes uncomfortable – growth, the universe must think I am still wa-a-a-y too comfortable in my current situation. An extra dash of force majeure has been thrown into the mix.
From May 14-17th I participated in this:
It. Was. AWESOME.
This is what my proposed annual timeline looked like for this year – all nicely spaced over the twelve months so that I could function like a normal, sane person:
In case you hadn’t noticed, my surname is MacDonald and I am a pure (make sure you roll that “r”) Scot. I love me some prudent frugality.
When I was 15 I talked my mom into giving me a clothing allowance so that I could buy clothes on my own. I figured out pretty darn quick that I could buy more (and more interesting) articles of clothing from the Sally Ann than at the trendy shops. Since then I’ve bought most of my clothing from second hand or consignment stores.
Likewise, whenever possible, I’ve always sourced and used recycled materials for my artwork.
It occurred to me that while all the pieces I create have detailed narratives, in my 8 plus years of blogging I haven’t voiced the finer points of my own narrative; the story of how I came to be the artist I am, making the work I currently make.
I thought it might be fun to share a bit of personal mythology with you.
[Cue orchestra. Raise curtain.]
It’s been a while since I’ve posted. A long while.
Mostly it’s been due to the frenzy of a new year. Trying to line up those ducks, catch those greased pigs, herd those cats…
I could go on, but I think you know where I’m coming from.
In a word, the start of the year was FRUSTRATING. I’m seriously hoping I can apply the idiom “in like a lion, out like a lamb” to 2015.
I’ve written several posts about working ON my new space and what it’s like working IN my new space, but I haven’t yet posted about WHAT it is I’ve been producing.
Transitioning from working at an in-home studio to an out-of-home studio has been interesting.
There has been a learning curve. Oh my, yes, has there ever.
Which, to be honest, caught me off guard, as I have had prior experience working in out-of-home, communal studios before (Dynamo, and Emily Carr University). Guess I got so used to the creature comforts of working in-home that I didn’t realize I had forgotten how to function like a person with an out-of-home job.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted…you might be thinking that New York has swallowed me whole.
Not to worry.
Even though it does feel as though I’ve been scooped up and held in the mouth of the beast, I haven’t been chewed up…yet, and, fingers crossed, I won’t be spit out.
I’ve been living in New York for six weeks now, and I thought I’d share some of the highlights of my short time here…
Our temporary New York home is smack dab in the middle of tourist central, and most of the people schlepping the surrounding streets are decked out in tourist garb: travel-easy t-shirts and shorts. It wasn’t until I had been in New York for two weeks that I finally witnessed some Truly Fabulous Fashion.
If you’ve read my last few posts you’ll know that my husband, Andrew, and I are in the midst of a massive relocation. And, yes, I was all for Andrew accepting the job offer in NYC, even with the many ways in which we had to perform to ensure the acceptance of our application for TN (principal alien) and TD (non-immigrant dependent) visas.
Get married? No problem.
I can’t work? No problem.
No control? Umm….
Now that I’m here, in New York, it’s starting to sink in just how much control I’ve relinquished.
It is almost four weeks to the day when Andrew and I will be flying on a one-way ticket to New York and I have just started the sorting and packing of the studio.
On emptying the first bin an overwhelming feeling of melancholy immediately descended upon me. I have been experiencing a growing sadness at leaving my sweet friends, but I didn’t expect to have a similar reaction to an environment.
A week ago I said a final farewell to my beloved bully-boy, Elvis. He’s been a faithful studio companion for 13 years, witnessing both me and my practice transform from my early 30’s into my mid-40’s. It is more than a little strange to be suddenly working alone in my studio.
I received a message on my voicemail yesterday that at first I didn’t understand.
I had to listen to it a few times to understand what was being said.
The voice was telling me that I had won something and I could pick it up at such-and-such a store at the corner of X and Y streets.
I live in a two-level loft unit. To make life easier for my senior dog I’ve put a second water bowl situated in the upstairs bathroom so that Elvis doesn’t have to stumble down the stairs every time he’s thirsty.
As with any canine companion, Elvis possesses a collection of endearing quirks. One of these odd behaviors is centered around the upstairs watering bowl: if the bowl is too full, he refuses to drink from it. The water will stay at the same level and would start to grow algae if I don’t empty, clean the sides, and fill it with not more than two and a half inches of water.
Fresh off the phone from a strategy call with my fabulous business coach and I’m marveling at how fortunate I am to have had mentors and coaches involved in the development of my art practice. What would my practice have been like without the input from these fabulous, talented women? Frankly, I’d rather not think about it.