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February 14, 2009
Proper Theme
I recently heard a very informative talk about many issues related to artists and their career, and one topic that was touched upon was about keeping a blog. The respected speaker, who has a long list of experience under her belt, was fairly clear that a blog should have a theme, and its’ keeper should stick to it! So, this is where I have some explaining to do, I think... yeah, probably.
I am such a combination of things, as we all are, but mostly I think my blog is geared in the direction of my art. I love to write poetry. I think I can safely say that this falls into the category of art... namely mine in this case. I often write something that becomes the narrative of a painting I have done. It just falls into place for me naturally, not to mention how it helps me to form a closer relationship with the process of creation in the first place.
So, paintings and poetry it is! And it is a good synchronistic relationship – quite the proper theme, really. I suppose this means that this does not include stories about an Opossum my dogs found in the back yard, or the building of a shed in the same back yard. And let’s not forget the ever personal story of my mother... yikes, this is way out of the realm of art... right? Well, but what about the well-rounded approach of what makes an artist function and produce? Would this not be part of the whole picture, sort of speak?
I love to go to artist’s talks and lectures. So much of their personal life is revealed, but it is not necessarily the plan or focus of the speaker, it just seems to take on a life of its’ own when the talk progresses. This kind of rich information let’s us get into the head of the artist, and this gives such interest and insight as to what this artist was intending and actually doing with his or her own form of expression.
This is the kind of thing that I believe we all love to know about, when we remember Picasso, Miro or any other artists whose work we admire or even hate, for that matter. We think of who the artist was or is, what we like or dislike and we apply it to their art form – it is a symbiotic relationship that cannot help but take place.
After all, why do so many read Vincent’s letters to his brother Theo, Frida’s Diary or Henry Miller’s series of racy books? I know, Henry Miller was a writer, and most of us first picked up Tropic of Cancer because of the told subject matter, but what really stands out, I believe, is his vivid philosophy - his very real hold on the importance of being an artist and conveying his own life in this process.
However, even though this ego/lifestyle of the artist plays into our influence of how we perceive their actual work, there are those that would say that Jackson Pollock had a brilliance beyond his crude and vulgar behavior, all because of how his artwork was and still is received. And this is wonderful, because the art is so strong that no one really cares what the artist did or did not do, unless of course, he was an axe murderer... that might change a few opinions.
True appreciation for the art itself is idealistically what we artists wish for when our art is being presented. Forget that I have bad credit, crave sweets, keep a messy house, procrastinate like the best of them, watch too much TV, internalize way too much, and even loose faith in what I am doing! There, now my art looks very different, doesn’t it?
I guess there is more than one way to look at this issue of revealing personal life of an artist. I promise not to give every facet of my life in this blog... only the things that influence me enough to include them, as they help me to develop who I am and how I see the world around me, with the eventual creating that takes place as a result... my art.
It is my hope that you enjoy this just as it is.
Posted by kay at 06:06 PM | Comments (0)
February 08, 2009
Border Spirits
They wait for the chance to look upon the moon and starlit sky,
translucent faces watching the fading dessert horizon
where the night creatures begin their search for the evening’s horderves.
Forever they search for the moment of redemption,
a peace that will lift the will to remain,
hoping for something to feed their hungry souls,
which could devour the warmth of new life, if they only knew how.
Lost in the crack between two worlds,
remembering their own demise,
going through every detail of the moment
when the last moist breath left their body.
There was no water, no food, no money, no coyote
no direction, no path to show the way.
Only filled with hot sun, rattle snakes, prickly cactus, drug runners, slave traders, border patrol, vigilantes, red-blooded Americans with guns, barbed wire, high walls, murderers, thieves, fear, anxiety, flashing memories of loved ones -
no energy, no will, no water... no water... no water.
Too tired to go on,
too late for a prayer,
we are the spirits of the border.
Posted by kay at 04:41 PM | Comments (0)