The View from Inside the Mind

When one wonders about the minds of visionaries and you land on the incredible art created by Van Gogh’s supposedly disturbed mind, one can only be reminded that no two people see the world in the same way. Some only take in the surface and others see more deeply.

Van Gogh's Starry Night

Time-lapse photography while stargazing in Atacama Desert, Chile

Adhemar Duro Getty Images

Sunflower Glory

In the land of paint and pencils, there are many temptations. All the time. Everywhere.

Pastels tickled all my creative bits when I signed up for a class at our local library taught by Gregory Maichack. I am in love with the luminosity and can't wait to experiment with more flowers, clouds and the ocean. This one, started in the class is after a Georgia O'Keefe painting.

Thank goodness there are a profusion of sunflowers at the farm stands right now. These deep, bronzy red ones I put in my blue vase will be wonderful to paint.

Our Northeast summer has been glorious - a gift of clear skies, gentle breezes and warm weather. Cool nights, perfect for sleeping, are a blessing and we enjoyed them virtually every night.

Even when life throws curves, little glimmers of enchantment remind me that there is so much more to consider in the scheme of things. Thank goodness.

"Life is brief, but if you're brave, it's deep." - Elissa Schappell, author

Creative Evolution

(C) Gina Sekelsky

I have reached a point in my life when I know who I am and what is important to me. I am not saying the trip was a smooth one but I have tried many things and have grown as a person and an artist from each experience. I relish the thought of expanding my exposure for all my days to come.

I read articles and postings where people are trying to find themselves or direct others onto a path. The premise is that you can't do everything so you better find your focus and be happy with just that. The world is your oyster but, wait - you can't have the whole plate.

To be creative is a blessing to be explored without restrictions. You don't have to put a name to it.  I am an artist or I am a welder or I am a story-spinner. I don't feel it is important to distill an abundance of creative interests into a narrow channel. Spending time attempting to do this denies the expansiveness of what makes you YOU. It is frustrating and limits your exposure to creativity's bounty. Just as our minds expand and can hold the words to countless songs, our creativity mellows and morfs but can remain complete because each foray into wonder expands our focus in ways that strengthen our talent. The more we 'see' the more we grow.

Time spent worrying about who you are and what defines you keeps you away from discovering that very thing. Deny nothing, avoid nothing and fine-tune your music by drawing from all the creative interests and awesome sights you have (and will) experience. Appreciate your mind for its plethora of interests. You will find you have been yourself all along.

I have been writing...just not here

As a female of the species, I excel at multitasking. Well, I did in my earlier life. Now I single-task in a multiple fashion. Moving from one thing to another, my mind plans the next foray with aplomb except for the occasional brain fade when I get to the next room and forget why I went there.

Single mindedness comes with age - at least I assume it does. It has for me. I savor more, do things completely so I don't have to come back to them and I ignore an overburdened closet simply by closing the door. Hey, it is important to pick your battles.

Art and writing are more important to me than dust. Lately, though, construction has planted plenty of the stuff on every surface of the house so I am back to multitasking. I write a bit and swipe a cloth over the desk. I sweep out the studio in prep for the summer, taking paints from their winter storage out to their regular home, while simultaneously swiping a counter top with a cloth as I pass by. I clean plaster dust and wood splinters from the inside of the washing machine (I mean, really guys?) and then do the wash.

The new bathroom is coming along nicely. I will be happy when we can stop going down two flights of stairs to use the other bathroom. It will be a twofold luxury when it is done in a few weeks.

I've kept up with my journal, adding watercolors to the pages when a light touch is needed and pictures of trips and construction progress to illustrate the dialog of my days. I spent four nights at an inn in Gloucester a few weeks ago, painting at a beach I found in Manchester-by-the-Sea on the first day. The air was cool - mid to high 50's - but the sun made it feel warmer. I sketched the scene, adding notes to my drawing so I'd remember the color of the water and the sweep of the clouds. The next day I set up my easel, digging the legs into the soft sand and, stretching a bungee cord over the tray, anchoring it with two big milk bottles filled with water. I accepted its quirky tilt - uneven ground being what it is.

Life is uneven. The axis tilts this way and that and I find my footing either by digging in and firmly planting my thoughts or flowing with it. Both work to different degrees. It would be plenty boring if there was a sameness to every day. I know people with lives like that. I guess they must like it that way because they continue to do it year in and year out.

I prefer edges that shift and change like the waves on the shore. When I was in Gloucester, the beach was different each morning. The clear, rocky beach of that first afternoon became riddled with seaweed on the second day. The sea pulled some of it out with the next tide so the arrangement was different - undulating strips of seaweed hiding sea glass treasures in with the pebbles underneath their mounds. I accepted the changes with a sense of excitement and discovery looking forward to rounding the corner to find out what I would see.

When things are serene, I find untold pleasure in my own discoveries. A good book, rhythmic stitches woven into the shawl I am working on and the plunge and pull of silk thread through a needlepoint canvas. Good conversation with friends culminating in laughter and hugs. I am grounded by my pleasures. They help me meet my challenges with a bit more grace.

Some Things Never Change

Frye Measure Mill, NH

I got a laptop a few months ago to replace my old, sluggish desktop and give me freedom to write wherever I liked.  When I first transferred files to the new computer, I purged redundant photos.  Now, I am going through some of the documents.

This morning, I came across some journal writings.  While I prefer hand-writing them, there are times when my book isn't with me and I resort to computer entries.  One file, 105 pages long, was from 1993 when I still had Creative NeedleArts and would write at work after everyone left.  It was password protected and I had a moment of panic - that was nineteen years ago!  I had a universal password then and I tried it - I'm in.

Some things apparently don't change. My laments are pretty much the same.  That doesn't mean I haven't moved forward.  It just means that my creative concerns have a fallback reason for being.  Time and a plethora of ideas.

I constantly have ideas crowding my brain about other things to design and get into.... I am driven (but why?) to create new ideas; I'm just frustrated by the restrictions of time.  I keep pushing the parameters of time. 

I can guarantee that I have sung this song many times over the years.  My interests are expansive; my ideas for paintings, writing and needlework are like a fountain which never turns off.  I read voraciously.  I have messy closets.  I desperately need to have a yard sale.  My art supplies are ordered, though, so my priorities are straight in one respect.  

It occurs to me that a creative mind can be one's bane of existence as well as its blessing.  

Have I finally reached the point in my life when I accept the activity in my head, knowing I cannot act on all of it?  Writing down notes and ideas keeps them from disappearing in the crowd.  I can get them back to the top of the pile anytime I want.  

Relishing my varied interests is delectable.  Worrying over the lack of time to explore them all isn't.  Today I immerse myself in the ones on the top of my pile.

Create a Wonder of a Day

Hathaway's Wintery Blooms - Donna Saiia

Louie Schwartzberg is an amazing artist.  Patience plays a critical part of his art, something I can appreciate and embrace (at times, thank goodness).  Since this is the season for thankfulness, sharing his work with you is my gift of gratitude for all you mean to me and all I love about the world.

Monadnock Art Tour 16

October is the perfect time to head up into New Hampshire and wander the backroads from studio to studio.  There is a leafy smell in the air that enchants and breathtaking color to amaze us.  Chris and I made our annual trek to the Dublin/Peterborough area to tour what we could of the 50 art studios tucked into the foothills of Mt. Monadnock.

Jane Howard in her studio

We packed a lunch of Tuscan pasta, sandwiches and fruit so we could make the most of our day and explore as much as we wanted to.  A quick trip to the Price's for fresh cider and we were on our way.  We started at Jane Howard's studio, eager to see how she had grown in the past year and what new things she was trying.  She was working on a self-portrait and had completed a wonderful woman knitting (you can see it next to the window in this photo).  Her architectural beach scenes have a unique quality which I love.  My favorites, though, are the painted collage still lifes like one above the window.  They tell a detailed story of varied interests which draw you in to speculate about the person who collected these items and why they are of importance.  The nice thing is that you can vary the story in your mind each time you look at the painting.  I love that about them.

We visited quite a few studios some of which were in old homes built in the late 1700s and mid-1800s.  Low beamed ceilings and wide planked floors complemented the timeless art on view.  Others had bright, light-filled studios with cans and cans of brushes and paint stained easels.  Having just bought a wide, flat blending brush, I know the obsession for good working tools.

The day was inspirational and the scenery exquisite, even if the foliage hasn't peaked yet.  All the more to enjoy in the weeks to come!

South End Artists

Chris and I went into Boston for the weekend to walk the South End to see the art on display in the studios there.  After miles of walking and stimuli that filled our brains with color and images, we left sated and totally pooped.  Some would have to wait until next year to be discovered by the two of us.

It is so interesting to see what other artists create.  The buildings were filled with studios, sometimes 20 or more on each floor.  Having never painted in such an environment, I don't know if it would be stimulating or intimidating.  While some artists were at the beginning of their learning curve, others were masters.  All seemed highly involved with their craft.  Their studios were more than work areas for them.  They were places to gather and talk as well as create.  With some, you could see the influences of great artists almost as if they were trying on another person's coat to check the fit.  Several were disturbing, having delved, perhaps, into realms of their minds where issues refused to be worked out.  While I can appreciate and understand the depths of their art, I prefer to skirt the pathos in favor of lightness.

Now that the cool days are rushing in, the city has a new lift to its spirits.  Color enters the stage at every turn. Bittersweet wreaths and pots of garden mums grace doorways.  Festivals fill the streets as we all clamor for one more celebration.  As the leaves rustle along the cobblestones before landing in a huddle in a corner, we marvel at the pleasures of a city stroll.

Meadow Pond

The last few strokes of paint feel like a symphony's final notes.  Cymbals crash and the notes rise to a crescendo until they fade away and you are left with their sweet tone vibrating in your mind's deepest recesses. 

This painting started out very differently.  Aiming for a spare and serene vista, it evolved over time into a remembered pond from my childhood - at least a fictionalized version of it since it is no longer there except in my mind's eye.

I spend summer hours floating on a makeshift raft someone had made and tied to a branch pounded into the soft earth on the edge of a nearby pond.  This usually involved getting my toes squishy with mud and pulling off the occasional leach, but I was young and I really wanted to float on that raft.  It was in a field not far from our house.  Not big but ample in size for a short float with a good book.

In this version, I can hear the laughter of children splashing and frogs heading for cover in the reeds to observe the activity from a distance.  A path worn by animals or humans - perhaps both - winds its way along the shore, grass closely cropped by the many footfalls.  The clear vibrant day, like so many I have known, welcomes all comers to linger at its shores.

Bliss

Finally, a birthday present (offered in April, mind you) is reality. I must give all the credit to my procrastination but I am happy to have a wonderful new easel for the studio.  It is massive but just right for my needs.  I love doing large paintings and this one will support them perfectly.  With two masts, I can even paint two canvases at once.  I saw tall, narrow canvases in the art store and side by side, they would create a interesting piece of art.

I read all the reviews before deciding on this one and the only fault anyone could cite were the assembly directions but they said the same thing about other easels.  Armed with that knowledge, I went slow and managed to get it together - all 66 pounds of luscious wood.  They were right, though, the directions were the pits. Thank goodness for online photos!

I have used the same easel for most of my life.  It only presented a problem when I wanted to do a large painting.  I'd have to hold it steady with one hand, wield the brush with the other and play a demented game of Twister to load the brush with paint.  Since Chris works with a smaller format, I have now passed it along to her.  The one my parents bought me when I was in my teens is now my daughter's. It is nice to know that it will witness her artistic growth as it did mine.

Threads of Interest

Our homes tell a story.  So do our workplaces.  My bulletin board at work is ever changing as my interests evolve.

Some offices I enter sport childish colorings pinned in prominent places.  They make me smile and I know this represents an important part of this person's life.  Occasionally, an office will be more sterile with reports pinned at eye level and schedules neatly penned on wall calendars.  Even after years in the same space, there is nothing there which gives you insight into the person who occupies that room.  Why is that?  Are they unhappy here?  Perhaps they don't feel comfortable.  Perhaps they are just private people.   

I spend eight hours a day in my office and almost two getting to and from it.  While it is separate from my personal life, I love what I do there and I couldn't imagine not making myself at home in the space.  I love cozy.  I love welcoming rooms.  I want my home away from home to reflect my interests so I am reminded of why I work.  My job is creative and my walls inspire me.  They form the threads of my interests, the basis for my existence.

The Art of Basically Doing Nothing

Each day can be an adventure but sometimes, doing nothing is very satisfying.  Relaxing with good friends is a good example.  Afternoons when nothing is discussed more serious than who is going to lean over to grasp the wine bottle for refills.

MidLife Jubilation - Fran Mangino

Pockets of time absent from tasks and activity are sometimes more rare than we would like.  When you live with someone else, that time seems cut in half.  Moments of solitude are stolen from the busyness - a few here, a few there, a blessed hour to flip through a magazine or finish a book. An afternoon with girlfriends in a fit of giggles over something inane someone said. These hours become more precious for their brevity.

Fran's painting always reminds me of those pleasures.  I met Fran Mangino many years ago at an art show when I lived in Ohio.  She was just starting to paint at the time.  Each year showed more progress and her watercolors blossomed not only with flowers but depth as well.  This is one of a series she did which celebrates the truisms of midlife and I have it in my office to remind me to relax and play whenever I can (that is her on the right). My nothing moments are like strands of pearls - long, sinuous and appreciated for the beauty of their being.

Common Footing

I remember well the days when Christina wanted nothing more than to be different from me - mostly in her teenage years as she was finding her own footing.  My creativity and craftiness were not exemplary achievements on her horizon.

That was okay with me - just because I found them endlessly fulfilling did not mean my children had to.  I knew they would find their own pursuits.  But at the same time that she was scoffing at my life, she was bemoaning the fact that her father, brother and I had all the talent in the family and she had none. This went on for some time.  Frequently.

Now, this was from a child who exhibited her own talents in many ways.  When she was in the sixth grade, she created a wonderful ceramic bowl which I held my breath about when she was deciding who to give it to. The inside is as interesting as the glaze on the outside - pressed clay forms the bowl shape and the glaze is darker in the minute cracks than on the surface.  Clay flower buds lay inside as if dropped in the bowl while they were gathered.  I love this bowl and that it was molded by Christina's hands.

I still have her little paper canoe, made for an elementary school Thanksgiving project many years ago which sports a campfire in its center.  We still share a chuckle about that.  If I remember right, she just wanted the occupants to be warm.

When she was in her late teens, I was working in the studio and she mentioned again about her lack of talent in relation to the rest of the family.  I decided enough was enough and gave her a drawing project to tackle along side me.  The more she drew, the better it became and her confidence soared.

I never heard disparaging remarks about her 'lack of talent' again.

Christina's first oil painting  5/11

Now it is a decade or so later and I have a huge warm afghan she made me to cuddle in and her drawing on my wall.  Since this spring, she is working side by side with me in my studio.  It has been wonderful to explore painting together.  We learn much from each other.  Sometimes I feel I learn more from her than she does from me.  I may teach her technique and new ways to observe what we normally take for granted, but she teaches me how to embrace and share a common bond that enhances our relationship in a new way.

Mostly, I just like to do things with her and that is all that matters.

One Thing Leads to Another

Now that it is getting warmer, I am all about the prep.  Prepare the flower beds for new plants to come and mulch to keep them tidy.  Clean the deck furniture and put it out so I can sit and enjoy the sun.  Sweep the spider bodies out of the studio, wash the floors and open the windows to air it out. Restore the easel and paints to their proper home.

As I move from one thing to another, the soft music of the wind in the trees does its thing as it always does and when I find a sample canvas board from the trade show in January, I rub my fingers across its smooth surface and imagine what would be nice to paint on it.

It has been a long time since I picked up my oil paints.  Working mostly in acrylics for some time, the mysteries and quirks of a different medium seemed like extra work.  But it is such a nice small board - only 6" x 6".  Not big, not daunting at all.  I loved oil painting once and perhaps this spring was the perfect time to experiment. After all, it is just about the prep.

My hand led the way and my experiment became an experience.  Everything I loved about oil painting came back with every stroke.  The flexibility of blending, the fluidity of motion - they all conspired to draw me in and I loved every minute of it.

Rocky Cove by Donna Saiia

MFA Art of the Americas Wing

John Singer Sargent      The Daughters of Edward Darley Bolt

I am in heaven!  I love the new wing at the MFA.  Bob and I spent a long weekend in Boston for New Year's Eve and I got to explore the exhibits to my heart's content.  While he napped (he is tolerant of my museum forays up to a point), I savored the works of John Singer Sargent (my favorite), Mary Cassatt (another one) and impressionists to moderns.  I left two floors for another time.

John Sargent  An Artist in his Studio

This one, of an artist friend in Italy really shows his love of white on white with the bed linens draped over the footboard.  The rumpled sheets, hastily pulled back out of the way, reflect the light streaming in the window.  He was a master at juxtaposing color and creating balance.

Mary Cassatt      Afternoon Tea

Mary Cassatt depicted the gentler side of life with her mother and child portraits and friends enjoying an afternoon tea.  How wonderful to be able to see these works in person any time I want!I can only imagine what treasures are stored below that I have yet to view.

Rearrange for a Change

Getting up really early on a Sunday morning gives you lots of time during the day.  We went to the firehouse to fill Thanksgiving baskets for the Lions Club at 7:30.  There was so much help that we were easily done by 9:00.  96 families this year - up from last year.  Still a lot of families are struggling to keep afloat.  News reports banter about 'recession over' - 'wasn't really a recession' - 'unemployment down' - no, it is up, like it is fodder to be juggled to fit the relentless broadcast schedules.  The point of view shifts with the uninformed opinions of the newscasters searching for anything to fill the time.  I thought they were only supposed to report news, not create it. Not worth listening to - have to take everything with a grain of salt.  I can get the real news from the 96 families who need help right now.  Repeat a number like that in every town in Massachusetts and it is unfathomable.  30% of the homes in Ashburnham are in foreclosure and close to that in Fitchburg.  Similar stories overseas.  What is happening to our world?

I am trying to create some order in my little piece of it (the effort of which seems inconsequential now that I wrote that).  Wasn't where I planned to go when I sat down a few minutes ago.  I cleaned, moved some furniture to make room for my paints and easel which need to come inside for the winter and made two batches of grape jelly with the last of the juice from the summer.  It is autumn and my efforts touch both the warm summer and chilly winter.  My bridge spans the seasons.

My Winter Digs

Tray Bien

It was fun to make a special serving tray for the library's exhibit and fundraiser.  Faux-painting the surface with layers of subtle colors, finding just the right mix of collage materials and watching the design evolve as I selected one element and removed another. 

I wrapped the handles with copper wire and beautiful, earthy beads, tucking in the sharp ends of the wire so they would not poke.

I can't remember how many there were on display but each was more creative than the next.  They raised a sizable amount for the library fund which was nice.

Family Talents

One thing about family - they are always part of you no matter what. Miles cannot distance you from thinking about them. They help mold you into who you presently are. They continually influence your view of the world - when you are lucky enough to keep in touch.

My youngest brother, Jim, has been a pivotal person for me. As with all my family, I have enjoyed seeing his personal evolutions. Jim's talents have expanded over the years and I relish the times we discuss the wondrous feelings our expressions afford us. I never hang up from a phone call without food for thought and a new way of looking at something. His music has brought many friends together and I have seen faces suffused with pleasure on these occasions. His art is a joy. He has an eye for composition and his photography is memorable. When you have a moment, check it out at http://www.jswansonart.com/. You won't be disappointed.

Simplify, simplify, simplify

My mantra. Not one I actually adhere to. Ever. New threads, lovely bamboo knitting needles, a paint color I just have to have - they all tempt me into excess.

Stash - isn't it the most wonderful word? Heaven forbid I should actually reduce my stash! What if I need it? So what if my Irish linens in multiple colors and counts fill an entire drawer? There are plenty more projects in my future and I just might need it.

Now, the rest of the house...and garage! We have a huge garage - bigger than any couple should ever have. It is lovely to have all that space, but we have been in this house for eight years now and there is a lot of stuff in that garage that hasn't seen the light of day since we got here.

A Spring garage sale is in the offing. It promises to be an event of major proportions. I mean, I need to make room for more stash....

Winter's Slumber, My Awakening

I enjoy each of the seasonal cycles. Living in New England, winters can be dramatic. Hunkered down under an afghan with a cup of tea, I knit scarves and sweaters and finish up the needlepoint projects I started before Christmas. Winter is my best stitching time, expansive in both duration and projects.

I can't remember a time when I didn't stitch. Well, maybe I can - Mom says I all but flunked out of home ec in high school with my misshapen dirndl skirt. Setting in a zipper was definitely not my forte at the time. I got better over time as my interest grew. I learned to sew better, knit and crochet. Needlework became my passion when I started a family.

All thru this, I painted and drew. Not with any regularity, but with wonderment that my hand and mind could work together to create something on paper and canvas.

My paints live inside the house for the winter and spring fills me with anticipation. The closer it gets, the closer I get to my own seasonal change. We had a weekend of near 70 degree weather two weeks ago and I was out in the studio like a flash, cleaning around the stored deck furniture and scooting early ladybugs out the door. I carried the paints out of the house and put them back in their home on the drawing table. I played with watercolors for an hour or two...ahhhh.