You will see from post to post that the appearance of my work varies. I am always pushing to expand my thinking and my artwork should reflect that. At the same time, when I wake up each morning I am still me, so that will hold true for the art, too.Self-Portrait Stepping Over a Threshold (oil o panel, 2006, 24" x 20," $850) is about life changes, transitions. There is a lot of gray because I am "in the gray area," that place where one cannot fully understand the present without the benefit of hindsight and the future is unclear. The American Heritage Dictionary gives the following definition for "Threshold":
1. A piece of wood or stone placed beneath a door; a doorsill.
2. An entrance or a doorway.
3. The place or point of beginning; the outset.
4. The point that must be exceeded to begin producing a given effect or result or to elicit a response: a low threshold of pain.
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v.1.0.1) gives this as a fourth definition: Also called limen. Psychology, Physiology. the point at which a stimulus is of sufficient intensity to begin to produce an effect: the threshold of consciousness; a low threshold of pain.
I like the added part about the threshold of consciousness because it is somewhat mysterious. Perhaps the "low threshold of pain" applies, too, since growth and change often require uncomfortable, if not painful searching, as well as letting go of some things to make room for the new.
In the painting I am stepping over the doorsill, an obstacle, some kind of challenge. The wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, is a threshold. C.S. Lewis knew what he was doing when he used that as a metaphor for the transition from the everyday world to a spiritual journey. Artmaking is like that for me. It is a vehicle through which to explore and cross thresholds. I've been feeling rather lanky lately, and it may be silly, but I am wearing my jazzercise shorts. All those Tae-bo moves feel empowering and if I'm going into a strange place, I want my sportswear on. It may be relevant that neither my foot nor the floor are visible. There is little information about the new destination and the visual cropping makes it seem as though I am stepping into the space of the viewer. It is one of the first paintings I have done as my show in New York City comes to a close. I am wondering how my work will evolve, what will come next. Returning to essentials, the painting starts with a look at myself. The reduction in color takes painting close to drawing, back to the drawing board, so to speak. Perhaps most significantly is that the rectangle could be an actual painting, so I am stepping out of one painting into another, or another form of reality.
I heard in a sermon today that living means changing and if you are not changing, you are dead. I don't want to make dead art. It is better to take risks and falter than cling to the known, resist change and hide from life. Of course there will always be people who will point out the imperfections when it is hard enough knowing that one can't help but be flawed. I have always liked the analogy that life is like learning to play the violin while on stage. I am lucky enough to have family and friends who celebrate the music whether or not I remember all the notes.
The Self-Portrait is a stupid looking painting in the way that Morandi and Guston look stupid at first glance. When you spend time with them more, they just seem more human, like the little red-haired girl to Charlie Brown when he finds out she chews on her pencil. The picture owes something to comics, specifically their graphic quality, exaggerated form, and superhero idealism.
My seven-year-old son made his first ITunes purchase of Move Along by the All-American Rejects. I still like it even after hearing it over a hundred times. There's some of the sentiment from the song in this picture, too. There are few role models of serious artists who are moms, so sometimes it seems as though it can't be done. Stay tuned.
