Better Late

How do you know when something is not working?
How do you know when it has righted itself?
I have a limited time here at the Grand Canyon. My residency is only 3 weeks and almost 2 weeks in I was struggling. I could not get a grip on the immensity that is the Canyon, the depth of time, the depth of the history of this place. I felt sure my puny mind was not equal to the task. I had produced two pieces that left me very unhappy. They were appreciated by those that saw them but to me, they were half-assed, trite efforts. Why had I thought I was up to the challenges?
Then, when I thought that I had made a shambles of my residency, and would have to return home with nothing but some failed pieces as a record of my squandered opportunity; a spark formed somewhere in my mind and slowly forced its way to awareness- an image was appearing of a piece using the starkly beautiful, powerfully geometric black and white patterns of native pottery I had seen at the Museum of Northern Arizona.
It also brought to mind the many fantastically contorted trees that dot the plateau. All in shades of grey, shadow and texture, line and volume.
I cannot deal with the rich reds and ochers, the saturated blue of the sky, the multicolored record of the eons of erosion and deposition as the Colorado River and the winds carved their way down to sea level. Too much color, too much confusion, and also too much of a trope- available printed on a multitude of items in the many gift shops here in the Park. Black, white and grey with hints of underpainted color would be my palette for these new pieces.
So that is what I have done, am doing. The smaller piece was completed quickly and without internal struggle- it created flow. Blessed flow. Creative crack for artists. I finally have done something true to myself and my mission here. Another, more complex piece- inspired by the tree forms- is nearing completion. My world has righted itself and now I feel the press of time. I have to pack up on Thursday, as I give thanks for the abundance in my life. I leave Friday morning early to begin the 4-day drive home. I will while away some of those highway hours sketching in my mind the works I hope to achieve over the winter in my studio.
Do I wish I had reached this place earlier in my time here? Yes, Of course I do. But that isn't the way it happened and I am just very grateful- and relieved- that it happened at all.

The Residency Begins

I have not posted a full blog entry since I arrived at the Grand Canyon on Sunday afternoon, so a bit of catching up is in order.
I arrived at the Canyon and the Verkamp's Visitor Center, where I am being housed in an apartment on the top floor. The ranger who is in charge of the program, in an interim assignment after the founder of the program, the estimable Rene Westerbrook, moved on to another assignment in Portland, Oregon, was out of town so not here to greet me. I was handed a key, told where I could park and that was that. Welcome! I was nervous about the whole undertaking and nothing had happened so far to calm my anxieties. And when I get anxious, my automatic reaction is to get angry at every little thing. Fortunately, I know how this is and was largely able to set my feelings of petty grievance aside and get on with unloading the car and distributing my stuff around the apartment.
I spent the rest of day walking around the rim (but not too close to the edge) and trying to take in my situation. Alternating thoughts of "What the Hell am I doing here?" and "Thank you for bringing me here." I made myself some supper, read some of the materials/details left in a binder for AiRs, and went to bed. I was- and still am a bit ahead of my time as my body is just now catching up to the time zone change; so I hit the hay at 8:30pm (10:30pm my body was insisting.)
I did have some moments- of course I had some moments, I was still in petty grievance mode. I can hear everything that goes on below me in the visitor's center and that includes the flute music on a loop that plays all day… It got dark outside and the flute music did not quit, I heard no more visitors downstairs and the music did not quit. I had a horrible feeling that the music was not going to be turned off at night. Then, blessedly, at 7:45 the music stopped. There were the noises of the shop being closed down for the night and then silence. The moon had risen by then and the whole canyon- did I say I am living right on the rim and have a spectacular view of the canyon out of my windows, well I do- was limned in silver and shadow.
The next morning, I woke up early- body still on eastern time- and puttered around, fixed breakfast, totally missed reading my NYTimes while eating my oatmeal. (And no, reading it online is not the same at all and eats up a ton of data- which is very dear here, so I am foregoing that pleasure until I get home.) Also, no NPR! (Streaming not an option.)  No TV other than DVDs- thanks to my brother, Chris's extensive DVD collection and the local library for the loan of a lot of DVDs. I am more of a media junkie than I had thought and am going somewhat cold-turkey.
Walked to the local market and got some supplies- I must say cooking for myself is a treat after so many meals eaten in restaurants while on the road. Finding meals that fit my dietary restrictions was a challenge on the road. For the return trip I will be better prepared.
Took another walk around the rim, unpacked art supplies, trying to stave off feelings of purposelessness and being lost with gratefulness and trust that all would be revealed sooner or later. Started on a piece, blindly but I just had to work. Woke in the middle of the night with the moon still riding high and bright and got dressed and went for a walk in the moonlight. I stayed on the rim, and was not alone, several others were out marveling at the night landscape.
Another day, started to work in the workroom- the lighting is abysmal so tried to jury-rig some decent lights. Walked the upper portion of the Bright Angel Trail- no railings- about a mile drop to certain death- but I managed it and even enjoyed it a bit. I find the scale of the Canyon so daunting, my work and preferred view tend to be more intimate, the Canyon is almost incomprehensible to me. Later that evening, I attended an evening of performance as part of the Native American Heritage Month program. Flute playing (!!!!!) and Apache dancing were on the program. The dancing and the regalia were fascinating and inspiring.
On Wednesday, I finally got to meet the ranger in charge of the AiR program, SuZan Pearce. A great relief- someone to help me figure out what I was doing there, set up the 3 public programs I am obligated to provide, introduce me to Park staff relevant to my residency. I had finished the piece I had started- inspired by the night sky over the canyon- so I took it along to the meeting as a way to explain my techniques. She had set up a meeting with Jan Balsom who has the unenviable task of keeping us AiRs from tromping on cultural toes and I had already used some language in an email to her that sent up some red flags. She gently reminded me that the history of the native tribes was not mine to tell or interpret- and that some of the motifs I might see and want to incorporate might be proprietary- and that I should run my ideas for future works by her office to make sure I was not going to transgress. For instance, in the piece I had just completed, I depicted a Hopi maiden floating above a moonlit canyon strewing stars in her wake. If I had put the figure of the maiden in the canyon, that would have been offensive to the Hopi- women of childbearing years never go below the rim of the canyon. Dodged that one- purely out of ignorance but gratefully.
In a way, however, I found the talk and the learning curve frees me up a bit. I was afraid I was going to be restricted by the cultural needs of the native tribes. Now, as long as I stay in my own head- inspired by the culture, but not attempting to be part of it- I should be okay. I still need to run things past Jan, though, just to make sure. I can live- and work- with that.
Yesterday, I met the rest of the Interperative staff rangers- the AiR program runs under their auspices. I met the Park Librarian and got a tour of the Park library. I will be spending some time there going through rare books of the history of the Canyon, ethnography reports, etc. Walked, was interviewed by the editor of the Canyon newspaper, and met up with a good friend from back home for a bit. I started a new piece based on my own reflections on some of the native flora yet inspired by local art forms. It was a lovely day- I feel like I am getting the hang of this process.
That brings us to today. I sent an image of the what I am working on to Jan for vetting. I don't do sketches per se. I use a set of figure templates and just riff on them. I have an image in my head and  a set of ideas I want to convey, but beyond that, it is largely all process. I cut out the blank figure pieces, I arrange and rearrange them, finding the correct gesture, the correct center of gravity, the colors and patterns that fit and then go from there, adjusting as I go. Then I do the background, mount the figures and there we are. So, if what I have done so far does not pass muster, I will adjust if I can, redo what I must, or put the offending piece aside. We shall see.
Later this evening I am attending the opening event of a workshop on archeology in this cultural landscape. Tomorrow I will go with the group to a dig and to the Desert View Tower. One of the perks of the residency is that I get invited to and can audit any program or event here in the Park.
Onward.

"Canyon Dreams: Starbringer," Bricolage, 24"x20", 2014

100%!!!!

Gratitude: (n)

The state of being grateful; thankfulness. Synonyms: appreciation, gratefulness, thankfulness, thanks

[Middle English, from Old French, probably from Late Latin grātitūdō, from Latin grātus, pleasing.]





(Strepitant: (adj) boisterous, loud, exhuberant; from "The Word Project: Odd & Obscure Words- Illustrated")

The Word Project has an Uber-Backer!

(Hystercine: (adj) resembling or referring to a hedgehog) This was me last evening- but happy.


Last evening I heard the little "bip" that signals email come in. I checked it- aha! another kickstarter pledge! yippee! Then I opened the email and saw that someone had pledged at the highest level. I was stunned and then I burst into tears. When I was setting up the project I had stopped the incentives at the $600 level (poster, signed book and a piece of existing WP art.) Even then I felt I was overreaching. (But I was proved wrong here, too. Bless you CA.) A wonderful friend, Mark Monlux, was the one who suggested setting an uber-backer level (poster, signed book and a custom word/doll using a word of the backer's choice.) My first thought was- "oh yeah, like that'll happen." But I put it in anyway quite sure no one would spring for it. I am happily proved wrong. Thank you, Mark, I wouldn't have dared to dream that large on my own behalf.
The project is now 68% funded and has 76 days to go. I am so very grateful to everyone who has pledged at every level.

Kickstart me, please!

Earlier today I read an article in the NYTimes business section. That's odd enough because I almost never read the business section, but there was an article about Wikipedia above the fold so I took a look. Below the fold, there was an article about Kickstarter.com and I was fascinated. I emailled them and was utterly gobsmacked when they responded positively. As of 3pm this afternoon, I have a project entitled "Breathing Room" on their site.
I already have 4 patrons helping me towards my goal- I was so overcome with gratitude that I burst into tears when that first pledge arrived. I have 59 more days to reach my goal- $4500 to give me some breathing room to be able to make art and promote my work.

All too often, I succumb to feeling isolated and totally on my own. I need to be reminded that that is just F(alse) E(vidence) A(ppearing) R(eal)

To quote one of my favorite movies-
"No (wo)man is a failure who has friends...
Atta boy, Clarence."

(And thank you Mark, for your support and reminding me to write about this miracle.)

Twixt Pillar and Post

The past few days have been rather rough. I have been bounced between pillar and post and have not an unbruised spot on my body, soul or ego. On Thursday, just as I was rushing to finish a cover assignment for Cricket magazine, there was a knock on my door and it was the deliverance of a 10-day vacate order. I pretty much fell apart. I had asked my lawyer to request a boon of the purchaser(s) of the property to allow me to stay until the end of August so I could sort out, pack up, sell off, and find a new place to live.
After about an hour of pure panic, I was able to speak to my lawyer and he reassured me that in 10 days the sherriff would not lock my house and throw everything out onto the lawn. That the dance was longer and more complicated but that I also needed to make some substantial progress on getting out to show a judge I was not malingering.
Later that day I got a call saying that I had won the prize for the current show at the WAAM.
That evening I got some boxes and started sorting and packing- I had to something other than what, deep down, I wanted to do- which was to run mad into the night.
The next day, a friend announced that on Sunday, she and several other people were coming over to help me pack. I had made some progress on my own but was both aghast and terrified at the prospect. My memory shot back more than 30 years to when my father died. Our house was taken over by well-meaning neighbors, and I mean taken-over. I found someone in my bedroom picking up my dirty clothes; my (open) journal and some very, very personal papers were laying out on my desk. I went down to the space I had carved out of the basement to be my 'studio' and another neighbor was cleaning it up- throwing out the "junk"- actually a project I had been working on. There was no place to go to be quiet and grieve; our lives had been invaded by an army of action-oriented Mid-Westerners. My most persistent nightmare was of home-invasion and here it was coming true, with a grim smile plastered on its face. And now my nightmare was going to be enacted again.
Saturday evening, I went to the WAAM opening to receive my prize and was overwhelmed by the acclaim that greeted me. In some ways the outpouring of love and support was as hard to take as the harsh, "just business" attitude of the person who now owned the home and studio I had loved so much. I cannot find the still point between the pillar and the post but keep being slammed from one to the other.
It is now Sunday evening and one of the harder days of my life is over. I am exhausted and trying to deal with my feelings of admixed grief at what I am losing, anxiety about the future, shame about having to ask for help, shame about the condition of the house, grief about the future- I have two elderly cats with kidney failure, and have to take them to the vet for euthanasia this week, I cannot take them to a new place, and much gratitude to the many, many people who have expressed their support in many different ways. The friends who came today did not pass judgement on me, they went to work and accomplished a lot. Most of my worldly (household) goods are now boxed for taking with me or piled for sale. I must begin tackling the studio this week.
My heart is currently being held together with spit and baling wire. All I can do is just take the next right step and after that, the next, even as the pillar comes rushing at me and then the post.