S u s
a n F i e
l d gualala, ca
Journal
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Beginning a new work Notes from May/June: Am up
here for a few days after our old house has been put on the market. I am sick
to death of packing, then unpacking and trying to find places for things. Have come to the studio to finish reading a
potboiler, and to just sit here among my materials. I’m profoundly tired. M. gave
me a lovely lemon-scented bar of soap as a ‘studio warming gift.’ B. helped me to unpack, especially books –
a great help. I’ve set up an office
space by the front window, with filing cabinets, my drafting table, a couple
of smaller bookcases for office supplies.
Still have some half-dozen boxes/bins to unpack. In the
next room, I’ve hung a few pieces of artwork, some posters of July 1, 2007 – Sunday Today I
am insistent about not only carving some time here – away from baking banana
bread, unpacking boxes, organizing papers at the new house – but space: even if I have to step over materials that
still haven’t found their places. I
just have to start working, and I have to get into some sort of routine,
where coming here is a given part of the day, like exercise. July 2, 2007 – Monday Yesterday
I started sewing on a rectangular swatch of upholstery fabric. It’s printed with an idyllic scene of boys
playing against a background of foliage and what reminds me of a mill
house. Am transferring an abstract
drawing I’d done on scrap paper. I
don’t have an idea of where the piece is going or if it will end up as
something, but it is satisfying what I really want, which is to begin
working. I think
of my former yoga teacher’s urging each of us to be honest and truthful in
our practice, meaning to accept our limitations and not force ourselves out
of pride or ego. I am trying to do
that here too. Though my mind turns
often to imagining how others might respond or direct or critique, I pull
back. Just take the next step – sew
here and then there. It can be a
pleasure, even a childish pleasure, free of burdens, being tucked away in
this studio and not having to answer to anyone, real or imaginary. Outside,
a metal door is still clanging in the breeze, as it was yesterday, and for
the past few hours I’ve heard trucks back up with their beeping. A small pickup truck is parked across the
way, loaded with furniture and other things.
Someone in the process of moving, as F. and I are. I’ve
begun reading the book J. gave me -- Evidence, on the art of Candy
Jernigan, who was the wife of composer Philip Glass. She died in her late 30s of liver
cancer. Her friends said she was
always looking to the ground to see what found treasures she could pick
up. One piece is titled “Ten Things
That Have Been Run Over” – a crushed can, a broken ruler, a yellow ticket
stub with big red numbers. She liked
to document where and when an object was collected, and she was funny. I gravitate toward the joy she found in
little nothings, and find myself asking for her help as I begin to work
again. July 10, 2007 – Tuesday At the
studio, doing abstract drawings on newsprint with a charcoal pencil. Working fast, then turning them upside down
and working on them some more. Five at
a time, mostly vertical. Today I
brought in some black embroidery thread after I was done drawing, to add 3D
to the lines and to link shapes between the drawings. In some cases, it looked like a third
drawing was starting to emerge from the two.
The
temptation was to fixate on doing that, try to make something ‘finished’,
good enough to develop a series to show.
That is not what I want right now.
I’m tired of trying to do finished work, of fussing over things to
make them acceptable. I’d rather just
sink into the process and enjoy it and see if something emerges. For me, that means staying fairly detached
and working fast and doing a lot. So maybe
this is a hidden blessing of moving up here and being fairly isolated. Maybe this will give me a certain freedom
to move deeper into process and away from trying to please. Finding a more authentic place. *** This is
what the I Ching said this morning: You are
wandering in unfamiliar territory without a map. Your journey is about exploring new ideas
and possibilities, perhaps even a new identity. Whatever the situation, treat it as a
learning experience. Most importantly,
be self-reliant. Your only true
security lies within. The
references I use are The Everyday I Ching, by Sarah Dening and The
Photographic I Ching by Dhiresha McCarver with photos by Gary Woods. |
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July 11, 2007 -- Wednesday |
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“Jack” by Susan Danis Susan
has launched her website -- www.susandanis.com. Some of us got her email announcement at 12
midnight, the witching hour. The site
is a magical presentation of her work, which is fun, irreverent, and gutsy
(literally: she uses innards in some
pieces.) There’s lots of hot pink,
just her color. And the site reflects
her generosity; on the links page, she lists pictures and websites of her
abundant artist friends. What I
love about her work is that she draws from so many materials – almost nothing
is rejected out of hand. My favorite
mind’s eye picture is of her in the wee hours of the morning, scrounging
along neighbors’ curbs to pick through what they’ve discarded. And she often asks us, Is there anything
you want me to look for? Friends and
family tease us about this junk collecting, but it’s a real joy and pleasure
to find something that we know will end up in an artwork somewhere down the road. Congratulations, friend! July 12, 2007 – Thursday Mantra
for today: Just show up. July 13, 2007 – Friday Quoted
in A Painter’s Quest, by Peter Rogers: “…an art
which does not reveal mysteries, which does not lead to the sphere of the
Unknown, does not yield new knowledge, is a parody of art, and still more
often it is not even a parody, but simply a commerce or an industry.” Ouspensky, A New Model of the Universe |
© Susan Field, LLC
2007. All rights reserved.