Accepting Failures

A STORY — It was nearing the end of the year 2000. Camille and I were meeting every other week to discuss her writing an instructional art book. I was to be her editor or ghost writer or something of that nature. Camille and I have a long history of never entering into any contracts. We would just DO things together never knowing where we would end up. The book project was exciting while it lasted. There were a lot of pages I wrote that she wrote — scribbled nonsensical ramblings with artist's quotes–and paper flying everywhere. Things changed. The project stalled. Suffice it to say; the book never happened. It's now 12 years later. I'm examining and re-examining my life, as a painter and someone who finds pleasure in writing, but almost never writes. And I certainly don't paint as much as I yearn to. But, I am still a professional painter and instructor, and — let's not forget — a life-long student. 

I'm in the process of setting priorities in my life such that I ensure that I am living the most productive and creative life possible and just as equally important to me, that I'm inspiring others to do the same.  My rough draft for the opening paragraphs of the book that never was:

Enjoy yourself and feel accomplishment in the face of a failed attempt to produce a fine work of art. It's critical that we accept our artistic failures and not let ourselves get upset by them. Try not to be greedy or seek "too hard" to paint that elusive visual truth. As beginners and advanced painters, we must learn to live with and accept our artistic desires without the obsession to satisfy them immediately. Don't fight against what you don't know. We can rest in the knowledge that as we grow, whatever frustrates us in our painting process is impermanent, and it WILL pass. Do not try to control your learning, by over-analyzing and trying to discover formulas or the secret that this book is supposed to provide. Be receptive and JUST PAINT. There is no right way to being a painter — being a painter IS the way. Give up any notions that you're not doing it right. With every painting you do, the closer you'll get to discovering your visual truth.

Are we not often as dissatisfied with what we DO get as with what we don't? The desires we have, if it's not on being "a great painter," or ending world hunger, it's ALWAYS something. Desires just cause us to suffer when we can't live up to them. Sure, acknowledge those dreams, but try not to LIVE for them. If we can give ourselves this freedom, perhaps it can end our suffering through our process of our artistic journey.

The traditional Buddhist term for the cessation of suffering is the Sanskrit word, "Nirvana." It's impossible for me to explain what Nirvana is as I haven't experienced it–not many of us have — it's like describing color to a blind man. But, Nirvana is an unconditioned state of liberation from suffering. Maybe this is what we can experience with our painting if we are not hung up on tormenting ourselves through the process. So, we must make an effort, the visual truth lies in our hands, but we have to work for it. So, what are you waiting for? Paint!

PREVIOUS COMMENTS

Peggi Kroll-Roberts said...

I LOVE this post Carole.

marcypainting said...

This IS so well-written, a real keeper. I may have to copy it down, just for my own (perpetual) reading, re-reading. Okay?

marcypainting said...

Yes!

Pumpkin to Pumpkin Pie

A FLASHBACK — The colors are here now; frequently I observe the transformation and imagine you with your easel and palette mixing the vast array of shades from green to brown, red to orange, cinnamon to wheat, blood red to eggplant purple, pumpkin to pumpkin pie, rust to brick. As I crunched through the leaves on the ground this morning, kicking them to stir them up, I imagined walking with you in the crisp cool air, as we did in France. I know that our friendship is something far and away more special, more significant, more far-reaching and consequential than most people ever are privileged to experience.

From Sea to Shining Sea

A MEMORY — It was May 8th, 2004. The first look at the plein air paintings of the Sea to Shining Sea Exhibition at the Haggin Museum leaves one speechless. Only with closer inspection does one begin to take note of the process of each painter and how this collection is a melting pot of distinguished flavors: some loose and painterly, others tight and realistic; some modern, some classical. Some were complex with color, yet others quite tonalistic. But all characteristic in their own way, with a unique vision- depicting scenes of individual relevance with their own regional style of painting. Here we have a seamless blend of the talent and mastery from across the nation that has undoubtedly made this exhibition a success. Behind each painting should be a label: “Warning, not suitable for pre-fab homes, office cubicles or rooms at Motel 6. Hangs equally well on a neutral white wall or one painted with Ralph Lauren Suede Finish.”

I had arrived Stockton earlier that day with my studio-mate, Camille Przewodek. She had been graciously introducing me to those I hadn’t had the opportunity of meeting until now. These introductions continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening. And in the occasional lapses away from my trusted side-kick, I had intrepidly introduced myself to such well-knowns as Albert Handell and Clyde Aspevig, using my safe, quiet demeanor, while anonymously calling myself, “Carole” (only later to reveal myself as a devoted plein air student). I would receive some brilliant reply such as, “aren’t we all”, and finally I would add, “Oh yes, can I take your picture for Plein Air Magazine?”

The day started before the sun. Camille and I reached downtown Stockton at around 8:30 am, just in time to mingle with a few painters prior to their setting up easels for a three-hour paint-out. As we took a few minutes to sip on our much-needed espressos, I noticed how Stockton is beginning to stick out like a colorful thumb. The architecture surrounding the newly revitalized downtown was structurally varied and full of color.

It certainly must have inspired John Budicin when he chose to paint the beautiful Hotel Stockton and a row of buildings fronted by spirally palm trees from the waterway; and Kenn Backhaus, Marika Wolfe and Phil Sandusky, as they painted the majestic fountain and the commanding architecture that surrounded them. Charles Waldman even painted standing in the center divide along Weber Avenue! On the other end of the spectrum, Jean LeGassick, John Cosby, Joe Paquet, Nancy Bush and Michael Godfrey chose to paint the heap of rusting corrugated steel buildings lining the waterway.

Among the other painters we saw painting along the levee were Billyo O'Donnell, Eric Michaels, Gil Dellinger, Glenna Hartmann, Peter Adams, and Ron Rencher. Clark Mitchell stayed close by in the square. Jason Bouldin painted the palms from a shady locale on a side street. And Bill Hook painted near Weber Point not far from Lucinda Kasser. At noon, the artists gathered in the square to display their works and offer them for sale to the public. That’s when I noticed Mary Whyte’s charming little watercolor that she produced in front of the bus station. “Where’s the bus station?” I asked myself. Okay, so some painters go a bit off the beaten path during these paint-outs, so I’m sure I missed a couple of them.

Many of the paintings created in this nine-to-noon time slot, with their deceptive simplicity, expressed the painter’s keen eye for the interesting shapes of the Stockton scape — many comprising the fewest brush strokes — that provide depth, texture and color. Among the several that didn’t paint, some showed up for the sake of camaraderie. I noticed that among them were Matt Smith, Skip Whitcomb, Clyde Aspevig and Carol Guzman, who came to see what works were created among their peers. Ray Roberts made an appearance before the paint-out and he and wife, Peggi Kroll Roberts, met up with everyone later at the opening.

That night at the Haggin, the painters at the opening displayed their own outward uniqueness much like the paintings themselves. From rugged to refined, casual to dressy, subtle to bold, they blurred the lines of categorization. While waiting for Peter Adams to finish signing my copy of From Sea to Shining Sea: A Reflection of America, I mused that about the same time people stopped trying to make me dress better, listen to good music and drink something other than domestic beer, I found that I actually liked Vivaldi, fine wine, and wearing satin. This was an occasion that myself, the painters, guests, and collectors could cozy up to, for at the Haggin Museum this fine spring evening, the only thing missing was Vivaldi himself.

Among those that I didn’t mention but participated in this exhibition are: Christopher Blossom, Scott Burdick, Marcia Burtt, William Davis, Donald Demers, M. Stephen Doherty, Gregory Hull, Wilson Hurley, William Scott Jennings, T. Allen Lawson, Denise Lisiecki, Kevin Macpherson, Joseph McGurl, Ned Mueller, Ralph Oberg, Peggy Root, George Strickland, Karen Vernon, and Curt Walters.