y Carol St. JohnOn a quiet day when I am hanging outat the studio, uninspired, unable to getstarted and feeling under-whelmedwith myself, I study my earlier work.Often, it looks like it was done bysomeone else, some stranger whoarrived and swept on the paint withinnocent abandon.palette, tried to say less or more,considered the negative space earlier.Generally, I run from the little vixen tofind caffeine or chocolate to spur meon, knowing that if I give in, she wins,and I must energize my confidence inorder to drown out such negativity andcontinue.Art works for me when it is aboutthe process and not the product. It’snot only a way to express what I seeand feel, but an escape from my Self.When the muse is working she allowsme to be in concert with two worlds,the internal and external. I don’t knowtime and I am not cramped or timid orsecond guessing. Despite all the yearsI have tried to summon her to my side,she doesn’t show up on command. No.Her appearance is magical, so divinein nature that I will probably spendthe rest of my life trying to relivesuch moments. This is when paintingbecomes the dance I like best, and Iam a collaborator with the work itself.The antithesis of the muse is ahobgoblin who usually presents herselfsomewhere after my first rush ofenthusiasm. This critic generally yells,whoa, and says that there is nothingI can do to rescue the work, pointingto all that is incomplete or crude,implying I need a better hand than myown or I should have used a differentWhere Art & History MeetEst. 1752Many years ago I studied with a masterteacher named Ed Whitney. He wasvirtually blind by the time I found him,although he demonstrated at everysession. His palette was ingrained onhis mind. His paper, no different thanthe sheets he had used for over sixtyyears. He could paint with instinctand had an absolute knowledge ofhis materials and the places where hewould take us to paint, like the quarry.After he had set up his easel andarranged his materials, he pointed tothe granite cliffs and remarked on theimposing power of their strength. Thenhe lifted his widest brush and dippedit into a huge pail of water he had athis feet, saturating the paper with clearwater. The only thing sacred you willsee today is that sheet of rock. Allowyourself to experience its essenceand let that move your hand, he said,scooping up some sand and throwingit at his sheet. Don’t be afraid ofmistakes. Believe the same force thatmade those rocks will take your hand.He proceeded to do a remarkablepainting, bold, wet anddynamic. His students wereleft breathless.60Ed Whitney gave us permission toexperiment. He expected us to takechances. He wanted us to go beyondthe literal, to readily admit that nomatter what the result, every paintingwould be an abstraction of the subject.Once you truly understood this, youcould give up the idea of completingthe perfect reproduction of what youreyes or a camera sees. Once you werereleased from the idea of creatingsomething perfectly representational,your painting would have a greaterchance of being expressive, fresh andnew and engaging others in its essence.I received a letter from mygranddaughter the other day. Asmiling girl was in the center dressedin pink and purple polka dots. Thisself-portrait was surely enough for me,but the script that filled the negativespace was the true treasure -- a fouryear old’s idea of the written word -- aseries of multi-colored attached w’s.These were words I could interpret,words that said, I love you and I missyou and you are very special. Words tosay, I am getting bigger and smartereveryday. I can fill this page with loveand know you will be able to hear andsee what I am saying.It takes a long, long time to growyoung again, to give up all the rulesand simply speak and act from theheart; to toss the sand and trust it willcling where it chooses to cling andfall where it must. It takes trust toallow that each of us has internal andexternal eyes to see, and that what oureyes see will always be unique, makingconnections, editing out the small stuffand adding the wishes lies and dreamsthat dwell in the unlimited vastness ofour minds.Author and artist Carol St. John has aworking studio located at 2 Calle Iglesiain beautiful Old Town, <strong>Tubac</strong>. Stop inand say hello.To find out about classes with Carol,call 398-8574.ART WALKMarch 15 & 16MEET RESIDENT & VISITINGARTISTS IN OURSTUDIOS & GALLERIES100 Shops, Galleries & StudiosDining • Lodging • GolfOpen Year-Round • I-19 to Exit 34www.tubacaz.com520-398-2704Featuring the art of an Arizona legendORIGINALS AND SIGNED PRINTSBOX 1570 • TUBAC, AZ 85646 • 520-398-2811
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