Questions I answered that were sent to me as part of an assignment.
When was the first time that you remember realizing that you are a creative person?
I don't think I realised personally so much as being told by outsiders. My mother is an artist and ever since a young age if I did something artistic people would tell me I got my talent from her. As I have gotten older I have realised that this is not true, that being 'creative' is something you get only from yourself and not from others.
When did you know that this was what you wanted to do with your life? How did you get started?
I didn't truly start getting passionate about my art until this year. So, in turn, it was this year that I decided an aritst was what I really wanted to be. I started painting because it seemed an impossible road. My life at the time wasn't difficult to me; the papers I were taking in college weren't challenging, nor was my job. It was too easy to 'become' somebody or something, to follow the path. I wanted something much harder to contend with, I wanted a challenge. I think life is about challenges. I think I fell into painting that way - the path was dark and unclear and firey...that appealed to me.
What traits, if any, do you think that creative people have as compared to people who are not creative?
I think creative people, as cliche as it may sound, have the ability to see much more beauty in the ordinary things in life. And also in the darker things. Also I find most artisic types are less judging than the norm...when they see something different in society they are astounded or inspired by it...they are rarely offended because something is different.
Do believe that your training has influenced what you create?
I believe that the people around me and the key figures in my life as I was growing up have influenced my art more than anything else. My art is an extension of myself so it follows that the people who shape me are the people who shape my art. Also the mediums I use bend to each individual work. As far as training...it's a beautiful tool to have someone shine their flashlight down the right road for you, but you are the one who has to decipher the shadows as they appear.
Have you ever felt that your personal expectations have limited your creativity? If so, how have you dealt with this?
Yes. Absolutely. My expectations are high and when I fail to meet them (as I almost always do) it's very easy to get discouraged. Contrary to popular belief, depression doesn't drive every artist. For me the longer it takes to reach my own goals the longer it tends to be that I procrastinate on them and painting one piece alone can become a difficult thing. To deal with this sort of behaviour I have to either run with first inspiration *immediately* or respark my inspiration halfway through by watching/being around other artists or around my subject matter.
Have other people supported or inspired you? Please explain.
My sisters, my brother, my husband. These people have inspired and/or supported me. My mother and father who have shaped me...these two have also shaped my work. The people who have commissioned work from me, taken the time to look at my product and comment on it, or the people who have submitted photos for my online projects...these are the people who inspire me. The people on the street who are visible and real, who I can reach out and touch...these are the people who inspire me.
How have you dealt with any criticism you have gotten because of your creative endeavors?
You just have to shake it off. People like to read their own things into art, and sometimes they just read things wrong. That's okay. As an example I have wonderfully mixed reactions to my project 'share your tears' (an online project which encourages people to take photos of their tears so I can turn them into works of art). The people who understand it understand the beauty that surrounds it and are really touched by it's meaning. The people who don't understand it think that I'm a depressed kid drowning in pain. When those people write me and joke about mixing prozac into my paints or seriously set about trying to 'cheer me up', I have to shrug it off. It's the same with any misunderstandings or criticisms...people are different so you just have to handle the different reactions and keep on going. The best you can do is say 'hey, at least I'm being noticed'.
Do you ever feel that you have to censor your creativity because you don't want to offend anyone?
I do but only because I am trying to sell my work. I live in a very conservative area and what to me may be a beautiful nude is seen as offensive material to a select group. If money didn't come into play I probably wouldn't censor anything for anyone, but in order to make a living and keep painting I do have to censor for my market.
Do you do anything special to get your "creative juices" flowing? Please explain.
I exercise first thing in the morning. It seems so simple but it really helps. By the time I get home I am so full of energy I find it impossible to sit down and waste time online or in front of the TV. It really powers me into working and gets my mind spinning. Also I am very much into singing and dancing and acting the fool. It's a way to loosen up my body. Painting can be a very intense process and also a very lonely one. Sliding down the banister whilst yoddling gives me the...spark and break...I need to keep painting throughout the day. Listening to music that resonates with my emotions also makes me eager to paint and create - a sort of 'me too, pay it forward' type of thing.
Does your work convey a specific emotion or message?
I have many ideas for witty politcal statements or comments on society that I could convey through my work but I never end up painting them. When I get down to it I don't want to shout out about controversial or popular things - I just want to paint. I want to paint the things around me that I see that are beautiful. I want to paint people as they are so that is what I am trying to do. Perhaps you could say my message is simplistic beauty, the beauty in every man of every shape. And I hope that's what people see when they look at my work. I hope they look at my portraits and see past the outer layers of skin/eyes/objects and into something more universal and connecting, into the deeper beauty and being of man.
If you could be any object, what would you be? Why?
I would be a tree. Because they are deep rooted in nature, timeless and ancient, they know all the secrets and still they stretch and grow towards the sky with reckless abandon, leaves dancing and twinkling in the sky. It's beautiful.
What are your words of wisdom for someone starting out in your field?
Experiment. Experiment with everything and never stop moving. Try new mediums and new ideas constantly and don't stop experimenting just because the world is happy with your work. Find your own passion and then build on it, twist it, soak it and drain it. But most importantly, listen to yourself. Do what *you* want to do. Everything will evolve from there.
Monday, October 29, 2007
New Spandangly.
Lamp.
LampLAMPLamp.
From a flea market in Montgomery.
I love it.
Oh, I love it.
I love my new painting lamp.
LampLAMPLamp.
From a flea market in Montgomery.
I love it.
Oh, I love it.
I love my new painting lamp.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thursday
I don't have time to but I am starting a new self-portrait alongside my current work.
I'm still working on the fairy tales (tackling three today) and I have commissions and SYTs to do. But I'm throwing a new self-portrait in there because I really feel like I need to.
The last time I had to capture what I was going through was the 'birth series'.
This work is considerably different and is only one piece.
I cannot wait to paint it.
I need to just...get it out.
More when I have it.
S.
I'm still working on the fairy tales (tackling three today) and I have commissions and SYTs to do. But I'm throwing a new self-portrait in there because I really feel like I need to.
The last time I had to capture what I was going through was the 'birth series'.
This work is considerably different and is only one piece.
I cannot wait to paint it.
I need to just...get it out.
More when I have it.
S.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I Forgot To Give You This.
The blue bottles are to keep the devil away. I talked to the man who made it, he hunted a long time to find the bottles. Then, to his and his wife's delight, they found out a wine cooler with a blue bottle. Many drinkings.
But back to the devil...
Some people around here used to paint their front doors blue to keep the devil out. You'd sometimes see an entirely unpainted house, except for the front door which was blue.
My house is blue and the door is white. *shifty eyes* How's that for a welcome sign?
Anyway it's Tuesday night and I'm feeling angsty.
I might have to make some 'The Devil And The Blue Door' folkart.
Indeed.
Don't steal that title. I like it.
Ohhhh, okay.
If you're a musician you can make it into a song but you must promise to play it for me.
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Weekend
p e e k s . i n .
I'm back! Weekend was crazy. And beautiful. And strange.
I am an inwardly impatient and furious person. I went with outwardly slow and mellow people. A mix like salty and sweet. Kettlecorn. That was us, in the world, down the street. The town was a ghost town. And then I went to a dead town. And then I went to a crazy town. Alabama, Alabama, Alabama. Sometimes there is nothing more stange and beautiful than car-accident women dancing in front of metal detectors. This trip reminds me of that. And it reminds me what to say when people ask me why I am here. It's not fake crazy. It's not wannabe crazy. It's not crazy just to be crazy. It's crazy when it is crazy. And when crazy is crazy because it's crazy, it's really just real. It's reality. And reality is more sane than non-reality. So all the crazies are just sane and real. And they are more true than me. I am humbled by the twitching eye and turkey speak.
The garden of paradise.
I have photos! I think. Maybe you want to see the beautiful crazy.
5 . 3 0 a m .
Somehow now I'm one of those people. One of those people who say 'no, I get up at 5.30'. One of those people who get up on the first alarm. And oh how I do. And then magically I am ready. And then I am in the park with my friend, walking, walking, speeding, racing, alongside the sun as it rises. I took a photo of the sun as it rose this morning. And of my friend in front of it. I hated stopping for even a second but I had to take the photos. Later over the pond a heron swooped and landed and beauty beauty gasp. But I did not stop twice. No mam. I gasped and tripped over the world for a split second and heard mumurs from my friend. But step step stamp stamp still we walked. Past everyone. Past the insane people. Past the normal people. Past the perverts. Past the dog-walkers. Past the beginning of time. Walking on the edge of the world with a hiccup in our step.
s l i p p e r s .
Boy did not want to go to Walmart where I could get the best novelty slippers. None at Kmart. None at Target. None at a variety of fashion stores. None like at the demonic Walmart. But no! No Walmart says boy! So I settle for just funky. Just funky polka dot feet. With pom-poms which will inevitably be chewed off by one of my four mischievious cats. I'll take it.
o r g a s m i c . s e c r e t .
Want to know it? I found the tofu. I FOUND THE TOFU. Baked. BakedBAKEDbakedBAkedbaKED. I always had wet, sloppy, hit you in the eyeball, spill over in the fridge tofu. Gak. Soppy. Mushy. Moosh. Licking slime off the fish tank wall, sliding in swamp mud and drowning in day old porrigde tofu. And then, with a beacon of light and the singing of angels, I found it. Baked Tofu. You can slice it thin. You can chunk it up. You can carve your name in it and call it Henry. If your name is Henry. And now I am a fan. A fan I am. Of the tofu. THE tofu. Of the baked. Try it. Get it. You'll never go back to slushbucket again. I promise. I give you my word. I'll even carve a baked tofu bible to swear it on.
p h o t o s .
Photos soon. I swear it. There's art in all this, somewhere. ;)
I'm back! Weekend was crazy. And beautiful. And strange.
I am an inwardly impatient and furious person. I went with outwardly slow and mellow people. A mix like salty and sweet. Kettlecorn. That was us, in the world, down the street. The town was a ghost town. And then I went to a dead town. And then I went to a crazy town. Alabama, Alabama, Alabama. Sometimes there is nothing more stange and beautiful than car-accident women dancing in front of metal detectors. This trip reminds me of that. And it reminds me what to say when people ask me why I am here. It's not fake crazy. It's not wannabe crazy. It's not crazy just to be crazy. It's crazy when it is crazy. And when crazy is crazy because it's crazy, it's really just real. It's reality. And reality is more sane than non-reality. So all the crazies are just sane and real. And they are more true than me. I am humbled by the twitching eye and turkey speak.
The garden of paradise.
I have photos! I think. Maybe you want to see the beautiful crazy.
5 . 3 0 a m .
Somehow now I'm one of those people. One of those people who say 'no, I get up at 5.30'. One of those people who get up on the first alarm. And oh how I do. And then magically I am ready. And then I am in the park with my friend, walking, walking, speeding, racing, alongside the sun as it rises. I took a photo of the sun as it rose this morning. And of my friend in front of it. I hated stopping for even a second but I had to take the photos. Later over the pond a heron swooped and landed and beauty beauty gasp. But I did not stop twice. No mam. I gasped and tripped over the world for a split second and heard mumurs from my friend. But step step stamp stamp still we walked. Past everyone. Past the insane people. Past the normal people. Past the perverts. Past the dog-walkers. Past the beginning of time. Walking on the edge of the world with a hiccup in our step.
s l i p p e r s .
Boy did not want to go to Walmart where I could get the best novelty slippers. None at Kmart. None at Target. None at a variety of fashion stores. None like at the demonic Walmart. But no! No Walmart says boy! So I settle for just funky. Just funky polka dot feet. With pom-poms which will inevitably be chewed off by one of my four mischievious cats. I'll take it.
o r g a s m i c . s e c r e t .
Want to know it? I found the tofu. I FOUND THE TOFU. Baked. BakedBAKEDbakedBAkedbaKED. I always had wet, sloppy, hit you in the eyeball, spill over in the fridge tofu. Gak. Soppy. Mushy. Moosh. Licking slime off the fish tank wall, sliding in swamp mud and drowning in day old porrigde tofu. And then, with a beacon of light and the singing of angels, I found it. Baked Tofu. You can slice it thin. You can chunk it up. You can carve your name in it and call it Henry. If your name is Henry. And now I am a fan. A fan I am. Of the tofu. THE tofu. Of the baked. Try it. Get it. You'll never go back to slushbucket again. I promise. I give you my word. I'll even carve a baked tofu bible to swear it on.
p h o t o s .
Photos soon. I swear it. There's art in all this, somewhere. ;)
Friday, October 12, 2007
Cold Delicious.
My friend and I got home around 11.30pm last night.
That's much too late for two blondes to be walking in the park.
But we had a late start (we don't leave until 8.30pm, most nights, and last night it was more like 9.30) and were determined to get our laps in.
However, in a moment of sanity and with the oncoming winter, we decided that we will start working out in the morning instead.
Well guess what? It's morning!
At first - especially with the sudden cold snap - it was a HORROR to be awake. Alarm bings, I bang it. Twice. Then I finally roll out of bed at 6.30. For an 8.30 girl this will take some getting used to! I put my feet down and the floor is FREEZING (today I buy slippers). I scooch downstairs and get ready in the gym, so as not to wake boy up while he's still sleeping above me. I throw on full-length runners instead of capris, and layer after layer on top. Hell, I'm even wearing a beanie!
The outfit is ridiculous but cute in the look-at-the-27-year-old-trying-to-dress-herself way. I almost wish boy would wake up so he could laugh at me.
I potter around the house for a moment and then make a steaming cup of hot chocolate. MmmMM. Steam.
I text my friend and tell her to get warm clothes on.
And then...a moment out from my bitching...I grin.
A train roars past.
I love this.
I love getting started earlier.
It means so many things.
It means I can bake muffins and make coffee for boy before he wakes up.
It means I can be energised and ready to paint when I get home.
It means I won't have my workout in the back of my mind all day.
It means....oh!
So much!
Anyway as I typed that my friend just called. She'll be here in a second so I have to run.
But when I get back I'm definitely writing up a loose schedule for myself, now I know my workout times (early morn, late afternoon).
Rock on!
And Good Morning World!
xxxS.
That's much too late for two blondes to be walking in the park.
But we had a late start (we don't leave until 8.30pm, most nights, and last night it was more like 9.30) and were determined to get our laps in.
However, in a moment of sanity and with the oncoming winter, we decided that we will start working out in the morning instead.
Well guess what? It's morning!
At first - especially with the sudden cold snap - it was a HORROR to be awake. Alarm bings, I bang it. Twice. Then I finally roll out of bed at 6.30. For an 8.30 girl this will take some getting used to! I put my feet down and the floor is FREEZING (today I buy slippers). I scooch downstairs and get ready in the gym, so as not to wake boy up while he's still sleeping above me. I throw on full-length runners instead of capris, and layer after layer on top. Hell, I'm even wearing a beanie!
The outfit is ridiculous but cute in the look-at-the-27-year-old-trying-to-dress-herself way. I almost wish boy would wake up so he could laugh at me.
I potter around the house for a moment and then make a steaming cup of hot chocolate. MmmMM. Steam.
I text my friend and tell her to get warm clothes on.
And then...a moment out from my bitching...I grin.
A train roars past.
I love this.
I love getting started earlier.
It means so many things.
It means I can bake muffins and make coffee for boy before he wakes up.
It means I can be energised and ready to paint when I get home.
It means I won't have my workout in the back of my mind all day.
It means....oh!
So much!
Anyway as I typed that my friend just called. She'll be here in a second so I have to run.
But when I get back I'm definitely writing up a loose schedule for myself, now I know my workout times (early morn, late afternoon).
Rock on!
And Good Morning World!
xxxS.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Blind Painter
I can't imagine not seeing my work afterwards.
I don't think it's something I could personally do.
I think if I were blind I'd turn back to writing because I could at least hear and see - as much as anyone else - the story I'd be telling.
I'm just...
I don't know what to think about it.
I don't think it's something I could personally do.
I think if I were blind I'd turn back to writing because I could at least hear and see - as much as anyone else - the story I'd be telling.
I'm just...
I don't know what to think about it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
Share Your Tears
This morning I got to work on a little slideshow/video to promote Share Your Tears.
The biggest problem, thusfar, is the soundtrack. I have a list of about 19 songs and I just need one.
But it's a beautiful luxury, no, to sit and listen to music and know that you are working?
Anyway I just arose from lying on my studio floor in the dark, listening to tunes. I got up because when I went to swat a bug I realised instead of an insect it was a piece of masonite. My lily-white skin and (currently) white hair are drowned in brown dust from the sawdust I accidentially lay in. One big pile from all of my sawing and *something* possessed me to lay down on it.
Anyway I got up because I'm going to the park soon to walk with my friend and I wanted to check my email. And...I found another Share Your Tears submission. And...well...to be honest, after grinning like a loon I teared up.
I really believe in this project.
And in the beautiful people who submit to it.
More soon.
xxxS.
The biggest problem, thusfar, is the soundtrack. I have a list of about 19 songs and I just need one.
But it's a beautiful luxury, no, to sit and listen to music and know that you are working?
Anyway I just arose from lying on my studio floor in the dark, listening to tunes. I got up because when I went to swat a bug I realised instead of an insect it was a piece of masonite. My lily-white skin and (currently) white hair are drowned in brown dust from the sawdust I accidentially lay in. One big pile from all of my sawing and *something* possessed me to lay down on it.
Anyway I got up because I'm going to the park soon to walk with my friend and I wanted to check my email. And...I found another Share Your Tears submission. And...well...to be honest, after grinning like a loon I teared up.
I really believe in this project.
And in the beautiful people who submit to it.
More soon.
xxxS.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
John Opie
Somebody once asked John Opie with what he mixed his colours.
His reply?
"I mix them with my brains, Sir"
His reply?
"I mix them with my brains, Sir"
New Digs!
It's 5pm so you can't tell how magnificent the light is in this room, but it is amazing.
We were using it as a breakfast nook but for the rest of the day it seemed such a waste!
I thought it would be a good office for a writer. There are so many critters in the woods outside, so many movements-out-of-the-corner-of-your-eye, such possibilities for faeries and goblins. But then I think...screw the writers....that's *painting* material right there.
I just adore all the movement and greenery.
I have one desk facing out the window, another against the wall.
I'm about to bring down some boxes of stuff.
When I have finished I shall take a photo for y'all.
I'm going to adore this new location.
We were using it as a breakfast nook but for the rest of the day it seemed such a waste!
I thought it would be a good office for a writer. There are so many critters in the woods outside, so many movements-out-of-the-corner-of-your-eye, such possibilities for faeries and goblins. But then I think...screw the writers....that's *painting* material right there.
I just adore all the movement and greenery.
I have one desk facing out the window, another against the wall.
I'm about to bring down some boxes of stuff.
When I have finished I shall take a photo for y'all.
I'm going to adore this new location.
On Art
I know, I've been slacking with updating. I suppose it is because I haven't been throwing myself into my art 100%. I've been busy, doing more things with more people, adding other elements to my already busy life, and almost becoming a whole new person (yikes, don't worry, I'm still cool).
Anyway today - admidst raging fever - I climbed upstairs to the workshop and cut piece after new piece of wood. Spraypainted them all and am in the midst of priming them.
I've also done a lot of research into advertising and new promotional techniques.
And I am - just now - relocating my studio to the lower level of the house. It means that I can paint whilst cooking lunches and dinners and doing general housework because I'm only a step away from the cooking/cleaning sites!
I'm also sorting out my laptop so it can be moved to my new studio.
I foresee with this move alone *at least* a 20% productivity increase.
Today I also blew off a party to concentrate more fully on my projects. I'm proud of myself for that one. I would have *loved* to have gone and watched my husband jam out with an awesome group of musicians but resisted all temptations so I could work on my own artistic endeavours. I'll be sure to make it up to us both later. ;)
Anyway, having said all that, the afternooon light is slowing leaving and I need to get a shuffle on so I can run with about 4 new Share Your Tears submissions.
More when I can, you know I'm *back*!
Love,
xxxS.
Anyway today - admidst raging fever - I climbed upstairs to the workshop and cut piece after new piece of wood. Spraypainted them all and am in the midst of priming them.
I've also done a lot of research into advertising and new promotional techniques.
And I am - just now - relocating my studio to the lower level of the house. It means that I can paint whilst cooking lunches and dinners and doing general housework because I'm only a step away from the cooking/cleaning sites!
I'm also sorting out my laptop so it can be moved to my new studio.
I foresee with this move alone *at least* a 20% productivity increase.
Today I also blew off a party to concentrate more fully on my projects. I'm proud of myself for that one. I would have *loved* to have gone and watched my husband jam out with an awesome group of musicians but resisted all temptations so I could work on my own artistic endeavours. I'll be sure to make it up to us both later. ;)
Anyway, having said all that, the afternooon light is slowing leaving and I need to get a shuffle on so I can run with about 4 new Share Your Tears submissions.
More when I can, you know I'm *back*!
Love,
xxxS.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The Art Of Running
t h e . a r t . o f . r u n n i n g .
You thread band-aids under your shoe laces.
You thread your house key onto your drawstring.
You hide monies under your watch strap.
Just don't ask me where I hide my cell phone or my mace and you'll be A-OK.
You thread band-aids under your shoe laces.
You thread your house key onto your drawstring.
You hide monies under your watch strap.
Just don't ask me where I hide my cell phone or my mace and you'll be A-OK.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Nice.
I feel like those fighting for real people are often in the same boat as those fighting for an artworld. The boat is fast sinking but it's nice when we try, regardless.
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