Poetic Journey - Enough Already

We are rather spoiled in the state of New Mexico.Seldom do we have whole days of inclement weather. Storms sprout over the mountains, dump rain or snow, and move on. The Albuquerque Journal, when I was a kid, kept a count of the days of sunshine each year. And since the sun seemed to shine for at least a part of every day it became quite boring to read the little column.

Yesterday it snowed all day and it is forecast to do the same today. And into Wednesday. Cabin fever begins to set in. So having written no new poem I unearthed the following from my archives. The dreaded winter of 2007.

Enough already

Another!
Cold and windy day
Unpleasant in the extreme
Even if the sun is shining
But bringing no
Warmth
Upon the cold
Snow clad earth

I sat
Morosely at my window
Watching the drifts of snow
Grow
Clouds of white ice
Crystals
Slithering over the banks
Chilling the day
Robbing
The joy

Go Away
Awful weather
Let winter abate a day or two or three
But no
Says the weatherman
Tomorrow
More of the same

(c) Jacqui Binford-Bell

Do you have a poem for this week's poetic journey? One that will brighten the day or spread cheer. Maybe even bring the sun. If not, you are allowed to whine like me. Leave a comment with your url here or on Facebook.

We're a Sensitive Lot - Part III

 

Should be clear by now I am sticking with the pirate images. This one came up when I added parley to the Google Image search. Parley - A discussion or conference, especially one between enemies (or people on the other side of the divide) over terms of truce or other matters. I am reminded of Cool Hand Luke (another all time movie favorite of mine) and the classic line, "What we have here is a failure to communicate."

And so we come to the paradox. Don't you love that word? For a visual artist I am very much in love with words. Another paradox. Paradox - A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true. And so we get to the crux of the matter at long last. Artists are masters of communication but often cannot converse wisely.

In our own favored medium, be it paint or clay or song or poetic word or even essay, we can communicate the unspoken (another paradox), but put us in a room with non-pirates and we are often tongue tied and highly ineffectual at communication even when it is about our own chosen art. I have to do a lot of research in art magazines to know what it is I do in my studio.

We do passably well talking to each other from time to time, but as a friend of mine, who frequents art receptions pointed out, we are difficult to understand. We have our own shorthand and of course we have those guidelines I spoke of in the Part II that we merely have to allude to. And we were born, it seems, understanding things such as quality of light and tone, voice and ear, depth and balance. Musicians and writers in my audience please fill in your own buzz words here. Though frankly, as a sometime poet, I can apply all those visual art terms to poems also.

Summer art fair season begins soon and us pirates are going to have to communicate with land lovers as well as other artists. Remember that scene in Pirates of the Caribbean where Captain Jack Sparrow is constantly getting slapped? And he hasn't a clue as to why. Nobody actually hits anyone at a fair but I sometimes come home in an evening and feel very wounded. We are such a sensitive lot. Maybe even over-sensitive lot.

I once taught adaptive skiing to people with special needs. The word functional was added a lot to rather more terminal words that tiptoed around the edge of politically correct. So you could have functional autism, etc. I always rather hated the term. I think I am a marginally functional human. I am a very functional artist. The same might be said for Beethoven or VanGogh or Mozart or Picasso or Shelley and Keats or Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald. The more you move people with your work the more concessions they are willing to make for your lack of real world communication skills. They will even translate for you.

That is my goal. I want to be known so well for my art that I merely have to smile and nod when forced out of my studio. Ever notice there are no politically correct terms for the creative?

Part II, as it were, of We are a Sensitive Lot.

And what, I hear you saying, does the above image have to do with artists and their sensitivity? Well, I think we are ever so much like pirates of old. We don't really fit into the world we are forced to inhabit, we like to dress strangely, and we attempt to get along on a limited basis. And we have a code, well, guidelines really.

And the code is really strange because on the whole we are all against rules. The first rule we broke was laid down by Mom and Dad - do not become an artist. Get a real education. One that will support you. But we escaped them to wind up (some of us at least) in art schools where we were given Rules of Three and other compositional aids and never add powder to water or mix your own green. That last one can be self-teaching.

And there developed in some remote Isle del Morte a whole group of artists that proudly announce they don't follow any rules. And when us pirates find them we indoctrinate them into the code. "Your work is so good but if you would just . . . it would be so much better." You have made it when you can peer down your nose at another artist giving you this advice.

A friend of mine from the other world (not a pirate) who teaches communication skills gave me the phrase, "In my opinion . . ." And I never use "you should" but always "I find." We are great detectors of truth except possibly when it concerns our own talents. We can discern the cut of the others jib and take our lessons from it without being taught or preached at. We should always honor our own uniqueness and not strive to imitate.

I love the line from At World's End where Captain Jack Sparrow says, "No, the world is the same as it was, there is just less in it." I think the really sad thing about technology is that it has killed the krackon. We no longer value art as much. We are even trying to make a business out of art. Yes, it is nice to make a living out of what you love doing but it isn't all about the ship but what the ship represents - freedom and the wind at our backs, the horizon before you, and being able to wear your own kind of hat. I would like to think "the song has been sung" and we are becoming more and more aware that what is "good for business" is not necessarily good for the world. Or good for us. And as pirates, have come to realize we need each other if for no other reason than keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

Art guidelines or code or rules are not to be used to tear each other down and puff ourselves up but to help and guide - ergo guidelines. And us over-sensitive pirates need to weed out the truth from the trash. Advice should be given lovingly when asked for. It should build others up and not tear them down. We are after all into creativity. Not demolition.

BTW, there is going to be a Pirates of the Caribbean 4!

We're a Sensitive Lot

Artists, it has been my experience, are a shy and sensitive lot. I used Van Gogh's self-portrait (one of many) because he probably heads the list on sensitive in most accounts. After all he cut off his ear. One story is so he could not hear his critics. Some say for his friend Cezanne, who he felt had abandoned him, but it probably had a lot more to do with the lead they put in white paint in those days.

 

Van Gogh  with Easel

Artists are in constant conflict. We have to spend hours and hours alone with our muse in our studios, and then upon command go forth to charm our public who, no doubt in their total innocence, will say something artless. And being sensitive souls we will take the criticism to heart. And wounded, limp back to our studios, to be accused of our egotism and aloofness. As a painfully shy child and youth I was more often than not accused of being conceited. (I am not convinced that shyness has gone away. I am just better at acting than I once was.)

I bring this painful subject up today because I have to sally forth to expose myself and my techniques and my art to that public, which I am already sure, loves all the other artists in my little corner of the world better. Ah, shades of the Smothers' Brothers. But my mother DID love my brother best.

And because I play in a Facebook Photography group, which normally plays very well together, but not this week. The artistic soul is finely tuned to wound others as well as fall upon our own swords . . . er palette knives or camera mono-pods. Cutting off ones ear is extreme but not out of the realm of the artistic experience. Dad always said I needed to develop a thicker skin to play well with others. Mother, on the other hand, maintained I would never play well with others because I was too self-absorbed.

I play quite well with my paints. On most days I get along well with my muse. But I must admit that from time to time my studio is just a large cave with sunshine that I crawl into so I can lick my wounds.

So why do artists, if they are not self-absorbed, paint so many self-portraits? I had a professor that maintained they could not afford a model. I think they did not want to endure a model in their private little space.

Poetic Journey - Mystic Passage

 

Mystic Passage

Been looking through the images of my paintings on the computer to update my portfolio and develop a poster for use at demonstrations and other events. And time got away from me. No poem was written for today which should have been posted yesterday so I delved through my poetry files and came up with the repost of poem.

Mystic Passage

I was so into the paint today that I was gone
Every fiber of my being
Layered one color upon another
On a surface outside myself
Inside.

Sometimes it is just a painting I create
This craft I can do so mechanically
Today it was like giving birth
To a reality only I see
Given to you.

None of the words people speak or write
Seem to apply to what occurs
When I am unconscious of all
But the brush in my hand
The paint.

As if the paint pours from my soul
Down my veins to my fingertips
Appearing by magic
On once white canvas
A life.

Figures and shapes and visions emerge
Scenes I was not conscious I dreamt
I was so into the paint today
It was hard to pull out
Some of me
I left behind.

(c) J. Binford-Bell

Nicholas V on Intelliblog

If you have a poem you would like to include in this week's Poetic Journey leave a comment here or on Facebook.
 

More Mission Churches

 

San Antonia de Pudra in Questa

I am painting a new round of missions this week and am at the matching drawings to available canvas and cradled board. With the canvas other sizes and shapes can always be stretched. So in addition to the two new churches I have sketched I was looking back through some of my earlier missions to see if there is one I want to re-do maybe larger. The one above is 12 x 12 by it is a very impressive mission and would look wonderful say 14 x 14. And maybe on the square instead of diagonal.

Basking in the Sun

This was always one of my favorites and like the one above it sold quite quickly. And I think I would like to do it larger and on the square. Or is it the diagonal that makes it intriguing?

Gentle Night

I redid the top mission in a night scene and I rather liked it at night. It too sold quickly. Another that sold very fast was my first larger church. I used to do all my missions in a smaller format but Hot was 16 x 20 I believe. I have never done a night version of this church. Nor does it, and the ones above,  have sheep which have become an increasing signature of my missions.

I think it is very important for all artists to photograph their work And to keep their sketches. It is very good to look back at your work from time to time if for no other reason but to mark your progress. Looking at these paintings above I see where my style has grown and my technique improved and if the subject is worthy they why not repaint them. Monet did water lilies over and over. Time to delve through the flat file for the sketches of these works and give them more consideration.

Poetic Journey - Dreaming of Spring

Too Close To The Sun

Here in the midst of winter facing a huge storm from the Pacific it is not realistic to think of warm canyons and spring days but that is where my head is at. Yesterday I escaped to sit in a warm hot tub following exercise at the Taos Spa and totally missed my intentions to write a poem for this week's Poetic Journey. So Poem Hunter again to the rescue. If you are enduring winter hope this warms your heart.

Spring, the Sweet Spring

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!

Thomas Nashe

More poems from Thomas Nashe 

 Nicholas V at Intelliblog

RD at Shore Life


And if you have a poem for us please post a comment with your link. Thank you.