September 12, 2011

Even though I felt the desire, I couldn’t bring myself to write about the anniversary of September 11^th, 2001 yesterday.  It was just too painful.  The memory was aching inside me.  I refused to turn on the television, listen to the radio, or read Internet news sites.  To do so would break my heart all over again.  Instead, I had a quiet day to myself.  Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I’m ready to say something.

My first and only visit to New York City was in 1991.  I went to visit a friend living in the West Village.  After flying into Newark, I took a bus to Manhattan where my friend met me.  After a short hug and welcome to the Big Apple she led me upstairs to the street.  My first steps into the city were at the World Trade Center.  In the bright summer light, I looked up briefly (not wanting any criminal to know I was a tourist) to see the towers reaching high above, welcoming me.  Ah, New York.  It was one of the most memorable trips of my life.  I went to the Met, the Frick, MOMA, the Statue of Liberty, saw an Off Broadway Play “Six Degrees of Separation” with Stockard Channing (before the film!), ate a salami sandwich piled 6” high at a Jewish deli, went to a couple parties, and so much more.  The city was vibrant, intense and so deeply inspiring.

Now, I keep coming back to that memory of stepping into the city.  The very place where 10 years later the thunderous roar of death echoed across the earth with a million voices screaming in despair.  For that short visit, New York was my city, and the towers were a part of its magical hold on me.  I mourn the loss of so many, a world forever changed, and my naive sense of security.

September 11^th changed me.  Suddenly I could no longer stand to watch violence in movies, I had seen enough.  I developed anxiety, which I have learned to manage.  But most importantly, I became grateful for all I have, especially the people in my life.  The folks going to work that day didn’t know that in a few hours they would be jumping from a burning building or their plane would be crashing to the ground.  We never know what the future holds or when we will breathe our last breath.  So now, when things get bad, I remind myself to savor every moment, for even the hard times are part of the joy of living.  My husband and I started the tradition of a hug and kiss before parting, leaving each other with the memory of our love, because you just never know.  I finally realized how short life was and began to pursue my dreams of being an artist, teaching art to children, and living a creative life. 

I wish I could say I feel relieved and peaceful after writing this, but no such luck.  It’s not that easy.  So I will continue living the best way I know how, loving what is, and remembering.

New York City, 1991

“Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes”

Work in Progress

Today I am painting and thinking about change. 

There was this artist whose work I LOVE.  I discovered her paintings at a Mill Valley gallery years ago.  She worked in mixed media, creating narratives that were carefully rendered.  They had a Latin American feel.  She even painted the frames and incorporated them into the pieces.  I took a couple postcards from her shows and drooled over them.  Today, they are as interesting and beautiful to me as they were then. 

Recently I searched for her on the web.  I found a website bearing her name but the work looked nothing like her.  Could it be her?  It was. I confirmed her identity by her exhibition history.   She had become a minimalist!  There was no trace of the old work on her website.  I was shocked and disappointed.  I really liked the old work, I wanted to see it again, and I’m not attracted to minimalism.  How did her work change so drastically?

I can’t answer for her, but I can answer for myself.  My work has steadily changed over the years.  It’s not like I wake up one day and think, “I’m going to do something completely different”.  No, the art evolves.  I’ll be working in one style while in the back of my mind some ideas are percolating. Some of those ideas may brew for years, others may fizzle out before they are mature enough for me to birth them into the world.  When my work shifts it happens with joy.  I am newly inspired and am off exploring the unknown again.  I don’t mourn for the old.  Everything I do is like a steppingstone leading me deeper into the wilderness.  I savor that journey with excitement and anticipation.

My experience with the artist described above is not a new one.  In the arts we often get attached to a style of expression.  We relate to it, and it inspires us.  When the artist changes, we might be left longing for more of the same.  Some will only listen to David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust, unable to embrace the work that followed (most of his career).  Others only like Picasso’s cubist period, or Kandinsky’s early work.  That’s okay.  We can listen to those albums and look at those paintings over and over.  They will continue to bring us joy.  No one expects us to like everything an artist creates.  All I ask is to be respectful of the mystery of artistic process and accept inevitable change.

“Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.” – Eckhart Tolle

“Without change something sleeps inside us, and never wakens.” – Duke Leo Artides