Changes

It's been a while since I've been here, or anywhere of note. I've asked a thousand questions, over and over again; the answers are both different and true, each time.

I am still working on a creative life, though it's more quiet and internal. A very small percentage of my work ends up in the world for public consumption, anyhow.

My focus has shifted, is shifting.

I am 29 weeks pregnant. (Some things I've missed: tuna melts, yoga inversions, oil painting. Some changes I've found delightful: my beau waiting in a long queue of a trendy patisserie to find treats for me, feeling my baby grow and move.)

I've always struggled with the balance of a conventional and creative life. I worry that this struggle will become more acute, and that my creative life will be buried. During one of my times of battered internal dialogues, of raging self-doubt, I found this essay from an artist.

Teresita Fernandez's speech at Virginia Commonwealth University

It may be a constant touchstone. I will read this and remind myself, This is exactly where you are supposed to be.

Perfection

The last six weeks have been transformative for many different reasons. Among them, I decided to give up my Mission studio. I have been cleaning, reorganizing, putting things away (a kiss of death for a working artist.) I have tried to take advantage of the remaining weeks to finish up some works in progress, but I have been paralyzed by sadness.

I spent this morning in my home studio, organizing the space in preparation for the move back. I'm mentally reorganizing, too: I will have to begin again, in a completely different way. How do I proceed?

Later in the day, I went to see an Arnold Newman exhibition at The Contemporary Jewish Museum and encountered the photograph below (minus the copyright labels). I am in awe of its flawless composition.

From Getty Images, portrait of Franz Kline by Arnold Newman (1960).

I love everything about this photograph. Its line, light, contrast, emotion. It took me away from my preoccupations with painting, reestablishing a studio, the heavy contemplation of what lies ahead. Or perhaps it drew me in because I subconsciously identified with sitting in a bright studio, surrrounded by work and looking obliquely towards some vanishing apex.

I recognize that the practice of art requires looking, experiencing, acknowledging. Being open to the slightest touch that may change the trajectory of your own inertia.

I might be ready to begin again.