i always love reading interviews of artists that i admire… i always love watching interviews of people who speak passionately about what they are about-without fear of how genuinely loopy they sound. : ) just so in love with what they do, so.. open.. unaware. they embrace it fully. and i love that, i want that.
one of my friends asked me yesterday if i have certain people in mind when i create, she said that when she looks at the girls that i paint-she loves to imagine who it might be.
-i've always wanted to be able to take some step by step photos of my creative process with you-just so you can maybe get an idea of what it is like, but here's the thing–it doesn't seem possible for me to create until well late and dark into the night. finishing up by the time the sun comes up, and heading to bed before i can even get a picture of the final product!
so i'll tell you about it instead. : )
i believe that people who carve let the wood tell them what it will become. and when musicians pick up their guitar, or put their fingers to the smooth piano keys- the music isn't from the musician, but through them.
i think i can generally be inspired by anything, but i have to be open to it… i can't try. i might have a conversation with you-about how you found a kitten in a parking lot, and you were trying to coerce it from out beneath a truck-and in that second, i have to pick up the paper and pencil-and watch my hand create bends and curves. the pencil flows along, feeling it's way across the paper. what i'm saying is that it comes through me-not from me.
sometimes when i get into bed to go to sleep, my head starts spinning with images that i have to get out. i can't just scribble the idea down and go to sleep-i have to get up and go draw until i have got it right, and only then can i rest.
i tried to do a few commission pieces, and this is where it stopped coming through me, and started coming from me. i locked up… i was afraid. i wasn't open for inspiration-i was determined instead. so i put the pencil to paper and it sat there… and when i pushed it-it pulled hard, and gave me big ugly deep scars in the page. scribbles and nonsense… erase and scribble.. erase and scribble…
i'd panic and feel lost… feel like i've just pushed it all away for good, that i'll never get it back-that i won't be able to create again because i'm so freaked out.
it's like my muse plays tricks with me. sits in the far corner and watches me fret…waiting for me to calm down and open my heart to listen to her.
and so i take a deep breath, and let her in…
she finds the story in the paper, in the pencil. i feel like i interpret her unknown, other worldly language through my finger tips…
afterwards-i sit and look at what has been made. i find out their name, what their favourite colour is, how they like their eggs cooked in the morning. sometimes i find pieces of me, sometimes i find pieces of the people i love. and sometimes i simply meet new people who come to tell me their story.
10% off on these little loves in the shop lasts for one more day!
