Watercolor Haiku

Today Is For Softening

2012-02-18T23:11:00.001-06:00

Ango, a zen practice period, means coming together in peace for meditation, study and work. An ango lasts for about 90 days. This winter I've imagined my painting practice as an ango loosely following the practice at Hokyoji. Except I'm here. Alone in my studio, sitting and painting with Mr. Munchkins in his white fur okesa. Instead of chanting we purr. Sometimes my husband joins us. Even though we have a room set aside for meditation, over the years zafus and zabutans have moved into my studio next to the easel and tables.

I love this season. Everything is strangely fragile. Though colors are soft, at times the light is too vivid for me. For several weeks I've worked night and day on a new painting and today I feel like washing all the color away. I want a painting that speaks with quiet energy like this end of winter season. The image you see here is an early detail of the larger painting that's almost finished now. I'm moving toward a quieter palette with more earth tones. So today is for softening. It's for softening my mind and heart, and for softening the contrasts in this new painting moving it closer to these muted winter days. This new work is inspired by images of a Japanese garden in St. Louis, Missouri. I visited there a few years ago in late winter. A frozen pond reflected the sky in a sheen of water on the melting ice. A tangle of stems from crumpled dead lilies reached toward the sky from deep in the ice. I see an abstract. A metaphor. I want to spend every spare moment painting. I'm frustrated I'm so slow— with so many images waiting for the brush.

Playing in the Gap

2012-01-05T20:15:00.009-06:00

For a while I thought my representational images were my real paintings, and that my play paintings, my in-betweens were of less merit, because at first glance, they seem more whimsical than finely crafted. But as I continue to explore spaces between, it becomes increasingly difficult to discern what is real. For sure the between is intangible, and it seems to have more of a connecting, inclusive energy than of separation. I think the between is about possibilities.

I started calling these paintings the In-Betweens because I work on them between my more realistic style paintings. At first the In-Betweens were a reprieve from the intense concentration required for realistic artwork. They were a breather. A break from normal. They filled that period of time between finishing a realistic style painting and beginning a new one. The In-Betweens are an exhale. I just let go. I paint with no preconceptions. They are a dream-world where colors are emotions, smells, tastes and sounds. The colors define shapes creating a rhythmic composition. To simply follow them with complete abandon is the greatest fun of all. It's satisfying to be lead around the picture plane that way after exhausting myself on a realistic piece that requires precision and unwavering attention to detail.

The In-Betweens are a total change of pace and mode of working. I begin with an old painting (you know— one from the "I wrecked it, I quit pile!") and scrub off most of the old paint. I like the paper to be roughed up to add texture and to show a hint of whatever image was there before. Then with pencil I draw a pattern of skewed shapes and creatures. The real fun is glazing one color over another to create patterns and rhythms dancing around the page. I change shapes by glazing and by lifting color out. Every new layer changes the one below, creating a new composition. As the layers deepen and colors become richer, the picture plane that started out flat and two dimensional, develops depth and a surreal landscape appears.

If you think about it, we are always in-between. Betweens are infinite. We're between waking and sleeping, birth and death, between this thought and the next, between lunch and dinner. And what of the gap between each breath? There is the space between you and me that we call relationships. While seeming empty, those spaces between are alive with potential. Inevitably we fill them up with the expectations and desires that create our world. When you meet that vibrant potential, how and what do you choose to fill it?

The Sweet Peace of Being Unplugged

2011-10-08T10:59:00.001-05:00

For a brief time this fall, I was a person without a computer. I'm amazed at the calm I felt the day my hard drive died taking five years of data with it. At times I felt so carefree, a kind of déjà vu, like a child running barefoot in the summer sun. Peace. Freedom. No entanglements. Design client files— gone. My new web site— gone. Scans of my painting inventory— gone. No Facebook, no blog, no news readers, no email. I couldn't even get into my back-up disk. Just me and the great wide shimmering world alone together.

In The Deep End

Being unplugged is such sweet peace. That experience lead me to a personal credo: Question everything. I don't know what compels the questions. I prefer to think it's healthy curiosity. Anyway, now I'm questioning the value of being plugged in. Because I'm so mesmerized by this electronic miracle in a box, I paint less, my eyes hurt, my shoulders ache, my brain cells are tense. I feel like my life has been swept away by a tsunami of craving for attention. It's not just my craving. It's bigger than that. It's the craving of friends of friends ad infinitum. I want to support them all with follows, thumbs-ups and likes. It's impossible, of course, yet I'm still overwhelmed by the desire to help. I could unplug from the dream world on my computer screen. (Maybe I'd get more painting done.) I do have a choice, but here I am again, back in electronic samsara, wrestling with this new dharma gate. Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to friend and like them all.

Oft spoken rules of art-making get my questioning hackles up. How about the one that speed improves skill? Working quickly does create its own unique artistic characteristics. So does a contemplative approach. There are merits to using both ways of painting as learning exercises. We live in a culture that breeds speed. Bigger, louder, brighter, faster everything. It's easy to be swept along believing faster is better, aware only of maybe some tension in a shoulder, or an anxious feeling. But what if you stop with the hurry-up-all-the-time routine? What if you examine your inner world through the process of painting? What will you find? Possibly you'd feel excitement, then thoughtfulness, or then "Yikes, this is harder than I thought", or "I've wrecked it! I quit." Over time you might begin to see a pattern to your creative process. How many paintings have you tossed in frustration? The —I've wrecked it so I quit— stage is pivotal. It holds the potential for the greatest amount of learning and self expression to take place. That's when speed demons move on to a new painting forgoing a great opportunity for growth. We can choose to dig deep or skip along the surface. Sometimes we need to metaphorically unplug ourselves from all the chattering of workshops, art instruction and well-meaning advice, and reconnect to that still point within. From there we can see more clearly our own unique way to paint through the —I wrecked it— stage and in that process develop confidence to meet new creative challenges whatever your medium.

It's important to explore, practice and hone your technique as an artist, and examining your state of mind can free you from creative hang-ups or blocks. We are indoctrinated to speed by the culture we live in but we can choose to investigate the unconscious habits that rush us through a painting, relegating yet another one to the "I quit" pile.

To Simplify— Focus On Design

2011-09-09T09:27:00.003-05:00

Design principles must guide every thought and mood while your subject is being smelled, tasted, touched, listened to and looked at. You paint with all 5 senses. You must be emotionally and sensually involved with your subject. —Edgar Whitney

Every time I hear someone suggest simplifying a painting, my mind goes numb. The simplify instruction is so commonly used by instructors, it's almost a mantra. It shouldn't be. It won't make you a better painter. Simplify! What does that mean!? Sim•pli•fy: make (something) simpler or easier to do or understand. Try to follow such a broad, vague instruction without knowledge of design and you'll put us all to sleep with your paintings. So what to do when you encounter this instruction? Dust off your design tools! The elements and principles of design will show you how, when, where and most importantly why to simplify. So wake up those brain cells, peeps! Get thee to designing your compositions.

We make art to visually convey our unique personal perspective. To identify that perspective, one needs to be able to call up feelings and emotions relating to the subject of the painting and express them visually. This is where your understanding of the elements and principles of design can aid and develop artistic expression. It's the interplay of design elements and principles that guides the viewers' attention to the expressive meaning of your work. Simplicity per se doesn't function well on it's own. It shows up best when partnered with detail. You need them both or you'll end up with a painting that's too uniform— in other words, a sleeper. So how will simplicity and detail interact in your composition? Will you use contrast, create rhythm, balance, repetition or harmony? Or will one so dominate that the overall unity of the composition will be destroyed?

There are so many dimensions to a painting— far more than the obvious two dimensions of the paper or canvas. Design tools open up all those other dimensions— emotional dimensions that are so difficult to express in words are magically unlocked using pattern, line, shape, value, color or size. The way we use these elements creates an emotional resonance with the viewer. The design principles themselves seem to have an emotional resonance.

As the foundation and building blocks of good art, design is a topic that deserves ongoing study and discussion. My purpose here is to point out that simplification happens very naturally when working with design principles. Simplicity is not the first law of painting. Without design as a guide, simplifying by rote dulls creative expression. Shift your focus to design and simplification will take of itself.

Minnesota State Fair 100th Fine Arts Exhibition

2011-08-26T15:49:00.003-05:00

Chill Your Monkey

If you go to the Minnesota State Fair this year be sure to stop by the fine arts exhibition and say hello to this guy. His penetrating gaze beckons us to let go of the stressful, striving mess of our lives and take the path of simplicity and grace. It's as though he's saying, "Come along. You can be free." In Zen Buddhist circles, there is a metaphor for our crazy stressed out minds. It's called "monkey mind". Our minds are naturally alive with a never-ending stream of thoughts that we chase after creating story upon story upon story. We become so distracted and enmeshed in these stories that we toss and turn at night, we become forgetful, we're easily irritated... you know the drill. We just want to be happy! But there's all these worries, aches and pains, and confusion! There is a way out of this suffering. Chill your monkey.

Bugs, Sweat & Tears

2011-08-06T23:54:00.002-05:00

I really am a studio painter, but the outdoors has been calling. So last week I ventured outside with paint and brushes. Not only am I an inveterate studio painter, but I also have a nasty habit of learning things the hard way. I couldn't just take a simple walk with a few paints and brushes. No. I had to spend days, making sure I had just the right equipment. So off I go for an afternoon in the great outdoors with everything but the kitchen sink in a backpack that certainly must have weighed half a ton. I even brought extra socks in case the mosquitoes might be particularly ferocious. It was pushing 90° and the air was dripping humidity. As you might have guessed, I was worn out before I even began to paint. If this is going to work, I'm definitely gonna need a sherpa.

I met some veteran plein air painters in a local Japanese garden where I started this painting. I had so little confidence, I brought some cheap inkjet paper to paint on. The paper actually melted under my wet brush, forming little pills all over which I tried to make into leafy looking, outdoorsy things. But wait! There's more! Everything kept moving and changing before my eyes! And there's so much of it! Painting en plein aire there are no boundaries to help focus your attention so you have to concentrate like never before. All of your senses sharpen dramatically. You're aware not only of your composition, but also of your immediate surroundings. What creepy crawlers are sharing your spot with you? It's enough to make a grown woman cry. This reminds me of my first summer sesshin at Hokyoji in southeastern Minnesota.

In August at Hokyoji the fields are lush, bursting with wild flowers and wild life. It is a magical sight to behold. Early in the morning the valley is shrouded in fog that burns away as the sun comes up revealing a sea of spider webs and dew. August is the peak of bug season. I can tell you I have never been so awake as I was that summer. I was frantic, relocating bugs and spiders from well-trodden pathways where priest and novice robes would certainly brush through their webs and carry them to an uncertain end. And of course during zazen I was wide awake to note any "wildlife" that might be wandering near my zabuton. The mice at Hokyoji are not those cute little gray city mice either. Those guys are big, brown ones and they are not afraid of humans who sit perfectly still for hours on end. Sleep during zazen? Who could possibly sleep?!

I spent the past year and a half helping to sew Zen priest robes, from the Okesa all the way through to the under garments. They are not my robes. While I am happy for the person who will one day wear them, there is still an ache in my heart, a sadness over the path I'm on and the one I couldn't take. Buddhists (the ones I know) are a bookish lot. I like books okay, but I'm wary of an identity that depends on books. A wild flower can teach us more than any amount of words could ever convey. A simple wild flower in her Okesa made from spider silk and dew, dependent on nothing but the earth, sun and rain. If I were to fashion an identity, that's what I would choose— a simple wild flower. In the end I don't care about words. I wouldn't choose to spend my last breaths with a book, thinking or talking about some bookish ideas. I would choose to hold and smell and feel a flower and to marvel over every wondrous facet of it's being.

Definitely Not A Hobby

2011-04-21T13:09:00.010-05:00

Well folks, I don't know if any of you have had a chance to read the article in the April issue of Maple Grove Magazine about my artwork. I have to tell you— watercolor painting is not my hobby! It is my life. I have devoted my entire life to watercolor painting. Knitting is a hobby. Gardening is a hobby. Watercolor painting is my lifelong career.

It's true that I wish art education were taken more seriously so that every child grew up with a vocabulary that enabled them to talk about art and to express how they personally interact with an artwork. Can you immerse yourself in a painting? How do you feel? How do your senses respond? What thoughts and emotions come to mind as you contemplate an artwork? What words can describe this?

It's also true that stepping back from a rigorous zen meditation practice, I found new energy for painting. I hope my paintings express what I can't put into words. Life is magical if you take time to notice. Like bodhisattvas springing from the earth, new paintings appear. Art is everywhere, in everything. I constantly see images to paint as though my head were a camera "panning" every instant of my life.

We each see the world from a unique point of view. Though my art appears to be fairly realistic, if you look closely you'll find that it's abstract. Life is unknowable, it's mysterious, magical, wondrous. And that magic is what I intend to paint every time I pick up a brush— the mystery and magic of our everyday lives that is so often unexamined, glossed over, taken for granted and feared. You may think a painted image looks like a rock or a flower, but really, what is it? Consider this: Maybe it's you looking back at you.

~ Ninth Duino Elegy ~

(excerpt)

Earth, isn't this what you want? To arise in us, invisible?

Is it not your dream, to enter us so wholly

there's nothing left outside us to see?

What, if not transformation,

is your deepest purpose? Earth, my love,

I want that too. Believe me,

no more of your springtimes are needed

to win me over - even one flower

is more than enough. Before I was named

I belonged to you. I seek no other law

but yours, and know I can trust

the death you will bring.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

(In Praise of Mortality, trans. and edited Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

Drowning In Art Classes?

2011-03-26T17:20:00.012-05:00

Under The Tree
from the series, "The In-Betweens"

Feeling bewildered? Confused? Maybe you've taken too many painting classes. I realize I'm foolishly swimming against the tide here. There's a whole art market flooded with books, videos and workshops to help you learn to paint. "Read my books! Buy my videos! Take my workshop!" It can be overwhelming. Granted there are excellent, quintessential art instructors out there, many of whom I am grateful to have encountered on my own journey. But how is a gluttony of classes going to make you a better painter? I'm of the opinion that over-dosing on books, videos and classes, can distract you from the very thing you most need— the self confidence that comes from direct experience. Do you remember learning to ride a bike? Mom or Dad ran along beside you and your bike, with one hand on the back of the bike seat to steady your ride whenever you wobbled or tipped. You pedaled that bike. Now what if old Dad had grabbed your bike and pedaled off yelling, "Watch me! This is how you do it!" How do you think you'd learn to ride then?

I meet so many students who just want to watch me paint. (And that is like watching a pot of water come to a boil— boring beyond belief.) "I'm a visual learner," they say. Many spend lifetimes watching others and never get around to painting themselves. I'm not saying watching demos is particularly wrong. I suppose watching others paint can be a pleasurable pastime. I suggest reserving those more passive experiences for later in a student's development. Direct experience should be your most trusted teacher. Personally, I hate watching someone else paint. I want to do it myself. Yes, I am influenced by others. We all are. But the new painting student needs to build inner resources from the very beginning or the art market will effectively "jump on her bike and run away with it". So I gear my teaching toward pushing the student back into themselves. I want students to learn to trust and rely on themselves from the beginning. I want them to develop confidence and above all— a sense of curiosity about the painting process.

Some do find that inner balance that allows them to discern the way forward with brush and paint. They thrill at the challenges, the inevitable wobbling this way and that, and keep right on painting. Curiosity and confidence are their best friends, feeding and supporting one and other. Learning watercolor is not so much about painting per se, as it is about finding the middle way through each and every situation you encounter be it a brush gummed up with too much pigment, or color diluted and drowned in too much water. Neither one is good or bad, but learning to flow with whatever circumstance you and your brush create is key. I call that playing in the gap. Suspend judgement and see what comes. That's why I teach, even though I hate watching other people paint.

2010-12-02T10:24:00.000-06:00

Maple Grove Arts Council

Holiday Bazaar

Saturday December 11

10 am to 6 pm

Sunday December 12

11 am to 6 pm

The Shoppes at Arbor Lakes

12197 Elm Creek Boulevard

The Holiday Bazaar is located in the corner shop near Pottery Barn & Ultimate Electronics

Please join me for this festive weekend of music, refreshments

and unique gifts— Original Watercolors and Giclée Prints.

Triple Treasure

2010-05-01T21:26:00.045-05:00

Three frightened ducklings
calling from a storm sewer...
hold them tenderly

The air is heavy with the scent of lilacs. Trees are bowed with pale green leaves, and blossoms of pink and violet. Drivers slow while mother mallards and their newly hatched ducklings scurry across roads to ponds and lakes. It's spring in Minnesota.

Evidently ducks and I have a thing going on. Last year it was watching over Mrs. Mallard and her injured leg. This spring it's three new born orphaned ducklings. I don't know why— I just love them. My husband wonders if maybe I watched too many Daffy Duck cartoons as a child.

It was pure delight watching the mother duck with her little flock hurrying behind, cross yards toward the lake. Delight became horror when I saw a dog lunge at them and the mother flew up then fell to the ground with flapping wings. By the time I got there, the ducklings were no where to be found. I noticed the mother duck still captured the full attention of the dog and was managing to stay just out of reach. So I found the dog owners and pleaded with them to take their dog inside. While we were pulling the dog in, Mama duck corraled her hidden brood and they all took off, lickety-split, towards the street. One little guy, mistakenly left behind, came chirping out of the brush— so I grabbed him up and ran off looking for the little mallard family only to find another horrifying situation.

Leading them down the street this time, all of her babies had fallen through the grates of the storm sewer. When I arrived, my husband and two heroic neighbors had taken apart the drains and fished out eleven of the ducklings, and Mama duck had run off with her little family again. We could still hear the cries of more ducklings in the drains, and when the guys tried to grab them, the ducklings instinctively ran away. I can tell you I was ready to dig up that street to find them! I am so grateful for the kindness and patience of our rescuers. These guys crawled into the sewer drains and patiently waited for each duckling to wander back toward the light and gently handed them to safety. We put the ducklings in a bucket and each time one came out of the sewer, we thought, "Hurray! Now all is well." But tiny chirping sounds continued to come from the drains. Someone brought a video camera that allowed us to see into the drain pipes and count the ducklings. One more. It was getting dark. Suppers were burning on stoves. Finally patience paid off and the last duckling came close enough to be pulled to safety. I was so engrossed by the three downy babies in my bucket, I didn't notice my neighbors had packed their tools, replaced the drain covers and disappeared into their houses.

Scott and I searched the neighborhood for the mother and her flock with no success. So, there we were with a bucket of baby ducklings and no idea how to care for them. Thankfully, Google gave us some answers. We made a gruel of cereal, water and mashed peas for their supper, and set up a spotlight from my studio, to warm their towel-lined nest in the bucket. They didn't stop chirping until the wee hours. The next morning I was relieved to find them still breathing and very hungry, but I worried because they were much quieter. Within a couple hours I delivered them to a wild animal rehabilitation center where they joined twelve other orphans in a warm, incubated pen. In about six weeks they will be old enough to survive on their own and the rehab group will release them back to mother nature.

I call the ducklings my triple treasure. They gave us the opportunity to experience patience, kindness and generosity with a directness and simplicity that is not to be found in a book or on a zafu. Right here. No practice required. Just open your eyes.

Shivering ducklings
huddle together for warmth—
warming my heart, too

Looking For Mind's True Nature

2010-02-11T17:10:00.060-06:00

Time and again I am struck by the kindness of the mahamudra vipashyana teachings. In my first years of zen training, every morning at 5:00 am before sitting, we gave student talks based on Dogen's, Eihei Koroku. Periodically through the 100-day practice period, I would overflow in frustration with trying to understand Dogen and seek comfort by weaving Tibetan ideas into my student talks. I yearned for simplicity and clarity.

It's curious how distinctions between these two Buddhist lineages fade in and out of my mind. Sometimes they seem starkly different and sometimes boundaries blur. It's all good. Perhaps the bumps and bruises of my zen practice have healed. It was a rigorous practice. Rigorous to the point of exhaustion. It was as though exhausting the body and mind, applying one's self so whole-heartedly to sitting meditation, work practice, and sutra study, might somehow release this mysterious thing called enlightenment that was surely trapped somewhere inside. But my shoulders, black and blue from the kyosaku released nothing. They just sat there, straight, upright, unwavering, with visions of Shundo Aoyama as their guide. When my zen group imploded, there were some who said there had been a deficit of compassion in our practice, that we had pushed so hard we missed the target. But those years of practice are my own secret treasure. They tested and challenged me to grow and do more than I knew I was capable of. They brought me home to myself. I came dazed and fragmented and through zen practice the pieces came back together as one. And though the community was a messy soap opera of relationships, I am grateful for the experience of practicing in that time and place with that teacher and that particular group of students.

For some people, reading and understanding Dogen and koans appears to be a playful romp of the mind. Not me. I've always struggled with the idea of studying. Not much patience for that. So it's fairly quick and easy to exhaust my mind. Ha! Thank goodness for those bright intellects and their analytical abilities. Koan study particularly drove me bonkers. Why do we have to keep dinging around with this stuff. Can't we just get to the point!? My snarling impatience was persistent and direct. Let's just get to the heart of it— now! My teacher gave me the name Shingo, which translates— realizing the heartmind, realizing the marrow. The name belies my impatience and reveals his generous spirit. Mu, the first koan given to me by my teacher, has strangely become a part of me. That haunting sound, Muuuu still echos in my mind. And it brings a smile with it.

Dogen must have been quite an extrovert, considering the enormous quantity of writing and talks attributed to him. In my limited view, Dogen zen has the strong flavor of Confucious with it's emphasis on conduct, morals and ethics. While Dogen admonishes us to practice enlightenment, to work hard, to sit zazen like our hair's on fire (it always cracks me up to think of a bald guy saying practice like your hair's on fire), the Tibetans tell us to rest.

Rest in awareness. Look directly at the mind. I'm astonished by the detailed meditation instructions and especially by descriptions of the nature of mind along the way. They call this pointing out and I feel like a blithely wandering traveler, who suddenly discovers a compass. So accustomed to ambiguity, I'm wary of these new pointers. They are shockingly clear. Can this be!? Could it be so simple? All phenomena— thoughts, emotions, the senses, appearances— are tools on the path to lucid, vivid awareness. Rest. Balance. Look. Not too tight, not too loose, as my zen sewing teacher would say. This looking is as simple as the word implies. It does not entail analysis. Conceptual mind chatter becomes an object of awareness, a tool for meditation. Just as a runner builds strength and stamina with various training runs, we develop our capacity to flow in concert with our true nature, by alternating focused meditation techniques with relaxed open awareness. Meditate many times, short times, says Mingyur Rinpoche. So my new practice is mind training. And training requires persistence. And persistence now morphs into each fresh new curious moment— what is this?!

~~~

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.

I want to free what waits within me

so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear

without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,

but this is what I need to say.

May what I do flow from me like a river,

no forcing and no holding back,

the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,

these deepening tides moving out, returning,

I will sing to you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels

into the open sea.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

from Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

I Don't Want To Be A Buddha

2010-01-20T11:14:00.011-06:00

Every branch and twig is covered in white frost. Piles of snow and great chunks of dirty ice line roads and walkways. Parking lots are ringed with mountains of the grimy stuff. We had a reprieve from sub-zero weather— a warm spell of dripping icicles and the rather startling sound of snow sliding off the roof. Our old spruce tree is home to a city of birds, now chattering with some kind of euphoric, energetic release. Two crusty old robins who survived the frigid cold spell, rest nearby, with feathers still puffed to the max.

The news reports— well, you've heard them. This suffering world is too much to bear. I've crawled inside the warm petals of a lily, nestled right down in the center of those bright happy orange tendrils. It's difficult to paint knowing how precious this water is to the world and I've let my water bucket go dark with pigment. Painting seems frivolous now.

Last night our meditation group discussed our propensity to turn way from what is, not wanting what is right here now, always wanting something better or other than what is. How do we look away? How do we avoid being with our experience? The discussion wandered into ideas like repression, denial, rumination and the necessity to peel the onion, to dig into endless layers of awareness for years and even lifetimes. Sounds like an endless slog of analysis keeping therapeutic communities in business for countless lifetimes. People in the group shared their various struggles and frustrations which generally can be translated as weariness of cold gray days, navigating slippery streets, while digesting news of horrific suffering all over the world. Then a voice burst out, "I just want to have fun!" And the room filled with laughter. It was me. What I meant was– I don't want to peel my life like an onion with its attendant tears. I don't want to analyze my every thought and mood. I just want to live my life. To work hard. And play hard. To do the best I can. That's all. To be angry when I'm angry. To be happy when I'm happy. Simple and clean and clear. That's what I aspire to. I don't want to be a Buddha.

Tangled Up In Blue

2009-11-20T19:59:00.102-06:00

And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn,
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin' on like a bird that flew,
Tangled up in blue. — Bob Dylan

Hearing With Our Eyes, Seeing With Our Ears

2009-11-13T09:45:00.022-06:00

Dancing With The Mystery

Click here for purchase information.

The Tergar meditation group that I've been sitting with takes a different approach than the zen center. There's a relaxed casualness about it all from the space we sit in to the actual meditation itself. The simplicity is refreshing. There are no robes, no altar, no candles and incense. But it also gives me pause. A bowing gassho in the doorway as I enter the room is second nature, and here it's starkly out of place. The lights are bright and colorful meditation cushions dot the floor; no neat rows of black zafus and zabutans arcing around the instructor. Opening and closing recitations sound wooden compared to the rhythmic chanting voices of the zen community. Sometimes there is a small bell signaling the start of meditation; sometimes not. The same is true at the end of meditation. When there is a bell, everyone moves and stretches and talking begins immediately over the sound of the bell.

Hanging from the wall of the zendo of my old zen community is a large hand-made bell. It's approximately 12 inches tall and darkened with age. The doan (meditation time keeper) must strike the bell just so. Hit the wrong spot, or strike it too hard and it klangs with a dull, metallic noise. Hit it too softly and it's signal is lost in the expanse of the zendo. As a new doan, I wobbled back and forth for months making variously abrasive gongs and klangs to signal the beginning and end of meditation. The stillness of the zendo received whatever the bell and I gave without complaint. I was humbled by the bell, never knowing what it would say when I struck it. I admit there were times when I thought of jazzing it up, playing a little tune, to make light of my ackwardness. There was no hiding in the silence of the zendo. The bell told all. It pinged with my insecurity; it bonged with my over-confidence. It took a while, but eventually the bell and I sang together, making unique new sounds that grew more clear each time the bell was struck. With each peal of the bell you feel as though you have been struck; one's whole being vibrates with it. No one moves in the zendo until the last faint echo of the bell disappears. I'm confounded sitting in this new meditation experience that seems so casual and indifferent to the sound of the bell (when there is one). Confounded and curious to explore it all including the surprising pangs! of emotion that have come up around the new meditation approach.

Like striking the bell, I never really know what will come from my brush to the paper. There is a certain joy in not knowing, in nurturing curiosity and learning to embrace and work with whatever evolves. Forever humbled by what comes out on the paper, I'm learning to let go of expectations and paint with the flow of the water and pigment instead of muscling my way through a painting. In addition to it's luminosity, the fluidity of watercolor never stops teaching. Much like the breath in meditation, when you let go of controlling it and follow, new fountains of creative energy open up.

We can experience vibrations of sound and the rhythm of our own breath, but what of vibrations of color? Do you associate color and sound, or how about flavor or smell? Russian artist, Wassily Kandinsky wrote about the scent of colors, the tactile sensations they can evoke, even ascribing tastes to colors. (Please do not ever munch on your pigments! They are toxic!) He is said to have experienced synesthesia, a kind of mixing of the senses. Sensory words are juxtaposed for effect in poetry (like loud perfume or an icy voice); the visual artist is challenged to use his/her senses as well. Kandinsky is said to have painted music using color as counterpoint. A painter, writer and poet, Kandinsky once wrote, "The sound of colours is so definite that it would be hard to find anyone who would try to express bright yellow in the bass notes, or dark lake in the treble." I am not so musically inclined (maybe it was arrested by those 5 am piano practice sessions or the horror of recitals), so I find the idea of color vibrating as sound to be very curious indeed. Working with design elements— line, shape, value, color, pattern and size— we can create rhythms, and to fully experience these rhythms we need all of our senses. But I find it more difficult to hear these rhythms than to sense them. Curiously, as I delve into meditation, I find more and more, that distinctions between the senses blur into one whole vivid experience. It's as though we can hear with our eyes and see with our ears. "I shut my eyes in order to see," Paul Gauguin supposedly said. T. S. Elliot wrote about, "music heard so deeply that it is not heard at all, but you are the music." The more we paint, the more we realize the senses are not the distinct, definable things we thought they were.

If I were to imagine sound emanating from this painting, I think it's deep, quiet notes, reminiscent of the bell in the zendo. Do the yellows vibrate in the treble notes or base? It's a mixed media piece, comprised mostly of acrylic paint, and scrubbed with alcohol to reveal underlying layers of color. The density of acrylic paint smothers the surface of the paper with shiny plastic, and the alcohol dulls and dissolves the plastic creating a pitted surface opening to the colors underneath. Tough, sinewy acrylics coat the paper with a kind of plastic armor, while watercolors merge with the surface allowing the paper to breathe. They each have a unique character— perhaps one is a string quartet and the other a brass band! A brass band made of plastic instruments?

I'm curious if the more musical among you, attribute sounds to colors.

Meditating With The Four Immeasurables

2009-11-04T06:56:00.006-06:00

May All Beings Enjoy Happiness

Click here for purchase information.

This fall I've been attending a Tergar Meditation Group under the guidance of Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche and my meditation practice has been rejuvenated with a fresh taste of beginner mind. Blissfully anonymous, I soak up meditation instruction and commentary by the students in this new group. For several years I was actively involved in the busy-ness of a local zen community; now I am actively uninvolved. I'm just sitting, cultivating meditation practice.

The Tergar group has been meditating with the four immeasurables— loving-kindness, compassion, joy and equanimity. These meditations seem like kin to western psychology's cognitive therapy in that they transform thought patterns. This is a very different style of meditation for me and I'm encountering some ambivalence. Currently we're working with empathetic joy, rejoicing in the happiness of others. It sounds simple enough. But meditating on empathetic joy is not all sweetness and light. Do you ever have a sense of not being good enough, smart enough, creative enough? Do you know these not enough feelings? We all encounter them from time to time. Critical feelings like these can permeate our lives and block feelings of joy for ourselves and others. Thoughts and emotions, critical or positive, are not who you are and struggling to change them into something more desirable will not end the cycle of not enough. In my experience, looking at the mind, examining the thoughts and emotions passing through, is the most helpful way to loosen their grip. You have to see them for what they are— intangible, and you can only do this by continuous examination. I wish for anyone who delves into this meditation, courage and resolve, because there is an endless supply of thoughts and emotions! That in itself is key. Like waves on the ocean, thinking is the natural function of the mind. Where do waves of thought come from? Finding a living breathing meditation teacher to guide you is best, but if that's not possible there are many good books on meditation. One of my favorites is Turning The Mind Into An Ally by Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche; Ken McLeod's Wake Up To Your Life is invaluable as is The Joy of Living by Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche.

It's also important to question— what is joy and happiness? I spent several months on the painting you see here, May All Beings Enjoy Happiness. It was a year of turmoil and tragedy in the world, but I wasn't aware of painting with any concept of joy and happiness for all. Words get in the way. I just paint. Concepts usually come later in my process, sometimes not revealing themselves until the title of a work emerges if at all. Though most of my artwork appears realistic, to me everything is abstract. I learned methods for breaking the white of the paper, for taking that initial leap into an abstract painting, from artist John Salminen whose work I admire. This piece started with cut out shapes from old magazines and scraps of paper. Some were glued to the painting, some were simply used as guides for the painted shapes. I also used stencils and lifting techniques. The light bursting through the heavy dark shapes, feels to me like a heart or mind breaking open. The light depends on the dark shapes for it's form and identity, just as joy and happiness depend on suffering. What does happiness mean to you? Can it include those experiences you define as suffering?

Of course everyone wants joy and happiness. We think we've found happiness, then it slips away again. We wish with all our heart, the best for all beings, but sometimes the good things we wish for lead to suffering. So it really is important to consider, what does joy and happiness mean to you? Superficial trappings of happiness, all the stuff we work so hard to get more of in order to feed these insatiable desires, keep us mired in dissatisfaction. When we wish for all beings to know joy, we are really wishing for hearts and minds to break open to the freedom beyond concepts of happiness and suffering.

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

—Jelaluddin Rumi

May all beings know immeasurable joy.

The Heart of Watercolor– Luminosity

2009-10-18T20:36:00.000-05:00

Our natural inclination is to mix color on the palette or, easier yet, use premixed color straight from the tube. Color is certainly more predictable that way. But the beauty of watercolor— luminosity, is best revealed when color is mixed on the paper. This is where watercolor quite literally shines! The transparent nature of watercolor allows light to pass through and bounce off the white of the paper. This is not a medium for the heavy handed. Those loose, delicate washes of color appear effortless, yet they require much of the artist wielding the brush. Watercolor practice will develop patience and the ability to focus. It will fine-tune all of your senses. And, it can show us how to live wide awake and paint with that vivid awareness. There probably will be moments of discouragement, but don't fret! The mingling of water, pigment and artist on the paper is a truly sublime experience that makes any momentary discouragement pale by comparison. Set aside desires for predictable outcomes and formulas to get them. Watercolor, like life, is full of surprises. It is the unexpected that makes it so endlessly captivating. Though modern pigments are crafted for longevity, the luminosity they impart has a decidedly ephemeral feel. I love that we mix earth and water as we paint and express what is most important to us. If you pause to contemplate the life of the colors on your palette, you see that you hold the whole universe on your brush.

When you made the chart of your primary colors, you learned how to deepen a color by glazing, or layering one stroke of color over another. The palette chart documented your pigments showing their hue, transparency and staining qualities. Now we'll use the same glazing technique to create new colors. Lay down a good sized stroke of each primary color.

We're going to mix secondary colors— orange, green, purple— by glazing with your three primaries. Are those strokes dry yet? Check with the back of your fingers. (The oil from the skin on your fingertips can transfer to your paper and create paint-resistant spots, so use the back of your fingers.) Now, paint a stroke of yellow over half of the dry red stroke. Where the two colors layer over one and other, you should see a nice glowing orange. Next, paint a stroke of blue over part of your yellow swatch. You should see green where they overlap. And last, paint a stroke of red over part of your blue swatch. Voilá! Purple!

Glazing is one of the most important watercolor techniques you can develop. It's key to building luminosity and depth. Of course you can also mix the secondary colors right on your palette— red + yellow for orange, yellow + blue for green and blue + red for purple. Mix the secondaries and then paint swatches of them on your paper to compare with your glazed secondaries. How do they look? The glazed secondaries should have a unique glow as one color shines through the other. Mixed colors have a more solid appearance depending on the ratio of water used.

You may have noticed new hues appearing on your palette as pigments dripped and bled and mingled creating whole arrays of colors. Let's do this on watercolor paper. This time lay down strokes of clear water and drop brush loads of primary colors into the watery strokes. Let red and yellow mingle, red and blue, and yellow and blue. The water and pigment move by themselves, attracting and repelling depending on the characteristics of each pigment. If you get antsy, you can help them along by tilting the paper, adding more pigment or water, or by removing water or pigment with a thirsty, dry brush. You have just experimented with the wet-in-wet technique. It's a beautiful, loosely controlled technique that can loosen one's penchant for studiously building form. And did I say how deliciously fun it is!? Notice the glowing quality of these orange, purple and green colors that appears almost magically, when we pause and allow the colors to mingle.

So there you have a few ways to experiment with color mixing. Are you going to try them out with a little painting? How will you use the natural luminosity of watercolor to express what's important to you?

Just As It Is

2009-10-08T09:07:00.026-05:00

The creative process, like a spiritual journey, is intuitive, non-linear, and experiential. It points us towards our essential nature, which is a reflection of the boundless creativity of the universe.

—John Daido Loori
The Zen of Creativity
Cultivating Your Artistic Life

I'm saddened to hear of John Daido Loori's imminent passing. As a photographer and American Zen Master, Daido Loori erased boundaries between art and life itself. His Art In Nature series are some of my favorite pieces. At first glance his work appears to be abstraction. It is not. He photographed nature just as it is.

Deep bows, Mr. Loori. You will be missed.

Thoughts Come & Go

2009-10-03T15:52:00.054-05:00

I participate in a Buddhist study group that meets monthly. The group has gone through several metamorphoses over the years, including new faces and new formats. It seems to be in stage of quickening. With a core of people who have attended regularly for some time now, a bond has grown out of the nurture and support we find together. It's a gratifying experience to grow together in spiritual study and practice, and especially so when disagreements arise and are embraced with such patience and care. I have been on the receiving end of that patience and care more often than not, and I can only pray for the capacity to give that gift back to the world.

Recently my turn came to guide our discussion. For most of the week I struggled to find something, some engaging topic to share, feeling pretty inadequate in the midst of these accomplished, articulate people. I pulled stacks of Buddhist books from the shelves, flipping through their pages, hoping to find a word or phrase or topic that would inspire. Piles of books full of rich, scholarly commentaries and nothing stood out to me! In mounting tension and desperation, I dropped my quest for a topic and immersed myself in a painting. Aah! Sweet respite!

Actually, I started and finished this painting many years ago. It was exhibited locally and even received an award. But the painting always bugged me; it never really felt complete. I had been reading about meditation, about the state of concentration called samadhi, and that's when this painting was born in my bewildered mind. I imagined my mind as sharp and clear and cool, hence the crispness of the still life, with it's icy blue and white. If you look closely though, you can see variation in the blue tones— some are warm and some are cool. This contrast gives depth and dimension to the sense of temperature. The harsh contrast of cool white light with the warmer shadows also contributes to the chill aloofness of the painting. For information about purchasing this painting or giclée prints click here.

I have a tendency to throw myself completely, to the exclusion of all else, into whatever I'm doing at any given time. So when I encountered zen practice my life came to a standstill. I stopped painting. I had been increasingly uncomfortable with the watercolor milieu, with it's competitions, egos and painting for shows, and unable to see and feel the great hearts surrounding me at the time. So off I went. Nothin' but zen. My new zen acquaintances stared blankly back at me whenever I mentioned anything about art making, as though they had never heard of such a thing and didn't really care to either. But I have digressed.

All those books I pulled from the shelves in search of a discussion topic and none of them spoke to me! But the painting I pulled out to assuage my worries about having nothing to share, did speak to me. A vision of a bright orange butterfly had been appearing in my cool aloof painting for several weeks. And so that's what I did. I put away the books and painted the butterfly. I imagined the cool vajra mind transformed by the fragile lightness and warmth of this butterfly. Small as it is in the expanse of icy blues, the warmth it embodies is a personal reminder of patience, compassion and joy. All it takes is one tiny movement of the mind and the balance shifts, the whole picture changes.

When I came to the study group I felt relief— I had let go of my striving for a topic and brought just myself and my meditation practice. I came with a bell and one simple intention— to sit still, looking directly at the mind. I read a few instructions from a mahamudra meditation manual and we sat together. Meditating on thoughts may sound crazy, but just try it. Can you see a thought? What color is it? What shape? Is this a thought? Who is that voice in there? Does it have a sound? When we discussed our meditation experiences my relief deepened, seeing the kindness and patience of them all, as they received my earnest and at times overbearing beginner mind.

When It Comes To Watercolor— Less Is More

2009-09-24T17:44:00.048-05:00

You've heard the adage less is more. Well, I do like this one! If you've been painting a while, you know how tempting all those little tubes of paint can be. They fit so perfectly in the hand, come packaged so neatly in those sweet little boxes— and the contents, oh so brilliant! Color is mesmerizing. It's easy to spend hours (not to mention dollars) pouring over color swatches in art material catalogs. But stop! Listen up now. Less really is more. For beginners in watercolor, the concept of less is more pays huge dividends down the road. Working with a limited palette is not only economical, it affords you the opportunity to learn much more about color and the essence of watercolor painting— transparency. Luscious layers of glowing color!

Starting with a palette of primary colors— red, yellow and blue— you'll soon see that these three little colors are capable of producing an infinite variety of hues. Here are some primaries from my palette. If you read my materials list from an earlier post, I suggest using a split primary palette— two reds, two yellows and two blues. These three extra primary colors will add another dimension to your palette. One set of primary colors is considered warm, and one set is considered cool. Warm and cool colors are not easy to discern and are somewhat subjective, never the less I recommend giving it some attention from the very beginning of your painting practice. For now simply notice color in your world. Is it warm or cool? You are beginning to develop your senses, the most valuable tool in your box, and it's free!

No matter how many colors in your paint box, you may find it helpful to chart your palette. Developing a chart of the colors on your palette will help you understand some unique characteristics of your pigments. Do they stain the paper or do they just sit on top? Are they transparent or opaque? While learning the quirks and personalities of each pigment on your palette, you’ll create helpful reference material for future artwork. Layering two simple strokes one crossing over the other, you learn about the transparency or opaqueness of your pigments. (Remember to let the first stroke dry before you add your cross stroke.) You can learn something about the staining quality of your pigments by gently rubbing the dry paint on the paper with a damp sponge, or simply applying a brush stroke of clean water to a dry painted area and blotting up the water and loosened pigment with a paper towel. In watercolor parlance, this is called lifting. I love this effect! You'll find some of your pigments lift from the paper easily, while others stain and no amount of scrubbing will remove the color, short of making a hole in the paper. So, unless you like holes in your paintings, be gentle!

Oh, and remember to note on your chart the name of each color and the brand of paint you are using. You'll be glad to have this information later, when you slip off the less-is-more wagon, or you simply run out of paint and need to buy more pigment.

Okay. The chart is done. You've learned some basic information about each of your pigments, and also about your paper and brush. I think it's time to paint something! Don't you? Pick a simple object to paint keeping in mind what you have learned about how layers of paint deepen the color. How about painting lunch?

Getting Started In Watercolor

2009-09-21T12:19:00.040-05:00

Here is a list of basic materials to get you started in watercolor. Art materials are expensive. No doubt about it. So, I'm suggesting some good quality materials that are less expensive than most. You may substitute materials of your own choosing, though it will be helpful down the road to maintain the split palette of primary colors— 3 cool primary colors and 3 warm primary colors. It's amazing how much fun you can have with just three colors— red, yellow and blue!

You'll notice the first thing on my list of materials is space. It is essential for beginner painters to have dedicated space to work in. Create a work space that is yours and yours alone! It can be as simple as a card table in a corner of your kitchen, as long as that space remains dedicated to painting and you can leave your projects there without losing track of them.

Take care of your brushes, paints and other materials as though they were your own eyes. Periodically wash your brushes in warm, soapy water, clean your palette with a damp sponge, wipe the lip of each tube of paint before capping it. Pay attention to how you handle and store your materials. It can't hurt to give thanks for all living beings— earth, human, animal— who have brought these art materials into your life.

Materials List

Space— Create a space for yourself that is dedicated to painting

Pigments— Van Gogh Watercolors 10 ml tubes
    Reds: (cool) Quinacridone Red and (warm) Permanent Red Lite
    Yellows: (cool) Permanent Lemon Yellow and (warm) Gamboge
    Blues: (cool) Cobalt Blue and (warm) Phthalo Blue

Palette— Cheap Joe’s Original Palette
(12-1/2" x 9-1/2" with 17 color wells & lid)

Brushes— Cheap Joe’s Starving Artist Brushes
    Flats: 1" and 1/2"
    Rounds: #6, #8 and #12

Paper— Winsor & Newton Watercolor Paper
    5 sheet pack of 140# Cold Press 22" x 30"

Paper Support— Gator Board- 16" x 23"

Miscellaneous—
    Magic Rub eraser                                         sketch book
    pencils- 2B                                                     natural sponge
    water container (ice cream bucket?)        hair dryer
    spray bottle                                                    masking tape
    paper towels & Kleenex                             ruler
    black permanent waterproof marker       old toothbrush

Suppliers—
    Cheap Joe’s Art Stuff 1-800-227-2788 or www.cheapjoes.com
Art Materials Inc. 612-872-8088
    Daniel Smith 1-800-426-6740 or www.danielsmith.com
    Dick Blick 612-593-5588
    Penco 612-333-3330
    Wet Paint 651-689-6431

Playing With Color

2009-09-15T19:47:00.005-05:00

There's a reason I paint— words do not come easily. And words are much more ambiguous than images. I much prefer the stillness of the crows and cicada in the yard today. Never the less, in the next few weeks I'll be writing some simple tips and exercises for beginning watercolor artists. There's an artist in all of us. Finding him/her can be as simple as quieting down and listening. Give yourself five minutes to just sit still and focus on your breath and see what happens.

I'm playing with color again. With this new painting, I'm pushing the local color of the image out of it's conventional boundaries. We're all affected by color and often in ways we're not aware of. Our consumer-driven culture is ablaze with flashing color, much of it unnatural on tv screens and computer monitors, and quite over-stimulating. Is it any wonder we're so stressed out? Warm colors in the red spectrum are known to excite the appetite. (I've painted my kitchen a soothing, appetite-discouraging, blue-gray.) Our perceptions of color are often muddied by emotional response beyond initial perception. For painting though, conjuring an emotional response to your subject matter can bring it to life. Imagine the taste of a color, the sound, the smell, the texture. We each perceive colors in our own unique way and try as we might, we can never truly share that experience with anyone else. We can paint with intention though and in so doing energize our whole life.

During the beginning years of my zen practice, color was a problem for me. Actually, it was one of many problems. I encountered zen at the confluence of several difficult life circumstances— hence the perfect storm. At first glance, the zen center appears to be a colorless place. White walls, black calligraphy, priest robes of black or brown, novice robes of gray. There was even a dress code for student practitioners— gray or other neutral colors only, please. Color was considered a distraction. Okay. Out with the color and in with gray! "I can do this," I thought, while nursing a healthy dose of skepticism. It felt so unnatural to shut out color! When one of the zen students purposely wore brightly colored t-shirts, I began to feel like a color addict greedily drinking in the color and secretly reveling in his rebellion. His shirts were like a siren in the stillness of that environment.

We take color for granted hardly noticing the depth and breadth of energy it exudes until it's excluded from our lives. I admit that after several years of zen practice, I felt great peace and ease in those gray surroundings. When you let go of attachments to color, to the emotional response, you may discover new freedom and spaciousness in your life. Living and acting from the neutrality of gray, the vividness of my whole life is magnified and colorful takes on new meaning.

I did leave my mark on the zen center by the way. I painted one kitchen wall red... But that's another story.

A Little Support & Encouragement

2009-08-27T09:27:00.045-05:00

Wednesday Morning Watercolor

A confident painter understands the personality of each pigment, paper and brush. In this class we'll focus on the essential characteristics of watercolor materials and techniques to build a strong foundation of skills and encourage your personal styles to flourish. Emphasis is on individual instruction for each watercolor artist. Beginners to seasoned painters are welcome.

Starting September 9 • 9:30 am to noon

8 weeks $240 • Single Classes $35

Sept 9, 23 • Oct 7, 21 • Nov 4, 18 • Dec 2, 16

To Register call 763-315-3001

The Studio at Rush Creek in Maple Grove

Artist/Instructor, Kristine Fretheim

www.kristinefretheim.com

Complementary Colors and those Pesky Buddhist Dualities

2009-08-24T08:56:00.012-05:00

It's been a glorious summer in Minnesota— cool and green and lush. Our August is usually dry and miserably hot. The mallards stay down by the lake now. My fox visited yesterday dressed in bright red-orange shimmering against the greens of the lawn as only complementary colors can do. Such a delicate little thing she is! Two summers ago I chased her away, afraid Patchy the cat, in her elderly, weakened state, might be on the breakfast menu. Picture this crazed woman running through backyards in her pajamas shouting and clapping her hands as a fox dances just out of reach. Patchy has passed away now and though I miss her, I'm thrilled to see the fox has survived another winter.

I spent this summer working on smaller paintings after completing another large piece in the Hen & Chicks Series. In June I visited the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. and also stopped in Old Town Alexandria at the Torpedo Factory, a renovation filled with artist studios where I met artist Anna Shakeeva. I'm inspired by her imaginative, fantasy style of painting and her rich visual vocabulary.

Since my little red fox brought up the subject of complementary colors, I've been pondering oppositional relationships of all kinds. Opposite means positioned on the other side of something; facing something, especially something of the same type; being the other of a contrasted pair. Complementary colors are opposite each other on a color wheel. First we have the primaries: red, yellow and blue. Then we have the secondaries or complements of each primary color: green, purple and orange.

Arranged on a standard academic color wheel, red is opposite green, blue is opposite orange and yellow is opposite purple. To find the complement or opposite of red, you mix yellow and blue creating green; for the complement of yellow you mix red and blue creating purple; and orange, the complement of blue, is found by mixing red and yellow. You can create an infinite number of colors this way depending on which color dominates the mix. Pretty exciting! Huh? Endless hours of fun and exploration.

Our life seems to be built upon opposites or in Zen student parlance— dualities, the eight worldly dharmas of gain and loss, fame and disgrace, praise and blame, pleasure and pain. Short and tall, literal and figurative, subject and object, self and other. The list could go on forever. What is the complement or opposite of a self? It must be the other. Complementary is defined as completing; combining in such a way as to enhance or emphasize each other's qualities. Duality is defined as contrast between two of something. Two complementary colors enhance one and other; each makes the other appear brighter. I'm wondering what happens when we view the opposites or dualities in our lives this way. How do self and other enhance or emphasize each other's qualities? Our idea of short is dependent on our idea of tall. Short cannot be known without tall to complement it. Does it follow that our ideas of self are dependent on our ideas about others? Colorist, Joseph Albers, demonstrated the relativity of color— how colors are perceived depending on the color of their surroundings. A color doesn't actually change, but is perceived as a new color when viewed opposite other colors. So how do two colorful selves juxtaposed in our day-to-day lives, complete, enhance and emphasize each other's qualities? In this me-first culture, I think it's worth a look.

While I'm saddened by the degenerate healthcare reform discourse portrayed in the news lately, I'm grateful that all views can be heard. Vile and ludicrous claims of Nazism and death panels, shocking as they are, cause us to look hard at how we relate to one and other. The complement to such fear-mongering is the inner voice that calls us to listen to the higher angels of our hearts. The call is to drop our self-absorption, open our hearts, and protect and care for each other. When we cherish the other, the self is transformed. That's how complements work. They make each other brighter.

Duck Tonglen

2009-04-19T11:37:00.023-05:00

Mr. & Mrs. Mallard are back from their winter vacation. This year though, the Mrs. came home with an injured leg. She hobbles along, trying to walk, falling over again and again as the injured leg collapses under her weight. It's heart-wrenching to watch her awkwardly dragging herself along the ground eating the seeds that have fallen from the feeder. Mr. Mallard hovers around her with a sweet, worried vigilance. He leaves her side only to chase off aggressive suitors trying to win the affections of his life-long mate. I've gone into worry-hyper-drive. How will she survive? How will she lead her ducklings to water? And so for almost two weeks my husband and I have fed them, watching with cheering hearts and wonder as she made her way.

Some of you may not of heard of Tonglen. I guess you could describe it as a cheering heart. It's a Buddhist meditation practice also known as "sending and receiving" that focuses on the breath and awakening compassion. Simply put, we breath in the suffering we see around us, and breath out our own peace, joy, well-being to those who are suffering. As a meditation practice we do this consciously, with vivid awareness. We all have a natural capacity for this cheering heart that stirs whenever we encounter pain and suffering. Given a chance, the inner alchemy of Tonglen practice can profoundly affect our lives.

Imagine applying Tonglen to your painting practice. How many dimensions could be affected? Are you one of those painters who is filled with fear and self criticism? With Tonglen we breath in fear and self criticism felt the world over by artists just like yourself. And then we exhale, sending joy, peace and confidence to them. We take in all of their suffering, and we send out all of the happiness we can imagine to the artists of the world. It may sound a bit cock-eyed. Trust the inner alchemy. See what happens when you sit down to paint.

These past two days have me dancing with excitement— Mrs. Mallard can walk again! She can stand on both legs without falling. There is new strength in her gait. And there's an inner renewal for me as well— to remember to exhale...

Preparing The Ground

2009-03-17T06:24:00.014-05:00

Spring is here and she certainly takes her own sweet time! I am restless with anticipation to dig around in the garden beds, clearing away debris so new plants can sprout and flourish. It's much the same in the art studio— too much debris cluttering the space impedes the growth of new work. Between paintings I clean brushes in soap and warm water, sponge off my palette, sort and file reference materials and plan the next composition.

I especially like the process of preparing watercolor paper for painting. It has taken on an almost sacred dimension in my painting process. These silent preparations are the ground of new work and like tender sprouting buds in the garden, I handle the paper with gratitude, a certain reverence and attention. I soak the paper in luke warm water for ten to twenty minutes. While the paper is soaking I wash and dry a good sized table to work on. Ding! I like to use a timer because it also reminds me to wake up, breath and be here. I stretch the paper on clean gator board moving quickly around the edges to the rhythmic clack of a stapler. And then I just let the paper be. It rests, horizontally flat, drying and shrinking taut against the stapled edge. A clean slate. Blissfully clear of concept, it's white expanse is full of potential. This is our life. This is the space between breaths.

Calming the neurotic chatter of the mind allows our artistic vision to break through. Something as simple as a few moments of stillness can reconnect body and mind. Handling tools with attention and care leaves no room for chatter to cloud expression on the paper or canvas.