Today, this weekend, is Somerville, MA Open Studios. I used to be a part of that when I lived in Cambridge and had space in Somerville. I both miss Open Studio weekends and not -- it’s a LOT of work to get your studio cleaned and set up all shop pretty.
Here’s what I really miss though -- having a high ceilinged, fairly capacious place that's OK to get dirty.
Before The Amazing Bob™ and I moved in together, I had a two room apartment -- kitchen/dining room and another space served as my studio and bedroom. This was taken up by two easels, my table full of brushes, paints and potions, a rack full of canvases -- bed stuck in the corner. I worked in clay at a group space across town.
Bob changed how I exist with my art. He humanized me. Instead of rolling out of bed, putting on the coffee and picking up my brushes (all before leaving for the day job at 6 AM), I’d go for a walk, have a bleary, half asleep conversation with him, play with our cat(s) and paint, in a separate room, later in the day.
When the hearing went south, so did my ability to paint -- that is, I wasn’t putting anything which appealed to me on canvas so I stopped putting anything there entirely.
Two things which may have fed my block:
1) I ran out of good models. It’s a lot harder to get talented, appropriate model types to drop trou than you’d think. Especially when you can only pay them in beer and/or martinis.
2) I found that my painting suffered intensely without music. That is, I always had music on while I painted -- in fact, each stage was more or less choreographed, synced to the type of music playing. I.e.:
A) Building the frame and stretching the canvas -- something complex yet relatively peaceful such as David Byrne’s The Forest, Copeland’s Fanfare for the Common Man or early solo Paul Simon -- something off Still Crazy After All These Years fer instance
B) Priming the canvas/laying down the gesso -- something raucous like Pearl Jam, Beastie Boys or Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.
C) The base -- the drawing and first layer of color: This required calmer pieces. Maybe a bit of Leo Kotke or a Bach Fugue.
D) The volume was ratcheted back up times ten when I got to the mid layers. Jeff Beck -- Truth or Guitar Workshop, NIN -- The Downward Spiral, Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. II.
E) The final, finishing stages of a painting were back to calm. Debussy, Ravel and Eno’s environmental ambient stuff got a lot of play.
I tried to paint without music, I really tried, but got so sick of looking at the mediocre dross and flotsam that I stopped completely. Things change though. Life is always and forever changing. I’m at the point where NOT painting is no longer an option. I just absolutely NEED to get beyond this painting block and go full metal 2 D once again.
Painting is necessary. I breathe -- I paint.
I’ve had a lot of ideas over these half dozen or so deaf years and it’s ten past time to give birth (ewwwww, gross imagery in my head now!).
My studio is set up in the basement of our house -- not a welcoming, windowed, bright place. It’s time to clean it out/toss tons, paint it all white, put in better lighting and get The Beastie Boys and The Kodo Drummers of Japan on the boom box. Music I can feel.
The work will be different from when I had hearing but different doesn’t have to equal bad. This new, different voyage will be interesting. I’m psyched to see my destinations and discoveries.
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