Calling the cops at 4:30 a.m.

That's what I had to do this morning. There was a huge fight next door. I lost a lot of sleep and now I do not want to do much.

But artists make art, even (maybe especially) when we don't wanna.

This is often called DISCIPLINE. I hate that word. It's a trip to the principal's office. It means running laps, driving yourself hard, everything soul-sucking and miserable about working. Also I've never been able to maintain it for more than a few days.

Then I would feel like a failure.

Yet here I am, working on Queen Ruby when I don't feel like it. If this isn't discipline, what is it?

I'm calling it MOTIVATION. When I thought I needed discipline, the underlying feeling was, "I suck. I have to work harder and be better because I'm lazy."

Motivation is deciding I'm good, that I deserve to have the life I want, that I'm worth my own effort. It is one big decision followed by thousands of smaller ones, from "Do I bother entering this show?" to "Do I take the trash out before it gets rancid?" And since I deserve to have my work get seen, and to live in a place that smells nice, I do both those things. I'm no longer "lazy." Maybe I never was.

Morning Coffee, Goldfish, & a Friend

Creative people stick together a lot.

Years ago, a guy I was dating asked me why that was. Why, he wanted to know, did artists "hang out with other artists who also don't live in the real world?"

That moment was the first time I ever bluntly told someone to f*** off. But once I was done telling him what he could do with that notion that there is a "real world" and that I didn't live there, I answered the other part of that question.

First, it isn't because (as my ex assumed) we don't value the opinions of people who are educated in things other than art. That's most of our audience and market! We want to hear from them.

But they can only tell us so much. If I take my car to the mechanic, I can tell him it isn't running right, that it's making a weird noise, but I might not have the faintest clue what the problem really is.

An average person might see a painting of mine and know that something looks weird. Another artist could immediately say, "Oh, you've got the proportions wrong on the upper arms," or, "The shadow on the face doesn't match the one on the body, so your directional lighting is borked." (We artistes use lots of highbrow technical jargon such as "borked"). Another artist can also tell you what's right, and that it's done, stop messing with it before you kill it dead.

The photo above was taken a few hours ago at breakfast with one of my artist friends. We were both out of half & half for our coffee this morning, we both needed to clarify our plans about upcoming projects, and I had new goldfish art and wanted to know if it looked good to someone other than me.

So we get each other out of the house on days like these. We critique and challenge each other, keep each other focused, and often spark new ideas for each other. I don't think this is at all unique to people in creative fields -- maybe because there are few fields that don't actually need creativity. This is why we have mastermind groups, and Facebook groups, and professional associations.

It's easy to fall into being more or less a hermit, when you work on your own most of the time. It's just not a whole lot of fun for most of us to live and work that way.

Fear is Unrelated to Ability

So I signed on to do the 30 Days of Creativity Challenge.  What you're seeing here are days 1 through 4.

 You'd think, for someone who makes art for a living, pledging to create something every day for 30 days straight would be a breeze. And you'd be mistaken. But, you say, amateurs and students have to fight with distractions, self-doubts, and fears! We struggle with the feeling that all the other times we got it right, were flukes somehow, and this time it's going to suck. 

 

 ...and that is basically what I go through almost every time I pick up a brush or even try to decide what I'm going to do next. 

 

Promising to create daily means I have to do something even (especially) when I do not wanna. And the "don't wanna" almost always turns out to be fear. Sometimes I'm just tired, but mostly, nah, fear.

So far this is what I have. Four small things, each of which was an uphill battle just to get started. Keko, the horse at top, was moving around; I'd never drawn a bird's nest, let alone in watercolor, and it was so complex and subtle; my inner censor screamed at me for the black horse silhouette because "isn't this cheesy" and all kinds of accusations; the pond edge was a complicated jumble of rocks and grass and how on earth would I make that look okay?

 Almost everything I do is that way. If you're learning any kind of creative endeavor and you think that you must not be very good or have much potential, because you still find it scary to try, just know that nope, your ability and your fear are unrelated. 

Lessons from the Christmas Pony project

First: I am loving this thing and so glad I decided to take the plunge. For those just joining us, here's the link to the Christmas Ponies -- what they are and why I'm doing them.

Me and my "Pony," Twilight, who is kind of large for a pony, but appropriately rounded. 

And since I've never done anything like this before, I am taking notes for myself for next year. Some highlights:

1. Start the project not later than Nov. 1 next year. Christmas animal portrait rush means that not everything will fit on schedule.

2. Remember that when you get inventive and do what each character seems to need? It WORKS.

3. Stock up on coffee. Very good coffee.

4. Did I mention starting early? And coffee? Coffee is vital.

So, yes -- for various reasons involving an unexpected last-minute rush of PLEASE I NEED IT FOR CHRISTMAS and a day job and a blizzard, not to mention my own need to get each portrait Really Really Right, I am behind schedule. That doesn't mean anyone gets bumped off the list. It just means I will be taking submissions next year beginning on Nov. 1 instead of Dec. 1. :-)

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying this so much that I am planning to do other series projects throughout the year. Maybe not one-a-day, since that would leave no time to create other work I need to make, but perhaps a series of ten [insert subject here] every month or two.  Goldfish, birds, trains (now that'd be fun), flowers, I don't even know yet. But I really love how many people have been following this project, talking to me, and having a good time; and I love how productive I am when all that is going on.

If you're enjoying this, then, I hope you'll stay tuned. There'll be more.

Mounds Boulevard Bridge

Mounds Boulevard Bridge, 6 x 12" oil on canvas

Today was overcast, not unpleasant though. A softly lit day and a grey curve of road that reflected the sky.

I wanted a soft, loose treatment so I painted this almost entirely with a palette knife.

Off to the Horse Show

With the new promo piece I just put together:

... and my camera, and my field kit for drawing and painting on the spot. I'll be at the Reining Futurity at the State Fairgrounds later today and much of tomorrow.

File under: Living less safely.

Done! Now I can make that BLT.

In It Together, 10 x 10" oil on canvas, $275

Apparently, as a still life painter, I'm nocturnal: this was finished around 2:45 this morning.

It has about a dozen titles. I'm only telling you one of them because I want to see what people come up with on their own for what it could mean and what might be happening in the little narrative, here. Everyone's answer will be right; that's what I love about these little paintings.

Here's where I have to credit my inspiration: this painting would never have happened if I weren't friends with Jennifer Lowery. <3

This does get my "living less safely" classification, mainly because it's never "safe" to make art. But I was also challenging myself. Those background greens and violets? All looked like mud on my palette. And I think painting deep red objects is about the trickiest thing there is. It's even harder than getting landscape-greens to work, and that's saying something. I knew that, and chose to paint tomatoes anyway.

So I'm happy. And drinking a lot of coffee.

I wanted to stay home

but I didn't.

Downhill to the River, 8 x 10" oil on canvas, $145

Day Four, outside

Cattails, 6 x 12" oil on canvas, at Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary today. $145

 This was today at Derek Davis' class. It rained on us for a while, but we were undaunted.

Making art rarely if ever feels "safe" to me. Particularly if I'm making art of a kind I don't usually make, such as a painting of reflections on water. So this was today's first challenge, and the second one will be going back out to meet Derek and the Outdoor Painters of Minnesota at Murphy's Landing (I've gotta Google it; I have no idea where this is) and go for round two.

Day Three

of my mission to Live Less Safely, i.e. outside the comfort zone. Fortunately, I can still have beer there (this is relevant; see below).

Here's where I'm going this afternoon:

Bonsai by Josephine Geiger, leaded glass. Courtesy JAGeigerstudio.com

Josie is a real friend, the kind who's willing to help figure out submission paperwork for a big commission proposal AND give me a beer so I don't melt down my brain in the process. She's done this before (successfully -- she's won bids); this will be my first go.

Wish me luck, and have a look at the awesome stained glass work.

On with the Dog & Pony Show

My works are all in progress, but I like to put nice pictures on my blog, so I'm borrowing one from my ridiculously talented friend, Kelly Williams.

Art Deco Ring by Kelly Williams. Sterling, amethyst, tourmaline, fired glass enamel. I want this. A lot.

Kelly has a newly redesigned website: KWGoldsmith.com -- full of beautiful things. Like most Serious Creative People I know, Kelly also has a great sense of humor, which is why she chose this for the portrait of her horse:

Cocoa Wants a Cookie, 9 x 6" pastel on paper

Today is Day Two of the Year of Living Less Safely, and the agenda includes: Schedule myself to attend one dog and one horse show, with sketch book, camera, iPad, and business cards on hand.

That's in addition to maybe-finishing In This Together before I go to work at three today.

My Year of Living Less-Safely

So here's where I am. In my little home studio with this still life setup, for a painting called In This Together. I'm in the process of blocking it in at the moment, and figuring out color combinations.

I'm using new-to-me pigments, new ways of thinking about and mixing my colors, new ways of thinking about my light, shadow, and focal point. This simple little painting is a challenge -- and that's exactly why I'm doing it.

Today I am 40 years old, and I have chosen this as my Year of Living Less Safely. Not dangerously, not foolishly, but less safely.

That means: Each day, a new thing I'm not entirely comfy with. That could be a piece of art -- as it is today. Or a lesson on my horse. Any number of things in this huge, wonderful world. But each day, I have promised myself I will do something that will expand my sphere, something that feels a little risky, uncertain, outside the comfort zone.

And then I'll blog it, briefly.

If you feel like joining me, I'd love to have some companionship on the ride.