Wednesday, January 21, 2015

hello, yoga

Simple Lotus Mandala by Dawn Zichko
The practice of asanas is like an old friend. We don't squabble or whine. We simply lose touch. Or rather, I do. I've written a few times here about my practice and what it does for me so I won't revisit that. However, as I was getting out of my head and moving my body, I got to thinking (despite the intention not to) the few wagons I'm getting back on to. Daily sitting meditation is one. Ten minutes makes it an easy commitment ~ especially when only one foot is on that proverbial wagon wheel. And when I rise from that ten-minute energetic Chill Zone, one that soothes an aura and uneasy brow, it is a marvel (every time) to feel so knitted together. As I pick up the threads of lost relations with yoga asanas, I am knitted together, but in a different way and, again, it is amazing to feel cells so happy they are singing. Why do I forget? No idea. It's a Human thing and a First World Problem.

It's been said asanas were practiced by yogis in preparation for sitting in long periods of meditation. Change "meditation" to sitting at the computer or spinning/knitting wool or napping to afternoon TV (hey, it's still winter here) and asanas find their fine use in the Everyday. These are activities that nourish a soul and feed a body ~ a fine ride to be on. Pony up.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

"love is the ultimate goal"

Standing in awe . . .
The title is a quote from Orly Avineri as featured in Erin Faith Allen's film series Artmaker Soulshaker. It is rare for me to be so moved by thirteen minutes of audiovisual, so moved it causes me to create with tears and smiles. Yes. I want to copy what Orly does, but I can't really because I'm not Orly. I'm me. It's easy to think that by adding bones and black paint to an image it becomes Dark or, perhaps better words, powerful, visceral. What is powerful and visceral to Orly might not be the same to me or you or anyone else. My cells drink in black paint, its depth and emptiness, but in a different way from anyone else. That interaction with this color and medium is mine and mine alone. While I enjoy a well-turned femur as much as the next artist, what really spins the gears is drawing my left hand. It is a miracle, this tool of the human body, how it moves and holds and caresses, creates and destroys. There's bones in there too, by golly, so I guess that counts.

The thing is to spend enough time with one's self to discover what makes that viscera dance. What catches you? What pulls at the strands of your hair demanding attention? Can you stand in that moment, be in awe, be amazed? Can you create from that?

And, yes, love is the ultimate goal.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

let the art lead

I'm not resolute about much ~ so no resolutions and even fewer plans. String my days together like pearls on silk. Anyway, one thing I am keeping in place is the discipline of Art. Sketch while waiting for service (there are now several salt shaker and utensil pen sketches in my traveling Moleskine). Sketch while waiting in waiting rooms (and again, there are many sketches of my feet shod or unshod depending on the season). Do something ~ paint, collage, write, sketch, keep a memory or two, add ephemera ~ in the mega-journal hand bound two years ago. (Note to self: Don't make a journal that big again. Ever.) There are many days I approach the journal pages with a basic plan of forming some kind of background either with paint or montage or ink sprays or texture, layer upon layer, letting it build and take form. Or not. Depends what's happening. Today, felt like a collage with random elements and paint. So I let it lead the painted Way. The image below is as far as I've gotten this fine Sunday with football running on the TV in the next room and a daughter at the table behind me. We are each in our little Art Zones. Our holy moments stolen. As always, more will be added later ~ today or during the week. Only time will tell.

Art on a Sunday . . .