daily art

Through this blog, I will post one piece of artwork each day.

Last night I stayed up late painting for the first time in years. It seems inspiration has struck again. I'm grateful that it came now, with winter staring me in the face. I'm already mourning my early morning walks through the neighborhoods of East Falls. I miss going to Wissahickon Park and sitting on the rocks there, listening to the river run past me. I miss holding an ice cream cone that melts. My ice cream is now so well behaved...

There was a time, years ago, when I stayed up late painting nearly every night for about a span of 4 months or so. I would lose myself in my art, time would fly, and going to bed was the ultimate torture I fought as a child - I would beg to stay up just one more hour. During those times of artistic inspiration in 2001-2002, when I did finally put myself to bed I would lay there in a state of pleasurable exhaustion. All was right with the world.

Heather, a radiant friend I met in college, saw my paintings and liked them. She spoke with one of her friends who owned a gallery, and, before I knew it, I had my first solo art show. I called it "Soul Toward the Sun" since images of the sun came through in so much of my work. The exhibit ran from March 5-April 5, 2002. Things with my artwork began to flow - I was accepted into my first juried exhibition at the Banana Factory. It was called "Music Through Art" and ran July5 through September 7, 2002. I began to sell some work, and opportunities began to fall in my lap as they always do when I am in the flow and feeling good.

After joining the Lehigh Valley Art Alliance, one of my multi-media works was accepted into their annual spring juried show. It was then that I got spooked. I stopped painting almost immediately. Was everyone laughing at my stuff? Was it ridiculous and infantile? All of these other artists seemed to have a lot of training, and I hadn't taken an art class since 8th grade. My multi media work in the Art Alliance show had glitter on it. It looked silly to me perched on the wall of the Allentown Art museum next to the realistic painting of the ballerina hanging next to it.

In high school, I avoided art because I thought it meant being able to draw an apple that looked like an apple, and I knew I couldn't do that. My apples always turned out to look like malformed oranges with an odd stem. Why is there an apple stem on that orange? I had no interest in trying to paint exactly what I see, and I still don't. Perhaps the thing that bothered me most though, was the cheeriness of my artwork. It can't help but broadcast the fact that I'm a born optimist. My artwork nearly always comes out bright and colorful and full of hope. It isn't hard to look at. It isn't edgy. It isn't depressing or sad. There is nothing gruesome or harsh about my work. It often feels embarrassing to be full of joy in a world that glorifies the idea of the starving, tortured artist. I am not...that.

The good news is that for years, I let this insecurity stop me from creating. I knew I would paint again, but it would have to be when I stopped caring what other people thought about what I was creating. Finally that time has come. I AM a starving, tortured artist - when I'm not creating. When I'm creating, I'm a fulfilled and happy artist who sleeps well. One piece of art every day. Here goes...