People viewing artwork connect according to their own personal symbolism and experience. When I’ve had more than one person tell me how something I’ve done affects them, even for different reasons, it excites me and I feel like I’ve captured something special. Oddly enough, they frequently notice things I didn’t.
As for writing, much begins solely for me. Sometimes it morphs out of its cocoon and into a butterfly I’m willing to share; more frequently it remains private. But having someone respond to an essay ... wow. I made someone laugh with me. Or cry. Or think. Or they touched me back and made me feel less alone. It’s powerful. I need that commentary, too, and each time I receive a response I even feel more legitimized in what I write just for myself.
My artwork is creeping a bit closer to that point of satisfaction. I took a huge step outside my comfort zone last year and posted progress pictures on Facebook of a painting I was doing on a three-week deadline. Allowing friends see all the agonizingly awkward stages and the days that were temporarily falling short of what I was aiming for was a daring, but successful adventure.
The art and writing programs occasionally overlap. The artists have been encouraged to write about their work. Some of the poets and authors have spread their wings and joined the painters and sculptors. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
The art facilitator phoned me last autumn and asked if I would be willing to speak to a small gathering at the art gallery about what this journey has meant to me. I agreed, because I’d do anything to promote this program and keep it going for others to experience. She also asked me for a quote about what the process of painting is like for me. I had just been working on a commissioned canvas; I was balancing a wet paintbrush in one hand and my fingers were splattered with paint. When the phone rang I had been deep in that zone I retreat to while painting and trying to capture that into a coherent sentence before it evaporated made me laugh. I was at a complete loss for words and ended up telling her, "If you could see me right now, you’d understand."
I ended up telling her that when I am painting very little outside of the canvas and my hands exists for me. Everything else is blocked out. In some sense it is meditative — a form of escapism, creating and recreating my own life.
I have a painting I want to do just for myself that is very symbolic, but I’ve been putting it off. I think the person who asked me about being "legitimized only for your own satisfaction" pinpointed why, in part, I have been dancing wide circles around it. It’s time to acknowledge that I shouldn’t be looking for validation from anyone else on this one ... it’s mine ... I 'own' the inspiration. No one can judge whether it’s right or wrong, good or bad, because it will be exactly right for me.
Perhaps all creative painting and writing should be approached that way. Unless I’m getting paid to do something specific, then it should originate purely from the heart and spirit.
©2011 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com. Paintings copyrighted by Roberta McReynolds.
*Editor's Note: Lifelong Pursuits.
Allure by Joan L. Cannon
Rickrack Chronicles by Liz Flaherty
Musing on the Triple Crown by Joan L. Cannon
Defining a Birder by Mary Ann Sternberg
An Affair With A Creative Passion by Roberta McReynolds
Paintings:
Page One: Falcon Point;
Page Two: Linda's Woods;
Page Three: Nothing Can Keep Me Down
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