The Gray Area Project

After spending about a year in the new studio wasting way too much paint, paper, canvas, graphite, wire, and wax, I realize, that at least my time was not wasted. My time, as frustrating as it was, was spent thinking about what it was I wanted to say. Every mark or action felt like a false start, or just destined to fail before it was complete. My working ethic became my first goal. I just needed to finish something. And I needed the curiosity a new medium encourages. I always said, "wouldn't rule out the possibility I'm working in the wrong media." Actually, I just needed to come out with the fact that I like to work in many different media. And that's OK, now.

The Grey Area Project came to me when I realized I was no longer embarrassed by my past. In fact it actually became an (almost)  humorous source of inspiration. The more time I spent in the studio, the more self aware I became. The more the other me, the public me, stayed in the house, when I went out to the studio. The me before I was married, or university, or Prescott, or Flagstaff, was the one I was after. That person was OK. I wasn't special by any means. Although secretly I thought the opposite. 

"Brief Moments of Cleanliness" paper, burlap, cheesecloth, rags, twine, gas tank pipe and nail
This was my first idea based work. It felt like the same process as painting, but more exciting. It started with the white (world) paper topography.  Each dirty rag is sewn in ordered rows, and the result of something cleaned. Each rag was cleaned in black water. The pipe brings the body into it. I could go on about the why of every element. But, I won't. What's important is that I know why. That was an extremely important milestone for me.

This burned oak leaf (?) arrived in my back yard, in Flagstaff, from the Oak Creek Canyon Slide Fire, 25 miles away. I keep it on a shelf at home just as it's pictured. It's fragile, yet I just keep it there, assuming its safety.

Breathe

encaustic on birch panel

Artists are poets who can't write