It amazes me what I forgot to bring to an arts residency-- you would think things like a sketchbook and palette would be no-brainers for a painter. Equally surprising is the one item that made the trip by stowing away in a box without my being aware- Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt's OBLIQUE STRATEGIES.
For the past two mornings I have pulled a card from the top of the deck thinking that there must be some reason the STRATEGIES were welcome when a sketchbook was not.
On the first morning I had been struggling with the notion of working in the studio rather than taking the day to hike (keep in mind that all signs pointed to this being the very last sunny day of autumn). I pulled a card as I walked by the dining room table: "Go outside. Shut the door"
When great artists speak, mere artists listen.
I awoke the next day to the sound of rain on the roof. You should know that for some time I'd been mulling over the perceived difficulties of effectively beginning my work when so few of the materials I commonly used were on hand. In fact, I'd begun an inner monologue to campaign for the benefits of such a situation (after all, I've long been a proponent of artists establishing parameters, for reasons best expounded upon in the company of bourbon) but with the true beginning at hand I could feel myself faltering. I made a cup of coffee and pulled a card. "Simply a matter of work"
And so it has been. Which isn't to say that Eno and Schmidt's sagacity has spared me the difficult first steps of reacquainting myself with a creative practice that has been all but dormant for four months, but they helped open the door by pointing out that ultimately, the best step might simply be to "toujours travailler."
For the past two mornings I have pulled a card from the top of the deck thinking that there must be some reason the STRATEGIES were welcome when a sketchbook was not.
On the first morning I had been struggling with the notion of working in the studio rather than taking the day to hike (keep in mind that all signs pointed to this being the very last sunny day of autumn). I pulled a card as I walked by the dining room table: "Go outside. Shut the door"
When great artists speak, mere artists listen.
I awoke the next day to the sound of rain on the roof. You should know that for some time I'd been mulling over the perceived difficulties of effectively beginning my work when so few of the materials I commonly used were on hand. In fact, I'd begun an inner monologue to campaign for the benefits of such a situation (after all, I've long been a proponent of artists establishing parameters, for reasons best expounded upon in the company of bourbon) but with the true beginning at hand I could feel myself faltering. I made a cup of coffee and pulled a card. "Simply a matter of work"
And so it has been. Which isn't to say that Eno and Schmidt's sagacity has spared me the difficult first steps of reacquainting myself with a creative practice that has been all but dormant for four months, but they helped open the door by pointing out that ultimately, the best step might simply be to "toujours travailler."
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