claiming the life of an artist…

A008squid

Never have I felt connected to the title “artist” or used it as a way to describe me.

I have been known to make stuff.

I have made an series of 64 collage cards with poetry for each one, this was first begun twelve years ago (they await a complete re-design in form, size and maybe even words.)  This card collection has been known as The Other Shore.

I have made mandalas, hundreds of them, with watercolor pencils and metallic gel pens. They came from meditative practices learned long ago. I don’t call the mandalas art, but rather a high form of doodling. I mostly love the process of the mandala-making with no real attachment to the result.

I have made photographs, also hundreds of them, now thirty years past.  After at least seven years of being buried in boxes in a niche under my stairs, the photographs are scattered all over the table in the living room.  I have awakened them to introduce the negatives to a new scanner that  is supposed to bring them to life in the digital world.

Re-making, re-thinking, re-vising—a RE-DO of all of it—is in the works.

Oh, and I now make blogs.  Several, in fact, for me and all the spokes in the wheel of my life.
I am consulting with other artists to give them a jump start in the blogging world.

I am emerging as artist.

(Please, forgive this boring, mundane post. This is the way things are at the moment.)

3 thoughts on “claiming the life of an artist…

  1. I sense the quiet, contemplative voice in your comments about being an artist. It’s who you are. It’s in every fiber of your being. It’s in every breath you take. Bravo! I will return to read more. I like what you write.

  2. I know an artist who suffered with breast cancer and its afteraffects. She did fabulous painted mandalas to help with her healing. I truly believe art heals.

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