Tag Archives: chalk pastels

Currents

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February 11, 2012

 

Note: I haven’t had any success taking a good photo of this drawing. I’ll likely need to buy a better lighting source at some point. Extensive Photoshopping didn’t seem to help . . .

Yesterday I really felt as though I was “in the flow” with this drawing, but it wasn’t so easy to come back to it today and pick up where I left off. One of the ways I stay fresh with process art is to pretend I have “future vision” and check in my mind’s eye to see what a drawing or painting will look like when it’s finished. Every time I checked this drawing, I saw the same shapes that I drew (finger rubbed, actually), but I saw the colors much bolder in my mind’s eye. The particular way that I did this drawing doesn’t create those kinds of bold colors—I would have had to paint them to get them that bold. So I’m thinking I’ll check in with myself tomorrow and see if this image, or a similar one, wants to be painted. No attachment, no investment. It may be that that’s not what’s alive in me tomorrow, and it’s fine if that’s the case. But if there’s more that wants out, I’ll let it out.

Soft

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February 10, 2012

I didn’t have a lot of time for art today, but it sure felt good to start this drawing. I’ve been increasingly fascinated with the experience I’m having of the physicality of process art, especially when I use chalk pastels or paint. Last night I showed yesterday’s drawing to Charlie (my husband), and I mentioned that I was really getting into the rubbing and smearing. Right as I said that, an insight came to me about what that’s about, or at least an aspect of it.

I was a highly sensitive kid who was raised in an atmosphere in which everyone was always pushing on me—to be louder, spunkier, more social, more feminine, more political—in essence, different from how I was. I was also pushed on to suppress my anger and “uppityness.” It was really unsafe to push back when people pushed on me, so my pushing-back energy went underground and mostly expressed itself as withdrawal when I was around my family. I think a lot of this rubbing and smearing thing when I do process art has to do with a somatic need to push back.

As I’m writing this, I’m remembering that I worked with a somatic therapist for a while in the late ’90s, and he had me push against walls to have an experience of something solid that wouldn’t collapse under the pressure—and to experience myself not collapsing as I applied pressure on the walls. It also reminds me of a Chinese medicine book I read a long time ago in which the author talked about the importance of there being balance between the pushing-in energy that comes at us from the outside and the pushing-out energy that represents our ability to “hold our own” in the face of that pushing-in energy. Something in me got messed up about all that when I was young. I’ve spent decades learning how to have healthy boundaries, and I think this rubbing and smearing is some of that same work, this time focused on reclaiming a somatic sense of my ability to “hold my own.”

The drawing I started today feels different from that, though. It feels like gentle caressing and comforting—something else I’m reclaiming that my body treasures as well. Never mind that it looks like a giant sperm. I’m not going to try to figure that out—at least not publicly.  :)

Smearing

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February 9, 2012

Most every time I use chalk pastels, I wonder what it is that compels me to get into rubbing and smearing so fervently. It’s such a deeply satisfying experience for me. I don’t want to get into analyzing it since that’s really not what process art is about, but I can’t help but notice how much my body wants—needs, even—to do that. Sometimes I’ll be smearing in a certain direction, and then I’ll move to another area of the drawing and start smearing in a completely different way. I was smearing diagonally for a while, then horizontally or vertically, and then I got to the bottom area of this drawing and instantly shifted to smearing and rubbing in circles. Very curious.

I continue to wonder about this thing that I think of as “somatic art.” Hunh—I just Googled that phrase, and a bunch of stuff came up. The first links are to “somatic art therapy,” and they seem worth checking out. What I’m doing is more process art than art therapy, and I don’t generally approach my art as something to analyze, but I’m certainly not going to complain if an insight comes to me or if there’s a therapeutic benefit. My body has been feeling more resilient since I’ve started this process art practice—notably fewer trips to the chiropractor, for example. I’ve blogged before about the physical aspects of process art as a form of craniosacral unwinding, and I’m interested to explore that more.

I’ve taken all three levels of professional training in Internal Family Systems (IFS), a brilliant approach to the psyche, and I use it—with powerful results—with my life coaching and wellness coaching clients. If you’re interested in reading a bit about IFS, I’ve written about it a bit on a page linked to the More Art page titled “Dreamwork with Process Art.” Here are a couple of links to success stories on my coaching website—one about weight loss and one about completing a Ph.D. dissertation. There’s also some general information on IFS on my coaching website.

A gifted IFS trainer and therapist named Susan McConnell has developed a branch of Internal Family Systems called Somatic IFS. Susan is also a Hakomi therapist and a massage therapist, and she used to be a potter. She and I are in conversation about the possibility of developing something that combines Somatic IFS and art. Meanwhile, if you’d like to read some of Susan’s writings on Somatic IFS, here’s a link to her articles on the IFS Blog.

Blurred Landscape

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February 8, 2012

Back in January, there was a big 2-for-1 sale at an art supply store near where I live. I bought a bunch of different kinds of art paper, including some pastel paper. I’ve been using chalk pastels for about 22 years, and I didn’t know until last month that there’s a special kind of paper for them. When I bought the paper, I didn’t realize the tablets were multicolored, but I decided to just go with it. I’ve been eager to try out the paper, and tonight was the night.

It certainly was a lot less messy than using regular drawing or sketch paper because the paper absorbed a lot of the chalk dust. I don’t know if I created a completely different kind of drawing than usual because of the paper or my mood or some mysterious cosmic force or what, but it’s interesting how blurred everything looks. It almost looks a bit otherworldly to me—as if I drew a landscape from a dream.

My friend Linda asked me a few days ago whether I was going to go see Noam Chomsky, who’s in town this week. She was going to yesterday’s event and said it was going to be very crowded. I said I wasn’t going, and she asked why. I said, “Because it’s going to be very crowded.” She laughed—a crowd would never deter her from going to anything—and I smiled with glee that I (finally) know how to take good care of myself. Introverts are (finally) getting some good press these days, thanks to an article in the new issue of Time magazine. (Unfortunately, you have to be a subscriber to read the whole online article. I get the print edition and liked the article.) Elaine Aron, the psychologist and researcher of the trait of high sensitivity whom I blogged about last week, has written an interesting blogpost about the Time article.

The reason I’m blogging about all this is because it’s such a joy to stay home and do process art. I asked my husband this afternoon how frequently he’d ideally want to go anywhere in the car, and he said once a week. That sounds about right to me. (We do many of our errands on foot.) Our lives are delightfully disengaged from much of the crazy culture that surrounds us, and we have some great space for doing art. When I was younger, and because of the way I was raised, I used to think I was supposed to work to counteract my introverted nature. Now I think my highest purpose is to be who I am as fully as I can be. It’s only from that place of embodying my true nature that I’ll be able to fully make the contributions I’m here to make.

Here’s a great quote about that:

“As a man’s real power grows, and his knowledge widens, ever the way he can follow grows narrower, until at last he chooses nothing, but does only and wholly what he must do.”
— Ursula LeGuin, A Wizard of Earthsea

Bold

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January 29, 2012

While I was doing this drawing, I felt really alive using such bold colors. Lately, I’ve been extra aware of the messages I got while I was growing up to tone myself down. It’s great to no longer be at the effect of anyone who thinks they have the right to tell me who I should be.

Red Wave

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January 27, 2012

I can’t believe it’s almost the end of January already. Time is whizzing by, as I’m sure everyone is noticing. I’ve been noticing that the busier I am, the faster time goes, but when I spend an entire unpressured day—doing process art, making pine needle baskets with Charlie, snuggling and watching a movie with him, or taking a long walk in nature—the day seems to stretch out and seem at least twice as long. I guess it has to do with being present. When I’m present, I notice every moment. When I’m not present, the days often go by in a blur.

Today started out as a blur and then sped up even more. I kept encountering roadblocks in a writing project, and at noon I got into one of my “nothing’s going to stop me” moods. I got really persistent in reaching a few people by phone and getting some answers I needed. Soon after, I finished the work I needed to finish today. Then I knew I’d have some time for real process art today, not micro-art, as I’ve been doing for the past two days.

I did this pastel drawing really fast. I challenged myself to be as attuned as I could possibly be to intuitive promptings so that when I felt the tiniest glimmer of an impulse to put down the dark blue and pick up the mint green, I responded—no second-guessing myself, no “just let me finish this one little area first”—but instead shifting instantly. Then I did the same with the yellow, and the purple, and the lighter blue, one after another. It felt good to really give myself over to the process of process art. I’m hoping that honing my attunement to those impulses will translate over into the rest of my life.

Softness

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January 22, 2012

I had a strange experience while creating this drawing. I kept checking in internally to see what wanted out, and in my mind’s eye I saw bold, even dark, colors. Somehow that didn’t translate onto the page. I don’t know if it’s because chalk pastels—or perhaps my habitual ways of using chalk pastels—don’t always lend themselves as easily to strong colors as tempera paints do, or whether something else was at work that was keeping things soft. It was as if my eyes wanted to see bolder colors, but my body wanted to make soft movements.

I’m feeling prompted to revisit this image and try it out with paints. I’ll wait and see if that still seems like an authentic impulse when it’s time for art tomorrow.

Surrender

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January 21, 2012

It’s such a pleasure to experience some success at getting out of my own way. Today’s process art was about tuning in to the colors my fingers wanted to touch and the movements my fingers wanted to make. My mind intervened for brief moments but then graciously conceded that it wasn’t needed.

I placed my hands on the blank paper and asked what belonged there. I got a sense of a blue wave. I drew two wavy layers. Then my fingers wanted to draw a lighter blue wave in the middle. After that, I felt an impulse to smear the colors. My mind said, “Let’s smear in the same curvy direction as the wave”—but my fingers said, “That ain’t where we’re going” and headed off in a different direction.

Then my fingers wanted to tap lightly for a while in blue at the bottom of the paper. When they were finished, I looked at the marks and smiled as I recalled some photos I took of a developing rainstorm in Tucson many years ago. The clouds got heavier and heavier, like a colony of growing breasts, until they could hold no more and released their load.

I’m liking this process art practice. When I have enough open-ended time to give myself to it, I sometimes reach a place of surrender where my mind gets quiet and everything falls away except what my organism wants to do. Giving myself over to that feels healing in ways I’m only beginning to be able to put words to.

Genocide

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January 15, 2012

My husband and I watched an episode of PBS series We Shall Remain this afternoon. The series features key aspects of Native American history without the whitewashing (literally). Today’s episode, about Geronimo, was the fourth of five episodes in the series. It feels important to watch them, in part because my husband is Native American and in part because of the importance of truth-telling.

After watching an episode, I never know what to “do” with all the emotions that get stirred up. Watching an entire continent of people get driven from their land and mostly wiped out is unsettling, to say the least. To say, “Isn’t it time to move on?” (as some people would advocate) feels to me like playing Let’s Pretend—let’s pretend that trauma doesn’t have lasting impact, let’s pretend that we can simply choose to leave it behind.

I don’t have anything profound to say about all this—my experience is way beyond words. But it feels good to get out some of the energy through art.

I asked my husband once how many of his tribe are left. He started counting them on his fingers and stopped before he reached ten.

Unrolling

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January 13, 2012

Okay, I just have to start by saying that I hate pink! I don’t know where this image came from, but I sat down to draw and felt compelled to pick up the bright pink chalk pastel. It’s amazing what all is linked to that color in my mind—a jumble of memories about indoctrination into the traditional female role (it didn’t stick) and memories of my college roommate who was so hooked on living that role that she wore pink every day—like a badge.

Okay, end of rant.

As I drew this, I was reminded of long leaves that unroll lengthwise as they open. I think that’s my future self (I hope it doesn’t portend a serious skin condition). I’m lying close to the soil to get grounded, and heavy rains are coming down to moisten me and keep the energy flowing. Something on the left is evaporating off me as the rain comes down. I’m undergoing a metamorphosis. Whatever it is, I’m just letting it happen; I don’t feel any parts of me resisting it. I’m just sniffing out my next steps and gravitating toward whatever resonates while letting the rest go. I wonder who I’m turning into.

Many people believe that it’s human nature to resist change. In a lot of ways, I like it. I mean, I initiated this Year of Process Art precisely because I wanted to change. I invited it by stepping out of my typical way of being and doing something different. I’ve always liked the idea that if you don’t like how things are, do something different. Shake it up. Make space for new information to come in. It’s a good way to invite the Universe to have more input into the trajectory of my life. Apparently something’s cookin’ . . .