Random Thoughts: I’m An Artist

Three Horses by jparadisi

As much as I love making images of my heart’s desire as an artist, there’s something to be said for developing the ability to create an image on demand. It’s a little like working with a limited palette: it forces me to look at the available options, then push myself to create something I might not have imagined without the limitations/expectations. It reminds me of when I was in kindergarten and the other kids would line up at my easel with their sheets of paper and ask me to draw horses for them. It didn’t make me feel less of an artist, it told me I am an artist.

The Blustery Day

New Greasy Oil Sticks (2009) photo: JParadisi

     This morning my husband stood on our deck, and announced, “It’s blustery out here, Winnie the Pooh.” He doesn’t usually call me Winnie the Pooh, he was just showing off his limited knowledge of literature. He spends 10 hours a day reading the squiggles, marks, and symbols that pass for doctors’ handwriting,  so sitting down with a good book isn’t something he considers enjoyable. Maybe, if the hospital ever gets the physicians to agree to use computer order entry, my husband will read my blog. However, that he doesn’t allows me to write about him without causing marital conflict, so it all works out.

     The wind was blowing in forceful gusts. I don’t know why, but it made me restless. Maybe it’s a catalyst for connecting with my anima. I remember, years ago when I rode horses, that when the wind blew, they became twitchy, and raced around their corrals. I suited up and went for a run along the Willamette River, thinking about the horses.

    Outdoors, the air itself was warm and tense. Fallen autumn leaves blew on the pavement in swirls, like tiny tornadoes. It felt like the sky was about to tear open and burst with rain, thunder or even fire itself. It made me think about pregnancy and birth, and the ripeness of a fruit that can no longer contain its seed.

     Creativity feels like that.

     This evening, as if they were omens, my pregnant neighbor stopped by with a box of cookies, and the package of oil sticks specially ordered from New York arrived at my door. The dozen greasy sticks of bright colors are just what I need to finish the new painting I’m working on. I can hardly wait to get back to the studio.