My Process Is My Peace

As a little girl, I grabbed every drawing medium in sight. At first I found my way into every crayon box, then tasting every color trying to assess which one spoke to me best internally-the brilliance of a 4 year old mind. Then I chose where I wanted that medium to display itself for everyone to react, to feel, to sense and connect with and most of the time that ended up being somewhere I could actually reach and that was often the wall. My father never paid attention to any of my artistic rendezvous, but my mother did. So she wasn’t too overjoyed whenever she’d find a new stickman that had walked across her wall to go find his friend or grab his dog. That played no part in my further endeavors to share my art. In fact it fermented the fact that the walls was where I needed to be to educate and demonstrate the value of having art adorn walls. A few years later and I decided other ventures were worth my interest. So I picked up carving and well, I found myself creating a masterpiece on my mom’s mahogany table using her house key. An artist is an artist and creativity must be exploited to discover one’s abilities. So yes, I stand by the stick girl with the afro, the dog by her side and the apple tree that lent her shade. Again with my father more focused on himself and his career, never quite using the house for other than nourishment and sleep, he didn’t notice the solid body of work greeting faces as meals were devoured. My mother on the other hand, having a fit after she found it.

Later on my art became fermented with various techniques after finally having art classes in school and that’s when art and I competed in everyday life. You see I would find myself doing relevant task such as eating and bathing and relieving myself on the toilet and have the sudden urge to sketch. So I would grab whatever was handy, more liquid soap for drawing on the shower walls, my mom couldn’t figure out why her liquid soap would be going empty after only four or so days of having it; then to grabbing a pen to use on a paper napkin at the dining table and then having fun sketching on toilet paper to pass the time among other things, which I still do to this day. It didn’t matter where I was and the task at hand, art had to be a part of the scenario.

For many years, art was something that I was fueled by and known by. It was something that defined me. It determined my free time, my alone time, my focused time and I was fine with it. I would spend hours in the art room at school using light boxes, guillotines, 45 degree angled drawing desks and letting my creativity acquire some funk. The type of funk that made you compete against yourself.

For a while, drawing stole my eye. Pen and ink, pencil, pastel, charcoal anything that I could get my hands on did the trick and when I wasn’t doing art, I was learning art and admiring art. I found myself dragging my mother to art fairs, to meet artists and admire the artwork; analyzing brush strokes, pencil strokes, line weights, use of color, scenery and texture and might I add, selling my mother on the value of art and reasons for her to purchase it. A fair was like a candy store to me, an art gallery- the candy factory. Meeting the respective artists and consuming their art as if at a banquet was just the icing on the cake because I was able to see the story behind the story. I was able to put a face to a piece of art making it priceless, no matter what the type or the objective.

From there I moved on to stepping into crafts. For most people it’s the end result that gets them tingly. For me it was the puzzle form the creation process took. It was finding innovative solutions along the way and learning something new I hadn’t known before. It was the overcoming of a challenge and the way I felt once I had won. It was taking a picture, a drawing, an idea and fixing my mind in such a way that step by step it became real and practical. This part of it first expressed itself in baskets adorned with lace scalloped ribbon and I’ve got the glue gun surgery scar to prove it. Some may have quit after experiencing the kind of injury I did, where a chunk of your thigh was burned to the inner meat but not me. I saw the opportunity for learning and healing, literally and figuratively. When I felt I had mastered applying glue to ribbon to basket I moved on to jewelry making and selling.

With jewelry making, I learned in order to complete any design what you needed most was patience, something I’ve always had but never put to the test. Mind you this was when I was around twelve, so how much patience could I have had. The answer is a lot. I did countless designs and had them adorn people from all avenues of my life, from friends, family members to even my mother’s coworkers. If you had a neck, wrist, ankle, ear or finger and I had material, you would be rocking something unique and handmade.

From there I began weaving and let’s just say it gave me a run for my prior experience. Now to be fair to myself it was a new technique I was learning in high school and at my first go at a rope vase, it came out beautiful. My next project came out to be rather challenging and dangerous; due to the dilemma of having a nail piercing my skin or not having a nail pierce my skin. Long story but I chose the latter and stopped quarter way. By the way that quarter looked amazing if I do say so myself.

Next to steal my heart was designing clothing which had myself and my mom seated in the fast lane. It started out again with learning embroidery and then made it’s way to designing a complete pajama set and then permeated to designing dollies and table cloths and doggie fashion before dogs and fashion were ever put into the same sentence, all by hand. That meant no sewing machine; just a keen eye to detail, great coordination and a desire for perfection all of which was right up my alley. By the way rest in peace to my oreo Shih-tzu named Bindye who was patient in me taking his measurements, dress fittings and modeling all my clothes as if he were competing on America’s Next Top Model. I mean seriously he had a strut that put all the mega supermodels to shame. I can’t tell you how many times he sold my clothing just by way of his showmanship and personality to skeptics- you know the people who feel dogs should live like wolves and get minimal care if any. The many hours we spent together perfecting his clothes adorned our hearts forever and if he were here with me now I know he would agree by ushering his signature sneeze and a WOOF!

From there I moved on to my fixation with sketching clothes. I would sit countless hours watching runway shows and sketching out all the designs I would love to showcase on the models. I mean I designed so many outfits, from bridal to casual, to outerwear, dressy, intimates and business. Every class serving as a galaxy for me to create without limitation and when the opportunity presented itself to design my own prom dress, I did. I sketched it out, consulted with a seamstress, procured the materials and wallah, I came out looking fab-u-lous.

What followed after was my exploration into painting, a medium that intimidated me to my core, especially in my teens. Now I know why but at the time it wasn’t so clear. I was afraid of making mistakes, a luxury not provided with paint or so I thought. Painting was the ultimate challenge and still is. It has been the medium that yet so restrictive, is so freeing. It caused me to experience life in a whole new way. By thrusting me out my comfort zone, I had to learn to swim, to survive and at first all I did was drown. I became overwhelmed with information, with the science behind it, with the rules of thumb, the myriad of choices, the methods and like weights it stifled me. It completely ripped the freedom I was accustomed to and stuffed me into this puppet, that was separated from her art. That changed when I became more spiritual. As I grew spiritually without the confines of religion I noticed that my art was a form of meditation, a form of channeling and to some that may be fiction and with only words to rely on, I understand why but for those of us who have experienced a connection to the spiritual world, we know information is exchanged far beyond words or even actions, but rather thought. If you have ever daydreamed then you have experienced channeling. Some people end up asking the questions such as where does the information get sent to and received from and that is not an answer anyone can give because channeling is as personal to anyone as much as their DNA is.

For me, whenever I would paint I would find myself in a flow of emotion. It’s as if any emotion that I had got released and in came an emotion that I needed. For example if I were angry, I would set out choosing colors that were bold yet harmonious, so orange and yellows. If I were sad, I would find myself picking calming colors such as blues. If I were in a more pensive mood I would be drawn to purples and plums. If I were in need of grounding energy or if you will, a need for nature, I would pick colors such as browns, and greens. After that came the subject matter which also happened to compliment my flow of emotions.

It rarely happens where the subject matter came into play first and then the colors and I think that was myself removing barriers and blockages to being my most authentic unhindered self, that was capable of painting, creating an emotional fingerprint rather than an objective one.

I read your question, or the topic quite a few times and I was lead to respond this way. You see for me time and experience has shown me that no matter what form of art I indulge in the result is the same, I am giving and receiving multiple layers of myself and that in itself has always been freeing. To create something is beautiful but the act of creation is what is most majestic. It is the ultimate way I have found to free myself from the confines of everyday life. It is void of routine, it is void of judgement, it is void of pain, misfortune and chaos. It is void of rules and customs and the human experience which I define as any worldly measure expounded on one’s life whether in the form of a law, an expectation, a guideline and or system. I can’t tell you how gratifying it can be to light a candle, burn an incense, sit in a space and begin a quest of traveling. Whether it’s traveling to a happy place, a vulnerable place, or a very distant place of a part of me unknown in need of exploration.

Over the years, I have heard from people “How do you create such an art piece? What is the process like?” Do you just sit down there and it comes to you?” And to be honest although I’ve heard the questions quite a bit, it has always been difficult to answer because the process has always adapted to me, and where I was and how I felt. There are times where I will load my paint unto a brush or take a pen about to make it’s mark on paper and I have no clue what will or should come out on the other end. At that moment I let go, almost as someone who kicks off on a zip line or jumps off a plane not knowing exactly every plant, animal, or situation that awaits them on the other end. Funny enough, there are also times where I set out with an idea in mind and the art tells me “No. Not this time. Try again. That’s not what we’re about to do. Think more, think less. Think not at all. Start over.” At this point it very much can be described as a menage-a-trois; where all are married, none of them know each other and they will never meet. Confused yet. I am too but that’s how art sometimes imprints on people.

There is no ready set way of escaping to a place of inner peace, sometimes it just works that way after having a complete meltdown with art and the medium of your choice. I know it has happened to me with every medium I have ever tried. What it forced me to do was have patience with my body, my spirit and my mind; accept flaws- in application, communication, outcome and to appreciate the witnessing of a blank slate morphing into something else. Then there are the times that everything happened as I planned. Moments I am thankful for because without them it would mean art wasn’t natural and by natural i mean, it like all things in this world operates within balance. Just as a ballerina goes on point with legs and feet extended as one, comes the burden of weight on bloody toes, painful to see and more to touch; or like a scientist whose mind operates on a baseline of brilliance but alienates him or herself from others not of her kind.

What keeps me inspired to participate in this turbulent process is simply the process itself. It’s watching myself unfold with each sketch, each shading, each twist, each flattening, each sculpting, each paint stroke, each stipple. It’s being bonded right now to who you are and who you think you should be, what you want and what you need, what you can and cannot do and so many more variables. The eternal dialogue between the two parts is entertaining and revealing because you surprise yourself and reinforce thought patterns sometimes good, sometimes bad. For instance, you go into it with a, I’m bored and want to scribble attitude and out comes a portrait that exceeded your absent expectation. Now in those moments I appreciate myself even more. Another example is when you start out with a steady hand and commit yourself to fine lines and then a small whisper of air tickles you and in goes a large gush. What’s that gush? It’s paint, four times larger than what you intended. As for thought patterns, sometimes the thoughts we have are conflicting but as you progress in creating an image you get prompts- random thoughts that appear causing you to decipher information, and arrive to a conclusion or repair an old one, or heal from a deconstructed one.

That is the perplexing result of the creative process, whether on paper, canvas, or walls, or tables, necks or wrists and I enjoy it because it reminds me of the beauty of life. It reminds me that I’m a part of an ecosystem and that ecosystem is one that reflects itself. As an artist, you sometimes forget that you are the record keeper, the reflector, and the innovator and not in any order, yet you also have an internal and external duty to upkeep all ends. That is, one to yourself and one to the world and I value this fluidity because I understand that being inclined to express art as I do, gives sparkle to the world and in doing that adds glitter to myself and is freeing to my soul.