Coming home in Alcocer

Dave and I definitely live a split existence. Not split, as in separated. Split as in duality. Our work-a-day lives at Lowes and Lourdes and the rest of the time that’s supposed to be devoted to art. I’ve been going through some struggles this year trying to give that other half of my life some momentum, to keep the paintings happening. But it’s been tough.

I know Dave has been having similar feelings. And it is just hard to get your energy flowing when there’s so much time spent in other more pressing pursuits. Or so they seem.

But I still believe that our creative selves are our best selves.

Today there were a whole crowd of people — literally — who invaded our home as part of a planned event to see Lower Town here in Paducah by a group called The Collectors Club from Mt. Vernon, IL. They had contacted us a couple months ago and had a scouting trip to check us and other galleries out. Today was the real deal with more and more people trooping up our porch stairs and on into the house until we were quite crowded in here. The cats scattered. People were a little shy at first, until we’d talked a bit to give them the lay of the land and assure them that it was perfectly ok with us to wander through our house and look at the paintings. Most all of which are for sale. And eat the food on our table we’d laid out expressly for them.

Soon, I looked about and we had little groupings of people chatting together at various places and presumably feeling more at home. They stuck their noses to the paintings and watched Dave do some batik demoing. I took stock of the cats who resurfaced after about 15 minutes. And I sold a couple paintings.

A Mule by Any Other Name

We had a little debriefing after the dust had settled and the stampede had left, along with their two paintings. We were a little dazed and definitely a lot delighted. We wished we saw more of these kinds of folks, and we agreed that we’re always thrilled to find people so interested in our work that they want to take it home. It’s a fantastic feeling to see someone walk out with your work nicely wrapped and know that it’s going to a home where it will be loved and cared for. It gets to grace other people’s lives. That’s how we share our thoughts, our joys about this world.

Sailors' Warning

That’s how we give our best. I might be painting with a little more levity tomorrow.

The Instituto Art Fair – a lively, colorful happening

We’re far from novices anymore at doing art fairs both here in San Miguel and the states. They still take a lot of preparation and forethought in ramping up to the actual event, but we’ve become accustomed to the routine of applying and the inevitable check lists to make sure we have all the aspects of the events under control. There’s a heightened sense of anticipation going into them plus the usual anxiety, but it’s all familiar territory.

I had a different sense, though, in August as we set up our display panels the first day of the Instituto Art Fair. We were in the same spot as the July event so no worries about whether or not we were in the right place. I looked around as we pulled paintings out and began figuring out the best configuration for displaying them. Little by little other artisans began toting their work to their spaces and started the tedious process of getting all in place. The man with the handmade paper wall luminaries was back as our neighbor next to us in the corner along with his wife selling beaded jewelry and embroidered tapestries cattycornered across the aisle. Others, now familiar to us after so many Instituto art fairs, also began arriving – the short, energetic woman from Oaxaca with a single gray braid and crooked smile selling rugs, the two ever-serious young women selling Mexican trinkets, the German lady selling straw hats and Guatemalan scarves, the young man from Veracruz selling his handmade leather-bound notebooks.

The inner courtyard where the fair is held had a sleepy air about it, people quietly going about putting their displays and tables in order. Not a lot of chatter, just some street noise and birds making their morning twitterings as they flitted about looking for their first food of the day. As I made several trips back and forth from the car to fetch things for our set-up I felt the energy of my fellow artists and craftsmen. Less than two years ago I viewed all of these people as part of the exotica that I saw as San Miguel. But with several Instituto fairs under our belt, and becoming part of the routine, I suddenly felt a real connection to the artisan community. Moreover, I felt privileged to be offering my art alongside them.

While a good deal of what is offered by the artisans is produced for the tourist market, there is still real craft evident in much of it. Creativity is part of the fabric of Mexico in general, and so the hand-woven rugs, the beaded bracelets, the sweet, brightly colored paintings on small wooden panels all are reminders of the arts in everyday life here. Some of it is decidedly humble, but nonetheless it offers up the expressions of its people as a small celebration of their lives. Tourists are drawn to the color, the whimsy, the craftsmanship of the items perhaps not in small part because they are made locally by hand. Art of the people which touches us because it is just that, not high or lofty or cerebral. A celebration of the sweets of life.

In a week we will begin our first real exhibition here in Mexico and the third joint show we’ve had together. We’ve busied ourselves over the past month with putting together all the promotional materials postcards, posters, an article for the Atencon as well as an ad. We found a caterer to pour the wine and refrescas we’ve ordered to be delivered to the gallery from one of the local liquor stores, and we attached labels to our postcards with translations of their copy so that their message is appropriately bilingual. Did I mention we’ve also been painting since we got here in May?

It’s a different story doing the art thing on a full time basis. The show is just one of several balls we have in the air right now. We’re in the midst of applying to about 8 different art fairs in Florida for the months of February and March 2006. That has required us to make slides for most of our new paintings as well as slides and duplicates of our tent and displays of our art. Because we’d never taken slides of the tent with everything displayed, it meant that we had to put up the tent and some of our art work to take slides of both Dave’s and my work separately when we were in McAllen in late August. Texas summer heat made for an early morning start on the task and bucking a not-so-gentle breeze that started up soon after we got things in place. Our to-do lists have expanded and shrunk depending on what next big project has loomed on the horizon.

I don’t mind juggling multiple “balls.” All my past professional life has served me well in that regard. One learns to simultaneously manage a dazzling array of tasks as a nurse, that is if you’re to stay effective. But ferreting out the shows, designing promotional strategies, seeking grant funding all must happen alongside the act of inspiration, the thing that makes and keeps us doing the art in the first place.

I admitted to Dave not so long ago that I had come to realize I hadn’t anticipated that part of being an artist full time. The part that requires that in spite of show rejections, gallery rejections, grant rejections, and low sales I still need to find inspiration. Painting is a breeze when things are coming your way. All that positive feedback by way of sales, acceptance into shows, and other accolades serves as a magical lubricant to the creative juices. I’ve not had the happy experience of this phenomena regularly, but the sporadic sales and elation of getting into a show have always tantalized me with their heady possibilities. But when “no” is the more common phrase one hears it’s easy to get caught up in the questions that buzz around your brain attacking your intensions, your efforts, and finally the work itself. Is it good enough? Will it ever be? Am I up to this? Do I have what it takes?

Being successful as an artist is usually equated with regular sales and consistent acceptance into shows, and most times gallery representation on top of all that. While there may still be rejections from time to time they are fewer and less frequent. For now we’re still struggling to achieve that height. So until then, we keep buggering on, as Churchill and his fellow Englishman are famous for saying. Keeping up the good fight with faith that what we have is more than enough, and that with effort we’ll finally get to that happy place of recognition and all that it entails.

Okay, New Year’s Resolution: no more heavy, philosophical bullcrap. Just the facts as I see ‘em ma’am. Though that may not work out too well since I can’t seem to resist those meanderings, at least every now and then. Then maybe… okay REVISED New Year’s Resolution #1B: not so much heavy, philosophical bullcrap. Keep it light and tight. No one wants to spend ten minutes of their valuable allotment of discretionary time reading someone else’s brain noise.

Morning sky over San Miguel

The problem here is the same as Popeye’s and everybody else’s: I am what I am. Just bear with me and I promise to mix it up.

One promise I made myself for the new year was to get this weblog up to speed. Thanks to some new software you can now try to toss me a line when I go out dog-paddling in the deep end. Post your comments and save me from drowning in simile.

Welcome to the New Year! The “new” thing is very big in this world, so no wonder this holiday is popular. Western Culture keeps us hungry for it. Keeping on top of it is our lifestyle and you’re some dotty old crank if you aren’t right there.

The sharp point of “the new” is always staring us down as artists. While making a fresh instance in art is vital, there’s really nothing new under the sun, so finding a context and then developing a viewpoint seems to me more important. Or else you’ll go around with a big, neon, self-conscious arrow pointing to your “new art”; all shiny and new but trivial at last. It’s like the “New Toy at Christmas” phenomena. The toy that gets twenty minutes of attention Christmas morning and then passes onto a heap of mediocre plastic.

Stefanie in the campo

At some point as we age the opposite value makes its stand: Old is amazing! I see it as the ultimate test of value: been around the block a few times, still kicking and looking good! (well maybe just the first two parts). We met many great people at our art fair this week but some of our favorites were well up there on the chronological scale. One lady told us she painted watercolors for ten years but gave it up because “I decided I didn’t know what the hell I was doing!”. Another charming lady told us she decided not to buy land here thirty years ago.”I could shoot myself. In fact I’m surprised I haven’t!”

Sunset blaze on templo edifice

These old beauties tell me the wonderful part about the age I’m entering. Its time to have fun with my foibles and weakenings, let go of the pride that is death to humor and the unflinching opinions about what is real quality that make me a snob and get on with opening my senses to this big fat juicy life.

Smiles at the art fair

Sure we love our new things; new house, new car, The New Christie Minstrals. But god forbid we Americans learn a new language. Talking to a lady from San Luis Potosi (who spoke multiple languages), I lamented the lack of foreign language study in the States as well as my own inability to master Spanish. She asked me if I knew what a person who spoke three languages was called “trilingual”, Two?, “bilingual” One? “gringo”.

Happy New Year. May it bring you new ways to see growing older.