Those childhood messages

Yes, I know; this one looks a lot like the one from two days ago -- same basic style, same colors (because those were still left on my palette). But in the tradition of all good scientists, I didn't feel I could trust a single experiment: I had to see if the results were reproducible.

... and clearly they are, although I liked this one so much I didn't even feel the need to add a sailboat. Now the trick will be to see if the results are as pleasing with other color palettes...

It's funny: as I was heading up the stairs into my studio, I found myself singing (only in my head) the song from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella: "Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful... because I love you?"

Only that last "because I love you" somehow became "because you're easy." I.e., do I love this painting (which I do) because it's a good painting, or because it was so easy to create? It's like, do I love writing because I love words, or just because it comes easily to me?

You might think this is a foolish question -- Jesus having said, after all, "My yoke is easy, and my burden light," which you could certainly take as meaning you'll know what you're called to do when you figure out what comes easily to you. Only from there I immediately go to (sorry, quick digression here) the reason I refused to sign the petitions to legalize marijuana in this state: I know from friends who've tried to shake the habit that it's addictive. And I also know it tends to make you... well, lazy.

And lazy is a trigger word for me; part of the pre-cognitive baggage we all carry. Because it was my mother's ultimate insult to me. Her highest praises were for efficiency; her strongest criticism was that I was lazy -- mostly because I would always rather sit on the couch and read than do almost any chore she had in mind for me. I'm pretty sure she resented the fact that schoolwork came so easily for me, and that I lived a relatively laid back existence while she was always (in the words of her mother) "running around like a chicken with her head cut off."

Mom, in fact, was almost always a bit frantic. I always felt it was because she had lists of shoulds constantly revolving in her head but since she never actually wrote down the tasks she just had to keep rehearsing them in her brain, which resulted in her being anxious, driven, and inattentive. All of which I am equally capable of being when at my worst -- which is why I am determined to maintain my daily meditation practice, however "unproductive" it may sometimes seem to be.

Back to this painting: DO I love it because it was easy? If it's easy, does that make it less of a work of art? Do I need other people to love it? And if they don't, would I stop painting in this particular way? My guess is I'll keep doing this until either I get restless and want to try something else or until it no longer pleases or challenges me. And then I hear my Dad's voice, telling me -- when I had discovered the joy of quilting -- "Oh, you always were a maven, into one thing for a while and then dropping it for something else." 20 years later I was still into quilting -- but then I discovered photography and left quilting behind. And then, shockingly, 20 years later I discovered painting and stopped trying to sell my photographs. So yeah, I guess that makes me a maven. Or does it?

So I looked up the word maven, and it means expert or knowledgeable. It's not actually a pejorative term -- except (and I find this interesting) if you put "a" in front of it instead of "the." To be THE maven is actually a compliment. To be A maven is to be freakishly interested in something. But nowhere do I see the sort of dabbling thing my dad seemed to be implying.

Wow. I have definitely wandered off topic here. And what does any of this have to do with making art in the time of cholera?  I'm inclined to think it's a reminder that this self-isolation thing is good for us: it allows us to finally hear the voices and the constructs that hold us back, and it allows us to explore, to get to know ourselves, our strengths, and our inclinations better. Hopefully that means that when we go back into the world we will be less driven, less concerned with appearances, more actualized and more confident of our own paths and abilities.

But who knows. It seems clear, once this is over, the world will be a very different place. Good different, or bad different? Hard to know...

Learnings: Long narrow canvases are rarely successful for me, but this one works
                  It's possible imitate my own work without the stigma of copying. 
                  Probably because I'm not trying to figure out "how they did that."