Vulnerability in Life and Art

I am reading the wonderful book, Daring Greatly by Brené Brown. She writes of vulnerability. She describes it as the experience of uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure that we face every day. Vulnerability isn't weakness, she says, but "it is, in truth, our most accurate measure of courage."

I think of the work I am currently doing and how different it is from the work of the past year. This past year, I worked on a series I called Silence. There is an urgent importance I feel, in finding quiet space in our lives and in our work. It's vital as well to create quiet spaces in our paintings, where we allow breath to enter. This felt like a series I could work on for years.

In April, after not painting for a month because of the demands of exhibitions and workshops, I began to work in the studio by playing on small paper panels. I painted quickly and freely, using quirky mark-making and line and bright combinations of colours. The excitement for this work has continued and it seems to be turning into a series of paintings. It surprises me the quick shift in direction and I've been trying to understand the reason behind this shift. It came to me in the past few days, in the ah ha moment where we remember how our lives and our work and the world are interconnected.

One night this past January, my good friend Susan and I went to a movie. One week later she began having dizzy spells. Within the month she was in the hospital diagnosed with a brain tumour. She has remained in hospital since. Susan can't walk or even get out of bed without assistance. Her speech seems to be improving although it's sometimes very difficult to understand her. She doesn't seem to be bothered too much by this, and still tries her best to communicate, even leaving messages on my phone from time to time. As she fights for her life, she holds to her goal of becoming well enough to attend her daughter's wedding in August.

I realize that my new work is about joy and gratitude. Joy and gratitude are what Susan's illness is reminding me to focus on every day. Gratitude for her friendship and her courage. I am grateful that I am healthy, that I can walk and I can paint.

The art critic that sits on my shoulder tells me that contemporary art should not be about joy and gratitude. It requires a much more weighty construct.

I brush the critic off my shoulder. Susan's vulnerability is physical. Mine is emotional-it's something that artist's have to deal with on a daily basis: do we put ourselves out there in an open, honest, truthful way? Or do we hide that light, hoping the critic will like us more that way.

Meet the Owners of a Scottish Castle

Anne Tristine Nguyen, Ali Orr Ewing, their children, Ava, Atticus and their dog, Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dunskey Estate, Portpatrick, Scotland Anne Tristine Nguyen and her husband, Alistair Orr Ewing are the owners of Dunskey Estate near Portpatrick, Scotland where I will teach a painting workshop in September. Dunskey is a splendid Edwardian castle on 2000 acres of ocean-front land with miles of walking trails. As well as daily workshop sessions in the studio on the top floor of the castle, our small group of artists will enjoy breathtaking hikes, superb accommodation and fabulous meals. Not having met owners of a castle before, I asked Anne if I could interview her to hear a little of their background story and that of the castle. Can you tell me a little of your personal story and that of your husband, Alistair Orr Ewing? Anne emigrated to America when she was ten years old, but it was at an art gallery in Saigon, her birthplace, where she met Al

The Importance of Silence in Art

Gathering Light 60x60" Oil on canvas © 2014 Janice Mason Steeves Michael David Rosenberg, the musician known as Passenger, sings, "See all I need is a whisper in a world that only shouts." In the workshops I teach, I find that one of the most common problems with paintings is that they shout. Most have too much going on: too many small shapes, too much texture, extremes of colour, too many lines, too much, too much. One thing I say most often as I walk around the classroom working with students individually, is 'make bigger shapes'. But not only bigger shapes. Quiet shapes. Where can your eye go and rest in the painting? That isn't a consideration in much of contemporary painting or much of contemporary life. Ours is a noisy world both visually and auditorily. Ours is a world that shouts. People are afraid of silence. I wrote a blog post 3 years ago about planning a retreat in my own home, where I shut off the computer and the phon

Liminal Time

The word liminal comes from the Latin, limen meaning threshold. an in-between place, a place of transition, a time of waiting and not knowing. Dawn and dusk are considered liminal places. Crepuscular animals, like foxes and coyotes are most active at this time of day, a time that is considered a magical time in Celtic spirituality and to Indigenous people which is perhaps the origin of their designation as tricksters. As I write this, the northern hemisphere has just passed the vernal equinox, where day and night are of equal length.We are in a liminal space between winter and spring right now, unsure if we will have one more storm or snowfall before spring finally settles in. We're also in a liminal place as we live through this pandemic with the anxiety and discomfort of not knowing. A time of great transition for the entire world, wondering what we've learned from this and what lessons we'll carry forward. Author and Franciscan friar Richard Rohr describes limi

Janice Mason Steeves

Search This Blog