The much anticipated week long painting retreat in the woods finally happened. It started well enough- the weather was beautiful the first two days. I stared a big self portrait outside on the deck. Then the fog rolled in and didn't let up for the rest of the week. The idea of working outside, much less working on that painting was shot.
The excursion turned out to be quite a disaster actually. I was really trying to work hard, yet everything I was doing was horrible. Here is an excerpt from a journal entry:
"I am calling it quits. This isn't turning out how I hoped. The weather is crap. My mind is completely scattered. I feel like my energy is in 1000 different places. I feel anxious and frustrated, but not in a good productive way as a means of figuring painting issues out. I feel like I am not settled and my nerves have the better half of me. The weather is a big, well, the main reason why I am leaving early. When I am outside in the sun, my psychology changes and I work better. Regardless if I am working on a self-portrait or landscape, there is a rush that I get. It's been foggy and cold here and my mind mimics the weather. I feel slow and unmotivated. Maybe since while working in the sun there is an anxiety of getting information down on the canvas before the light changes. I work quicker because I don't know if it will ever be the same. Don't get me wrong, I love the North Coast Fog. I think it is one of the most romantic things is the world. Even now as I write this in the stump house loft- I am surrounded by huge Redwoods swimming in thick white fog. It's beauty is breathtaking. I just can't work in it!"
this pretty much sums up the experience
I was reading "Letters to a Young Artist" and Thomas Nozkowski's advice struck me hard, especially in my current situation.
"The current fact of artists' lives- the part that non-artists never seem to quite understand- is the loneliness of the studio. Before our runs are over we will have spent more time- thousands upon thousands of hours- alone, just staring at these things we make. This part of our experience must be factored in to every idea about artists' lives if you want to understand them. More artists stop working because of this loneliness than for any other reason."
But not is all lost. I am going to try this same damn thing next week in Gasquet where the weather is sure to be hot and sun soaked.
My response to this entry and to your embracing artist self, from Susan Howe's THE MIDNIGHT: "Midnight is here. The brig Covenant. I go in quest of my inheritance. Portmanteau for a voyage--hazel wand--firings--tattered military coat and so on. Are the children asleep? All who read must cross the divide--one from the other. Towards whom am I floating? I'll tie a rope round your waist if you say who you are. Remember we are traveling as relations." X.
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