I started writing a book about my painting series, Without a Net, a couple years ago. I had so many insights as I painted that writing about my discoveries became an essential part of the work. I’ve written two other books, and each took me six years to complete, so I figured I was in for another long, very solitary journey to completion.
While I painted and wrote I also taught. I teach drawing and painting to community adults and kids at Red Dot Gallery, my own studio/gallery, and my students often get to see me paint in class. Discussions about my self-reflective paintings came up all the time, and I was delighted in the responses. My students, and others who came to the gallery, saw themselves in the pieces and were surprisingly open to sharing about personal experiences and issues. The paintings generated a trust and an openness to vulnerability that fascinated me, and I couldn’t wait six years to share my ideas about my work and the conversation it introduced.
A blog seemed the best course.
So here’s my disclaimer. Writing books, my usual course, is a joyful, miserable, boring, thrilling, rich and wild ride. And in my experience it entails a massive (and I mean gargantuan) amount of editing. As a prospective bona fide blogger, I will want to post regularly, and hence, not have time for sixty-four rewrites per post. Therefore, we will all have to accept the lack of polish that this venue begets. My apologies ahead of time.