Relearning Painting: What Chemo Brain Does

Art from B.C.~~before chemo. Cranked out a series of these.

This is not my usual tongue-in-cheek post but a bit more serious and hopefully you'll read along. Not boring, a little more observational. I promise I will make it up with one of my off the wall posts....join me now...this is my life at the moment.
I write about returning to painting after chemo and the challenges it presents, but mostly, how I have observed what was going on and stepped into the role of  "documenting" as opposed to frustrated artist.
First off, "chemo brain" is real and differs for each person. I experienced driving home from the grocery and trying to remember what road to take, concluding that I would have to take a route I have not driven for YEARS. That was NOT a Hallmark Moment.....so the motherboard was working fine, but the RAM was seriously messed up. I knew that. I accepted it.
I just did not think it would have an affect on painting, or art. I've done this all my life, and I felt it was so deeply ingrained into my being that nothing could be lost. It was me and I was it and the chemo would just make me a little more out in left field. I had managed with the side effects of neuropathy in both fingers and toes (pain, and nominal feeling/control), had learned to hold things with what I called my *Super-Monkey-Grip* and so I surely could do the same with paint brushes.
I could slop gesso. Good.
I could use tools in place of trying to hold small objects with my fingers. Good.
I could manage abstract backgrounds for assemblage. Good.
And then I sat down to try and recreate a style of work I had done over and over.
And the brain chose not to be present.

This is what I'm trying to recreate......BUT.....

This is pretty much what the brain sees, and is NOT CO-OPERATING one bit.

It was the oddest feeling I'd had through EVERYTHING; here I was looking at my own art, and trying to figure out HOW DID I MAKE THIS???
There were two options; one being to quit and find something else to do (not an option, really)  ~~OR~~  distance myself from the confusion and look at the piece as if someone else had made it and I was trying to copy it.
I am guessing only that I was engaging the left brain now, and the right brain would have it's say later.
I mentally dissected what I *thought* would work, starting with the basics of pulling paints and gel mediums. I studied and studied, noting each wash of color and what was underneath. I began to slowly remember a few of the colors I used, but the rest were pure guessing.
Then came the issue of painting the background. I had done this all by rote without a thought previously, and now I was not even sure which BRUSH it was I normally used. Breathe deep...let the hand wander.
*It* picked the right one, and began laying down paint as I had before, but the sensation was one of being someone else watching that hand work. It took some adjusting to accept that THIS was going to be the norm for a while. This was painting after chemo; suck it up and watch away.
Honestly, it is fascinating in a bizarre way. I am aware of the thought that goes into the work, and also how the body actually has it's own memory. I just start work and let things happen.
Bit by bit, I begin to remember all the tools of the trade. I may not be sure how I used them, but I know they are important, and keep them close visually. That seems to get the neurons firing right.
I am really understanding on a different level why art therapy works so well.
As I was able, during treatment, I began my daily journaling again, faithfully, three pages longhand, sometimes five, to keep the skill of writing active and force my fingers to move, to make words, to grip the pen. 
Typing however, is still a hilarious mish-mash. The dyslexia that was a blip on the radar screen before is now an incoming 747, on a continual crash course with the keyboard. Thank heaven's for FireFox's built in spell check!
I accept this.
No fighting, just observing, making notes.
Because it is better to be HERE, facing these interesting challenges, than the other option......

And finally, some success~~the new piece at about the halfway stage; more ability to remember now and push forward.

Never take for granted what you do without thinking.
But seeing it through new eyes, well, it's pretty impressive!
Now I have to go see what my hands can get into.....


Pax....

With Camera In Hand.......

I would like to say I was cleaning house when I found this photo; I wasn't. I was moving *stuff* from point A to point B in an effort to find a clear space to deposit more *stuff* on. It is another from the days of real film and f-stops, pre-digital, 1994.

I know exactly where I was; a small cemetery that now is exposed to the elements thanks to "progress"--a trailer facility that built some of the heinous, dangerous FEMA trailers. Yes, I say that with both venom and disgust. The building location ruined a piece of farmland and surrounding woods. It is an oozing open wound upon the landscape.

The cemetery is still atop a high hill, but most of the lovely protective trees are gone; the soil there is sandy and with each year and each heavy rain, more erodes. Frankly, I would not be surprised if at some point the inhabitants of the cemetery are deposited upon the trailer-sales building below. (which is a strange and humorous form of justice in Anne-Land)

And what does this have to do with anything, you ask?

My forefathers rest there.

The Thomas and Armstrong plots are at the top of that hill. When they were laid to rest, one would assume they would always BE at rest.

I was out shooting Spring flowers with a friend (now passed), who took the photo of me. It is a favorite. Many people ask why, because my face doesn't show, my hair was a wreck--thrown into a ponytail and hidden under a bandanna, I was dressed in my worst clothing.

But I was doing what I still love most---recording the seasons as they change. Laying atop the graves of my kin, covered with blankets of wildflowers, more delightful than any premade arrangement, in the quiet of birds and the wind. All was good. Everything was right with the world.

My old Canon AE-1, before the numerous and expensive repairs, shooting black and white film that I would develop and print. A day recorded in focusing and framing and shutter clicks.

Don't get me wrong; I love the digital age of photography in that you can see what you have instantly. But still, there is the side of me that misses so the smell of developer and stop-bath, counting off seconds, the smothering darkness required to load the film into the developing canister.........

And above all else, the physical freedom to just GO and move and shoot what I wanted. A day spent in the woods with no thought to anything other than the next click of the camera.

Yes, I think this is still my favorite photo of me as it is me at work.

And all these years later, I still do the same thing, but with more groaning and less grace.

All said fondly, of course.

Pax....

Art Redux: Getting Serious

Continuing from yesterday, while most of the day got away from me and I truly ended up with little art time, there was still progress made. Decisions. About colors for the clay, about the halo, about darkening the edges and beginning to gently and slowly bring up depth in the piece.
First off, the reds chosen for the clay parts were drawn from the reds in the Madonna. The large squares are a bit rustier red and the small pieces are alizarine crimson. There is subtle difference, though after the wash of gold is added atop, it may be difficult to see. Both colors really are in the folds of the clothing.

I chose a light, bright gold for the small tiles and a darker, warmer gold for the corner pieces; there had to be some visual differentiation or it would get too shiny and there would be nothing to contemplate. Somehow it sort of reminds me of abstract pieces of a dissected rosary.....

It is a bit odd how, after adding reds and golds--even before I darkened the edges, the yellow-oranges had been toned down visually. They suddenly were not quite so *in your face*.....or Screaming Mimi bright! It was beginning to fit.

The final alteration for the day was cutting the paper halo away and replacing it with gold paint. The dark ink added to the sides of the piece picked up texture provided both by the gel medium and the stamping, which was a pleasant surprise.

Now I feel like there is a direction to the work, more ideas are coming to me as I examine it and it is quite honestly, fun!!!!

I hope your little lost projects get a chance for a second glance at daylight---who knows; there might be a masterpiece waiting to happen! So go grab that stuff you've hidden, make art and have a wonderful, creative and fulfilling day!

Pax.

Letting Go

This was from the last meeting I lead for the Co-Op. One of my friends from Logan snapped the shot; there is a serenity to it that I did not feel at the time but now I see as a foreshadowing of things coming.
While I enjoyed my time (and there was a tremendous amount of it) spent planning and working for the group, it has been through a lot of life-related issues and counsel with friends that I realized I need some downtime for myself, for other work, and to grow in an artistic manner.
Letting go of anything you love is the dearest and hardest gift you can give; it is a portion of your life and heart that are lost forever but it is necessary to make the separation. I have no doubt that I did the best I could, I've made mistakes, I've had good times and hopefully others have too.
Other opportunities have presented themselves of late, and it was with a great deal of introspection that I made the decision I did.
And I was ready.
Often our guidance in life, in our jobs, in our spirituality comes in quirky ways, in little things sent at the right time, in painful separations and in the realization that we are on a finite path and must make the best use of it.
After church service today, I will be in my much neglected studio again and be working on something special......and I have missed that freedom. In fact, it is rather hard to feel at home here again, with the very small amounts of time I've spent within these walls of late.
Art, in whatever form you make, requires sacrifices---and it mimics life in that respect. That is why I always sign my correspondence with the tag line "Life creates Art. Art creates Life." Both need nurturing. Regularly. Continually.
Treat yourselves to a day of artistic nurturing, with no sad looking back but only joyful looking forward and the realization of how wonderful each and every persons life-path has been and how blessed you were of the other paths that have crossed yours!
Pax.

Storms......

.....Across Indiana last evening, some of them quite severe. I had no internet to do a post at that time; even if I had I think I would have been cowering with the birds and occasionally popping out to see the weather radar.

I was dumbstruck by how dependant I have become on this machine for almost everything. Communication, weather (well, in our part of the country, weather is a biggie....), planning of all sorts. My inability to access all my correspondence sent me into a fit that was most unfit and disgusting for those who had to be around me.

The worst of it is, as I was thinking about it all was how do you change--technology changes US. Either we keep up or we are lost in our world. We become Luddites by chance or by choice. Change is inevitable, but is it all good?

I recalled how each morning, even on the coldest days of Winter, I would take my first cup of coffee out on the porch and watch the sunrise, hear the birds, smell the fresh air. It was a ritual I loved dearly; it was relaxing and a wonderful way to start the day. Even when I worked part time or full time (elsewhere), I would try to get up early enough to allow myself those moments of quiet with nature. That sense that the goodness of the whole universe is surrounding me and readying me for the day ahead.

Now each morning I sit at the computer dealing with various e-mail; some personal, some commercial, some business of my own. Coffee to my left hand, I start the day before this glowing electric god who has taken over a good portion of my life.

My art lives in it, my notes, my photos, my collections of ephemera that would otherwise be cumbersome to keep. My photo records and various appraisals of work reside in the Studio file. It has allowed me great strides connecting with other artists; I have made friends I would have never had the opportunity to make and it has gotten my artwork into far flung venues.

BUT.

At what cost?

While the title of this post refers in essence to the *real* storms that passed through here, I feel the amount of my life sucked into this machine has caused storms of it's own. I wonder; How do other artists feel? Do they, too, feel they have to fight to keep their soul their own--that they are not forced to be at the demands and whims of a piece of machinery? Is this the same in each age, except with something else that is new and different? Am I, indeed, a Luddite for wishing my time back and the simplicity of how my life used to be? (okay---reality check Anne---your life was never *simple*, just not as spastic as it is now) Is the world I recall a pleasant dream? Living life by the turn of the seasons, the smell of the thawing earth in the air as I stood wrapped in heavy robes upon my back steps, enjoying the warmth of coffee and the visuals of heavy steam and fleeting birds? Turning the soil to plant, watching daily as small seeds---little wonders---struggled and popped through the earth with me tending them carefully?

I have no answers---they are musings. They are the rambling thoughts of one who wishes for a bit more calm in all aspects of life, and yet I know that this thing, this machine, will remain as a part of my everyday existence. My storms will continue, the ability to juggle too much and still come out smiling.

Have I become the ghost in the machine?

To all who work in this medium, I wish you the peace and wisdom and ability to separate yourselves when you must, and not go through the infantile withdrawal I experienced yesterday.

The quality of our lives should not be determined by the number of strokes upon a keyboard.

Have a creative, beautiful, storm-free day!