No Mistakes, Just Good Lessons.

(all of these photos are views from my yard this winter.)

My front porch in the summer.  Can't wait. :)

Despite my personal pledge to blog more often, I have found myself distracted by art more than ever before.  I spend every waking minute madly working, testing, trying new things, basically toiling away at work that has resulted in very few finished pieces in the last few months.  In the past, I would have been panicked, dismayed even, by my lack of productive results.   But for some reason, this year brings a different set of goals for me.  I used to paint with the goal to finish something each day, to feel like I accomplished something.  I thought that if I finished a painting, regardless of the quality or topic, I would feel complete.  For some reason, this year my mind has made a complete 180.  I no longer need to finish something every day.  In fact, I have many dozens of unfinished "somethings" all ongoing right now, whether it be in glass, oil, or ink.   I don't like the feeling of it, but I push it to the back of my mind telling myself that it doesn't matter;  all of those unfinished works in my pile of tears are Lessons.  No mistakes, just lessons.  I've learned something from every single piece. It's hard for me to believe that I have worked for so many hours every day and have so little to show that is concrete;  i.e, ready to sell.  But I know that every minute I have spent working matters, and will show for itself in time.  I think I am finally learning the art of patience and perhaps discipline.

  Soon, I will post my January and February pile of unfinished tears.  Some I will likely finish, some I will not and they go into the "burn pile".   For now, I am still toiling away, trying to find a solution for some, or giving some the final nod of goodbye.   Despite the harshness of this winter, I have found that it is a sanctuary of sorts for me.  I have had no choice but to hole up in my studio and bundle up in multiple layers much like I did in my youth when I lived in Vermont and New Hampshire. I remember so many early mornings of getting dressed under the covers because our heat was a wood burning stove that we didn't waste time or resources starting in the morning before school.  I remember riding the sled down the mountain, standing it upright in the snow pile to pick up on the way home for the next mornings ride.  I remember the long trudge up the hill on days like this, knowing that the fire would have to be started, and the house would be cold until it was "stoked".  I remember the bus rides, and the smell of sap in March when the sugaring started.  I long for the days that were so simple.  The power was out for a few hours today.  Not because of the weather, but because of a young careless driver who hit the pole in front of our house on a snowy day.  The quiet in the house was deafening, but I felt at peace.  It made me realize why I get agitated when there is so much noise and activity.  Often I thought it was me and over sensitivity.  Perhaps it's not just me.  

    The snow piles that are piled over 10 feet high covering my studio window give me comfort in a strange way.  Perhaps this is part of why I am in a good place right now, in the midst of all this snow and disengagement.  It's as if I've come home.