A Subtle Transformation

Over the past few months, I have felt myself experiencing a subtle transformation.

It's as though I'm inside a cocoon. There is growth taking place that isn't always visible on the outside. I feel the discomfort of surrendering, the unsettling sensation of knowing that I am changing, but not knowing what I am changing into. I've felt a reawakening, a stirring somewhere outside, as though both the world and my mind have begun to reopen to all the possibilities for life and living.
 

***

I celebrated my 36th birthday last month, and it got me thinking about getting older and the (supposed) wisdom that comes with age and experience. The general narrative seems to be that sometime in your 30's, you stop caring what people think and become more confident in yourself and your abilities, presumably because you have lived life, grown wiser and let go of childish insecurities. But as I reflected on my creative journey over the past 16 years, I realized that with time I became more cautious, afraid to take chances, or allow people to see my work. 

As we get older we learn all sorts of lessons about life, but we rarely pause to consider whether they actually mean anything. The things I learned as I got older that made me scared to put myself out there -- that things are hard for artists, the world isn't fair, good work gets overlooked, people will not understand you or what you do -- are not wholly untrue, but at the end of the day, do they matter?

In my early 20's, I was creatively fearless. I loved what I made and didn't care (or didn't notice) what other people thought. I didn't doubt myself, and had very little cynicism about my own work or the work of others. If I had an idea, I went for it, launching into projects with the energy and naïveté of someone who didn't know what they didn't know.

It's tempting to laugh at my innocence now that I'm "older and wiser", but the reality is, that naive fearlessness worked for me. I want to live from that place again.
 

***

I have wanted to take a creative writing course for years, and finally signed up for one in September. Last month towards the end of the 8 week program, I wrote the following poem inspired by the form of Dan Albergotti's "Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale" :
 

Things to Do in the Chrysalis

Enjoy the solitude. Let yourself dissolve into mush. Recall images of the blue sky, the feel of sun
on your face. Endure moments of fear in the slick darkness. Feel the pulse of your transformation.
Dream of the other side. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sounds of rain. Count the days.
Embrace the unknowing. Remind yourself that change will come when conditions are right.
Give thanks for your protective cocoon. Visualize all the possible colors on your new wings.
Look for signs of light coming through the walls. Practice the unfolding. Allow yourself to imagine
what you will do when you can fly.

xx

What's Old is New Again

I spent a lot of time last month reflecting, thinking about my art and why I create. In a recent post on Instagram I shared that I used to think that to be an artist, I had to have "something to say". As though the work itself wasn't statement enough, as though creating because I love it and have needed to make art my entire life, somehow wasn't enough.  I have to admit, I was nervous to share this sentiment because I felt like it was exposing something that would make me appear less of an artist -- that being that I'm not always sure what I'm trying to say with my work. The flood of comments from other artists and creatives who resonated with that statement relieved my nerves and showed me that I am not alone, and left me convinced that most artists feel this way at some point throughout their life/career.

Since then, I've been sifting through a range of thoughts on this subject. I reject the idea that artists need to have a deep and profound statement behind each work of art, and I think art schools and the broader "art world" contribute to the bs idea that they do. This idea is particularly insidious when presented as a prerequisite for creating, the idea that you should know exactly who you are and what you're trying to say before you begin, before you are allowed to be an artist. 

I feel deeply that creating and making art is a path to self discovery.  Creating allows us to discover who we are, to know ourselves more fully and to understand the unique light within us that we are trying to share with the world. And indeed, the more I create, the more I begin to understand myself and what I am about, what my work is about. Sometimes I surprise myself -- the art I think I want to make is not always what I find myself drawn to actually creating. Each piece I create is turning over another stone, finding another piece of the puzzle. 

But even when I think I understand something about my work, I am at a loss for how to "explain" it to others. It has always seemed ridiculous to me that I should need to convey the point of my work through words. Creating is it's own language, and the resulting work of art is the statement.  If it could be said clearly and concisely with words, why bother saying it with art? Writing about the meaning of a piece of art seems to me, as ridiculous as asking a writer to paint a picture to explaining the meaning behind their book.

Last month, I began attending a series of weekly seminars hosted by Slow Factory Foundation that have made a major impact on me. Centered around fashion, these seminars cover topics such as Fashion & Colonialism, Fashion & Waste, Fashion & Spirituality. The seminar on Fashion & Waste has completely changed the way I think about my work. I began to notice themes that have emerged in my practice, especially throughout this past year in regards to utilizing waste materials like old clothing and leftover fabric into quilts, coats and stitched work on paper. I began to connect the dots to my passion for the history of punch needle, a craft of poverty that began when women would dye and repurpose strips of old clothing and rags, hooking them through a backing fabric to create beautiful and functional rugs and floor coverings. I was reminded of my childhood, creating collages from magazines, sifting through piles of used clothing at goodwill, learning to make beauty from the materials I had on hand. 

What's old is new again. This theme has been resonating with me throughout the past month as I learn and unlearn, explore new work and new themes, and slowly uncover who I am.

xx