Oregon

At Grants Pass, OR we head west from I-5 and hit our first main stretch of two-lane road. My lungs fill with air filtered by wet leaves and wood smoke. My body instantly relaxes.

The rain hasn’t stopped since we left Seattle. Dad keeps checking the weather like we are somehow going to move out of the cloud, but what he doesn’t know is the rain is here for me. It’s my buffer, my blanket, here to ease the transition. It’s somehow comforting, and if it follows me to California, that is just fine.

Parts of this drive are so familiar: the area just north of Olympia where as you drive south and look out over your right shoulder you get a last glimpse of the Sound; crossing the Columbia River as we pass into Oregon; dropping into Grants Pass feeling like you’re descending from mountain tops. Every once in a while Dad comments on things around us. Says, “Hey look, Sweet Cron! They did the sign wrong, funny. I think I stopped at that place with your mom.” And all I can think is That must have been so long ago, fighting to remember a time when we all took car trips together. Maybe it was before me.

Regardless, I have a connection to this place, to this coast. To the flora and fauna I see through the horizontal rain lines on the window. Plants I learned to identify as I was learning to talk. Edible. Poisonous. Cedars. Firs. Madrones. I’ve had to tweak my plant knowledge to incorporate the Northwest (too cold for poison oak), but after nine years I feel like I’m on a first name basis with the West Coast in its entirety. Hiking with Alec I’m always asking, “Isn’t that a….” and she laughs and says, “You’d be the one to know.” Or just, “Okay”, a smile in her eyes. Soon I won’t know anything.

How different will my surroundings be in a month? Will I recognize distant relatives of plants? Will I find a foreign familiarity?

Still two lanes, the October maples and firs acting like a strobe light to my peripheral vision. Yellow, green, yellow, green, yellow. The road is curvy under these trees; we’ve hit a creek and are canyon-carving our way down to the coast. Time to look up and enjoy the scenery.

Still raining.

Southbound

And the path starts… now. Closed my front door this morning, locked it, slipped the house keys into the mailbox for the landlord and set off towards the street. Right. Left. Right. Left… right.

I’ve moved many times in my nine years in Seattle. Moved from apartment to house, to California and back, lived with friends and by myself, but always with a tangible plan spread out before me. This move feels more like… that moment when you go to dive, arms spread wide in the air before forming an arrow that will lead you decisively into the water. That moment when your toes aren’t quite on land but haven’t fully committed to the air. That moment when your eyes want to instinctively close but you keep them open anyway to see what’s ahead of you. Leaping into the unknown. Eyes wide. Body tense. Wind in your hair. Lungs at capacity.

Being on the road feels good. Natural. Travelling with my dad is something so familiar to me; we have used roadtrips and car time—‘Wanders’—as our time since I can remember. “Where should we go, Wup?” he’d ask. “North or South?” Today we go south. In a month, I’ll travel further west on a plane than I’ve ever been. (Although really, when you’re going that far, east and west kind of lose their meaning.)

I’m going west, to the East.

It has been nine years since I moved to Seattle. Nearly a third of my life has been spent exploring the Pacific Northwest, a region I knew little about and have grown to love immensely. “You’re going to Seattle for College? It rains a lot there, doesn’t it?” Yes, yes it does. Salmon. Cedars. Native Americans. Punk rock. Grunge. And then you live here, and there’s just this certain something about it—like you are an integral part of this beautiful, tiny corner of the world full of cyclists and foodies and craftsmen and the most delicious fucking beer you’ve ever had. Surrounded by people who enjoy good things and take the time to do them right. We would. It’s raining outside.

Leaving seems… well, beyond the sheer feeling of adventure, it feels like crawling out of a warm blanket and into the cold, crisp, potentially brutal air of possibility. Seattle will always be a home for me, but I do believe there are others to be found out there. Korea may or may not be one, but I have no doubt it will be a lover of mine for a while. Seattle, you’ve done me well. Within you I’ve gained lifelong friends, loving family, and a sense of self. I have no doubt or regrets about you. And perhaps that is why I can leave you knowing that the part of my heart I leave behind will always be kept safe. Don’t change too much while I’m gone (and for goodness sake, stop building condos).

Farewell, my Northwest home.

I, Freedom(the camper), Yonder(the truck), my dad, and a U-Haul containing my material life head South. So does the rain.

Housewarming… and Snowing

Well, it’c cold enough to just leave the beer outside. Luckily raccoons haven’t figured out twist-offs.

Hello, again! The past few months have been a whirlwind of change, luckily landing me in a great new house with a new roommate (a roommate, period), new job, new schedule.. new new new! As usual I find myself cycling with the change of pace, thriving on the highs and pushing through the lows as best I can. A month into my new ‘life’, I feel the world slowing back into a new normalcy.

A fellow at our housewarming party, and later a spattering of Google’d blogs, told me that it takes twenty-eight days to form new habits. That sounds about right. It has been almost exactly a month since I moved, and patterns are starting to reappear.

Hopefully blogging will become an established part of this routine.

The CER Project lives another day.

a poor (wo)man’s printing alternative…

Contrary to my usual opinion of forced creativity, I often find that holing myself up and waiting for inspiration to strike has its benefits.  Sometimes it takes a while. Sometimes before I know it, I’ve been in the studio for twelve hours and have a prolific amount of work to show for it.

As is the case with this image. While unemployed a few years ago I got into a printing phase. At a local art store I found some foam printing sheets (a smooth, dense white foam with adhesive backing) that provided a cheap, easy alternative to the laborious wood blocks I seemed always to start and never finish. It was cheap enough (about $2.50 per 8.5″x11″ sheet) that I could experiment without breaking my budget (aka the change in my drawer), but also so versatile that I soon began using it to print on fabric and other materials.

Best of all, the only tools required are the foam sheet, a piece of cardboard (or wood for durability) and some sort of writing instrument to draw on the foam. A ball-point pen works fine; depending on the thickness of the line you desire. Because the foam is so pliable, it is easy to create multi-layered/ colored images by just cutting out the part you want to change (the feather, below) and using that as your new print block.

In this image, On the Wind, I was inspired by a feather that kept catching the wind so it looked like it was floating upwards.

Title: On the Wind
Inspiration: nature; wind currents
Medium: Foam block print on paper
Dimensions: 4″x6″
Price: $20; multiple available. 

ICON

ICON is one of my largest works of art to date. Inspired by… those who inspire.

Top row, left to right: Prince, Joni Mitchell, Jim Morrison, Mic Jagger, Jimi Hendrix

Bottom row: Jackie O., Georgia O’Keefe, Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandela

Billie Holiday

Bottom right: Bob Marley

 

Title: ICON
Inspiration: those who inspire others
Medium: Acrylic paint, paper on composite board
Dimensions: approx. 2’x3′ unframed. 
Price: original has been gifted; reproductions available $100, 20×30″. Smaller reproductions available. 

Concentric Life Equation… none of this linear mumbojumbo

As a self-proclaimed ‘child of nature’, I am drawn again and again to the image of concentric circles as a delineation of time. For some reason, this visual approach makes much more sense to me than a standard linear illustration, especially when used to portray the development of a specific individual. In one concise image you can see the beginning and the end and, in every artist’s dream, it also fuses the subject directly into the message.

I’ve often thought about tree rings as a visual metaphor for the phases of my life. Thinking back, certain years, phases, influences, relationships, interests, living situations, etc., fall into groups and make comprehending my own passage through time a visual affair.

What would you put in the empty boxes to represent your own life?

… His way of coping with the days was to think of activities as units of time, each unit consisting of about thirty minutes. …” –About a Boy, Nick Hornby.

Full hours can be a little bit intimidating and most activities take about half an hour. Taking a bath: one unit, watching countdown: one unit, web-based research: two units, exercising: three units, having my hair carefully disheveled: four units. It’s amazing how the day fills up, and I often wonder, to be absolutely honest, if I’d ever have time for a job; how do people cram them in?” – Hugh Grant as Will, in About a Boy the movie.

Title: In Tree Years

Inspiration: a late-night talk with my mom; nature; Nick Hornby’s idea of life as a series of units of time 

Medium: Foam-block print on paper

Dimensions: 6″x9″

Price: $40; seven (7) varied prints available. 

This item is available on Etsy! http://www.etsy.com/listing/83813118/in-tree-years-foamblock-print

Travel and a sense of Self

Last night I flew from Seattle to Oakland, CA where I am spending a couple of weeks with family. After devoting myself almost exclusively over the past month to getting this website up and running, the change in scenery was a shock to my system.

I love to travel. I could wax poetic about scenery and freedom and seeing new things but what I really get out of traveling is a true, simplistic sense of self. When I’m traveling I’m not surrounded by the daily reminders of routine and responsibilities, nor by acquaintances, nor my apartment full of ‘stuff’ that has come to represent the physical proof of my existence. When I travel those things break away and I am left with just me. Sometimes that’s a scary realization: I am who I am independently of my external surroundings.

So this morning when I woke up I had one of those “where am I” experiences. Since I moved to Seattle from the Bay Area both of my parents have moved a few times, so when I come to visit the feeling of ‘home’ centers around people, not places. Lying there on the hide-a-bed in my dad’s home recording studio, it really hit me that when I travel I break myself down and find the essence of ME.

Last April I was lucky enough to travel to Italy for two weeks where I spent my first few days wandering Roma solo (sola). Before leaving Seattle, I comically spent three weeks cramming on Italian language CD’s yet made the (somewhat irrational) decision to just immerse myself as much as possible once there, sans map. I landed at Fiumicino airport with directions to the hotel I had booked for one night and not much else. Over the next few days I just walked. I had been to Rome once before in 2003 so I had an idea of the places I wanted to revisit and things (mostly art) I had missed the first time around but was determined to avoid ‘a plan’ as much as possible.

After two days of aching feet, a full belly, two memory cards full of pictures and a new-found appreciation for the Italian way of life (and homemade pasta), I noticed that the anxiety I sometimes experience before throwing myself into a new situation had never even come up. I reflected on this over many cappuccini. Like I did this morning, I came to the realization that traveling by myself in a new environment had stripped me down into my component parts and what was left was a true sense of self. Once this idea had sunk in, it was like a fire had been lit inside me. With everything else stripped clear, I felt shiny and literally able to accomplish anything I set my mind to. I was also so far removed from my usual surroundings and acquaintances that all ties felt severed and I was free to just EXPERIENCE without external influence.

In those two weeks I just ABSORBED. Having a true sense of self in an unfamiliar place was like a license to try everything on for size to see how it fit. I very much admire people who are present enough to experience this daily. Apparently I need to get out of dodge before the realization hits.

Have you experienced this before?

SNAPSHOT

“When you point a finger, three more point back at you.”

SNAPSHOT is an image I created in 2008 to represent the moment between words and action. The loss of control felt in a situation heightened by emotion, anger, remorse, powerlessness can be felt in that moment when one person stretches their hand into the void and points accusingly at the other.  I intended SNAPSHOT as an encouragement to examine both sides of each situation.

Perhaps for others it will inspire a different meaning.  As always, comments are welcome.

Title: SNAPSHOT 
Inspiration: Life lesson
Medium: Foam block print
Dimensions: approx. 6×9″
Price: $30

Two left available from series of 12.

Riding the Sine curve

I often find myself riding a sine curve through life. How to explain…

 Consider the x-axis (horizontal) as time stretching into infinity and the y-axis (not shown here, vertical) as a measure of positive or negative (successful or unsuccessful) creativity. As time progresses, I am swept through periods of creative success and failure, always hovering around the median line of equilibrium.

As an artist, my creativity follows this sine curve. I will go for a week without rest to complete a project, all the while starting new works and recording inspirations constantly. At the height of the curve my creativity is insatiable, almost to the point of detriment to actual progress. I am overwhelmed by ideas! The world around me teems with inspiration and while ideas flow freely, it is next to impossible to stop and focus on just one.

Conversely, when my sine curve dips below equilibrium, I can be thrown into bouts of boredom, restlessness, insatiability, frustration and severe lack of motivation. It is during these periods, despite the multiple projects sitting half-completed on my desk, that I find myself watching whole seasons of Arrested Development. I recognize what is happening, yet to pull myself out of my dip of boredom and lack of inspiration is beyond my ability.

Soon, however, the motivation comes back. I finish the season of Arrested Development, and instead of starting season 2, I think of alternate plot endings and start writing them down. The duvet cover on my bed that I’ve grown so familiar with (after a whole season of tv) seems too simple and I find myself sketching designs to alter it. I go through my bookshelf and select a book I’ve yet to read. And I read it. Gradually, aided by the time axis, I pull myself back above equilibrium.

Yet equilibrium is where I am most definitively productive. Right between creative ineptitude and over-stimulation, I find I am able to think most critically while maintaining the stamina and interest to complete more difficult projects.

And thus, my creative cycle played out yet again, my inspiration and abilities continue to grow and expand.  Recognizing the cycle has helped me to both overcome and accept it: If I recognize that I am in a state of boredom and am feeling uninspired, simply acknowledging my place on the curve helps put things into perspective. No, I haven’t lost my passion for art, I’m just at the bottom of the curve. Likewise, I have learned that in a time of intensive creativity I must write everything down. Notebooks overflow, and when I find myself looking up from the bottom of the curve again I have projects to assign myself to get the ball rolling.

Creativity is organic; inspiration is everywhere.