“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.” - Douglas Adams
Another semester at school is complete. There have been many valuable lessons beyond the curriculum, sometimes happening so quickly that I couldn’t record them all, nor ponder them.
In my last post, I reflected on “making a practice of listening” as part of establishing balance in life, and as a way of developing focus; listening for the right answers. It is hard to listen when life is making that “whooshing” sound all around us. But, like Douglas Adams found, a sense of humor helps.
In my most difficult situations this semester, it was my sense of humor that carried me through. Although this was not revealed outwardly, not used as a smoke screen; instead, it helped me keep my mind open and my heart light. I was able to listen better in this frame of mind. Being aware of my mental state and actively preparing for listening was also essential. Without a “practice” of listening, I wouldn’t have been able to prepare my mind in this way. Not that I have a regular, frequent practice, but enough of one that I know when my mind is wandering and needs a calm moment for a fresh start. Like during the moments before walking into a meeting that I’d been dreading. A deep breath does wonders for the brain. Try three or four. Or twenty minutes - of just breathing.
There are still many unanswered questions regarding what comes next for me. I am in the process of applying for grad school for my MFA. This is requiring some of the deepest soul-searching I’ve ever done. Filling out forms, writing statements and assembling my portfolio, I am compelled to get to the core of my inclinations - the “truthiness” of it. Why do I feel drawn to this MFA thing? What got me this far, and why do I want to keep going?
Being able to articulate what one feels in the heart or in the gut is the challenge. Listening is the first step. Writing is the next, lots of writing! I wrote a dozen or more versions of my biography before it sounded right. Listening to my peers for their feedback was the next step. They have been honest, constructive, and supportive in the editing process. My gratitude goes out to them. Listening to complete strangers was another step. I took my laptop with my portfolio on it to a National Portfolio Day and selected three colleges to stand in line for, two that I think are a good fit and one that I think is a stretch. Listening to the feedback that the advisors had for me/my portfolio matched my expectations. The next step is to listen to the advice of my professors and advisors for fine-tuning. The final step will be listening to myself for my final decisions, and breathing, then sending off my applications to see what happens.
~Julia
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Growing Forward
"What am I doing? Where am I going? What do I really want to be when I grow up?" I often ask myself these kinds of questions. I figured that was part of being a growing person.
Talking with a friend today helped me step back and look at different ways to ask "life's persistent questions." In a discussion about life transitions, we explored the idea of moving toward or being pulled by something positive, rather than being repelled or pushed by something negative. If we listen to those positive "callings" we can follow the positive flow of energy. If we wait until something negative pushes or repels us, then we must deal with that negative energy and expend more of our energy just maintaining our balance.
Much of my self-discovery in the past few years has revolved around finding balance. Learning to listen can help us find it. In this simple act of listening, we can find energy as well as wisdom, and these equip us for action. It seems so simple, but of course, like anything, it takes practice - with that first act of listening.
Making a practice of listening, such as in meditation, yoga, or prayer, is only one part of the puzzle. Asking questions that help me constantly re-define my goals - the target I should be feeling magnetized toward - is another. That is where my random questions have needed refining. Will I get anywhere asking "Where am I going?" What if I ask, "Where to I want to go?" The "where" being a state of development, not a geographical place.
I have, for many years, laid out expectations for a wide range of possibilities. This has led to feeling scattered, unfocused, and less able to reach any particular goal. How could I when my energy was divided up into little pieces and spread out?
I'm learning to ask different questions. My target needs to be one well-defined possible outcome, not several possibilities. This tendency toward various possibilities was a defense mechanism of sorts, putting more emphasis on fall-back plans than on my ultimate goals. So much so that I lost sight of the goals. I had forgotten how to ask myself what I really wanted, not just what I thought I "should or could" be doing. My goals should reflect my passions and unique talents, not just my skills.
By exploring my passions, by listening to my core, I can find out both what I Want to be doing and what I Should be doing, as they are likely intertwined.
I'm learning to listen, differently, for "way to open." I'm learning to identify the questions to test, and what a "good" answer should feel/look like. For me, it's a feeling that washes over me like the warm, golden light of sunrise over the mountains, with a little pink thrown in when it's really spectacular.
I am learning to refine my objectives, as my goal may be malleable. I must practice recalibrating and redefining on a regular basis, reflecting on the perspective I have at a given time when looking toward my goal. New information needs to be considered. Perhaps a more efficient way to achieve my goal has emerged. Goal-tending.
In my university classes, I have been asked to explore similar questions in order to identify my Mission Statement, Vision Statement, Values, etc., as part of my business/career and marketing plans. In my classes I struggled with focusing on these targets. I was able to stay "focused enough" to do the class work, but every time I review my Mission and Vision Statements, I feel they are inaccurate. But improving the wording has been a struggle; partly because my goals were fuzzy.
In reading them, I see that I was fishing for too many possibilities rather than having a "defined" goal. Defined, refined, redefined.
"Connect with the target, not to the way or means of getting there," said my friend, who is a creativity coach. "Always ask Why," in order to get to the How.
She prompted me to "reel in" all those random possibilities, gather up all that energy and recalibrate. At first I felt deflated - how can I reel in all those intentions? Then, I began to see the value of having that creative energy back with me. I can ask different questions. I can add new information. I can listen, I can be open.
In a few days, I'll be headed back to school for the final year of my BFA. There are many unanswered questions regarding what comes next. Why do I want to apply to grad school? Why do I want to teach? Why do I feel drawn to fibers and sculpture? Why do I even want to be an artist?
I feel a bit like the orb-weaving spider gathering up her silk, preparing to re-spin her web. It will be even more functional than the last one. And more beautiful.
~Julia
Talking with a friend today helped me step back and look at different ways to ask "life's persistent questions." In a discussion about life transitions, we explored the idea of moving toward or being pulled by something positive, rather than being repelled or pushed by something negative. If we listen to those positive "callings" we can follow the positive flow of energy. If we wait until something negative pushes or repels us, then we must deal with that negative energy and expend more of our energy just maintaining our balance.
Much of my self-discovery in the past few years has revolved around finding balance. Learning to listen can help us find it. In this simple act of listening, we can find energy as well as wisdom, and these equip us for action. It seems so simple, but of course, like anything, it takes practice - with that first act of listening.
Making a practice of listening, such as in meditation, yoga, or prayer, is only one part of the puzzle. Asking questions that help me constantly re-define my goals - the target I should be feeling magnetized toward - is another. That is where my random questions have needed refining. Will I get anywhere asking "Where am I going?" What if I ask, "Where to I want to go?" The "where" being a state of development, not a geographical place.
I have, for many years, laid out expectations for a wide range of possibilities. This has led to feeling scattered, unfocused, and less able to reach any particular goal. How could I when my energy was divided up into little pieces and spread out?
I'm learning to ask different questions. My target needs to be one well-defined possible outcome, not several possibilities. This tendency toward various possibilities was a defense mechanism of sorts, putting more emphasis on fall-back plans than on my ultimate goals. So much so that I lost sight of the goals. I had forgotten how to ask myself what I really wanted, not just what I thought I "should or could" be doing. My goals should reflect my passions and unique talents, not just my skills.
By exploring my passions, by listening to my core, I can find out both what I Want to be doing and what I Should be doing, as they are likely intertwined.
I'm learning to listen, differently, for "way to open." I'm learning to identify the questions to test, and what a "good" answer should feel/look like. For me, it's a feeling that washes over me like the warm, golden light of sunrise over the mountains, with a little pink thrown in when it's really spectacular.
I am learning to refine my objectives, as my goal may be malleable. I must practice recalibrating and redefining on a regular basis, reflecting on the perspective I have at a given time when looking toward my goal. New information needs to be considered. Perhaps a more efficient way to achieve my goal has emerged. Goal-tending.
In my university classes, I have been asked to explore similar questions in order to identify my Mission Statement, Vision Statement, Values, etc., as part of my business/career and marketing plans. In my classes I struggled with focusing on these targets. I was able to stay "focused enough" to do the class work, but every time I review my Mission and Vision Statements, I feel they are inaccurate. But improving the wording has been a struggle; partly because my goals were fuzzy.
In reading them, I see that I was fishing for too many possibilities rather than having a "defined" goal. Defined, refined, redefined.
"Connect with the target, not to the way or means of getting there," said my friend, who is a creativity coach. "Always ask Why," in order to get to the How.
She prompted me to "reel in" all those random possibilities, gather up all that energy and recalibrate. At first I felt deflated - how can I reel in all those intentions? Then, I began to see the value of having that creative energy back with me. I can ask different questions. I can add new information. I can listen, I can be open.
In a few days, I'll be headed back to school for the final year of my BFA. There are many unanswered questions regarding what comes next. Why do I want to apply to grad school? Why do I want to teach? Why do I feel drawn to fibers and sculpture? Why do I even want to be an artist?
I feel a bit like the orb-weaving spider gathering up her silk, preparing to re-spin her web. It will be even more functional than the last one. And more beautiful.
~Julia
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Exploring Abstraction
The Big Wind (After Steve Tibbetts)
Linocut on Rice Paper, Julia March Crocetto, 2013
Abstraction: 1) A mode of representing identifiable objects that, to a greater or lesser degree, stresses the essential rather than the particular. 2) A set of aesthetically significant forms in which lines, colors, etc., do not correspond to those in the visible world. Art of this abstract nature is often called nonfigurative, nonrepresentational, or even nonobjective.
– Modern Art, Hunter & Jacobus, 2nd Ed.
When abstraction first surfaced at the very beginning of the 20th century, it was Cezanne who focused on “essential” shapes and colors of a landscape he’d painted numerous times. His work, the birth of definition #1, paved the way for other artists.
Expressionism soon followed, which still revolved around recognizable subject matter, but artists would push and pull at their subjects with color, line, and form to generate emotional responses from viewers. The German Blue Rider group (Kandinsky, Munter, and Marc), wrestling with political issues of freedom of expression, focused on the symbolic and spiritual aspects of both natural and abstract subject matter.
Out of this, around 1910-1913, Kandinsky transitioned from abstracted stylized landscapes to purely abstract compositions or “improvisations.” His essay, “Concerning the Spiritual in Art” defined the theoretical structure behind his artwork, which was a relationship of color and form that attempted to simplify his concepts to the most basic aspect – “the inner force.” This resulted in the first “non-objective” paintings; definition #2 was born. This was about 100 years ago.
Political issues and two world wars interfered with the growth of German Expressionism and Abstraction. Persecution and attempts at silencing artists backfired, however; as artists fled Germany during those years, the movements spread.
“Whenever the urgencies of personal passion have overcome a dominant formal order or decorative values in painting and sculpture, the original Expressionist spirit finds itself renewed,…”
(Thanks, Hunter & Jacobus, for historical perspective; apologies to Munter - I haven't learned how to make an umlaut.)
Artists today, throughout most of the world, are free to use abstraction, by either definition. An artist might begin an abstract painting with an idea in mind, perhaps a song, emotion, or a social issue. Other artists like to begin with nothing, just a blank canvas and a clear mind (if that is possible). This enables the artist to make purely aesthetic decisions, as in definition #2. As the painting develops, marks and subconscious painting habits that are unique to the artist will come through. I like working by both definitions, even if I'm just doing it for the mental exercise. I'm convinced this is good for waking up different parts of my brain than I might not use otherwise.
The image at the top of this post was created by both methods; listening to a favorite song while I made the drawing, starting with a clear mind, to see what would happen. It's an ethereal song that has no words, no specific imagery was in mind when I started. I listened again to the song while I transferred the drawing to the linoleum block and during the three sessions it took to carve it. I've made two limited editions of this image, four on the rice paper, four on tan paper. My frame order arrived a little banged up, but I hope to have one of them framed and on display soon.
~Julia
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Working and Re-working
When I sort through the old artwork stored in my studio, I wonder about whether I should re-work a piece or not. Would it be "beating a dead horse?" Or, would it be "fanning the flames of a great spark of an idea?"
Many pieces were simply experiments. They are valuable as lessons and examples for future reference. To me, they are not works that stand alone, but may be considered materials, just like the paint, dye, wood scraps, and copper tubing stashed in their respective places.
Now, if another artist reworks a piece, I might get irritated. Why? Because I've grown attached to the artwork as it is. I'm not attached to my own experiments, false starts, and incomplete ideas, but I might become attached to someone else's. That is one of the challenges with living with another artist. I grow attached to Tony's art; the next thing I know, he has completely re-worked it to a nearly unrecognizable state. I find myself responding with anguish!
People often ask me what it's like to have two artists living in the same house. This is one of those hard-to-describe moments. I poked my head into Tony's studio to see what he's up to... he was drying some re-worked abstract paintings. I had no idea what he'd been up to down there, and found myself reacting with horror; I suddenly felt like the advocate for the paintings.
I'm fine with being called an anthropomorphist. He was ready to take those old paintings and move on to another experiment. I wanted to celebrate them as individuals, they were survivors - they'd not yet been destroyed by the artist, had made it through the flood, and, quite simply, I had memories attached to certain paintings. All I can do at that point is lobby for certain paintings to remain intact, and let him do his thing. Meanwhile, it reminds me to go dig around in my studio to see if there is some re-working to be done.
~Julia
Many pieces were simply experiments. They are valuable as lessons and examples for future reference. To me, they are not works that stand alone, but may be considered materials, just like the paint, dye, wood scraps, and copper tubing stashed in their respective places.
Now, if another artist reworks a piece, I might get irritated. Why? Because I've grown attached to the artwork as it is. I'm not attached to my own experiments, false starts, and incomplete ideas, but I might become attached to someone else's. That is one of the challenges with living with another artist. I grow attached to Tony's art; the next thing I know, he has completely re-worked it to a nearly unrecognizable state. I find myself responding with anguish!
People often ask me what it's like to have two artists living in the same house. This is one of those hard-to-describe moments. I poked my head into Tony's studio to see what he's up to... he was drying some re-worked abstract paintings. I had no idea what he'd been up to down there, and found myself reacting with horror; I suddenly felt like the advocate for the paintings.
I'm fine with being called an anthropomorphist. He was ready to take those old paintings and move on to another experiment. I wanted to celebrate them as individuals, they were survivors - they'd not yet been destroyed by the artist, had made it through the flood, and, quite simply, I had memories attached to certain paintings. All I can do at that point is lobby for certain paintings to remain intact, and let him do his thing. Meanwhile, it reminds me to go dig around in my studio to see if there is some re-working to be done.
~Julia
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