Times of Transition

I am a person who loves transition - I get restless when I see an unending horizon of same-ness. I need growth and evolution, new projects, turning over a new leaf. I also love a bit of cyclical predicability as a framework for transition, which makes September one of my favorite months. September is back to school; September is the first signs of Autumn; September is the time for me to return to painting after a summer of art shows and family days. In September, I excitedly return to my planner with ambitious color coded entries, re-set my Studio schedule, and begin new bodies of work.

This September is marking my return to my Home Studio after a year spent as Artist in Residence at Saint Kate Hotel in Milwaukee. To be honest, this time around I am entering the new season exhausted and a bit depleted. Instead of storing up inspiration and replenishing a reserve of energy and ideas during the summer, I wrung out the last of my social battery and kept my creative output high as the Residency drew to a close.

I am happily fulfilled from a year of incredible creativity, non-stop interaction and unprecedented productivity. I’m aware of the turn of the calendar and the change of the season, but know this is not going to be a September for energetic new starts. I feel the pull toward sleeping late, sipping coffee, moving slowly and socializing sparingly. I’m quietly and lovingly organizing my Studio, relishing being back in my own space. I’m thinking about new work, but have no desire to start it yet.

So, I’m a little off-kilter this year as far as the calendar is concerned. I’m glad, though, that I can cut myself some slack and recognize that I’m still benefiting from the transition. It’s ok if my planner is a little less ambitiously color coded, and my weeks are a bit under-scheduled this September. Naps and coffee are important, and I have no worry that the art won’t be there when I’m ready to get back to work.

I hope however you greet the new seasons of your years and your life, you can find the good in transition.

xo, mwj

Thoughtful Questions

Often visitors to the Studio have questions about how I make my paintings. It’s natural, considering how process driven my work is, and how the materiality of that process adds extra layers (literally and figuratively) for people to wonder about. The ‘what are they made of?’ and ‘how long do they take?’ inquiries are typically followed by ‘how do you know when to stop?’

Stopping is an interesting part of abstract work. You can often rip right past a point where maybe calling it done would have been a good idea, though you can keep adding and come to a new stopping point. You can also hedge your bets and finish when it feels safe - but that often results in a painting that doesn’t feel complete. For me, the stopping point comes after the whole process has slowed way down and become very thoughtful and deliberate (this after a long period of intuitive, quick and boldly made layers). I can feel the end nearing, and the painting and I are in conversation about what it needs to feel right. The end usually comes in the form of a very small final detail, and a distinct, satisfied feeling of “Yes! That’s it!”

Today a lovely visitor followed this answer by asking what the final mark was on a specific painting. Goodness I loved that question! It’s the first time anyone ever took a general answer and moved the conversation one step further by asking for specifics! Aside from it being really fun to try to remember the last mark, it meant we were engaged in real, connected discussion - my favorite kind. It meant my ramblings about how I make my work were interesting to them, and sparked enough curiosity to ask more. It also made me sit in front of a painting and concentrate on it long enough to recreate the process in my mind. I didn’t remember the last mark at first - but when we looked for a while, it became apparent to me where it was. It was wonderful to dive back in with someone and look that deeply again.

So this is for anyone who thinks maybe they’re asking too many questions, or asking ‘dumb’ questions, etc. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re asking thoughtful questions sparked by your own interest and curiosity, there are never too many, and they’re always good ones. Take this with you and go be curious about something, anything. Ask thoughtful questions.

xo - mwj

(last mark, btw: a soft scrape of deep Prussian blue oil pastel)

Going to work to feel Free

This morning on my way to the studio, I was listening to an interview with actress Michelle Williams on NPR’s Fresh Air. In it she said, “I think the reason I go to work every day, is to expand my sense of freedom”. This struck me so hard. It made me realize that I often (even after all these years, and all these paintings), allow fear, insecurities, and “shoulds” have far too heavy an influence over my work - really getting in the way of that freedom.

I’m guessing it’s one part being a long-time people pleaser / rule follower; one part being a female in what can still feel like a male dominated field; and one part being a middle aged white lady that feels maybe not cool enough for the Art world. There are a lot of angles to Studio anxiety. But when I finally push those interlopers away and get to work, the one thing I always find is freedom.

Creating is where I feel most me, most stripped down to just the core: curious, joyful, happy. That, in turn, makes me feel brave and powerful. It’s good stuff. I appreciate being reminded of that on my drive in this morning.

I hope you have places and practices that allow you to feel that same way,

xo, mwj

First and Foremost

I am starting this little blog with an important announcement: Nothing makes me less inclined to do something regularly, than to say that I will be doing it regularly. So while I want to create a space here to share some thoughts behind my work, and pics of what I’ve been up to in the studio - I also don’t want to create an obligation that makes me shrink away from the ‘duty’ of posting.

I am also very, very easily pulled into the unrealistic ‘need’ for validation from outside sources. Call it people-pleaser syndrome, call it late-diagnosed ADHD perfectionism, call it being an enneagram 4, whatever you like: it’s a part of me, but it’s a greedy beast I need to stop feeding. Thus my disabling of comments here. I’d love to hear from you if my work or words resonate - I’d just rather an email, so I don’t fall into the trap of endlessly checking for comments.

So - if after those incredibly welcoming words, you still want to hang out here: Thank you! You’ll get the real me, which I’m happy to share!

xo - mwj