Knowing When to Stop and When to Begin Again

Aurora with Angels Ascending  (Acrylic Ink on Yupo paper)   

Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress.   ---- Harper Pitt from "Angels in America" by Tony Kushner

Feeling a little lightheaded from blowing ink onto my paper with an atomizer, I step back from the table to survey the results.  "I like that," says the woman next to me pausing one paint encrusted hand over her creation. "Sometimes, you just have to know when to stop, to know when it is finished," and she returns to wiping her paper with a cloth.

I am new at this. I dreaded art class in Junior High School. Remembering my sad attempts at perspective drawings, the poorly constructed clay sculptures, and how my color mixing ALWAYS resulted in brown, I marvel that I actually drove 40 minutes to be here in this room surrounded by paint and water and alcohol and implements of creation. Going into High School was a relief for me. NO MORE ART CLASS. Yet here I am.

I do not know what spurred me to sign up for Aletheia Schmidt's Painting as play, prayer, process event, except that at 50-something I am trying to move away from I-am-not-ness.  I can't followed by the words because I am not ____ enough. I knew that Aletheia would not accept the statement I can't because I am not an artist. Somewhere in my brain a little voice said, If you know Aletheia wouldn't accept that, then why should you?  I signed up, it's PLAY I told myself.

In mid-afternoon when I learned of the bombing at the Boston Marathon, I was tempted, sorely tempted, to stay home glued to the television.  Why should I play when bad things are happening. I conveniently ignored the prayer and process part of the event. "We are still on for tonight aren't we?" says my husband and I couldn't say no.

I clear my mind, grateful that Aletheia prayed over the gathering as we begin. Trying to release preconceived notions and simply play with the myriad of color and implements spread around the tables for us, I vow not to look at anyone else's work. I will not judge myself.

 I complete one painting and start on another. Dry paper and drops of blue & yellow ink. Humm, now where is that nail brush? Finding the brush I spread the colors across the paper, creating a pleasing green color with glimpses of the yellow showing through. What next? I am going on impulse now as I drop teal and magenta randomly on the paper and then I lift it, holding it by a corner allowing the ink to run. This is kinda cool... Laying the paper back down I see what could be tree branches maybe? I step back and take a deep breath. The woman next to me glances over and says, "Nice colors" and I find my hand reaching for the alcohol. Am I actually enjoying this and trusting to go where I feel the leading? I wonder what would happen if I stood several feet away from table and sprayed my paper with a light spritz of alcohol. Small dots appear on my dark tree branches. I stop.

I return to creation #1.  I hate it. "It looks contrived," I say to Aletheia. And it is slightly BROWN. Smiling brightly she replies, "Is there anything on the other side? No? Well then turn it over and start again." Turn it over and start again. Duh! Whack with the holy 2x4. Just begin again. Isn't life about new beginnings? After Wednesday comes Thursday and always I can begin again.

Red on the paper, followed by blue and then I let it drip in long streaks. I add a fine mist of pink and silver with an atomizer. It's not quite finished. Pick me. Pick me, whispers the gold from across the room. Three drops on the paper and I am blowing on them with a straw. They take on shapes. The paper, as well as the wise advice from my neighbor, tell me it is finished.

I paint the words "Bearing Fruit" on the now dry tree branch creation. It is a title the painting called me to give it. For tonight's process was abundant with fruit for me, learning lessons about listening to the still small voice that clues me in on when to stop AND when/how to start over.  My prayer of expectation is that there will be more fruit to come, if only I say YES to letting it ripen.

I watch my "begin again" dry. The colors remind me of the Aurora Borealis photos I have been looking at recently and my three golden shapes appear as angels. I am "Aurora with Angels Ascending" it says to me. SO BE IT.

This morning "Aurora with Angels Ascending" tells me more about its name.  I remember a monologue from Tony Kushner's "Angels in America."  Harper Pitt is on a flight to San Francisco describing what she sees from the window:

Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead of people who’d perished from famine, from war, from the plague and they floated up like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning....In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind and dreaming ahead.

I think of the three dead (as of this morning) in the Boston bombing. I know we will mourn for them and so many other victims of violence, war, famines, and disease. I will still grieve for those I've lost. Sometimes I long for life I left behind, there are days when I still desperately want it back the way it used to be, but I am dreaming ahead.