Studio Visit: Collage Houses
How does an artist dream? my friend Suzanne wondered aloud months ago. I paused and pondered a thing that I'd never questioned about myself.
Tiny ArtBook was a way to field the question in, well, tiny format.
What’s the experience of making like for you? Leilani asked me last week. Her words parallel AND affirm the How does an artist dream question. Leilani went on to say, Share your experience with your readers, Rebecca. It was clear she believed that—
My experience as a maker matters;
Others will want to know about my experience;
I can share in a meaningful way.
You gotta love friends who are generous-curious. Friends who can see you in glowing light, AND point out potential where you haven't considered looking for it. Then she added, Your words matter. They are worthy of space.
In Tiny Artbook the words had little elbow room. See below. HERE'S THE LINK mentioned for the reel of 24 tiles.
All of this to say: It's time to pivot! I've been wondering how to return to writing and now I know. Regular readers, I hope you enjoyed Tiny Artbooks. That series is done! More pictures right here with as much of an artist-travelog as I can manage to put into words.
Instead of essays about my neighbors, I'll share my life as a maker, the unpredictable processes of being a working artist.
As I hold what Suzanne and Leilani said, I realize that this will be a challenge, a stretch for me. How is this a stretch?
Minimizing
I have a life-long pattern of minimizing what I do, especially the things done in joyful, confused, open-ended curiosity. And let us not forget the questionable value of anything done with ease. A grit-your-teeth straining and personal emotional blood-letting were the measure of worthy endeavor from my earliest memory. Hat tip to capitalism and the patriarchy! (I am steadily working to dismantle all of this shit.)
Flow
Sharing my experience is a stretch because Flow overtakes me as I wade into the chaotic, problem-solving, satisfaction of making. I let life live through me, the materials speak to me, and the process animate me. I am nearly oblivious of my self.
Dissociation
Finally, a survival strategy from early childhood involved checking out of my body. When the here and now was scary and uncertain, I could dissociate, mentally leave my body. My childhood and adolescence are a mix of painfully self-conscious memories stained with the fear of impending punishment or criticism, and reams of confidential documents with entire chapters redacted.
I am safe
Now, each morning I begin my day practicing self awareness: Being in my body, knowing I am safe. I breathe. I center. I embrace life in my body. In terms of this pivot, this challenge, will this being and knowing provide a container that lets me weave in and out of flow as I document my making process? It may be a stretch, but let's find out.
Sharing My Experience: aka Confessions of a Process Junkie
Be advised: work in progress, also called WIP, is messy, imperfect, and for me, unpredictable. If you've been here for a while, you've met my neighbors through their stories in my socially engaged project: Who Is My Neighbor? Care for accurate transcription of lived experiences and writing of detailed stories are a far cry from the artistic romp that is the expanded exploration of the present.
Now, I seek out my next material seduction. I play fast and loose with property lines, abstracted ideas of house and home, color, texture, scale. I surrender to process as meditation and the sensuality of making.
In my studio now: Collage Houses.
This has been a buy nothing project!
And that's it. The first studio experience tour. Let me know what you think, or what you'd like to see ahead. May your chaos give birth to new creation,
