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This time of year I clearly feel the change in the amount of light, as the days shorten and the nights lengthen, my energy level dips lower and lower, until just getting dressed to go outside and shovel snow for a few minutes feels like I've run a full marathon. An hour working in my studio feels like four hours, at least. It's exhausting just getting through the day. I begin to wonder if there's something wrong with me.

 

It always seems to sneak up on me somehow ... I'll start feeling more and more 'draggy', and then suddenly it hits me that I've just about reached the end of my limits, and THEN I realize what the date is, and it all makes sense. I smile and shake my head, somewhat chagrined to realize I've been 'duped' yet again by dear old Mother Nature. The joke is on me. It's Solstice time again !

 

The Winter Solstice marks the 'shortest day of the year', which is Dec 21 this year, after which the days will begin to lengthen again. Today is Dec 18, 3 days until the actual Solstice, the longest night of the year. This is when the sun's path seems to 'stand still' for a few days on either side of that turning point, and I feel like I should also just be 'standing still'. The word 'solstice' is actually derived from a couple Latin terms, 'Sol' (sun), and 'Stice' (stand still).

 

So, from about Dec 17 until Dec 24, there is little or no discernable change in the amount of daylight we receive. It is the period of 'darkest days'. Then on Dec 25 the light actually starts to increase noticeably, a little more each day - and THAT is when moods also start to lift again. We rejoice - the light is returning again, it hasn't abandoned us after all.

 

For most of my life I've been able to 'work around' that sensitivity to the changing amount of daylight, to carry on as if every day in the year was the same. That's what we're conditioned to do by our very society, which tries to fit us all into the same shape and size, and tries to keep us all on the same schedule.

 

But I find as I get older it's increasingly difficult to do so. If anything, I seem to be getting even more sensitive to changes in the amount of sunlight, feeling very energetic during the longest sunniest summer days, and increasingly lethargic as we approach the winter solstice. I can easily see how some people become depressed at this time of year, or at least they call it depression. I tend to see it instead as a natural reaction to a natural phenomenon, which goes away when the days start to become longer again. I see it as a yearly ritual to be observed and celebrated. If I feel like secluding myself away for a few days of introspective thought and reflection, then that is what I need to be doing.

 

So what does this mean for the creative process? I can't speak for all artists of course, but for me, this time of year always feels like a 'winding down' period, time to 'clear the slate' to be ready to start on the next round, whatever that may turn out to be. It's a time of anticipated 'new beginnings', as we get ready to welcome a new calendar year as well. For me, the Solstice truly IS the beginning of the 'new year'.

 

It's a time for thinking, for getting in touch with inner feelings and perspectives, opening the mind for new ideas and new directions to present themselves. It's a time for just sitting still and reflecting on what it is that makes me want to paint in the first place.

 

It's a time for finishing up current projects, which is always a challenge for me - I tend to get ideas for 'the next one' shortly after I start a painting ... which leads to my tendency to have at least a handful of paintings on the go at any time. Two days ago I finished up an oil painting I started a couple weeks ago. At one time Oil was my main medium, but I really haven't done much with it over the past decade or so, having falling so deeply in love with Prismacolour pencils. Lately though I've been feeling that old 'oil itch' again, and so the tubes and brushes came out of hiding and once more they figure prominently in my daily activities.

 

The one I finished is a scene on the St John River, looking up-river, above Mactaquac.

 

AUTUMN ABOVE MACTAQUAC © Sharon L Hicks, 2013 ... oil ... 12 x 16

 

I already have done a study and a painting of this scene in Prismacolour pencils, so this oil painting completes that little 'trilogy', I guess. I'm happy enough with the way it turned out, though I can see where I really need to brush up on my old oil skills!! ... I expect I'll be spending a fair amount of time on the “old oils” for the next few months, and we'll see what I can accomplish with this time-tested medium ...

 

This will be my last blog post until after Christmas day, so I'll catch you then. Have a safe and happy holiday season, and I might have another painting or two to share with you next time.

 

Cheers

Sharon

JOLICURE BOUND © Sharon L Hicks, 2013   -  Prismacolour pencils

 

I've been reading a book lately which explores the mechanics of how we create, and which delves into certain ideas or mindsets which help to spur along the creative process. Reading and learning from this type of subject matter helps to forge connections in my mind which in turn allow me to carry on with this lifelong creative quest, without those nagging feelings that I 'should be doing something else' with my valuable time. The very fact that someone has taken the subject seriously enough to write an eye-opening book about Creativity is a small revelation in its own right. And it's not the only book ... there are scads of them out there ... now.

 

But that was not always the case. I was raised in a rural location, in the middle of the twentieth century - a time when it was considered just a 'cute amusement' that I could draw. There were no art classes in school. There were no 'real' artists around our farming community, that I knew of anyway. There was no easy access to suitable art materials or instruction. My drawing ability was never considered in any serious manner, or as anything particularly special, it was just 'something I could do'.

 

And so I never really took my 'artist' self seriously for a very long time, even though for as long as I could remember that was the first thing that would pop into my head if anyone should ask the child 'me' what I wanted to be when I grew up. I never 'stopped' drawing, and later painting, and I diligently studied and learned everything I could learn on my own, but it was always considered 'in my spare time'. The 'real work' of living had to come first, the art was always second, or even put on temporary hold at times.

 

And even later when I did start thinking more seriously about what I know at my core to be my 'true self', it was difficult to overcome the feelings that others had imposed during my formative years - I should do all my housework BEFORE I wasted time painting ... I should look after everything to do with my family BEFORE I wasted time painting ... I should focus my energy on working at a job BEFORE I wasted time painting ... Being an artist took a back seat to everything else in my life, for the better part of my life - being a wife, being a mother, being an employee, being a volunteer  ... the list is endless.

 

And then, three and a half years ago, that all changed. Corporate downsizing plunged me into 'early retirement', when the position I held was eliminated, and I was faced with the reality that nobody was eager to hire a woman nearing retirement age when there were so many other (younger) people out there competing for the same jobs. I became a statistic - divorced, then widowed, jobless, with no prospects for further employment. Sad, right?

 

The severance package bought me a little time to think things through, evaluate my situation, and come up with a course of action. Once the dust had settled and I'd had a bit of time to brush some of it off, it didn't take long before the proverbial light bulb flashed on. The company I had worked for had really done me a HUGE favour - I now had the time I'd always wanted to devote to the one passion in life which I'd carried inside me since I was a small girl - I could actually BE the artist I'd always wanted to be.

 

But in order to 'get there', I needed to make a huge pile of choices and changes, some of them really life-altering, some of them logical (to myself and to others), some of them rather selfish (as it appeared to others, though logical to me). I'll spare you the details, but here's the summary - a year later I was living back in my hometown, in a lovely little 1-bedroom 'granny suite' out in the country, with high ceilings and fabulous light.

 

From that point it became a matter of rearranging my thinking, trying to oust the old 'guilt' feelings of 'doing what I wanted to do' rather than 'what others expected me to do'. Two and a half years later I still struggle with that feeling at times, but I'm getting better at putting myself first. Also, since I started taking myself more seriously in this endeavour of creating art, my work has been taken more seriously.  I have my first solo exhibit under my belt. I've been sought out to teach classes, and also to teach a few workshops. I developed a fairly lucrative 'secondary' market selling prints and note-cards based on some of my local paintings.

 

The point of this post is just to say that everything we do in life, including the practice of being an artist, is based on decisions we make. Choices we make. Even a failure is the result of a choice we've made, and rather than lament about failing we can learn a lesson about what choices not to make in the future.

 

Even though I suffer from a few health issues which slow me down at times, I smile every day when I drag myself out of bed, because I'm living the life I WANT, rather than trying to fit into someone else's idea of what my life 'should be'. It's a very liberating feeling. It's a MINDSET.

 

Mindset is the driving force behind everything we do in life. When I need to make a decision now, my first thought is 'how will it affect my art?' If an activity, for example, will tie up too much of my valuable painting time, I'm inclined to pass on it, unless it's something I'm REALLY interested in, and then it might be worth the time away from creating. The point is, I evaluate things first, before reaching a decision.

 

This  'Artist Mindset' has become deeply entrenched in my everyday life, and I fully expect it will continue to rule my world for the rest of whatever time I might have in this life. It feels 'natural' for me, and that is good.

Today is my father's birthday - he is now 87 years young. I say it that way because he is still active and independent, and can still work circles around men much younger than he is. You could say he is a success at Life, to have lived and thrived for this many years, with no major health issues.

 

He is still able to go curling when he wants to. He plays Bridge several times each week. He and my stepmother entertain friends regularly. They do their own errands and enjoy a visit to the local casino once in awhile, just for a bit of fun. He has enjoyed making his own wine for many years. He still does his own maintenance work every summer down at the shore, filling his days with mowing and raking, building and repairing, enjoying every minute of every day.

 

“What is his secret?” you might well ask. I have a few ideas about why he is still such a going concern at an age when many others are relegated to rocking chairs in nursing homes, unable to look after themselves, and just wasting away.

 

First of all, he grew up in a time when hard physical work was the norm, rather than the exception. As a teenager and young man he spent long sweaty summer days working on the hay-press which his father moved around the community, pressing hay into bales for many of the farmers in the area. He worked hard. He grew strong and capable. His family were also carpenters, a trade he practiced and excelled at for most of his life, and which he still likes to tinker with to this day.

 

He grew up eating real food from the family farm, in the country, where the air was fresh and clean. Pre-packaged meals were non-existant, and 'eating out' meant going to visit a relative or friend for a Sunday dinner once in awhile. Candy was a 'once-in-awhile' treat. And the proverbial glass was always 'half full', rather than half-empty.

 

So, hard work, real wholesome good-quality food, building things from basic materials, an optimistic attitude. You could sum up my father with those words. That, you might say, is the recipe for being successful at Life.

 

He has his own version of course - he says he is “still trying to decide what he wants to be when he grows up”. Which means he is still open to new ideas, new information, new experiences, something new to learn. I've adopted that attitude for my own mantra ... I like to tell my grandkids (and anyone else who will hear me) that a day without learning something new is a wasted day.

 

To be successful at Art, which is sometimes said to imitate Life, (and sometimes the other way around) you could apply a similar formula ... work hard, use good-quality materials, keep an open mind, and always strive to learn something new, in order to build finished paintings from empty canvasses or sheets of paper.

 

WORK HARD:

It goes with out saying that Art is not an 'automatic process', it takes considerable time and effort (aka: work) to become good at what we do. Years and years, in many cases, of experimenting and testing and trying different approaches, different mediums, different subject matter and styles, until we hit on the combination which feels most 'natural' to our own individual way of communicating our ideas.

 

“Anything worth doing is worth doing well” is a time-honoured mantra which rings true in the art world as with any other endeavour. If you want to be 'an artist' you have to put in the time and effort to master your medium, to become familiar with your own 'voice', to take an idea from a rough sketch to a finished painting. Elbow-grease is a necessary part of success.

 

USE GOOD-QUALITY MATERIALS:

If you build a house with old warped lumber, or young green lumber, you can't expect it to remain standing and be in good repair as the years pass. The old warped lumber will continue to warp, the young green lumber will dry out and shrink. Build an identical house with properly seasoned high-quality straight boards, however, and your masterpiece will still be standing tall and strong for your grandchildren or great-grandchildren to enjoy.

 

For artists, this equates to purchasing only high-quality 'artist grade' materials for your paintings. Consider the work of Emily Carr, for example. Because of economic restraints she was unable to afford good materials, and often painted on pieces of paper which were mounted on cardboard. Although her painting skills were masterful, unfortunately many of her works are in very poor condition now, because of the lower-grade materials she used.

 

left: ABOVE THE GRAVEL PIT - Emily Carr  -  oil on canvas

right:  LANDSCAPE - Emily Carr  -  oil on paper

 

In these 2 examples, you can easily see how her works on canvas have held up far better than her works on paper. The colours in the canvas painting are still bright and true, while those in the paper painting are faded and subdued. The acid in the paper and cardboard backing affect the colours over time, and could eventually destroy the paper itself.

 

KEEP AN OPEN MIND ... STRIVE TO LEARN SOMETHING NEW:

Even when you think you have learned all there is to know about your own unique process, something happens which reminds you that there is always something more to learn. Something more to try, something new to experience. When the process starts to feel too 'familiar', it's time to go back to basics and see if there's a different route which needs to be explored.

 

Following these guidelines could help to keep an artist 'young' - just like my dad.

 

Cheers

Sharon