Kinship | From Soil To Studio

There can be a deepening and enriching addition to your studio practice when you look outside. Go into the gardens and forests, the fields and meadows, and experience the kinship there to be found in the growing things, the co-creative things, of earth and art.

Transcript

Welcome, Awake and Creative. For the past few years, I've found myself growing deeper and more soulfully connected to the work I do, That of art. I think of it as a co-creation rather than some sort of personal necessity or process of self-discovery. Those things are in there, Most definitely, All entwined in this soul-purposing. But for me, That position of co-creator, Of here with intention as part of a bigger whole, Makes all the difference. It deepens my practice on not just a daily basis, But in the entire trajectory of my art and career in this painterly world, Are proving out to be more richly rewarding. When I see it all coming to fruition as part of this greater whole, This co-creative bot. On the property in which I live, We refer to it as a creative compound. There's about a half acre, Maybe a third, Of gardens. Farm beds, If you will. It's a small urban farm. Over the decade that I've been here, I've slowly begun to turn things into orchards, Berries, Berry patches, Seasonal vegetables, And my most favorite, Perennial flowers. It's spring here now. One of my four sons is an organic farmer. He's come to live on the compound, Having his own artistic flair and adding more creative energy. And over the course of the last three years of his presence here, These gardens, This third acre, Has begun to flourish in ways I was unable to manage. This year, As I watch the new buds burst and the colors on the trees and berry bushes alight, The little shoots so delightfully popping from the soil, Where in winter one would think it's barren and desolate, Life always there, Ready to burst. It's such a wonder. But as this is happening, And I stand in the awe of it, I've been thinking a lot about the parallel, A shared rhythm of the artist to the farmer. There's a profound kinship between the soil and the studio. I can see this in my own work, The seasonal, If you will, Language of the farmer, The one who understands better than maybe anyone that you can't negotiate with Mother Nature. The farmer never asks the ground for harvest in January. The frozen months, As I've just pointed out, Aren't dead and desolate. There's a faithfulness that essential preparation is happening. I find myself in the studio with a simpler resonance. In the dim light of winter, I can be sketching, Sitting, Working the paintbrush from arm and hand more than shoulders and body. Closer in, Quieter, More experimental. And then when spring hits, Full tilt of the earth begins to invite warmer weather. At that too, The farmer's life, Like the artist's, Begins to explode in different dimensions. This work of the hand, A gentler, More preparatory time spent in winter, Becomes the work of the body. I personally find myself keening to work larger, Broader, More vibrantly with my strokes and pigment choices. The farmer too is moving into this full body engagement. I see my son out engaging with the fields, Broad forking the rows, Encouraging the compost into that dormant soil, Renewing its life. This season is one in which that good tired, The muscle aches, Are so delicious and appreciated. This shared intensity of this seasonal expansion, The artist's bold, Vibrant energy and color, Is synonymous with that farmer's greening rose. Both responding directly to the call, The sun's shift, The earth's warming, The natural flourishing. We've become confused in the modern world. A grocery store is a perfect example of this. You can have strawberries in winter. Our use of light, Light that comes the flick of a switch, Commands and demands, Even sometimes, That creativity and work happen around the clock. But like the farmer, The artist knows better. I'm finding that when there's a true alignment, A true listening, That resonance and rhythm of the seasons that the farmer so naturally follows, Is a gift as well to the artist's rhythm. There's a secret joy in that waiting. I can more firmly and confidently respond to that pulling in and settling down energy of winter, Working more closely, Concisely. And then also too, The beginning flourishing and opening of the budding of spring. There's a resonance in this dance. We can hear it and do better to engage and hold hands with it when we stop trying to dictate the terms of the productivity and aligned our labor with the natural pulse of the seasons. This is a beautiful lineage of creators, Co-creators, Why we are here. So I leave you with an inquiry today. Spend your time with the thought. Take it into your studios. Dance it across the canvas. Let the inquiry begin to speak back to you and hear the resonance of truth and conviction that come from working in this way. Ask yourself, If you truly leaned into the rhythm, You can feel when you let yourself really feel it. If you leaned into this rhythm, Rhythm of the seasons, How they flow and resonate wherever you live and find yourself. What if you leaned into them? Let them dictate your pace entirely. What would happen? Does this evoke a feeling of losing your grip? Does an untethering tease at the edges of your mind? Or perhaps, Perhaps, Is there a hint, A hint of knowing that you're finding your place within? I think that's my point. The point of these few years of development and resonance myself. That a fear of chaos, Of losing that grip, Is truly finding freedom. Finding flow. For the seasons are a guide. They underpin any artificiality humanity has built into the rhythm. And when we can return to it, Return to that rhythm, There's immense joy. And even, Dare I say, Productivity. The true productivity of the heart, Of the soul, Of the mind. Of the soul, Of the earth. Have courage to respond. Awaken creative. Today.