strangeness

I'm in a strange and interesting place with my work now. Since working outside every day in Tenerife, I'm keeping up the practice of going outside and drawing something that's right before my eyes, as the sea was there, or the sunset. Mostly this process results in images that are not as interesting to me as some of the work I've done in the past. Occasionally, the images that are done outside feed into other images which are less literalistic, and something comes that makes me feel I'm slowly moving somewhere I want to go. Like this one of the sea, there's some small thing that I like here.

But mostly, what I produce from being outside isn't that satisfying. The strange thing is, though, that the process of being outside, doing it, makes me feel completely wonderful. I think it's something to do with making a connection between myself and the world through my hand, instead of feeling like I'm living inside a goldfish bowl, looking out at a visually fascinating world, but mysteriously paralysed. That feeling of connection seems to pretty much override the sense that the images aren't of great interest. In terms of 'painting'. But somehow they are of interest, nonetheless, to me. What a strange process this is.

Ah yes, the channel. Just remembered that...

There is a vitality,

a life force,

an energy,

a quickening 

that is translated through you into action

and because there is only one you in all of time,

this expression is unique.

And if you block it,

it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost.

The world will not have it.

It is not your business to determine how good it is

nor how valuable,

nor how it compares with other expressions.

It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly

to keep the channel open.

You do not have to believe in yourself

or your work.

You have to keep open and aware directly to

the urges that motivate you.

Keep the channel open.

No artist is pleased.

There is no satisfaction whatever, at any time.

There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction,

a blessed unrest

that keeps us marching

and makes us more alive

than the others.

Martha Graham to Agnes de Mille in "Dance to the Piper"

.