Three Artists and Their Creative Influence on My Work

I'm taking a brief hiatus. Just a few weeks to walk through graduations, and health matters, and the beginning of summer. In the meantime, I'm leaving you in the good hands of some remarkably talented artists each of whom has impacted by creativity first hand.

Tyson Crosbie is a Phoenix-based photographer. His work features urban abstract compositions. He's amazing, and I'm proud to say I own a copy of Phoenix 21 signed by the artist. You can follow his most unusual blog as he organizes his perspective on the work. See Phoenix 22 as exhibited in Phoenix this spring.

Chris Reilly and his wife Michelle Reilly are San Diego-based abstract painters. Their work is shown in major galleries across the U.S.. Their ethereal backgrounds support applied elements from nature in a rare encaustic wax technique. I own several pieces of their work and am grateful to call them my friends.

And finally, Erinn Cunningham, who resides in Ottawa, Canada, is the most recent addition to my growing circle of artists influencing my creative process. Erinn's work immediately presents narrative streams for me. He is in the process of creating one of a kind prints of three pieces for me: Isolation, Rural, and Laneway. When I saw each of these photographs, I immediately sketched a story in my mind. Aren't they cool? There are several other pieces, such as: At the Movies and Monochrome Flowers and Winterscape that I am also looking to add to my walls.

Spending time with their work brings me a sense of both peace and energy. They are lantern and flashlight; mountain and meadow.

I hope you find their work inspiring.

Scribbles

Last night I saved the "NPD 051110.doc" file for the last time.

I finished the first draft.

Nobody was home.

I poured a cup of iced coffee, texted my two best friends, and threw a load of sheets in the washer.

And then I hit print.

Perfect.

Photo courtesy of "three little cupcakes".

Waiting for the Solution to Show Itself Again

I spent 26 hours in San Diego over the weekend. I wish I’d stayed longer. On my drive back to Phoenix I think I solved the last bit of Sara’s journey. And then I forgot.

I woke up this morning and could only remember that it worked. Whatever I untangled behind the headlights of my car cutting through the desert is gone. My solution twirled back up like the plastic telephone cords we used to have – well some of us used to have – 35 years ago.

I was pretty bummed out about that this morning. I actually wondered if beating my head against the coffee shop wall would summon the process I found the night before. How did I wind text through the desert air to get to the final week of Sara’s story? Of getting to the knot at the end of the road where Sara is waiting at the bus stop. Where Sara is waiting to let go, waiting to embrace, and waiting to see if anyone will be with her in the end.

Then I realized I am tired. Worn out from the waiting, and the task of braiding new strands of waiting into some kind of macramé design in my own world. I know it’s part of life, and at times the breaks from waiting are shorter than at others…but damn.

So rather than compare myself to other writers, rather than chastise myself for not “pulling myself up by my bootstraps”, I went down to the warehouse to read. Rest, read and write in my journal. Today was a day for turtling. A good day to sit with Sara at the bus stop and wait. Wait for the words to come again.

Photo courtesy of Josh Sommers

But It Will Be Alright

Tomorrow is Thursday...

Poster by Andre Jordan

Raising the Stakes

I recently had a conversation with another writer about what it means to "raise the stakes" for a character. In my novel, Sara has several relationships that break apart over the course of her story. I realized last week that a third relationship - one that she counted on forever - needed to implode. Perhaps forever? I needed this to happen to raise the stakes for her "choice" at the apex of the story arc. To further illuminate the resolution of the conflict.

The stakes in my own life have been raised over these last few weeks by the loss of a friendship. One that I counted on being around for a very long time. What I wrote for the novel preceded my own experience, but the proximity of these events is interesting to me. A foreshadowing of what my intuition was already becoming aware of in my friendship as well.

Waiting sucks. Loss sucks. And in art, as in life, the stakes are constantly being raised. I know how Sara's journey ends, although I'm not exactly sure how she gets there. In contrast I don't know how my story ends, and I definitely don't know how I get there. I hope life imitates art. I hope Sara teaches me about making good choices. I hope I pay attention.

Photo courtesy of Sausyn