There is a pile on my desktop, well, actually more on my screen. We are in the digital age after all. The reason why there was so much silence (oh so deceptive) was because we are buried deep in so many projects and as often in fall - the deadlines approach wearing a black cloak, holding the hour glass in one hand and the c in the other.

So there is a little sneak peak now on what is right now on my desk. Various calendars for 2011 are in the making, Alice in Wonderland (have you seen the new art yet?), Guardian (more on that one later), calendars with new commissioned artwork for Shakti Gawain and Judith Orloff. On top of that it is time for new greeting cards. And rumors about a new book on tutorials and more Alice does not want to stay "just" a calendar only... she may want to lead us out for new adventures... stay tuned.

You know how you can talk about a thing and it sounds really good to your own ears? You might even spout off to friends or family about this thing, encouraging (harassing?) them to try it. Maybe you even consider yourself somewhat of an aficionado about this thing. Then BLAM! You actually do the thing you've been talking about and it takes on a life of its own, totally surprising you, and, in the end, teaching you once again that you really know nothing?

 Yeah, that's how I feel about art right now. I've been preaching the virtues of staying open and responding to What Is, in the context of both life and art, then a few days ago I sit down to collage with Mernie and I end up painting a page-spread turquoise, white and red, but not in a very intriguing nor compelling way. I stared at the pages. "Lookin' a lot like the French flag to me," I mumbled, thinking how nice it'd be to skip the painted pages all together and just go on to something else. But my own words hung in the air: "Just put some paint down on the page and then respond to What Is. Don't plan. Work with your impulses and at every stage ask yourself "what does this call for next?"

I was spouting advice I'd heard Teesha and Anahata say - advice I had taken at their workshops. Advice that had been very good to me, in more ways than one. Both Teesha and Anahata are a bit guerilla in their art: they simply start somewhere (anywhere) and begin cutting, pasting, painting. At each stage they respond to what's on the page, allowing the art to unfold, to tell its own story and take its own direction. I, on the other hand, can get so knicker-twisted when making a piece of art, I'm almost defeated before I begin. So hung up am I on a certain idea I have in my head that if I cannot see my way through to the "how" of creating what's in my mind, I quit. Quitting before you begin? Not so good for art-making.

So the advice of starting somewhere -anywhere- and letting the piece unfold at each stage was a life saver for me. It's changed the way I create, the way I write, the way I compose. It's had such a positive impact that it won't leave my head as I stare down at those garish red, white and turquoise pages I'd like to destroy or abort. "Work with What Is. Let the canvas tell you what's next." I'm looking down at my patriotic looking pages and am just not up to lighting firecrackers. But Mernie's sitting next to me and after spouting off this advice for the past hour as we prepared the studio for a day of collaging, I can't simply abort now. Damnit. I'm going to have to walk my talk.

And thank gawd for that particular peer pressure, for I did forge ahead, allowing the piece itself to dictate my next steps. And what can I say? I was thoroughly surprised (and pleasantly, I might add) to discover the piece telling me its own tale.

I wonder how many times this happens in art. We forfeit new and compelling wonders because we insist on going with what we know, what feels comfortable.  And how often in life do we forgo a new experience or friendship because of the persistent need to control? It baffles me how often I stand in my own way.

How often have I robbed myself of surprise and delight because I'm certain a work of art should look this way, or a friend should act that way, or the world should be other than it is? I swear it all goes back to the same rule: Curiosity over Judgement. When we judge a thing as right or wrong, when we label art or life as "good" or "bad" we cut ourselves off from all that might be. We fence ourselves in...in a little space we consider "right." But when we stay open, curious like Alice, allowing ourselves to observe and respond to each moment as it occurs, then we have a fence-less field in which to play, wander and wonder. 

I know. I know. It all sounds so simple, and then you're in front of a red, white and blue French flag of painted paper and you want to hurl technicolor frog legs. Or you're standing in line while the new 7-11 store clerk counts out eight dollars worth of pennies and you're thinking that gouging your eyes out with thumbtacks would be more pleasurable than one more minute in line. Or your friend calls for the fifth time to cancel dinner plans. You reach for your curiosity and find only judgment. You reach for your compassion and find only a petty, angry pride flexing its Tony Soprano muscles.

But you have a choice. I have a choice. Which way will we go? Upstream full of resistance and the illusion of control? Or downstream full of ease and possibility? I know one thing. I'm awfully glad I chose downstream to let this French (freak) flag fly!

 Now somebody be kind enough to remind me of this next next time I'm standing in line at the 7-11. That'll be me with the package of thumbtacks.

Have I mentioned that Mernie has been in our small Taos adobe for weeks? You'd think it could feel crowded and tense with three humans and three dogs and a Houdini mouse in such a small space (especially given the relations of all involved) and you'd be right! But now that we've settled into a routine, things are smooth sailing and we're finding creative ways to enjoy ourselves and each other. We're all back to work with a healthy dose of plurk mixed in.

With business and household duties out of the way, Mernie and I sat down yesterday afternoon for a little mother/daughter collage activity. We haven't created or painted together in over ten years. And as I shared with her some of the techniques I've learned at workshops and through my own risk-taking (mistaking) I really heard myself clearly, as if listening to me with someone else's ears. As we painted, drew, cut and glued, it dawned on me that the "rules" for art (in this case, collage) are the same for life. Well, when I say "rules" let me clarify: rules are the codes by which one operates if one wishes to BE DELIGHTED, and enjoy the creative process, regardless of the results. (But the results are almost always better for having followed the rules. It just works that way.) 

 
"To know delight, you first must be delight."©Angi Sullins 2009
This is the piece I made while contemplating the rules of delightful creation

Rules of Art, Life and Delightful Creation

rule #1 - start where you are! 

Pull out your materials and just play with them. Be inspired by colors, textures, patterns. Delight your senses. Then choose a starting point. Pick a color that moves you and put the paint down.

rule #2 - play spontaneously

Once the paint is down, sort through shapes and figures, faces and places, pull out the images that feel most connected to the colors you've chosen. Instead of intentionally creating a vision from your mind, spontaneously make choices and let the images guide themselves into a story. Let them talk to your right brain and bypass all the anal-retentive "have-to's" of the left brain.

rule #3 - respond to What is

Regardless of what stage you are in, respond to What Is, rather than what you have in mind. Give your creation a little room to create itself. When one arrangement feels dissatisfying, try another, move things around until they feel harmonious. Pose them upside down. Look at your overall composition from multiple angles. Get a new perspective.

rule #4 - fuck ups are fun!

Really, they are. Oh they don't feel so fun when you've worked eight hours on a project and then splashed black ink on top of it, resulting in an ugly smudge in the middle of your lovely Victorian landscape! Then when you relax and let go - after some chocolate and red wine and an ever so teeny bitch session about how you want to pull your eyeslashes out and how you'll never buy black ink again and why doesn't anyone put the LIDS back on the BOTTLES ever ever EVER - you begin to loosen up and play again and suddenly the black smudge resembles an old oil stain, the exact kind you'd have found on a cool Victoriana steampunk engine.

Loosen up. I think maybe all great art and life comes from this one rule. Ultimately, fuck ups are invitations to surprise ourselves with our own brilliance. Think of the students in an art college I heard about recently that requires its students, after every assignment, in each class every year of their schooling, to burn their art. Yup, after completion and critique, all the art is burned to ash. As painful as it sounds, the school turns out incredibly grounded students ready and willing to risk-take, to take themselves and their art loosely, prepared to greet a new genius each day.

 rule #5 - love the process, not the art

Of course it's ok to love your art. But it's counter productive to hate your art, to despise or degrade your results. If you keep your mind continuously flowing with What Is, however, you really give yourself a gift. It keeps you in the moment. And when you finish your piece (or in the best of circumstances, when it finishes itself and nods to you with a wink) it feels stunning to have taken the journey, to have been timeless, dancing with the muse. If, when all is said and done, you feel less than thrilled with what emerged, - and this is the kicker! - allow the result to simply be. what. it. is. 

It's your judgment that creates the dissatisfaction, the misery. Allow your art (your project, your life circumstance) to be what it is. Allow that creation to be  a creation. It's not a measure of your talent. It has naught to do with your worth. The joy of being a creator is in the creating. Move. Start another project. The results will change. And, once you've honed a skill (if that's your choice), even if you are a master, results will often vary. If your results don't vary, if they aren't creating eyelash-tearing, chocolate-eating, red-wine swilling meltdowns you're not taking enough risks. Risk takers inevitably encounter defeat, dissatisfaction. But only on that same risk-taking road do they also meet surprise, thrill, joy, and bliss.

rule #6 - at the end, begin again

I read a poet laureate's work recently that said "All of life is saying goodbye." Our world is built on change, on the life,/death/life cycle. Breath in. Breath out.  And in our art we find, as in life, our end is our beginning. After the blooming of a really great project, I discover the seeds of the next project germinating. Open up. Receive. You've created, birthed and are being called by the great wheel once again. Move on. Don't get too attached to any triumphs or too depressed over any defeats. Just move.

Until. It's time to be still. You'll know it when that time comes upon you. Writers call it "Writers Block." Other artists call it "The Wall." No ideas come. Creativity comes in fits and starts, it stutters. Some days it has Turrets and screams obscenities at your self confidence or barks nonsense at your blank page. Just be still. Once again, "allowing" is the cure-all. Don't fight it. In fact, in your stillness, take a walk, look at the sky, watch a candle, court nature, both inner and outer. The seeds for the next project are there. They just need your field to lie fallow so they can settle into the ground. Be that ground.

rule #7 - feel free to break any and all rules. even these.

In the name of joy and wild abandon, make your own rules!

I loved day six. This girl was so much fun to make. I had plans (and still do) of creating a raucous environment for her, but stopped at the assemblage point. The detail work on this piece took me an entire day, so I'm resting up for the completion phase. Hope you enjoy these. I must confess, they're my faves. I think it's the whimsy--appeals to my Dr. Suessical brain.

My collage "Lollygag":

Silas's smack is called "Still Life in Motion":

Aimee's smack is entitled "Whirligig":