Cedar Lee March 4th, 2011

When friends tell me they’re amazed at how creatively I live my life, I am always flattered but baffled, as I’m a busy WAHM*, I don’t sleep enough, and there’s always a huge list of things I’d love to do but never manage to. But what am I doing right?
I made a list of creative things I do in my daily life that make me happy, and pared it down to 6 things that you can also do if you feel the need for some more creativity. You don’t have to be a professional artist to be creative!

1. Mindfully add plants, lights, and other details to your home or workplace. Of course you will have to make a small effort to keep the plants healthy, but it’s worth it! Plants clean the air for you and they make your surroundings literally more alive. Lighting sets the mood. (Notice the tiny Christmas lights I keep strung around my ceiling year-round!)

There are many small things you can do that add beauty to your life without too much effort. I painted a huge mandala on the ceiling of my bedroom—but for a less work-intensive version, just hang a beautiful poster on the ceiling! Hang wind chimes outside your door or window for gentle background music.

2. Cook food from scratch. (I realize this is something that takes lots of time, but if you can make the time, even some of the time, do it!)
Get some glass jars, fill them with assorted beans and grains from the bulk section of the grocery store, and line them in pretty rows in your pantry. (Then eat the food–this makes you learn to cook new things and saves you money too!)

Get experimental with recipes. Here’s a raw strawberry-lemon cake I made last summer. Arranging those mint leaves and strawberry halves around the border was very satisfying! It’s the little things.

3. Have handmade things. Here is my cupboard full of pottery that I made myself.

Of course you don’t have to take it to this extreme–just making a point to acquire ONE handmade thing made by someone else will also give you pleasure! I believe that owning handmade items, even if you didn’t make them yourself, connects you to the collective spirit of all the “makers” throughout humanity, and helps put you in the mindset to create. It sounds hokey, but think about it–it’s inspiring!

My favorite mug, which I made!

Which leads me to…
4. Make things yourself whenever you can, and delight in the details. This does not have to be anything artistic, crafty, or fancy. It can be stuff that is boring and practical, and fills a need you have anyway.
For example, instead of buying chemical-y cleaners, add a few drops of tea tree oil, or essential oils of lavender, orange, and lime to a bucket of water and do your mopping and dusting with that. It’s environmentally smart and most importantly, makes your house smell wonderful. Make your own deodorant–this is easy, again cuts chemicals from your life, and is really fun! (I’ve gone through phases of making shampoo and body butters too.) Mix your own herbal teas!

5. Plant something in the dirt. Here’s a fragrant rose from one of my rose bushes.

If you don’t have the time or the place to grow anything outside, start with something simple like basil in a small pot on your window sill.

6. When all else fails, recharge your body and your spirit by taking a walk in nature. Why do I classify this as a creative action? Because it forces you into a change of scenery, and opens your eyes to a new way of looking. Check out this cool tree I never would have found if I hadn’t gone for a walk!

For me, creativity IS the cultivation of physical, mental and spiritual health–while, yes, you sometimes have to make a point to do it, it’s not something separate from the rest of your life. What creative things do you do in your daily life? What do you delight in and where do you find beauty?

*Work At Home Mom!

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Cedar Lee February 5th, 2011

I want to share this brief excerpt from page 33 of the book 365 Tao: Daily Meditations:

Demons who enter your circle must be pushed out. No matter what world you walk in–office, school, temple, prison, or the streets–there is an underworld populated with demons. These are people who are avaricious, aggressive, sadistic, and cynical. They not only take advantage of others without compunction, they delight in it. They find pleasure in seeing others suffer….you must be prepared. It is best to prepare for conflict by learning as much self-defense as possible. You will not become a bully or a monster, but instead, you will learn that you can respond to any situation.

This got me thinking about the ways that artists are vulnerable to attack. Aside from blatant forms of attack (those who would steal your work and profit from it, for example) there is a far more common and insidious form of attack I have unfortunately encountered many times–the simple words of mean people. Words on the surface don’t have to be powerful, but more often than not, they are. As artists we must prepare ourselves mentally and emotionally for those who might verbally attack us and try to undermine our confidence. We need our confidence to remain intact so we have all our energy to put towards our work.

The very nature of what we do as artists makes us vulnerable (assuming you show your work to anyone who will look, which is necessary as a professional in this field) because it involves putting ourselves out there for literally anyone to review. It takes a measure of courage to put so much of yourself into creative work and then send that work out into the world to be judged willy-nilly.

We should be humble and open to constructive criticism, as artists can always improve. But we need to recognize the difference between criticism that provides a learning opportunity and outright malice only meant to do us harm. I am referring to the type of  jerks you find all over the Internet who will seek out people who are bravely putting their art out into the world, only to tell them that they suck, that they don’t have what it takes, and that they are a joke.

Of course for every person that says something mean about me or my work, there are always 99 people who tell me how talented/inspiring/helpful/etc. I am. But if you have experience exposing yourself to the public’s critique in any way, you probably know how much that one hurtful comment out of 100 can stick in your mind and make you doubt yourself.

Here’s the secret to this kind of self-defense: you’ve heard it before. You can’t care what others think of you. This includes the bad and the good–do not allow people’s attacks to tear you down, but don’t let people’s praise boost your ego either. If you give too much validity to other people’s opinions, you open yourself up to those attacks and give them more power over you.

Backyard, Cedar Lee 2005

Your strength and merit as an artist come from within yourself, and have as much to do with where you are going as where you are now. Your strength is in your vision, your potential, and your honest work. Focus on that.

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Cedar Lee November 9th, 2010

I’ve been working on this one painting now for weeks and weeks, and by working I mean scowling at it discontentedly and wondering how on Earth I’m going to fix it.  Some paintings just go like that.  Sometimes they turn out to be duds, poorly designed from the start, and other times they turn out to be some of my best work, once I figure out what to do.

I’ve been a painter for years now.  I have had the joy of experiencing times of easy productivity, bursts of inspiration and creative energy, and art that almost makes itself!  But I also know about “artist’s block” all too well.  I don’t think I’ll ever conquer it completely–these things seem to go in cycles.  But something that I have found to work when I feel particularly stuck is to just put the project in question aside (out of sight completely if need be) and start something fresh.  I gain the momentum back by getting myself pumped about the new thing, then, in theory anyway, I use that momentum to  go back with fresh eyes and finish whatever thing had me stuck.

The new thing I started is a 40″ x 50″ Cosmic Dance painting that so far has emerged from the end of my brush like magic!  I am starting to feel the flow again, the thrilling feeling of being “in the zone.”

Here’s the work in progress currently on my easel.  It’s only in the beginning stages, but can’t you just feel that energy flowing when you look at it?

I won’t show you the painting in progress that’s been frustrating me so much, because I still have hope that it’ll turn into something great–so when you finally see it, you’ll assume it was great all along!

If you feel “stuck” in any part of your life, I recommend you try focusing on something fresh and exciting that will keep you moving in the right direction, while temporarily freeing you from the thing that’s weighing you down.  The positive action will help the original problem diminish in your mind.  So much of what we think is happening is all in our heads–you may realize, when you go back to the issue at hand, that you were not as stuck as you thought you were!

Here are a few quotes on artist’s block that I like:

• When the path continues to be blocked it’s probably time to change lanes. -Birgit O’Connor
• Blocks are simply part of an artist’s natural cycle, and mine come whenever I reach a plateau in my work. I’ll feel bottled up with negativism, but when I blast through all the garbage, I find I’ve emerged in a new place as a better artist. -Nick Payne
• I have not worked at all… Nothing seems worth putting down – I seem to have nothing to say – it appalls me but that is the way it is. -Georgia O’Keeffe

(Geez! If Georgia O’Keeffe has felt that way, then there certainly is hope for the rest of us!)

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Cedar Lee August 20th, 2010

So, I’ve been feeling kind of down lately because of decreased productivity.  At my current rate of painting I’m on track to finish only about 30 paintings in 2010, maybe 40 if I do more small ones instead of large ones.  (2008 was a hopping year for me–I made more than 70 that year!)

I understand that expectations need to be adjusted during the first years of your child’s life, especially if you’re the mother, and you’re breastfeeding.  But it’s disappointing to me nonetheless that despite my best efforts, I still seem to be struggling to squeeze enough hours out of each day to do everything I need to.  I won’t bore you with the full list, but in addition to the baby, I have a marriage, 3 pets, a house and all the things houses come with that are constantly breaking, a yard, bills to pay, and high standards for my health and fitness.  I attempt to have some spiritual contemplation, and some friends and leisure time too.   And that’s just my personal life!  If you can really separate my work life from my personal life, which is hard to do when your studio is attached to your home, my work life includes thinking up and creating paintings, writing about my art, maintaining my website, sending or delivering my art to galleries and occasional juried shows, networking online and in person, meeting with collectors and potential collectors, packing/shipping/cataloging/photographing artwork, marketing constantly to ensure enough sales so that I have some income, and so on.  You get it.  At times, I feel completely overwhelmed and don’t know what to do!

I realize I am being a big fat whiner right now, but bear with me for the moment.  Tomorrow I’ll suck it up and get back to business as usual.

So I sent a note to the very famous Robert Genn of the Painter’s Keys, seeing what he had to say about the whole thing.  To my delight, he actually responded by writing one of his twice-weekly-letters in response!

Unfortunately, he didn’t quite answer my questions and didn’t seem to understand what I’m going through, like, AT ALL.  He clearly doesn’t understand the commitment a woman makes when she decides to be there all the time, every day–24/7/365!  Or the exhaustion of having your sleep frequently interrupted every night for nearly a year, and what that does to a person.  Or that yes, babies sometimes take a nap, but the rest of the time they need constant supervision, and by constant I mean you literally can’t look away for 2 minutes without worrying what they’re putting in their mouth, smearing all over the floor, or trying to climb onto.

Robert Genn is a man, he’s in his 70s I think, and this is just a wild guess but I don’t think he’s ever been anywhere close to being in my current shoes.  To be fair, he did warn me before posting his response that he didn’t consider himself qualified to respond.  He’s a nice guy and having read his letters for years, I like him a lot.  However, the encouragement and advice I was seeking came not from him** but from the many people who added their comments underneath the letter he posted, and from the dozens of private emails I got in my inbox this morning from kind people all around the world, mostly but not all professional artists/mothers themselves.  I was blown away!

You can read Robert Genn’s letter and the comments on it (and comment yourself if you like) here: http://clicks.robertgenn.com/motherhood.php

I was in a deep funk when I wrote to Robert.  Today I’m feeling much better, knowing that I’m not as alone as I was feeling before, and I’m beginning to get a fresh outlook.

I’m definitely going to work on creating a playroom in my studio in the hopes of keeping my baby distracted for longer periods of time.  I’m definitely going to start hiring babysitters to squeeze in a few more hours of work every week.  Perhaps my husband (he’s fantastic, by the way) and I can be more strict or more inventive with the way we collectively manage our time.  Soon enough my baby will sleep for 4+ hours at a time again, as he did for awhile–it was glorious–when he was 4-6 months old, and when that time comes I will feel more sane.  And maybe if I only make 30 paintings this year, since I’ve sold some of them already, if I make sure to stay on good terms with my galleries through good communication, it’ll be okay.

Sincere thanks to the many sweet people who have written to me!  I haven’t read through all the messages yet but I intend to ponder all your generously given advice and to use your encouraging words to help lift my spirits.

—————–

Oh, and here’s a quick web-cam shot of what’s going on today in my studio!  I’ve just started a 30″ x 30″ sunflower.  I wish sunflowers were that large in real life.

**Edited to add: Robert’s advice about the super-manic-power-hour was excellent, I’ll give him that!  Indeed it’s been the only thing that’s worked for me so far!

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Cedar Lee June 16th, 2010

Here’s a sneak peek at my new Cosmic Dance painting, now complete except for some minor tweaking:

I promise more detailed photos taken in good lighting, along with all the info about this piece, soon.  I’m psyched about my new camera, the Nikon D90, which arrived today.  I’ve also got 4 new Sunflower Hearts to photograph, and you will see those in the next few days as well!

Some food for thought…

Lately, I find myself continually and avidly seeking simplicity, purity and cleanliness, physically and spiritually.

Earlier this year I made the decision to subscribe to a CSA from a local farm, and I’ve also been reading about and experimenting with adding more raw foods into my family’s diet.  A couple of months ago I quit using shampoo after reading about the “no poo” movement online, and my hair is now lustrous and growing beautifully.  I’ve been cleaning my house relentlessly, and I even bought a new vacuum cleaner to aid me in this goal.  In the past month, I’ve begun a thorough, systematic process of clutter-clearing in my home.  Craigslist and Freecycle are my new best friends!  Consequently I feel the relief of saying goodbye to things that weren’t serving my life in any way and the pleasure of replacing them with new and different things that please and uplift me.  I’ve become more conscious of what I put in and on my body and what objects I choose to allow in my home.

That’s all great, right, but what does it have to do with art?  I believe that clutter and junk in your mind, your body, and your home are all contibuting factors to “artist block.”  Getting rid of the junk creates clarity of intention and makes room for you to get down to business without distraction.  (And at the very least, it’s nice to get rid of the junk anyway!)

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Cedar Lee April 26th, 2010

About 10 years ago, when I was still in school and knew I was a painter but hadn’t found a clear direction for my work, I did a small series of paintings inspired by the pixelation of low-quality digital photographs, the art of Chuck Close, and the images of plant cells under a microscope from some college biology class.  I decided to do these portraits of people broken up into a grid, with variations of color in each cell of the grid.  I called them “square paintings.”

It ended up being just a phase in my artistic journey, but doing those paintings taught me some skills (color mixing, composition, patience) and some new ways of looking at things.

I made 5 paintings.  The first was simply titled “Square Girl.”  I stole her face from a magazine ad for deoderant.

I painted her in cheap student-grade acrylics on a cheap student canvas board, but somehow I achieved a luminescent effect, and I still think she is the best out of all the square paintings.  Some friends of my grandparents bought her for $200, which was a big deal for me at the time.  (I was 18.)  My aunt later commissioned me to make a copy of Square Girl for her, but I don’t have a photo of that painting.

Then I made “Dove Woman,” whose face I stole from a magazine ad for Dove soap.  The gentle and stately expression in her eyes reminded me of my husband’s grandmother, so I ended up giving her this painting as a gift.

Then came “Cosmo Girl,” whose face I stole from a fashion model in a Cosmopolitan magazine.  Her hair was so much fun to paint.  The photo below isn’t actually the original “Cosmo Girl;” it’s a copy I painted of that original.  I gave the original to my husband and he still has it, somewhere.  This painting I gave to my cousin years later, because she liked it.

At this point a lot of my family were fans of the square paintings, and as I didn’t yet think of myself as “a real artist” at this point and hadn’t really shown my work to many people, I figure they were probably my only fans.  But hey, it counts!  My mother-in-law requested a square painting of a moose.  I said, “why not?”

Then I decided I needed to paint a man, so I stole a handsome one from an ad for Nautica Cologne.  I called him “Nautica Man.”  I never ended up giving or selling him to anybody.

Nautica Man has sat in my house in one place or another for 10 years, usually in some back storage room in some stack of paintings that I didn’t like anymore but couldn’t bear to throw away.  I’ve always thought of him as part of a valuable learning experience on my journey from not knowing the first thing about painting to where I am now.  It took me many hours to paint him.  But he’s not the kind of thing I’ve ever really wanted to hang on my wall.

Finally I came to my senses with this realization:  When I hold onto old art that doesn’t represent me anymore, that holds a place in my heart only because I created it, and is never seen by anybody, that art becomes dead weight.  Just knowing that the physical form of that art still sits like a lump in my home holds me back and bogs down my creative spirit.  Getting rid of the old makes room for the new to come into your life. This applies to all things, art included.

So last month I made the painful but necessary decision to euthanize Nautica Man.  I painted over him with gesso and decided to give the canvas to a student artist to reuse.

I felt slightly nauseated at the time but now I just feel free!

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Cedar Lee March 27th, 2010

People always ask me how long it takes to make my paintings.

This past week, I’ve been making video recordings of myself painting (new video will be up soon!) and while editing the hours of footage, I’ve noticed a couple things about myself.

One thing is that when working on a painting, I’ll work with painstaking focus for a period of several minutes, then I’ll step back from the painting, turn my head from one side to the other for a few moments, then jump back in with new resolve. It seems to be an unconscious and never-ending form of quality control that keeps me on track. Every few minutes I must reassess before I continue whatever I’m working on.

Another thing I noticed is that every so often, I’ll step back, stare blankly for a long moment, and heave a painfully loaded sigh while shaking my head and sometimes muttering under my breath or running my hand through my hair with frustration. I had no idea how often I did this until I saw it on video.

All of this confirms something I already knew: the process of art-making, at least for me, is 90% thinking, mulling, pondering, assessing, strategizing, etc., and only 10% actual execution.

Watching myself work is very different from what I experience while working. To the outside observer, it’s pretty slow and boring. It looks like not much is going on, and it seems to take me an awful long time to put down some paint. But while I’m in the thick of the painting experience, time seems to stand still in a way that’s hard to describe. It’s not that it feels like a breeze or is easy–it’s just that I’m in an inner world of focused abstract and visual thought that renders me unaware of the passage of time.

And before I ever even go to the easel and begin working, I’ve usually spent many minutes out of every day for weeks, or perhaps several minutes here and there for months or possibly years in advance, just thinking and making plans about what I’d like to do.  Some of this thought is very direct and technical, like the plan to create a certain effect with a paintbrush or the plan to use a certain color combination.  But much of it is purely visual–a million tiny mental notes of things I see that are pleasing to me, in reality, in my dreams and imaginings, in my past art, and in other people’s art and photographs.  Everything I paint is built upon all my prior artistic experience merged with my current intentions.  Sometimes I get an idea for a painting and don’t actually use that idea until years later when I have the necessary experience, a missing puzzle piece in the concept, or a renewed interest in pursuing it.

This is why it’s always been so hard to answer the single most common question I get from people about my art: “How long does it take you to do that?” Because so much of my working process happens in my mind, and so much of that happens at times when I’m not actually working on the painting, it’s impossible to really say.  Do I count the time I spend thinking about what I’m going to do, why and how I’m going to do it?  (As if I even could.)  And if I don’t count that time, and only state the amount of time I spent actually applying paint to canvas, is that an honest answer?  I mean, without the introspection, dreaming and analysis involved in making art, there would be no art, period.  I would never get to the stage of execution.

So when someone asks me, “How long did it take you to make that painting?” I’m always tempted to say “It’s taken me my whole life up until this point,” and although it’s an honest answer, it sounds facetious or possibly evasive.  But if I say “It took about 30 minutes of sketching, then 6 hours of painting spread over a 2-week period,” that doesn’t seem like an accurate answer and it doesn’t really give any sense of how much thought and creative energy I’ve put into that work.  So I normally end up hemming and hawing and saying, “Well…it’s kind of hard to say.  Because I keep coming back to it over time rather than doing it all in one sitting, I’m not really sure how much time goes into it.”  I haven’t come up with a better answer yet.  Maybe next time I’ll say “None of your beeswax.”

———————————————-

**Edit: I just read this excerpt from one of Robert Genn’s letters that is relevant to what I’m talking about here:

For visual artists, directing the torch of our imagination is our main art…..You need to see your art as a state of becoming. Vigilance and attentive observation during work-in-progress provides the opportunity. The process takes place with individual works, and over a lifetime of trial and error.

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Cedar Lee January 20th, 2010

I recently expressed my excitement about the color red on Facebook, and my painter friend Ron Ogle reminded me to always use more than one shade of red when using red in a painting.

This got me thinking about the rules of the palette, and how rules can vary greatly from artist to artist.  I think that when it comes to color mixing, there is no absolute right and wrong.  What is right is a personal decision highly dependent on the individual painter’s vision, technique and process.

I asked some of my painter friends the following: Do you think there are rules for mixing colors? Do you limit your palette, and if so, what colors do you use?

Here are some of the responses I got:

“Today on my palette I have two yellows, orange, light red and alizarin crimson, sap green, cobalt, ultramarine and cerulean blues, dioxazine purple, black, lots of white. Basically the color spectrum.  From there I paint everything.  I got here mainly through doing plein-air and wishing to travel light.” ~David Nakabayashi

“I limit my color palette to 9 colors – I never mix them – for consistency reasons across my paintings.  I like the challenge of my limited palette in using to create depth in my work.”  ~Shai Steiner

“Unlimited palette here.  I visualize the color I want and go for the coolness or warmth I need and if it’s not quite right, I glaze layers over it until it’s what I want.”  ~Nancy Dunn

“I’m a slob.  I push paint around until I get what I like.”  ~Marc Pitman

I have several new Sunflower Heart paintings on a drying rack in my studio, waiting to be photographed.  Here’s a sneak peek!

My personal approach to color is to limit my palette for each painting, but I don’t use the same colors every time.  Before beginning a new painting, I think about what colors I’d like and lay them out.  I’m not “allowed” to use any colors except those for that painting (and if I’ve chosen well, I don’t want to.)

My friend Matt (not a painter, but a writer) expressed his doubt: “The way I look at it, if a painter limits his palette to a certain amount, it’s like a writer only being able to use certain words.”

You’d think that to be the case, but in my experience, limiting your palette forces you to get good at mixing colors.  If you are forced to make your own green from yellow, blue, red & white, you’ll end up with an infinite variety of interesting greens and in the process, learn a lot about green.  A literary analogy would be poetry: when writing a sonnet, you’re limited by the structure of the sonnet and are forced to find good words that fit into that structure, sound beautiful, and have meaning. You may end up being more creative as a result.

When I first started painting, I was a little kid.  I didn’t start my learning process with anything fancy–I was given only a few basic colors to start with.  Mixing colors to achieve a desired result is now second nature to me, and I only have to think about it subconsciously if at all.  I learned this skill mostly by practicing with the primary colors, red, yellow and blue, plus white.  It’s amazing what you can do with only those 4 pigments.

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Cedar Lee August 29th, 2009

I have a lot of new paintings, but I’m waiting till they’re dry to photograph them all at once.  There will be a big “new sunflowers!” blog next week.

A sneak peek at the drying rack!

Sometimes artists come to me and ask if I can give them some general advice or ideas for getting their work out into the world and selling it.  It’s always hard to answer this question because there are so many approaches one might take.  It depends on your artwork, your audience, and your specific goals.  I only know what’s worked for me over the past few years.

I’ve settled into a track of gallery representation alongside self-representation through my website, and I carefully balance the two.  Some artists just choose one or the other.  Other ways to sell your art include art dealers, interior designers, arts & crafts trade shows, the eBay & Etsy route, wholesaling, roadside stands, alternative venues like retail stores, office buildings, restaurants, etc., and many other tacks.  There’s no reason why you have to stick to only one, although some approaches are more all-consuming.

I tried to narrow down my limited but valuable experience into a few things that have worked well for me.  These are the things I would tell any artist who asks me how I got here from where I started (which was nowhere):

Tip 1

Above all else, I’ve never stopped developing and improving my work.  My progress at times has been slower than I would have liked, but improving my technical skill and my finished work has been, and always will be, an ongoing goal.

One tip for aspiring painters that seems like common sense but is often overlooked is that your paintings must be completely finished, polished, and ready to hang in someone’s beautiful home.  Take care with the hanging wires and the frames.  If unframed, make sure the edges of your canvas are finished in an attractive way–no staples!  Use high-quality materials.  Sign your work in a consistent way.

Tip 2

I worked very hard to find galleries that were a good fit for my work, run by people who were a good fit for me.  Once involved with a new gallery, I’ve worked hard to cultivate relationships and I’ve tried to always give the gallery owners what they want and what they need.  Generosity, professionalism, good communication, and consistent follow-up are all very important.  You help them and they’ll help you!  This goes for any business relationship, not just ones with galleries.

Tip 3

I dove headfirst into the Internet.  Since the inception of my website in 2006 (it was quite pitiful at the time) I’ve been constantly working on improving it and becoming more and more connected.  I’ve learned about web directories and SEO, I’ve exchanged links, I’ve spent many many hours designing the look of my site, and I’ve periodically re-arranged things so my content is always fresh.  I try to blog regularly and on a loose schedule.

Once your website is together, you’ve got to make sure people know it’s there.  I’m diligent about spending time on online social networking sites every single day.  My email signature includes links to all the places I can be found online.  Over time, my website has become more connected, has gotten better Google rankings, and has brought me many sales.

You can never go wrong with social networking in person either.  I try to reach out to everyone I meet–I bring business cards everywhere, which direct people to aforementioned website, and give them to everyone.

Tip 4

And this tip is very hard to do but has always worked in my favor when I’ve done it successfully.  Never give up.  Be positive, and always project positivity.

For years, I have planted seeds in as many ways & places I could think of, and eventually things happened.  A lot of things I tried were dead ends.  But I think that any action, even if it doesn’t appear to lead to anything, is good.  Sometimes you’re planting seeds for the future and you don’t realize it.  Sometimes just the experience of putting yourself out there will benefit you in ways you never imagined.  Decisions without actions are just thoughts.

Sometimes these “baby steps” are teetering and unstable.  Sometimes they swerve off in odd directions and have to find their way back to the path.  Sometimes they trip and stumble.  But they are steps.

At times, I’ve been in a very dark and hopeless state.  But I’ve always dug out of these ruts and found my way towards the next step.  Try not to dwell in those dark places.  And don’t talk about it publicly!  You may be a blubbering heap on the floor, convinced that you will never amount to anything no matter how hard you work.  But if you spend time voicing your worries about your lack of talent, your lack of sales, or whatever, you will only project desperation.  You will inspire people’s pity instead of their interest and support.

The path of the creative professional can be very isolating.  You won’t survive if you can’t rally yourself.  You must be able to find hope and optimism within yourself, and to replenish those reserves when they run low.  You must be self-motivated and ruggedly self-sufficient.  Before I embarked on this path, it never occurred to me that I would have to be quite so tough.  But if you aren’t tough, you won’t get anywhere.  It sounds harsh, but there it is.

Projecting positivity out into the world, as abstract as that sounds, has been the single biggest factor in all the success I’ve ever had.  One of my favorite poems of all time is “Solitude” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, who knew exactly what I’m talking about and phrased it beautifully:

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

• General Ramblings About Art, Creativity, Philosophy , Information for Artists & Art Lovers
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Cedar Lee July 28th, 2009

A friend on Facebook recently told me, “I want to know the story of the first time you picked up a paint brush and started painting.”

That’s a hard story to tell because I have no recollection of one such time.  I’ve read many stories of artists who “became artists” at some point in their lives–how at some point, they experimentally picked up some art supplies and began playing, and this moment for them became a turning point, a great discovery and a spiritual awakening to their true creative purpose.  Maybe before that moment they had worked for an insurance company; maybe they had always had dreams of pursuing art but had been too scared to try.  Maybe for them their love of making art was a completely unexpected discovery.

I wish I had a dramatic and inspiring story like that, but I just don’t.  I have always been a visual artist, and I have always painted.  I became more focused on the specific medium of painting around the age of 12, but my entire childhood before that, there was never a time when I didn’t spend at least some of my time painting.  It’s not the only interest I’ve ever had, but it’s always been there.

It’s impossible for me to pinpoint a time when I became “serious” about my art.  My art is a part of me, and I gradually became more serious about it as I grew into an adult and became more serious about everything in life (and of course, as better art supplies became available to me.)  People have told me that I’m lucky to have such a clear vision of my calling, and that many people never find that clarity even after a lifetime of searching.  I don’t know if that’s true, and I don’t know how lucky I am, but it is what it is.  I can’t imagine being any other way.

It’s hard to say how I got that way, but I’ll attempt to explain my creative beginnings.

I think all children are dreamers and creators.  The thrill of creating–of using our minds and our hands to make things, is natural.  I’m happy I’ve kept that spirit of creativity, and I attribute a lot of that to the way I was raised.

I don’t know if I would have been born a painter had I been born into a different family.  My parents never at any point discouraged me from following my interests.  I know that in many families, sad as it is, many a child’s interest in art has been quickly labeled as a frivolous pursuit and mercilessly squelched before the interest had time to take physical form.  I know that not every child grows up with stacks of paper, crayons and watercolors readily at hand.

Neither of my parents is a visual artist, but my mom and dad are two of the most enterprising people I know.  They practice creativity as a value to be lived.  If you have an exciting idea, a wish or a dream, it’s at least worth a try to make it real.  If your efforts fail, you can re-evaluate and try again.  If you want to do something, do it!

Some of my earliest memories are of helping my parents with hands-on projects.  I wrote the following poem when I was in college.  It’s about the idea of yin and yang in all of us, how we are each created from both male and female, and how each person has two opposing and complementary types of energy within them.  It’s a concept that’s always fascinated me.

But in a more specific sense, it’s about my mom and my dad, and how they both infused me with creative energy by sharing small, practical creative actions with me on a regular basis–little things like my mom teaching me to mix paint and to make scented herbal satchels and fresh orange juice.  My dad teaching me the basics of carpentry–measuring and cutting wood.

Equilibrium

Clinking wind-chime bells, she is yin.
She teaches me to mix creamy colors
in the concave cups of a rounded palette.
Add some white, turn red to pink.
We sew tiny beaded pouches,
fill them with dried lavender and mint.
Collect drops of sweet thin juice
from ample oranges by the kitchen sink.

Rumbling wooden drums, he is yang.
He teaches me to hammer nails in wood.
We measure, heads together, draw pencil marks.
Run the orange extension cord
under the sawhorse.  Allow the scream
of the electric saw, plowing through a board
and the fragrance of spitted sawdust
to infiltrate our heads.  Our pulses thud.

But painted colors, big and bold, are yang.
And floating flurries of sprinkled sawdust, yin.
By being themselves they make each other
—and me.  I beat my path out fiercely, like the sun,
but also whisper, like the floating moon.

So at some point, probably as a toddler, I decided to make a painting, probably a crude smear of finger paint.  Then I decided to make another one.  Then I never stopped.  Maybe someday, if I live long enough, I’ll get good.

• General Ramblings About Art, Creativity, Philosophy , My Artistic Past
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