I escaped today. Courtesy of three little pigs, a pencil and, I suppose, either my inner child or a light-hearted muse. It’s part of a project I’m working on, but, as sometimes happens, it took a turn of its own accord, and I was amused. It’s good to be able to entertain oneself, after all. :  ) To escape life’s more serious avenues and put your own smile on it.

So the turn made me smile, and also reminded me how the making of art is both an immersion and escape. It’s like plunging into the world, while fleeing from it at the same time. Engaged with the world, but not part of it. Maybe it’s the same for the art viewer ~ depending on the piece, a feeling of being somehow here but not here. The connection happens with the senses. Of course thought is involved at different points along the way, but if you start to think about it too much, some of the magic thins.

That said, there wasn’t too much thought involved in this one. The idea had lodged in my mind well before I picked up a pencil, and my job was to simply enjoy the drawing-it-up part, and within that process be transported, for a little while, to that familiar place that is here but not here.

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While the planet continues to shift, rearranging the northeast into some kind of Arctic replica, I took some time away, letting my muse wander among talking dolphins, small dragons and lazy hammocks under a hot, shiny sun. Had a cheeseburger in paradise, looked for Jimmy Buffet’s lost shaker of salt (thought it might be in the old Hemingway home, but no). And I pondered which island on the horizon might be the one that my mother purchased years ago.

Yes, my mother bought an island. She would, not often, but on occasion, do things like that. Buy a convertible when a station wagon would be more sensible. Write a letter to the Queen of England. Buy an island. Maybe to defy an orderly life, to make dreams real, to remind herself during times of inevitable routine that she was more than laundry folded and meals on the table; to remind her four children that our dreams were also valid.

We never saw the island. I’m honestly not sure she ever saw the island. The island that might one day be a family gathering place, or an artist retreat, or a healing place, or who knows what ~ a dream without limits. It could well be that the island was no more than a single palm tree on a lump of earth bulging from the Gulf of Mexico. Or it could have been a small but bona fide piece of paradise. It was sold, so we’ll never know ~ but the idea of it ~ the loveliness, the throw-caution-to-the-wind of it, the hopefulness and cheer of it, lives on in me.

………………

An Island Lost

Stars like freshly polished gems,
Close enough to touch –
A sprinkling of stardust
Soundlessly rests on giant palms
And sweeps across the sea,
A silent chime,
The whisper of a song
With familiar, forgotten words from
The language of dreams.

How far the distance between then and now?
A heartbeat? A century? All of time?

A story unfinished, a vision unseen
Green and blue on sandy shores
Ripe with adventures not taken.
A red sail, a setting sun,
Flowers in our hair.
An island lost awaits
A barefoot waltz,
Promising secret treasures.

But instead, a more reliable path.
Feet on solid ground. And yet ~

And yet,
A cactus grows in winter, and
Mysteries breathe in hickory trees
Where cardinals, red and fit,
Watch from lofty branches.
A poem from the future,
And guiding stars
like freshly polished gems,
Close enough to touch –

Stardust falls on me,
On you,
Then, and now,
There, and here
Inside this sky
Where dreams wander
And Prometheus plays
And Shakespeare sings
And Copernicus soars
And hands are held
And laughter swells
And love is forever
And ever.

~ P. Saxton

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The one key requirement is that we have to participate in our own process.

I made such a leap many years ago ~ not the only one, but a memorable one. At the time, in my early twenties, I’d been drawing for, well, pretty much forever. For a while I drew anything that caught my eye ~ faces, hands, gardens, animals, old mills, tools, you name it ~ honing my skills, mastering my craft. Practice was my classroom, and it paid off. But I didn’t feel very “creative”.

Then one day I thought I’d do a self-portrait. All artists have one, right? So I got my art stuff ready, figuring I’d probably do a realistic pencil rendering, like I did with other portraits. But something entirely different came out.

I remember a sense of being in another zone ~ I’d suddenly switched tracks, landed in a different groove ~ and I went with it. And I loved what happened. It wasn’t another well-executed drawing, it was a true expression! I had no trouble understanding what it was about, and it gave me a real high ~ experiencing that leap and knowing I’d unlocked a door that for some reason I’d previously thought inaccessible. This was huge, and what had been “trapped”, all that color and passion, was oozing out, freed from its imagined confines.

As an aside, I also remember that my family never liked this piece. They see their daughter or little sister looking “odd” with paint dripping all over her face, instead of the sweet chocolate-loving swim-team captain they knew who drew pretty pictures of roses and barns. I can understand that too. But for me, it was an intensely marvelous breakthrough that really opened up my creative faucets and if I’d had any doubt about my path, it was diminished right then and there by a few marker lines and watercolor streams. My muses had decided it was time.

Like I said, this wasn’t the only breakthrough moment, but it makes my point well. We all have breakthroughs, in different forms and guises, and I hope when they happen for you, that you participate, listen and let them flow.

Self-portrait © Patricia Saxton. All rights reserved.

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Today Chris shares a couple of personal stories that revolve around the concept of triggers, epiphanies, and threads that weave consistently throughout our lives, our work and our psyche. The unconscious muses, as he calls them.

We all may recognize something of ourselves in what he says. And I’ll bet that my fellow artists out there will relate to his insights at the end ~ I know I did!

(If you missed my introduction about Chris Staley, master potter, educator and Penn State Laureate 2012-2013, you can read that here.)  Enjoy!

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