The stream meandered through woods and fields, came to a place with gently sloping hills and lush growing greens. Life was abundant there, and was drawn to the place. Animals played, had their young, and birds nested in the tree limbs and hollows.
Storms brought flooding brown waters and dropped their silt on the bottom as the ages passed; the silt layers deepened and became shale layered with the many colors of the storms.
People came and found the place good; food was plentiful and the hills rose above the waters when they rose in flood, fish idled in them when they gently flowed. Transient camps with quickly erected shelters were perched on the hillside, fires glowed at night. Children and hunters, women gathering food crossed the place on the rocks above the waters.
The place by the stream took in the life, the energy, the light of the sun and the rage of the rain, and slowly became imbued with power.
Years passed and war came to the people who had settled there and to a nearby village where hats were made and sold to provide a living for the villagers. A huge conflict between two nations had risen in the affairs of man, and soldiers marched by with their weapons, camped by the stream to rest at night and on their way to battles. The village was the unhappy host of a grand conflict, and lives were lost, perhaps the stream took their blood into its flow.
The war ended, the victors had their own rule and time passed on. New families came and built homes by the stream. A small house was completed atop the hill, and others joined it. The people of the small community sought the place to build a bridge to join the sides together so that they could pass over the waters on their daily pursuits.
They found the place where the stream gave a rare charge; the energy of the years had concentrated there and it felt special. The bridge was built, fine and sturdy and many passed over it in its time.
When the rain times came and the waters rose, they gathered on the bridge, umbrellas in hand, to see the rise of the waters, feel the energy of the floods charge through. Laughter and excitement from witnessing the drama of nature rang through the roar of the waters. Those who built too near the stream found the waters inside their home; the bridge was strong though and withstood the flood times.
Time passed, new families came, some houses were taken down and bigger ones on divided land were built. And the bridge was taken down. The new people did not know of the energy, the special history of the place, nor did they cross the waters on their daily paths. The waters were now crossed by car on the service bridge of the road.
But the bridge has its memories, its own power that it has gathered, and it stays by the stream and dreams in sun, shadow and falling rain.
I am a wheel; I like to make things turn.I spin ideas. I love to affect change and movement. Set ideas and actions into motion, spin life forward and dream backward through time.
I can be the horse who pulls the cart; I will work hard and persist with all my strength to move the cart forward. If needed I will bear the weight of many and much upon my back. This is the way that I am built, the way that I am.
I am the cart. I will load up the carrying place, help you load up your things you need to journey with, and ask for help to load up mine. But I will carry my needs and yours whether you help on not. And I must move them all forward to be right for myself.
I am the harness- but may be an uncomfortable one at that! I tug hard, can bind too tightly, and sometimes , most unfortunately, jab those I try to hold together. But I am a tenacious one; will hold on, as hard as I can, to unite together what I am able to unite. To to move the whole rig forward, horse, wheels and all toward better places.To the places where I see dreams coming to fruition, and adventures waiting, dreams to be realized.
I am a wheel. I keep turning and turning.
How wonderful for you!
Art is a a living, loving, evolving auto biography. What you draw reflects your life, your loves, your irritations and your very unique perspective of life.
Art releases your deepest feelings, expresses and helps resolve your problems, reveals your dreams.
It creates a statement, saying I am here- I was here- I imagine this and I see this sight just this way.
Just as a writer overflows with words, a composer fills with song, and a dancer moves to express, an artist creates and shows and meanders through her medium to the rhythm of her soul.
I encourage you to daydream and doodle with a pencil in your hand. Practice and seek and learn to show what you alone want to show. Draw and draw and sketch as much as you can, and when you hit a wall in your need to express, do research from teachers and from all the beautiful creations you can find to see.
Develop an aspiration and practice toward it.
Challenge yourself to try new things.
Add some colors, a marker pen, a watercolor brush to your expressions.
Surely you will find some things you enjoy in art that you will feel good about, and are good at.
And know that you have a lifetime of free lessons and information from me, your twin sister from different mothers, waiting for you to utilize when you wish.
Take your sketchbook camping, take it to work. Leave it by the phone call center, take it to a place where you have to wait.And draw, draw, draw-
Once you have taken off, the more you will seek this fine form of self expression; may it lead you to a journey of enhanced self discovery, and personal celebration of your beautiful self!
art, art and emotions, art experiments, art ideas, art instruction, artist, artist's eyes, artwork, creative art, experiments in art, fine art, imagination, p allingham carlson, Patricia Allingham Carlson, watercolor, watercolor painting
I paint for hope, I paint for fear.
I paint to seek my truth.
I hope I paint when very old, I started in my youth.
I paint to mourn, I paint to play
to celebrate good news.
I paint in rainbows colorful, I paint in mainly blues.
I paint to see, I paint to feel,
I paint to comprehend
When I get some time to paint I don’t want it to end.
Can you see the face in this tree?
How about the faces in these paintings I created?
Old Ones, Wise Ones II
I am an art teacher as well as an artist. A recent occurrence in my children’s art class led me back to ponder the term pareidolia. I had made copies of my personal collection of “face tree” images for the children to use as landscape composition subjects. All of the kids in the class could see the face images. They had fun with the subject, even as I reinforced the step by step process of working from background to middle and foreground.
Very interesting to me was that when their parents arrived to take the children home, I realized upon sharing the images with the adults that most of them did not “see” the “faces” in my photographs.
Pareidolia is “the imagined perception of a pattern or meaning where it does not actually exist”, according to the World English Dictionary. Seeing faces, animals, recognizable objects in clouds, trees, wallpaper patterns, a pile of clothing. The theory goes that as infants we gravitate toward the human face. The basic arrangement of features gets hard-wired into our brain’s processing center, and we then take that into adulthood. We see the facial features where they are not- to try to make order of the random.
I wonder though why some of us see such images everywhere, and some not at all? Do you see the faces in the following images from my tree collection?
I sure do!
Here’s a painting I had completed of a sycamore tree- probably the tree I love the most for its beautiful bark and majestic form.
As I painted the tree, images popped out all over the bark for me, so I enhanced them to make them easier to see.
I do have fun with my art, as well as the sometimes strange way I perceive the world. How about you? Do you have “pareidolia”? I’d like to hear about what you think and experience about this visual phenomenon.
Have a fine day!
A group of people have hiked to a tall and splendid waterfall. They all stand back to look at the magnificent sight.
A geologist in the group studies the rock, ponders the composition of the sedimentary layers. An historian remembers the origins of the area, the Native Americans who dwelt there. An engineer may calculate the rate of the water’s flow and recall an old waterwheel and mill he saw further downstream.
The photographer in the group is taking photos from different angles, pursuing a certain idea. The dancer is watching the water flow over the rocks, dreaming of expressing it in a waterfall dance. The poet is composing verse in his head to express the sight in words. The artist is studying the atmosphere around the falling water, the light and rainbow play in the mist, the color of the water and rock. The musician is listening to the separate sounds, taking apart the birdsong, roar of the falls, the wind rushing through the trees.
All of these people are enjoying being there, all feeling their own unique responses and ideas. But the artists in the group will take the moments into their various arts and express them as separate creations. Why?
I believe that art is a means people use to process their world. We are surrounded, bombarded by what our senses take in at any given moment. We learn to tune out the extraneous in order to learn anything at all. We learn to focus on the sense we need at the moment to stay safe, to enjoy food, to relax through music, to learn from a teacher. When we stroke a kitten, the exquisite touch of the warm furry creature is amazing. Experiencing the word of sensation can be very pleasurable.
The visual artist also wants to study the composition of the sights he sees. How the insect is segmented, the light flashes on the colors of the wings. How the flower fits together at the center, the petal shapes and stem joining. The mountain rising over the lake, the clouds and colors in the sunset.
Drawing is a first activity for the visual artist, an act of joy and trying to understand how the world is made. Through drawing an object the artist comes to understand how it is put together and to express that discovery.
The act of expressing is cathartic, releasing tension built up by the bombardment of perceptions, allowing for the how and why to be clearly shown.
Creating begins as a way to understand the world as we perceive it. Processing the perceptions can lead to artistic creation. The act of creating can be wonderful or frustrating, but the artists I know pursue this once discovered, “Because I have to.”
Recently I wondered what could I create from a blob of paint. So I wet a paper and added watercolors randomly.After it dried, I imagined a tall sailing ship. Starting at the base, I began removing paint by adding water and blotting it off with toweling. Forming the ship. Next I did more of the same to form the sails and structures. Fun!Done, and the blob of paint has become Sailing Ship.Does your art bring you understanding? Joy? Frustration? Do you find meaning in your art through self expressing? Seeking a means to inspire, process, share yourself and unique ideas with others?Art is created for many reasons, in many different forms from the transitory to the more permanent. From the sewn quilt to the dance to the novel to the sculpture. Whatever your means of expression, I wish you great joy in it.”