Donna Z Falcone
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I Surrender to my Art

7/15/2020

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Picture
I’m not very interested in painting flowers that look just like the flowers in the garden, or animals that look like they should have a beating heart. Don’t misunderstand – I am stymied and awestruck by the artists who can paint so realistically that I swear I smell their acrylic rose or see their watercolor bunny’s nose twitch.  What interests me, however… what pulls me toward painting, is a magical curiosity about color, movement, and magic, and I want to create something that makes a suggestion without necessarily giving itself away.

When I step into my studio, it is usually because I have connected with a thought or idea, either through reading, music, or my own reflections. Something has stirred in me and I want to express what it means. I want to create an image of the idea, not a thing. Sometimes I will find a way to incorporate quotes or poetry  –  sometimes not.  

All of the materials await. My crate full of tiles is there full of blank and shiny potential. My inks stand in a circle, arranged in a full spectrum of color. Canvases, congregate in various sizes against the wall. My makeshift air compressor sits on the floor with its long rubber tubing coiled up like the kind of snake I don’t mind touching, and the mini-torch waits patiently on the tray beside my blending solutions. Paper towels, cotton swabs, and alcohol spray are ready, too. Some days I light the big red candle, especially if the sun is not up, put on traditional flutes music, and just begin. Painting is my meditation.

I like to use the forces of nature to create. Fire is my favorite, but I also love forced air, movement, centrifugal force, and gravity. Rarely do I directly touch the canvas or tile with tools like brushes or pens, although I have been known to use a blending stick for emphasis or to clarify a boundary. Now and then a gel pen or a fine paintbrush will help to create a tiny, necessary element, like a dot for an eye, or the fine thread of a butterfly’s leg. Mostly, however, I prefer to not touch. There is something exciting about watching the medium respond freely, keenly aware it has much say in the matter, making choices of its own. It goes where and how it needs to go with the help of flames, wind, or movement.

Sometimes I stop and look, trying to understand what might come next. I don’t try to reshape or force something different to happen. There is another force, and it’s in charge of me.  Sometimes I even cry, the way you can’t help crying when you are finally face to face with someone you have missed for a very, very long time. Sometimes I wonder if this is normal at all. I wonder if crazy is a place, and am I going there? I wonder if my mind is slipping over the edge because I silently ask the painting what it needs and I try to oblige. Then I look at the all of the colors dancing and I know that, if this is where crazy is, I’ll stay.

This is my art.

I surrender. 

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This piece was first published under the title "Surrender" at CharitySingletonCraig.com.
Written 10.20.15 in my earliest days of daily art. Alcohol ink was my primary medium and I rarely touched a brush. This practice went on for three full years until suddenly all I wanted was watercolor, and brushes, and a new surrender.
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Strange Days of Covid-19

7/5/2020

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Picture
Life is strange in these days of Covid-19 and, if not for painting, I'm not really sure how the days would pass. One evening was spent creating this watercolor wash, hopeful that what might emerge would be an elephant bathed in light (a challenge from watercolor artist and teacher, Jean Haines).

For more than a day I've been staring into the wash, imagining the elephant. I can see her there, emerging from some kind of darkness. Maybe it's the thick canopy of a jungle, or maybe it's our current situation, or both. Maybe you see her, too?

The consequences of the virus can feel so heavy at times and some days it feels as if the restrictions are crushing my heart. I can't get to my family so far away in New York and Pennsylvania. At the moment we (my husband I) face mandatory 14 day quarantines if we try to see any of them but, before these two weeks ended we would have to return home. There would never be time to see everyone that needs seeing and so, against our sense of what makes any sense at all, we wait. It feels like a bad dream.

Yesterday was a hard day. Asthma flaring from pollen has added to the weight of the Covid restrictions and nothing felt do-able or even worth trying. I was not willing to lose the potential in the wash. I was not willing to add the wash to the pile of things that didn't work out. That doesn't mean I've decided it won't work. It does mean, however, that creating art comes with no guarantees and therefore if I'm willing to succeed I must also be willing to not hit my mark as many times as it takes. I must be willing to lose some paper, some paint, and even some promising washes. Yesterday was not the day.

Today, however, is new. Before my toes touched the floor this morning, I made a decision to focus on what can be done, not want cannot. My husband held me close, reminding me that I am still 30 on the inside. Grass pollen was low and I was able to get a morning walk under my belt. Coffee was delicious and there are a few hours of sunshine lighting up the world before an expected rainfall hits and is forecast to wash away the dust from the entire day. Clean. Fresh. Probably steamy at first (this is south Georgia after all), giving way to a cooler moment. 

I consider my wash. Maybe today.

I taped some vellum over the top to test sketching her in... to confirm if what I imagined was there and not just wishful thinking. Don't misunderstand. I have nothing against wishful thinking. In fact, it's one of my favored indulgences, but there is so much wishful thinking in my heart these days I can scarcely tell the difference between a wish and a possibility. There is a fine line between the two and it often causes me to trip, landing flat on my unsuspecting face.

Still, even though I'm not much of a sketch artist, the elephant let herself be found. The whole experience reminds me of a story I'd read many years ago written by Robert Fulghum, author best known for Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. It was called "Get Found, Kid".  Well, maybe it was titled something else. This was, however, a line he repeated during his retelling of a child's game of hide and seek. Get found kid. Get found kid. GET FOUND KID! 

The elephant, I am convinced, wanted me to keep looking until I found her emerging from the wash. If not this one, another will do, and my intention is to keep looking.

​If you are willing to wait for three seconds you can see the rough sketch below, just for validations sake. It's strange for me to sketch, but sometimes I need a little encouragement for going forward and life, these days, is nothing if not strange.

I'm not sure how the painting will turn out and, honestly, it doesn't matter. What matters is I am willing to lose the wash in pursuit of the elephant. 

P.S. The story of 'get found kid' can be found among several others, wonderfully told, in his book It was on Fire When I Lay Down on It. 
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    Donna Falcone

    On a Path of Color is dedicated space for recording my journey deeper into art; what it can teach me, and where it may lead. You are welcome to peek in or come along. Maybe you are on a journey as well and perhaps you'd like a little company. Whatever the reason, I'm happy you're here.

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