ART RUCKUS

Birth of a Black Mermaid: A Tale of Art, Ale and Serendipity

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 06:40:00 +0000

Above: Monika, Kristin, Sue and Ahna tape before grouting the black mermaid.

Despite my extended absence from cyber-communications, Art Ruckus has by no means been on vacation!

On the contrary, this time has been rife with much art-full activity as I set up studio on my new houseboat abode in Sausalito, California.

I will have to save the details of my new digs for another day, because in this moment I have a more pressing matter to share with you: namely, the birth of Caledonia, the black mermaid!

Above: Caledonia the mermaid is named after the main street in Sausalito.

It all started with a vision I had of a mermaid swimming in to restore magic to a rather dark, dismal, Pepto-Bismol-colored purple bathroom on the boat. She wasn't just any mermaid, mind you – this was no stereotypical, shell-pink Barbie with scales, but a fierce, black, wild mer-goddess.

With a hearty dose of guileless gusto and a brazen beginner's mind, I decided that said mermaid should not just be a mural, but a mosaic mural (a medium I've had very little experience with), and that, of course, she should be larger than life.

Above: Monika and Kristin rub grout off Caledonia's tail.

One by one, with baffling alacrity, a stalwart team of mermaid-makers joined me to take on this deliciously formidable feat.

My cousin, Kristin, was the first to rally to the black mermaid's cause – together we began plotting, hoarding tiles and sketching the mermaid's imposing form on the freshly painted bathroom wall.

Above: Kristin lays out a loose tile mock-up of the mermaid. Check out my new pink walls behind her!

When it came time to lay the tiles, my friends Monika and Shawn joined our crew. The mermaid seemed to have a life of her own, and magnetized random people into her orbit, from friends who donated supplies, to hardware store grouting gurus and my previously unknown Peruvian neighbor, who showed up at the door one night with a cement mixer, a bottle of wine and an offer to cook our art team dinner.

Above: Monika dressed in fancy garb for our celebratory meal. Amilcar (l.) and Ernesto (r.), our fabulous cooks, chow down beside her.

In addition to many fabulous instances of creative serendipity, the mermaid's birth was also accompanied by a constant stream of running jokes, costumes and foul humor.

Monika brought over fake teeth. We banged on buckets and danced with brooms and tile-nippers. During long, delirious hours of grouting, we channeled strange characters, such as "Neal," a Marin-dwelling New Age spiritual type who enjoyed raving about the benefits of watsu water therapy and suggested we engage in periodic processing sessions to enhance our inter-group dynamics.

Above: Monika and Ahna get their groove on before grouting.

We also discovered that the black mermaid preferred beer to wine and could woo us all, with her siren wiles, into tossing back bottles like lovelorn sailors. In fact, she exercised particular clout in convincing us to drink too much stout while grouting.

Above: Grout and stout, anyone? Ahna, Kristin, Sue and Monika flout their brews.

This had rather severe repercussions.

Above: Where are the beer goggles when you need them?!

All in all, since the mermaid represents the first large-scale art piece born here during my time on the boat, I'd say we're off to a rollicking start. Stay tuned for news on the next creative adventure aboard this enchanted vessel…

Above: the proud artists admire their work.

** If you'd like to see more pictures of the making of Caledonia the mermaid, please visit my flickr page.

*** I'd like to thank the academy.... Er, uh, no... Wrong speech... ahem... I'd like to thank Kat for the amazing birthday pottery, Joui, Ernesto and Amilcar for cooking and feeding our hardworking crew, Eric for his trust and openness to creative boat renovations, the folks at Heath Ceramics for giving me a "nice person discount" at the counter, my passionate, playful collaborators and anyone else whom I am forgetting!

Recipe #1: Blue Election Dream Fricassee

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 18:16:00 +0000

The first "Recipe for Creation" is complete! If you haven't yet read about the premise for this collaborative exchange, please check out the last blog, which explains our vision and goals for the project. Otherwise, read on and enjoy!

Above: "Into a New Era," my interpretation of Recipe #1.

Ingredients:

a smattering of election ballot or other political paraphernalia
a dash of electric blue
a hand-stitched image
a word or image from a dream.

Directions:

1) Begin with a dream you remember vividly. Choose some dreamy music and warm up by dancing out your memory of the dream. You can dance out the roles of the different characters, the action that took place, or just the overall feeling of it. Do this blindfolded.

2) Choose something from your dream dance that stood out to you. It can be a word, a sensation, a person, a scene… Whatever! This is your starting point.

3) Tear up some newspapers from election week. Tear for the sheer pleasure of tearing! Take a couple of scraps from your mess, or use your absentee ballot, or other political paraphernalia and add it to the mix.

4) Go wild choosing blues, wielding your needle and throwing in whatever else strikes your fancy. Don't think too much. Work quickly, freely and most importantly, have fun!

Above: Joui's interpretation of Recipe #1. To read about the making of her piece, including the dream that inspired it, please visit her blog.

The Dream behind My Piece
I started Recipe #1 in response to a dream I had several weeks before the presidential election.

In the dream, a black man was a passenger on an old-fashioned steam train. There was some kind of turmoil on the train, and the sense that it was headed in the wrong direction, about to enter a very dark, narrow tunnel.

The man clambered outside the train, holding onto the side ladder. Even though the train was passing over a deep ravine, which dropped hundreds of feet below, he let go, and fell backwards, soaring in free fall. Miraculously, he landed at the bottom unscathed.

Into a New Era
I felt like the man in this dream represented the courage and fearlessness it takes to break with an old way of being, and let go into the new, the unknown.

I titled this piece "Into a New Era," in honor of the dream, and this pivotal time in our country. If you look closely, you can see bits and pieces of election materials – scraps from my absentee ballot and voting materials – peppered throughout the piece. The figure is flying forward, leaving behind a cityscape, and about to exit the canvas, into…???

Above: Detail from "Into a New Era."

Art without Borders
I really enjoyed creating this collage. In fact, I was so caught up in working on it, that when it came time for me to depart for Mexico (where I am now) I couldn't bear to leave it unfinished, so I smuggled it along in my suitcase. I've been sitting in cafes at night here in Guanajuato putting the finishing stitches into the canvas and attracting many curious glances from baristas and waiters.

The other night I had a young barista approach me shyly and ask "How much will that cost when you're done?" I told him: "One million coffees!" We both had a good laugh.

Above: Me working on Recipe #1 on the terrace of Alma del Sol, in Guanajuato.

So that's the tale, on my end, behind the completion of Recipe #1. To read about Joui's experience of working on this first project, please click here. Thanks for following along, and please do drop us a line if you have an idea for some ingredients to go into our next recipe, or if you have created your own version of this one. Hasta luego!

Above: A "buzon", or mailbox, here in Guanajuato. Don't forget to write!

Recipes for Creation: A Collaborative Art Exchange

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 00:45:00 +0000

Above: "Fancy a taste?" Chef Ahnabella caters to every palette.

A sprinkle of chance, a dash of collaboration and a whole lot of play are the main ingredients in "Recipes for Creation," a new collaborative project that fellow artist-friend Joui Turandot and I schemed up over lunch at a kebab restaurant in San Francisco recently.

Above: Chef Turandot dishes up some piquant fare.

Here's what we've got cooking: Every few weeks one of us will devise a list of at least four random ingredients to be used in an art project of our choosing. For example:

tinsel
toy soldiers
something blue
something dug out from a dumpster
the first sentence from a cheesy romance novel.

As you can see, the possibilities are limitless. Anything goes! The main rule is to have no rules, although it's probably also helpful to ensure that the suggested materials are available (in this dimension).

Above: "Please sir, can I have some more?"

The person may also choose to include a short set of instructions, containing any particular suggestions for how to go about creating this crazy art concoction. For instance, a suggestion might be to begin the process blindfolded, or warm up with a dance. The instructions can be anything to help shake us out of habituated ways of creating.

Above: Warning - may cause indigestion.

After sending out the recipe, each of us will set to work in our own studios to see what happens! We will, of course, include you in the fun. Images of all the creations we cook up will be posted here for your delectation. We also welcome you to participate by emailing images of your own interpretation of the recipes, or by making a suggestion for a future recipe that we may wish to try.

Check back soon to see what's cooking…

Above: "Hmm... An interesting bouquet. Though perhaps a bit too oleaginous..."

Creative Play in Times of Change

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 08:28:00 +0000

If asked to describe the current cultural milieu in this country, I think I'd say that it feels like America is holding its breath.

Above: Ahna and Amy blow bubbles in the park.

With so much change afoot, it's hard not to feel a bit afraid. Staying open in times of groundlessness is no easy task.

We tend, instead, to become tight, adopting rigid ways of responding to situations in our lives when we don't feel totally secure.

We forget that in times like these we can still access our innate creativity and sense of play, that they can help us to find new ways of responding to difficult situations.

Above: A moment of adversity...Mortimer seizes Ahna's scone.

Play, spontaneity and laughter come from the opposite place of fear. They bring release and freedom, while fear is clenched and holds energy in. When we relax into a playful or creative state, we open the way for new life and fresh insights to move through our systems. Who knows what other shifts this may inspire?

Above: Amy and Ahna bust out some improvisational dance moves.

Given the current state of affairs, there couldn't be a better time to do something that gets us out of stagnant patterns—rollick in the grass, blow bubbles, bake cupcakes, throw a tea party—anything to bring in new energy!

Above: Tea party invitation for Amy.

So this past weekend, in celebration of my friend Amy's birthday, that is exactly what we did. The two of us set off for the park with a cargo of fine china, tea-time morsels and stuffed animals.

Above: Tea party invitees (left to right): Teddy, Rainbow Kitty, Scruffy, Chip and Cotton.

After chowing down on blueberry scones and chocolate cupcakes and dancing on grassy knolls till dusk, we closed the day with a night-time poetry reading by flashlight.

Above: Amy listens to Ahna read.

I hope that these pictures help share the day's magic and perhaps even inspire you toward a playful manifestation of your own. If you'd like to see more tea party photos, the complete album is up on my flickr page.

Above: All the tea party attendees enjoying the day.

Until next time, may you find new ways to play, make art of your life, and remember to write and tell me about it…!

Sketches from Spain

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 06:02:00 +0000

Above: "Female Mask," one of the drawings from my art journal.

Last week's journey through London and the south of Spain was deliciously rich on the art front. I loved meandering through the new Picasso Museum in Malaga and seeing some of the striking street art in Granada. Perhaps the most memorable visit, however, was to the childhood home and birthplace of my poet hero, Federico Garcia Lorca.

Above: The cover of my art journal, collaged with scraps of the Picasso Museum brochure, plane ticket stubs and a photo of Lorca.

By all accounts, Lorca was quite a special soul. Reading his biography one is treated to numerous tales of his silliness, pranks and child-like delight with life.

Above: Lorca in Uruguay, 1934.

One anecdote describes how he and a friend "coated their faces with rice powder, donned bogus nuns' habits and boarded a city tram, where they cast lascivious glances at their neighbors."

When Lorca visited New York (having convinced his parents he would study English), he didn't learn a lick of the language. Instead, he chose to spend his time visiting aquariums, playing with toys in dime stores and wandering the city streets. According to one friend, his favorite English phrase became "I DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING," which he would "shout while standing in the middle of the street, arms flailing, his face red with laughter."

I think Lorca was definitely on to something.

Above: collage from my art journal with photo of baby Lorca taken from Lorca museum brochure.

Aside from this happy pilgrimage to Lorca's home town, our trip provided many lovely moments filled with park picnics, impromptu puppetry, art-making on airplanes and sitting in the plazas watching pigeons, wedding parties, accordionists and other forms of life pass by.

Above: Picnic with family and friends in Regent's Park, London. I finally get to meet Francesca (front right), a fellow artist/writer whom I first connected with right here in the blogosphere!

Above: "Two Feet," pastel and watercolor paintings from my art journal.

Here are a few more images from the art journal I kept during our trip. If you'd like to see more photos from London and Spain, along with the rest of the sketches and paintings from my travel journal, please visit my flickr page.

Above: "Male Mask," pastel, pen and watercolor on paper.

Above: "Winged Creature," acrylic on paper.

Above: "Maskuline and Feminine," pastel and watercolor on paper.

Above: "Toro" collage using corrugated coffee cup holders, London tube tickets, magazine scraps, etc...

"Of Beasts and Prophets" Art Show Opening

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 09:13:00 +0000

Many thanks to all of you who turned out for my first solo art show, "Of Beasts and Prophets."

Amy, Ahna and Chris, the proud set-up team for the show.

I was moved by the outpouring of enthusiasm and energy at the event, by the community of people who came together around the art, engaging with it, and with each other, through the experience.

Good people, good music and bounteous art...What more could a girl ask for?

My greatest reward as an artist is in the act of creating itself, but it feels like a double bonus when the art is seen and strikes a chord within other people, perhaps providing inspiration or catalyzing some new energy in their own lives.

An art-appreciator takes in "Portals V" (a.k.a. "The Door").

Art is so mysterious in this way. When we make it, we never know how it will affect others. We can only strive to be true to ourselves and to the process, and then let go and allow our creations to do their work in the world…

Above: "The Spinx Speaks in Moon Language," acrylic and pastel on canvas.

For those of you who couldn't be present at the opening, I hope you'll enjoy some of the photos from the evening. I'll also be posting a bit of video footage up here in the near future. To see the pieces that were included in the show, please visit my online gallery. To view all of the photos from the evening, please visit my flickr page.

Thanks again to everyone present (in person and in spirit!) for lending support and good energy during this "opening." Viva el arte!

Below: After the crowds depart, Ahna and Amy bust out some interpretive dance moves.

'Of Beasts and Prophets' Art Show: Save the Date!

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 07:39:00 +0000

Dear Friends,

This summer I've been visited by a host of strange characters... Sphinxes, unicorns, circus elephants, mangy dogs and prophets, to name a few.

With such company, there's rarely a dull moment in the studio!

Please join us (yes, all of us) for an evening of art, wine and live middle eastern/flamenco music by guitarist Douglas McCarron. Here are the details:

'Of Beasts and Prophets' Art Show
Sunday, September 21, 4-7 pm
at the Art of You Studio
3060 Adams Ave., Suite B, San Diego, CA 92116

Below is a sneak preview of some of the characters that you may get to visit with at the show.

Thank you so much for your continued support, and I look forward to seeing you there!

Ahna

Above: Pariah Dog, mixed media on paper. 9 X 12.

Above: 'The Circus Elephant,' mixed media on paper. 11 X 14.

Above: 'Prophet', plaster and acrylic on an old cutting board. 21 X 24.

Weekend Workshop with Jesse Reno

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 21:28:00 +0000

I came across mixed media artist Jesse Reno's work as I have so many other good things in life: by fool's luck and a few too many hours on the Internet.

Following a chain of random links, I stumbled upon Jesse's website and was immediately drawn in by the depth and dimensionality of his work, along with its profusion of curious creatures, (which I have a penchant for, as many of you surely know by now).

Above: Jesse at work on a painting

Despite my historical misfortunes when it comes to finding art classes (that don't make me fume or fall asleep), I followed a good hunch I had about this Reno fellow and signed up that very night for his three-day workshop at Carol Parks' studio in North Hollywood.

I've just returned from the workshop and am happy to report that the trusty gut didn't lead me astray—I got all the weird creatures I could want, and so much more…

Above: "Baby Mastodon's Last Sunset," one of the paintings I worked on during the weekend.

Finger-painting, Overpopulation and Other Tricks of the Trade
In the interest of sharing with you a bit of what I learned this weekend, I've compiled a list of some of my favorite art process tips from Jesse (paraphrased in Fenderly parlance) that may also be of use to you. Keep in mind that this list includes only a hastily grabbed handful from Jesse's bag of art tricks, but nonetheless, I hope that you'll find something here that furthers your own creative process:

1) Get back to basics. Try starting your piece by painting with your hands. Let yourself revel in the sensual feel of the paint as you smooth it across the wood or canvas. Later on, if you get stuck with the brush, move back to working with your hands as a way to loosen yourself up.

2) If you build it, they will come. Add layer upon layer of paint, pencil, or other media to your surface and watch as surprising forms and patterns evolve. Trust the layering process to lead you organically to an image; pay attention and see who (or what!) wants to take shape.

Above: The first layer of work.

3) Overpopulate, rather than under-populate a piece in the beginning. That way you'll have more directions to go in. Filling your painting with crazy shapes and lines creates fertile material for something rich and mulit-dimensional to take shape.

4) Block it out. When something catches your eye or stands out to you from the rest of the colors and forms in your painting, use a single color to "block out" the space around it and make it pop forward. See what it looks like to isolate the form and bring it to the foreground in this way. You can always paint over it if you don't like it!

Above: This is the same piece, with a few more layers added. The swatch of blue paint in the right hand corner is an example of the "blocking out" technique.

5) If a painting is fighting you, strike back! Slop on an ugly color. Graffiti over it. If necessary, break things! Don't be afraid to make bold moves…You may be surprised at what happens, and following the energy can often mobilize you out of a rut.

6) Create your own pictorial language. Notice the themes, symbols and characters that reappear in your work. What is the story that's trying to tell itself through you? By observing your work from a place of curiosity, you'll stay open to new developments and can learn from what the art has to tell you rather than just repeating what you already know.

Above: At this point, Jesse is nearing the end of his demo (after a few hours of painting, split up over the days). The painting is not yet complete, but already has so many layers and dimensions. Can't wait to see it in its finished state!

7) Work on multiple paintings at once so you don't become too attached to the outcome or get myopic while focusing in on a single piece. Moving between several paintings will help to keep your work fresh and loose and may also make it easier to walk back into the studio, pick something up and go to town, rather than procrastinate about tackling a single, formidable piece.

Above: I worked on three pieces over the course of the weekend. This is the biggest, an old door that Carol gave me to paint on.

The Gift of a True Teacher

Part of the joy for me in working with Jesse was about coming into contact with a fellow artist whose approach to art process mirrors my own in many ways, but is different enough to inspire newness in my work and invite different ways of seeing.

Above: close-up of the door painting in process.

Jesse did not try to impose his views or techniques upon the artists at his workshop. Instead, he offered his experience and personal work style as a single possibility, while inviting others to experiment in order to find the ways that worked best for them.

To me, this is the true role of a teacher, in art, or any subject matter: to inspire you to explore new ways of seeing, to encourage you to work outside self-created limitations, and to develop and strengthen your own voice.

Above: "Blind Martyr Marathon," the final painting I worked on during the weekend.

To see more artwork and photos from the workshop, please visit my flickr page.

Art Ruckus Shop Now Open!

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 03:46:00 +0000

Greetings, friends,

I'm pleased to announce that the Art Ruckus gallery and shop is now open and ready for your perusal: http://www.artruckus.com/shop/

Above: New work now up in the shop. "The Transmutation." 24 X 24.

As you'll see, the shop link on my website leads you directly to my page on Artbreak, which is an online community for artists to show and sell their work.

I've chosen to set up my shop through Artbreak because I like the community feel of the site, and the sense of being linked to other artists all around the world who are sharing and selling their artwork.

Through this site I've had the pleasure of connecting with artists from Argentina, Poland, Spain, the U.K., Malaysia and many other places around the globe. What a modern privilege and delight!

Above: More recent work. "Dancing Man at Cantina." 32 X 18.

I hope that you will also enjoy visiting this site, browsing my shop, and seeing the work of other international artists. You can view all of the artwork without establishing an account, but if you'd like to purchase or comment upon my or another artist's work, you'll need to set up an account, which is free and only takes a moment.

I'll now be uploading all of my most recent work directly to the gallery/shop, so please check back in periodically to see what's new.

Happy browsing and thank you for your continued support!

Ahna

Recycled Frames 101: Trashy Tips for Artists on a Budget

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 06:52:00 +0000

Along with the paint-flinging frolics and fantastical play of creating come a handful of rather unglamorous tasks that are often a necessary part of bringing art into the world.

Things like organizing, documenting and framing work may be far less fun than the creating of it, but there's a certain satisfaction in bringing the process full circle and finding ways to add interest and inventiveness to even these more practical aspects of artistry.

Above: "Piranha." Rusty nails wrapped in wire add prickly appeal to this piece.

The Fundamental Pain of Framing
Framing work used to be number one on my blacklist of odious tasks in the art-making process. Part of what I didn't like about it was that it felt so remote from the spontaneity of my creative process. Framing seemed like it was all about making a polished product, with clean glass gleaming for gallery-goers, something expensive-looking and weighty to "contain" a piece and somehow make it more worthy of sale, or fit for display. Blehck! These connotations were enough to make my innards revolt, and I'd often just stash a canvas away in my studio rather than have to deal with this perceived unpleasantness.

Above: "The Displaced." I claimed this frame from a woman cleaning out her storage space. Score!

A Helping of Junk Art Jubilee
Enter Rodney McCoubrey, my kooky collaboration buddy, whose wizardry with recycled junk totally transformed my outlook on framing. I remember the first time I came to Rodney with one of my paintings, and a drab frame I'd salvaged from an Aaron Brother's dumpster. With a screw gun, some paint, yellow electrical wire and some odd bits of rusty junk, suddenly the frame came alive, sang with the piece, harmonizing with it like a back-up singer supports a lead vocalist.

Above: "Shaman." Rodney's and my first junk art frame co-creation.

Although the framing techniques I use now vary from piece to piece, that first junk-bejewelled frame made with Rodney changed my way of holding this formerly loathsome task, making it into an extension of the creative act. Sure, I still have to deal with mundane minutia like threading screw eyes and cutting glass now and then, but at least I no longer dread the framing process.

If you also find framing to be a pain, here are a few ways I've learned to make the process less precise and pricey, and more creative and spicy!

How to Make Your Own Recycled Frames:

Why pay when you can dumpster dive? (I'm only partly kidding). Frames in art stores or frame shops are ludicrously overpriced. Why break the bank when you can go to a garage sale or thrift shop, or, better yet, get it for free? I make a habit of frequenting my local art stores to see if they have any frames that have been chipped, broken or damaged and are headed for the dumpster. You'd be surprised at the handsome finds that get tossed away each day for their presumed imperfection!
Paint, scratch, scar, layer and prepare your own one-of-a-kind surface. Paint multiple layers of color and then sand through to reveal the shades beneath. Use a knife or other sharp object to create texture in the wet paint.
Garnish lovingly with rubbish. Sometimes, after the second step, a frame will feel complete. Other times, you may want to get out some old metal scraps, rusty nails, wire or other miscellaneous junk to bump your frame up to the next level.

Above: "Torero con Flor." The cowbell was the coup d'etat on this baby... A finishing touch by Rodney.

Most importantly, listen to your art. Ask it what colors it wants to be surrounded with, or what found objects would play on the themes or textures already present? What would further its aliveness?

Framing art yourself may take more time and effort than going to the pros, or buying a readymade frame, but I find that it's kind of like conferring a final blessing on a work before it goes out into the world, or onto the wall. Surrounded with a bit of love, and some creative ingenuity, it can sally forth from the studio, into a life of its own.

Above: "Death of a Unicorn." A discarded frame and a dash of electric blue paint are enough to make even a dead unicorn look lively!

Trusting the Wisdom of Instinct

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 06:39:00 +0000

Quiet. Color to color. Stroke to stroke. The hands conduct a fluid symphony of movement, fingers sliding down the wet canvas, fists flinging jets of orange paint direct from the tube. Thoughts fall away; one thing leads to the next; every act feels joyously unexpected…

Above: Detail of "Portals I," acrylic, oilstick and house paint on wood. 56 X 14". See full painting.

In painting, we can enter the flow of moment-to-moment living, coming into contact with the part of ourselves that knows just what to do, on an instinctual level. By practicing listening to this inner wisdom, again and again, we learn to trust how the hand gravitates toward a certain color, or how a spill or accident can open the way to a deeper creative experience.

Above: Me painting in my friend Chris's studio. Working on multiple surfaces at once helps me stay loose.

I'm beginning to understand that it's this same intuitive pull we follow in painting and other art forms that guides us through the rest of our lives, attracting us to certain places or people, aligning us with what feels right at the deepest level.

In this sense, art can be like a training ground. It teaches us to move from this place of inner knowing, to learn what it feels like in the body, to look for it, to trust its inherent wisdom.

Above: "Impenitent Eve." Acrylic and oilstick on paper. 18 X 24".

Sometimes our instinct speaks to us in a frisson of feeling, a tingle up the spine, a heat, a flutter in the chest. I'm learning to trust these subtle signals as my guides, emissaries of some deeper knowing inside me.

The moments of doubt, of feeling stuck, are just as important as those spent in the flow (though they're usually not quite as pleasant). The doubting mind strengthens our resolve, humbles us and brings greater depth and balance to our work. You're probably familiar with doubt's refrain,

an insistent little ditty that goes something like this: What should I do? Where is this going? What on earth am I doing? Etc., etc.

Above: "Unicorn on the Run," acrylic on canvas. See it at Art 'N' Soul Gallery.

I certainly spend my fair share of time stymied in these spaces, like a chess player lost in the mental fanfare of mapping out his next move. The chest feels blocked, I forget to breathe, reeled into the illusion that if I just think hard enough, I'll figure it out!

Above: "The Displaced, II." Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas. Also on display at Art 'N' Soul.

But in my experience, no satisfying creative act ever really comes about like that. When I look back over my art life, and recognize the soaring moments, the times when a painting seemed to crescendo with a final stroke of grace, not one of those times has ever directly arisen from a place of perseverating, or from second-guessing what my gut already knows.

This rule goes for big life decisions, as well. I find that most often they're made from a place of quiet knowing, rather than from that chattery, cerebral realm where doubt and fear are at the helm.

One reason I return to painting, to art, is as a way of strengthening this muscle, of letting this quiet knowing have free rein in the sanctuary of my studio, to see where it leads me and to realize, most importantly, that I don't have to know.

Above: "Portals III," Acrylic, oil pastel and ballpoint pen on cardboard. 18 X 19".

Nope. Knowing where you're going definitely doesn't seem to be a salient trait of this artist's path. But trusting the not-knowing, letting yourself plunge blindly into the experience of creating, or living, is no easy feat.

In a society consumed with plotting out every last detail of our lives, where value is placed on coming up with some convenient, single-shot punch-line to confidently assert who we are and what we do, not knowing, not having a plan or agenda (or clue!), seems downright scary (not to mention countercultural).

But if we're honest with ourselves, if we're moving from a place of what's real in the moment instead of what we planned or hoped or imagined would happen, we may find that we know less and less in the traditional sense (read: bye-bye, best-laid plans!) but are blessed with another kind of knowing, which supplants this old way, and flows and changes and leads us on its mysterious course, ready or not.

Above: Me and my mom painting during a day-long retreat at The Art of You.

Working this way in painting, to me, is not about meticulously rendering a subject or wrestling with the paint until it submits to our will. It's more about plunging in, with our clothes on, and seeing where the flow takes us. Which is not to say we'll always like it. (Oh-ho-no!) But it seems to me that in giving up knowing exactly what we're doing, in relinquishing that tight grip of control and opening up to whatever wishes to surface, life and art become ceaselessly rich.

In fact, in surrendering our ideas of how things should look or be, we are often rewarded with something far more juicy or breath-taking than our limited intellects could have possibly dreamed up.

Above: Detail of "Portals II," acrylic and oilstick on canvas, 60 X 24". See full painting.

Following the wisdom of our instinct means tapping into a wellspring of some mysterious, free-flowing creativity. Those nay-saying voices of doubt or fear may protest this on all fronts, shouting: Stop! You don't know what you're doing! Anything could happen! To which you may reply:

Exactly.

Comfort vs. Aliveness

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 06:45:00 +0000

One of the themes that seems to turn up again and again in my life and art is the choice between comfort and aliveness.

I think an artist's work is always partly like walking in the dark, moving forward without knowing exactly where we are going, but moving forward nonetheless, because that's how we say yes to life.

Above: "Untitled," mixed media on canvas

When we find something comfortable, perhaps something we do well, and we stay there, saying no to growth because it means beginning over, and not knowing again, part of us goes to sleep.

A wise teacher recently told me: "A yes to aliveness is also a yes to insecurity, fear and anxiety." I found it revelatory to remember that you simply can't have the one without the others. Insecurity, fear and anxiety are the bedfellows of any artist, any seeker, anyone, really, who is willing to leave behind familiar realms in favor of growth.

Above: "Dreamflight," fabric collage

We never know, when we step boldly out into life, what awaits; we have to be willing to make a thousand mistakes, or we might as well stay at home on the sofa and watch reruns.

In art it's often a matter of experimenting with a new material or form, working outside our comfort zone, or inviting an unknown element into our process, like a wild collaborator or a tool we know nothing about.

Above: Working on a new junk sculpture

It seems to me that the same principles apply to life at large. We have to throw ourselves into life wholeheartedly (even cluelessly, I might add) willing to hate something, to say "this isn't for me," to buy the one-way ticket only to change our minds and come right back, with new eyes ready to see something that we were previously blind to.

Above: "The Patriarch," junk assemblage

Sometimes we have to spend time somewhere unfamiliar to us, somewhere that wakes up our senses and jostles our brains into new ways of thinking. Or we have to invite something into our lives that perhaps scares us a little bit (or a lot), something that is not cushioned in sureness, something that brings us right to our edge.

I try to remember this choice between comfort and aliveness whenever I'm faced with big decisions in my life, especially when I'm afraid of making mistakes. As that same wise teacher so rightly reminded me: "If there isn't a spirit of adventure, what's the point?"

Perhaps this is part of the reason I feel drawn to art, again and again in my life. Because at its root, it's about adventure, about following our instincts and learning the way as we go. There's no real formula in art, despite what some teachers or textbooks may advise. Every artist, every creator, has to start from scratch, and chart his or her own course, knowing it will be different from the rest.

Above: "Corazoncito Cocodrilo," collage

And taking risks is part of that. For me, wielding a screw gun or a welder is a lot less comfortable than moving paint around on a canvas. That doesn't mean that I should do one over the other, but it does mean that I can venture into new ground, and find my edge by trying something that feels foreign to me. I may get stuck, I may occasionally fling things across a room or feel about as safe as a toddler with a table saw, but even so, I can feel a surge of aliveness in me as I struggle.

Above: Me playing with junk in my backyard

Through risk-taking in art we get to practice choosing aliveness over comfort, again and again. And each time we do, the part of us that wants to grow, that wants, like a flower, to turn its face up to the sun, is letting a new petal pull back, is letting more of us be exposed, is choosing to open.

Keeping an Art Journal, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Mon, 19 May 2008 07:35:00 +0000

I set off at the beginning of last week with the intention to create a page a day in my art journal.

"ART RUCKUS Armadillo," 5/17/08.

What a gift it's been to carve out these small windows of time when I can fully follow what moves me—whether it's a certain fabric, an image, a feeling.

"Room with a View." 5/18/08.

In the simple act of pairing these scraps together, I'm drawn back into the present moment. For a short time I get to put aside my ideas of who I think I am, or who I've been in the past, and just follow what I know right now, as it manifests in form and color.

"Untitled." 5/17/08.

Thanks for following along with me this week. I hope you've enjoyed watching the pages pop up. Sharing them with you has helped me keep my commitment to connect with myself through art each day. So I'm grateful for the part you've played in the process!

"The Whipskeet," 5/16/08.

Keeping an Art Journal

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Thu, 15 May 2008 08:11:00 +0000

I like to use my art journal as a place to experiment with new ideas and materials and process what's going on in my life.

Above: "Ticket to Ride" (left), "Leaving to Meet New Life" (right). 5/8/08.

Having a fairly small, portable book that I can carry around and pop into on a whim helps make art more accessible and less of a "big production."

Most importantly, these pages help me to reconnect with myself by tapping into whatever is most real or true for me in the moment.

Above: "It's still spring without you," 5/12/08

To me, the art journal is one of the best places for spontaneous new work to arise, because I'm not so worried about what it will look like. The focus is more about the process of discovery, not about creating something pleasing to the eye.

Above: "Abstraction II," 5/13/08

Lately, life has been particularly full, and I've found myself feeling overwhelmed just setting foot in my studio. In times like these, the art journal is a way for me to invite art into my day without too much fuss. I can crack it open on my lunch break and slap a layer of paint on some pages. I can come back to it in the evening and collage in a few odds and ends from my day—a pay stub, some duct tape, a doodle.

Above: "Baby's Gotta Haunt On," 5/14/08

Opening my art journal, even if it's just for a few minutes, can be like opening the door into another world. Just spending a short time inside is often enough to flush my spirit with life again and bring the spark back into my eyes.

So, as a way to commit myself to some creative time this week, I've given myself the challenge of just doing a page a day in my art journal. I like to think of it as an invitation each day to drop into myself and see what's moving under the surface... So let's see what happens. I'll be posting the rest of the week's pages here, as they come.

Above: "Elegy for Robert Rauschenberg," 5/14/08

In the mean time, if you have any tricks, tips or ongoing projects that help you connect in with yourself daily through art, please post a comment or shoot me an email. Perhaps I'll try your idea next!

VAGADU: Fusing Fine Art, Fashion and Fun

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Wed, 07 May 2008 07:38:00 +0000

This past weekend I went up to San Francisco for my friend Joui's art-fashion extravaganza, "Deployment in Wonderland."

Models all dressed up and waiting backstage

Joui's clothing line, VAGADU, mixes fine art and fashion, using recycled materials. The event was a true fusion of the arts, with dancers modeling the clothing (a dynamic departure from the traditional catwalk!) culinary art offerings by ChEfrain and the vibrant paintings of miss Kara Maria, the artist who inspired Joui's latest designs.

Dress rehearsal, with one of Kara Maria's paintings in the background

I am blown away by the dedication and vision that Joui brings to her work. It takes a lot of faith to put art out into the world, and even more to co-create with such a large team of people and trust that everything will fall into place.

Some of the models being sassy backstage

It was fun to be with Joui at the "finish line" and see her light up as the magic and flow took over after so many months of hard work.

Watching Joui through this process has taught me more about what it takes to bring our visions into the world. Trust. Hard work. Then a lot of laughing and letting go…

Joui and Andrew enjoying the blissful afterglow of the show

Random Acts of Art, Part Two: Mail Art

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 04:58:00 +0000

What bliss it brings to open the mailbox and find, in amongst the bills and junk mail, some bold, wacky, colorful piece of handmade art!

Above: Mail art card for BReN

Snail mail collages and artful parcels hold a special place in my heart. I find the experience of making them just as magical as the receiving…Something unusual seems to flow forth when I acknowledge from the beginning that the art I'm making does not belong to me, that it will launch off into the world and have a life of its own.

Above: Bren's art mail parcel

One thing I love about mail art is that it gets to pass through many hands. Who knows whether it may brighten a postal worker's day or bring a grin to some clerk's face on the way to its final destination?

The mysterious work of mail art is a good metaphor for our creative work in general, in this sense: Part of the joy of making art is that we never know who it will touch or what its exact purpose in the world is. We have to go on making it out of trust, and sheer love, acknowledging that it's not our business to know where it will end up or whether it will "do" anything. Bringing it into being is enough. The rest is out of our hands!

Above: Mail art post card for Monika

Pushing the Envelope: Fun Mail Art Forays
There are numberless fun ways to make mail art. I once had a snail mail exchange with my friend, Farnoosh, which was based around sending a small stuffed, ferret-like animal (whom we named Stanley) back and forth through the mail. Each time Stanley arrived, he would be decked out with a different costume or possess some interesting new accoutrement. Sometimes, we would simply send photographs of Stanley back and forth. One winter, when Stanley was visiting Farnoosh in New York, I received a batch of snapshots of him sitting forlornly on a snow heap and sipping cocktails in a dark bar.

Another fun snail mail exploration is round-robin mail art. One year, my mom, my cousin Kristin and I decided to try round-robin collage-making, in which each person started a piece, rolled it up, stuck it in a tube mailer, and then sent it on to the next person for further embellishment. Round-robin pieces offer a great way to experiment, see with new eyes, and let go of the focus on product, because there's no way of knowing how it will turn out!

Above: Round-robin collage by my cousin, Kristin, my mom and me

Making Mail Art
Here's my current favorite way to make mail art:

1) Start with a big piece of cardboard (gessoed, if you like).

2) Grab some oil pastels, crayons or a ball point pen and scribble to your heart's content, like a rapt kindergartner. Experiment with loopy lines, squiggles, words, shapes… Just see where your hand takes you!

3) Next, slather on some watered-down layers of paint over the scribbles. Go wild with color and enjoy how the pastels or crayons resist the paint, making interesting layers.

Above: Me and Amita hair-dry our enormous mail art collage (and each other)

4) Use a hairdryer to dry the sheet of cardboard, and then cut it up into rectangular pieces. If you plan to send the pieces through the mail as postcards, you may want to cut them no bigger than 4.25 X 6", the maximum size for domestic postcard rates. (If you're using heavy cardboard, the post office will often charge you extra postage. If you use card stock or light, bendable cardboard, however, it's super cheap.)

5) Add collage layers, glitter, words or whatever fun embellishments you like, and then seal over your work with some clear packaging tape or a glossy varnish. Stamp, address, check with your post office to make sure you've included correct postage and send your art out into the world!

Above: Amita and my mom add collage layers

You can try the above process alone, or with some collaboration buddies. Have fun spreading the mail art love!

Above: Amita, my mom and me pose with our collaborative art piece

Random Acts of Art, Part One: First Fish

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 00:31:00 +0000

Every now and then, I like to put aside any creative projects or plans I may have, and simply commit random acts of art. "Random art," to me, is art with no gain in sight, except the sheer delight of making it. Committing random acts of art is like resetting my inner art compass…suddenly again I am pointed in the direction of pure fun, able to follow my gut and forget about whether something looks good, what purpose it serves, or whether anyone will like it.

The Magic of First Fish
I first got turned on to the joy of random acts of art by friend and fellow art-maker, Donna Otter. Many years ago, Donna began an annual artist's gathering called "First Fish." First Fish was loosely based on the tithing tradition, in which the first salmon caught during the spring season was thrown back into the waters as an acknowledgment of nature's bounty and as a blessing for an abundant season.

Above: Invitation to the East Coast Version of First Fish

Catch and Release Art-Making
At Donna's First Fish gatherings, a group of artists would make crazy collaborative art pieces, and then "throw them back" into the universe in some ceremonious and fun fashion…Sometimes the group would decide to burn them, or hang them in a tree, drop them off a pier, or mail them out at random, anonymously. One year, the group decided to put all the art together in a big box and mail it to the first "Fish" name in the phone book. Shortly thereafter, a certain Mr. and Ms. Fish received a mysterious box of messy, colorful art with no return address.

Random Art Goes on Retreat
A few years back, while working at Insight Meditation Society, a meditation retreat center in rural Massachusetts, I decided to hold an East Coast version of First Fish. I was living in a renovated grain silo at the time, and a group of us squeezed into the top floor and stayed up into the wee hours painting and collaging on big pieces of cardboard.

Above: My silo abode in Petersham, MA, and First Fish participants

Late that night, after finishing our work, some members of the group dropped off wild art surprises into the mail boxes of the sleepy New England town where we lived. The next day, others deposited colorful art into secret spots around the meditation center, where it would be noticed only by the keen-eyed retreatants that roamed the grounds.

Last I checked, before leaving the retreat center to come out West, there was still a bright piece of art stashed away on the back door of the retreatants' medicine cabinet…Success!

Above: Pile of First Fish art

Casting Back our Catch
It's easy as artists to get attached to our creations. Making random art and throwing it back into the world is a way of acknowledging that it doesn't really belong to us…If we can see, instead, that creativity arises out of a much larger source, and that that source is inexhaustible, then our art can flow freely out of us, and into the world, with less clinging and constriction.

On Creative Cohorts and Collaborative Magic

noreply@blogger.com (Ahna Fender) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 06:06:00 +0000

Finding a community of co-creators can bring expansiveness into our lives and art, opening us up to new directions and keeping us from becoming too limited by our own ideas of how things should look or be.

Collaboration frees us up to be more playful in the creative process, to break our own rules and see with new eyes. It's easier to shirk the sticky tentacles of the ego when you have someone else on board to help you laugh at life and not take yourself too seriously.

Part of the reason I'm starting this blog is to connect with others who are also on the creative path. My hope is that through sharing our experiences and insights, we can spark new ideas, spur each other on and enjoy a deeper sense of connection through community.

So, by means of introduction, I'd like to share with you a bit about my life in art, and some of the friends and co-conspirators who've inspired me along the way.

First Taste of Artistic Community
The summer of my 17th year I attended the California State Summer School for the Arts as a student of creative writing. I arrived there a slightly geeky, journal-clutching girl from suburban San Diego. A matter of hours after stepping foot outside my parents' mini van and waving goodbye, my mind was totally blown open.

There were young artists from all disciplines there—theater, pottery, painting, music, animation, dance, writing. There were dudes with blue hair wearing fishnet stockings and beautiful sculptor chicks and lanky actor-types and gothic kids with violins. I thought I had stumbled into utopia.

The best part of that summer was that we were encouraged to collaborate. And that's where the real juice was for me. I posed for painters, wrote scripts for actors, drank tequila in the bushes with animators and held impromptu poetry readings set to violin music. We made food sculptures with left-over cafeteria inedibles and read and listened and learned from each other at work.

The experience of that summer planted a seed inside me, and I recognized myself as someone who wanted to live and breathe and share creativity, to manifest in the world what I saw and felt inside, to defy the ready-made reality that was being sold all around me.

Encouraged by the sense of community, I felt ready to live my life differently, to make it my own.

Pranks and Play in Academia
The next year I enrolled in school at UCLA. Planting myself down in the structured world of academia was by no means easy. Though I loved my course of study, English literature and creative writing, my spirit was at odds with the climate of critical thought around art. The study of writing and literature often felt sober and calculated as opposed to the heart-opening experience of creation that I'd had so many times on my own.

I like to think that I survived my academic experience with the help of a few indispensable friends and cohorts. We found ways to sabotage the staid university milieu by becoming prankster poets and fools. We were always coming up with plans and schemes to disturb the peace.

Once, my friends Amaranth and Farnoosh and I sneaked into our poetry professor's office and planted a copy of a lurid Fabio romance novel in his book shelf, amongst the weighty tomes of modernist poets and contemporary critics. The book had a particularly unseemly cover, with an image of Fabio, his white shirt opened to expose his rippling, tanned chest, and his lion's mane of hair flowing in the wind.

Keen-eyed and percipient as he was, it did not take long before our professor discovered the offensive paperback planted on his shelf, put two and two together, and called us into his office. Peering over his spectacles, with a smirk on his face, he asked whether we'd like back the "bodice ripper" novel we'd so kindly lent him.

Outside of the lecture halls and long hours of study, life became our palette for creative play. Whether it was filming pseudo-operas in shopping markets with my friend Kat, sabotaging poetry critiques by planting squeaking stuffed animals under the classroom table, or dressing up in tutus and cowboy hats to go to the airport, we found ways to bring art into our lives and make the journey of formal academic life a little less cumbersome.

A Call to Engage
There are, of course, many more tales to tell, and many other artists and creative comrades who've touched my life. But I'll save those stories for some day down the road.

Until next time, I'd like to invite you to write to me, if you feel so inspired. I'd love to hear what's got you fired up, what project you've got cooking, or what demons you're tangling with. It's not always easy to navigate the uncharted, and often rocky, terrain of a creative life. My hope is that we can trade tips, share our foolish foot-slips, and help cheer each other on along the way.