Artist-in-Residence

A 2nd life

January 4, 2010

Jerry Michalski has been coming to Windgrove off and on for a month doing sketches, preparatory small paintings and now, today, a larger, final oil painting of Roaring Beach. Generally, his routine is to awake at 6AM, observe the light on the beach, take notes and then meet me for morning coffee and toast around 8. He then ventures back to his easel until later in the day when we meet up for dinner, a glass of wine and wandering discussions on art and life with a bit of good gossip thrown in to keep us centered in the mundane realities of everyday living.

It would be an understatement to think that I don’t get immense satisfaction from his presence here at Windgrove. Not only does it give me pleasure to have his company and artistic energy on this land, I also welcome again the opportunity to have Jerry painting here as an artist-in-residence.

The last official resident artist at Windgrove was when Sally Horne arrived in December of 2005 to begin a three month stay. This, as many past readers would know, blossomed into a loving partnership that necessitated the stopping of the “much too public” residency program. With Sally now living elsewhere, the closing of one door allows the opening of another and I am using Jerry to kick start the next phase of Windgrove’s artist-in-residency.

Like before, Windgrove will welcome those artists — painters, sculptors, writers — whose work deals with healing the human relationship to the more than human world. Here, art and ecology and spirit come together with a seriousness to the task at hand and more than a pinch of fun thrown in to leaven things up a bit.

But this time there will be more boundaries in place so that my private life is not so impacted when other artists are staying here. In the past, the biggest impediment in having a private life was that the main house was the center of eating and socializing. This was okay and doable when I was single, but not so okay when in relationship.

I might be an old dog, but I’m still capable of learning.

Therefore, what I want to build next is a self contained two or three bedroom artist-in-residency house complete with kitchen and sitting area where the artists themselves will provide for and look after their daily needs. This way, I (or, I and my partner) can visit or not visit depending on what’s happening in my/our lives. Having three artists living together instead of a solo resident should make for a more vibrant while less intrusive program.

Fingers crossed.

I’m open to any suggestions as to how to make the Windgrove artist-in-resident program a user friendly operation for all concerned.

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Moonstone mandala

September 13, 2007

Every sound
has a home
from which it has come
to us
and a door
through which it is going
again
out into the world
to make another home.

David Whyte—from “The Winter of Listening”

At the ancient pond
a frog plunges into
the sound of water

Masuo Basho

sally_oasis_3sally_oasis

Slowly, slowly over a period of three months, both outside in the weather and inside the warming house, the meticulous oil painting “Oasis” gradually emerged out of winter’s silent gestating darkness and into the world of Spring singing a vibrational tapestry of colour. Meditate on it long enough and one’s understanding of reality shifts into connective realms visible yet hidden; transitory, yet eternal where the sound of color resonates through one’s very soul.

During these same months, in the wee hours of the night while the oils were drying waiting for the next day’s thin layer, my partner Sally Horne also worked on setting up a web site. Today, with an excitement that goes with any creative unveiling, Sally launches her “Moonstone Mandala” into the public arena. For a more in-depth exploration—both visual and written—of “Oasis” and all the other mandalas painted here at Windgrove by Sally go to:
www.moonstonemandala.com

While there, discover how colour and pattern weave magic circles in sacred and profound ways; where every mandala has a home from which it has come to us and a door through which it is going again out into the world to make another home;

where Sally’s frog of emergence splashes into the age of the internet.

Sally_frog

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An artist’s reality

September 5, 2007

As the Philosopher says,
He who contemplates a statue
Shares the thought of the artist;
The statue itself does not.
As the soul contemplates nature,
The spirit the light, and the mind
The stars, every eye sees into
The matrix from which it was born.

Kenneth Rexroth

sally_jerry_7Norfolk_Bay_3

Wild Roaring Beach faces south towards the great Southern Ocean. If one walks north over the sand dunes and forested hills, one drops down about five miles later to the northern side of the Tasman Peninsula and the serene waters of Norfolk Bay. Surfers find this calm section of the peninsula dead boring, but kayaking across these waters over to the Forestier Peninsula is a sublime experience. Once there, it is only a couple of miles overland to the home of Jerzy Michalski, a painter of extraordinary skill and depth whose urban existential motifs contrast sharply with his studio nestled into the natural landscape.

Sally took one of her mandala paintings over to Jerry this past Sunday for some technical advice and, while seeing the two of them converse over some of the alchemical processes of painting, I was struck by the power of Jerry’s paintings—seen strewn about the walls of his studio in the above photo—to convey the utter desperate quality of the human experience when it is confined to the urban prison edifices of corporate temples of power. 

The matrix from which I was born allows me to empathise with the desperateness of Jerzy’s solitary male figures. This very personal matrix of mine, however, also allows me an “exit strategy”, so to speak, down the fire escape, out onto the road, out of the city and into the very real healing community of wild nature. From this vantage point, I am more likely to achieve a more capable compassion and touch the outskirts, at least, of poet Kenneth Rexroth’s other words:

Ultimately the fulfillment
Of reality demands that
Each person in the universe
Realize every one of the
Others in the fullness of love.

Both above quotes excerpted from the epic poem, The Dragon and the Unicorn. 

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Each day a little closer.

alan_hilder_1The process to survey the blocks of land I intend to sell for the further development of the Windgrove Artist-in-resident program was begun this week. An interesting process, indeed, as we walked and drove any number of kilometres just to do the preliminary work of establishing the north and east boundaries of Windgrove’s 100 acres. Next week the west and south boundaries. Only then, in the third week, will the boundary lines for the actual smaller 6 and 8 acre blocks being sold get established.

One might wonder why didn’t we just do the two small blocks and leave it at that? You know, find the stump with the 80 year old axe mark in it that farmer John used to initially clear this land and use this as a starting point and go from there. I mean, what’s a few meters or feet between good neighbours when we’re talking acres?

alan_hilder_2Good question, I thought, as I helped carry up some survey equipment to the top of a hill nearly a mile away from the blocks to be sold (and off my property, as well). But what is required by law is that our survey had to be accurate to within one mm or 1/16th of an inch. To pinpoint the corners of the existing Windgrove acreage to this degree of accuracy meant we had to start at a government established “trig” point; points located on certain hill tops around Tasmania consisting of a brass disk set into concrete.

From this brass disk, all other lines are drawn.

Hence, the need to climb the hill.

But, oh, the view was divine.

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Three mandala paintings

March 2, 2006

Today’s blog has been written by Sally Horne, Windgrove artist-in-residence from December till the end of February.

sally_moving_away

My quiet activism: Chinese Medicine and mandalas as a means of creating harmony.

We learn to speak a language. And then within that language many of us, perhaps on a spiritual journey or a journey of seeking meaning and a deeper sense of connection, try to find a language that better articulates and deepens our experience of communication about the world and its inner workings. I am learning the language of Traditional Chinese Medicine. It is all together an art, a science and a spiritual path, and likewise painting mandalas is an art, science and spiritual pathway. Both are intricately intertwined in my life. In many ways learning the language of Chinese Medicine is enabling me more and more to comprehend and to translate the silent language of mandalas and their significance in the healing arts.

As the world of natural therapies grows, the concept of wholistic medicine—the consideration and treatment of healing of a disharmony on physical, mental and spiritual levels—has become well known. It is the deeper aspects of medicine, disharmony of the psycho-emotional and spiritual planes that truly interest me. This is where, I believe, most of our problems reside and where our destructive relationship with the world stems from. Part of what attracts me so much to Chinese Medicine and what I connect with through mandala painting is the grounding in interconnectedness and interdependence that both offer. Chinese medicine communicates a complex system of interactions that does not begin or end with self. Likewise the journey of painting a mandala links into the web that moves beyond self. Both aim to deconstruct notions of self and separation from other through a realigning of the subtlest levels of one’s energetic web of interactions.

Chinese medicine speaks of the five aspects of spirit as the energetics that give life to form. These spirit aspects connect with the primordial (Tao, connective unconscious, Buddha nature) and have their grounding in the physical. Being closest to the primordial they are the storehouse of our own personal destiny/pathway and act us guides or conduits of our greater plan. This is expressed in an inspiring interpretation of an ancient Chinese text called Rooted in Spirit: the Heart of Chinese Medicine. The author states that the most significant part of needling when acupuncturing is ensuring that there is a “rooting in the spirits”. By this he means accessing the spirit level of medicine. Loss of communication with oneself leads to loss of communication with others and one’s environment. A closer communication with our spirits leads to a richer, more meaningful, more connected and peace-centered life.

sally_return

So what exactly are mandalas? To me they are visual representations of earthly/heavenly vibrations. They are energetic mappings of the silent underlying rhythms within self and beyond self.

The Process of painting mandalas:

It all begins with an empty circle. This is the beginning of all the mandalas. Sometimes it remains an integral part of the painting, sometimes it loses visibility, but it is ever-present in the foundation.

The empty circle is most significant in that it is a sacred circle that gives birth to intention and endless potential. This sacred circle provides the space for the initial image that comes to me most often during meditation. This image is the key that unlocks the artwork; it is the nucleus from which the layers of imagery unfold. And from there, I disappear into another world of colour, image and vibration. Each layer emerges from the previous and gradually the mandala sprouts into life, fruition and maturation.

The significance of the journey is darkly visible along the way, insight comes in little bursts yet clarity comes in strongly towards the end. Along the way I notice my often tumultuous thoughts and emotions that arise and know that as I paint I am both the receiver and creator of healing vibrations. The act of creating also embodies re-creation, the re-creation of self. I evolve as the mandala evolves. And in turn, as interdependence dictates, this influences the evolution of the earth in its small yet significant way.

sally_axis

The Windgrove paintings:

The trilogy of paintings that I completed at Windgrove represent a single journey. The only initial intention was that they facilitate in some way the resurrection of a fragmented self, of darning my frayed edges. And that harmonising of self would link into the web of interconnectedness and have a positive influence on the frayed edges and fragmentation of the world.
Initially, I began with two paintings: The Moving Away and The Return. These I worked on simultaneously, all the while dealing with the clashing energetics of the two paintings.

#1. The Moving Away: yang in nature, hot, expansive and outward moving; vivid, hard-edged and angular, robust and powerful.

#2. The Return: yin in nature, inward and downward spiralling; cooling, shadowy, reflective, circular, soft and quietly powerful.

On a personal level the tale is apparent, two opposing forces that were having trouble integrating. Going Away came out strong and with ease while The Return was a personal battle. (Perhaps a struggle to manifest my inner vision, a preference to hold it quietly inside, a fear of displaying my quiet vulnerable feminine side on canvas or fear of expressing the softer emotions.)

My struggles are your struggles are the world’s struggles.

We see these two opposing energetics at the foundation of Chinese Medicine; the interplay of yin and yang. In the deeper energetics of ourselves, within our yin aspect, we hold our arcane visions, our innate selves, our true pathways. It is the outward and upward moving yang that lifts the energies stored in the yin crevices of our being up and out into the world. Yin is storage, yang is action. In the perfect harmonious interaction of these two opposing forces are the holding and manifestation of the individual and the greater vision. It is hard for me to believe that the greater plan would be one of discord and worldly destruction. The seeds of perfect harmony must be within each of us.

#3. The Axis: grounding, unity, centering, interconnection.

The Axis represents the meeting point of two fundamental interdependent forces. It aims to facilitate and strengthen the return to a relative state of harmony so that spiritual growth and positive reconnection with all other beings and our environment may flourish.

It is difficult to articulate and summarise what my paintings are about because they seem to sit between contradictions. They are both simple and complex. They represent the fragment “and” the whole. They are the mending of self, the mending of other.

They are about nothing and, yet, everything.

sally_at_exhibit

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Circling yet again

December 21, 2005

Song (4)

Within the circles of our lives
we dance the circles of the years,
the circles of the seasons
within the circles of the years,
the cycles of the moon
within the circles of the seasons,
the circles of our reasons
within the cycles of the moon.

Again, again we come and go,
changed, changing. Hands
join, unjoin in love and fear,
grief and joy. The circles turn,
each giving into each, into all.
Only music keeps us here,

each by all the others held.
In the hold of hands and eyes
we turn in pairs, that joining
joining each to all again.

And then we turn aside, alone,
out of the sunlight gone

into the darker circles of return.

Wendell Berry

Sally_HorneBy happy conincidence, I came across the above Wendell Berry poem a few days before Sally Horne set up in the studio to paint a series of four mandalas while in residence at Windgrove. With today being a “solstice” event, it only seems appropriate that she is painting circles within circles.

Myself……? I have come to accept the coming and going of Wingrove residents who leave me “changed, changing”; each resident a new cycle within the many cycles that we all turn in.

Also, in the mail this week, a copy of D.H. Lawrence’s version of the importance of recognizing, through ritual, that the solstice turnings are a necessary component of deepening our love for all and sundry.

“Oh, what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made personal—merely personal feeling—taken away from the rising and the setting of the sun, and cut off from the magical connection of the solstice and equinox. This is what is the matter with us, we are bleeding at the roots, because we are cut off from the earth, the sun and the stars, and love is a grining mockery, because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the tree of life and expected it to keep on blooming in our vase on the table…

…it is a question of relationship. We must get back into relation, vivid and nourishing relation to the cosmos, through daily ritual—the rituals of dawn and noon and sunset, the ritual of kindling the fire and pouring water…”

D.H. Lawrence

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