Saturday, November 14, 2015

Starting Fresh

 I read an interview with the painter Lucy Mink Covello last night.
She is an abstract painter.  I wanted to read what she had to say about her art because she has children, and there are just not enough role models for mother artists.

"I think my obsession with hiding thoughts in paintings will continue to grow. There are a vast amount of stories out in the world, but a painting holds mystery.  You can keep coming back.
I don't need answers, or plots, or outcomes.  I like vague."
Lucy Mink Covello studied with David Rich for her MFA and told the interviewer that he "pushed her to change what she was doing and start fresh." 

I am saddened today by events in our world.

I am working on some small pictures (images in this post are of my first one) for the Slow Stitch meetings I attend on Thursdays in my local community.  Book authors like Janet Bolton are my teachers.

5 comments:

Ms. said...

Saddened but holding to beauty like a life raft.

Life has loveliness to sell
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
eyes that love you, arms to hold,
And for your spirits still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be

-Sarah Teasdale-1917

Sue Marrazzo said...

So beautiful!

Mo Crow said...

love your message sticks and that "pearl bead baste" adds such a beautiful texture, I want to touch each dot

Linda said...

It is a sad time, but one way we keep going is by creating. Needle in hand..

wholly jeanne said...

Light bulb moment: "I like vague" - has me hopping up and down saying "I do, too. I do, too." Like a key fitting a lock, some of my fog is lifted as I realize that I somehow convinced myself that the 100 stories had to be a neat, tidy, complete package . . . and that's not the way I normally write or stitch. I wore myself out writing as somebody else, creating a whole new person once a day for 100 days.