After a long week and a long journey, my shuttle van pulled up early Saturday morning at around 12:15 a.m. Jose and Delia, gracious as could be, had patiently waited for my late arrival. As caretakers of this lovely oasis, they greeted me and re-acquainted me with Leigh’s casita and Casa Duende.
As I walked into Leigh’s empty painting studio, I felt a strong sense of emptiness and loss. Tears filled my eyes and I tried to explain to Delia in my long-forgotten Spanish the grief I was feeling. Where was Leigh? Seven years ago she greeted me with her warm smile, beautiful work covering the walls of her studio, both brimming with life. Now she is gone and there are empty white walls.
Saturday morning I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping, the propane truck blaring music, dogs barking, church bells chiming—the sounds of Mexico I so love. (Jose mentioned that Sunday, and every Sunday throughout May, fireworks will awaken me around 5 a.m. in celebration of Fiesta de las Cruces—it is true, it happened this morning!) I was hungry but before going in search of breakfast, needed to poke around the casa a bit first. As I walked into the larger casa, Casa Duende, I smiled. There were Leigh’s paintings! I remember her telling me of a man standing in front of one of her paintings for a long, long time in a gallery during one of her openings. She came up to him and he said, “Will this painting ever let me go?” I see why he said that. Leigh’s paintings and the joy that shone through her face were what drew me to her in the first place. I had to learn from her. I’m hoping she will be here to teach me still.
I feel a great responsibility before me. While flying here Friday night I realized I am about to “woodshed,” a term I learned from my jazz musician sons, Michael and Corey, whose practice of woodshedding made them each very accomplished improvisational artists. It means more than just practicing. It’s recognition of the need to sequester oneself to dig into the difficult aspects of one’s craft. It’s a time of discipline and focus. I had the silly idea on the flight here of not looking at any clocks, not thinking about numbers of any kind, not looking at the news or the internet, and shutting off all outside communication. But after thinking about it more last night, I realize I don’t need to sequester quite so much; I’m here and alone with a bit of a sprained foot to keep me from wandering too far afield on these cobblestoned streets. I’m ready to take on my task.
Many of you know that my painting spirit has been blocked since Michael died. It’s why I wanted to come and work with Leigh in 2013, to have her help me again find my purpose in painting. I knew she could. But then I discovered she was gone too and a whole new grief set in. I’ve been reading Leigh’s book, How Painting Holds Me to the Earth. In the chapter about The Hidden Blessing of Blocks, she states:
Another paralysis-breaker is to paint or write or dance before you know what you want to say or do. One brushstroke or movement after the next will eventually start to shape itself into something that will interest you and keep you involved. It’s part of a re-entry path, a way to do an end-run around your resistance and begin again. It’s important, however, not to share this fresh-start material with anyone. Let the material percolate, and shelter your creative process during this period. Remember that we work beyond our own understanding at times and it’s irrelevant whether you like what’s happening or not. Just do it.
I began this morning by tacking up two large canvases and smothering them with gesso. After they dry, I will begin to paint. I know not what just yet but I do know for some reason that it’s important I have two paintings working together and separate. I also know I will begin with large swaths of color that will probably be covered up later. I will hate what I do at times; other times I will love it. I probably won’t show you just yet and I will not try to judge it myself. That will come later after I’ve let this work I’m about to do percolate. For now I will just do it.
Que hasta,
Sally
