I hope that by expressing myself through art, that other people will want to try expressing themselves in creative ways as well. I’m thinking particularly of my children, but it goes for everyone.

Art can be intimidating. I think this is because we have expectations for the work. We judge whether it is good enough. Is it good enough to show to someone else? Is it good enough to hang in a public show?

I hear people talk about staring at a blank page, and the difficulty getting started. That blank page could be a sheet of drawing paper, a blank canvas on an easel, or a blank page in a writing notebook.

I’ve often heard people say “I can’t draw a straight line.” Of course you can’t. You use a straightedge for that. Straight lines and circles are hard to draw. Don’t judge your art based on that.

I sometimes watch an abstract painter on YouTube, and she always begins by making marks all over a blank canvas. She has a box of various mark making tools – pencils, crayons, charcoal. She gets her body moving and puts something on that surface. These are marks that won’t be seen in the finished piece.

Writing was more intimidating, I think, when we used typewriters. Now, you can start writing anything to get your juices flowing, and it’s simple to delete whatever you don’t want to keep.

Creative expression doesn’t have to be for public consumption. You can benefit in many ways by drawing, painting or writing even if no one else ever sees it. You will make discoveries, not only about how to use your chosen medium, but also about your inner truth and the symbols that will form your visual language and artistic style.

I find that when I stop worrying or trying to appeal to someone else, when I find meaning in an image myself, and the story behind it, I create my most satisfying work.

We tend to judge ourselves the same way. We wonder if we’re good enough, or what people think of us. You are good enough. You are enough, exactly as you are. And you are a treasure trove. All you have to do is let go of the expectations and begin to explore inside yourself. Besides, I’ll let you in on a secret… people aren’t thinking anything about you. Everyone is busy being concerned about themselves. If someone criticizes you, understand that they are actually criticizing themself. Their own self esteem is low, and they haven’t taken the time to understand. It’s easier for them to pick on someone else than to face their own issues.

I recently read an autobiography that I wrote almost thirty years ago. Throughout the first half of my life, I hated everything I did, and everywhere I went. It took me a long time to love myself and begin to understand what was important to me.

It doesn’t have to take that long.

Approval from others can be a wonderful thing. One way we nurture others is to affirm and accept them, and if we voice that affirmation, it can lift a person’s mood and inspire them. It could be just the encouragement they need.

What doesn’t work for me is creating art with the goal of getting approval from others.

Don’t get me wrong, I want other people to like what I create. It is just counterproductive to make that a goal for my art.

For my art to be meaningful and authentic, it has to come from my soul, a place far deeper than accolades.

Compliments are cheap. As an artist friend once described them, they are “a dead ringer for my third grade Sunday School class”.

Polite compliments without substance, indicate a belief that an artist’s ego is fragile, and that they need to be coddled and cajoled over everything they express. I’d say if an artist needs that, they are in the wrong field.

Everyone won’t love it, including the ones that said they did at your gallery opening. Besides, not all art is meant to be pretty or happy or easy to look at or understand. The important thing is that I love it. Me, the one with the paintbrush in my hand. The one who decides when something is ready to be seen.

So no. Approval from others is not a strong motivator for me, as much as I love a real conversation about the art and why it meant something to you.

I am not trying to be prickly or distant or exclusive. I do so very much welcome your sincere feedback, whether it is positive or negative.

This is a continuation of the previous post.

People sometimes ask me where I got the nickname Timouth. I used to have a collection of vintage cars, mostly Plymouths. So I merged Timothy with Plymouth. I was showing some of the cars to a friend tonight, and I’ll post them here. There were many more. Plus the campers and boats.

I’ve always been imaginative, and have attempted to document my creative musing in a variety of ways, in a variety of mediums. Imagination doesn’t always mean dragons and unicorns. I think of imagination as envisioning things that aren’t physically in front of you. This could mean conjuring up my recollection of what a Coke bottle looks like, or what a horse or a dog looks like. These are familiar shapes. I can draw a dog. More specifically, I can draw a corgi. I can use my imagination and paint a school of corgis swimming below the surface of the water, or a family of corgis in a station wagon, or flying a Cessna over the Grand Marais harbor.

I use my imagination to solve problems unrelated to art. I use my imagination to help me understand and decide my next move in resolving an interpersonal conflict, a house repair or interior design idea, a question of employment, travel, or just about anything outside of my autonomic nervous system. We all do. It’s called thinking.

Being an artist, imagination is generally understood to have a more specific meaning in regards to creating visual (no offense to musicians, foley artists and music producers) pieces that will convey the desired message. That message could be simply the likeness of a landscape, still life or model, or a more personal or historic message from the artist. The nature of the message is unlimited.

Obviously, my art reflects events in my life. My life is all I have to draw on. I benefit from what others have discovered, because I can read books, view art and watch film. This reading and viewing are part of my experience.

The most bizarre, the most fantastic object or beast I can manufacture will be made entirely of pieces of information I have seen or otherwise sensed. That is the way it works. Input/output. You can’t picture a new color, you can only mix from our primary colors and make them lighter or darker.

George MacDonald used that new color idea in his story The Golden Key, and I borrowed it in Flash Meridian. I can’t ask my reader to envision it.

I think you can expand your own creative mind and ability by using it.

Like so many other things, we improve our ability with practice. I also find it helpful to read books and listen to podcasts about creativity or by creative people. You might pick up an idea here, or a trick there. Even if you try to copy it, it will come out of your hand in your way. The amalgamation of all your inspirations will come out looking like you, because it will be you.

Honestly, the opinions of others rarely influence or change what I create. I create alone in my studio. I do enjoy feedback and constructive criticism, especially from my artist friends. When it comes to criticism, no. I try to let that roll right off my back.

Sometimes a critic has a valid point, and they may open my mind to a new way of thinking. If I distill something valuable from it, it’s my own openness and subsequent consideration that turns the annoying piece of sand into a pearl.

Over the weekend, I found a collection of my poems from 29 years ago, along with a manuscript of an autobiography I was working on in 1992 and 1993. It wasn’t lost, but I hadn’t had any interest in reading it until last night. Now I need to decide what to do with it.

It reminded me of details I had almost forgotten, and prompted me to reach out to a few significant people from an earlier time… more than 40 years ago.

I was so lost.

So unhappy.

It really feels like the story of a different person. If I ever publish this, it will need an edit.

Here are a couple random poems, unedited. The spacing, punctuation and capitalization are as they were originally written:

FREE FALL DROP

Clinging to the glass on a rainy day,
No mud puddle for you.
You were like an acrobat
Plummeting from a dizzy height
and just happened to land
on my window pane.
Was it your plan to evaporate
so you could have a second jump?

CURTAIN

Night falls like a silent
black curtain
shrouding the stage of day
A velvet shadow
of cool peace and
echoing spaces
The porch light burns my
own giant shadow into
the sleeping grass

Nature
so close
so unspoiled
rich smells of moist earth
the sound of the wind in the leaves
I hear a woodpecker
see the lake
I’m walking on granite and moss

A granite floor
speckled with pink, gray,
white and black
like the soil rich with
decaying wood, crumbling rock,
leaves and needles
Tree trunks surrounding me
like columns, church walls,
tapestries of greens and browns.
This woodland chamber lit
from above. Clouds glowing
with the light of heaven
glowing blue forever. Filling me
with eternity. Something bigger
than myself.

THE VIEW

The light of morning touches my pane
illuminating what is within
Though my eyes are covered
With a haze of dust and grime
a soft glow fills me like
a ghost town in the desert afternoon
The colors are gray and still
but something scurries somewhere
afraid to be seen. I set a trap
Hoping to capture a bit of
myself without killing it
but even then, I could get a good
look at it. Or a cloth and
soapy water could clear the view

About thirty years ago, my father described my art as “mumbo jumbo”. I just looked it up.

“meaningless incantation or ritual.”

“senseless or pretentious language, usually designed to obscure an issue, confuse a listener, or the like.”

I know my dad didn’t say that to hurt me. He went on to say that he didn’t understand it.

My art has changed a lot in thirty years, but I’m not sure that the intention behind it has changed. I also think my dad has changed. He’s painted his share of mumbo jumbo now, too.

Of course I know it’s not mumbo jumbo.

He and my mom have heard me talk and seen me cry over my art, and art I have collected. He knows it is not meaningless, even if it is not his taste or he doesn’t readily understand it.

It is so easy to criticize things we don’t understand. Your view is not the only view. You can’t complete an education.

I sort of had plans for today. I went to the basement to look for a palm sander to work on a project. I didn’t find the sander, but I found a couple of photographs and some old recordings I had made with my family in the early 1990’s.

We used to play this game called Life Stories. When you get to the end, it’s called your homecoming, and everyone is supposed to say something nice about you.

My family has a way of taking things to the next level.

On one particular night, I passed a cassette recorder around, and we recorded the homecoming comments.

A lot has changed in the 30ish years since we said these words, laying around on the floor of my parents’ family room. Most of my kids weren’t born yet. My brother wasn’t married yet. They have adult children now, too. I was married at that time.

Having lost my mom just over seven months ago, it was very emotional for me to hear her voice talking about me today. I wasn’t expecting that.

So I spent a good chunk of the afternoon making parts of it into a video so I can listen to it whenever I want to, and so I can share it.

It is really validating to hear that even three decades ago, people recognized what was important to me, and that those things are still important to me now. Family, specifically parenting. Art and creativity. Kindness and generosity. Saying what you think. Even writing made it in there.

Either the batteries died or the tape ran out while mom was talking.

There is a channel behind my house. Sometimes it is a raging creek, sometimes it is a gentle stream. Often, it is a dry trench where wildflowers grow. My arm is that kind of conduit for the creative impulses that flow down from my mind. Sometimes it is a turbulent river of paint. When the time is right, I make clay pots. If I am unable to set up all that is needed to paint or work in clay, I can always pick up a pen or pencil. Usually, regardless of what else is there, words float down the stream to accompany the images. My writing isn’t meant to explain the art. The art has to stand on its own. What comes out of me is like a Rosetta Stone… the same thing coming out in different languages or forms. Understanding one might unlock another for you.

The words are not intended to justify the visual expressions.

During those times when you don’t see any new art coming from me, know that the wildflowers are growing. I am living, and experiencing wonderful things. This way, when I do pick up a paintbrush again, I will have something new to say.

Like I told you, my paintings come from deep inside me. You can see my heart in this one.