“And now is the time.”
February 10, 2009
a guest post from Jan Jenson, Hickory, NC
NORMALLY I CAN ZIP THROUGH a book in several days… not with Talking to Tesla. I’ve been delving the depths of this book—and my psyche—in bite-sized pieces since the first page. There’s so much to think about… to ponder… to wonder.
I’ve found it even stimulating my dreams! I’m over 60 and can hardly ever remember dreaming since my childhood. No more. I seem to be having vivid dreams that leave me wondering and pondering all through the day. To say the book is stimulating my creativity is a great understatement! My brain seems to have shifted into warp drive.
I went into my storage yesterday to retrieve my art supplies. Talking to Tesla has stimulated my creativity to bursting at the seams. Oops… seams are my limitation… Er, were. No limits. No boundaries.
I have so much I want to do—and now is the time.
Letting Others Take Ownership
February 9, 2009
by Alex Bigney
RELEASING Talking to Tesla, The Mirror that is the Door, inviting so many people to take possession of my story and make it their own, has forced me to remember what my paintings have taught me.
After completing a painting, I usually take time to sit back and just look. “Did I do that?” I often wonder, reviewing the history of the piece—when the idea began to tickle, when I began to apply the paint, the day I added that glaze to the sky. I rehearse the events that brought me to that point until I’m forced finally to conclude, “Yes, I remember every inch of it.” I am used to releasing paintings, sending them off to galleries, or knowing that they will become the property of someone else. Over time, I’ve learned to be secure in the knowledge that I am the real product of my activities in the studio, and that paintings are only the outward evidence of inner events.
Once again, it has been good, if a little difficult, to learn to let others take ownership of what was mine. I’m sure that anyone who creates anything understands just how it feels—the initial reserve and doubts at letting others in: maybe I’ll look silly; I hope they like it; perhaps they’ll see things that I didn’t. I watch the books getting packed to go out and wonder where they’re headed, and who it is waiting at the other end to read them. I imagine looking over readers’ shoulders, wishing to see myself and my story through their experience.
“Just relax!” counseled a friend the other day.
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, taking a deep breath.