Jerry Fenter

Last week I talked to an artist who has just returned to painting after a long period of time.  The conversation finally got to a familiar place, “Where do your ideas come from?” I tried to think fast on how to give him an easy answer, when out came, “I have so many ideas I could work another lifetime on just the ones already in my head.”  Not very helpful to him, I know, but wow…expressing that thought lit a bulb inside my head. Conceptios, inspirations, ideas, and creative thoughts seem to be easier to come by for some more than others. Some artists agonize over getting them, and are afraid to follow through with them.  Others can’t seem to stop their minds from grinding  them out and expressing them in paint, ink, crayon, music, mud,  gardening, photography or what ever might be their way of making themselves understood.

Having ideas and then making great art is a skill that comes from  many different places. When we are children we have endless imagination that creates uncountable ideas each hour and each minute. We may or may not choose to fully express those ideas because they may be scary, dangerous or way above our capabilities. Most of us artist types do follow them. We let our imaginations run wild, we experiment, we scribble, we cut, we paste,  we sing at the top of our voices and we sometimes see things that aren’t really there (or are they?).  When an idea is inconvenient or impractical to develop at a particular time true artists  file them away in their creative brains and keep them fresh and at their fingertips.

Having an idea is defined as the act or power of forming a mental image of something not present to the senses or not previously known or experienced.  This gives us as artists the freedom to go anywhere. We don’t need to travel the earth or the skies to paint what passes through our minds day or night (dreams).  If we feel stuck with no ideas it may be our own fault.

Self censorship. “I can’t put that on paper. It’s too embarrassing. My mother, father, teacher, children, the public will not be able to relate to what I’m imagining. It makes me too upset to write it.” So we stop ourselves and try to make only exact imitations of what we have seen or heard before. We try to make things so close to the real that we might as well take a picture.  But, artists, real life is just as interesting and weird as anything we can come up with. We must be brave, look hard at the world and express what is on our minds, in our heads and needs to get out.

Fear of rejection. Every artist I know fears rejection. The successful ones fear rejection less than the unsuccessful ones. That is why we’ve seen the weakest artists quit working during this awful recession. Some will never come back.  Financial ups and downs and rejection are both part of making a living from the creative process. Don’t paint for anyone but yourself.  My most successful paintings have been of ideas and subjects that I’m obsessed with. When I put them into a show, I find they sell better than any “pretty pictures” I might paint.  And they’re sure a lot more fun to finish.  They are real and I can be proud of them.

 How can I get and use ideas?  The answer is close enough to touch. You need to work to get ideas. You need to tap into that good memory of yours. Look at the world around you. Look at the real places and things that are happening each day. Pull from your childhood, teenaged years and from that crazy group of relations we all have.  Watch TV, look at websites, know what’s going on around you.  Find your place in it. “La vida te a sopresas.” (Life is full of surprises). Lucky for us. Be aware of them. Have no fear.  Use them. If you overhear an interesting conversation somewhere, LISTEN, and write down what you hear or draw what you see in a sketchbook.  I think at this moment in time artist’s sketchbooks have become way too precious.  There are even what I’ve heard are “very good” classes on how to keep one.  You don’t need a class!  A sketchbook should be down and dirty, messy and full of writing, quotes from books, new words, scribbles, songs, poetry, notes, sketches, bad drawings, bad language, jokes  and of course touches of genius. It doesn’t have to be perfect and organized and done in color or available for all to see. It’s YOUR private space to be uncensored and real and recollect all of the ideas you’ve had since you’ve been born.

 For the last few weeks my ideas are flowing like waterfalls. I’ve been doing what I call “En ese momento” (At that moment). These are small collages that I finish and send by mail to artist friends. I don’t censor myself. I just create.  Some make sense.  Some don’t.  But it’s fun.  It flows.  I have more ideas than I can handle. Work comes from work. Ideas come from ideas. I have countless great reasons to get up each morning and go into my studio. If you love something… happiness will follow.  Trust me.

“A painter can turn pennies into gold, for all subjects are capable of being transformed into poems.” –Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres 1780-1867

I’ll be having a weekend workshop on Saturday and Sunday, August 28th and 29th at The Dalles Art Center. I’ll be teaching “Making Monotypes with Pastels and Metallic Crayons”.  We had so much fun doing it last time that we’ll be doing it again.  The class will be from 11:00 AM to 4:00PM each day. Watch my website for more information. Sign up early by calling the center at 541-296-4759. I’ll be limiting attendance.

Also I have the dates for next year’s Mexico class. It will be held April 13th through 19th, 2011, in Melaque, Mexico. In 2011 we’ll be arriving and leaving in the middle of the week. This will save on airfare. More information will be available later. If you’re interested in being kept up to date just e-mail me at fenter@gorge.net.

I’m back and I’m feeling great. The class in Mexico was amazing. I had a class of strong, independent and creative women who worked hard, played hard and experienced the magical realism of Latin America first hand. We experienced

“an irrational geography where you can be born with a star on your forehead, a sign of the marvelous;”  Isabel Allende’s Of Love and Shadows

Magical realism has it’s origin in the remembrance of childhood. Wonder and imagination runs wild. Mexico is a place where time can seem bent.

 “Why shouldn’t time slow down and stop occasionally, or even go into reverse?”  Isabel Allende’s Eva Luna

 Melaque was a beautiful setting for a wonderful class. I had an exceptional group of students who weren’t afraid to dive into the Mexican culture with everything they had. We each will remember it differently. One of the high points of the class was sharing our work and passing on the communal crown after a wild week of work and play.

We played and worked without boundaries like the children we are inside. We realized the need for stories in our lives. Each experience was a story. We created our own personal myths and shared some common myths that developed during the week. All around us was magic. It surprised some of us and others accepted it without question.

“ The things you’d least expect speak. There they are: speaking.  Bones, thorns. Pebbles, lianas. Little bushes and budding leaves. The scorpion….the butterfly with rainbow wings. The hummingbird….One and all have something to tell….I learned the story of some of the animals from them.”  Vargas Llosa The Storyteller

 The classroom became a sacred space.

“Books, quiet during the day, opened by night so their characters could come out and wander through the rooms and live their adventures.” Isabel Allende Eva Luna

We saw things we wouldn’t have seen without being aware of the sweet culture of Mexico.

“He knocked on every door up and down the coast, sweltering in the hot breath of the siesta, feverish in the humidity, stopping from time to time to give assistance to the iguanas whose feet were stuck in the melted asphalt.”   Isabel Allende Eva Luna

 We painted and wrote stories about the experiences we had.

 “All day they hauled mangoes, until there were none left on the trees and the house was filled to the roof-top….In the days that followed, the sun beat down on the house, converting it into an enormous saucepan in which the mangoes slowly simmered; the building…grew soggy and weak, and burst open and rotted, impregnating the town for years with the odor of marmalade.”  Isabel Allende Eva Luna

 The class seemed too short. It was over in a blink of an eye. I was lucky enough to stay for an extra week, traveling into the mountains with Nancy and Richard Lennie. Thanks to them for a wonderful time. And a special thanks to my students, Mary, Vonda, Judy, Cherie and Signe. I’ll soon have the dates for next year’s class. Again, I can’t wait.

 “Oh, Mexico, it sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low.”  James Taylor Mexico

Adios.

This has truly been a week of ups and downs.  First, I crashed my car for the third time in three months.  I thought I was a good driver in snow (!) but it seems that that is not the case. While driving up Canyon Road I  hit an icy spot, spun around and crashed into the side of the hill into a ditch.  Somehow I got the car out of the ditch and made it home in a snowstorm.  This was sad.

Even sadder were the people I lost this week.  First there was J. D. (Jerome David) Salinger, writer and a huge influence on me when I was finding my way through the maze that was high school and college, and confronting my own creativity.  The Catcher in the Rye was a book that helped me finally understand that what I wanted to do with my life was to develop creative skills that could move people the way Salinger did with his words.  His short stories were amazing.  I thank him and will miss him.

“The worst thing that being an artist could do to you would be that it would make you slightly unhappy constantly.” –J.D. Salinger

The saddest loss this week was of Philip Klindt, owner of Klindt’s Bookstore in The Dalles, Oregon.  When I first moved to the country, isolated in Timber Valley, I felt so alone.  I would do my shopping in The Dalles each week.  Driving down second avenue one day I noticed Klindt’s, right downtown, a great looking bookstore, with an interesting looking  Annex. So I stopped in.  There I met Philip.  He was a wonderful man, an intellectual,  a speaker of many languages, a lover of independent film, a traveler and totally up to date on all new books and magazines.  We talked.  I felt less alone.  He invited me to join his book club.  I did.  Philip lived for fun and company.  He gathered up all lost creative strays and created a type of “salon” right in the middle of The Dalles.  He and his wife, Linda, welcomed anyone with a love of books, antiques, gossip, laughter, the arts, and just life itself.  After Linda died, Philip continued to be a mentor to me.  He will be missed by everyone.   He saved my creative life.  Thank you, Philip

Next, sad but un-preventable, was “The Red Disaster”.  If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I was excited to be showing two red pieces for “The Red Show” at Columbia Arts Gallery in Hood River.  Well, while framing these pieces, something happened to both paintings that has never happened to me before.  There was a lot of warping on the watercolor paper.  Thirty years of experience and I don’t know why the paper warped.  Ron and I tried everything, from the normal ways of flattening to a steam iron.  Nothing worked.  The last I saw of my beautiful paintings was a burst of flames as they whispered their soft goodbyes and were  burned in a firey ritual Ron and I oversaw  in the wood stove.  The ritual  gave me some closure.  I’ll be working on some more pieces similar to the lost ones  because I liked them so much.  Unlike Phillip and J.D. the paintings are replaceable. 

Another sad thing, I’ve had no time this week to draw or paint because I’ve been filling out forms, and writing proposals.  This is work that has to be done, but it makes me crazy sometimes and I feel like my body is going to turn to stone over my keyboard.  Of course the positive side would be if my proposals and forms are accepted and my career will follow a path to the top.  It’s a coin flip.

This week also had some high spots.  On Saturday night we got together with our friends Patty and John from Mosier and our friend Bill from Seattle and watched the old TV series Dallas.  Many of you will remember this “first nightime soap opera”.  When Patty confided to me that she had never seen it,  I was of course appalled!  How could a person live their life without knowing J.R., Pam, Sue Ellen, Cliff Barnes and Miss Ellie!  Soooo…Ron and I have ordered the entire Dallas series from Netflix and all of us are determined to enrich Patty’s life by having Dallas parties every few weeks, Dallas themed dinners, Dallas eye shadow, big hats, big boots, and even some Texas Bourban. Now we’ve all got Dallas fever.  Great company and great fun!

My grandson has been writing out “small moments” in his first grade class and sharing them with family.  Tavish’s Auntie Amy got one the other day in the mail that made us so happy we cried.  He is an exceptional child.

We had a great class at The DallesArt Center last month.  What fun. Painting fruits and hearts…and eating lunch at Burgerville and that Chinese Place on second street.  Great people, great laughs and lots of excellent art produced.  The next class will be on the 27th and 28th of February.  I’ll be teaching how to do one-of a-kind mono types with crayons, pastels, a copper plate and an iron.  Sound interesting?  I’ll post something soon.  For sign up and information call The Dalles Art Center at 541-296-4759.  It’s a crazy class and can be messy so I’m limiting it to eight students. 

I delivered a wonderful commission titled “Yesterday a Child Came Out to Wonder”, to Valerie Hively.  Her daughter Lily looks beautiful in it, peacock costume and all.

Ron and John Maher will have a show together at The Dalles Art Center in July.

Poems:

Gate C22

by Ellen Bass

At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching–
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after–if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

Pet Milk

(a family poem handed down for generations)

sent in by Sue Martin

Good ol’ Pet Milk,
The best in the land,
Fits right in
The palm of your hand.
No teats to squeeze,
No manure to pitch,
Just punch two holes
In the son of a bitch.

breathing slowly

by Victor Field

on the inside

there are sirens

heavy rains

  that inspire madness or desire

laughter and despair

on the inside wilting flowers can regain vitality

on the inside

rivers make their way in an endless search for the bottom

trees stand upright

in a sunlight that never disappears

children invent games

a thousand rules that make perfect sense

to reach inside

for one’s lucky star

to see out beyond the darkness

with an owl’s eye

to find something worth pursuing

stumbling over the loose edges

hoping to bring back a treasure

bring it back

          to the inside

where thoughts are like comets

minor explosions

as they meet the atmosphere

the inside

where time is invisible

and the eyes are not required in order to see.

Thank you poets.  You help to make our lives more beautiful.

Hint:  Don’t buy the so-called software that will supposedly speed up your slow dial up connection on your computer.  It doesn’t work. I hope to be getting a refund in 5-6 weeks.

Happy Birthday Norman Rockwell. 

I’ve been reading lots of lists of New Years Resolutions and would like to share my own strange list of suggested resolutions for artists, writers and all those outrageous creative types who walk daily on the rough path towards creative meaning.  Take them or leave them but I’ve tried all of them at one time or another and found them invigorating and inspiring. They will really get those juices flowing. Trust me. These are in no specific order. 

1. Take some of your supposedly awful ideas…long rejected…and transform them into a miracle piece. Rework it. (Terrible ideas…don’t you just love those?) Do this at least twice this year.    

2. Set aside a whole day: No plans, no responsibilities. Start driving, biking or walking. Go in unexpected and random directions. Document your day with photos, sketches and odd memorabilia. Do this at least once a month. Warning: This may bring lots of new ideas into your brain. Welcome them, write them down, sketch them, remember them and maybe even sing them.

 3. If  rejections make you crazy (I know this is true of all of us) do this. Write an incredibly cold and generic rejection letter to that irritating gallery owner, book publisher, juried show, reviewer or person that has pissed you off in the past. Explain why you won’t sell any artwork /stories/songs/books to them, no matter how much money or fame they might offer. Make it clear that they are not worthy of your talent. No amount of compensation will change your mind. The price to them will always be too high! Don’t mail it.  Treasure it.   

4. Nourish your childish enthusiasm each day of the year. For instance read a small part of a favorite childhood book, look at your old view master discs, notice smells and tastes that remind you of the good parts of being a child. Buy a hula hoop.  

 5. Give away things, without hesitation, to someone who does need them at the time. You can do this anonymously.                                               

6. Share your talent for free with at least one person per month.

7. Spend a whole day without speaking. Try this once a month. Warn your family and friends.

 8. Look for signs during all of the seasons.

9. Be discerning in who you choose to spend time with. Don’t waste your own precious time with unworthy people.

10. Paint, draw, joke, laugh, write, sing, talk and laugh as much as you can.

11. Write, draw or tape a long personal letter. Send one of these to a special person each month. Enclose a picture, photo or clipping that makes you laugh, cry or ponder.

12. Actively acknowledge the people and animals that you love each and every day.

13. Celebrate your birthday for at least a whole week but always try for the longest celebration you can negotiate.

14. Tired and crabby from over creativity? Curl up in your new Snuggie and watch Law and Order, Criminal Minds or Top Chef to rest your brain and renew your energy. (Other programs on TV can be substituted but they must be mindless and must not make you think). Mad Men is a must see. Artists need to be up to date on the latest cultural happenings, news and weird trends. Artists are the canaries in the mine shaft. That is why it’s important to read and watch as much as you can.  Become familiar with more of the world than your own little space.  Expand your thinking.

15. Find yourself an incredible mentor or creativity coach if you need help on your path.

As I re-read my list I realize it’s a little crazy, sometimes too sentimental and sometimes a little cruel. But I guess so am I. Have a good new year. This list is dedicated to one of the craziest and most influential people I’ve ever known.  He was a loved and respected professor and mentor to me.

Don Berry 1931-2001

Find out more about him at donberry.com and berryworks.

Just a short post to wish all of you Happy Holidays and thank you all for being part of my life this year.  I’m looking forward to next year and keeping my fingers crossed and my prayer flags flying for the whole country.  Hopefully the economy will begin to come back, we’ll start bringing our troops home from Afghanistan and Iraq, and that all of us will get some form of public and affordable health care.  I am optimistic that this will happen but need all of you to be aware of what needs changing and to be an active part of that change.  We are the force behind this country and we need to get much more creative about our ways of solving problems.  The old politicians in a back room with cigars, pat on the back, closed door type of policy making should be left in the past. (Can you hear me President Obama?) Our elected leaders should answer to us…not to the insurance companies or to the drug companies.  Think of the money we would have to take care of our poor and homeless if we weren’t spending such disgusting amounts on war. The troops would come home, have health care, get jobs and go on with their lives.  I support that.  Ok…my rant is over now on to other things.

Here are Ron and I and Cody in a photo together.  This is a rare occasion.  To get this shot our neighbor and friend Sara Draeger took many many shots, most where one of the three of us was moving.  And it’s true, we haven’t stood still at all this year.  Ron is working on art and driving school bus, I’m working on shows (you can still catch The Darkside Show at the Attic Gallery until January third), teaching at The Dalles Art Center (check out the last post for January class), and teaching a Magical Realism Class in April in Mexico (there is still room in the class for you to sign up).  We are also working around the property getting it ready for  winter.  Ron has done a great job on our new pump house which is now finished until spring. It actually looks better than our cabin.  We should move into it.   We have wood, our animals, and a  giant Costco food supply for survival, although most of the neighbors here think the winter won’t be too hard.  I also will be starting my creativity coaching in January.  Please pass the word on to friends that may feel a need for this type of coaching. I think I’m pretty good at it.  Word of mouth is the best form of advertising. So have as little stress as you can during the rest of the year…life is short.  Spend time with the people you love and don’t waste time on guilt and anger.  In Cody’s words, “Wag more, bark less!” Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.