Easter Revelations

"The Saint"
Copyright by
Terry Spehar-Fahey
2005

Life has been busy. Blog time has been short. I was wrenched back into the power of this medium by a request for a comment on a future book cover. The author is Eric Maisel whom I have linked to this blog through his Creativity Central website. Check it out. Or at http://ericmaisel.blogspot.com/.
The cover proposal reminded me of the painting I show here. I had to explain it to Eric and then thought, "well explain it to the world." Here is my comment regarding Eric's forthcoming book "Toxic Criticism."

Dear Eric, When I first saw this cover, I was amazed how it resembled a piece of art that I did during therapy. I've attached it for you. I'm going to show this piece for the first time at an artist's union group show on gloominess and how it affects our work. To me the taped mouth and the sewn lips represent the censoring of the victim of toxic criticism. The, vctim, who usually starts as a wounded child, is unable to respond to authority figures who maloign his ideas and then malign his effort to stand up for himself. In my case, in my heart, I felt I suffered as a saint because I allowed others to criticize me and I didn't complain or even realize in many cases that i as really allowing myself to be emotionally abused and then congratulating myself for suffering in silence. I am a woman and not of color. I didn't see the racist aspect of the cover. I didn't take the image as the perpetrator of the criticism, so I didn't see the sexist angle either. If they want to use this kind of image, I think a photo show more victimization might clear things up. Thanks for all your great work! Terry

Beautiful Day in So Cal

The weather was so beautiful this weekend that I had to respond with art making. The weather forced me to get over the fear of white paper. Oh, I solved that by using black paper! Try using a medium or support with which you don't normally work. This piece is of one of my favorite subjects: Mammoth Mountain with snow. The painting is done with metallic watercolor, chalk pastel and gouache on Black Fabriano Ingres. It takes the watercolor pretty well for a drawing paper. Just don't soak it! I worked all day on this and it felt really good to work. "Mammoth, Creek View", Copyright by Terry Spehar-Fahey, 2006

Flying By

I was going to use this blog to force myself to do the creative self-exposure thing on a regular basis. Bear with me. Life flys by with all its complications and distractions. I am in a college class studying personality theories in psychology. I've been taking these psych classes since putting myself into psychotherapy for depression last year. I tell you, therapy is wonderful. It is eye opening and gave me real insight into the creative process. I made art as a compliment to my therapy and found it to be a healing and energizing process. I felt I was truly creating from my soul. The anxiety of white paper is always going to be there. The anxiety of showing my work to the world is doubled in the case of the therapy art. Now I am revealing my true self and not hiding behind technique and pretty scenes. Will anyone think it is worthwhile? And oh, the self-worth thing keeps rearing its ugly head. Being human is learning how to love being imperfect. Being human is learning how to love all our efforts at learning how to love life. I'm learning how to overcome my desparate need to be right, perfect, good, and worthy. If I can keep working on those things, it may just be possible to learn how to love being human.

In making art, we each bring our current technical knowledge, our encounter with the world, and our encounter with our feelings to the page. We have no more than that to give to the process. Each time we create, we add to our knowledge and our understanding of art making and of ourselves. Art making is a microcosm of our life's journey. It is the balm that can soothe our troubled selves and it is a gateway to understanding life. We are all creative beings. That's what we do in God's image. We create. "Creation Story", Copyright by Terry Spehar-Fahey, 2005

Humiliation Crushes a Creative Soul

There it is again. The sheet of paper with an image that falls just short of what I wanted to say hangs on the easel waiting to be ripped from its masking tape moorings. Another empty white sheet awaits its destiny in the beautifully-appointed, hardwood-floored intimidating new studio. What is it that generates the tension surrounding the creative act? I have faced this sheet hundreds of times and survived. Now in middle age, I want it to be easier to begin anew. Now in middle age I am still seeking the ephemeral perfection of completely right and true communication through art making. Now in middle age I still fear the outcomes of my feeble attempts. Now in middle age I fear that time is slipping away and I'll never get it right. Now in middle age I am still fearing that I will never be good enough to be loved for me. Now there is more at stake, more pressure and less time. Why does so much ride on my interaction with this sheet of paper or this yellow legal pad or this web log? It is just a piece of paper and some pigments. But it stands for my worth and my joy and my hopes and my value. It is so much easier to bury myself and my fears in the utterances of my favorite self-help and art-help authors than to do the actual work that will alleviate the anxiety that is ever present at the beginning of the creative endeavor.

I am my own worst student. I stand in front of a group of people who look to me for the magic words to inspire them to fulfill their creative urges. I exhort them to "go for it", "don't worry" and "play". It is just a piece of paper and some pigment. Art making is an encounter with yourself and your world. It is visibly putting yourself out there, in harm's way, for the world to see and judge. It is scary. I know the fear and it has stopped me before. It has blocked me from my creative call and it has left me just hoping and dreaming instead of doing.

Why does man create amidst this anxiety? Why is it that making meaning and being "good enough" tend to stop us from creating? Where do the voices of criticism get their force? How do we overcome these voices and keep at doing the things we are called to create? Why even bother to try to speak again with your quiet little voice and say "Here I am"? Today's world lends itself to fear of white paper. Information is so easily passed across the world. The world can criticize from their armchairs and it is called entertainment. Standards of perfection are communicated to all of us from a public that is ready to tear the best of the creatives apart for not meeting its idea of perfection. Why would anyone want to risk the rejection that comes with sticking your creative property out into view?

The creative act is the very solace that one needs in this anxious world. By going to work on something you love for itself, you find your self. When the art making takes over and the world is hushed, you help resolve your own anxieties. The making is the cure. The courage it takes to create amidst the criticism should be heralded. Give yourself permission to be courageous. It is only a white piece of paper and some paint!

She was only six years old, in the second grade, trying so hard to be liked by the other children. Miss Burns was the teacher's name. "Miss Burns, burns me up", they would say on the playground. Yeah, one day she extinguished her student in the most cruel way.

When she was six, dreams were real and the world was a dream. The girl would dream in color and what happened in the night was as real as what happened during the day until the second grade. Teachers were gods and to have one come to your house for dinner and sit at your table and pay attention to you was surely a sign of grace, an indication that you were worthy, that you were liked. Oh, it was a dream to have Miss Burns at her house for dinner until she shared it with her little friends at school. Then, it became a nightmare she wished she had never had.

"Stand up, Theresa"! The command was unexpected. The class of fifty students had marched into the classroom after lunch and had just settled into their seats. Miss Burns didn't seem too happy. What was the matter? "The students have told me that you have been telling them lies". "What lies did I tell"? she choked to herself. Lies are bad. My parents hate lies. I don't lie. I couldn't lie. This scene wasn't going well. "Lissa, tell Theresa what she told you". "She told me that you had dinner at her house". "Well, that is a lie and a lie is a sin. I did not eat dinner at Theresa's house. She has told a lie and will be punished for it. You will stay after school, Theresa, for detention and you will write over and over that you are not to lie in school. I will call your mother and tell her". Sit down.

The dream was gone. The pain of humiliation was excrutiatingly real. Theresa tried to crawl into a crack in the linoleum floor, silenced forever more until the white paper beckoned and revealed the pain of that day. "School Girl", Copyright by Terry Spehar-Fahey, 2005

Resurrecting A Creative Self

Welcome to A Creative Self. This site is devoted to the exploration and development of creativity: mine and yours. Please join me in an ongoing dialog about art making and any issue about creativity that strikes you as important. Artists work in solitude. The world-wide web provides us with a tool with which to connect to the world. It gives us all access to gallery space in cyberspace. This is my experiment in self-revelation. Witness and respond. Share your musings and scratchings. Make art. "Resurrection" Copyright by Terry Spehar-Fahey, 2005