If the world around you were a dream, what symbols would stand out?
Here are 3 dream symbols to get you started interpreting landscapes of the heart.
Marigold, I Love You Buckets
The title of this small painting contains all three. Marigolds, buckets, wildflowers ~ so what do they mean?
Let’s start with the last one first. The first thing I do is break the word into syllables. Wild flowers, or wild flow-ers ~ The first thing that pops to my mind is, “oh, I AM a wild flower!” A new way of seeing myself, I never thought of myself as a flower.
Then I catch myself re-reading the syllables, wild flow-ers, and the question of flowing comes to mind. Do I flow wildly? Am I a flow-er? Are we in the flow together? You get the idea.
I had a pre-conceived idea of marigolds from long ago when they were the only flowers I could grow in my garden. So strong in my mind, I hesitated even to paint these at all. Yet I painted them anyway. So what do they mean? Could it mean that I am giving them a second chance? What else am I giving a second chance in life?
Mari -gold. Could Mari be a woman’s name? Could it mean marry? Be wed to an idea? or a way of doing things? What am I married to? Or is it an instruction for my second chance in life?
So what about buckets? Why buckets and not flowerpots? Buck – it? Buck what? What do I really want to buck? Or is it a container??? If it holds love, what are we doing with it? Who is the bucket?
As you can see, interpreting just these three symbols raises more questions than answers. However, it is living with questions like these that moves the flow of inspiration. If one sticks in mind, write it down in a journal. Giving it physical form on the page magnifies the flow of ideas. Write anything else that flows with it.
Wildflowers at the Light House is an interactive Healing Arts Project created to raise awareness and end violence. Join me in sharing wildflowers and sowing seeds of healing. Share this post and spread the seeds. Thank you for your support! ~ Dorothy Fagan
Did you know??…… 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have been physically abused by an intimate partner.Statistics from the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence
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The Laurel Shelter is dedicated to assisting victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. They offer shelter, advocacy, education and support to survivors, legal support, and community education to foster awareness and identification of victims.
Domestic violence is a pattern of abusive behavior in any relationship that is used by one partner to gain or maintain power and control over another intimate partner. Domestic violence can be physical, sexual, emotional, economic, or psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person. This includes any behaviors that intimidate, manipulate, humiliate, isolate, frighten, terrorize, coerce, threaten, blame, hurt, injure, or wound someone.
Searching for small pastel papers to continue my journey back into pastel, I came across 3 plein air studies I’d done in 2013. Just after Dad died, I attended a plein air painting event in western Maryland. Mountain Maryland Plein Air in Cumberland and Allegany County is a wonderful intimate event. I welcomed the chance to paint in some beautiful private gardens.
Stumbling across the old paintings in the drawer, they felt dark and lifeless. It got me wondering how they would look today. I set one beside a fresh pastel paper and began blocking in the background shapes.
I resisted the temptation of painting back into it directly. Moving on, I worked with the new palette for awhile. Nothing like it’s inspiration piece, I felt unsure.
I sucked it up and kept going.
A Peek into Joy’s Garden
Setting it in the frame helped me step back and see it away from my previous vision. I like to keep a few frames in the studio for just that purpose. So many times I can’t see a painting’s strengths and weaknesses until I see it in a frame.
A day later I found myself in the botanic garden photographing tulips. Sitting in the cafe garden with a cold drink, I felt at home. Mind racing with painting images, colors for the new palette I’d ordered. I can taste the sweetness. Can you feel the shift in the two paintings?
I sure can. The difference between saying goodbye to Dad and stepping into Joy’s Garden is profound. I hadn’t realized until I finished writing this, that today is the anniversary of Dad’s passing. Rest in Peace Dad.
When I decided to live in Tuscany for nine weeks, to absorb the Tuscan Lifestyle into my life and art ~ I’d hoped living the Tuscan lifestyle would cure the workaholic in me.
A new friend from Naples got it completely. “It’s unknowable,” she uttered, looking at my paintings scattered about the room. She was in my incubator and she knew it.
Immersed in the joyful way my new friends and neighbors went about daily life, I’d already realized how truly and dearly “I LOVE to paint! There is nothing I’d rather do. This isn’t work at all!”
My Tuscan friends had knocked on my door, bringing me ripe figs, plums, tomatoes, chestnuts, wine and more. They seemed to squeeze every drop of goodness from each and every grape. I looked for something to offer them in return. “Would you like to see the paintings?”
“Oh yes, we’d love to!” Week by week, they knocked at my door and each time I answered I experienced “the art bridge” in a new way.
In those very last moments of October, they knocked on my door once again. This time Danilo invited me to come to the family’s olive grove to see how olives are harvested. Down the steep slope of the mountain, zig-zagging dirt path to a vista overlooking the Arno Valley, Danilo roared the four-wheel drive like any Italian driver ~ fast.
Late afternoon sun shone through silver olive leaves. Tiny Tuscan olives once light green, were now black and full of oil. Danilo demonstrated climbing a ladder on each tree. Pruning, shaking until ripe fruit fell from the branch into a fine mesh on the ground.Tree by tree, each olive in the 12 acres is picked by hand and hauled in buckets to the olive press in the next village.
Danilo reached for a bottle of the family’s own wine from a shelf in the tool shed and poured three glasses. Sipping sweetness, I felt the glow. Did I know I was ripe for harvest too? No. Sweetness of sharing friendship, beauty and bounty I thought was all about Tuscany.
I flew home the following week and immersed myself in a show deadline, a bid proposal, an application for a gallery and a national show. The last thing I needed was a new idea. When it first surfaced last week, it seemed so far off base from my Tuscan series, I put it out of mind.
A dream this past week urged me to take another look at the idea. Did I know that it was the “unknowable” I was searching for in Tuscany? No.
“OK” I thought, “I won’t have to stop what I am doing to make a few thumbnail sketches in my journal. ”
In less than an hour, I’d filled three pages with value studies a series of landscape designs I didn’t have time to paint.
Intrigued, I decided I would “test” the designs quickly with pastels. I cut several sheets of pastel paper into 9″ x 12″ rectangles.
I hadn’t used my pastels in over ten years. I laid my trays out on the table and sorted values. (Yes, I AM aware of how my own values changed in Tuscany. No mistake that I would have to come home and sort them out in my palette. Life is always a metaphor for Creator’s gifts.)
By lunch I had all the pastels arranged by values. Instead of searching hue by hue, having to check each value against my paintings one by one, I would be free to paint quickly, easily seeing subtle shifts in hue and chroma.
You can see how all the lightest (# 9 & 10 values) are in the far left of both trays. Cooler in the foreground tray, warm ones in the next tray up. Darks (#1 & 2) are all along the far right of each tray in the same manner.
In the center four rows of each tray, the cool and warm tones are sorted by values; #3 & 4, then #5 & 6, then #7 & 8 ~ warms in one tray, cools in the other.
The realization that my abstract thumbnails were my “pond in the woods” series came to me in the shower. Ideas seem to flow in the shower as they do in dreams. Why did I think my Tuscan residency was about painting Tuscany? Well it is and so much more. It’s about assimilating the Tuscan lifestyle here in Virginia ~ on my pond in the woods.
Standing over the table with my view of the pond, I drew from 15 years of memory. By four o’clock I had a series of pastel studies. I chose one and took it to the easel. A 24″ x 30″ canvas I’d primed with gold under-painting for another project awaited me.
Mixing my colors to match the pastel, I painted until it was too dark to see. The oil painting on my easel looked like pastels I’d painted as a young artist. I laughed out loud as I recognized the vibrant strokes.
Another dream puzzled me the next morning. Writing it down created more questions than answers. My tried and true methods of deciphering dreams yieded a new direction.
Picking up the phone, I called a friend, a soul sister who leads a parallel life to mine. “How are you?” I listened intently as she explained how coughing was helping her clear out old scar tissue, making way for new tissue to grow, healing her lungs.
“Ummmmm,” I wrote some of her words in my journal. “Scar tissue” stuck out like a sore thumb. I knew immediately what mine was. Unfinished paintings I’d stacked up in guest room to get out of my way in the studio. I wanted only to work on new ideas from Tuscany.
I shared my sketches with her so she could derive inspiration of her own. After I hung up, I unrolled two unfinished paintings and sat down to look them over. I sketched a thumbnail of one. Then made a second thumbnail, abandoning the first completely.
Wanting to see my sketch in color, I used pastel to test it out. I liked the study, though troubled by the dark positioning of the cypress trees, went to the easel to block it in over top of the unfinished painting.
The same day I also blocked in several other oil paintings. One based on a pastel, two others based on thumbnails in my journal. Working back and forth from one to the other, I used ideas from each to help me see my way through the group as a whole. My “scar tissue” helping me paint the whole group.
Looking at the group of deadline paintings, now they look like scar tissue. The deadlines evaporated as checks arrived from the sales rep I’d hired in the spring.