Menstruation Metaphors: Letting go of the old, painfully painful story.

Cut-Out from Die, Jessica Serran, mixed media on file folders, 60"x30", 2007.

A chaser to last month's:  Menstruation Metaphors + The Things I'd Really Rather Not Drag with me into this Next Month.  Where the process of clearing out the old and making space for the new, reigns.  

I have to tell the story differently. 

The old way’s not working. 

The old way is rooted in the shame-filled voice of the inner tyrant.  And it’s mean.  And hurtful.  And no longer tenable. 

For a long time I wanted others to validate my story.  For a long time I’ve been susceptible to the story being told through a lens other than my own.  For a long time there’s been pain, and monstrous fearballs and voices whose full meanness I’m only starting to apprehend. 

And after a painful few days, a lot of sadness, and the realization that the story that I often tell has a shameful and embarrassed component to it, I’ve come to realize that it’s time to tell the story differently. 

And that actually, while the voice that I’m hearing originated as an internalized chorus of voices not entirely my own, they have sadly made their way in and become one that is mine. 

I think it’s called a shadow. 

Sigh.  And a compassionate mention of transference, and susceptibility, and, and, and… 

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Woah – check her out! Finished and fleshy and a whole lot of something…

Orange is for Integration, 27"x48", mixed media on board, Jessica Serran, 2012.

She's complex and full and stuffed and efforting and open.  And, and and….  

And I’d love to tell you exactly what she’s about.  But I can’t yet.  We need more time together to sit and talk. 

I won’t make premature speculations. 

First we’ll hang out for a while.  I’ll let her exist in her just realized state.  Say hi to her in the mornings when I get to the studio, then sneak peeks at her throughout the day.   Eventually, like in a few days, I’ll sit down and start a conversation.  I’ll be all ears and all curiosity.  I’ll describe her, in writing, exactly as I see her, and I’ll ask her to tell me her secrets. 

(I can already tell that there’ll be some * gasps * and surprises, and moments of oh-my, however did you know that?)

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What might happen when the universe finds a crack or a crevice.

Something might change.

Something might sweep in and sweep us up, 

or off our feet.  

Something might find our sweet spot, 

and just might, 

in all its messiness, 

in all its fleshiness, 

its oh-so-ever-so human-ness,

coax the doors open, 

a bit wider. 

And re-right the system.

Fuck it's Messy, ink on paper, 8.5"x11, Jessica Serran, 2012.

This drawing's for sale.   
It longs to grace your walls.  To do for you, what it does for me.
To bring you home, further in, farther in, closer to that feeling of being connected to the juicy-bits, the tender-bits, the us-being-us bits... 

Making the space where you-can-be-you a bit wider. 


It's $75 plus shipping. 
What you get: 
An original ink on paper, 8.5"x11" bit of fabulousness, unframed on paper. 
And the feeling that you've come a little bit closer to home.

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The Myth of This Artist: I'm a bit of a workhorse, and I love a good pile of art-related paperwork.

: : : : : : : : A series about making our own myths, challenging the shit that often gets said and unpacking the un-working parts of the proverbial, dysfunctional, and unhelpful Myth of the Artist : : : : : : : :

Fragment from Forgive Me Father, Jessica Serran, 2007.

Am I alone here? Do you know that feeling? That particular satisfaction that comes from taking care of a good pile of paperwork, or clearing your desk, or getting everything into neat and orderly files???

Not quite as exhilarating as a painting coming together or a revelation made through drawing, but still, there’s something about it…

Last time I told you about how “I’m a bit of a workhorse.”

About how I like working, and am actually bad at sitting in cafes all day, and tend to long for structure and routine because it creates a nice container for all my juicy feminine bits.




And now. Paperwork.
I love doing paperwork.
Yes. I just said that. I actually love doing paperwork.

If I’m wrecking anyone’s fantasies, or shattering your fragile myths of the artist, I apologize, but I feel that these things have to be said.

At least half of my time is spent in front of my computer taking care of business.

I’m not going to run out and get an office job any time soon, but I’m going on the record and saying how much I actually love doing it.





It’s twofold.

One – my often under-used left side of the brain gets a workout. (Which is great because I was always the kid in school who loved spending endless hours solving abstract math problems. I neither cared about what they applied for or ever felt a need to ask.)

I think it makes me feel more balanced.




And two – it Reminds me of Me.

And helps to put the forgotten pieces of myself back together.

Cause damn, can I ever self-forget shit all the time.

Like what I’ve accomplished, what I’ve sold, and what the realities of my career are. Cause on a good number of days, when you’re trudging away in the studio, wondering what’s next, wondering if anyone else is benefitting from this, it can be easy to sink into a black hole of “I’m not enough…” and hear those despairing voices on the periphery that drone on about how hard it is to be an artist and why the word “starving” frequently precedes the word “artist”….




Which is such a shitty illusion. But a tough one to argue with.
But argue I must.

And when I’m armed with weapons of the actual reality I’m better equipped for battle.

Because the papers don’t lie. The actual, factual, here it is on paper, (and thank god I filed it cause I knew where to find it), doesn’t lie…

Like three years ago when I applied for a grant and they asked me to tally up my art related income for the previous three years. I noticed that hey, I’ve actually doubled my art related income for the past three years! Not bad.




Filing, organizing, writing grants, keeping track of business. I like all of it.

I liked getting all of my paperwork ready for my Visa-application-filing weekend in Berlin.

I liked having to spend time on the weekend getting more of it together.

It’s no wonder that I painted on file folders for so many years. This love of all things paper-y, and yes, office products…. wistful sigh… runs deep.





A few more confessions.

I apply for grants, and like it.

I fill out consignment forms and write oodles of emails, account for my expenses, and like it.

I’m a left-brain and a right-brain kind of an artist.

And I’m a bit of a workhorse.

And I like it.




And you? Myths? Confessions? Questions about what we actually do, as artists, all day long?

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On the artist as receptacle, or better yet, as Soul-Proprietor.

I love the idea of things coming through us.

Of the artist as receptacle, and not the sole proprietor of what we make. 

It’s more like we’re Soul-Proprietors.  

And we have stewardship over what we create. 

I recently did a lecture in Detroit at the fabulous DellPryor Gallery. 
I stood there, surrounded by these things that I make, and it occurred to me, in a whole new way, that this is what I make.  

Like it or not. 

I mean of course it’s mine, in some sense.  The finished product belongs to me.  I make it.  And I sign it.  But it isn’t mine in the sense that I don’t have full responsibility for what it is or how what is coming through me wants to look. 

I have the responsibility of showing up and making it. 

I have the responsibility of honouring my gift and working with it. 

I have the responsibility of finding homes, places, and other people that it resonates with it.

It’s like the work is of me, and in me, but still somehow separate. 
Heck, I don’t even have to like it all the time!

I’m lucky that on a good number of days I love what I create.  That kind of love that is entirely visceral and defies explanation.  But the truth is that there are other forms of art, other styles, other modes of working that I absolutely adore, and wish I could make.   

I’d uber-love to make lovely, delicate, minimalistic graphite drawings… all grayish, white and blue…

 

I’d love to make more conceptual work. 

I’d love to be that artist who works super minimally.  

And makes canvases that are stunning in their simplicity.   

But I usually don’t.  

Because something else wants to come through me more.  

 
And no matter how much I might long do other things, these are what I make.  

These are my babies. 

They’ve been given to me. 
They comes from me and through me.
And they land on the canvas in front of me.   

My job is to raise them, and honour them, and figure out what they need and how to support them. 

Like children.

So they can be their glorious selves! 
All independent and confidant and full of treasures. 
And rockin' their shit out in the big bad world.

: )

Just sayin'

: : : : : : : : 

   

AND....

The Drawing Project:  

A Place Where You, and Your Words, are the Sparks that Ignite A Piece of Art.  
See it on my site and order your own:  HERE!

From (Drawing the In/Between), 8.5"x11", ink, acrylic on paper, 2011.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:  

I am in love with your idea.  Not only in love with your idea but in love with your work.  It really allows me to feel like normalcy doesn’t have one definition, and that we are all indelibly connected, as Sark would say.  It is so honest, and I have to imagine that it invokes a lot of hidden beauty in everyone.

Emily
Artist, Photographer

: : : : : : : : 

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And she asked herself, "Just what is it that you're so afraid of?"

That my babies will be taken, she said.
My open-hearted chest-open joy.

And as she looked further she realized that oh,
My membrane is semi-permeable.

And my bigness is seeping out,
magically osmosify-ing
anyways.

It's a bit complicated,
and old,
and new, she thought.
But it's okay.
We're okay.  

Cause My Ears are Too Big, ink on paper, 8.5"x11", Jessica Serran, 2012.

These drawings are for sale.  
They long to grace your walls.  To do for you, what they do for me.
To bring us home, further in, farther in, closer to that feeling of being connected to the juicy-bits, the tender-bits, the us-being-us bits...


Making the space where you-can-be-you a bit wider.


They're $75 each plus shipping.
What you get:
An original ink on paper, 8.5"x11" bit of fabulousness, unframed on paper.
And the feeling that you've come a little bit closer to home.

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Willing to be full of myself: Some thoughts on the sensual universe.

Fragment from the painting that's not quite finished, 27"x48", mixed media on board, Jessica Serran, 2012.

Oh my.  I watched the film Daisies (Sedmikrásky) by Věra Chytilová last weekend.  And I can’t seem to shake it. 

Two teenage girls.  Somewhere around 16 or 17 years old, but it’s not entirely clear.  What is clear is their fabulousness.  Their unabashed, balls to the wall-ness. 

They play.  With men.  With food.  With everything. 

They’re cute young pussycats.  With very little consideration of consequences.  They cut.  They grab.  They drink.  They grasp.  They throw away.  They stuff.  They jump.  They bounce. 

On and on. 

Still from Chytilová's film Daisies, 1966.

The sensual universe. 

They are in it.  They embody it. 

It seems so beautifully feminine to me.  Like a necessary stage.  They are on the edge of their woman-ness.  They have a sense of their power.  And they use it. 

Which I love because I’ve been thinking about the idea of “what is too much?” And of restraint.  Restraint rooted in the fear of being too much. 
Or going too far out. 
Or too far down. 
Or too far in. 

Too.  Too.  Too. 

Phooey.  And the word “frivolous.”

Which I’d say is intimately connected to this conversation. 

When I think of the word frivolous I think of pink things and sugar and little girls and frills.  And of course, the unfortunate belief that floats around in its all-its-unfortunate-ness that art is somehow frivolous. 

Extraneous. 

Not useful. 

Again, phooey. 

We need the sensuous.  We need the messy, gritty, raw, hands-in-the-dirt-ness.  We need sunlight and sprinklers and wet grass between our toes.  Colours, and texture, and taste and smell. 

We need life.  To take it in.  To grasp it.  To claim it.  To be full of ourselves. 

My soul seems to be crying out for this. 

For play.  For a willingness to be “too much.” 

To grasp.  Claim.  And be full of myself. 

To let the lines and textures and overlapping-gut-shaped images go where they’d like to go.  To let the canvas be “too full.”  To let my musings be “too much.”  And to let go of my fear of what might happen because of this “too much-ness.”

And amazingly,

In that fullness I’m starting to discover a powerful self-protection. 

In the fullness of myself there’s less space for letting any and everything in.  There’s a natural boundary.  There’s a willingness to bounce out of and into as it serves me. 

I’m making-space and reciprocally taking-space. 

And I can’t help but believe that there’s some magical, secret wisdom in this.  Something full.  

Something life-affirming… 

Something rich… 

: : : : : : : : 

   

AND....

The Drawing Project:  

A Place Where You, and Your Words, are the Sparks that Ignite A Piece of Art.  
See it on my site and order your own:  HERE!

From (Drawing the In/Between), 8.5"x11", ink, acrylic on paper, 2011.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:  
I wanted "an artist" - a creative person, to analyze my situation, and show me "what could be", rather than simply analyze my feelings clinically and give a rote diagnosis of what it meant, such as a psychologist or psychiatrist, a friend, or even a fortune teller might do. I wasn't disappointed. In each case, you looked at my "problem" differently than I had seen it, and in each case, showed me a positive side that I hadn't considered -- one that made me feel good.

Peter
Dentist, Art Appreciator/Collector, Photographer

: : : : : : : : 

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Some sweet balm for the artistic soul.

Fragment from unfinished painting, 27"x48", mixed media on board, Jessica Serran, 2012.

I feel a bit like this snippet from the painting I'm working on… and of course there’s more to it, more that we can’t quite see yet.  More beyond the cropping and the edges.  And more that I have yet to understand.
 

I’m still feeling sick, and a little bit confused. 

And in general, out of my comfort zone.

Slowly, I'm getting pieces of information from the painting and the processing, but it’s not quite integrating yet. 

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A drawing: About purging the linings of our creative vessels.

Purging, ink on paper, 8.5"x11", Jessica Serran, 2012.  $75:  email me and she can be yours!

: : : : : : : : 

and...  HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE:  THIS WEEK'S OFFERING!    

The Drawing Project:  The one where your words are the beauty that sparks a piece of art.  Have a look at the beautiful trailer HERE on tumblecloud.com.  Tumblecloud is an amazing new site, but still working out the kinks.  If it doesn't work for you, try X-ing out the Error indicator or going to my site:
See it on my site:  HERE!

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:  
I wanted "an artist" - a creative person, to analyze my situation, and show me "what could be", rather than simply analyze my feelings clinically and give a rote diagnosis of what it meant, such as a psychologist or psychiatrist, a friend, or even a fortune teller might do. I wasn't disappointed. In each case, you looked at my "problem" differently than I had seen it, and in each case, showed me a positive side that I hadn't considered -- one that made me feel good.

Peter
Dentist, Art Appreciator/Collector, Photographer

: : : : : : : : 

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The uber-confusing, what the hell is happening part of the process…

Was it only a post-ago that I said how much I loved to go deeper? 

So yes... grateful, knowing, almost-could-have-predicted it sigh… 

Structure and flow. 

And boy did some things start to flow. 

And just kept flowing.

Sunday evening the bottom dropped out -- in that kind of “I-really-can’t-stop-crying” kind of way. 

Ope yep, stopped for a minute… maybe it’s over… nope… crying again… 

And on and on ‘til the next morning. 

Which totally threw me because I can usually predict when the I-can’t-stop-crying day will happen.

I try to remind myself when I’m in this state, to not pin it on any one reason, or grasp too heavily for the thing that I can chalk it up to.  Try being the key word here. 

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