Roots

I have heard in several contexts today the word - root, it's uses varied but similar in some ways. I have heard it talked about in terms of wholeness. In terms of problems and their causes. In terms of solutions. I love the idea of the root as a metaphor for the wholeness of our human beginnings. Where it all started, whether a problem or the very essence of who we are. Maybe early messages we were given as childrent. We shouldn't just look at the twigs, branches, leaves, and fruit - but if we understand where the main context started, just as a seed, we can understand the mighty redwood tree. Ideas are roots. Ideas, whether true or untrue, can stay with us for so long they are part of our DNA. Unchallenged and lingering within our artist selves. Speaking to us, good or bad, they are the voices that influence our work.

Creative thought has roots deep within us, sometimes connected by nonsense and illogical fragmented ideas. I love those brainstorm sessions where there is a pulse of ideas with images and colors. There is an excitement with the belief that somehow all these ideas could make great art. That they could express what I want to say. The ultimate goal of an artist. That is why keeping all your sketchbooks and clippings, and images that inspire you is so important. You never know when you might need them in your process.

Creative thought is sometimes born out of problems. We need to understand the beginnings of ourselves. I know that pain or discomfort has brought great painting and writing sessions forth for me. It is the basis of many many songs. Sometimes songs or being in live music settings sends my mind reeling. I embrace pain today for the gifts it can give. Some of the most pained artists; Edgar Allen Poe, Emily Dickenson, Vincent VanGogh, Kurt Cobain have used this to create the brilliant brilliant madness.

The root of today is that just when you think life is all tucked in a neat little box, you may only be seeing the surface. The tree you see in the back yard with it's green leaves, swaying healthy branches, and ripe fruit just might be artificial under the dirt, or worse yet, hollow.

I painted this painting in 2002.

Oil on Canvas 48"x60"

"Enough"