D.H. Lawrence on art theory

  I am still not able to get the advertising off of my art blog, so I am going to post some of my art here from time to time.   I may tackle that problem one day when my enthusiasm can be channeled in that direction.  I am open to suggestions. 

  For the moment, however,  I am baffled as to where to start and so many more appealing pastimes are taking my attention, like how to make a mask out of paper mâché. 

Detail from collage by Mary M Payne

Yes, that is part of my new assignment but before I tackle that, I thought I'd put up this quote from D.H. Lawrence sent by a friend of ours.   Thanks Charlie, I sympathize with Lawrence, 


 "Ours is an excessively conscious age.  We know so much, we feel so little.  I have lived enough around painters and around studios to have had all the theories – and how contradictory they are – rammed down my throat.  A man has to have a gizzard like an ostrich to digest all the brass tacks and wire nails of modern art theories. 

 Perhaps all the theories, the utterly indigestible theories, like nails in an ostrich’s gizzard, do indeed help to grind small and make digestible all the emotional and aesthetic pabulum that lies in an artist’s soul.  But they can serve no other purpose.  Not even corrective. 

 The modern theories of art make real pictures impossible.  You only get these expositions, critical ventures in paint, and fantastic negations.  And the bit of fantasy that may lie in the negation – as in a Dufy or a de Chirico – is just the bit that has escaped theory and perhaps saves the picture.  Theorise, theorise all you like – but when you start to paint, shut your theoretic eyes and go for it with instinct and intuition."

D.H. Lawrence:  Making Pictures in The Creative Process, edited by Brewster Ghiselin

Dear M.

This letter is not momentous,  just a little finger reaching out to touch your shoulder over there in "crazy" land.  But for that matter everywhere now seems to be crazy land.  This weekend Monsieur read an article saying that a study of people's "sense of well being" shows that we all, world-wide, feel more uneasy than we did even a few years ago.  A few points on the scale was considered a huge difference to other years, apparently.  

I myself can attest to feelings of desperation that come from no real problems.  I was obsessed a few days ago about carpenter ants who seem to be dropping bits of sawdust onto my kitchen terrace every morning.  Of course I pictured, the house falling down around our bed one Sunday morning just as we are looked forward to K's special omelet or our first cup of coffee. Luckily the spraying we did yesterday seems to have discouraged them.

Also, I have been completely crazy about tearing down a flowering vine that grew to mythic proportions (more like a plant depicted in Jurassic Park)when I was away.    I have only so much energy for this garden and I have begun to feel a certain slavery to it.  So I have been sawing and gnawing at this cascading vine for about 3 weeks now and still haven't been able to completely tame it.  

And then there is the call to Social Security I have been trying to make since I got home.  Of course, they are not answering their phone, why should they?  It is enough to put up a lame website and disable the FAQ part of the site, to make themselves feel accountable.  There seems to be a secret pact that any monies that one wants to collect from Social Security belong to the people who work there and that if you were to draw money out ( that you put in) then each bureaucrat would suffer personally.

But all of these micro concerns are probably due to the fact that I have upped my portion of caffeine since I got back.....jealous no doubt that my siblings do not seem susceptible to going sparky when they drink more than one cup in the mornings.

Now I am down again to one cup in the morning and decaf for the rest of the day....or better yet, water....which for some reason has never been my beverage of choice.

I also came home to find that I have isolated myself over here and am hard pressed to just call someone up for a coffee or a meal out.  I think I did this to myself, but having had such great communications with my family and friends in America, I feel sometimes that it is a mistake.   

The people I had tried to contact seemed to be busy with their lives which I, in my immediate state of paranoia, have taken personally even though one could say that it was I who abandoned them.  

However even that has changed now that my art class has started again.  Monday I re-connected with  old pals and even found two new people who really want to talk to me, so I am starting to feel better now. 

How was your trip to Mexico?  Did you get more than a tourist would get from this trip? Was it a tour, or did you plan it yourself? What did you get that was personal only to you?  Did you have the urge to crow about it and if so, crow away.   I'm listening. 

 I think we all need to be away and apart to get back to who we are....especially if our own tribe at home defines us in a way we don't always recognize. I think I read something like this recently as a quote from Ann Morrow Lindbergh .....from her "gifts from the sea" book.

  I think I should pick that little gem up again.  I find that books I read when I was young have a different spin on them now that I am further along.  

Being further along, I am not sure I have improved in my way of thinking.  I am perhaps more serious and realistic about humans, but the way I look at things has changed somewhat. 

   I no longer dwell so much on "magical" thinking as a great denial technique. But "agnostic" is a word that leaves me cold. It means innocently enough "not knowing" but it takes on a colder tinge for me when people tell me they are agnostic.  The word has an arrogance about it.  Instead of saying I believe in nothing until it can be proved, I like to say that I believe in everything until you can prove it's not so. 

  I have been looking over a poem I found recently by Gerard Manley Hopkins.  I think the first stanza is basically saying that we are defined by what we do. Stones and bells ring when something strikes them: dragonflies and kingfishers glint as they go about their business. 

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844- 1889

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies

draw flame; 
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells 
Stones ring;like each tucked string tells,each hung bell’s 
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out 

broad its name; 
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:         
Deals out that being indoors each one 

dwells; 
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, 
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came. 
 
I say more: the just man justices; 
Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings

graces;         
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is— 
Chríst— for Christ plays in ten thousand

places, 
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not

his 
To the Father through the features of 

men's faces.

In other words, I think Hopkins is saying, do what you came to do, be who you are or "To thine own self be true."  



 Of course, we have all heard this.  Being true to one's inner self has been a cliche for a long time, maybe since Shakespeare (or whomever it was) said it.  But how do you know if you are really being you?  







Well, this poet from the 1800's tries to explain it.  It's about taking action, about sending your own true essence into existence.  Like thoughts are "things" and doing proves it. 














I have come to believe that being yourself in all that you do, well, that's when you know you're keeping it real and that's kind of what it takes to get forward. 



So just to tell myself one more time,  as soon as I finish this coffee and get dressed, I am walking out to buy cat food and to observe my essence today and see what it is that I manifest.   



And M, let me know what that is for you, would you?   Write me....even a snail mail if you want. 



Oh, and if there are some strange change of fonts, sizes and spacing in this post, ignore it.  It's google doing what it does. 



Love, mary

Journal page......Repurposing

This is a page from my first art journal.... my gesso and sand polar bear gets used up in a collage.  That little square was an experiment from years ago that ended up in the scrap box. 
  That photo is a copy from Monsieur's family scrapbook.  
  The dots were printed with bubble wrap.   I found the pedicure aide in the 2 euro store and used it for a stamp?  And I see the print from the bottom of a flip flop sandal at the euro store as well.    I am  RE-PURPOSING et....   Je m'amuse. 

Victoria and Abdul

 photo by dekhnews.com

photo by denofgeek.com

Monsieur and I  finally watched the film" Victoria and Abdul" which had been on my radar for a long time.  Since I posted about my visit to India in 1983,  I have found myself gravitating to all things Indian.  I am even in the mood for curry. 

Let me just say that this film is a treasure.  I know Judy Dench as one of the best actors of our time, but to see the magic pairing with Ali Fazal in this British drama directed by Steven Frears was breathtaking to watch.  It seems that we saw it here at home almost to the day a year after it was released in 15 September, 2017.  It has long been on our list.

The movie is loosely based on the real life relationship of Queen Victoria and an Indian Muslim named Abdul Karim as chronicled in Shrabani Basu's book: Victoria and Abdul: The True Story of the Queen's Closest Confidant, screenplay written by Lee Hall ( Billy Elliot).

It is quite an astonishing story based on the friendship in the later years of Queen Victoria's reign with Abdul Karim, who was simply a young Indian clerk chosen to participate in the queen's Golden Jubilee in 1897. He was brought over to present a coin to her.... ostensibly as he was good looking and tall, nothing more.  

 The queen's household, her son and the royal "inner circle" was shocked and dismayed however, to find that the queen was to form a devoted friendship with Karim which lasted 14 years, until  her death. 

  The true story has just recently come to light because Karim's family kept his diary which told his side of events, even though King Edward VII  who succeeded Victoria, had all other documents and letters destroyed and sent Karim packing immediately after Victoria's death. 

But what captivated me more than the story itself, was the incredible bond formed between these two brilliant actors who had just met for this role.  From what I can tell, Fazal is a "Bollywood" actor and this is his first English language film. 

  I have not seen such charisma displayed on screen for a very long time.    And Victoria ad Abdul is basically a love story, a very unusual one, but a love story nonetheless.   But with Judy Dench, it is anything but a sappy one.  Judy doesn't do "sappy" I am pleased to say.

Mary Oliver

"Creative work requires a loyalty as complete as the loyalty of water to the force of gravity.  A person trudging through the wilderness of creation who does not know this -who does not swallow this-is lost. 
He who does not crave that roofless place eternity should stay at home. Such a person is perfectly worthy, and useful, and even beautiful, but is not an artist. 

There is a notion that creative people are absentminded, reckless, heedless of social customs and obligations.  It is, hopefully, true. For they are in another world altogether.   It is a world where the third self is governor.  Neither is the purity of art the innocence of childhood, if there is such a thing.  One's life as a child, with all its emotional rages and ranges, is but grass for the winged horse--it must be chewed well in those savage teeth. 

The working concentrating artist is an adult who refuses interruption from himself, who remains absorbed and energized in and by the work-- who is thus responsible to the work."

Mary Oliver   Upstream: Selected Essays

"The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time."

I found this passage today and realize that for three hours every morning I have been doing "land art", making my garden into a sanctuary especially for me and hoping others enjoy what I have done.  It is physically demanding manual work but it is creative work as well or I wouldn't do it.  

 But the rest of the day, I am lost because I am no longer engaged in what I do best. It is hard to switch gears.  

 Like most of us, I am looking for that balance between the social self and the "other self".  

Ovoli

You may be one of the lucky ones to come across this Easter egg in the forest.  

Photo by mailhos, Cuisine de Jardin

But my Ovoli were brought to me last week from a big property in Tuscany.  A friend offered them in a soil stained napkin, a proper wrapping for this treasure.   

 Ovoli, Photo by MaryMPayne

If you haven't come across this mushroom you are in for a surprise as they are more dense and tastier than porcini, one of the most coveted of fungi.  

The oval will eventually open up to show the gills like a regular mushroom. 

Closed mushroom Ovoli, photo by MaryMPayne

We ate ours sautéd in olive oil with a little salt.  
"Delicioso".  

Indian memories : the Rambagh palace.

Rambagh Palace Hotel, Jaipur,  Photo by Booking.com

Rambagh Palace Hotel, Jaipur India, Photo by Isiinda.com

Dining Room, Rambagh Palace Hotel, photo by designer travel.co.uk

These first three photos are taken from the web and even more astonishing views can be found online of the 5 star Hotel which is now known as the Rambagh Palace Hotel. 

This palace was once was the home of the Maharajah Sawai Man Singh II , (Bubble's father) who made it his principal residence and added a number of royal suites in 1931. 

Man Singh II was married three times and his three wives lived in the same household together, as per Indian custom. His first two marriages were to brides chosen from the royals of Jodphur whose social ranking were similar to his own.  The senior Maharani 

(Bubble's mother) was known as "First her Highness" : Marudhar Kunwar.  

  In 1940 Man Singh II married for the third and last time to Gayatri Deevi , daughter of the Maharaja of Cooch Behar.  We were introduced to her by our friend George Galitzin, and were invited to her home near the Rambagh palace. 

 Over her lifetime, Gayatri had become a celebrity of sorts because of her fashion consciousness and beauty but also because she became a politician and parliamentarian.  She lived to 90 years old, dying in 2009.  

Included here is a picture of her among some of our party.  I remember her home being full of silver frames showing her with many famous people.  She wrote " A Princess Remembers" a book that I found a fascinating read. 

We all stayed at the Palace Hotel at the end of our visit for several nights.  The story here is that we were shown a room with an ante chamber (4 x as large as our present bedroom), a sort of extension room to a huge bedroom with an equally immense bed.  We were assigned to share this arrangement with another couple that we barely knew. 

 The men decided to flip a coin to see who would get the large room.  The other fellow tossed the coin and called it, and won the toss.  His "girlfriend" of around 50 years old, expected that he would choose the huge bed....but her male companion wanted the ante chamber with twin beds instead.  

  The woman could not believe his poor choice and had a small nervous breakdown before our eyes explaining to him again and again "but you won the toss!".  

Monsieur and I slept that night in the enormous bed. 

Roger Marchese 1983, our photographer. 

Although, Roger's family is of Italian origin, one day at the Palace,  we dressed him in a turban and he could have easily passed as an Indian.  Roge took all of these photos....except this one. Ha.

Mary M Payne in 1983,  Photo by Roger Marchese

At the end of our stay we visited one of the several gift shops associated with the Palace.  I chose a beautiful white wool shawl, embroidered with colorful flowers.   The boy in the shop said that he would go into the back and get a duplicate shawl already wrapped.  While I was waiting for him to return another man entered the shop and finished the transaction with me with a shawl he took off the shelf behind him.  

When I got on the bus and pulled out my shawl, 250 American dollars fell out.  

I have my own theory about this but I will always think of that shawl as my good luck find. 

Musicians with Jean Galitzin, and unknown lady,  Photo by Roger Marchese

Monsieur and the Cobra.  Photo by Roger Marchese

Gayatri Devi with English guests 1983 ,  photo by Roger Marchese

 Mary M Payne, 1983 at Quwwat-ul Islam Mosque, 1983 Delhi,  Photo by Roger Marchese

The Iron Pillar is in the centre of the courtyard of the Quwwat-ul-Islam Mosque (begun 1193), one of the oldest surviving mosques in the sub-continent. The pillar is 7.2 metres tall and 37 cm in diameter and was once topped with an image of Garuda, a Hindu bird god.  The origins of the pillar remain obscure, although it was possibly taken from a Vishnu temple before the construction of the complex. Virtually rust-free, the pillar is 98% pure iron and is a puzzle to metallurgists. Legend has it that anyone who can encircle the column with their arms behind their back will have their wishes granted.   I understand now that the pillar is protected so one can't try this.   I am pretty sure that my wish came true. 

Maybe my wish was that I would never forget my stay in India and that wish still holds true.

 It didn't take a snake charmer, India and all I saw there so long ago has me charmed to this day. 

Snake charmer, India photo by Roger Marchese

The TAJ MAHAL

The Taj Mahal , India Photo by Roger Marchese

After a few days spent exploring New Delhi our group boarded a bus to Agra, a city on the banks of the Yamuna River, best known for its three UNESCO World Heritage sites:  the Taj Mahal, Fatchput Sikri and the Agra Fort.

The Taj Mahal  1983, photo by Roger Marchese

The Taj Mahal is as magnificent a structure as I have ever seen.

It was commissioned by Shah Jahan in 1631 to be built in the memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal, a Persian princess who died giving birth to their 14th child.  The imperial court documents Shah Jahan's grief after the death of his wife, the love story held as the inspiration for Taj Mahal.

The principal mausoleum was completed in 1643 and the surrounding buildings and garden were finished about five years later. At the time we visited there was not a wall around the complex as there is today.... and we chose to see it three or four times, once in the middle of the night as it stayed open through the night. 

At all times there was at least one priest guarding the interior tombs.  It was only on the night-time visit that I realized that there were two sets of tombs.  I had already seen the false sarcophagi of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan during the day but their actual graves are at a lower level which the priests revealed that evening.  We were able to step down into that marble enclosure. 

Also that evening, I started chanting a melody inside the tomb's main chamber.   It was clear that the interior main building is an echo chamber.  To my surprise one of the priests began to chant in unison with me and Roger joined in as well.  There were only a few of us in the building in the middle of the night so we chanted softly together.  Only after we exited, did I see the sign that said no shouting, talking or singing inside the tombs.  

Another story is that in the visit that night we were approached by a young boy of about 14 who wanted to be our guide.  This was/is the usual practice for young enterprising youngsters in India.  We agreed and he showed us around. As we wandered outside to the platforms surrounded by the tall towers, we saw what looked like a human body floating down the Yamuna river very close behind the Taj Mahal. 

 Even more startling was the great vulture perched on the floating corpse. 

 "Yes", explained our young guide, " if a person has no family he is not burned but is tossed into the river to float away." 

It was these types of experiences in India that opened our eyes to the differences offered to challenge our tight little bundle of ideas. 

And this is why I have always thought of India as a wondrous, spiritual place, full of mystery and new ways of seeing.

Taj Mahal, India,  Photo by Roger Marchese

Nearing dusk at the Taj Mahal, 1983  Photo by Roger Marchese

Memories of India: 1983

In 1983,  Monsieur and I and his cousin, Roger Marchese were invited by the last Maharaja of Jaipur ( Bubbles) to attend the wedding of his brother, Maharaj Jai Singh which was to take place in India.  

  We were part of a large party of mostly British that we had met through our friend Russian Prince George Galitzin ,who monsieur knew from his many trips with him to Russia.  He and his wife Jean lived in London where we made frequent visits. 

 During and after the wedding, we spent at least a  week visiting the glories of what's known as India's"Golden Triangle": New Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, the sites where the wedding took place.    

Bubbles, as he was affectionately still called until his death in 2011, got his name from the celebration of his birth when purportedly huge quantities of champagne were poured out. The story we heard was that it was put into all of the fountains.

 As the first male heir born to a reigning maharaja of Jaipur for generations (all others, including his father having been adopted) his birth was celebrated throughout Jaipur. 

His real title was Brigadeer Maharaja Sawai Bhawani Singh , the last titular Maharaja of Jaipur before all of his titles and privileges were removed when India abolished princely states. 

 However, for this and other family ceremonies he was able to use his original homes and palaces.  It was Bubbles who sent us each an invitation. 


Roger, Kerry's cousin, has just sent these photos taken from that trip. He has gone to a lot of trouble to have them digitalized.  Now I am reliving that transformative week all again. 

 It is interesting how young and naive I seem, posing in front of all the sites as if the Indians were models put their for my convenience.  But I was young and I still say I was lucky to have been there.  

I am going to post some of these photos to indulge myself and remember those days.   And I will talk about a few of the memories that have stayed with me for 35 years.  

The wedding itself took place in New Delhi and Agra with the ceremonies ending in Jaipur.   The bride remained veiled all through the three days of rituals.   Some of these rituals included priests tossing ghee as the couple made circles around him,  the husband tying his garment to hers as a symbol of their unity.  

Throughout the prayers, people left their seats for refreshments, returned and talked quietly with each other.  With such extensive rites we were not expected to sit through everything. 

 I remember also in New Delhi, a visit to the home of a female relative of the bride.  There we saw a sumptuous collection of her sari's.   Many were woven with gold or silver threads and all were displayed rolled on bolts on a wall of shelves, much like a shop.   

On November 18th in Delhi,  we were invited to a magnificent dinner celebration at the City Palace.  I wore an elaborate brocade dress that I had made in San Francisco.  I paired this with dangling paste earrings (which I still own).  That evening, an Indian gentleman approached my husband and complimented him on his taste in buying me such magnificent diamonds.  

In India, a large variety of gems are mined and are thus abundant. All of the ladies at the dinner wore elaborate jewelry of real stones.  However, I was bemused to think that my earrings could be thought of as the real deal.  

 Another surprise for me was that no one left his or her used plate on the buffet table at the end of the meal.   All the Indians discreetly place their dirty plates under the table cloth that reached to the floor.  That way, they were out of sight. 

  Mary and Monsieur, India ... Photo by Roger Marchese

A group picture of the wedding guests invited from England ,  Photo by Roger Marchese

I take a ride on a camel with my cavalier at my side. Photo by Roger Marchese

The famous "red fort" in New Delhi,  photo by Roger Marchese

  We then visited the historic Red Fort in Delhi.   It was the main residence of the emperors of the Mughal dynasty for nearly 200 years until 1856.    The fort is located in the center of Delhi and houses a number of museums.   In addition to accommodating the emperors and their households,  it was the ceremonial and political center of the Mughal state and the setting for events impacting the region.  The red fort was built in 1639 by Emperor Shah Jahan.  

Street musician,  India  Photo by Roger Marchese

MaryM Payne 1983: Photo by Roger Marchese

Photo by Roger Marchese

 India,   Photo by Roger Marchese.

We encountered many street beggars and gypsies in India.   They are a beautiful and joyful people despite being at the bottom of the societal ladder.   We did notice that some of the lowest caste Indians would cut off the arm of a child to illicit more sympathy when the child became a beggar.  Their belief was that if you are in a low caste there is no rising up in this lifetime.  Instead you must be the best beggar you can be.   I am not sure if the Gypsies of India consider themselves in the lowest caste. 

My monsieur in India 1983, Photo by Roger Marchese

Mary M Payne 1983, Photo by Roger Marchese

Notice the elephant tusk Indian wedding bracelet I am wearing in this photo.  I still own it, although it has long since been illegal to sell or buy ivory.  But that, as I say, was a different time.  I bought it in the government regulated shop in Delhi.

Russian Prince George Galitzin 1983, Photo by Roger Marchese

Today's little bit of art ....

Remember Kahil Gibran?

Everyone in my generation read Kahil Gibran, the Lebanese poet and artist who wrote "The Prophet" in 1923.   I came across this quote and put it into one of my art journals.   "We live only to discover beauty.  All else is a form of waiting. " 

 I often feel this way, no let's face it I always feel this way.  If I am not trying to create a little spot of beauty then I am waiting for the chance to get back to that.  

The interesting thing about this quote now is how much the definition of beauty has changed.  But the idea is still valid.   We are often searching for our own concept of order, harmony and beauty.  

Tilt your screen to get the best colors.