"Queen of Working Mothers," oil on canvas, Maureen Foley, 2010
I no longer live in Louisiana. Strange but true. And like so many other times in my life, just before I left there was a sudden burst of creative energy that fizzled into a lull once I completed the move back to California.
What do I mean? Well, during the last two weeks of my Louisiana adventure, I modeled my wearable art piece "Sadness Jacket" at the Old Governor's Mansion in the 2011 Uncommon Threads Wearable Art juried show in Baton Rouge. My writing was accepted in Artichoke Haircut and Spittoon. I participated in a final poetry reading with the women in my Milk & Honey Writing Workshop at the Arts Council in Baton Rouge. And, I sold a painting to a fabulous new friend, artist Tina, and she is kindly helping me show my work on the East Coast the 70 Main Coffeehouse and Art Gallery. I felt dizzy and en fuego, like a whirling dervish of creative fire.
Jump to a stalled car in the desert, or me, now, my feet are now firmly on the ground and my face turned toward the joyous and infinite task of generating work. I have unpacked the paintings I produced in Louisiana, like the Queen of Working Mothers, and it is strange to know that my time there is over. From a hundred miles per hour, my creative engagement has slowed to the pace of flower sprouting its first tentative leaf up from the moist soil.
Still, the life here on the avocado ranch reminds me that there is always abundance: more weeds, more gophers, more leaves falling. Shows, workshops, sales, publications will all return, in time. I've set up a single workshop in October and have leads for a class in winter 2013. Slowly, a season changes. The creative life is full of cycles and patterns. Our job is to make sure the soil is ready for the rain.
What do I mean? Well, during the last two weeks of my Louisiana adventure, I modeled my wearable art piece "Sadness Jacket" at the Old Governor's Mansion in the 2011 Uncommon Threads Wearable Art juried show in Baton Rouge. My writing was accepted in Artichoke Haircut and Spittoon. I participated in a final poetry reading with the women in my Milk & Honey Writing Workshop at the Arts Council in Baton Rouge. And, I sold a painting to a fabulous new friend, artist Tina, and she is kindly helping me show my work on the East Coast the 70 Main Coffeehouse and Art Gallery. I felt dizzy and en fuego, like a whirling dervish of creative fire.
Jump to a stalled car in the desert, or me, now, my feet are now firmly on the ground and my face turned toward the joyous and infinite task of generating work. I have unpacked the paintings I produced in Louisiana, like the Queen of Working Mothers, and it is strange to know that my time there is over. From a hundred miles per hour, my creative engagement has slowed to the pace of flower sprouting its first tentative leaf up from the moist soil.
Still, the life here on the avocado ranch reminds me that there is always abundance: more weeds, more gophers, more leaves falling. Shows, workshops, sales, publications will all return, in time. I've set up a single workshop in October and have leads for a class in winter 2013. Slowly, a season changes. The creative life is full of cycles and patterns. Our job is to make sure the soil is ready for the rain.
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