Aussie Dreams

Someone posted a question in the guest book, which needs fixing—leaving my name as the sender.

“Dear Eden,

“At which point can/should the artist’s true voice be free of conditioning and culture—In Australian Aboriginal language, there are many words equivalent to ‘we’ but no word to say ‘I’. The tribe is all there is, and tradition is law. Their artistic inspiration is what they call ‘my (my tribe’s) dreaming’ yet Australian contemporary Aboriginal Art is considered the only real original ‘art movement’ since the 80’s. Any thoughts?”

My response:

When an outsider inquired as to why the Aboriginal man made cave art, he replied: “I don’t make art … the hand spirit makes art.”

The Aboriginal man’s answer implies that his art is born out of spirit, not ego.

If there is no word for ‘I’ in the lexicon, then each person must have a name to distinguish one from another.

Tradition and culture are not the enemy. Mindless tradition and culture are the culprits. Following tradition means repetition. Breaking free from the past demands courage and a vision. Then, no longer entrapped by the opinion of others, the artist creates new work, evolved work, unique work.

“Australian contemporary Aboriginal Art is considered the only real original ‘art movement’ since the 80’s.”

Who says so?

Art is not about trends, movements, fashion, or wavering tastes.

Art isn’t an ‘ism’. All the ‘isms’ that define the various art movements over the years have nothing to do with the creation of art. Who will be the next groundbreaking artist? This isn’t up to the artist who does what he does. There is only one breakthrough in art of any value to the artist, and that is truth.

Multitasking

For those who missed the Xanadu Webinar as noted in my previous post with me as guest speaker, you can hear the audio here. I feel you will find the information of great value.

Jason Horejs, who generously hosted the Webinar, is the progressive and forward thinking owner of the successful Xanadu Gallery in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Note that Jason is also the author of “Starving to Success”—a fine primer on how to best approach galleries with your artwork.

If you are interested in participating in this valuable free event, register by clicking on the link here.

J. Jason Horejs, owner of the Xanadu Gallery in Scottsdale, AZ, and I will discuss topics listed above and more.

Please pass on this information to artists (and art lovers) who might find this Webinar of value. Thanks.

Aldo Liberated

Here’s something I had to see to believe.

I’ve written about Sweetie Boy’s passing in the previous post. I knew I’d miss him, but didn’t realize how much.

Those reading my blog posts may be aware that I also have a rescued parakeet, Aldo. You can read more about this remarkable bird by typing ‘Aldo’ in the search field on the right and down below.

Sweetie Boy and Aldo have been next to each for the past year in their separate cages. They would often chirp back and forth, and it seemed that they might be speaking with one another.

I had some success in hand training Aldo who would perch on my finger for his treat inside his cage. But, he wouldn’t come out of his cage, despite any enticements. He felt quite content and safe inside his aviary-like birdcage.

The next day in the evening after Sweetie Boy had died, Aldo came to one of the cage doors and began chirping. I opened the door, and to my amazement, he hopped out, went over to Sweetie Boy’s cage, looked here and there, and began making mournful peeps, as if trying to call him out.

It was clear that Aldo was aware that Sweetie Boy was no longer present. I was humbled by Aldo’s compassionate behavior.

I sat on the floor with Aldo’s millet treat. He looked down and flew onto my hand for a nibble. So, there we were—Aldo no longer cage bound and both of us missing Sweetie Boy.

P.S. The doggie in the picture is Larry, my beloved Yorkie who is missed each day.

Tan Girl (detail)

Some years ago when my dear mother, Adele, would visit me in Los Angeles, we would often trek down from my house in the Hollywood Hills to the Starbucks opposite the Beverly Center on La Cienega Boulevard.

This Starbucks was one of their flagship stores with lots of open space, huge windows, and live music in the early afternoon. We would spend quality time there, as she had her tea or decaf, and I a cappuccino. I always brought my color pencils and museum quality art papers.

On this occasion, we were sitting at a table near one of the windows that overlooked a small plaza with outside tables. I began drawing, and my mother took in her favorite sport: people watching. A young couple sat down at the outside table directly across from the window. They were talking in earnest and we could see their profiles.

The girl’s deep tan was offset by her wavy blond hair.

By this time, I had been working for about a half hour on my drawing; and it already contained a fully developed profile of a young woman. “Take a good look at the girl’s profile in the window,” I said, and my mother did.

I then showed her my color pencil drawing. Adele brought her hand to her mouth in a wildly excited gasp. The girl in my drawing was the precise look-alike of the girl beyond the window.

“How can this be?” Adele said. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

I shrugged. “Ma, it’s art magic in the afternoon.”

My mother smiled and kissed me on the cheek, as a string quartet played in the background.