The Evolution of Anastasia and a poem from Pablo Neruda

The good thing about having studio space away from home is that I get to spend a lot of time painting with minimal distraction (meaning time on the internet!), which is lovely…the bad thing about having minimal internet time is - my blog is sorely neglected.  This morning I am up early to get a jump on preparing a proper Sunday dinner for my two youngest children and their friends who are in town for the weekend.  While I'm waiting for the boiled eggs to cool enough so that I can peel them, I thought I'd chronicle the evolution of my most recent painting, Anastasia. 

 

 

 

Anastasia by Stacy Wills, 2015

(20" x 24" acrylic on canvas)

My other passion is poetry…sometimes the writing of it…but always the reading.  I delight in pairing  word and image…always in search of the right wine to accompany the meal…for this painting, a fine Pablo Neruda.

Poetry

And it was at that age…poetry arrived

in search of me.  I don't know, I don't know where

it came from, from winter or a river.

I don't know how or when,

no, they were not voices, they were not

words, nor silence,

but from a street I was summoned,

from the branches of night,

abruptly from the others,

among violent fires

or returning alone

there I was without a face

and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth

had no way

with names

my eyes were blind,

and something started in my soul,

fever or forgotten wings,

and I made my own way,

deciphering

that fire

and I wrote the first faint line,

faint, without substance, pure

nonsense,

pure wisdom

of someone who knows nothing,

and suddenly I saw

the heavens

unfastened

and open,

planets

palpitating plantations,

the darkness perforated,

riddled

with arrows, fire and flowers,

the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,

drunk with the great starry

void,

likeness, image of

mystery,

I felt myself a pure part

of the abyss,

I wheeled with the stars,

my heart broke loose on the wind.

-Pablo Neruda (1904 - 1973)

The Evolution of "Love Does"

 I am fascinated by how paintings evolve.

Especially when one does not start out

with a particular image in mind.  Such was

the case with this painting.  What began as

an abstract in which I wanted to simply use 

up the leftover paint from my last painting,

morphed into something else completely.

I have begun to photograph the stages that

my paintings go through.  I find it helps me

gain a different perspective and gives me

a new set of eyes with which to see what

needs changing or adding or more attention.

In the case of this abstract, I noticed the curve

of turquoise and thought it looked like the

edge of a halo - the kind saints have in icons,

and thus the journey began...

Doing the initial rough sketch.

Trying out different color combinations.

Hmmm...to add a cross...or

not.  This was a turning point.  A sadness crept in and

 I did not know if this was going to be a man or a woman.

I enjoy listening to spoken word pieces while I paint.

They may be audio books, podcasts, lectures, 

or even sermons.  At this juncture, I had begun 

to listen to a sermon in which the minister

referenced the story of Rizpah from the Old

Testament, which can be found  in II Samuel 21:8-14.

Now the story of Rizpah normally doesn't get a

whole lot of air time in sermons.  Hers is a sad, 

difficult and painful story.   In fact, in my

54 years, I do not recall ever having heard a

sermon about her.  So her story really got my attention,

and began to resonate on many different levels.

Rizpah exhibits a depth of love as she mourns and

grieves the unjust and untimely death of her two sons,

that puts everything else happening in the story into

 perspective.  Once the painting was complete, I went 

on to do more reading about Rizpah.  British Rabbi, 

Jonathan Magonet describes her as "every mother who

 sees her sons killed before their time for reasons of state, 

be they in time of peace or in war.  All that remains is for

 her to preserve the dignity of their memory and live 

on to bear witness and call to account the rulers of

 the world."  I also learned that Alfred Lord Tennyson

 wrote a poem entitled, "Rizpah," which reads in part:

"Flesh of my flesh was gone, 

But bone of my bone was left - 

I stole them all from the lawyer - 

and will you call it a theft? 

 My baby, my bones, that had sucked me, 

the bones that had laughed and had cried.

Theirs?  O no! they are mine - 

not theirs - 

they had moved in my side."

"Love Does" by Stacy Wills
(22" x 22" acrylic on watercolor paper)

I chose to name it, "Love Does," because that is the title
 of the sermon by Pastor Jon Stone of Renovatus Church
that I was listening to online which inspired the final
direction the painting took.  When all seems lost, and
   no one knows what else there is to do...Love does.

If You Want

Our Lady (Stacy Wills, 2014)

alcohol ink on tile + sacred altering

If You Want

If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the road

pregnant with the holy, and say,

"I need shelter for the night, please take me inside

your heart, my time is so close."

Then, under the roof of your soul, 

you will witness the sublime intimacy, 

the divine, the Christ taking birth, forever,

as she grasps your hand for help, 

for each of us is the midwife of God,

each of us.

Yes there, under the dome of your being

does creation come into existence eternally,

through your womb, dear pilgrim - the sacred womb

of your soul, as God grasps our arms for help:

for each of us is his beloved servant, never far.

If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the street 

pregnant with Light and sing.

-St. John of the Cross

(translation by Daniel Ladinsky)

Monks and Mystics and Archetypes - Oh My!

 Coming Up for Air (Stacy Wills, 2014)

collage on mat board

Cowabunga! (Stacy Wills, 2014)

collage on mat board

I am currently enrolled in an online Advent retreat (Birthing the Holy:  Advent & Christmas Retreat with Monks, Mystics and Archetypes)  through Abbey of the Arts.  In our work with archetypes, one of the creative exercises offered is the making of  SoulCollage cards.  Here are the two I've made thus far.  "Coming Up for Air" correlates with St. Hildegard of Bingen and the Visionary archetype, while "Cowabunga" is inspired by Brendan the Navigator and the Pilgrim archetype. Each card holds a powerful message for me, particularly at this point in my life.  SoulCollage is a very intuitive process, and you just never know what or who might show up!  

Refugee Mother and Child, a poem by Chinua Achebe

Mother and Child (Stacy Wills, 2014)

alcohol ink on yupo + sacred altering

Refugee Mother and Child

No Madonna and Child could touch

that picture of a mother's tenderness

for a son she soon will have to forget.

The air was heavy with odors 

of diarrhea of unwashed children 

with washed-out ribs and  dried up 

bottoms struggling in labored 

steps behind blown empty bellies.

Most mothers there had long ceased

to care but not this one; she held

a ghost smile between her teeth

and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's

pride as she combed the rust-colored

hair left on his skull and then -

singing in her eyes - began carefully

to part it... In another life 

this would have been a little daily 

act of no consequence before his

 breakfast and school; now she 

did it like putting flowers

on a tiny grave.

-Chinua Achebe (1930 - 2013)

Creation Song

Womb of Creation (Stacy Wills, 2014)

alcohol inks on yupo + sacred altering

Creation Song

What did

 you know 

of me

before you 

formed me

 in the womb?

What dreams

 did you dream

 for me?

What plans

 did you make

 for me?

What song

 were you singing

while knitting

 my bones?

-Stacy Wills (12/17/10)

Dove that ventured outside…a poem by Rilke

The Dove that Ventured Outside (Stacy Wills, 2014)

alcohol ink on yupo  4" x 6"

Dove that ventured outside, 

flying far from the dovecote:

housed and protected again,

one with the day, the night,

knows what serenity is,

for she has felt her wings

pass through all distance and fear

in the course of her wanderings.

The doves that remained at home,

never exposed to loss,

innocent and secure, 

cannot know tenderness;

only the won-back heart 

can ever be satisfied:  free,

through all it has given up,

to rejoice in its mastery.

Being arches itself

over the vast abyss.

Ah the ball that we dared,

that we hurled into infinite space,

doesn't it fill our hands

differently with its return:

heavier by the weight 

of where it has been.

-Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926)