​Gratitude 
I have been leading process painting workshops since 2012. Almost one hundred different people have painted with me. (97 to be exact!) Some came just once, but many of you have returned again and again.

I appreciate all of you and the opportunity to be part of your painting process. I love watching when you take me up on the invitation to be big, be messy, have fun and break the rules. Watching those magical moments is a pleasure that never gets old. Thank you. 

It is also a moving experience to be with someone when they are painting deep and complicated feelings. It is not easy, especially in a room full of other painters. If this is you, I am grateful for your trust and your willingness to be true to yourself.

And for those of you who have not yet attended a process painting workshop, thank you for your interest. It is nice to know that there are people that I have not even met who are curious about what I am doing and interested enough to read this far into the newsletter.

Happy Thanksgiving! I look forward to painting with all of you in 2016.

 Last month I went to a week-long painting retreat at the Ghost Ranch in Abiquu, New Mexico with Chris Zydel. One thing I noticed at the retreat was how different it was to do process painting surrounding by other painters, compared to painting at home. 

     At a painting retreat, I am there to paint. I know perfectly well that boredom means that I've touch with my inner experience. Still, when I get bored at home, I usually wander off to get a snack or check my email. At a retreat, there is nowhere else to go. If I stay with the painting and confront the resistance, the energy comes back. The result: less snacking and more profound paintings.

     At the retreat, I have another person serve as my facilitator. I am a fully trained facitlitator. I already know all the questions. Yet, there is something in the interaction with another person that gives me inspiration, insight and energy. 

     Painting in community also changes the energy. Even though no one is talking, the room becomes charged with a intense energy that inspires me to go deeper. 

     Finally, watching others paint opens up possibilities. At my very first workshop at Ghost Ranch, I was astonished by other people's paintings. While I worked to fill a single 2' x 3' sheet of paper, other people had paintings that sprawled across as many as a dozen sheets. People were using paint in surprising ways - using their hands, throwing paint with their brushes, squeezing glitter glue right onto the paper. There were images ranging from monsters to birds to naked lovers. From watching the others, I knew that whatever I wanted to do, it would be ok. ​

Instead of my usual essay, here some thoughts about art:

The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.            – Pablo Picasso

Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.     –Twyla Tharp

I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.           – Georgia O’Keeffe

Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.    – Henry Ward Beecher

And my favorite, another from Pablo Picasso,

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

The Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, said that no man can ever step in the same river twice, for its not the same river and he's not the same man.  Each time you come to a process painting workshop, you are physically in the same place, confronting an identical sheet of white paper. Yet the "you" of this moment is never quite the same as the "you" of last month. If you stay in touch with what is alive for you in the moment, you will never be bored while painting.

At the same time, the "you" of today is not completely different from the "you" of before. As a result, you may find certain elements will show up again and again like fires or rainbows. (For me, it is trees keep showing up.)Or you may repeat a satisfying gesture - swoopy lines or handprints. Sometimes a painter will say, "I don't want to paint hearts any more." I ask if she doesn't want to paint hearts or she just thinks that she shouldn't. My rule: If you don't want to paint hearts, don't. If you do want to paint hearts, ignore the voice of judgement who says that it is repetitive or cliché and listen to your intuition. After all, Monet painted many, many paintings of water lilies - each one special record of its unique time and place. So, come back to the studio and step into your process, a unique experience every time.

When you look at a painting, you see a fixed, unchanging image. Hidden within the image is the story of transformation and revelation. Every painting starts with a blank canvas. The artist, even a process painting artist, may be begin with an inspiration. It may be an image (I'm want to paint a tree, with gold leaves, beneath a purple sun) or a concept (I want to paint the sorrow I am feeling about my mother's death last year).

 But the goal in process painting is pay attention to what is happening as the painting develops, to hold those initial inspirations lightly and allow them to change and evolve over time. The painting purple sun is surrounded by silver rain. The gray and black shadows become the setting for a shiny heart. The bird finds itself grasped by giant claws. But even this is just one part of the process. As the painting continues, even new elements appear and things shift once again. The silver rains pours into a green hole. the heart acquires wings, the claws belong to a mother bird. And on it goes until eventually the painting reaches a point of equilibrium. Its story feels complete and it is done, finally becoming the fixed image seen by others. Yet the artist knows that picture embodies the act of painting and holds within it the story of its unfolding.

The best advice I heard recently for how to start doing intuitive painting was, "Paint like a four year old". After all, when four year old children draw, they don't worry about whether the dog looks like a dog or if their drawing is beautiful or means something. They just do it. They use line and color instinctively to express themselves. They may draw pretty flowers growing under a smiling sun or robots eating airplanes or flowers growing out of robots heads. And it is all OK. Since each of us was a four year old, once upon a time, we each have the capacity to draw in that natural intuitive fashion. This is my invitation to you - forget about all the parents, teachers and art experts that have taken residence in your brain and come and spend a morning painting like a four year old.