A Way of Knowing…and Being

11/13/21

Incidentally, today is the one year anniversary of my mother’s death. More on that later.

As I begin Pat Allen’s book Art Is a Way of Knowing, I already know that I do not want to get lost in a sea of learning technique. I in no way mean to disparage the importance and value of technique and craft. And I fully understand a firm grasp of technique is essential to produce paintings in the Chinese tradition. I will continue to learn this craft, with the assistance of instructor and classmates, at a pace that works for me. But, as I read this book, I’m immediately lit up by the possibility of creating images that simply give expression to my inner voice, unfettered by outer expectations or frameworks, images that give voice to my soul. Yes, that words resonates powerfully for me, whether I can define it or not. I intend to make this sort of image-making central to my practice for this class. The media at least for now, and the starting point, are traditional Chinese tools and techniques, and I intend to treat them with the utmost respect, while also allowing myself to experiment, explore, and play. Everything in my life seems so regimented now, especially since starting this PhD program, I feel I’m always struggling to block out my time efficiently, and to absorb huge amounts of technical information. I don’t want my arts apprenticeship to become one more area where I have to absorb tons of information and subject myself to stress and measurement. I want this to be for me. I need this to be for me. And Allen’s mention of feeling that she “didn’t exist,” of feeling “split off from sunlight and laughter,” resonate all too well for me. I guess I hunger for embodiment and integration, and I’m hoping this arts exploration process can lead me down that path. Once upon a time perhaps music served this purpose, and maybe in some ways it can, but music is way too familiar, and way too fraught, to really give me what I need here. I want to experience the new, the novel, but safely. I really feel the need to be a child again, to be childlike, to approach a new thing with wonder and not trepidation. As an adult, and quite frankly, much of the time as a child, dread and anxiety were my prevalent emotions. Growing up as the child of two alcoholics, mostly raised by my single mom who struggled with multiple substance abuse disorders and psychiatric diagnoses, I learned at a very early age how unsafe the world can be, and my attempts to cope with this were centered around staying logical, organized, and in control. I guess I thought if I could just understand, I could be safe.