Under the Tuscan Sun
I just returned this past week from a two-week work trip to the heart of the Italian bread basket. In a province of Siena, Spannocchia Castle sits atop a hill, as many medieval estates do, and at the end of a meandering two kilometers of dirt and dust driveway. It’s a beautiful place with many outbuildings and picturesque villas that dot the property. As a working organic farm, it sustains fruit and vegetable crops, and heritage-breed cattle and pigs, producing olives and olive oil, grapes and wine, and cured meats.
This place was a beautiful backdrop for IDSVA first-year students while they worked intensively on their papers and several presentations each. On the peripheries of this rigorous academia, I waited in the wings to offer rides to town, trips to the pharmacy, miscellaneous support, and spent a good deal of the time learning about and taking photo documentation.
Spannocchia became a bit of home for a bit, and I found myself easing into a quieter way of life while increasingly missing my family. I turned 40 there, and on the morning of my birthday the receptionist handed me a tote bag filled with fresh-cut wildflowers, honey, and olive oil. Also included, was a xerox of a a handwritten note from home - beautiful words from my husband, the traced hand of my three year old, and a wacky little duck picture drawn by my son.
In moments of sudden unexpected emotion, one finger up is universal in all languages.
The day also included a run before the afternoon heat, the last bits of flourish to a previously begun watercolor, and lovely recognition from my IDSVA colleagues around the communal dinner table that evening. To say it was the perfect way to ring in my 40th would not capture it accurately.
In addition to bolstering reflection on our human connections, Spannocchia is a place that embraces the natural world in a symbiotic way. The wildlife is plentiful, and on my frequent long walks down the winding dirt road I saw fox, boar, jackrabbits, deer, birds and so many lizards. I also lived with every kind of creepy, crawly, super-sized bug I could imagine including millipedes, centipedes, and one f--king huge spider. That bit of mother nature took some work to tolerate!
I’m still unpacking (physically) and just beginning to unpack (mentally) the treasures and the mess that lay at my feet. I’m working to organize it, but I’m also taking some time to sit in my studio and wipe off the cobwebs that cling to current projects- just to observe for now. I always miss my family first, but the studio is a close second, and it feels good to clean it and observe the timeline of art that lines the walls. Many of these are works in progress or part of a body of work yet to be realized. I am dying for some real time with all of it.
Before I left for Italy I had prepped two new very large paintings. I am really excited about the underpainting of one of them. Meanwhile, I finally made the pointed decision to set two slightly smaller paintings aside- at about 80% to 90% done. I think any final strokes I make to these will be dictated by the aesthetic decisions I make on the next pieces. I want to find the thread of communication between them before I make any moves to “finish” them, if that makes sense.
Or, maybe I’m procrastinating. That’s probably some of it. I get a little scared to finish a painting, and I am absolutely terrified putting my signature on a final work! What is it about saying “it’s done” that can illicit such a strong reaction in the artist? Putting a painting out into the world for final judgement is hard, and when the journey toward its completion has been marked as over, ushering a new journey must begin.
Any journey takes effort. You don’t know where it will lead, it consumes your energy, and it takes you to unexpected places. That can be scary, or at least overwhelming to think about starting the process all over again. But it’s less scary if you can remove self-doubt by taking the pressure of it to be great. Once you get going it’s almost euphoric, the energy finds you, and sometimes “great” really does happen. At meandering poetic moments picking over dark spots in my mind, I’m reminded of an important observation made by a remarkable individual.
“You have many many wonderful gifts. What might trip you up is the worry that they won’t be enough.”
At this point in the conversation my stone had felt very much unturned. There was an affirmation in being seen, and also a vulnerability at the realization that my self-doubt was not hidden after all. Part of my work as an artist has been to come to terms with the journey as it finds me. “What is it to be an artist?” “Am I still an artist if I don’t sell my art?” “What is GOOD art?” These questions are most certainly fodder for a later conversation or blog post. I’m giving myself a lot to hash out, but I’m up for the challenge. Despite the crawlers that writhe in the depths of an occasionally anxious mind… I feel found, I feel affirmed, and I feel strong in my sense of self. I can take on the journey. I have the tools.
Arrivederci, friends.
