I wished to try to explain how it
feels to be an artist and paint.
I will talk about two different
experiences.
working on three large paintings all at the same time - Dec 2015
This painting I worked on for three
weeks. And I dance and enjoyed the building up the layers of paint.
Great satisfaction and joy.
In the final stages of working on this
painting I feel like an egg. I feel like an egg being dropped from
an airplane. Sky diving or suicide. I am completely alive. My heart
is beating so passionately. I can feel the red blood pumping like a
volcano. But it is more like drinking a fine wine. The wine swims
and washes the palette of my mouth. I eat a perfectly grilled steak
off the barbeque that had been marinated in Montreal steak spice.
Roasted vegetables with pink Himalaya sea salt and ground pepper and
extra virgin olive oil. The wine just wash everything down.
Everything is blended and mixed. I savor the moment. I am not in a
rush everything slows down, pay attention. I actively participate in
this conversation with my canvas. I feel perfectly content. My heart
grows. My blood warms.
I walk out off the plane. I fall into
the sky. My soul is open to everything. Thousands of butterflies are
released. I am naked. I am completely vulnerable. All my senses are
sensitive. My nose smells the perfume air like a lover that has
blanketed herself over me. I am distilled, cocooned, nested in this
perfect intimate moment.
I keep falling and falling. I am that
fragile egg that is falling. I hold nothing back. My heart is open. I
give and give. I touch the canvas with great tenderness and abundant
generosity. I approach this precious moment like I am holding my
daughter's hand as we walk in a park. We stop to pick flowers. We
sit in the long golden grass. I thread some wild daisies into chains
and place them in her hair. Each petal is so delicate. She is my
jewel.
All the crocuses, tulips, daffodil
bulbs bloom inside and break through my skin like spring. I get goose
bumps, or perhaps frostbite... as it sometimes is very cold. Blue
blood. I feel everything. I cut myself open. The zipper of soul is
undressed and my skin is left on the ground like a snake skin. I keep
bleeding and I keep believing.
work table and palette
I empty over 50 large tubes of paint in
under two hours. It is a massive party. I have all the voices singing
inside my head. It is a house party where all my friends celebrate
creativity and we all drink, dance and share love. There are no
rules, only pure freedom.
I keep falling... the egg is falling
and falling. This moment continues.. and I hold this bliss.
Then I have reached the submit of the
mountain. I have reached the top of K2 in my creative mind. And then
suddenly the egg hits the ground. And everything inside me has
exploded on the blank canvas.
Painting along the Ottawa River in Aylmer.
oil on canvas. 30 x 72 inches. Nov - Dec 2015
Price: $4000
Then there is second moment that I would wish to share with you. I worked on the painting over over a week. I will talk about the last day of working on the painting.
I am painting along the Ottawa River in
Aylmer. It is extremely windy. This time I have both winter boots
feet on the ground. I am not in a plane. But it is winter and the
winter wind is strong and cold. I feel like a little boy that is
trying to fly a kite. The ghost of my father is beside me. My mother
is holding me despite living on the other side of the country. Just
because they are not next to me does not mean that they are not with
me. I am alone. I do my best to embrace the freedom of myself.
Sometimes it is not easy. And I say to myself. Being alone is being
in good company. But a painting is not a lover. It is not a friend.
It does not hold you. It does not kiss you. You do not snuggle a
painting.
Working on a painting... winter winter winter day... lol
So I am that little boy trying to fly
his kite on a very windy day. But as I become more centered. More
creative. As I become the painter that is falling into the rainbow of
pigments in his canvas. I leave my body. I forget that it is cold. I
am a soul. I am energy. I am the wind. I am the snow blowing in the
wind. There is an invisible energy that flows in the current of my
soul. I am that snow flake that melts on my face. I am transforming.
I am.... I am alive in that moment.
taking break to make a snow angel - :)
I am that kite that is blowing around. But the wind is so strong. The kite speeds up, spins around around and around. But the wind is wild and out of control. So the kite nose dives to the ground. My palette blows 20 plus feet across the field. My canvas blows off the table - throws itself. I am lucky that the canvas does not break. My bones are stronger. I eat nails for breakfast. I am Rocky. I am do not accept failure. I embrace the pleasure and the pain equally. It is intensely cold outside. For a second my fingers are really cold. They feel like I hit them with a hammer. My fingers are screaming. And I am unplugged from the electricity, as I have to go get my canvas that blew, flew, and landed on the snow ground. Blue blood. Red blood. I am that kite. I get my palette and brushes. I have to smile. I smile and embrace the crazy beautiful moment. I am not complaining. I am sharing. I love the intensity of everything.
My palette and canvas blown away
So I continue to be that boy trying to
learn to fly his kite. It is a dream. A crazy dream. The wind gets
more turbulent. I am doing my best to satisfy my soul. The painting
blows crazy... it will not stay still. So I feel like I am play
fighting with a lover. I pin her down in the bed of my mind. Try to
kiss her. She is resisting. So I need to use gentle strength. She is
trying to tickle me. And I do not wish to goof around. I want to
make tender passionate love. But mother nature is wanting to play
fight. I refer to the canvas as a woman... (but really this is
asexual reproduction... lol). No judgment please. Just a metaphor.
:)
I put the painting on the ground... less likely to blow away.
Well I massage the canvas. I caress
every inch of the surface. I am a baker making bread. A carpenter. I
am a make up artist putting mascara on her beautiful eye lashes. I
am a proud father that is changing my daughter's diaper. I am the
gardener who is taking time to pull out the weeds. I am the clown
trying to make you laugh and add happiness to your day. I also feel
like a fool... for every moment is lost in time and these paintings
are not alive. Empty tubes of paint. Blank canvases. And these
paintings are not water, they are not sunshine that makes flowers
grow. Everything is Art. Art is not everything. But if sure is a
dream to make art.
Thank you for reading. Please leave a
comment.
Live Love Art
Patrick John Mills
