the uselessness of nostalgia

Nostalgia was a word I always battled with in graduate school. I would throw it around unaware of the weight it would bear, especially when using it in the presence of my art history professors.  In her book On Longing, Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection, Susan Stewart looks at our desires and the "social disease of nostalgia," where  the present is denied and the past takes on an authenticity of being. Nostalgia is a sadness; a longing for something that is inauthentic because it is not part of a lived experience. It looks towards a utopian past, which only exists in an ideological reality. The point of desire that nostalgia seeks is the desire for desire; an absence of the mechanism of desire. 
I just returned back from a weekend at home where my youngest brother was married. My parents farm always hits a soft spot with me, especially in the fall. It is nostalgic. A very sentimental longing for the past; memories of childhood on the farm. 


While my parents farm is one of my most favorite places to be, the present is not. I have to constantly remind myself to be present, even in the midst of pain and suffering. I want to fast forward to another time or go back to the past before Winona. While I know that I am wasting my days, hours and minutes thinking about months from now and months ago, anxious energy just keeps me moving away from today, from this very minute. The uselessness of nostalgia. Nostalgia directs us away from the present and accentuates the reality that ALL things are temporal. None of us have what we have today forever, nor will we continue to have what we had forever. So is it possible to just watch and listen, taste and smell, all that we have this very minute?


"May we go back, then, to the floor of pebbles beneath the water and the fish in the sunlight's ripping net. . . . and watch?"-Alan Watts

decid(e)uous

I should have mentioned in my previous post (up in my tree) that the tree I sit up in is a deciduous tree. An important distinction to make because these trees are ever changing. They offer a different view once a new season rolls around. Six weeks after Winona's passing, we are now in the midst of a new season. After a long hot, and pregnant summer, the fall air and rain is a welcome change. And a changing season marks the passing of time. The past six weeks have been the longest and hardest I have ever encountered. I am a different person than I was six weeks ago, and the view from up in my tree is also a different one.

About a year ago, when I first started this blog, I wrote about "seeing through the leaves." I wrote how while out for a walk with my oldest daughter I started to see things I hadn't noticed before. The fallen leaves begun to open up things that were once hidden. This is me today. As I sit still perched in my tree, I have begun to see a new view. The state of grief evolves from day to day. But it is also true that my deciduous tree has begun to reveal a beautiful view; that I was so blessed to have carried, gave birth to and met my daughter Winnie. That she has given me and everyone around me more than any of us could have ever expected. That she is an angel who has taught me all about the fragility of life, and that life is not without death. She has taught me love, for that is all she ever knew, and for that I am grateful.

It is true that what I do with my grief and loss of Winnie is up to me. The loss of Winnie was much like the loss of leaves on deciduous trees. Leaves fall as an act of nature, out of anyones control. Losing Winnie was out of my control. But I can still decide to see the fall colors, and then empty branches covered in snow, and then tiny buds growing to reveal a rebirth. For life keeps moving, out of our control. It is the view that we can decide on.

forgiveness

forgiveness is.

one of these days i will start painting again. one of these days i will cook again. one of these days i will smile at the pregnant women i see and women with new babies. time will not stand still. my canvas, my presence, will not be empty. this will be me standing here down from my tree. i will be here and ready. i will forgive the past for taking so much and for the future giving so little. and art, the present, will again be about all that is beautiful and broken and tragic and forgiving. it will be about life, life and death, the deepest darkest depths of life.

"forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different."

sleeping canvas.

Everyone is tucked in under the night air. The crickets begin their chorus to the orange gleam of the streetlights. My midwife told me that most women go into labor in the middle of the night. When the rest of the world is asleep, these miracles begin to surface.

Sleep is something I have been thinking a lot about lately; how much of an opportunity I have for it these days but how little I use that opportunity. Ironically, I am up, unable to sleep, because I am thinking of how little sleep I should be getting.  I expected a year of no sleep and while I was slightly anxious about this, I am now overwhelmed and anxiety ridden with the amount of time I now have to sleep.  I imagine waking up every two hours to nurse, filling the empty space between my arms. I imagine my friends, (most of which just had babies) sleepwalking between beds, exhausted with the filled space of their hearts. For them, sleep is emptiness.

Sometimes, emptiness and sleep go hand in hand. Once you are able to empty your mind, you can find yourself more able to sleep. But emptiness can also be terrifying. An empty canvas has an unknown past and future. An empty canvas has a presence just waiting to find relevance. It is quiet emptiness that strangles; stillness that creeps up every nerve in your body awaiting for something to break. What is the present? The present should be sleep. The present should not be sleep. The present is an empty canvas.

the burden of love.

We watched her die. Five times. She stopped breathing, turned blue and cold. Helpless and yet at peace. And we grieved and cried and screamed. As we watched we tried to memorize every part of her knowing how little time we had left. Her fingers and toes, her tiny hands embraced beneath her chin, her hair, skin and shoulders. We were stuck smack dab in the middle of a feverish nightmare. Watching our little girl slip away from us. And then she gasped and fought and we had her with us for some more time until it happened again.

Winnie was so tired. She tried so hard. We wanted peace for her but selfishly wanted her to keep fighting so we could hold her for a few more days. The hardest lesson we will ever be asked to learn; that what was best for her was not in this life with us. That we would no longer hold her, feed her, watch her grow. The simplest things parents take for granted. We would have none of that.

The pain we feel, the distance this has created within ourselves, between us and the world has come from the burden of love. My empty tummy and arms are painful reminders of what we lost. Our house, stricken with silence and the reminder of her birth. I feel anger and emptiness, my milk spills out before me as a grim reminder of what I have lost. My belly soft from where she once thrived. I look forward to the days when the pain no longer constructs my very being. When the burden of love returns to joy.

emptiness. isolation. grief. memory. anger. pain. not a typical list you might expect when one is thinking of love. but when the source of love is taken away from you, this sort of list barely touches the surface, at least for now while the grief is still so deep.

We are vulnerable in love. Deep, joyous, painful love. The kind that just crushes you with joy. The kind that pins you down and squeezes the breath out of you. Love love love. I couldn't shout loud enough, run far enough, have held her any closer for those few days I had her to express the love I feel for her. I want so much more.

The burden of love is the pain it can cause. But I hold close that I will soon look back not at its burden but the strength it has given me, kindness, compassion. I will forever hold onto the shooting star I saw the night she was born, and again the morning she passed away. That is the kind of love that surrounds and embraces, that will get us through this. Winona, my silent companion for 38 weeks, my breathing, beautiful little girl for five days. You have given us so much and I wouldn't trade in that burden for anything.

up in my tree

Two weeks and 1 day ago I had a miracle. My daughter, Winona Michele, was born. Since then, I have been perched up in my tree looking down at the past, present and future trying to make sense of what happened and trying to hold onto the miracle that she was.

Little Winnie came into our lives just as quickly as she left. She died in my arms only five days after birth.

From up here in my tree time stands still. The past and future seem like impossible realms of time. I am neither moving forward or backward but beneath me the world keeps turning.

My Winnie kicked and pooped, she farted and sucked. She was beautiful.  She was mine. I touched every part of her, amazed at seeing what had grown within me for the past 38 weeks. But just five days is not enough to leave a significant mark on my memory. Some days I forget and hate myself for it. I never wanted to let her go, but knew that I had to.

So now I hold onto everything she was and could have been, every breath she worked so hard to take. I hold onto her strength and courage and her beating heart that tried so hard. I am so proud of her and proud to be her mom, but I miss her so much.

This post isn't directly about art, but life. And art is life; it tries to make sense of all that is beautiful, ugly, tragic, fleeting. Winnie brought us all of those things. And so, she brought us art. And soon, when I am ready to come down from my tree, I will compose what I can to share with the world all that I saw from up here in my tree and down there with Winnie.

Exhibition in Chicago at Gallery 19

Finch Lane Gallery Exhibition, Salt Lake City

Here is a link to a review of an exhibition of

mine in Salt Lake City, Utah. 

http://artistsofutah.org/15Bytes/index.php/andrea-jensen-at-finch-lane-gallery/

Cleaning House

check out these great deals on paintings! Contact me via my website if interested. ALL SOLD! Will post more discounted paintings soon!

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48" x42" $175

36" x 36" $125

12" x 12" $35

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12" x 12" $35

12" x 12" $35

12" x 12" $35

the art of craft

Recently found this great website chock full of ideas for things to make with little ones. Creativity needs maintenance. Why not put it to work while spending valuable time as a parent?

http://www.theimaginationtree.com/

Why I make art

I have performed this exercise before and if I remember correctly it didn't go well the first time. In the midst of having an emotional art making breakdown, I had decided I make art for me and that was that. Anyone who had a comment or disagreement about it could take it elsewhere.

How Trees Work, mixed media on wood, 2007

That was about six years ago now and it is amazing to see how much my life has changed since then and my intentions as an artist. Writing poetry in fleeting moments of adolescent love, living in complete idealism with nothing at stake, traveling for months at a time, risk-taking at the expense of no one (except maybe your parents), all I have moved on from. I will admit all of those things were great for creativity, and I often look back at previous paintings and crave those moments back.

But presently, why do I make art? While I don't have any passionate heartbreak or fleeting moment of individuality to create art about, I do have a very serious and passionate intention. The future of our planet instantly becomes most imperative when you bring a little one into this world. It is not us that will pay the price, it will be our children.  She has influenced me in a way no heartbreak, or solo trip to South America could ever do.
 

Tending to a relationship with the environment, ultimately becomes a tending to others and can inspire potential change. This relationship with our environment is what I would like to confront through my work. How can we cultivate mindfulness to become more aware of our environment?

There is no denying that art is a selfish act, but motherhood is a self-less act. The combination of the two have created a very interesting place in my present life. One that requires considerable management in order to strive towards both continuously with dedication and drive. 

enough said.

the balance game

Nearly five months have passed since a new chapter began in my life. Seven or so months ago, I was given an opportunity I had only dreamt of; to be a full time Professor of Art. It was a dream come true. Or was it? The catch was, not only would I lose valuable time with my now two year old daughter, but I would commute to Idaho, a 2.5 hours drive on a weekly basis. That is, I would spent Monday - Thursday in Idaho away from family. Needless to say, I was in quite a conundrum. Now, five months into it, my decision to accept the position remains in question.

How many mothers play this balance game? When you choose to go to the gym rather than play with legos. When the thought of a weekend away leads to unbearable feelings of guilt. When you take a job in another state to expand your resume, only to be saddened by missed moments.

Often we find ourselves wishing to be somewhere we are not. I knew that merely being offered the position had left me in a hole. That if I did not take it, I would have regretted that I hadn't. And if I did (and I did) I would constantly (and I do) wish that I hadn't.

What is the answer? How do we find balance between motherhood, art, work, life?

A friend of mine recently came out with a book that looks at the hardships of working mothers:
 http://www.michellecove.com/i-love-mondays.html

art's servant

"Money should never be the judge of art, but its servant." Most recently I seemed to have made money my servant and the judge of my art.  I have to find ways to justify spending creative time when there is no profit. This isn't to say that being an artist has ever been received by others with grand appreciation - 'do you want fries with that?' has been a common response. Now that time is so limited, I have to make real choices about the kind of work I am doing. Is it for myself? For others? Is it possible to successfully make art for others?

For the most part children are unaware of the real value of money, time, and material things. My daughter is the best painter I know. She approaches the paper with vigor and excitement. She goes crazy with colors and "fingerstrokes" of paint. And then she looks at me, laughs and continues to mosey around the house, hands covered in paint, creating an installation of color!

No one has figured out how to make money art's servant. In the meantime, I am still trying to figure out how to best use my time, my creativity and manage the family's budget.

the creativity crisis

Art is losing its funding all over the country, the reason some of the kids I work with at public schools have NEVER used paint. Shame on us for taking away such a valuable tool. "Imagination" has the word "magic" in it. Imagination could save us from a world which lives by the lie that money is the measure of all. Some have deemed it "The Creativity Crisis" - children's creativity is in rapid decline. http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2010/07/10/the-creativity-crisis.html

Please, go by some finger paints!

a true poet?

"A true poet does not bother to be poetical," said the poet Jean Cocteau. And perhaps one could say that a true artist should not bother to be artistic.

I have been filled with a certain anxiety about my role as an artist. I question where I stand with my work now and, since becoming a mom, the level of which I exist as an artist. Some days I think how easy it would be for me to hang my hat up on art making, so as to relieve some anxiety about the process involved and the productivity I expect from myself.

This past month I took a very part-time job in hopes that a few hours of work would pay for two days of daycare and allow me to get back into the studio. The transition was much harder than I expected. Not only was I filled with guilt about bringing my daughter to daycare twice a week, but I began to feel guilty if I wasn't spending my time in the studio effectively. (Define "effective" in the studio?) Is all the trouble worth a gamble on whether or not my art will ever prove successful? Amongst laundry, crying, fevers, feeding, dirty diapers, and playgroups will I ever have the bandwidth to invest in a well thought out and complete body of work?

My horoscope this week says: "Don't you dare try too hard or think too much or twist yourself like a contortionist to meet impossible-to-satisfy expectations. Trust the thrust of your simple urges." Perhaps if I don't bother to be artistic, an artist (and mother) I shall be.

the misunderstanding of clouds

A few images from the exhibition at Hous Projects. The show will be up until January 14, 2012.

milking the status quo

During an art discussion I participated in last week with a few local artists, we talked about the definition of success. What does it mean to be a successful artist? How does one qualify as such? Is it money, exhibitions, education, gallery representation?

Throughout my time at graduate school the route of success was quite specific; get as many shows as possible at the very best galleries, take risks in your work, while maintaining the status quo. Seems like quite a conundrum to me. How can you take risks when you are given such boundaries? What if I don't want to create installations?

There is also a status quo in the role as a mom; feed your baby organic, make sure they have adequate naps, study vaccinations carefully, never allow passive learning, breast feed for at least a year (the list continues). Neither the status quo of mothering nor that of the contemporary art world remind us to ask what is best for us.

In about two weeks I will have nursed my daughter for an entire year. For some women this might seem as an easy feat, but for me it was quite a struggle. (If I could count how many hours I have sat locked in that rocking chair) And yet, even as I approach a year I have asked myself if that is enough and, should I go on? How far can the status quo go? What is enough? How often do moms ask if they have done enough for themselves?

There are many different routes to success as an artist. Just as there are in being a mother. I have begun weaning Ila to milk; I have done enough. And I have to ask; can I get a milkshake with that?

the misunderstanding of clouds

Clouds are forms that are in perpetual transformation. Each is a metamorphosis of another. Similarly, the work shown in an exhibition the misunderstanding of clouds is constructed through a revision and restructuring of past paintings and billboard material. The constant transformation of discarded materials is meant to symbolize the cycle of clouds.

The exhibition opens December 8th at Hous Projects in New York City. www.housprojects.com

air born

The moment my daughter took her first breath is one I will never forget. She was born into air.

With wind gusts of up to 70 mph in Salt Lake City and the valley drenched in smog, I thought today might be the perfect opportunity to speak about air. Our air does all sorts of things; it brings in weather, it pollinates, it allows us to breathe. Air is also completely taken for granted. We live in it, for it and with it every second of our lives. What's not to love about air? We couldn't love, let alone LIVE, without it. Which makes it a really important thing for us to consider protecting.

The valley of Salt Lake City was missing this morning. It had sunk beneath pollution, a reminder of what we pump into our air heating our home, driving our car, mining for goods; habitual tasks.

It is so easy to get caught in the everyday. Much of the time we just want to get to tomorrow and forget about what we have today, taking those things for granted like the air we breathe. Since having my daughter, I like to consider what needs to be taken care of today so that she can have it tomorrow.

My most recent body of work begins a study of air - clouds, weather, pollution. The Misunderstanding of Clouds, opens December 8th in New York, NY.