I felt strong enough this morning to do some weeding. That might have been pushing things, but it seems common sense to me that to heal I must push my current limits. I know if I push too hard, I could slow healing, but if I don’t push at all, I could delay healing more.
When I came back into my studio, I kicked my clogs off and looked at my paintings. I noticed that almost all were tidily encased within the edges of their canvases. Only Pink broke through the limits of its borders. Is the same common-sense idea of pushing limits as true for composing paintings as it is for healing?
An edge creates and defines a space. Within that space, the center is found by drawing two diagonals to connect opposite corners. The center of a painting is calm, stable; too stable for most artists. Stability equals stasis in art. A painting needs energy, not calm. Motion, not stasis, creates meaning.
That much I seem to have understood before, but why have I not applied the same ideas of motion and energy to edges? I don’t know. It’s such an obvious tactic for opening a painting’s potential. This will change today; edges will shatter.
Perhaps if I were seeking inner peace, then the center, the point of stillness, would be the place I’d need. But a still, small place is not helpful in either the fight to heal or to become an artist. There is a time for stillness, but I must not let it be now.
