Igor’s Cat, Dental Work, and the Incubating Artist

Igor Lukyanov of Ukraine, a brilliant artist, sent me the most gorgeous piece to hang on my wall.  I am having it professionally printed, and framed, and it will go in my studio.  I predict that in the future, this man’s work will be fetching record prices at Sotheby’s.  Seriously.  Look at this and tell me I’m wrong:

Artist: Igor Lukyanov - and if you steal this I will hunt you down and do terrible things to your front porch.

God bless you and your family, Igor.  You are my artistic hero!  Brilliant inspiration!  The colors in your work always remind me of Anatole Krasnyansky, your countryman.  Thank you so much for this reminder to “stay with God”.  I really needed this inspiration.

After being away for awhile, it feels a little strange to come back and blog again.  A bit like saying, “Hey!  Notice me again!”  I hope that is not how it is perceived but that’s what I fear.  I have a lot to say since so many things have happened in the last 2 months and if you’re even reading this, it means you must have at least some tender feeling for me, if only to pity me and say to yourself, “Poor thing – she still has no life, and is back again.”

I went to Mexico, had my dental work done and I am now healing up quite nicely. It was at once, as bad as I thought, and not as bad as it could have been.  As my father always says whenever I start a new project:  “No matter what it is, it will always take longer and cost more, than you expect.”  As usual, His Pessimisstic Highness was right.  Even though I went to Mexico, it did end up costing a lot more, but still less than in the States, and I ended up with an unexpected result.  I also had to stay 2 days longer than I expected, but at least I got out before the riots really got into full swing.  All I can say about the situation in Mexico is:  Go there for your dental work, but keep your head down, blend in and take plenty of clean underwear.  It really is a war zone.  Also, don’t let anyone bleach your teeth.  That’s all I will say, except that my experience with that can be summed up as:  Injury, meet Insult.

I have spent the last month in bed, mainly, and working shorter hours.  This has led to a great deal of personal frustration.  I have had to learn to eat again and it’s a wierd feeling.  My bottom lip is getting a new education on how to keep food in my mouth, along with this weird metal appendage.  Vitamins have really helped in my healing along with plain old bed rest and salt water rinsing.  Vitamins have given me the energy to take a shower, get up and change the TV channel manually, and generally sprint back and forth between the couch and the refrigerator.

I haven’t had much energy to paint but when I do, I have had to use a stool in front of my easel which kind of throws me off and makes me frustrated.  But I have had lots of time to think and absorb so many things that I found too large and cumbersome before my surgery.  For instance, I have had loads of time to just sit and ponder the different directions art has taken me in the last 25 years.  And I’m finally proud to say that in all, I have experimented in almost every medium and art movement there is.  This isn’t to say that I am brilliant in any of them.  In fact, in most of them I can confidently say I really gave “bad” new meaning.  (My forays in the field of  “portraiture” can be described as “stunningly drab” and “conceptual suicide”. )  But I look back over 25 years and I laugh with triumph because without even realizing it, I was fearless.  When people told me I “couldn’t” do something, my response was to say “piss off” (as soon as their back was turned of course, which makes it all acceptable) and go do it anyway.  The truth was I wasn’t smart enough to know when I “couldn’t” do something.

So as an artist, I’ve been incubating for a very long time, and my breakthrough is finally here.  Most people think that when an artist “finds their niche” it means that they finally know what and how to paint/or create whatever.  That may be it, but not always.  It just means that they finally throw their arms around themselves and say, “You’re not so bad and suicide (or cutting off an ear) isn’t the answer.  If you stick around another day, you’re bound to piss somebody off, and that’s “art” too isn’t it?”    (Pissing people off seems to be my speciality, when it comes to art form.  They either love my work or they hate it.)

So, in honor of that, today after my dental appointment, I intend to get a piece of wood, and paint the word “Defiance” on it.  My concept is, a black background, and glow-in-the-dark paint, the letters in a fine calligraphy.  Maybe even my own handwriting (which is pretty beautiful if I do say so myself).  I’m going to hang it over my bed so that in the night, when my soul overtakes me, I will remember who I am and that sticking around for another day is a work of art.

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