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Trust - work in progress by katharhino

Feeling good about this one. 

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The Blacksmith II by katharhino

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I want to study these brushstrokes for a while

Alfred Munnings (English, 1878-1959)

Mendham, the Mill Pool near the Artist’s Home

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Just the right amount of detail to tell a story.

Waiting, Jéan Beraud, c.1900

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COLORRRRRRR.

Daniel Garber (American, 1880-1958)

Corn, 1908

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Cecilia Beaux (American, 1855 – 1942): Ernesta (Child with Nurse) (1894) (via The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

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Source: Wikimedia 

Seen via Lines and Colors

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I do love a good sketch

Charles Arthur Wheeler (Australian, 1881-1977)

The Artist

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The rhythm and color scheme are just really lovely. 

Charles Arthur Wheeler (Australian, 1881-1977)

Fitzroy Gardens

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Sewing III - detail by katharhino

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Sewing III by katharhino

Final painting of the semester! Loved the lighting on this one.

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The Blacksmiths by katharhino

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That background. That perfect balance of high and low contrast....

Maria Wiik (Finnish, 1853 – 1928): Lilacs in a vase (1882) (via Bukowskis)

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Oh hey, a still life with luminous back lighting. 

Anna Munthe-Norstedt (Swedish, 1854 - 1936): Still Life (1889) (via Bukowskis)

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Bertha Wegmann (Danish, 1847 - 1926): Tender moments (via Sotheby’s)

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Anna Bilinska-Bohdanowicz (Polish, 1857 - 1893): Self-Portrait with Apron and Brushes (1887) (via The Athenaeum)

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One Word 365: Breathing Space

I expected this year to be tough, and so far it's surpassing my expectations. 

Everything reinforces that I chose well when I picked Breathe to be my word for the year. There is little to nothing I can do about any of the stresses and griefs in my life, but walk through them and remember that they don't define me. 

I have come to believe strongly that we are designed to experience life in seasons, rhythms. I personally like living in a climate that has all four seasons very distinctly. We try to eat seasonally. I appreciate that my teaching job is seasonal. There is a rhythm to each of these things: the intensity of the semester is followed by a quiet space. The gradual warming of the days right now feeds my anticipation for the altered pace of summer life.

It occurs to me that breathing is also a rhythm, and that the pace of my life seems off right now. I feel like I'm exhaling more than inhaling. My MFA work has a rhythm too, with space between each semester, but because I've taken classes each summer I haven't had enough recovery time. Each semester the imbalance of energy spent adds up a little more, and that's why I'm struggling so much now.

That brought me to the idea of breathing space. We all know breathing space is a good thing without thinking too much about what it is or how it works, or how you know when to take it. I know this is why I keep feeling drawn to mental activities that provide space for me: knitting, writing or reading, baking (lately I've missed baking a lot). I struggle to allow myself breathing space whenever I can take it. Sometimes in desperation I've taken it away from time that really needs to be allocated for things like sleeping. It's better when I can clean up my palette for the day in the late afternoon and take half an hour outside, knitting on the porch while my daughters run in the front yard. It's still a struggle though. That's not quite enough breathing space, but it'll have to do.

I also found that although, when stressed, I tend to keep my head down and focus on the next step, sometimes "breathing space" means stopping to refocus on the end goal. I procrastinated a little a few weeks ago by looking up Final Review procedures and how I apply to graduate. It was a little silly because I'm not there yet, but oddly, not silly. I paused to think about how far I've come and how I would describe my thesis project differently at Final Review than when I presented it for Midpoint Review. It was surprisingly encouraging.

And I'm so close to starting the "lasts" of this degree. The last summer I have to take classes. The last year. I can see the finish line, though it's a long way off yet. Keeping up this pace too much longer is going to hurt, but I can do it knowing it's almost over. On the other side I keep hoping for real breathing space, but of course there's just another section of the course. Still, though life never gets easy, this particular hard, long, sustained push does come to an end.

There is nothing to do but keeping walking through all this, although I feel like I'm trying to adjust my pace to a stride that is a little too fast for me. I can't quite settle into it, I keep skipping to keep up. If I don't remember to breathe I'll get a stitch in my side.