Spirit Riders
Flight of Fancy #2
The Awakening, Flight of Fancy #1, excited me on so many levels. It showed me how to go inward and paint without using photo references. It taught me that I can connect with my own psyche. Painting a picture, using the right brain, could actually teach me.
I wanted to have that experience again. I threw paint onto the paper, swirled it around, and watched it flow. I let it dry and stared at it. Nothing.
I rotated the painting, looking at it from every angle. Absolutely nothing. The disappointment was crushing. Maybe the premise was wrong after all and The Awakening was a fluke. I propped the paper up where I could see it every minute of the day. I lived with it and no matter how many times I looked, no images came to me.
This went on for a week. I wondered if I needed to add more paint. Maybe there wasn’t enough movement. But I waited, and one evening, while sitting on the couch reading a book, I glanced up and saw a horse. A misty, rearing, wonderful horse, but when I got up and walked toward the painting it was gone.
I went back to the place I’d been when I saw it and there it was again. Slowly, step by step, without taking my eyes off the image I walked forward. Not even blinking, for fear I’d lose the image, I stalked that painting.
Once I located where the image was, I went to get a pencil. When I returned, I had to start all over again because the image had vanished. When I finally managed to keep the image stable in my eyes, I lightly sketched what I was seeing. Now, I was ready to create Flight of Fancy #2.
The above image became the Spirit Riders. And once again, a poem came to me.
Spirit Riders
Drifting through life
aimless, directionless,
rootless, and carefree.
A dream flickers;
gains in form and shape.
Growing stronger in my mind’s eye.
Purpose, direction
Energy, and vision
sink roots deep into my soul.
Ephemeral riders
Ethereal no more.
Breathe deep, until time to go home.
And with the poem, Spirit Riders became Flight of Fancy #2. The Awakening, Flight of Fancy #1 literally woke me up. Opened a door in my mind that had been tightly closed.
But Spirit Riders taught me that being awake isn’t enough. I have to choose my goal. See my dream become a reality. The misty, rearing horse is the intangible something that I long for. It is a wild thing, hard to see unless I keep my eyes on it. Unblinking, for if I blink, I lose sight, and I will have to go back and regroup.
The riders, coming out of the ether. As they move forward, as they focus, they gain shape. They become real. It’s only when we strive hard to accomplish whatever we’re driven to accomplish in life that we become the most real. The tangible is within our grasp but we can’t dream life away. We have to strive, and focus, and chase after that wild, elusive dream.
The technique in this painting is weak. I have so much to learn but if it was easy, it wouldn’t hold my interest. But the emotion in this painting feels good. I look at it and my soul sings. I wish I’d come earlier to my pursuit of my goals but age really isn’t a factor. Intent is what counts. I’m finally doing what I have always dreamed of doing. I’m living a life that gives me energy and joy. In the big scheme of things, that’s pretty much all that matters.
I love this painting. Can’t wait until you get posters of it available.
I need to sell some of the Awakening before I can generate enough funds to get Spirit Riders out. Or sell enough books. We’ll see what 2012 brings to me. I wish I could find a press closer to where I live although I love Mennonite Press for the work they have done for us. I’ll keep you at the head of my list for Spirit Riders.
I don’t know I own the original. Maybe there won’t be prints. Keep me happy sis.
Yes, you do own the original. But I seem to remember you agreeing to let me get prints off it. If that fails, I know how to make beef and noodles and homemade lemon meringue pie.
I’m so glad you stopped by. And thank you for subscribing. It pleases me when something I write touches the reader. I intend to update the website on Sundays. Unless the muse moves me and that happens when it happens.