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I paused painting for awhile when The Intercessor was published: too much writing and networking to do as I waited for a new subject to tap me on the shoulder, and also for the studio time I would need to realize it. The last painting I’d worked on was my portrait of Patti Smith, and I agonized for some time about what would come next. “Something always does,” my friends said, and so far, that’s been true. But I wasn’t certain that the past was a reliable guide to the future.
Spring was a while off when “Arlene’s Dream” came to me. As soon as the edges of winter start to soften here in the high desert, I turn into a plant detective. When will the cacti bloom, bringing vivid color to a landscape that’s mostly shades of brown and deep green? The rangy chollas are often on my mind, speaking of rebirth, of life force triumphing over too much dust, too many dry seasons. I have a very old car that seems to have multiple lives; I named her Cholla in tribute to her persistence (and my fervent wish to see it continue).
Everything crystallized one morning. They say that when you first emerge from deep sleep, a combination of alpha and delta waves may stimulate creativity, as may theta waves, which are mostly produced while dreaming. Whatever brain wave combo jump-started my morning, I am grateful for the message it sent me. I saw a three-part painting with a central image of a cholla in full bloom. Awakening from a dream, I knew I wanted to portray the cholla’s formidable, indefatigable life force. I wanted to show how it could repel attackers, flourishing despite them. I wanted to show how that same force runs through all of creation, including the hearts and souls of human beings. In a dark time, I wanted to remind myself and anyone who saw the painting that there are grounds for courage.
Arlene’s Dream: love is stronger than death, oil on panel 2026, 36″ x 48″
I never consciously decided that the essence of my artwork should be medicine, but that’s what happened. Each time I’ve felt mired in discouragement by the insanity of national and international politics, each time it felt very hard to lift my head from the landscape of fear and disappointment that seemed to surround me, a new painting has called to me. The cholla showed up when the medicine I needed was the tenacity of life force, and I am grateful for it.
It’s been kind of surprising to me how much the landscape of New Mexico infuses my artwork. Over the years, many things have knocked me off of whatever life-path I thought was unfolding. Before COVID, for instance, I always painted from life, always portraits, with each sitter no more than six feet from my easel. But when sitting so close in a small room became impossible, I began to explore how I could go on painting. I made quite a few self-portraits. Then I made the eleven pictures of teachers who’d awakened me which in turn inspired the essays that became my book, In The Camp of Angels of Freedom. More and more of the paintings I made after that came to feature the amazing clouds we see here at 6500 feet, clouds dancing at eye level, landscapes stretching beneath them. (You can see all the paintings here.)
I wonder what will come next.
“In My Own Dream” by Karen Dalton.