Moonlit Bough

Last winter, I flooded my canvases with vibrant primary colors which belied the monochromatic palette found in nature. My recent work betrays a personal torment: 2010’s long, hot summer has been especially punishing for this Midwestern artist who suffers from a terrible sun allergy. If I was able to escape into nature at all this summer, I had to lurk in the shadows of daylight or wait until near dark to gather inspiration. The color schemes of these summer works were necessarily cooler. Tonight’s foray into autumn with an extra-special harvest moon is especially welcome.

"After the Skimmington Ride"

my reflection in the water
fleeting,
as darkness dances with the
light.

willow-witchers in the night

my face a shimmer on the moon,
shamed by the
expression,
wishing.

no other gods before me

my breath a plume,
kissing the toothy wet wall,
lapping at the healing
treacle.

what the dormouse said

my legs are stalks,
numb tubers
anchoring a frail
lotus.

ding dong bell

my feet are earth,
arsenic
leaching into my
pores.

pussy’s in the well

my mind is bottomless,
bored into layers
of rich earth, seeking the
wellspring.

for I am the Way




by Lisa Joele Tuttle

Homage to Louise Bourgeois

Farewell, Spiderwoman. The world is now owed another challenger.

"Loosed" poem . . . "Undergrowth" painting

"Loosed"

Honoring the sunrise, clouds
scatter
like dandelion seeds
spread by the breath of
God.

Luminous now is my flight from
bedlam –
elephants in musth,
trampling the frozen
phalanxes.

Drawn to the sonance of trees
clapping,
I migrate to peace,
sloughing off my pupal
sheath.

Fixed by a stream, I ponder the
imago –
the forgotten Father
restoring my withered
roots.

Cast into the waters, the thorns in my
side
dissolve into dust,
and are spirited away to the
sea.

Dancing to the mountains’
song,
I explore the loaned land until
dusk quiets my
feet.

God’s hands are
lined
with golden ginkgo leaves;
at night, I slumber
there.


by Lisa Joele Tuttle

December 18, 2009

“Loosed” – the Connection

I wrote the last stanza first. After my initial introduction to ginkgo leaves last autumn, I was enthralled with their jewel-like color, their tactile offering – soft, but strong – and the fact that the trees have existed since prehistoric times. I imagined that this was what God’s hands must feel like, and the concept has been part of my nightly meditations ever since.

"Covenant"

The senior oak tree

sloughs its scarred bark,

a jigsaw mosaic

unsutured by God or man,

revealing fissured rivulets –

a map of sinews

steering us

heavenward.

What heavy hand slighted the intarsist?

Was there an assault

induced by

man –

a careless

swing of the axe;

or

beast –

a buck in rut,

brainsick from his lusty exertions?

Perhaps the wound was self-inflicted –

an aged

breastplate

flayed

to accommodate growth,

another

ring

-around

-the

-rosey.

Castings of mulch

carpet the forest floor,

a reminder of hoary promises -

a crown of cork

to bear unafraid,

freshening

nascent layers.


-- by Lisa Joele Tuttle

December 10, 2009

"Museum Piece" by Richard Wilbur (poetry reading)

Cypress Reflections – the Art

There is much merit in the building of layers with thinned paint. One can act as an architect of form, fast-forwarding to the plans for final highlights even as one is only roughly sketching in the foundation. This painting, as well as its brothers in the series, was not that sort of effort. It suited me to work thickly with a knife to replicate the murkiness of life in the swamp, all the while using a delicate and colorful palette. As an artist, I feel compelled to uphold such dichotomy.

Cypress Reflections – the Creation

Nature loves a good mystery. The cypress trees that inhabit the few wetland forests near my home in Southeast Missouri sport “knees” which jut like periscopes up from their roots into the air above the waterline and back down into the root system. The function of these interesting wood features is unknown, though scientists speculate that they emerge from the muck to seek oxygen and to offer surer footing in the unsteady land.

Cypress Reflections – the Connection

Often, swamps do not invoke pleasant thoughts, even by people who claim to be lovers of nature. There is a muddled, dirty aspect of such land, which is hard to overcome. Personally, I enjoy the quiet, murky waters and the innumerable hints of movement by insects, plants and animals that mostly elude discovery. It is a beautiful contradiction: a rich tapestry of life cloaked by a seemingly dead, gray veil. One can draw from the swamp a significant conclusion for the human experience: when we bother to look deeper upon a fellow being, we stand to behold lovely blessings.

Bark with Sky – the Art

I am a lover of texture and pattern. I used a limited palette with this painting, rather than employing a full spectrum of color as has recently been my practice. My aim was to guide the viewers’ attention to the organic representation of “bark” and the shapes’ diagonal exodus upward.

Bark with Sky – the Creation

I cannot explain this phenomenon. I only know that it was inspirational for me to see a pine tree endure that much trauma and continue to live. I have seen techniques of manipulation performed on bonsai, but never such effects on a life-sized tree. I would welcome any explanation . . .

Bark with Sky – the Connection

God is the champion of lost causes. Regardless of how twisted our lives have become because of our bad choices or unfortunate circumstances, it is never too late to right ourselves if we seek Him. Our gnarled past will always be with us, but as we develop new growth, we can stand straight again on our journey heavenward.

Tree with Branches 2 – the Art

For some artists, soldiering through the winter is a dreary prospect. Our little rock has tilted away from the sun, producing less light and less color. I believe that my artwork is more colorful during the winter months, perhaps overcompensating for the more monochromatic palette laid out for us in nature.

Tree with Branches 2 – the Creation

Trees have but one aim – to reach for the sun in the heavens. Growth, or “branching out”, is the most efficient approach for them to meet this goal. Is there a better way to gain nourishment? Enlightenment?

Tree with Branches 2 – the Connection

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.”
— Louisa May Alcott

Spring has finally arrived. I am blessed to have beautiful views from my studio, where I can see leaves emerge - fragile and tentative. Perhaps these new buds are God’s way of drawing our attention heavenward once again . . .

Blanchard Springs – the Art

Blessed again to escape the studio a couple of weeks ago, I accompanied my husband to Blanchard Spring(s) in northern Arkansas. The drizzly, overcast day aided my husband’s photographic endeavors, but the weather was disappointing to me. It has been a long winter, and I crave spring, as is evident from the dreary colors in my watercolor sketch.

I was painting far away from the “main attraction”, but I set up along the path. An artist who creates out in the world – especially around a popular destination – expects that curious people will appear. My experience this day was unique: a woman offered to help me set up my easel; each of the dozen or so curious passersby asked permission to approach. No one failed to offer me encouragement, and my spirit was warmed – instant spring.

Blanchard Springs – the Creation

I lived in Arkansas once, and I had forgotten how lovely the people are there. They are generous with their smiles and open-hearted in their efforts to help others. There are no strangers in this beautiful state. The further south one travels in the Heartland, the closer one comes to knowing the kind of ministry that I believe Jesus had in mind for us when He left. It’s found in no particular church, but in the care taken with our fellow brothers and sisters.

Blanchard Springs – the Connection

It’s easy for me to get caught up in the audacious beauty of nature, or to immerse myself in trying to find the best way to communicate my interpretation of what I see. However, prior to concerning myself with the earth, I must remember to value God’s best creation – my fellow humans.

“The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”
1 John 2:17

Trunk with Mill – the Art

Some artists visit picturesque sites to capture the recognizable beauty found there. I try to capture the beauty found in the less obvious features of a scene. Dozens of people visited Alley Spring Mill while I painted en plein air; they took photos of the mill and one another. As you can see, I used a full spectrum palette to bring attention to the knothole on a sycamore in front of the mill. Initially amused, passers by stopped to view my work. Upon closer inspection, they were able to discover the very knothole that I was interpreting. I could sense that most had an “Aha” moment as my abstract painting challenged their perspective and they gained an appreciation for an unsung aspect of the scene. Mission accomplished!

Trunk with Mill – the Creation

I find the bark of the sycamore remarkably beautiful. The tree grows so quickly that its outer layer of bark cannot keep up the pace, and the peeling exposes a beautifully smooth white undergarment. Graceful aging caused this transformation; as humans, we can only hope for such an end. There are hidden truths found in a communion with nature, and parallels drawn on the human experience.

Trunk with Mill – the Connection

I have always had a strong affinity for sycamore trees. My favorite example was once a neighbor to Bollinger Mill. It is gone now, but I was fortunate to have captured it in colored pencil (at right) before it disappeared. Now I have found another mill and another sycamore to visit – a strong replacement that will pass as well, but I will employ it as my model, hopefully for many years to come.

Bark Study - the Art

In nature, attempting to draw an on-site colored pencil work using a realistic technique such as “Bark Study”, (my example posted at right) would be a Herculean task. Especially during the winter. Especially while hugging a riverbank. Therefore, to capture the detail of the tree stripped of its bark, I had to resort to taking a reference photo. At home, when I downloaded the shot, I was not surprised to find it terribly blurred and off-color. I am a terrible photographer now, and four years ago, I was even worse. Luckily, I have been a super fan of trees all of my life, so filling in the blanks was a simple pleasure.

Bark Study - the Creation

I have a high admiration for the intricacies involved in God’s creation. Viewing the variety of textures expressed in tree bark alone gives me extreme pleasure. There is an additional poetic element involved, if one were to meditate on the nature of bark. Bark changes with growth. Bark sloughs off if growth occurs too rapidly. Bark wears a rich road map of history – damage inflicted by ice, fire and humans – while protecting its fragile inner potential. God speaks to us through His creation, should we take a moment to listen.

Bark Study - the Connection

“It’s easy to describe the leaves in the Autumn
and it’s oh so easy in the Spring,
But down through January and February
it’s a very different thing.”

– “A Sense of Wonder”, Van Morrison

It is no easy task to explain why a walk through barren woods in winter is a worthwhile venture. A monochromatic winter palette isn’t as exciting as the pastels of spring or the vibrant primary colors of summer or autumn. However, it is the perfect time to take pause and focus on the earth, rocks and bark of the wilderness. These elements – bland to most – comprise the framework upon which leaves are hung, birds are perched and flowers are raised. Spring will come and we will praise its arrival, but the unsung winter may surprise you.

Elephant Rocks - the Art

One of the two attached images is a sketch I created yesterday at Elephant Rocks State Park, a geological wonder in Iron County, Missouri. To keep my pack light up the icy walk, I brought only a limited palette of colored pencils. My on-site sketch appears almost cartoonish in its simplicity, and with its limited range of colors, it is scarcely useful as a color study.

However, my purpose in creating this field sketch was more than simply reproducing the scene. I sat on the boulder and pulled out my sketchpad and pencils in the dead of winter to capture a moment of inspiration, however simply, to recall later in the studio. Likely, the snow-capped giants will become a companion piece to the other attached image, my pastel painting creatively titled “Elephant Rocks”.

Elephant Rocks - the Creation

Magma expelled from the earth over a billion years ago finally settled into a pile of thousands of tons of red granite. Carved by water and wind into gigantic rotund pink boulders, it is humbling to climb amongst the “herd”. Green lichen complements the complexion of these pink giants, and weather-beaten shrubs offer a pleasing textural contrast. Several pockmarked depressions beneath the elephants form smooth reflecting pools, a peaceful venue for meditating on matters of nature that are bigger than we are.

[A side note: it is always disturbing to me when I come across vandalism, especially when inflicted upon nature. Many attempt to claim what belongs to all by carving or writing on natural treasures. These boulders have not escaped the stamps of selfish efforts to conquer something beautiful. Attempts to remove some of the graffiti have left foreign rectangular discolorations on the surface. Shameful.]

Elephant Rocks - the Connection

The sensual experiences gleaned atop the massive, snow-capped offspring of molten rock are rich. As the freezing morning warmed and I reached the summit to find my sketching perch, I became a lizard sunning herself on the steaming rock. The rough and bumpy texture beneath me was a convenient reference for my drawing effort. The overlook was quiet, save for a distant baying hound and the sound of trees unburdening themselves of their snow coats.

My trek also marked the birthday of my mother who has been gone from this world for nearly two decades. During our time together, I knew her shell – a stroke survivor, her body was fragile, her demeanor was stoic. Prior to my birth, she was a vibrant practitioner of life with a strong work ethic. What was unchanged after her paralysis, the woman I knew, was that she remained fearless. A rock.

Nature inspires. Nature soothes. Connecting sensually with one’s surroundings is a healing, revelatory experience. Whoever is immersed in the beauty of this world and denies the existence of God and the peace He provides for us has not begun to search.

So it begins . . .

Me? I'm a visual artist, a poet, a lover of God and His creation. I'm on a bright journey, newly hatched from a grey world.

Can the term "emerging artist" hold the same meaning as "faithful follower"? They are certainly not dissimilar. One cannot see the wind, though one can see what it carries, what it destroys. It provides refreshment on a hot day and eases the burden of an uphill load. If truly attuned to nature, one can see and hear trees applaud its presence. The faith required to believe in God - belief in unseen power - is like believing in the existence of the wind and believing that talent and inspiration is bestowed upon the seeker.

Similarly, to quit one's job in this bleak economy - as I did - to pursue an unknown fate in the arts requires much faith. So begins the journey of an emerging artist with nothing, according to the world . . . but with everything, according to all that's required of faith.