Breaking All the Rules

Somewhere along the way I acquired the belief (probably from my sperm-donor) that my talents and skills were worthless unless I was using them to make money. I struggled with that as a long time until I experienced a life-changing trauma that made me realize art was the one thing that had always made me happy.
    So I quit graphic design and started studying fine art - and decided to save myself (and somehow the world) with it. But I never lost that idea that there were rules about art. That artists were poor, or they wold out. That there were artists and Artists. Going to get my BFA didn't really change this idea. The educational art institution kind of encourages you to think that way. And I felt good telling myself I was an Artist. even when I had to work 40 hours a week while doing it. But I was still missing something.
    You see, the reason my sperm donor would yell at me about making art (even though he encouraged my writing - go figure) was because I was self taught - which meant comic books, cartoons, and fan art. I copied and innovated (as we all did). None of that was Art, or "worth anything" and I was "wasting my time."
    As an adult, my art department (and this might be because I didn't take illustration) also discouraged that sort of thing. Nobody was going to take your portfolio seriously if you didn't make serious art. So I made serious art. Very serious art. I made art that made people sick and want to cry, and while it was good to get it out - I had a hard time making art that wasn't dark. And when I finally did, it was pretty hard. I finally picked quasi-religious art because, quite honestly, Art History had taught me it was a pretty valid topic to make art about. In this way my bodhisattvas were the beginning - but a painful and slow one. It used to take me two weeks to make one. And with each one I grew faster and more confident - exactly like the physics concepts I named their collective presence after. But that still wasn't quite enough. Because I stopped making art for a long time.
    So... here I was some ten years into this idea of accepting and owning my life path as an artist. And it was hard. I was stuck. In the two and a half years since finishing my BFA, I made a whole four pieces of art (compared to the minimum of sixteen I was making on average per year doing school. But then my wonderful boyfriend said he really wanted to see some Doctor Who art in my style. Especially a TARDIS in the time vortex...
    So I set aside the rules (and the little voices in my head that were judging me) and made my first TARDIS. And then I started churning out art. And being really excited. And loving every single piece I make. It felt like something in me finally broke free from its cage and started singing. Since starting this series I have been happier with myself and my art than I ever have been. Because I have finally allowed myself to make art about the other thing that has always brought me happiness - fandom. Which brings me to my round-a-bout point - that art and Art - are what we make. Literally. That's it. Whatever I make. It's art. No judgement. No guilt. No pressure. Just the delightful childish glee of exploring new ways of working and doing things, of stretching my skills and my brain - of inspiring others and doing what I LOVE. (and ironically - the money has already started to follow).

New Bodhisattva - Kali

Kali ©2014 Maya Renée

Have you ever been hit over the head with ideas? The past few days have been like that. I decided I needed some Kali in my life and sat down to make a piece for her. It was a fascinating process to observe. Although I never have a specific plan in mind (consciously), it became very clear in the creation of this piece that there is a plan. Usually, my creation process involves a lot of play: adding and discarding of various textures at random until I achieve something I like. This was not the case when creating Kali. I immediately knew (most of the time) which image to use and also knew immediately when that part of the process was done. Suddenly the image would look perfect and I would know that it was time to move on to the next part of the process. Usually that knowing involved goosebumps. There were a couple of hangup moments in which I lost that guidance momentarily - so I walked away and came back later. As a result, Kali was assembled and finished in less than 10 hours total. Which is amazing when I consider that my first, Black Tara, took an entire week's worth of effort (spread throughout class and home studio time). Also, usually completion of a piece leaves me with a feeling best akin to postpartum depression - madly in love with my creation, yet filled with a sudden sense of loss and longing and lack of direction. This time, however, I find myself galvanized to continue doing things - one of which is this blog. I feel compelled to publish, to speak, to write, to open up and expand. And this is perfect!

As I was working on this piece I listened to chants and songs of praise to Kali, and meditated upon her stories. Although most are familliar with her legend as the demon slayer who could not be sated until Shiva intervened, this was not the story foremost in my head. Instead I thought of the Kali who lives in cremation grounds, the mother of compassion and release from suffering, the benevolent goddess who loves all beings perfectly and unconditionally and is their mother in the last moments of their life - giving them the gift of release and peace. And as I created the image, it became a story of transformation: the goddess who walks through all the hells bringing cooling peace, comfort and serenity - the goddess who embodies the transformational power of unconditional love. Her right hand dispels fear even as her left bestows blessings.

Clearly, Kali was exactly what I needed. Thank you, MahaKali. Namaste.