Repeat Race

Tomorrow morning I’ll return to the scene of my first running race ever, Portland’s Annual Thanksgiving Day 4-Miler. My goal is to beat my first race time by a substantial margin. With ongoing hip pain, I may not be at my best; still, I’m looking forward to my first repeat race.  This last week has included a few good runs, including a second run with my cousin, over the Brooklyn Bridge and back on the Manhattan Bridge–I love those bridge runs! I’m not sure the pavement was good for my hip, but it felt fabulous at the time. Best of all, I have expanded my running posse!

Remembering to Play

In my first blog post, I wrote that I was,

…feeling blue with the realization that I’d developed a case of identity tunnel vision. My self worth had gotten bound up in collecting success chips. I’d somehow become so fixated on my progress as an artist and professor that I’d temporarily forgotten to trust my gut and let the experiences that light me up lead the way.

The New York trip gave me more to ponder on that front. After my Brooklyn visit, I met up with my dear artist friends  Cynthia Atwood and Joan Grubin (pix above are of me and Cynthia; Joan and her husband, David; and Joan’s work). Joan was giving an artist’s talk in conjunction with her exhibit at the Kentler International Drawing Space (Kentler Gallery). Joan’s paper installation works are ephemeral and site specific, taking shape in the months before the show, but coming together uniquely in the gallery space. Her work is lyrical, textual, and playfully formal. It’s a beautiful show and worth the trip to Red Hook. The show inspired an interest in keeping creative work in motion, in play, as long as possible.

As a side note, we finished up the evening at Buttermilk Channel in Brooklyn: bourbon cocktails, Pemaquid oysters, pasta with mushrooms, and a magical chocolate concoction to finish it off. It’s a fabulous place to feast: http://www.buttermilkchannelnyc.com/

On my way back to Maine, I stopped in the NY suburbs to visit my dad. His place was filled with projects: a painted red rocking chair made from found wood; a monumental hat rack shaped from a fallen tree; stacks of paintings made from poured and troweled paint, raw pigments dumped with abandon, and rough, scratched surfaces…I’ve got a different type of mission in my own studio, and much less freedom in terms of time, but the visit reignited my desire to avoid creative myopia. Remember to play. Remember that sometimes I undermine myself by being overly intentional.

Off to the races. I’ll return with a fresh race tale tomorrow!