Marcia Arnold Eisworth

DRAWING OF ST. FRANCISVILLE TREE

marcia — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 13:56:07 +0000

Continuing to work, in spite of “life.”

marcia — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 13:44:40 +0000

There are times when I feel that there are no more stories or creative ventures inside of me. It is not exactly artist block, rather a temporary halt to the flow of creative ideas. I talk to myself and draw or paint anyway. I try to change my thinking so that I look at life and its issues in an accepting, positive light. There is a fine line in all of us between the psychology of creativity and the act of creativity. It is accepted in some educational circles that every child is born creative. This involves the urge to explore, to investigate, to discover, (Lowenfeld and Brittain, 8th ed.)and to illustrate those thoughts through “making something,” either physcially or mentally. I find that the mundane things in my life, like trying to make a living, paying bills, health, and relationships affect my creativity. So is with the child and the adult. Psychological and physical restrictions in the human’s environment places pressure on human beings to inhibit their own natural curiosity and exploratory behavior. (Lowenfeld and Brittain, 8th ed.) One of the areas from which I am still recovering is the need to win, be perfect, to succeed. When I teach children, I can tell which children are allowed to explore without expectations and those whose parents place limitations on this natural sense. Oh, if we could all learn!!!

BABY OWLS IN A TREE WAITING FOR LUNCH FROM MOMMA

marcia — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 16:23:58 +0000

THE OWLS by Charles Baudelaire

UNDER the overhanging yews,
The dark owls sit in solemn state,
Like stranger gods; by twos and twos
Their red eyes gleam. They meditate.

Motionless thus they sit and dream
Until that melancholy hour
When, with the sun’s last fading gleam,
The nightly shades assume their power.

From their still attitude the wise
Will learn with terror to despise
All tumult, movement, and unrest;

For he who follows every shade,
Carries the memory in his breast,
Of each unhappy journey made.

MOTHER EARTH, SISTER MOON

marcia — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 15:58:10 +0000

: MIXED MEDIA, OIL ON CANVAS

TO THE MOONArt thou pale for weariness
     Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
      Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a Joyless eye
     That finds no object worth its constancy?

By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

SPLENDOR IN THE MOON

marcia — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 15:55:14 +0000

NEW MOON

The new moon, of no importance
lingers behind as the yellow sun glares
and is gone beyond the sea’s edge;
earth smokes blue;
the new moon, in cool height above the blushes,
brings a fresh fragrance of heaven to our senses.

By D.H. Lawrence

(1885-1930)

Belief about my painting and drawing

marcia — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 15:47:27 +0000

When I teach painting and drawing, I teach the student to enjoy what he/she does, even in the initial, seemingly ugly stages. The process is very important to me because I know the joy that making art brings to my soul. The product or finished painting or drawing will gradually improve as the student relaxes, learns, and practices. There is no way to skip over this to get to “great.” Even the masters started as children the same way. It is a difficult concept to impress upon students who are tied up with obsession with perfection. I am a recovering perfectionist and still struggle with it; however, I have worked through this struggle in my artwork. I enjoy making art and do not mind critiques from people I respect.

When I am old, I shall wear purple

marcia — Sat, 28 May 2011 16:25:04 +0000

This painting was done when I turned sixty. My painting, drawings, and photographs always have something to do with my life experience, my journey. I include the poem from which this painting emerged.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples’ gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

by Jenny Joseph

When I am old, I shall wear purple