July 14, 2019 § Leave a comment
I’m a bit giddy about my new series of abstract paintings, so why am I choosing to share this pen and ink drawing from my early days? Blame it on Mercury Retrograde? Or the sense that my own sails are raised and ready for new adventure?
A symbolic piece then, of voyage; of casting off and setting sail; a metaphorical departure from the safety of one shore to the wilds of an unknown other – in this case, a marked departure from an innate, well-practiced tendency towards detail to a deeper, and ultimately freer, realm of instinctive expression. It’s exciting to look ahead, but the occasional revisit to where you’ve come from can also be worthwhile – like puzzle pieces of how you got from A to B to P to Z.
Here I can feel my younger self dipping her calligraphy pen in and out of the ink jar to get just the right amount of liquid on the nib (delighting in each stroke that didn’t bleed or drip!), her steady hand and sharp eyes playing with light and shadow to create a recognizable two-dimensional thing, the pleasure of her then new-found discovery of knowing when to stop. I was in college for this piece, and someone (a professor?) had the brilliant idea of turning it into a metal engraving – I’m guessing to make prints of some sort, which I don’t recall happening – but I still have the engraving, which somehow feels like a work of art in its own right.
In this moment though, perhaps this pen & ink sailboat jumped out because the past two years have seen quite a lot of casting off and setting sail. I took a leap – from the sea, from green mountains and lush gardens and quaint, old-moneyed towns, to clever cactus and red rocks that reach into your soul and great big breathable skies with extra shiny stars. A leap from knowing lots of people nearby to knowing no one. From a home of 20 years, to 3 homes within one year. There’s been the shedding of tired emotions. Letting go of old stories. Creating new stories with new faces and new hearts. Making new paintings, writing new poems. The waters have been choppy – other times smoother than silk (even marvelous dare I say) – and I have not one regret.
Now as I sit poised for another step in this high-desert adventure, I thank my younger self for her artistic diligence; I thank my illustrator self for her imagination and storytelling, and the landscape and pear-painting me for her care – just as I welcome my current self’s desire to throw paint around willy-nilly. Because what’s created with joy will breed joy. Or so one hopes!
Here’s to everyone’s adventure, whatever form it takes. It can look like moving across the country with dreams yelling in your pocket, but it might not. Adventures start inside, and may just take you around the corner, but if you hear the call – whatever calls to you – I think you ought to listen hard.
She took a leap of faith and grew her wings on the way down. – David Brinkley
Don’t refuse to go on an occasional wild goose chase — that’s what wild geese are for. – Author Unknown
You’ll always miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. – Wayne Gretzky
September 21, 2018 § Leave a comment
“We are each other’s harvest; we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” ~ Gwendolyn Brooks
September 21st is the officially designated International Day of Peace. Events coordinated by the United Nations, various peace organizations and interested local groups are intended to create a wave of peace around the globe, or at least to put some hefty, prayerful weight behind that intention.
For one day, concentrated collections of humanity unite with one hope: peace.
But that’s not all. It’s also the Fall Equinox – one of two times a year when day and night are of equal length. Where spring’s equinox ushers in longer days and more light, the autumn equinox provides a period of balance before the darker, more introspective days of winter. It’s a time to appreciate the reaping of harvest; a time of giving thanks.
For whatever reason, no doubt influenced by my father’s rural roots, I’ve always found the cycles of the natural world both intriguing and instructive … and I’m kind of giddy that the International Day of Peace coincides with the day on nature’s calendar that exemplifies balance and fruition. Makes me smile. As if there just might be some divine order amid the madness.
My artwork (shown above) was created in honor of this unified effort – the inspired energies focusing on peace across our beautiful planet, on this most balanced day of the year.
I don’t usually explain my art, but I’ll break form for this one. The colors of fall blend to represent all people, all colors, all walks of life. The bird – a symbol of hope, promise and freedom – faces forward with optimism, its swirly feathers joyful. The word “unity” is filled with a world map, signifying (perhaps obviously) global camaraderie. The two lines of vertical text show the word “peace” in a multitude of languages. The stark black and white background represents the balance of light and dark, and the idea that hard-edged barriers can be fluidly crossed and complemented. I tried to show that simplicity that can be distilled from complexity, and that a sense of groundedness can coexist with dreams and maybe even lift us in flight towards the possibility of peace.
Here’s to dreams ~ Patricia
February 13, 2018 § 2 Comments
“Be of love a little more careful than of anything.”
~ E. E. Cummings
Ah, Cupid. Fickle, passionate, God of Love whose darting arrows don’t always hit the target … we celebrate you nonetheless, along with the eternal stuff of poetry and song, and hearts that beat a little faster.
Some celebrate you with devotion to whisperings of sweet nothings and a worship of chocolate and roses. For some it’s more bitter-pill than joyful-tonic. Others prefer to spend the day with their cats. (I get that.)
I can count a few especially thoughtful, romantic Valentine Days. But as the story goes, those went all wrong in the end (beware the man who writes you poetry, a friend once told me…), so I turn instead to unscathed memories of shared Valentines from grammar school, or the hand-made kind we gave to our parents, with big red construction paper hearts and white lace around the edges, filled with unabashed adoration. And those we give our own children marked with a thousand x’s and o’s.
Beyond that I admit to a dose of romantic cynicism – but even so, I am a true believer in love. I don’t mean the love-you-think-is-love that hurts. I mean the fact that love heals, love lifts, love binds, love seeds and nourishes and shines a light; love enhances, love honors. Every task we do, every word we utter, every hand we shake, is better if there’s love in it. Love is the purpose. Love is the cause. Love is the root of all good that ever was or will be.
So let sweethearts swoon. Let the day be thick with roses and chocolates for all who’ve ever felt the exultation – or the sting – from Cupids’ arrows, all who’ve felt their heart swell, their color blush, their energy soar and their selfishness cease in the face of unbridled love.
And with or without a “Valentine”, maybe we can share a little extra heart today. For self, for others, for your pets, for your garden, for your books, for your bicycle, for your favorite chair. Even for the guy trying to make a left turn on a busy street. Raise up the heart quotient all around.
Celebrate love. Read some literary candy (a selection included below for you and your cat to enjoy). Give someone a cupcake. And smile, because – despite or by means of Cupid – love still exists in this mad world.
Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX), Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
18th Sonnet, William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43), Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Love’s Philosophy, Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another’s being mingle–
Why not I with thine?
See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;–
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
January 28, 2018 § 2 Comments
Thirty-three years. Practically vintage. Possibly even fossil material. (yikes – let’s stick with “it’s a good long time”.) But maybe thirty-three years in business is worth something. A pat on the back. An acknowledgment. A bit of reflection. So here goes.
January, 1985. Think Madonna, Whitney, Aretha, Sting. Think “Back to The Future”, “The Breakfast Club”, “The Color Purple” and “Out of Africa”. Think Keith Haring and Jean-Michael Basquiat. Think dance clubs. Think big hair and huge earrings and shoulder pads, leggings and high-tops and high-waisted pants.
And a young woman at a drawing table dreaming big dreams. Conjuring. Plotting.
So it was that Saxton Illustration & Design began in a small apartment in Chatham, NJ with a spark of an idea, a sweep of unexpected boldness, a love for freedom and a sack full of creativity (and some clients in her pocket; she wasn’t entirely reckless). It’s traveled far since then.
Countless designs for boatloads of clientele, hundreds of drawings and hundreds of pencils, pens and tubes of paint, miles of paper, an intimacy with tight deadlines and working round the clock, branding and more branding, words and more words, an endless array of pencil points, several Macs and four books later – it’s been quite a ride, full of plot twists, feasts and famines, joys and frustrations; all of it.
There was also the discovery of my love for tea. There was Center Street. Brainstorms with Kevin. Collaborations with Glenn. Magic with Leona. Lunches with Milton. Angie’s with everybody. The Midtown Direct. A brief stint with the mob. Art shows. Paper samples. There was Kenya, Egypt, Scotland, England, Germany, Venice. Jose and Yoko. Mary and Pete. Barnes and Noble. Sabbatical in Sedona. Motherhood. Lasting Friendships. A richer relationship with the Universe.
And while it’s evolved from t-squares and triangles and rubber cement to my first little Mac (then another and another…), from printing presses to screens, fax machines to email, brochures to websites, floppy disks to clouds, postcards to blog posts to facebook and instagram … my rules are the same: : 1.) Listen well. 2.) Stay current. 3.) Be reliable. 4.) Always do your best.
So there you have it. Except for one more thing. Having taken a few more leaps since 1985, I’ve learned that creativity never goes out of style, nor does it stand still – I’ve learned that it’s a restless and demanding master, and I its humble servant.
January 2018. Think Hip-Hop. Think Netflix. Think Street Art and Online Galleries. Think leggings and high-tops (yes, they’re back – just be thankful the shoulder pads aren’t.)
And the girl at the drawing table? Older, but still dreaming, conjuring and plotting. 😉
PS: You can see a bunch of my work at saxtonstudio.com, where there are also links to my books, Facebook pages, Instagram, etc.
August 22, 2017 § 2 Comments
I’ve been super busy lately, which has created somewhat of a buffer between me and the mad, mad world out there, but not so much to be unaware of what a disaster it seems to be in many ways. It’s troubling, disheartening, frustrating, shocking, sickening and feel-angry-worthy. It gets you riled up.
But then I go out to run some errands and I’m reminded how good people can be. Yes, mine is a small slice of the world, and a pretty nice slice, but people are people and you never know what they’re going through, and I try to be nice to whoever I meet. And guess what? They’re usually nice back. Or they’re nice first, maybe catching me off guard if I’m lost in my own thoughts.
Oh, there are the idiots too, and I can’t say a few choice words haven’t slithered off my tongue (often – well, usually while driving – slamming the steering wheel at the same time). But tonight, they were all good. There was no sense of the hate we hear so much about; none of the prejudice and disrespect we’re lead to believe exists on every single corner. Not even a hint of the ugliness rampant in the news was on display. No trepidation. Nobody looking for a fight. No chips on shoulders. No judgment. None of the divisiveness we see everywhere on social media. There was just the friendly, gay part-time sales clerk; the french-accented saleswoman, black woman and a waspy woman who as a team went above and beyond to help me for a product that wasn’t in their department; a salesgirl wearing a hijab laughing with coworkers. A Latin-American saleswoman helped me pick out the perfect product, walked me to my car (each of us carrying part of my purchase) as we bonded in that rare instantaneous way over a brief conversation that left us both feeling uplifted. Later at the grocery store, a black man and I smiled and said hello as we passed. I admired the beets an Indian man was buying, who then told me about wanting to make a drink he had in Brooklyn called “Beet, Pray, Love” (side note: I love that!). The young white male checkout guy couldn’t have been nicer.
There are a lot of good people in the world. Let’s remember that.
And I’m guessing that this little snippet of my day could have been anyone’s snippet, so let’s remember this reality – because yes it’s a big fat mess out there, and there are some really awful, ugly, maybe even evil, people; there’s no denying it, no pretending otherwise. But I think we would do humanity a favor by recognizing the good, by being the good, appreciating the good, and broadcasting it loudly. Because it kinda seems to me that whoever shouts the loudest wins – or, perhaps more truthfully, they’re given the most attention, and then we’re all walking around troubled, disheartened, frustrated, shocked, sickened and angry – and what the hell does that do besides keep ugliness stirred up?
No, “being nice” will not solve the world’s ills, and I’m the first to admit that sometimes a stronger hand is necessary. And true, compassion and kindness may only touch a few people – but that’s a helluva good place to start. Moods can be contagious. Group consciousness is not a joke. Let’s raise the bar. Raise the conversation. Raise the spirit. Let’s raise each other up.
August 6, 2017 § 10 Comments
“As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think.”*
Not the jump-out-of-an-airplane kind of adventure. Not diving with sharks, and most definitely not (ever) climbing anything resembling Mt. Everest.
No, this is an adventure of heeding the voice that shouts “go that way!” when staring at one of life’s crossroads.
Sometimes we listen to that inner voice. Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes it takes a while for the message to get through.
Well, I’ve been listening. For quite a long time now. And despite its ever-growing volume, I, naturally (as any rational person might), had plenty of perfectly tidy reasons for resisting what I’ll call the calling of my soul. Things like: It’s not practical, not sensible, it might be lonely or I might fail. And those things may be true. But no degree of stewing or planning, and certainly no length of talking about it, lessened the feeling that I was being led somewhere else, and that a leap of faith was required. Reasonable or not, resistance was futile. It was time to answer the call. To say “yes”. Period.
And with that realization – that acceptance – my anxiety and indecision fell away. Poof! The “where” became clear; I would go back to the southwest. It’ll be my Sedona: Part II. Confirmations appeared. Synchronicities. Opportunities. Details began to align. Amazing.
So. I’ll soon be trading tree-lined suburban streets for red rocks and cactus. Shingles for adobe. Manhattan’s high-rises for big wide skies. With my sensible list out-maneuvered by a relentless yearning for greater creative expression, I’m full-tilt trusting my gut and hoping the universe has my back.
Of course, yes, there’s a stack of bittersweet that comes with it. I’ll miss being close to the sea. I’ll miss my Japanese maple and tending my sweet English garden out front. The swings hanging from a big old oak tree. Copious amounts of tea and conversation shared with friends. Hot fudge ever present on the stove. (Wait. Actually, that probably won’t change.) Walls that expanded and rooms that comforted. This is the home where I raised my daughter, my heart filled to overflowing. Twenty of the more than thirty years of my graphic design business happened while here. Books were born into the world. Paintings were made. Heartaches healed. Joys. Tears. Laughter. Magic. If a house could love, this one did. Some of my best years lived here, so there’s been some “good-bye” that’s had to happen.
But I’m reminded that nothing is permanent. I’m reminded that a spirit denied becomes cranky and impatient. I’m reminded that we must, indeed, be true to ourselves.
And as I leap across Joseph Campbell’s proverbial chasm – it could be my imagination, but – it almost seems the universe is dancing. A new chapter begins; adventures await.
* Advice given to a young Native American, noted in Joseph Campbell’s “Power of Myth”.
July 4, 2017 § 2 Comments
In May 1776, Betsy Ross sewed the first American flag. A year later, the Continental Congress passed the first Flag Act, establishing an official flag for the new nation:
“Resolved, That the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation.”
However, between 1777 and 1960, Congress passed several legislations that changed the shape, design and arrangement of elements on the flag, eventually settling on extra stars and stripes to reflect each new state. This broad span of time without specific guidelines resulted in a variety of design interpretations – which, in a way, also reflects the deeply rooted sense of freedom so cherished by Americans. The expressions were rich and proud, evolving into the flag we pledge allegiance to today.
Carrying that theme of evolvement forward, in 1986 I discovered a beautiful book by Kit Hinrichs, called “Stars and Stripes” – a compilation of exceptionally creative American Flag images created by some of the finest graphic artists of our time. I found it absolutely delightful, and a great tribute to the creativity and talent that abounds amongst us – and the creative freedom we’re able to enjoy in this great land of the free and home of the brave.
Below are just 13 samples of the many ingenious designs from that book honoring our American flag. Enjoy, and Happy Birthday USA!
all images copyright of creator
May 24, 2017 § Leave a comment
With Europe on my mind, and my daughter studying in Spain, I’m reminded of my fascination with Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi. Known for his engineering genius, there are so many elements at work in his work that he bursts the seams of any one title – except perhaps that of artist, whose buildings were his canvas representing a treasure trove of design and unbridled creativity. You look at them and think “How….???!”
Revered worldwide as one of the most important modernist style architects, Gaudi lived from 1852-1926. “Over the course of his career, Gaudi developed a sensuous, curving, almost surreal design style which established him as the innovative leader of the Spanish Art Nouveau movement. With little regard for formal order, he juxtaposed unrelated systems and altered established visual order. Gaudi’s characteristically warped form of Gothic architecture drew admiration from other avant-garde artists.”
To view Gaudi’s work is to see “thinking outside the box” at whole new levels. His extraordinary examples, many of which reside in Barcelona, are movement and dance; they’re sugar-laced monuments with creamy frosting; they’re marshmallows and gingerbread, sand-castles, stone, glass and iron; they’re original, dramatic, striking blends of angle and color.
I marvel at the boundlessness. Fantastic. Illogical. Stunning.
May 23, 2017 § 2 Comments
Our hearts break, yet again, having witnessed (yet again) another senseless bombing overseas. My first feeling was renewed horror, followed immediately by the thought “this has to stop”.
For most of humanity, behaving with such unthinkable violence is unfathomable – and yet it continues. We watch with disgust, sadness, rage, fear and grief. We mourn (again and again), and vow to carry on, to “rise above”. It grows tiresome. I’m all about the power of love over fear, kindness over anger and good over evil – but we are fools to think atrocities will go away by wishing. When there is sickness we fight it. There’s a time for all things under heaven.
Yes, we have to do what we can, where we are, to nurture love and understanding. There’s a continual call to evolve and expand our light a hundred fold – but we also have to be aware that darkness laughs at us, taunts, and takes innocent lives and that that is not acceptable. It has to stop.
Heaven help us, if we cannot help ourselves.
For everything there is a season, and
a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up
what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a
time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to
refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.