Womankind – August 2019

103103

envision and what actually is. The

lack of space in my life at times

overwhelms me. If only days were

36 hours instead of only 24. If only

I lived somewhere peaceful where I

didn’t have to struggle with the in-

cessant sensory assault of a large city.

If only I was an heiress and didn’t

have to work and could just devote

myself to all my creative projects. If

only my husband supported my cre-

ativity more and saw it as equal to

his own creative pursuits. If only. I

take a deep breath. Push through the

heavy cloud and pick up the paint-

brush. After all - five minutes is bet-

ter than nothing.

Day three: Today I managed

a different approach. Perhaps the

rainy, grey cold day made me feel

quieter. More resolved. After walk-

ing home from work, I went straight

to my canvas. I tried to use each

brush stroke as a meditation - a way

to clear my mind. A way to just be

with the flow. Luxuriating in colour

for its own glorious sake. It only

lasted about 20 minutes before the

yowling cats demanded to be fed and

before my mind started reminding

me of the insurance claim I had to

file, the emails I had to answer, the

phone call I had to make to my sick

mother, the birthday present I had

to finish for my niece. But it helped

anyway. It felt like a small triumph.

A little victory over the quotid-

ian grind. A minor win over the

self-imposed constraints of being a

woman... a woman who always puts

others’ wellbeing, and the mainte-

nance of an ordered universe ahead

of tending to her flamboyant, vision-

ary goddess within.

Day four: Why does time feel

like it’s my greatest enemy? I strug-

gle with this, it seems, more than

most other people I know. Perhaps

it is simply the side effect of being

essentially an extremely creative per-

son. Of having an over-active imag-

ination and aspirations that are too

varied and too ambitious in scope.

Of nurturing too many repressed

passions. But it seems to me that the

time I have been allotted in this life

lacks quality. It’s like I got swindled

with the watered-down, rip-off ver-

sion. I just can’t make time work

properly for me. Instead, I feel like

it stalks and hunts me - like a huge

deafening machine chomping at my

heels, threatening to engulf me -

chasing me in circles, always holding

my ‘to do’ list just out of reach. Today

I managed a couple of hours holding

my paintbrush and messy palette...

and slowly something beautiful is

emerging. Looking at the swirling

colours and the movement of brush-

strokes I can see some shadow of my

spirit there, gently beckoning.

Day five: Nothing in this life is

ever perfect. It’s all about accepting

various shades of compromise. But

the trick is remembering that even

compromise itself can be a creative

enterprise. If you’re resourceful

enough, you can find a little pocket

of joy in everything... even in

disappointment and inadequacy.

Whether having that skill is an

enormous hindrance to ambition,

or whether it is the greatest blessing

in managing to negotiate life in a

positive way - I can’t really tell.

All I know is that you can only

work with what is right in front

of you - with the shabby, cluttered

kaleidoscope of this world in all its

tragic glory. You have to appreciate

those cracks that let the light in.

And in honour of that, the focal

point of my humble masterpiece

will be a subtle splash of gold that

soars daringly over the pinks and

oranges and gleaming blues. It’s my

testament to hope.

Womankind Community WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE

Jen Burke Anderson

Day one: I’ve always avoided

digital drawing. It’s not just that

digital is taking over life itself, espe-

cially here in San Francisco; it has to

do with that kid I sometimes sit next

to on the commute bus, obsessively

‘sketching’ some cartoon babe on his

tablet: Zoom in. Zoom out. Pinch.

Sketch, sketch, lips, boobs. Zoom

out. Change colours. Sketch, sketch,

lips, boobs. It seizes your eyes, yet it’s

too boring to watch. So why do I

immediately reach for my tablet to

start experimenting? I blame David

Hockney. His 2013 show at the de

Young Museum featured his glorious

tablet sketches, and I’ve never been

able to forget them. As with my

piano scales, time has done noth-

ing to erase what my hands know.

Out come the racing eyebrows, the

cockeyed noses, the big brutal faces

with weak or undefined bodies be-

low, the people who silently took up

residence in my psyche, god knows

when or why, and have been there

simmering ever since.

Day two: As a young girl at

boarding school, I cartooned for the

same reason the commute-bus boy

cartoons: to possess the unattain-

able. In my case - boys, cool clothes,

and exotic travels. (And, if I had the

time, boys in cool clothes engaged

in exotic travels.) Today I realise

I’ve got quite the opposite impulse,

trying to nail the normalised malaise

that defines the downtown world.

103

envision and what actually is. The
lack of space in my life at times
overwhelms me. If only days were
36 hours instead of only 24. If only
I lived somewhere peaceful where I
didn’t have to struggle with the in-
cessant sensory assault of a large city.
If only I was an heiress and didn’t
have to work and could just devote
myself to all my creative projects. If
only my husband supported my cre-
ativity more and saw it as equal to
his own creative pursuits. If only. I
take a deep breath. Push through the
heavy cloud and pick up the paint-
brush. After all - five minutes is bet-
ter than nothing.
Day three: Today I managed
a different approach. Perhaps the
rainy, grey cold day made me feel
quieter. More resolved. After walk-
ing home from work, I went straight
to my canvas. I tried to use each
brush stroke as a meditation - a way
to clear my mind. A way to just be
with the flow. Luxuriating in colour
for its own glorious sake. It only
lasted about 20 minutes before the
yowling cats demanded to be fed and
before my mind started reminding
me of the insurance claim I had to
file, the emails I had to answer, the
phone call I had to make to my sick
mother, the birthday present I had
to finish for my niece. But it helped
anyway. It felt like a small triumph.
A little victory over the quotid-
ian grind. A minor win over the
self-imposed constraints of being a
woman... a woman who always puts
others’ wellbeing, and the mainte-
nance of an ordered universe ahead
of tending to her flamboyant, vision-
ary goddess within.
Day four: Why does time feel
like it’s my greatest enemy? I strug-
gle with this, it seems, more than
most other people I know. Perhaps
it is simply the side effect of being

essentiallyanextremelycreativeper-

son.Ofhavinganover-activeimag-

inationand aspirationsthatare too

varied and too ambitious in scope.

Of nurturing too many repressed

passions.Butit seemstomethatthe

timeI havebeenallottedinthislife

lacksquality.It’slikeI gotswindled

withthewatered-down,rip-offver-

sion. I just can’t make time work

properlyfor me.Instead, I feellike

it stalksandhuntsme- likea huge

deafeningmachinechompingatmy

heels, threatening to engulf me -

chasingmeincircles,alwaysholding

my ‘todo’listjustoutof reach.Today

I manageda coupleofhoursholding

my paintbrush and messy palette...

and slowly something beautiful is

emerging. Looking at the swirling

coloursandthemovementofbrush-

strokesI canseesomeshadowofmy

spiritthere,gentlybeckoning.

Day five: Nothing in this life is

everperfect.It’sallaboutaccepting

variousshades ofcompromise.But

thetrickis rememberingthateven

compromiseitselfcanbea creative

enterprise. If you’re resourceful

enough,youcanfinda littlepocket

of joy in everything... even in

disappointment and inadequacy.

Whether having that skill is an

enormous hindrance to ambition,

or whetherit is thegreatestblessing

in managingtonegotiate lifeina

positive way - I can’t really tell.

All I know is that you can only

work with what is right in front

of you- withtheshabby,cluttered

kaleidoscopeofthisworldinallits

tragicglory.Youhavetoappreciate

those cracks that let the light in.

And in honour of that, the focal

point of my humble masterpiece

willbea subtle splashofgoldthat

soars daringly over the pinks and

orangesandgleamingblues.It’smy

testamenttohope.

Womankind Community WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE

Jen Burke Anderson

Day one: I’ve always avoided

digital drawing. It’s not just that

digital is taking over life itself, espe-

cially here in San Francisco; it has to

do with that kid I sometimes sit next

to on the commute bus, obsessively

‘sketching’ some cartoon babe on his

tablet: Zoom in. Zoom out. Pinch.

Sketch, sketch, lips, boobs. Zoom

out. Change colours. Sketch, sketch,

lips, boobs. It seizes your eyes, yet it’s

too boring to watch. So why do I

immediately reach for my tablet to

start experimenting? I blame David

Hockney. His 2013 show at the de

Young Museum featured his glorious

tablet sketches, and I’ve never been

able to forget them. As with my

piano scales, time has done noth-

ing to erase what my hands know.

Out come the racing eyebrows, the

cockeyed noses, the big brutal faces

with weak or undefined bodies be-

low, the people who silently took up

residence in my psyche, god knows

when or why, and have been there

simmering ever since.

Day two: As a young girl at

boarding school, I cartooned for the

same reason the commute-bus boy

cartoons: to possess the unattain-

able. In my case - boys, cool clothes,

and exotic travels. (And, if I had the

time, boys in cool clothes engaged

in exotic travels.) Today I realise

I’ve got quite the opposite impulse,

trying to nail the normalised malaise

that defines the downtown world.