Half-baked Chicken, a paper mache-in-progress chicken started years ago, photo © 2007 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
I have a retablo painting I did of Santa Lucia carrying her eyeballs on a plate. Saint Lucy is the patron saint of the blind, the saint to invoke for clarity. Vision. She is my favorite saint, possibly because of those perfectly round eyeballs that sit like a teacup on a saucer (and the fact that she walks around not with empty sockets but rather with another set of seemingly perfectly functioning eyes).
Unfortunately, I haven’t finished my painting of Saint Lucy. I started it about four years ago. She’s gone through several metamorphoses. A high-collared purple tunic. A low-collared maroon tunic. A low-collared maroon tunic and cleavage. (Scandalous!)
The clarity she’s given me is that I’ve always struggled to finish my art.
I’m trying to figure out where this comes from. I don’t not finish my work projects. But my work projects have deadlines and people checking to see if I’m meeting my deadlines. I complete most my daily chores — making breakfast and packing lunches, doing dishes after dinner, posting on the blog. If someone is relying on me for something — a letter to the editor or an appearance at a political event — I almost never let that someone down. Yet, I let myself down all the time.
On the shelf across from Saint Lucy is a half-finished chicken. I made its body out of the torn-off corner of an empty dog food bag. It’s a paper mache project I started five years ago. I wanted to paint it bright blues and pinks and greens and shellack the whole thing into a shiny, festive piece of folk art. I even made the feet, although I couldn’t figure out how to attach them to the body. I have everything I need — the paint, the wire, even the shellack. I just need Me. To. Finish.
Personally, I’d like to blame it on my air sign. I am, apparently, mercurial. I’m supposed to not be able to stick with any one thing. Yet, I’ve always done art and writing, and I’ve always seemed reliable when it came to not finishing my art and my writing. I can’t get more stable than that.
Maybe my parents did it to me. Except, Dad has completed everything he ever set out to do. Years before he retired he started a list of Things To Do When I Retire. He was worried he might run out of ideas, so he grew his list for several pages of his pocket-sized memo pad. As far as I can tell, he’s done them all. Learned to oil-paint and completed many of the historic churches of New Mexico. Wrote his memoirs. Perfected his golf swing. Went to Spain. Built a patio deck and raised all the flowers he loved as a child.
Mom was much lazier. She watched As The World Turns and read National Enquirer, eventually graduating to Harlequin Romance. I could say it’s her fault. In fact, I will. And tomorrow when I call to tell her, she’ll remind me that while she might have put off the ironing and never made us breakfast, she did finish big projects. She and Dad refinished three large pieces of furniture, I now remember, including transforming our formal dining room table into a coffee table by chopping off its legs.
No, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all mine. I don’t show up for me.
My two mentor teachers, Juanito and Natalie, finish everything they start. I’ve asked them. More than once just to make sure they answer the same way every time. They do.
So I’m making an effort to do the same. When I drew Bethanny, I hated her. Where did she come from? She just showed up on the page, and that smile of hers. And who was the guy in the picture frame. Bethanny wasn’t like any of my other doodles, and I wanted to skip over and start a new drawing. Which is what I did. And if it weren’t for the fact that I disliked that one even more — you should see him; he’s got a long neck and goofy glasses — I wouldn’t have gone back and finished poor Bethanny. But you know what? I did finish her, and I kind of like how she turned out. How’s that for clarity?
Saint Lucy, how do you work your magic when your shoes aren’t even filled in? The shawl on your shoulder was supposed to be yellow, I think. I notice that your pose is almost exactly the same as Bethanny’s. She’s got a grapefruit; you’ve got eyeballs. What a combination. I hadn’t even noticed until I started this post. I’d like to promise I’ll go back and finish you, but the truth is, it’s hard to go back. My style has changed. Plus, maybe you’re a better beacon unfinished than you are fully done. Maybe that makes you vulnerable like me. Me, you, and the uncooked chicken. Looking at what’s in front of us. A blank page to fill.
Santa Lucía, unfinished arcryllic on wood retablo of Saint Lucy,
painting © 2000-2007 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
redravine.wordpress.com 
I love this one! I laugh and laughed. The eyeballs are great…and now, from this story…there’s no doubt… we’re related from another life. I wonder if we have a wealthy, generous “sister” out there? I look into it.
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You know what my favorite thing about this one is, ybonesy? I thought it would be the eyeballs, but no. It’s the fullness of the hand, which I guess kind of goes along with having eyes to give away…
Are you sure that Bethanny wasn’t your subconscious prodding you to finish St. Lucy?
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This St. Lucy is precious – i love the innocent, goofy questioning expression on her face. The colours you have used so far are perfect! I love images of st Lucy – she always looks like a woman offering a plate of olives at a cocktail party, only when you take a good look, voila! eyeballs. And those unfinished projects, I have some too, and they sit in reproach until i can’t take it any more and struggle to finish. G
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sam, I love this line to ybonesy – “Are you sure that Bethanny wasn’t your subconscious prodding you to finish St. Lucy?” I think you are on to something!
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ybonesy, what a compelling post. I can sure relate to it. I work best with structure, deadlines, checking in with another writer or artist or mentor on my work. I put things off, too, and never get to them if I don’t structure them in.
I have a painter friend who goes to her studio every Monday, rain or shine. Even if she doesn’t feel like it, or feels like she doesn’t want to paint, she goes there and just sits in the space. It’s a way to show up for herself.
I heard Natalie say that, too, many times last year. You just create the space, and the time, and show up. And even if you sit there, staring at the blank page or unfinished canvas, you have shown up for yourself.
I am trying to create a structure like that for all the material I gathered in Georgia last June for my memoir. I haven’t done it yet. But I know it’s the only way I am going to get it written. What am I waiting for?
I once asked my therapist why people procrastinate on things or leave them unfinished. It was the one thing she never had a good answer for. She said she just didn’t know.
For me – and this is just me – I think it’s a deep fear about being successful (success meaning making money from art and writing, being esteemed with peers, showing my work in the art world) and about what I deserve. It’s okay to be successful in areas that are less close to my heart. But with the creative things I am passionate about – much harder.
I have talked to artists and writers who complete everything. And they often tell me they are afraid NOT to complete everything. Their fear is about NOT getting it done, rather than getting it done.
Could it all come down to some form of fear? Or maybe it’s just me.
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Heather, if you find us a generous “sister,” are you going to ask her to make us independently wealthy so we can finish our art and writing? Will you let her know I also like the idea of Mini Maids? Who you never see but who clean like the dickens?
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St. Lucy does have a ham for a hand, doesn’t she? I mean, not in all depictions, but mine does a number on that claw.
I’ll have to think about whether St. Lucy wants to be finished or not. I think I’d have more trepidation than not in finding the right colors to finish her off. But maybe…
G – I love this: she always looks like a woman offering a plate of olives at a cocktail party, only when you take a good look, voila! eyeballs.
QM, there’s definitely fear in there for me. Little fear: What color next? Will it ruin what I have so far? What if I mess the whole thing up? And big fear: What if I love art so much that I realize I’ve spent my life on things worthless?
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ybonesy, I like that you break it down here into little and big:
Little fear: What color next? Will it ruin what I have so far? What if I mess the whole thing up? And big fear: What if I love art so much that I realize I’ve spent my life on things worthless?
I think the fear of having spent precious creative time on things that are worthless and less important is a big one. Regretting the past.
In the recovery Promises (the ways our lives will be better after working Steps 1-9) that kind of fear is described as regret (the past), self-pity (the present), and longing (the future). The fear doesn’t go away – but somehow we learn to work with it differently. Support from others is paramount, too.
It’s very hard for me to go back and finish old projects and pieces of art. I often find I’ve moved on. With writing, I can take the meat of an old piece, and transform it into what I want it to be now. I wonder if that’s possible with art?
I guess I’d have to let go of the old image (of the old piece, of the old me?) – and allow it all to morph into something else. The new is painted over the old. The old is still there, underneath, holding it all up. I’m glad you posted this piece. It’s really got me thinking of more ways I can let go and move on.
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QM, you write:
“I once asked my therapist why people procrastinate on things or leave them unfinished. It was the one thing she never had a good answer for. …”
Maybe your therapist is working on the answer, but is putting off telling you. *smile*
QM & y: I’m still intending to forward you both a family memoir I’ve been grappling with; the notes are scattered in various places. I need to pull it together into something with hooks for the reader but, what with working all week
(here it comes)
I keep putting it off.
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Ah, maybe St. Lucy can help. Stare her in the eyessss…
Now you’ve announced your intention to the blogosphere. We will continue to ask, where’s that memoir post? Make time in the evening, on Saturday morning, Sunday in the middle of the day. Just finish it. (smile)
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Ben, perhaps you are right! She’s procrastinating on the answer! Then the question becomes, hmmm, is it because she wants me to figure it out for myself? – or is she really putting it off? Ah, I may never know! 8)
I do hope you will send us your memoir piece, maybe carve out some time to work on it. You know the thing about memoir, it always brings stuff up. I find that half the battle of writing in that genre is in moving through everything that arises.
We’ll be looking for your piece!
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Hey ybonesy,
About this little fear –
Little fear: What color next? Will it ruin what I have so far? What if I mess the whole thing up?
…can you ask your mentor to take a look at the piece? Maybe it doesn’t need that much. Sometimes I find a little nudge from someone I respect, let’s the piece take off.
It would be cool (when you do your upcoming show) to have old pieces and new pieces mixed in. Just thoughts…
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You keep me honest, QM, which is one of the reasons I love working with you. I know what he’ll say — just do it. I have at least three pieces to finish now (one from Ghost Ranch, which I was thrilled about when I got back, and now I’ve let it languish on my shelf). I’ll post them all on the blog when I’m done, but it might be a bit before you see them again. Don’t let me off the hook, though.
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ybonesy – the ” big fear: what if I love art so much that I realize I’ve spent my life on things worthless?” Sending a life on a pursuit one loves, like breathing, never worthless, simply a sign of being alive to one’s possibilities. G
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St. Lucy’s vibrant colors smack me in the face; she’s wonderful just as she is.
As for finishing creative acts, for me sometimes it’s about my perfectionism pursuit (like the Oscars, there are too many folks on the list to thank individually for this attribute). Mostly, though, it’s because there are so many other compelling things that distract my attention. I think there is an RX for this that I keep meaning to check into, but somehow something else always comes up…
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Thank you, and thanks for commenting. It is related to the pursuit of perfectionism in my case, too. You nailed it. And maybe a bit of attention deficit disorder. If only art were the great escape blogging has become. BTW, if I’m not on the blog much this weekend, it’s because I’ll be making art.
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I like the eyeballs! 🙂
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Hi, I’m Stranger, and Heather sent me, sort of.
Wow!
Not only do I really like St Lucy, but I’ve fallen head first into a fascinating debate about art, life, the universe and everything.
I CAN’T RESIST getting in my tuppence (twopence [UK]) worth.
Finishing….
When is something finished? Is it when you complete what you planned? But what if one is the kind of artist who doesn’t plan ahead? Then you can only know whether something is finished because it FEELS finished…. right?
ybonsey, this is where I would start – are you agonising through guilt – ‘I have a preconception of what “finished” means for this piece, and I can’t get there’ or because you know deep in your soul that St Lucy needs more from you, but you are not so far able to provide it? Find out which is the case, for starters. if it’s the first, change your pre-conception if you can, if it’s the second,…
I have the ‘advantage’, if such it is, that sometimes I just let the unknown decide for me – ask my cards, or even toss a coin. For example, I’ve just started serialising on my blog the story of the cards, which totals around 80 pages. I wrote this in 1996, then gradually extended it over the next six years until it was clear it was going to be a trilogy of full-length novels! Then I got lost. I’ve always thought I ‘had to’ write this 1200?-page monster. The cards said – publish the original version. Only then did I realise the source of my reluctance. I’d moved on as a person, and I was embarassed by that 1996 version. As soon as I realised that, it was O.K. I can allow myself to have written that, even if I would not write it today.
Maybe you could publish St L, your agonisings, and the discussion, all together. St L definitely has pulling power!
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Girl…we gotta talk…leslie at lesliehawes dot com
Any time.
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http://www.lesliehawes.com/wordpress/?p=215
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Leslie, you’re so funny. (Stranger, are you a girl?)
Thanks for stopping by, Stranger. St. Lucy does have magnetism, doesn’t she. Glad she pulled you in, too. I’m going to check out your cards. Your avatar lovely.
I love Tarot. I haven’t sought them to give me any answers in a long time. It sounds as though you’ve worked through a long-standing obstacle by putting your faith in your cards. Is there a card version of St. Lucy? Something that represents vision and clarity? Just curious.
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Gosh I liked this… first, I looked at the picture and it kept surprising me. The eyeballs on the plate, the paint brush which is a palm frond, the head seems like that of an angel with the blue background and halo and sort of a classic face that evokes native american, but then the body was very grounded on earth. The green matt, the coarse peasant looking garment.
This painting talks.
I read his statement, “If someone is relying on me for something — a letter to the editor or an appearance at a political event — I almost never let that someone down. Yet, I let myself down all the time.”
I almost said that exact same thing the other day to a friend. I was talking about how I took this year to write. I’ve been able to complete paid projects on nearly any topic, but writing a novel, the thing I really dreamed of doing, I can’t even seem to start. I don’t know if it’s a fear of failure or a lack of direction, but it never seems like quite the right time to write for me.
Finally, your post reminded me of this post. You’ll ‘see’ why.
http://bugbear.wordpress.com/2007/08/15/eyeballing-the-waiter-hottie/#comments
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ybonesy
I asked the cards: which of you is the closest to St Lucy?
Check out the image under ‘Spirit of St. Lucy’ on my blog;
http://94stranger.wordpress.com
Catch you later
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yb,
I too don’t know if 94 Stranger is a “he” or a “she”…just British, quite witty and collects oriental carpets…but whichever…if this is the wealthy long lost relative I’ve been searching for us…well by all means… lets get our airline tickets for Southern England soon…and introduce ourselves… 🙂
I just knew there was a deeper reason why I liked Mr. Bean, Emma Thompson and chocolate biscuits…
Hello… 94 if you’re out there…. need a sister or two?
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I love reading another’s interpretation of St. Lucy. There was something unusual about her face, how round it was and the shape of her head, and then when you said, amuirin, that it evoked Native American, it made sense. Something clicked there when you said that. And the dress and the frond. What a wonderful word, frond.
I checked out your eyeball post — you’re a talented writer. You *should* be writing a novel. It will come, I’m sure, if that’s what you really want to do. And maybe you end up saying it all in your blog, and maybe that replaces the novel. Who knows? Let’s keep one another posted of our progress. But keep writing, keep producing. That matters.
stranger — you’ve raised more questions with your pulling of the Charisma card. Now I want to know everything about it. Perhaps you could hold a salon. Invite us all! Or maybe you have. Your blog as salon. (And I’m thinking of the Spanish version of ‘salons’ — what are they called? Tertulias?) (Thanks, Heather, for bringing stranger this way.) p.s., what is 94?
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p.s.s., I don’t mean to sound so “cheerleadery” — this is hard work, writing and making art and pursuing true passion. I want every person who has the need to find the path to get there. It’s a gnawing need. Not easy to live with when you have commitments that can’t be broken and when the rest of the time you just want a little rest.
End of day Saturday. A morning of cleaning, taking care of the laundry, etc., and then a birthday party and a 4-H party. No progress on St. Lucy today.
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I just realized something.
In your drawing of Bethany, your perspective is from above her, as if you are looking down at her from a higher place.
This beautiful and vibrant painting of St. Lucy has a big hand. It somehow implies that your distance from her, as if you’re standing in front of her and took a snapshot as she reached her hand out. It explains her big hand, which, just like Sam, is my favorite thing about the painting, too.
Your feelings towards your subjects are reflected in your eye-view. And sometimes, the closer you are to your subject, the more that you can’t see the bigger picture.
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oh, you don’t sound cheerleadery, you sound encouraging.
Support of artistic endeavor is so …. for lack of better word ‘nutritious’ to the experience.
I hope you get St. Lucy exactly to where you want her to be. She’s coming out vibrant, so trust your choices.
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Hi ybonesy – I love your St. Lucy. To my naive eye, she looks finished. I hope to see more of her, though, as you add whatever is in your heart (and eye) to add.
I think procrastination is universal among artists. As a therapist, let me also say that it is quite clear to me that procrastination is protective and even, creative. That sometimes the best act is not to act. The best act sometimes is to lie fallow and wait for what sprouts.
When I work with clients on this issue, we focus on appreciating procrastination, on trusting its wisdom. We try to decode its message. (like: “I don’t want to work on this project because I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”) We also set up strategies to respect the urge to turn away and at the same time, push this urge a bit out of the way. By, for example, choosing to do the project for just ten minutes a day, instead of attacking it full-on.
I am way nicer to my clients than I am to myself, alas.
I am lately working on not working so hard to make myself write. And while I think it is the right way to go – to take the pressure off myself – I still get annoyed and/or sad at the end of a day when I haven’t written a thing, not even a teeny tiny haiku.
There are so very many reasons not to write. My writing coach once had me make a list of them. It was an educational and interesting experience.
I think I’ll do it again right now.
Jude
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So glad to see you back on the blog, Jude. I was going to ask how the book was coming along, but I don’t want to go put that pressure back on you after you’ve so eloquently described how you’re being kind to yourself and taking it off ; – ).
I remember when you published on red Ravine your 25 Reasons to Write. Maybe you’ll have to next publish 25 Reasons Not To Write.
What’s in front of you; what’s not in front of you.
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Hi yb,
I’ve been distracted for a while.
The oriental carpets got passed on, but not the bit about me having no wheels because I can afford one not both. Also, carpet buying can certainly involve monopoly money/telephone numbers (does the US have these expressions meaning large sums?), but in my case, we’re talking a few hundred bucks a throw, tops.
And I’m a boy. (I may get to be a man one day, but I’m still working on it.)
Charisma: I remember a journalist broadcasting about a (woman) anthropologist he had encountered in some remote region of the tropical Americas, and his comment about her was: two or three times in a lifetime you meet someone who is not cast in the same mold as everybody else.
For me, Charisma is associated with that larger-than-life quality that some people have. One of the best examples I can think of is the central portrait in Henry Miller’s The Colossus of Maroussi – Katsimbalis.
You love them or hate them, but you can’t ignore them!
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So St. Lucy was Charisma, vibe-wise, right? Which is perhaps why she had to poke out her own eyes — to try to make herself less alluring, less charismatic? But charisma is not the same thing as sex appeal, and we’re still drawn to her today.
Or, at least that’s my off-the-top interpretation of the card’s interpretation. I’m dangerous with just a little bit of knowledge ; – ).
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My intuition was right 94… I believe yb knew too 🙂
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Oh help!
yb you’ve thrown up another big one: charisma and sex. It seems to me that charismatic people have exceptional vitality. Perhaps vitality always has a sexual component. But I agree, charisma and sexuality are not the same.
Thinking about this, Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa suddenly came to my mind. Every time I hear that man speak (and we’re talking radio, not TV, so it’s his VOICE alone that’s in the frame here) I get goose bumps.
I’m not sure, but I think my reaction is because he seems to incarnate a depth of feeling, an emotional force that no-one else for me comes close to, except possibly the French singer Edith Piaf – have you seen La Vie en Rose just out? – she too had charisma by the bucketload. I have no idea whether the Archbishop is/was in his younger days- a major player in the sexual arena, but I don’t think his charisma rests on that.
Can I ask you guys for feedback on something? We’re talking art, but not St Lucy. It’s the image of sensuality in my cards under the post of the same name.
I got somewhat trashed (deservedly, at least up to a point) in the exchange about this card (though its mixed up with exchanges elsewhere about other business ). Anyhow, I would very much appreciate feeback from you artists and art appreciators on how you read the image on this card. here’s the link:
http://94stranger.wordpress.com/2007/08/22/sensuality/
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Stranger, I haven’t had time to explore your site enough to answer this question for myself, but can you tell me, are you the artist of the images on the cards? I understood you were a writer, but are you also the creator of the cards?
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yb the cards were illustrated by 4 people, a guy and 3 women. One card by each featured below:
http://94stranger.wordpress.com/2007/09/01/rainring-cards-illustrators-gallery/
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amuirin sent me over here to read this post. I’m glad she did. I very much like your Saint Lucy, just as she is.
I’m also one of those people who manages to complete projects for others, but can’t seem to do it for myself. If you discover the how’s of it, please share. I keep thinking that someday I’ll grow up and learn how to finish the creative projects I start. Even though I’m nearing 50, I still have hope.
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Robin, hope goes a long way. I have a feeling this long journey on earth is all about learning how to start, finish, and everything in-between. BTW, I checked out your blog and there are some beautiful images there. I really like your color series. Exploring color in everyday life is a great way for all of us to wake up. Thanks for stopping by!
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Ditto. Great site, Robin. Glad you came by. I’m finding the blog is a functioning as an incentive to complete more of my art. I wonder if that’s at all the same for you.
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I was going to say that the blog often distracts me from completion, but that’s not entirely true. Now that you’ve pointed it out, I do see where the blog has spurred me on to complete some of my projects. I’m finally having prints made of some of my photographs, and have matted and framed a few to give as gifts.
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yb,
please don’t give me completion anxiety! What was good enough for Cezanne…
Before this goes any further, I have to ask whether completion is all it’s cracked up to be?
This is what I mean: do we complete things by saying -‘This was my plan and I will stick to it to the bitter end, come-what-may’ or are we able to stand back and allow things to complete themselves, drawing us in / back if they need to?
How many things in this world would have been better left uncompleted?
Sorry, I couldn’t resist….
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[…] I stick my beak back in my journal. I’ve been working on a doodle I started almost two years ago but never finished. One of the side benefits of being held hostage on a plane for 14 hours is that I get to finish what I started and start a bunch of new stuff that I won’t finish. […]
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