JJ Worden

For the past few months — maybe even years — I've been pondering the meaning of "home". Physical, metaphysical and spiritual. This nugget has been swirling in my subconscious with brief, tenuous touchdowns in my conscious brain. My art has reflected this, the house shape coming up in journals and paintings and assemblages over and over again.

Two synchronistic events have finally made this gel for me:

1. We are designing/building a house wherein the lion's share of figuring out layouts has been left up to me. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining! It matters to me, my house — our HOME — is vitally important to me. A direct reflection of who I am. And it requires me to think hard about how we want the space to look and feel. How we want the rooms to work. What is important. What is not.
2. I'm taking another of Stephanie's classes, The WholeheARTed Artist". And the second lesson is about tailoring one's space to reflect how you want to feel in it. Kind of a no-brainer until you start to reflect on how your space actuall DOES make you feel! Is your bedroom conducive to good sleep? Do you feel nurtured — physically, emotionally — in your kitchen or dining room? Does your creative space make you feel, well, creative?!?

These 2 are intrinsically linked and I am thinking long and hard on how I want our new space to feel, how my current space might be lacking. It feels large and expansive to be able to create this new home to envelop these ideas.

But. That isn't where I was headed with this post.
You see, part of the reason I took the course was to help nail down where I want to be as an artist. Since last year's class with Katie Kendrick, I have continued to show up daily in my art practice. I can't say that every day is a Good Day. Or that the art I'm making is thrilling me to bits. But I'm in there. I'm showing up.

At the beginning, moving from sporadic practice to a daily priority, was good enough. Until it wasn't anymore. I'd nailed that. It had become Habit. And the art was being made and stacking up. I tried to sell some but with less success than I'd hoped. And I began to feel stymied again. Doubts began to cloud the path to the studio door: "What's the point? Why am I doing this? Where am I headed?" And inherently more dangerous: "I suck!", "I'm not an artist!", "What a poser!" I'ts hard to feel inspired when one's inner critic is cat-calling from the sidelines!

More importantly, I've been making these canvases featuring some of my photos from last summer's Great (North) American Journey tentatively working under the theme of "Wish you were here". And the longer I've been working on them, the less thrilled, the more over-wrought they were becoming.

Lack of direction is the ruin of many Good Intentions.

This morning as I was munging around (technical term!) with one of these canvases, I was thinking about the reasons behind why we travel. And when we send "Wish you were here" postcards, what are we actually asking? Do we REALLY want our people — our world — to be with us? And what of the idea that the best part of going AWAY is actually about coming home? Is this true for everyone? I wondered, is the real reason we go travelling to feel better about everyday lives? Our "home"?!? Or is it a symbiotic thing. Going away helps refine and hone what wewant from our houses and homes. And what might THAT look like?

And it blossomed before me, this idea of collaborative works from all artistic avenues. Artists and sculptors and fiber artists and woodworkers. Poets and writers and photographers and performance artists. Speaking their vision, their truth on "Wish you were here."

And suddenly these canvases — all of these house forms I've been making for years — have a new reinvigorated purpose. A direction.

Pretty exciting! If this idea sparks something in you, please let me know!