More Gratitude: Recovery, Friendship, and New Abstract Art

I had surgery again October 1. This was needed to correct lingering problems from an earlier prostate surgery in February of this year. The procedure went well, and the experience left me realizing how fortunate I am to have so many wonderful friends.

Walt made soup. Andre and Tim took me to surgery and brought me home. Others offered to drive or keep me company overnight. A multitude reached out to wish me well. The surgeon was genuinely happy that removing this mass might provide the relief he had hoped to achieve in February. The cardiologist was happy I might finally sleep normally again, which will help my heart continue its slow recovery from last year’s viral infection.

I tend to do everything on my own and I struggle to reach out and ask for help. It’s sometimes hard to accept help.

To look more deeply, it’s hard to accept the love underneath the offers. Part of me just doesn’t want to believe I’m worthy of love, in all its many forms, or believe anyone would care about me so much.

In short, I can get in my head and have a fabulous pity party for one. This tendency might always remain, but one of the many gifts of recovery is that I can look at these thoughts with a bit of amusement and compassion.

Ram Das once said years of meditation and spiritual practice had not gotten rid of one single neurosis. He had a plethora of neuroses right to the end. But he developed the ability to observe them, running around inside his head, and just laugh. He was amused by them, and by himself.

I’m getting there.

The art continues to help. And I continue to learn how to own it, to affirm my own ability and expression, and to appreciate when a piece transcends my own plans and becomes much better than what I set out to make.

I recently had that experience, again.

Electric

This may be my most important work to date.

“I admire the restraint,” said my artist and curator friend Wasil, who asked me to include it in his December show at Forever Florida.

Jason Hackenwerth saw it before I did; the play of spray paint around the openings of this stencil I built to create another work. That one is good too, but this one…. the indirect piece… the unexpected one… is the real surprise.

“Save it!” he said. “Look at what you did when you weren’t trying. You can learn a lot from this piece. Learn to recognize when something special happens. And try to make ten more based on what you learned making this one. You won’t be able to, but you will get a lot more out of trying. And then another one will turn up when you’re not expecting it.”

So I preserved the stencil and put it on an oversized yellow background to make the green (and shades of red and spots of blue here and there) really pop.

It moves. It glows. It pulls the eyes in different directions. It’s bold but also very subtle, down to the contrasting green on the connecting pieces I laid between segments to break the lines and add more energy.

It’s electric, so hence the name.

Come Sunday

Sometimes a piece gets too complicated and one paints over everything with white and starts again.
But more often I stay with the theme but darken it all, which sets up me up to create a bold contrast with a vibrant lighter color.

That is my approach here. I love the detail still visible when I look carefully; the geometric designs, the colors that glow through the darkness, the illumination of… light? energy? hope? breaking through this complicated and subtle backstory.

There is a life story there, or a lifetime, or lifetimes.

The title comes from Duke Ellington’s sacred work, of the same name, originally part of his Black, Brown and Beige musical meditation on African American history and life. He presented it at his first Carnegie Hall concert, in 1943.

In My Dreams

This is similar, but perhaps more intentional.

I intended to create and highlight the collaged geometrical segments to contrast with overlapping geometrical patterns.

That’s too much detail.

I had my own ideas about contrasting patterns and was curious how two distinct layers would work together

I ended up with three layers, one of which is almost completely hidden but still there if you look long enough.

We are multitudes.

Sometimes Magic Goes Home

I am thrilled that the first in this series of unexpected spray acrylic pieces is now at home with Michael, a super important person in my life.

Michael and his husband Erik live in Spokane, Washington and I shipped Sometimes Magic to them a few days ago after including it in a recent show.

(I had secretly wanted to fly it out myself, but the FAA hasn’t yet cleared me to again fly solo and I didn’t want to make them wait any longer.)

Michael came unexpectedly into my life during the worst of my addiction, and he gave me hope. He saved my life, this younger friend who continues to inspire me to be the best person I can be.

And very, very grateful.

Birthday in Buenos Aires

I plan to be in Argentina October 15 through November 9, and in Buenos Aires for Pride Week and my November 2 birthday. I’m looking forward to seeing more of the country this time and to connecting with friends I met two years ago in Buenos Aires.

My next blog will be about travel, but I will be itching to get back in the studio come November.

I promise to behave and come back inspired.

About Rand Snell: Rand Snell is a St. Petersburg, Florida, abstract and collage artist whose colorful, dynamic work explores personal journeys, recovery, healing, and transformation.