4-6-22 ARTIST'S BLOCK

A small handful of years ago my husband gave me this most wonderful Christmas gift:

Artist's Block by James Christensen

Painted by our friend, James Christensen, this original oil depicts an artist standing before a winged blank canvas, paintbrush in hand, tubes of multi-colored paints attached to his belt, an artists palette tucked under his arm. If you know James' work, you’d recognize this is a self- portrait. 

For many years, before his death in 2017, Jim and Carole served with Dave and me in the Mormon Arts Foundation. James as Chairman of the Board, and I served as Board President. We shared a passion for encouraging artists of faith in creating excellent art. Carole is still serving with us on our leadership board, as is their daughter Cassie Barney.

James with Carol to his right,
at one of our artist retreats. 
(Terryl and Fiona Givens across from them)

Probably a dozen years ago Dave privately told James he wanted to purchase one of his paintings for me. They looked at available paintings, but none of them felt just right. A few years later James called Dave and told him he thought he might have just the piece. Unbeknownst to any of us, it would end up being one of his last paintings. James passed away from cancer soon thereafter. It was a heartbreak to all of us.

"Sleeper Lost in Dreams"

Dave hit the ball out of the park with that gift. It’s perfect! It hangs happily on our living room wall. It not only represents Dave’s love for me, his appreciation for my own artistic and creative efforts, but it keeps Jim here among us every day of our lives.

James suggested to Dave that the piece might be called Artist’s Block. It depicts a seasoned artist staring at a blank canvas, all his tools readily at hand, and all his previous works filling the space around them. But what it boils down to, despite all the charm and beauty of those creations floating around them, is one artist and one blank page. 

One of the spectacular things about a Christensen painting is the allegorical layers, very deep layers, that come to light even years after first seeing the piece. He was a master at this! No one but James could tell us what he meant in this painting. Was he alluding to the fact that all our previous creations inform our newest creations? Was he addressing the limitations that previous creations put on future ones? Was he saying that we cannot think of anything to paint while all sorts of options floated freely in our space and we just don’t see them? Or was he just stumped about what to paint, and decided to depict that artistic dilemma?

The thing that strikes me today, as I sit on my couch and ponder this piece, is the pair of golden wings attached to the empty canvas. It represents a couple things to me.

One is the fact that James’ canvases have flown to another sphere. I have no doubt he is creating. But there is an overwhelming sadness that what he is creating is not visible to us. Yet. It makes a vibrating ache rise in that spot just under my heart, thinking of him, imagining that I can hear his voice and wrap myself in his distinctive laughter. The magical images he created felt like they were limitless, but the wings suggest, perhaps, that they were more fleeting than we had realized.

The winged canvas also represents how the human urge to create is not firmly planted, consistent and relentless. It appears as if on hummingbird wings. It flutters around us, seeing if we have any sweetness to offer it, and if we do not stop and address it, it flies away to somewhere or someone else. When I was younger and my days were filled with intense mothering, that winged canvas almost always presented itself late at night. It would flap over my sleepy head. If I did not make myself get up and address it, it fluttered on and I woke in the morning, probably refreshed, but also expressionless. I have a particular need to feel understood, and my artistry is an attempt to achieve that. There were so many mornings that found me weary from active creation while my children had slept; songs I still sing that were written in the darkest hours of the night. Something inside me knew I had to walk in these waters to get where my soul felt at home. I was not the most accomplished mother or housekeeper because of it, but I do have songs to sing, and my children are strong and independent humans, partly because of neglect that was borne of creative weariness.

I cherish this piece of art. Every little aspect of it. It is so “James!” It is also, in a sacred kind of way, a whisper from him in his divine place, speaking to me in my complacency: “Rise! Rise out of your easy space and fill your canvas.” Before you know it, it will have flown.

Detail from Artist's Block
James C Christensen