Sentience

Sentience is the ability to feel, perceive or experience subjectively.   Eighteenth-century philosophers used the concept to distinguish the ability to think (reason) from the ability to feel (sentience). In modern Western philosophy, sentience is the ability to experience sensations (known in philosophy of mind as "quailia"). In Eastern philosophy, sentience is a metaphysical quality of all things that requires respect and care. The concept is central to the philosophy of animal rights, because sentience is necessary for the ability to suffer, and thus is held to confer certain rights.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sentience

Our lives at this time in history may introduce another "definition" or area to consider in the investigation of Sentience.  This is the area of "Sentient Potential" a field of study dedicated to the very important questions we may be facing in the not too distant future regarding future techonologies in brain-machine interface. 

I just happened upon the Sentient Potential Website while browsing the internet in my quest for understanding my recent obsession with the concept of Sentience.  In the website the term "Sentient Potential" is defined as:  "the potential evolution, development, and expansion of all intelligence and awareness, a concept that goes beyond “human potential” to encompass the entirety of living and aware beings." 

This new discovery on the internet has me thinking about this vision that has sprung from my subconscious in the past 6 months to become the focus of my work at this time.  The connection between nature and technology has once again entered into the concepts I am working out in images.  (see "The Magical Mystery Stones: June 2013 archives: Magical Mystery Stones )

Mind, nature and technology... the Sentient Worlds that will unfold in the ongoing stories of The Sentient Beings.  Stay tuned.....

Planting Seeds and Gathering Fruit

Like so many of us, I’ve been thinking a lot these days about Presence.  That in itself seems to be a contradiction.  We cannot be present in the moment and lost in thought.  But here I am, day after day, contemplating the nature of my mind, it’s insistence on planning, goal setting, list making and evaluating.  

Perhaps it’s not a contradiction at all, but rather a constant shifting.  In order to live in the world, carve out a life for oneself, and reap the rewards of our hard work, we must set goals, plan, and evaluate our progress from time to time.  In order to be present in the here and now we must let all of that go and just BE.  Neither can exist without the other in this life and body we’ve been given.  New discovery, creativity and the pure joy of PLAY cannot be reached without letting go of our busy minds.  Survival, on the other hand, requires thought and planning, and an active mind is required.

What I’ve learned recently, and it’s taken me an embarrassingly long time to learn, is this:  It’s not so much what I PLAN that matters, as it is what I PLANT.  All the planning in the world does not make things happen, and even with diligent follow through and work, your plans are not guaranteed to produce the intended results.  It’s all an act of faith, in a sense, but it doesn’t have to be blind faith.  Presence, that is, the practice of being in the here and now and therefore aware of and receptive to, the signs and signals, gives us vision into the darkness of the future, as well as acceptance of the past.

A few days before my opening reception at Lost Moth Gallery in Egg Harbor.

This is what I have learned from painting, and applied to life.  What I am experiencing at this point is a time of Reaping.  Seeds I planted years ago are beginning to sprout, ripen and fall from the tree.  At a time when I “planned” to go without many luxuries and even some of the basics, in order to live my dream of an artist’s life, I find my world overflowing with abundance.  Love, friendships, support, entertainment, opportunities for learning and growth surprise me daily.  And yes, I’m even selling art.

Live music is abundant, and often the price of a tip jar donation, in Door County.
Elliot Gottleman and Nick Hoover perform at the Greco Gallery open house in Sturgeon Bay.

The seeds that have gestated, taken root, sprouted and flourished all started as ideas.  Often the idea would come to me on a walk, a road trip, a conversation with a loved one, or a dream.  They were ideas that demanded to be given life, despite the fact most appeared to be impulsive whims.  A children’s book, a sketchbook full of masks, an illustrated journal with a cartoon Buddha-like character as it’s narrator… to name a few.  A visual language developed over years of painting, layering techniques learned through trial and error, and drawing skills that grew out of hours of studying so many dog eared art and nature books.  Like my “Mystery Stone” project, I worked on each of these ideas with a compulsive commitment of time and labor, despite the lack of income, interest or even potential for success.  I myself questioned whether anything would come of these projects, I just knew that they had to be given life.  Each was a seed that beckoned a laborious planting and lots and lots of watering and weeding.  I was known among friends and family for my “crazy ideas.”  

One of my many sketchbooks from the 90's.

A parallel lesson has been learned about my life.  I closed the doors to my store nine months ago and my partner and I walked away from the plans to open a new shop this spring in exchange for working at home, on a shoestring, with the hopes that our art could stand on its own in the world and support a simple lifestyle.  Oftentimes I felt the familiar fears arise, that my goals were too shallow, that my life would feel empty.  That no one would be interested in my idiosyncratic ideas and stories. That my paintings are too strange, and definitely not in fashion.  That this somewhat hermetic lifestyle would eventually cease to fulfill my basic human needs.  But I decided to just wait.  And see.  And be.

Stone Painting and Dog Entertaining go hand in hand.

Now, in the middle of this summer of change, here I am in a lush green jungle of growth.  I have supportive friends, family and fans of my work who are cheering me on, purchasing art and engaging me in meaningful conversation.  Today, as I contentedly paint stones at my table, pet the dogs and listen to some bluegrass, I pause to just BE, and check in,  I DO sense something missing.  That old feeling of anxiety that plagued me for so many years, anxiety over my worth, the future, my place in the world… it seems to have snuck out the door when I was not paying attention.  

Or was I?

Dad's Cherry Tree planted in the summer of 2011.  Door County, WI.

Back at the Easel

Work in Progress: "The Three Graces Revised"  Mixed media on cast fabric

     After an eight day trip to visit with my daughter I am back in the studio, refreshed and inspired.  There's something magical and mysterious that happens when I approach a new painting, or return to one after time away.  When I return to the easel I have a moment (or many) when I wonder if I will be able to paint anything at all.  

     It reminds me of struggling to look into a "Magic Eye" poster and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't see the hidden images that were supposed to be there.  Remember those?  One day it clicked and I stopped trying to see anything and there they were, the dinosaurs silently hiding out in a field of sunflowers...  Or when you can't remember the name of a movie, but when you're driving home thinking about what to make for dinner... there it is, "Soylent Green" creeps into your brain, acting like it was always there.  Sure you can dismiss this as a right brain/left brain switch... but just because a college class gave me words to describe what to me is one of my life's greatest miracles doesn't mean I'm going to stop marveling.   It feels like more.  It feels a lot like the moment you realize you really do love someone because when they need you to let them go, you can, and you do.  

     The process of creating is a process of letting go.  Nothing can enter your conscious or subconscious mind until you make room for it.  Have an idea?  Grab onto it, hold it in your mind for awhile and let it rest there, and let it go.  What you will create is not the idea, it is the product of the idea.  It is your mind's child, and while you may have a lot of input into the development of your child, every parent knows we have to let them grow to be themselves.  Intuition is a vine, a root system in the air searching for the sediment of the spirit to feed it.  Every time I approach the easel this alchemic process occurs, the paint sits on the brush and waits for the signals that come from a space that I can't see or know any other way except this way.  My past lessons and practice inform every choice, deciding how much pressure to exert, how much paint to load, when to start and stop each mark, but the marks themselves come from a place beyond language and beyond my these thoughts.

     One of the greatest revelries I experience in my life is the reoccurrence of this magical moment, when I think, "Maybe that's it, maybe I have nothing left to paint.  Then I approach the easel and the vine of intuition starts winding itself around me, the easel, the painting, the room.  It is as close to an ecstatic moment as I'll probably ever have, or at least have had up to this point.  It is the feeling that there is a force larger than me and it can be trusted.  I end up saying to friends, "When I'm painting everything makes sense to me."  I'm not sure if the sentence even begins to explain the experience, words always fall short for me.  And that's why I paint.