| I sometimes wonder how my life has been
affected by my art. It may seem like another skill or job, if you will.
However, it isn't that simple. When one becomes an artist, he becomes
an observer of "EVERYTHING."
I think it is hard to become an
observer of "EVERYTHING."
When you become an artist, you can't just go on a walk to enjoy the
exercise. As you're walking along, you are spending time looking at
things. The angle of sunlight, the cast shadows on trees, houses, and cars
all demand your attention. There is such a variation of light patterns
around you that it is almost unbelievable.
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It is a profound journey. Where you once saw grass and foliage, now you see all manner of
greens. Sides of light
buildings are an epiphany. You
are walking along, look up, and see such riot of subtle colors that you
are almost struck down. Observing
makes walking a hazard. Trying
to walk, look, and figure how to mix that certain color is not an easy
task. Little cracks in
sidewalks become treacherous.
Conversations are hard to carry on. I know my wife wonders about me on our
walks. I get so caught up in looking and analyzing, I miss about half the
conversation. Like, “Did
you say something honey?”
It is tough driving a car when you are an artist. You are faced
with competing needs--like the need to stay on the road and the need to
look at every passing thing for a possible painting. Depending on the
road, this can be difficult. If you are speeding along at 75 mph on the
interstate, you have little time to look at things--but the road is wide
and gives a bit of latitude—well without major traffic.
On a small
two-lane road through the countryside, you are going slower, but the road
is narrow. You are closer to the things on each side, but you still have
to keep on the road. Driving
is a lot easier if you aren't an artist.
The people around you are different if you are an artist. You start
noticing the way light reflects off of faces. When you talk to a friend,
not only do you listen to what they have to say, but you also are engaged
in an analysis of the shadow patterns on their face. Facial features are
not just noses, eyes, ears, and chins. They are shape, shadow, light, and
color. You have to contend with this in most every conversation.
Once you become an artist, the world around you takes on a
different shape. Things are not just things--they are possible paintings.
You can't just live in the world; you are compelled to observe it.
Everything is interpreted in relation to your art. You see shape, lines,
color, value, size, and texture in a different way--in fact I think the
most awesome thing is that you see them when other people don't. That is
really quite amazing when you think about it. It makes one wonder what
else we are missing. There are many benefits to being an artist, but I
suppose that this seeing thing is the best. It connects you to the world
in a very fundamental way. |
 Human Cries Lost
by Maury Kettell
I've spent many hours on mountain roads in
the mountains of western Colorado. I can't say this painting is of any
particular road, it is just dredged out of my memories. It is funny about
memories--they come and go, but the things you experience when young seem
so fresh and meaningful. This particular road could be one that I traveled
down with my parents on the way to fish or hunt. We fished on Grand
Mesa--north of Delta, Colorado and we hunted to the southwest--the
Uncompagrhe Plateau. It was a good time in my life.
Visit Maury's website
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