2010 Ventura Artists Summit

A cardboard woman with a skirt of white netting, a hollow left leg, and overflowing shopping bags presided over twenty-seven artists working at an array of tables. easels, chairs, and stools. Judy Levinson's wacky take on figures set a magical tone for two weeks of serious studio work in the company of artists intent on producing meaningful work. Bell Arts Factory in Ventura, California was the venue for our gathering.

Ranging from thirty to eighty years in age, we artists were Swiss, English, Canadian, Asian American, East and West Coasters, South Westerners, and a sprinkle from Middle America. We came bearing the wounds of divorce, cancer treatment, high blood pressure, arthritis, diabetes, asthma, motherhood, grief, broken hearts, exhaustion and exclusion. Each artist had extracted herself from an easy or difficult situation in order to produce her best work and take it to a new level; no eye, ear, neck, back, leg, or emotional ailment could extinguish her will to create.

Katherine Chang Liu, leader and mentor for the two weeks, presented thought-provoking slide shows, gave individual critiques, cheered flagging spirits, and extracted commitments from those who have kept their creations away from the public eye. But it was the energy of the individual artists that created an electrifying atmosphere conductive to high performance.

For me personally, the summit was an opportunity to launch into my new Children of Eve series of paintings after months of research and data collection. I needed a concentrated period of work to release the visual language of Pilgrimage and find something fresh and specific to the story of our human migrations out of Africa 70,000 to 50,000 years ago. Hopefully, producing four pieces has built enough momentum to keep me going on the remaining eighteen.

Together we artists committed to publishing a book that will showcase the range of work we are doing. Twenty-seven artists are doing one-of-a-kind: cardboard creatures, imagined topographies, lithographs via computer, textural histories, collaged self-portraits, off-the-wall assemblages, genealogical constructions, distorted spacial arrangements, bold and lyrical abstractions, outrageous and gestural figures, and paintings of sculptural forms, color-field shapes, feminist antics, pointilistic skulls, moody environments, color frequency settings, surreal and composite images, calligraphic landscapes, garden vegetation, symbolic narratives, and social commentary. There are no duplicates.

Until the book is ready, enjoy these photos of Katherine commenting on another of Sand Poland's stunning assemblages, my easel in the studio, and the beachside view from my balcony in the Crown Plaza Hotel.

Kayaking the Rogue River

“I’m going to lead a women’s yoga and kayaking retreat on the Rogue River at the end of June,” announced my twenty-three-year-old yoga teacher. My arm shot up when she asked if anyone in the class might be interested in attending. I’d been looking for an opportunity to go kayaking for seven years and there was no way I was going to miss it when it arrived dressed as a women’s retreat.

“Those who don’t want to kayak can ride in the raft,” Kelly continued. Not want to kayak? How could anyone not want to kayak? My experience seven years earlier had been in a wooden kayak on a lagoon. The kayak sat low in the water and the thrill of “being the water” had made me ache for more of such experiences. “No raft for me,” I said, “I’m going to kayak.”

Kelly effused about how we would do yoga and meditation and have a fabulous outdoor meal on Friday night and then camp overnight. More yoga and meditation before breakfast in the morning and then at 9:00 we’d be picked up by our river guides. Even though I’m not an avid camper and knew I would have a restless night on the hard ground, nothing was going to stop me from kayaking the Rogue River.

And kayak I did. As we stood at the edge of the Rogue and got fitted with life jackets, our appointed guide, a highly experienced woman in her fifties, jumped into the raft. “Who’s coming in the raft with me?” Four of our band of eleven women moved toward Carrie. They tried to lure me, the oldest in the bunch, into the raft. “No way, I want one of these shiny red inflatable kayaks.” They gave me a new one to christen.

Many of the other six kayakers wore bikini bathing suits and baseball caps. I was determined not to have sunburn cut my experience short, so had covered all over and had a wide-brimmed sunhat. I was proud to be wearing Tevas - real river shoes - a leftover from my previous kayaking adventure. I lathered sun block on the little bit of exposed skin as our life-jacket fitter showed us how to hold the paddle long side up. Then he helped each of us into our kayak and pushed us away from the shore. “Oops,” I thought, “is that all of the instruction we get?”

Two sixteen-year-olds, a boy and a girl, were in kayaks on the river. Eric and Kelly (same name as my yoga teacher) were introduced as the kayak guides. The guy would take the lead and the girl would bring up the rear. Eric took off and some of the women followed. All I could remember was that you moved the paddle from side to side, pushing back against the water. I started paddling.

The inflatable kayak sat on top of the water and was easily taken by the currents of the river. Just then a big boat whizzed by and I started going around in a circle. “Oops, how do you stop this? Oh well, when it faces forward again I’ll just paddle fast. Oh. Oh, there’s a rock up ahead.” Not knowing how to get around the rock, I held my oar out in front to keep from crashing. I used the oar to push away from the rock and by shifting the oar around the rock I managed to get past it alright.

Eric motioned for us to gather round him. He explained how we would go through the first rapid. He would take the lead and we should follow, doing exactly what he did, staying on the right side of the river. The raft would come through last. Guide Kelly came up to my side. “I think you need to put the oar more deeply into the water,” she said in a friendly voice. “Thanks, Kelly. I’ll try.”

I was in the middle of the nine kayaks. I kept focused on Eric and paddled as deeply and as hard as I could. The kayak shot forward, crashing into waves that came cascading over me. The cold water was shockingly delicious under the hot sun. I kept paddling with deep and strong motions. “Thank God for all of the rotations I’ve done in Pilates class,” flashed through my mind. More waves and showers of cold water and we were through the rapid. I was breathless from the exertion but also from the excitement. “That was so much fun,” I thought.

Kelly came by and flashed me a smile. “You did great,” she said. The rafting guide motioned for all of the kayaks to gather around her in a shallow quiet area. “Does anyone want to get into the raft now? We can deflate a kayak at any time.” None of the seven kayaking retreaters raised their hands. Carrie called out, “LiDoña?” I shook my head, smiled and yelled, “No. I’m fine.”

Another big boat went past and I started bumping into the other kayaks. “I don’t know how to keep from running into you,” I said to no one in particular. Kelly came over. “Look, if you push the paddle forward instead of backward, the kayak changes direction.” I did as she instructed and low and behold, the kayak righted itself. “Thanks, Kelly,” I called as the raft took off and Eric moved into the lead again. ”Oh, yes, now I remember that part,” I said to myself. My friends on Quadra Island had made me practice both strokes before they let me leave their pier on the lagoon. I thanked Leslie and David for their foresight and Kelly for reminding me.

Now I was really having fun. Being able to direct the kayak doubled the pleasure. After each of the next few rapids, Kelly would come by and say, “You’re doing great.” I smiled my gratitude. After about three and a half hours and I don’t know how many rapids, we stopped for a picnic lunch prepared by the rafting guide. It was none too soon as my arms were getting tired. Eric explained how to get out of the Kayak. “I think I’ll need some help,” I said. “I don’t think my hips will unbend.” My colleagues obliged.

After lunch, Carrie once again asked, “Anyone want to get into the raft now?” Our retreat leader said she was ready, so they deflated her kayak. “Tell us what’s up ahead and then I’ll decide,” I said. “More of the same except that there’s one really big rapid,” Carrie responded. “I think I’ll try to make it until we get to the big one and then I’ll get into the raft,” I ventured.

Off we went, this time with the kayaks taking the lead and the raft following. It was harder now because there was a wind against us. I could feel how tired my arms were but I kept paddling. After twenty or thirty minutes, I looked up ahead. A gap was widening between me and the other kayakers. The raft was hanging back with me. I examined the widening gap, felt the power of the wind against me, and measured the tiredness of my muscles. “I’m too tired to be able to fight this wind and catch up with the others,” I thought. “And I’m holding the raft back.”

“Okay, Carrie,” I called. “I think I’m done. I’m ready to come into the raft.” Carrie grinned. “Bring your kayak along beside the raft,” she said. “We’ll pull you in and then deflate the kayak.”

I happily took a seat as Carrie let the air out of my brand new kayak and put it into the back of the raft. It felt good to let Carrie’s strong arms narrow the gap between us and the other kayaks.

Two people were sitting on the front of the raft, each with one leg hung over the edge. They were holding on to a rope fastened to the rim of the raft. As we went through the rapids they were sprayed with water just as I had been in the kayak. After a while, one asked if anyone would like to take her place. I jumped at the chance and found that it was almost as much fun as running the rapids in a kayak.

As we approached a bend in the river, Carrie called out to Eric and asked him to retrieve a water bottle she’d left in some bushes at her friend’s house the day before. As Eric looked for the bottle, Carrie’s friend came out of a house up on the shore and the two of them exchanged pleasantries. Once the water bottle was retrieved, people in the raft began peppering Carrie with questions about life along the river.

Carrie had lived by the Rogue for most of her life. Our two young kayaking guides had grown up on the river. We learned that the rapids we were going through were called class two or three. The toughest ones are class ten and they are on the Columbia River in Colorado. I think Carrie said there are class five to seven on a different stretch of the Rogue River and she has done those but has never done the ones on the Columbia. I’m pretty sure I’ll stick with class two and three rapids.

Someone asked me if kayaking the Rogue was scary. I was not scared because precautions were taken. Our retreat leader told us repeatedly that we would only go on the easy part of the river and that we would have experienced guides. She kept her word. She told us that the advantage of the inflatable kayaks was that they wouldn’t flip over like wooden ones, trapping you underneath. That reassured me. Everyone, including guides, had to wear a regulation life jacket, one that had a neck cushion so that if you passed out your head would be up out of the water. I know how to swim and I'm fairly fit from weekly yoga and Pilates classes.

On the same weekend that I kayaked the Rogue, two Oregon men drowned while rafting the Columbia River. Neither of them wore life jackets. Now that’s scary. What we did was outrageously fun, exciting, and safe. From the time we set up tents beside the Rogue until we hit the road to return to Eugene, I couldn’t stop smiling. I asked Kelly to please do a repeat yoga and kayaking retreat next year.

Recharge Your Creativity

Sometimes you get more than you were anticipating. Looking to recharge my creativity, I offered my four-session creativity class this spring. I hoped a few people were also feeling this urge and was delighted to find four others who were willing to commit time and resources to exploring their creative edge.

One taker was halfway across the continent and requested to take the workshop via Skype. That was something of a challenge, but class members provided feedback on how to overcome the limitations of the virtual process. We got progressively better at making sure that our Skype member was clearly visible and connected throughout each session. In the end, by sharing our various creative projects both in class and on line, we did feel that she was a “real” member of the group.

The singer in our group announced, after a week of having her living room carpeted with magazines for her self-box collage, that if she had nothing else to do she would spend the next three months making one box after another. The front of her box is the first photo above. Our social activist expressed her passion for the environment in several sections of her self-box collage - one section is shown in the second photo above. An artist member became so fascinated with her colored-pencil Maori symbol drawing that she rendered it in acrylic on canvas - third photo.

Having a virtual student was not my only technological challenge. I also had the idea of making a video of the class and a friend agreed to be the videographer. It became clear early in the process that video documentation requires more dexterity and pre-planning than I had imagined. Not only had neither my friend nor I practiced enough with the camera, I hampered her by not having clear ideas or goals regarding what should be shot during each session. Nor had we anticipated how the intimate nature of the class would make it embarrassing to move in for close-ups. Once I even forgot to recharge the camera between sessions, rendering her powerless for half of that class. Nevertheless, my patient videographer persisted to the end.

If the first step of any learning curve is discovering what you don’t know, then I guess my videographer and I have begun the journey. And if making a video is similar to a writing project in which success comes from being willing to make the shitty first draft and then revise, revise, and revise some more, then there is ample scope for creativity. I hope you enjoy the one-minute video from our session on bark brush mark making.

Green Soup (No Sam, Not Eggs and Ham)

As I approached my front door last weekend, my next-door neighbor popped her head out and said, “I’m going away for a few days. Would you like to have the Swiss chard I bought at the Saturday Market?” Never one to turn down good organic food, I said, “Yes, of course.”

I don’t know how many times you’ve purchased or prepared Swiss chard, but the answer for me is that I have never bought it. So I had no idea what to do with this bunch of big dark green leaves with red stems that remind one of rhubarb.

Fortunately, I had acquired Anna Thomas’s cookbook Love Soup the previous week, on the recommendation of one of my yoga buddies. To my surprise, chapter 3 had four “Green Soup” recipes, all of which had Swiss chard as an ingredient. I selected one and made some slight adjustments in the ingredients in order to use what I had on hand.

I cleaned and cut the chard, added spinach, water and a pinch of salt and watched as what had been a full pot of green leaves dwindled to about one eighth in size. As the greens simmered, I chopped and cooked an onion in olive oil until it was soft and golden, scrapped it into the pot and rinsed the skillet with sherry. Then I sizzled some garlic in a little olive oil and added it along with black pepper and a dash of cayenne.

After everything had cooked for about twenty minutes, I poured batches into the blender and pureed the mixture. The result looked like a darker version of one of Odwalla’s superfood drinks. Back into the pot to reheat and, voila, one of the most tasty soups I’ve ever made.

I don’t know if it was the sherry, caramelized onion, Swiss chard, or cayenne that set my taste buds humming, but I’m so inspired by this success that once a week I’m going to try cooking another of Anna’s soups. I’m particularly eager to try her arugula and apple soup since years ago I was ridiculed for putting apples into one of the experimental soups I like to make from leftovers.

Thank you to my neighbor and to my yoga buddy for introducing me to Swiss chard and Anna Thomas’s Love Soup.

Children of Eve

Newsweek magazine reported in 1988 that we are all descendants of one black woman in East Africa 50,000 to 70,000 years ago – the Real Eve. In 2002 Discovery channel followed up with a video that traced, using DNA research, Eve’s migration out of Africa and subsequent migrations by her children to all parts of the world. The video ended with two people in Chicago – a Native American man and a woman of Greek descent – each doing a cheek swab and discovering they have a common ancestry. What a lovely image of the one human family occupying planet earth!

In 2005, National Geographic and IBM teamed up to launch The Genographic Project," a multi-year research effort using DNA as a tool to map how humankind populated the planet." They began offering members of the public an opportunity to trace their genetic lineage back thousands of years using an anonymous process. I chose to participate in National Geographic’s project because resources paid for processing my sample go to further research and to help prevent extinction of indigenous peoples.

I have done my cheek swabs. My samples have been received and batched. My DNA has been extracted. I now await analysis of the results regarding my matrilineal heritage. These results will provide the backbone for my next creative project - a series of paintings about my ancestral connections back to genetic Eve.

I have spent hours enjoying the incredible information available at the website: https://genographic.nationalgeographic.com/genographic/journey.html I encourage you to go to their website and peruse Atlas of Human Journey and Globe of Human History.

Workshop Announcement
During the latter part of May and early June I’ll be offering a four-session multi-media, multi-modal opportunity for you to get your creative juices flowing. Creativity is Your Birthright meets once a week in Eugene and addresses questions such as: Who are you? Where are you in your life? What’s next? If you are interested, contact me via email.

My First Museum Show

My first museum show opened in the Grants Pass Museum of Art on Friday, April 2, 2010. Despite a rainstorm, 400 people came during the three-hour event. That’s rather impressive for a town of 32,000 people.

While viewing Pilgrimage is a holistic experience, when viewers speak to me as the artist, they tend to focus on a particular impression:

• It’s anthropological.
• The symbols are powerful.
• All of your patterns and textures give the impression of fabric.
• There’s so much movement and rhythm in each painting.
• The feelings being expressed are touching me deeply.
• Clearly, you have something to say.
• You have captured the essence of each place.
• Your shapes are totally original and the colors are vibrant.
• It’s so overwhelming I’ll have to come back.
• Thank you for sharing this work.

This was the third opening of Pilgrimage and each experience has been different for me. I was scared at the first reception in the Hallie Brown Ford Gallery in Roseburg. Pilgrimage reflects so much of my interior that I felt totally exposed. I was grateful that people were friendly and willing to open themselves to abstract art.

The second reception at the Chessman Gallery in Lincoln City was exciting. Being close to the metropolitan center of Portland, people were accustomed to contemporary works. Viewers were so effusive in their affirmation of the quality of my artwork that I was able to begin distancing myself from its personal content.

With two openings behind me, I felt comfortable and relaxed in Grants Pass. I enjoyed meeting many local artists as well as members of the art department from Rogue Community College. Their interest in the creative process made the experience of giving my first official “artist talk” a positive one.

One of my granddaughters asked, “What’s next, Grandma?” I'm wondering that myself!

Lincoln City Opening

Pilgrimage opened to an appreciative audience on the Oregon coast.

When I walked into the Chessman Gallery and saw LiDoña’s work, I said, ‘Wow!’ This is the quality of work that you would see in the Metropolitan or MoMA* in New York!
Natacha Popovici
Executive Director, Lincoln City Cultural Center
(formerly Working Playground Program Director, Brooklyn, NY)

This is the work of a mature artist. It’s an honor for us to show LiDona’s work.
Sharon Maribona
Gallery Chairperson, Board Member, Lincoln City Cultural Center

You have given us a world tour.
Dean Ingram
Commercial Photographer, Board Member, Lincoln City Cultural Center

*Metropolitan Museum of Art and Museum of Modern Art