The photo: this year at our art-making hiatus in Idaho with new paintings for a new gallery near there. They wanted animals, yet another subject to pursue.
It was 25 years ago today that the vision came over me that I would become a painter. It happened in a moment in time.
I was driving home from work and, waiting for a light to change in Laguna Beach, my eyes wandered over to a gallery window and a large landscape painting. Suddenly a light went on in my mind, “I could do that,” I thought, and then immediately, “I’m going to do that . . . I’m going to become a painter!”
This was all before the light changed. As I moved off with the traffic the other voices sounded, my practical, down-to-earth self, “You can’t do that, you still have kids at home, what about the risk? your position in the kingdom? You already have a job, responsibilities, a role.” But to all that I just said, “I know, I know, but it’s going to happen!” and my energy and enthusiasm soared above every thought that could get in the way.
I didn’t tell Anne about it, not right away. But I remember it was this day, 25 years ago, because the following day was Thanksgiving. With that I had four days off from work; we traveled to my sister’s in San Luis Obispo (half a day away) and for those four days I nurtured that new idea and let it settle deep within me. I was going to become a painter.
That lasted until Monday morning; then reality hit. The responsibilities of my job and role were full time and then some. What I couldn’t get done during the day I took home and worked on in the evening. That’s the way it was in those days; it was not something I minded . . . I loved my job. That was part of the mystery of this new idea: It wasn’t that I’d been looking for something, I was completely content and growing in my field, I was the leader of a team . . . this other would be completely independent, or at least a good deal more so. Would I leave the mission I was part of? I had no plans to (and didn’t for another eight years). But it looked like, for lack of time, I would not be able to pursue this new idea. It began to die . . . and I grieved it.
In time it came to me that I could find an hour a day, if I put the practice into my schedule at a regular time (after dinner) and at a regular place (a card table in the corner of a room) and leave the work out so that I didn’t have to deal with all the setting up and putting away. I could basically just play with the paint. Though I’d long been an artist in other ways, this was something new I had to learn. I was intimidated by a blank canvas; I painted on paper, on pages of a sketchbook, assigning myself exercises to learn one thing at a time. I wished I could go back to school, get another degree, in art (my M.A, was in “leadership”) but there was no time. So I looked at the work of other painters and analyzed their steps. I told myself to not bog down, to not be discouraged by slow progress, or no progress. I told myself to have fun with it. I told myself, “Don’t make paintings, just paint.”
I was doing all this faithfully and loving all I was discovering, including a new sense of the beauty of all things all around us all the time, when my life changed. I was relieved of my position of leadership at my job. That was a shock. I accepted it, though not without an emotional recovery that lingered a long time. One consolation during it all was the thought, “Now maybe I can become a painter.”
But I was still too new at it, I still had much to learn. Friends were impressed when they’d see some painting I’d made, having no idea that was in me at all, and not something they could do; but I knew my level was still low. I could not land a role as a painter in my organization, or anywhere else. Besides, there are no such roles. This field, generally speaking, is populated only by independents.
Like I said, it was eight years before I saw clearly that it was time for the next step of faith and move into painting as a way of life. This was for Anne, too, as she was nurturing her own art at the same time. During those years I was making a lot of paintings, getting better by degrees, selling a little (very little), giving work away. After Anne and I moved back to California (we’d been in British Columbia, Canada for four years) we went to the county office and got a business license. The name, “Moore & Moore Art,” seemed perfectly fitting. And that’s the “business” we’ve been active in, along with all the rest of living, ever since.
For me it’s a third career. (I know nothing about “retirement.”) There’s nothing regular about the income, but sales are sufficient; something always happens. It’s a life of faith. And works. It’s both an income and a ministry, sales and contributions.
For Anne, she’s found a voice that is unique to her, admired and respected in her field. For me, I paint every day, at least part of it, attempting all subjects and all sizes. I expect it to be this way from here on out, and still always learning. In that regard, it’s a gift.
Thanks for reading; I just thought I’d share it here, being 25 years to the day, the day before Thanksgiving, thousands of paintings later, when the vision at the stop light completely surprised me and changed everything.
I’m giving thanks, for all things.
Here’s the announcement for our next show. Can’t come? Check us out online at moore@mooreart.com.
