Calling All Artist-Mothers

I found out recently that I am one of the recipients of the Maryland State Arts Council (MSAC) Creativity Grant. I had applied for the grant to make my two-part project possible:

• My two-month self-directed residency An Artist Residency in Motherhood. (See previous post.)
• A four-month mentorship program Artist at Work: Cultivating the Creative Spirit, which I will offer to five artists who are also mothers. The grant will make it possible for these artists to participate in this program for free.

Here's the official invite:

*Calling all artist-mothers for an opportunity to participate in a four-month mentorship program Artist at Work: Cultivating the Creative Spirit with Priya Vadhyar. The program, part of a project initiated by Vadhyar, is supported in part by the Maryland State Arts Council. The mentorship program is at no cost to artists. Seats are limited to five participants.

The Artist at Work Program (Artist-Mother Edition) is a response to the pandemic, which has been a challenging time for caregivers in general, and mothers in particular. Existing cultural norms, inadequate institutional support, and other uncertainties brought on by the pandemic have further exacerbated the situation. The mentorship program hopes to help artist-mothers with their studio practice, provide a supportive environment, and add to the dialogue surrounding the work of artist-mothers.*

ABOUT ARTIST AT WORK:

Artist at Work: Cultivating the Creative Spirit is a four-month online program created by Priya Vadhyar for visual artists who have a studio practice that they would like to deepen in a supportive environment. The program focuses on studio work to help artists enhance their work processes and bring clarity and coherence to their work. Artists working on a new or an ongoing project/ body of work stand to gain from this program. Over the course of the program the group will discuss the creative process, seek inspiration from artists and makers through history and discuss elements of a studio practice. Through the program, participants will consider their work with a renewed perspective, create personal goals (for the duration of the program and beyond), review their progress, and discuss their wins and challenges.  

Program Features:

• The program includes group and one-on-one sessions held via Zoom.
• The Artist at Work Program is designed for a small group, and is limited to five participants. The aim is encourage dialogue between participants and personalized attention.
• The program includes a guest speaker session. The guest is invited to talk about her studio practice and answering questions from the group.

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Artist at Work Program Details: 

Dates: March 18 - June 30 2022

Group Sessions: Fridays, March 18, April 15, May 13, June 17, 6.30 - 9.30pm

One-on-one Sessions: TBD

Program Fee: $0

• Program capacity: FIVE participants
• Seats will be filled on a first come first served basis.
• Preference given to artist-mothers from Maryland.
• One seat reserved for an artist who identifies as BIPOC.
• All sessions are held via Zoom.

To enroll, 

Email studio.lineofsight[at]gmail[dot]com with subject line: Artist at Work Sign up

Last date for enrollment: March 10, 2022

QUESTIONS? Email Priya at studio.lineofsight[at]gmail[dot]com

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The Artist at Work Program (Artist-Mother Edition) is part of a project initiated by artist Priya Vadhyar. The project is supported in part by the Maryland State Arts Council, which will make it possible to offer the mentorship program to participants at no cost to participants. 

An Artist Residency in Motherhood, Winter 2022

It has been almost two years since the pandemic began. When I look back at photographs from 2020, it seems like a lifetime ago. My son was two years old then. Now he is four, a vastly different stage in his life. So much has happened in these two years, and yet everything seems to have paused. It feels reductive to say that it’s been a rough two years being a parent and an artist; it’s been rough for everyone in one way or another. I am blurry-eyed, tired to the bone, and frayed at the edges. But I’ve also been transformed for the better by the time I’ve spent with my child.

My work has felt the impact of the pandemic. For the first few months, my studio practice was at a standstill. I was between studios and exhausted by the long days. I then got the keys to the studio, but it took a while to gain access and move all my things. Everything took more time than usual, and long gaps between work sessions emerged before my eyes. By the spring of 2021, it was clear that I had to adapt to the situation. It seemed impossible to consider working at night after a full day with my son, not to mention that I was also exhibiting and teaching regularly, and doing all the ancillary work that artists do. All I wanted to do was throw a blanket over myself. But I made a start and began working in the studio four nights a week. These night shifts in the studio have now become something I look forward to, no matter how much I manage to do.

A few months ago, I began working on a new body of work called ‘A Wedge of Darkness.’ The title comes from Virginia Woolf’s ‘To the Lighthouse.’ This collection builds on the work I have been doing for many years. It’s been in the works for a while, but I began articulating my thoughts only recently. Given the fragmented nature of my studio practice, I have decided to do a two-month long self-directed residency. Unlike a regular residency I will be working in my studio given all the current uncertainties of the pandemic. I will be doing this residency under the auspices of ‘An Artist Residency in Motherhood,’ created by Lenka Clayton. The ARiM aims to be “…a self-directed, open-source artist residency to empower and inspire artists who are also mothers.” This residency seems apt given the circumstances. I am looking forward to this residency even though uncertainty looms. I hope this to be an opportunity to inhabit a different state of mind after almost two years of being in a state of flux. Will this residency spark new connections and forge the way ahead? I hope it will.

reflecting on a painting

Something I wrote last year...

I have a painting in front of me. Not on the wall, but stacked up against my other finished canvases. I keep this particular piece there so that I can look at it whenever I work in this space. It is no longer "a painting I made". It now has a personality outside of me. The painting seems to echo something from deep within. I feel a little melancholic, yet elated; both at the same time. I feel a certain limbo when I look at the painting; suspended, in a place that’s neither here nor there. (Enroute?) I stare ahead of me, in this moment of rest where all else falls away. I imagine my line of sight to be perched high up on a mountain. Something about the angle jogs a physical memory. (I sense/ smell rain.) From this vantage point, the horizon is below me, and is a wide sweep of land. As I write these words — wide sweep of land — I feel a physical sensation again. I feel cradled. Alone, yet secure. I feel the distance of a journey. Where am I going? I’m not sure. I am neither excited nor reluctant to reach. Instead I am immersed in that moment. I feel at home right there, in the middle of nowhere. 

looking out/ looking in (part III): notes from the ordinary

The previous post was an homage to the question about gazing outward to look inward. The third and final assignment was to look at how this question shows up in the day-to-day. Here is what I wrote.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

I The pulse of ordinary life: 

Half asleep, I could hear a steady sound: ksshhhhhhhhhh 

(air conditioning? cars whizzing somewhere?). 

I thought of John Cage, in an anechoic chamber, realising there is no such thing 

as real silence.*

II Extraordinary ordinariness: 

The evening light on the dining table was liquid gold. Crumbs cast long shadows. 

Andrew Wyeth’s work came to mind: The Blue Door; dark recesses of the shed, radiant light on the door. 

Not a ‘perfect’ beauty, but an imperfect one. 

Wabi sabi.

III Eternity on the wall: 

The sun sets on the same wall each day 

regardless of the season. It’s a big window and a big wall. 

If the house were to live for an eternity, we can safely assume that the evening sun will 

always fall on that wall. 

IV White light flight: 

My eye caught a flock of white birds flying north. 

They seemed to be flying in slow motion; their bodies glistening with each flap of their wings. 

The monumental in the most ordinary of sights. 

Their formation looked like this:

 |> |> |> |> 

    |> |> |> |>  |> |>

|> |> |> |>

      |> |> 

      |>

V Chop wood, carry water: 

Most days look like this: 

wake up, shower, breakfast, work, lunch, work, coffee, dinner, sleep. Repeat. 

I wonder what it all means.

Zen masters say chop wood, carry water. 

VI The fruits of insight: 

Cézanne’s fruits vibrate with a palpable energy. 

I look at the fruit in my kitchen; 

the plums have to go. 

Life, even in death, is full of life.

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*  Kay Larson, Where the Heart Beats, John Cage, Zen Buddhism and the Inner Life of Artists, 2012. Note: In the anechoic chamber (which blocks all external sounds), Cage heard two sounds, a dull roar and a high whine that came his body. The first was blood rushing through veins. The second was the firing of neurons. Larson says, “In the anechoic chamber, Cage sought perfect silence and instead found the pulse of ordinary life.”

looking out/ looking in (part II): a view of the horizon

the wall (absent)
acrylic on canvas, 36x48", 2019, © priya vadhyar

Continuing from the previous post, the second assignment was about writing an homage to the theoretical question distilled from the art review. We were asked to create a collage of "beautiful sentences" from art theory, literature, music, the internet, etc., and to to play with those sentences while thinking more about the question. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Antony Gromley’s sculptures at the ruins of Delos seem to gaze outward. And in doing so, notes Rachel Spence, “…our eyes turn inward.” Virginia Woolf in To the Lighthouse also speaks of gazing outward and being transformed by the act: “Losing personality, one lost the fret, the hurry, the stir; and there rose to her lips always some exclamation of triumph over life when things came together in this peace, this rest, this eternity; and pausing there she looked out to meet that stroke of the Lighthouse, the long steady stroke, the last of the three, which was her stroke… Often she found herself sitting and looking, sitting and looking, with her work in her hands until she became the thing she looked at - that light, for instance.” 

Becoming. 

Becoming.

Becoming.

Becoming the thing she looked at. Does the sublime evoke a similar becoming? Does one become the horizon; the expanse of time and space? Does one lose personality (the minute details of one’s life) to become that vastness? Back at Delos, I imagine a visitor examining one of Gromley’s figures and stepping between the figure and the view of the horizon. The gaze is obstructed, and now the figure gazes at the visitor. Who is looking at whom? Marina Ambramović’s The Artist is Present comes to mind. Looking into Ambramović’s eyes, and being looked at by the artist in return. A mutual gaze. What kind of transformation are we witnessing? “Time went by and the man at the table was no longer weeping. He was leaning in toward the woman. Everything between the man and the woman became microscopic. Levin felt that something was lifting right out of the man and creeping away. … The woman seemed to become enormous, as if she stretched out and touched the walls and stood as tall as all six floors of the atrium.”* 

Transmutation. 
Metamorphosis.

Transformation. 

We are transformed not only by what we look at but also being looked at in return. Do powerful works of art do just that? Do they look back at us? At our inner world that is just as vast?“For there was an entire universe in that room, a miniature cosmology that contained all that is most vast, most distant, most unknowable. It was a shrine, hardly bigger than a body, in praise of all that exists beyond the body: the representation of one man's inner world, even to the slightest detail.” Anais Nin says, “We don't see things as they are; we see them as we are.”** 

Mirror.

Mirror. 

On the wall.

Why do we gaze outward to gaze inward? “I do think that there is a way in which the outer presence, even through memory or imagination, can be brought inward as a sustaining thing.”*** To ask questions to answers we already know? To remember when we forget? Again. And again. And again.

_________________________________

* Heather Rose, The Museum of Modern Love  

** Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude

*** John O’Donohue in conversation with Krista Tippett nonbeing.org

looking out/ looking in (part I)

'6 times left', by Antony Gromley. Image: Financial Times

I recently signed up for an online course, Theoretical Thinking and Writing in Art, taught by An Paenhuysen. Each week we have an assignment. For the first assignment I had to read an art review and distill from it a theoretical question. I had to pay attention to the language used and mull over how the writer expresses her thoughts. And then my own thoughts that emerge. Here is what I wrote.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Article: Antony Gromley’s Haunting Sculptures on the Greek Island of Delos 

Financial Times, June 14, 2019, by Rachel Spence 

Is a work of art an isolated ‘object' to be ‘admired’ in any unspecified space? Or can location transform the work to reveal or heighten its meaning? Or can the work of art and location feed off each other to create a new reality? 

Reading Rachel Spence’s review of Antony Gromley’s show Sight, set in the ruins of Delos (Greece), one cannot help but feel that it is the latter that is true in this instance. Spence draws the reader in right at the start: a solitary figure (Gromley’s sculpture) on the peak of Mount Kynthos looking out at the Aegean sea. Immediately she evokes both a sense of the romantic and the sublime. The contrast between the smallness of the individual and the vastness of the beyond is unmistakable. Spence talks as much about the venue of the exhibition, the ancient ruins of Delos (a Greek island 'steeped in myth’), as Gromley’s work. Contemporary art meets ancient culture to create an otherworldly (or perhaps a more true-to-the-earth?) spectacle. The island’s ‘primal solitude’ mirrors itself in Gromley’s figures. Spence calls the island being an ‘evocative venue’ for Gromley’s ‘timeless vision’. She then goes on to talk about ‘retinal tricks’: Gromley’s figures that sometimes blend and sometimes stand out in the ruins and landscape of Delos. Spence’s imagination takes flight at the sight of these figures in the unlikely setting of an island with rich history. It also alters her perception of time as she considers one of the figures and remarks on Gromley’s ‘gift for temporal sorcery’. 

Spence considers how we view art, interact with it and are transformed by it. Gromley’s figures seem to gaze at the horizon; and in considering this gaze, Spence makes a note about Gromley’s show title, Sight, and how the figures gazing outward “turn our eyes inward.” I imagine a visitor examining one of Gromley’s figures and stepping between the figure and the view of the horizon. The gaze is obstructed, and now the figure gazes at the visitor. Who is looking at whom? The concept of ’darshan’ comes to mind: of seeing and being seen.

opening reception: continuum [the illusion of edges]

Part two of the Continuum project opens this week at Carroll Community College. Continuum [The Illusion of Edges] will be on display between April 26 and May 30. The opening reception is on April 26 between 5 and 8 pm. I'll be giving a brief talk at 6pm. All are welcome!

Venue Details:
Carroll Community College 
Babylon Great Hall Gallery, A Building
1601 Washington Rd, Westminster, MD 21157
Opening Reception: April 26, 5-8 pm

the year that was 2018

Early this year, while an icy rain fell from the sky and bare trees stood dreaming of spring, we rushed to the hospital. It was time. Many hours later, a loud cry of protest and a collective intake of breath marked Sid's arrival into our lives. The days and weeks that followed are a blur in my mind. And now, almost a year later those early days seem so far away.  Nothing could have prepared us for the year that was 2018. Thinking back on this wonderful year has me at a loss for words. It will take me some time to articulate, even to myself, what a gift this year has been. Instead I will remember fondly the wise and warm words of friends and family, and the gifts of socks and blankets that came to our door. I will keep that love close to me as the year ends and a new one begins. 

May 2019 bring you much joy.

opening reception: continuum [degrees of separation]

My exhibition Continuum [Degrees of Separation] at Gallery Beyond opens on September 6 and continues until October 6. The opening reception is on Sep 6 between 6.30 and 9 pm. Details in the exhibition postcard.

Please come for the opening if you are in Mumbai!

exhibition news: continuum

Exciting news. I am happy to announce that I have two solo exhibitions coming up. Continuum features drawings, paintings and mixed media work across two exhibits - [Degrees of Separation] and [The Illusion of Edges]. The first exhibition, Continuum [Degrees of Separation], opens at Gallery Beyond (Mumbai) on September 6 and will continue until October 6. The second exhibit, Continuum [The Illusion of Edges], will be held at Carroll Community College in Westminster (MD) in Spring 2019. 

I am in Mumbai right now preparing for the show at Gallery Beyond. The opening is just a couple weeks away! Stay tuned for more information.

snow and steady

The sound of thunder far away

a shell (a curled ear) 

listens ⏤

rain begins to fall.

On days like today, when the snow falls steadily, there grows a deep need to immerse myself in the present. The snow falls unhurriedly and covers everything, including that little bump of a twig. The trees sway gently, accepting every snowflake that falls on them. It also makes me think of the heavy rains of Mumbai that can fall for hours at an even pace. Above the rain drenched trees and buildings dark clouds drift lazily. The mind settles, mimicking the steadiness of such sights. One feels connected to the body and its energy, knowing that the snow falls within us and so does the rain.

these days (and nights)

                                                                                                                                                                  ©getsane

You yawn

(mouth wide open)

moving clouds

as you exhale.

In the early weeks of January Sandeep and I welcomed our son Siddharth into our lives. Since then it's been a whirlwind of a time with day and night merging into a marathon of feeding, changing diapers and getting baby Sid to sleep. What rises like butter in all this is the beauty Sid brings to our lives. He teaches us to enjoy little things with him, like the play of light and shadow on the wall. His eyes open wide with wonder as he looks at the drama of light and for a moment forgets that he's hungry. He has a little smile as he listens to us talk to him, and he mews much like a cat in response to our questions.

Like his namesake, Siddharth asks us to be alive to the here and now. How could we refuse?

a new beginning seven years later

According to the archives a work in progress turned seven this month. I started this blog "with much reluctance", as my first post succinctly says. Seven years later I am glad I started blogging despite the reluctance born out of fear.

My work has changed dramatically over these years. I can see myself looking for direction in the first couple of years on the blog, a continuation from the years before I started blogging. Slowly the direction came. I found a teacher and mentor in Josh Goldberg and my work took the path I have been on since. It's been an exciting time. I feel true to what I do and I look forward to delving deeper into my practice. Blogging has complemented my studio work and provided a wonderful platform for a number of reasons. It gave me a dedicated space to document my work over time, the space to use writing as a tool, and share all that I do with the world. And ironically, blogging helped me overcome my reluctance to blog - to be out there.

The seventh anniversary is a good time to make a change I've been meaning to make for some time now. For seven years, I called this blog 'a work in progress'. While I hope to always remain a work in progress, the time has come to say a little more. Starting this month the blog will be called 'through the moving door'. The title comes from a monotype I created last year. Without completely deconstructing the title and all the associated layers of meaning, the moving door signifies the frame through which I look at the world and understand my work.

And so I make another beginning.

conduit

conduit
acrylic on canvas, 60x40", 2017, priya vadhyar

exhibition: 10x10

For the past few weeks I've been organising the 10x10 Invitational exhibition at Pyramid Atlantic Art Center along with Artistic Director Gretchen Schermerhorn. In its third edition, this exhibit will include more than 85 regional and national artists displaying prints, sculpture, paintings, drawings and a variety of other media. All work has been donated by artists, the sale of which will go towards funding programs at Pyramid Atlantic. The exhibition opens this Friday, November 3 at 6pm and continues until December 17. I am participating in the exhibition too. Below are the three mixed media artworks I am showing.

psyche structure I
mixed media on paper, 10x10", 2017

psyche structure II
mixed media on paper, 10x10", 2017

orbital realisations
mixed media on paper, 10x10", 2017

cézanne's mountain

Cézanne's mountain

orange

in the evening light ⏤

My feet no longer 
on the ground.

There is the singular, and then there is everything else. Looking out into the world, you are in a twilight state (half daydreaming, half aware); that in-between of states that brings out the hidden magic that is everywhere. Lights twinkle and things rush past you. Your eyes, unfocused, take in shapes and color, and create new relationships, new realities. The body (hair flying) laps up the wind, thirsty. There is music, every high and low note unveils layers of meaning and connections. The singular isn't only in the midst of all, it is all.

seed (rewind/repeat)

seed (rewind/repeat)
acrylic and water-soluble graphite on paper, 25x32", 2017

updates in and out of the studio

Things have been quiet on the blog. In my last post, I was on my way to India for a holiday. I returned to the US around mid-June and have since retreated somewhat. Since my show ((Mountain x Crow x Echo)) at The Drawing Studio in Tucson my focus has turned to creating a new body of work. Beginning new work is of course a time for some wool gathering. A time to let the mind wander and look at things in a new light. I have also been busy the past couple of months preparing to move to a new place. We finally moved last week. On moving day I said goodbye to my studio of three years, happy to have had the chance to work in such a wonderful space. My new studio is a bit larger with lots of light. I'm in the process of setting up the space, dealing with boxes and drop cloth, thoughts and second thoughts about how to arrange things. Then there is life in general, which brings its own share of changes. I will talk about this when the time is right. Suffice to say that life has a way of making you pause and look both inside and outside yourself. And so it's a been a busy last few months with a number of changes. I have been taking this time to "wander at ease," as my teacher and mentor Josh Goldberg says with regard to painting (and life too). 

notes over the atlantic

Yesterday on my way to Mumbai. Somewhere over the Atlantic:

The light outside goes from pitch dark in the west to pale blue in the east where the sun is rising. The vast horizon offers a glimpse into the nature of things; the flux that always is. Where does something begin and where does it end? The sun keeps rising and setting at the same time. 

And then there is a landscape of clouds; mountains and valleys, caves and river beds. The rivers are dark and deep. Who knows what secrets lie in those depths? All I know is that way below the waters is a deeper ocean. The clouds are moving, shape shifting, undecided on what they want to be or can be. The possibilities are infinite.

priyavadhyar.com

www.priyavadhyar.com

I am happy to announce that I now have a website: www.priyavadhyar.com. It has taken me a while to get around to building one (the joys of procrastination know no bounds). Thanks to friends and family who checked the initial version of the website and gave me feedback and enthusiasm. My work on the website is not over yet. I am still working on some of the backend details, but the structure and content of the website is up and ready to go.

I hope you will take a look and tell me what you think. As I said the website is still a work in progress, so do let me know if you see any problems cropping up. I'd really appreciate it. Enjoy!