Journey and Story Sharing Art Gallery

Hope is Here, 2020

Art can hold us in time and space, but it can also move us through it. Art ensures that there will be something easily overlooked that you must see, experience, and understand: something crucial. With it, we may finally move through our liminal places and spaces and find new hope. Even though today may look like it holds less hope than ever, hope is here.


Hope is Here, 2020

Thoughts on Hope, 2020

No matter what tomorrow brings, my “Right Now” is all mine. Apprehension is no longer what my present moment brings. Art is still my best escape from the disorienting liminal place I am stuck within. I can paint myself to a better place, so that’s what I do. I’m OK with “Right Now.” I want others to be OK with “Right Now,” too. I have a little power over that. I paint images that tell me, and others, that “Right Now” can be OK despite everything around us that says it isn’t. They are images that speak hope. Every artist has a voice and each one can speak to the collective “Right Now.” If the voice is loud enough, others could hear and be OK with “Right Now,” too.


I am Hope, 2020

Why We Don't Suffer, 2019

I am uncomfortable about what my dad did as a scientist. He was a good man. He was a loving father. He made personal sacrifices to help others. However, he brought living things suffering. What if the price of his research was more than a rat? Maybe there were monkeys suffering in one of his labs, but I just didn’t see them on Take Your Child to Work Day? Does this make a difference? Where do we draw the line? What my dad and other scientists did came with a price, and we didn’t pay it. In fact, we don’t suffer as much because of it. Would I want a person with rheumatoid arthritis to give up their pain relievers so fish, mice, rats and monkeys don’t have to pay the price? I’m not sure what God would want, but I know that I keep taking ibuprofen when I need it. When my child is in pain, I offer it to them. This is why we don’t suffer and I reticently admit that I am grateful. I use my paintbrush to capture it all: both the good and the bad.  I accept the tension and I share it on my canvas.

      

Buttons and Peacock Feathers, 2016

        


323 Buena Vista Road Mixed Media Series:

My dad just passed away. We've had 3 grandparents die in a little over a year. My childhood home is falling apart. It's beyond a "Handyman's Special." I make art to capture the beauty of the past: the way I remember my home during the Glory Days. The house will sell soon. A stranger will buy it. I won't be able to go back there anymore. A least I will have my paintings so I can remember. I totally get why my father used the phrase "The Good Old Days." I wonder if Heaven is a place where you can turn back the clock. If it is, I'm going back home to visit so I can enjoy the glory restored.


Transformed, Age 49


60 Years, Age 49


Banister, Age 49


Pink Lamp and Poppies, Age 47


Big Belly Vase, Age 47


Oriental Vase, Age 47


Hawaiian Flowers, Age 47


Orange Vase, Age 47


Sunflowers With No Pot, Age 47


Fancy Chair, Age 47

Spiritual Autobiography Art!

One way to share your spiritual autobiography is through art. Creativity is an excellent venue for sharing your spiritual memoir. Your spiritual story can be told on a piece of paper with words or on a canvas with paints. Consider using writing and art to tell even more about your story. Learn more about spiritual autobiography art by checking out the paintings below, visiting Alisa's blog or reading the captions below Alisa's paintings. Checking out these resources will give you ideas about how you can use art to tell your story.

Here you will find recent spiritual memoir art made by Alisa E. Clark. Visit Alisa's blog to learn more about her spiritual autobiography art at http://www.journeyoncanvas.com/dnn/Resources/Blog.aspx

Visit the homepage of Journey on Canvas to learn more about spiritual autobiography and how to keep a spiritual journal: http://www.journeyoncanvas.com/dnn/Home.aspx

Transition Collage:

I am trying to overcome my frustration with realism. I hate the fact that people don't like my art because it doesn't look real. I've actually deconstructed a bunch of my old paintings: cut them apart and reassembled them. It's called my 323 Buena Vista Road Collage Series. I'm trying to capture the beauty of my childhood home thru collage, pattern and abstraction. I use the bits and pieces of old paintings and collages that have dissatisfied me to make the series. I hacked at my art with a razor blade: sliced it into chunks and used the parts to make something new. I wasn't pleased with the results back then when I was 45, but something exciting happened when I was 47. My 323 Buena Vista Road Mixed Media Series pulls it all together. My ability to use some realism, in combination with collage and abstraction, is artistic maturity. I realize that other people may not get it that this is artistic maturity, but I know it is. I have taken my past work and integrated it with my present. I know what I am making is good. Who cares if you think it's no good because it doesn't look "real." My Transition Collage is the spark that ignites this new direction for me. I am pleased.


Transition Collage, Age 45


Home and Back Series:

Road to Heaven Painting
Road Home, Age 44

The drive to New York from Michigan is long. The road reaches out in front of me with no end in sight. When I leave my home and drive towards New York, I have to prepare myself for the differences. My dad will limp a little more and my mom will remember a little bit less. While the differences are slight to those who see them regularly, they are more profound to me. I pick up where I last left off with them, but time has moved things around. My mom and dad aren’t the same. Time has aged them and I don’t like it. I don’t know the future any more than my parents do and I hate that. All I know is God’s promise to bring them back home to Him. In spite of how impossibly hopeless the situation seems, God has them on the road back home.


People Going to Heaven Art
Goodbye Road, Age 44

The drive home from New York is so sad. I have a lump in my throat the whole time. I move away from my parents and my family with no promise that things will be the same when I return. In fact, as I drive away I have to face the truth that this may have been the last time. I have to face the truth that I might not see my mom and dad again.

More Why We Don't Suffer

More Buttons and Feathers




323 Buena Vista Road 
Collage Series:


Peacock Collage, Age 46


Yarn Swirl Collage, Age 46


Peacock Feather Collage 2, Age 46


Orange Skittle Collage, Age 46


Yarn Swirl and Skittle Collage, Age 46


Collage Exploration Series:


Take Apart 1, Age 45


Take Apart 2, Age 45


Take Apart 3, Age 45


Take Apart 4, Age 45



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