Tuesday, March 20, 2012

THE INCLINE

Dave and Stan. Or Batman and Robin.
So there's this little thing called "The Incline" in Manitou Springs, CO and folks in those parts eat it for breakfast. See that first photo? That's my brother-in-law, Dave Philipps, ultra runner, journalist and author of Lethal Warriors (that's a blog post to write in the future, but in the meantime google it; it changed my world) at The Incline's base with sidekick Stanley. The Incline is a mile-long, 1900 foot elevation gain ascent up the base of Pikes Peak originally built to carry materials via cable car to build pipelines on Pikes Peak. After the pipes were built, they used it to get tourists up to the top for the splendid view. After a damaging rock slide, the attraction was shut down, but foot travelers took this as an opportunity to get in a really good workout. If you didn't already gather from its name, it is a rigorous, anaerobic, very steep hike to the top at high altitude with low oxygen levels. The closer one gets to victory, the steeper and wider the steps become. For my Vermont peeps, it's kind of like hiking the last 1/4 mile of Camel's Hump from the Waterbury side 4 times while plugging your nose. 


From the base. 
This is a challenge I like to torture myself with every time I visit my sister and her family in Colorado. My first attempt in 2006 failed shamefully when I used the halfway bailout path. At the time, I couldn't fathom one more upward step. And I didn't believe that I was capable of making it to the top. My mind was plagued with a list of excuses: I am not used to the elevation, I didn't have my Wheaties today, I'm not in good enough shape, I'm not a crazy Coloradan. So I took the easy way out and bailed. I waited a few years before trying it again in the beginning of 2010,  this time determined and equipped with the full belief that I was perfectly capable and prepared to make it to the top. Precious moments were shared along the way with training Russian Olympians, a whole beefy lot of them resting near the halfway mark, wooting me cheerfully as I passed by them. Dave went ahead of me and timed my journey from the top, 41 minutes to the very last step. The reward is a sweet view of the nested city below and endless volumes of the bluest sky.  





Moi et Stanley.
These photos are from my 5th and most recent ascent, just a couple of weeks ago while visiting CO. Dave woke me at 6 am on Saturday, also something I didn't used to think I could do, but now relish the beauty of early mornings when they actually happen for me (not too often). We soaked up some caffeine and flew out to Manitou Springs where parking was already sparse with early morning flocks of incliners. Dave pushed ahead with his ultra runner lungs and legs as I tried to slip into a Pandora-infused trance at a smooth, careful pace. I paused my journey to let two teenage boys, both with headphones and heavy sweats, pass by me so I could capitalize on some personal space. I couldn't help but think how awfully cute it was to see the two of them climbing this giant hill together on an early Saturday morning. It's wasn't too long before I passed by them while they were taking a break on the sidelines to catch their breath, bent over at the waist, peeling layers of sweat material off already-exhausted limbs. I gave them silent high fives.


"...I think I remember those eyes, eyes, eyes. Cause baby tonight, the dj got us fallin in love again..." YES! I love this song! I propelled upward happier with Usher and Pitbull cheering me on, making it to the destination in 40 flat minutes. And this is the lovely view at the top (photo below), little Colorado Springs nested below and endless volumes of the bluest sky. From the top, the rails drop off like the tracks of a roller coaster at its steepest and highest peek. Along the route, I took inventory of my compadres. They included men, women, young, old, fast, slow, thick and thin. All kinds are permitted here. To google "the incline" is to discover an incline club of sorts. There is a comradeship and joy in being a successful incline hiker. There are forums to post times (the best times seem to be in the 20 minute category) and comments on one's experience. 


"Your love is like
a roller coaster
baby baby."
For me, this challenge is about doing. It's not just about trying, because in trying we sometimes already acknowledge the possibility of failure. I believe that in order to conquer the variety of challenges set before us in life, from wee-est to grandest, we must calm our inner critic, the voice that says we can't do things and makes lists of very creative excuses for us why not, and just do. As a creative person I constantly have to check my inner critic at the door, allowing the freedom to just paint. Of course there is a plethora of daily doubts on my mind, and I am careful to weed doubt from reality, b doubt kills dreams and makes unhappy people. And we need happy people here. I encourage you to quiet your inner critic and move forward with the audacity that we are all capable of. Just be. Just do. Nike says it well, "Just do it." Stop over thinking it. Even the tiniest challenges show us what we're capable of. 


                    Be well. Be proud. Just be. 


       



Thursday, March 1, 2012

A Happy Discovery

Oh why hello there! Welcome to my new blog! If you're new to me, I am Anna Ayres, an oil and acrylic landscape painter living in Montpelier, VT. In the past few months, I have become overwhelmed with enthusiasm to paint as I begin to explore oils. This blog is an opportunity for me to share insights, inspirations and anecdotes while gaining feedback and wisdom from anyone interested in reading. I am in love with the painting process and have so many ideas bubbling to the surface right now that I can't paint nearly fast enough to share them all! It is my hope that this blog will serve as an outlet for some of this creative energy as I continue to ride this sweet wave! And I will try to limit my use of exclamation marks in the future. Promise.

Writing a blog is a little bit like beginning a new painting. There are so many potential options, choices, decisions and edits. The combination of these factors supplies infinite possibility. So it is a tad overwhelming and unless I just accept these words as I write them, I will never achieve complete satisfaction and thus will never publish a single post. So that is my disclaimer. I will do my best, in the present moment, to share honestly and wholeheartedly! Woops, that one slipped out.

I travelled down to Rutland, VT two weeks ago for the opening reception of "Women in the Arts: 2012" at the Chaffee Art Center (http://www.chaffeeartcenter.org/) in which I have 9 pieces exhibited until March 17th. It was a wonderful opening: shoulder to shoulder art seekers in the 1895 Victorian mansion that houses the art center, free-flowing wine, snacks, music and especially fantastic art. Eleven female artists comprise the show: all well-spoken, educated, thoughtful, practicing and professional. I left the opening wondering just how I fit in with these established women, feeling like my art was disparate from the rest. While theirs was cerebral, abstract, interesting, unique and technically developed, mine seemed straightforward, too colorful and lacking significance.

Two days after the opening, I found myself wandering into Rivendell Books in downtown Montpelier, a shop I had not visited in years, but was oddly drawn to on that particular Sunday afternoon. The first shelf I arrived at was the art section. Seemed fitting. Books on Van Gogh, the Impressionists and Picasso dominated the section and in the midst of turning to wander farther into the abyss of culture and words, a spread of orange maple leaves against an ultramarine background caught my eye. What I discovered was this book (image above), The Group of Seven and Tom Thomson. Wikipedia tells me that The Group of Seven was a group of seven Canadian landscape painters (and Tom Thomson, who died just before the artists named the group) producing work together from 1920 to 1933, initiating the first major Canadian national art movement. I could hardly believe my eyes as I flipped through the bold, colorful images. Each painting left my mouth more agape. These paintings were stunning. And I'd never seen any of them before. The style folded into these pages was just what I was yearning for: colorful, lively, bold, expressionistic, illustrative, simple. It was like confirmation that the kind of work I do and am drawn to is okay. Just a few days earlier, I was painting this:

A Friend's View, 24 x 30". Anna Ayres.

This painting began with a significantly different, more natural color palette, but it never felt quite right. It took several revisions (and a few years) before I decided to scrap the more traditional colors and textures and just do what felt natural to me. I lept a little and used my imagination. This is what happened. And then I found The Group of Seven, and it was as though I'd been channeling these artists all along. I completed the painting the next day with confidence. I am so grateful for this happenstance. It revealed to me that I am on track and that there is a place for me amongst the other artists at the Chaffee. There is a place for all of us and the work we do. So long as we are listening and carrying out the agenda of our hearts, we are just where we are meant to be. The reasons evolve as we do.

If you have the opportunity to pick this book up, absolutely do. It's gorgeous! I hope to some day see these paintings in person across the border way up north. Until then, I will take comfort in these pages and study these images for inspiration and guidance. I thank you for reading this and look forward to living the next story I will share.

Peace,
Anna