sale

Marking Down, Making Room

Sale Page The clutter, I'm learning that it can smother an artist. It's in my studio these days—piles of substrates, scattered half-used paint, scraps of paper, recently finished pieces, yet-to-be-completed pieces, abandoned pieces.

It's all there.

So I'm clearing out. I'm making room, both in my physical space as well as in my mental space.

I'm also making room in my online space.

It's time to do some marking down and moving out in order to make room for what I really would like to focus on. With that decision, you have to let go of a few things.

One of the things I'm letting go of is the "Art Journal" section in my shop. Things have gotten a bit scattered in there, and I'm streamlining the store. Part of that process is discontinuing art journal prints.

So if there's one out there that's caught your attention, this the week to place that order and clear it out. They've been marked down 50% just for you. (Click on the list above to open the sale.)

 

The Shadow Side Series

Too Much to Ask I've come to accept that there is always a both/and to life.

  • Joy and Sorrow.
  • Pain and Contentment.
  • Light and Dark.

And The Shadow Side Series reflects the darker side of what I have struggled to accept in faith and life. These are not declarations as much as they are admittances. The truths sit on a dark watercolor paper background, with the high contrast of red, blue, and white pushes the truths of these darker sides to light. They are simple, but strong. Much like truth, when it stares us in the eyes in an undeniable way. It's there. It's not ornate or flashy. But it's so very unmistakable.

At seven, I feel that this series is at a place of rightness. I am not sure if I will continue to create more "shadow sides," so I wanted to offer a collector's cut for this piece: 25% off the purchase of all seven prints. You can see the full collection HERE.

Just let me know and I will set up the purchasing details for you. Comment or email works for me: mandy@mandythompson.com

On not knowing where I am...

I take pieces of my life (and self) and smatter them on canvas. I arrange the chaos in a fashion that feels often wandering and haphazard, but often comes out grittily "right." Resolved.

Even with all the questions and confessions and shadows—scratches, tears, smudges, stains, splatters, and drips—there is harmony. There is light and grace and acceptance and some strange roaring beauty.

I see it. I stand up and step away from the work feeling resolved, as if the troubles of life have been set down. Placed aside. Moved past.

Then those canvases, they are transferred from my life to someone else's life. Maybe the patron sees a bit of her own shadow and turmoil in all my mess. Maybe he sees some way to synthesize his own questions in my questions. Maybe they can even rest in the midst of the storm after seeing a path of peace in mine.

Often it's just an awkward sterile exchange of money. One hand to another. Payment to painting. And then a piece of me is gone. And I don't know where it now rests. I don't know where I am.

The treasured moments come when they say, "Tell me why you created this one. Tell me what you were thinking." I oblige with as much vulnerability as I can afford; and I delight at the chance to ask them, "Tell me why you want to take this one home."

And the beauty of their story mingling with my story, it is a powerful work of art in itself. I walk away with the illumination of knowing these pieces will hang on the walls of their lives, bringing some light to their shadows. It is the full circle of resolution—knowing the further purpose of that piece of my life. And knowing: I am exactly where I am supposed to be.