Annell Livingston

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Annell Livingston

There is poetry in the land. Especially the desert, often yellow ochre and burnt sand. But when you look at a distance, it is green, pink, lavender, blues and warm grays, and like love, it is austere. When you listen you will swear you can hear the music of the desert, which literally floats on the wind. The sun shines hot on most days. It is a wonderland, a poem.

When I begin working on a new series, the ideas are fresh and new. I am excited. New ideas flash through my mind, and my step is lighter. As I work through my ideas, the light dims, and my interest lags. When the work is complete, the light goes out.

I discover that the experience of coming to the end of a series is similar to the feelings I have had about the desert where the colors are subtle, the spectrum is narrow and the optical illusions are disconcerting. It is like a wasteland, a wilderness — a personal desert — and I have properly lost my way.

In order to find my way, I return to my exploration of the grid, since the grid is the basis for most maps. It could be thought that I am creating my own story, map, song, poem or painting.

I add personal signs and symbols in the form of abstracted drawings, which could be thought to be similar to the petroglyphs and pictographs often found in the desert. They are based on a landscape of the imagination, where nothing is as it appears. This desert could be thought of, as an actual place, or as a metaphor for a stage in the creative process.