Swoosh <2009> By Mecca Mamisao and Chati Coronel <72"X48"> Acrylic on Canvas


Day 3: Swoosh, Priming, Conquistadors and Eternal Wonder

I finished Swoosh today. I came into the gallery and knew I had to do more work on it. After meditation, I wrote on the canvas: We are twinkling, fluctuating stars. Mass-Energy-Mass. Mass-Light-Mass. And that was it. I knew it was done.

Painting #2:

I spent a lot of time priming the second canvas today. Priming is a big deal to me,a big part of the process of painting. It's not just about making sure that the surface is even and prepped for the color that will be painted over it. It's the start of the painting itself. Because it comes right after my meditation ( I do 100 breaths or a session of chanting before I paint), priming is a direct extension of my meditation.

Today, I got a lot of insight while priming:

First, I realized that by priming the canvas, I am giving this piece of cloth its history. And because paint comes in varying degrees of transparency, a lot of this history shows through my work. Much like people carry their history with them whether they mean to or not.

Then, I looked at my hand and thought about my history. Specifically, the history of my hand. This led to my next insight. I watched my hand make brushstrokes and thought of my ancestors. I thought about my ancestors' hands. The DNA coursing through my hand is the same as the DNA in theirs. Same as that hand somewhere in history that threw a spear through someone's heart. That picked coconuts from a tree. That hand that held a rail to board a Spanish Galleon or that hand that scribbled equations on a blackboard. Or that hand that held another's for 50 years.

I thought about the simplicity and the magnitude of the history of my hand. And how all that history goes into each brushstroke. I blessed this painting with the power of all my ancestors. More importantly, with this painting I blessed all the hands that made mine.

As I was finishing up for the day, I thought about the people that say painting is dead. How can it be dead when it is still filled with so much wonder? Painting is a mystery I never want to solve.