Painting Process

I apply gesso with a joint knife to a canvas lying on a table in my New York City apartment. I beat and curse at the canvas. I work through my resistance. The next day I add more gesso and dry it with a fan. Sometimes I don’t allow the gesso to fully dry before I start my next step.

In my bedroom, I close the door, and open my altar. I shut the curtains, turn off the lights, and set my cell phone’s timer for 20-minutes. While sitting on a pillow on the floor in the half lotus position I close my eyes and ask my guide, Alexander Daniels, for guidance. We communicate through audio around my left ear and visuals in my mind’s eye. My meditations go in different directions depending on what I’m working on.

Afterward, I turn on the lights, set my timer for 10-minutes, and ask Alexander what to chant about. I stare at my Gohonzon, hold my palms together in the Anjali mudra, and chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. In my mind, I repeat what Alexander has told me to focus on. Understandings unfold aurally and visually. Sometimes I read my tarot cards for further confirmation.

I’m not a practicing Buddhist nor intend on becoming one even though I've spent many years studying it. I’m interested in using whatever works best for me. If it doesn’t work, I'm learning to stay away from it and move on to whatever’s next.

To prepare my kitchen and dining room, I wash any dishes, wipe down countertops, cover the table with a drop cloth, and place the chairs in the living room. I tie back the curtains and open windows for natural lighting and fresh air. After adding a little water to a mason jar, I leave it in the sink. All paint tubes and mediums are laid out across the counters and stove. The fan and air conditioners are turned off.

Holding a black charcoal stick in my right hand and a carpenter’s pencil in my left, I close my eyes, focus, and ask Alexander what to create. Or, I tell him what I want. With both hands, and eyes shut, I automatically draw until Alexander tells me to stop. I open my eyes, glance at what's been created, and put away the charcoal and pencil. I turn on the fan and air conditioners and play meditative music, chanting, or a favorite song on repeat. Depending on the day, I wear ear plugs.

In one hand I hold all of my brushes and whichever one falls out is the one I use. Sometimes I use palette knives. Impulses and aural messages indicate which color to choose and they're usually primary. Meditation and spiritual practices over the years have given way to this ability. I apply Liquitex's acrylic paint to my palette and often add a gold metallic medium. The color blending is done on the palette or canvas.

I paint over the charcoal and pencil lines, and work on small, random sections. Once I use a color, I leave the brush in the mason jar to soak. The brush and color selection processes are repeated until I understand the painting is complete. The session requires intense focus and energy for most of the day while suspending logical judgement about what’s being created. It can take multiple days depending on the size of the piece. I try to do it all when my husband, Jorge, is out of the apartment.

The painting is placed on an easel, photographed, and rotated until it's right side up. I start to comprehend what I painted and sign the bottom right corner. I’m drained so I take a nap instead of cleaning up. Days later I apply two coats of varnish.