Ann Marie Vancas-artist

Sensuism
 It was created roughly about the year  2016 by Artist Ann Marie Vancas

The movement started with a merging of Fauvism…Surrealism and Abstract Expressionism.

The art needed its own category…
And so Sensuism was born…

The first and most important is to free the mind of all clutter…preconceived notions and all associations…This is essential to move about the  blank canvas without fear…
You must be assertive and at the same time have a continuous curiosity…. And  the falcon eyes of a child…unflinching without self-consciousness…

It is essential you are in a space where you only are looking inward…for to see what is in front of you is to copy the images of the world… and instead see with the eyes of the soul and the heart…
If you know what you are looking for…you will never find it.

You are allowed emotion…but you are not allowed thoughts…
You palette will be music…
You will choose songs..that you will get lost in… the dream state between wakefulness and sleep.
they are only to ENHANCE what you are already FEELING and not THINKING.
This is very important…because thoughts carry the dust from  the streets of memories and obligations.

When you have you musical palette….you will let the music carry you… you may look at the canvas…to create…as long as your focus is inward…for me it is easier to place the canvas on the floor….As when I am with my internal self…my eyes are downcast…mistaken for shyness…I am simply closing the door.

Once you have this foundation… you create your secret space…as no one knows your heart…your soul..and in this state you can create…with complete secrecy….and privacy.
If you are completely in the honesty of your feelings…carried by the music…you will have no mistakes…not need to erase…stop…or recreate…lines bold…almost never blending…colour side by side as to let the eye naturally blend them together visually.

As with an opal…you  see  different luminous shades and colour when looked at from different angles…so the artistic piece will have different images when looked at with each different  set of eyes.
Layering with the viewers own self to add an extra layer of Patina to the piece…

 
The painting should never be defined by the artist…(unless in secret) as to let the viewer create his/her own story…

Conclusions:
Sensuism is the absence of intellect…it is the essence of emotion. Stripped down and coloured with the palette of music.
 It is a ballad of freedom…once intellect and language are  removed…you can see that emotion has many shapes…colours and sounds with nothing left but raw feeling.








To be misunderstood is not a cliché’ … There are a few…  more than a few …

We are wandering around society…
hidden…
not relating to people so much…
but only to the faint sounds of a butterfly’s wings…
Trying to understand…. how we are supposed to be….
And what if we are to  love …?
then that love becomes the butterfly…
free to fly ….
and so it does….
 
 Suddenly we are left  only to  love  the misty vapors of a memory… clinging to something that is intangible….

but something so intangible… capable of ripping out each of the chords of my heart one by one…strand by strand...
Each note played off key as it dies in a tensionless pile at the base of my soul…

Each day a slow death… each remaining chord holding what’s left of my human heart….
The beats become weaker…as the pain grows stronger…and that  pain is the only thing that sustains it…

Each day the memory fades….the colour of your continence  and the sound of your voice…
I'm holding  on to the pain... because that is all that I have left of you….
Butterflys….so beautiful…spend so much time in the chrysalis… only to spend a short time stretching its wings in the sun…


And so it was with our love…





And just like that…she went back to believing in magic of things unseen.
The wind that carries the sail that carries ships is stronger that the rope that ties it to the shore. Lost at Sea...
  She was not looking for a blind man. But a man that does not see with his eyes.
I cannot be with someone who does not see me she said...

She watched Haos ….remembering that time on the beach…when the sea creatures convinced her to love this broken thing… love is the unseen… was this just someone wanting to be entertained…? something to excite him…?
Someone who wants to live his life in an intoxicated state…?
Egos Burning....


She knew it was wrong to do…and her hesitation was understandable… But She let them talk her into entering this world… and he tried to change Istina…to make her into the land creatures he loves so much…but she would not change…to his frustration…and the very thing he loved about her…he tried unbeknownst to him..to destroy…
Waves of doubt rocked the shores...


He thought her simple life with the sea creatures made Istina ignorant…He never understood her because he did not care to…Her outward beauty was enough for him…It was all he wanted..and this was how he “loved” all the land creatures…
She did what they asked...stayed for a time…but realized..she missed her beloved ocean.
she missed the serenity….the peace…and mostly…the ones who loved her with such love… they did not have to look at her to see her.
Haos told  himself and to the others…he did not need her..she was so easily replaceable with the other land creatures who were so much like him…and there were so many so why not? And they like him…good looking…perfection and intelligence not to be surpassed by anyone else…including this idealistic creature…full of music…and daydreams…and most of all her imperfections…so unlike the land creatures…who surpassed her in all ways… he thought..How he despised her imperfections...


Perhaps he was better off …than to be with such a strange creature…one that he never saw…understood...And her home..the sea..bored him immensly..
With its silence...rocking back and forth...wind whispering but never really saying anything... She was so much like the sea he hated...all one monochrome colour...he never saw that it was the sun and the moon that dictated the different shades of blue...varied by the proximity to the shore...could suddenly be a deep turquoise...if placed in a glass and held to the light..completely clear and colourless...

To him it made perfect sense…if you have no idea what is in front of you…you cannot lose anything that you never saw in the first place…Therefore it never existed...

Istina was angry though…angry that she left her slumber… to be with this land creature…
So set in this life of the temporary…of the sadness…
this  deep empty void of a life without love terrified her…
She missed the warmth of the ocean….the expanse and freedom of being in a place of love.
It left her exhausted…
Trying to be like the land creatures exhausted her…
She accepted her distinct simpleness… thinking with fear…how close she was to losing this loving curiosity..and optimism for what was real.
She was slowly being infected by the angry bitter and senseless life of  creatures who only existed to feed off of   each other…..
This time on the land…left her with a wound…and it would probably leave a scar…
She looked back with sadness…one last time…
She saw a distorted view of Haos on the shore…
She knew he would never reach her here…

 His lungs would quickly fill with water and that would be the end…


She quickly swam away…feeling the embrace of the clear warm tropical waters…
He was better off with the land creatures..she told herself…
they can revel in their drunkenness …and talk of how stupid it is to love…using each other in a viscous cycle…then once their use is no longer  acceptable…They will keep their eyes open for the next commodity that come their way…and if suitable for use…the cycle will continue as before…
Like a broken ferris wheel in an abandoned park..the rickety  old contraption spinning endlessly…
New riders…but always the same view… and as the ride gets older and older…more rickety until it too can no longer spin on its axis…having to give up and be destroyed…where in a decade or more…never to be thought of again…
this is what makes people old…and look old…and to be old…their hearts were like dried fruit…their bodies soon followed…
fading like footprints in the sand...


To be eternally youthful is to be able to love…
and to have love…
This jadedness of the land creatures left their appearances ugly….no matter what else they did to improve the outside…
Their continence grey…cloudy…
There was no luminosity….
And what? Was this living?
Selfish love...

Please don’t let me here on my own…he said...
But you will  never really be alone she explained to him.… never really will be…he will always have someone in his presence…and for some that was enough…as for him she did not know..…. And perhaps he can find and be in love…if he wants… or not…with a creature who loves as he sees fit….eagos aflame...token words...adrenaline dumps...until there is no where left to turn...
It will be enough...
But perhaps she will return...


Ahhh....Istina...when will you every learn?


and she has seen this face before....
She did not care any longer about the sunshine...she instead focused on the reflection of its rays from the moon...
It hid the fire in her eyes..


She swam away…and hid amongst the seaweed to recover with a long slumber….
She awoke once…
thinking she was still on the land…and panicked…but realizing she was back in the ocean…and home …  She thought to herself…I am only a small  creature buried in a vast ocean … …she fell back into a peaceful sleep.









"Perhaps best known is Wassily Kandinsky, whose abstract paintings  were his experience of seeing music in colour, line and form. His 1911 work Impression III (Concert) was inspired by a concert in Munich at which he heard the music of Arnold Schoenberg, and while the painting has some representational elements, its vivid wash of yellow describes sound itself. Kandinsky wrote on the subject with a spiritual fervour: “Colour is the keyboard. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano with its many strings. The artist is the hand that purposely sets the soul vibrating by means of this or that key.”

Credit given to:
Holly Williams
21 October 2014

BBC.com

And this..is the heart to which I create my pieces...
I was told that there is a name for this...
Synesthesia...yes it is a thing...Basically...if you hear a sound..it translates to colour...and vice versa...
An example is that most would think of the colour of tears would be clear or blue...
But a with synesthesia...it for me is red..because red is pain...
and depending of the origin of the tears... (happy..sad etc) then the colour varies...
Deep grief would be portrayed as dark maroon or black...
red a simple heart ache...etc...
Synesthesia is very instinctual..rarely is a piece planned...I only need to know I want to create art and that is my plan.
At this point I use music to  help  me find my way...and to direct me to where I need to go on my canvas...
It disciplines the rawness of emotions.. it is sorted  and blended in this way.
and puts it in a temporary "box"..
This is removed piece by piece...emotion by emotion...colour by colour..
Then arranged on canvas to create art...
With music to guide my thoughts and emotions...
All three can be seemlessly tied together.

Sometimes it is simply based on the music itself..a decade in life.
I created 'Free Love" by listening to music from the 60's.
I love the happy carefreeness of that time..and the wonder of liberation.
The New and Different.
Todays times are so dark...I find myself wanting to learn about people of past decades..and to place myself in that time...
Hence the traveling to another place and also a time!

Art for me is a constant searching...if you ever find what you have searched for...then you have not found it!
What does this mean...? at the risk of sounding too poetic...and romantic...
It is a love affair...
It is a relationship....a feeling...an emotion...a journey.
If it is not part of that which is human..then it a part of that which is humanity.
Mostly...art is to the eye  as music is to the ear.

I had a friend who was a quadriplegic....
He could not travel far...in body
But in his mind...he could travel anywhere he wanted to go!
I love abstract...surrealism..fauvism..expressionism.
These types of art have no rules...not constraints.
The sky is the limit..and the best part is that there is no one there to tell you it is “wrong'
As in incorrect...and you can "go" where you choose!
yes there are certain boundaries...technical things in the execusion of the piece...but in my art...It is mostly freedom of emotion.
In art..to truly create..it must be free...the imagination is infinite...


We as humans are unique to animals in the fact we can create art and music...
How sad for them!


This is my artistic journey...
That which makes my art me...

Ann Marie...
artist






The friends were asleep on the floor… you could hear their breathing not so labored…
My eyes flew open but I could not move.
The sea air blew through the creaking structure… the scurry of some unknown life…
I thought about my life…trying to get me to a place that was not this.
I had somehow disturbed something that was previously undisturbed.

It’s substance came over to inspect me…I closed my eyes…hoping it would not see me…
I slowed my breathing… broke into a sweat… I knew it  could smell fear…

It moved to the window…and seeped like mercury through the cracks…. Flew over the bay in search of souls…
I thought…The sea creatures must be terrified now…then I imagined what sort of creatures could be awake right now…
I could not move to wake my friends…blissfully unaware of the drama that was unfolding… I prayed he would find what he was looking for out in that ocean. And not be back…
Then I realized. This was probably his home…

Suddenly I focused on the daytime…the bright clothing we wore on the beach...the intense sunlight…
me floating on my surfboard…sun on my shoulders…
Anything to get my mind out of this hell that I had stumbled on…

The sorrow….The obsessions…the despair and the base endless hell this creature lived in… I accidentally landed right in the middle of this…
I thought…I will try and befriend him… but I knew that this was a creature that had no friends…at least not now…
All this creature had was momentous items   of a past life…hanging on to them life a buoy floating in the vast ocean…trying not to drown in the hell he had created.

He eyed me as a way out of the darkness… inspecting me and trying to decide if he wanted to take me with him or to destroy me…

He let me know he wanted to be free…and so many years ago he was…free
He had done terrible things…and was banished to this beach house…his friends were the barnacles…
clinging to him in the hopes he would help their own daylight…
the small legged mammals that scurried in the night…because only at night…they could show their faces…
and the insects that fed on the scraps of those that lived in the daylight…
Yet all of these…held the notion that they were not living in darkness… all together…feeding off of each other…in this hell…by the sea.
My friends…still silently sleeping… I wanted to wake them…to touch the reality…and go back to the life I was from…
This dark place I was visiting…by just being awake…terrified me… It terrified me in the despair of it all…
the finality…the permanence…
I decided to look with the eyes of my soul because my eyes were too terrified to open.
I saw a blob of base creatures…at one time beautiful….merged together in a type of disgusting gruel…
Their pride created this hell…they used people…they hated those that were less fortunate…they mocked…killed….
They used love as a form of currency.., to trick the unsuspecting…and the ones who needed love…

They climbed through windows at night…all ways looking to the left and to the right…afraid of being seen…
Thinking that if they stole the ones living in the daylight…their hell would not be as bad…

Some were fooled into thinking this was life…until it was too late…
Don’t get me wrong… there was pleasure in all of this…or else why would they be here?
But this was so many years ago…at a time they were free…They squandered freedom…
And now they relive their past lives over and over…engaging others to relive it with them...
and endless swirling pit of emotion. Despair…lust…hate…jealously and greed…
There was some type of fascination it held for me…
But then suddenly..
The desperate…cloying stench of it all… I hated them all…I wanted them all to go away…
The vaporous images…sensed my rage…
And scurried to the corners with the vermin…
I saw the despair in their eyes…. And I wanted to run from this place…
at this time… the daybreak crept through the dingy windows…
I saw my surfboard leaning up against the wall… a piece of normalcy….
the creatures then went back into their darkness…
My eyes adjusted….I could smell the salt water…the seagulls awakened. They were being fed scraps form the night before by the shrimpers getting ready for their morning ventures…
I inhaled a deep breath of salt air…
I stepped over sleeping bodies…still unaware of what transpired just hours before…
I saw  2 small eyes watching me from the kitchen…a small mouse getting his last meal form his night shift… I fed him a cracker…intensely saddened for him that he lived with the night creatures of despair…
through no fault of his own…
I stepped out into the light of day…dragging my board down the steps…I let the sun warm my surf wax…preparing my board for the days adventures…
And me  wondering why I was the one that was awakened while my friends blissfully slept through it all.
As it always seemed to be…




In 2005 I listened to the same song….Moonlight Sonota…
Then….I had discovered the CD in a box…my brothers x left it behind when they moved out of the house…
I wanted something different to listen to… I had come out of a life long place of despair….
And had all of this wiped away… All of a sudden I felt at peace…and safe… and so happy.
I sat on my first computer… with my dial up modem….
I continued to write in my diary… but mostly I wanted to just sit and let the music absorb into my being…
each key..each note…floating in my brain like fingers touching each bad memory and healing it.
I cried listening to this song…looking at a dingy wall..in my back room….how different from now…looking out a window onto 288 with a view of downtown….
I now see the dark storm clouds hovering above the skyline….gently brushing the tops of the buildings  as they pass by….deciding weather or not they want to release their tears….
Same song…different view….
I used to think of not breathing…I think my breathing slowed so much as did  my heart rate…when I was in this state…I would say…perhaps my heart will just slowly stop beating for good…and I could fade away in peace….

But I had to stay here for some reason….
At this time… people whom I loved were still alive…
No so now…
Now I look on the outside and things are sunny and beautiful…but on the inside…there is sadness…because the people who saw that same sun also saw the dark storm clouds hovering over their skyline…
Sometimes we get so busy with what we call “life” that we forget the living… Including our own lives…and what it truly means to live..

Before I had a computer…I had a million diaries..and pieces of paper in which I would write my thoughts down…completely different life…but same thoughts.

I have ONE painting… that I did in the late 90’s while listening to Soundgarden’s   Fell on Black Days…
when I first saw them at Lallapaloosa …I did not particularly like this type of grunge…being as I needed loud bass and dance rhythm to get me out of my head.
But when I heard Chris Cornell’s 4 octave range…and his passion…his pain...and he was hot AF…(helps)
I said..hmmm…. I understand what he is speaking about…And I embraced wallowing in my dark thoughts as opposed to drowning them out…
So…what is this dark heavy feeling that some of us are plagued with? I don’t think it is exclusive to artists.. (performing and otherwise) we are just more vocal about it.
Others suffer in relative obscurity…
I think it can be described…as a feeling of being forced to be something…do something…live some way…that you are not capable of…but feel like your have to force yourself to literally LIVE…

And living can literally kill you…
I think that life is not just the air in your lungs…the beating of your heart…
But how do we live?
What does it mean to live? We set goals…and things we wish to accomplish….and we do them…
the satisfaction is fleeting…and we feel the need to add another accomplishment…so is this not like the hamster in the wheel?
Tell me how to live…and I will have life…
Back to the painting…
My x has it…in storage it seems… if you flip it on the back..you can see the footprints of my Doberman Pinscher Koby..who has since passed…
I’m a lil miffed this one is in storage..but there is a reason why x’s are x’s lol….
But it was the only Black and White painting I ever did…
still to this day…and it has traveled with me through many relationships…and apartment spaces…
traveled in a convertible Porche…and jeep Cherokee…Chevy Impala…actually 2..a couple of pick up trucks…
its been stepped on…cried on…displayed in shows… moved…cleaned…warped…and now stored somewhere…
When anyone else will look at it…they will see an amateur black and white painting with not much depth…and certainly no colour…
But I had to get those words on that canvas…thought they were not mine…
They belonged to Chris Cornell…while he was still living.
“don’t you lock up something you wanted to see fly…”
Because sometimes people want  you to be successful for their own sake…and to have some sort of a possession out of you…(more so for me at this time)
the irony is that…if you lock something up…you really don’t want to see it fly…. Because how can one truly fly if they are locked up?
The lock on the door is usually fear…
And life is just a form of doing time…
I never painted a black and white painting again…maybe I will one day…
I have done small drawings..on paper…
but they will never be the same…
because sometimes….if you look at a particular painting…you can see  a hidden self portrait of the artist…
a distorted snapshot of the artists soul… that only the artist can recognize…
So I ponder those that passed… friends…. That this life was so painful…that they had to leave and give up the fight of just trying to live…
And I had no time to grieve…really…
So for some reason…I stop and write this… and think of the friend I had…
And how we looked at that painting together (why black and white Annie?) And he always supported me…
And how we laughed together…and grieved..and went on our adventures….
How he liked Dos XX beer and I like Bohemia…How he hated all my boyfriends… (rightfully so)because they never truly cared about who I was…
We talked of our struggles… heartbreaks…but I just took it for granted…he would always..keep trying to live…



“I'm a search light soul they say
But I can't see it in the night
I'm only faking when I get it right…”
Lyrics by Chris Cornell…






And then there are those that attempt to destroy love.
But Love is resilient…
So is this thing about falling in love about survival?
You must make yourself hard of heart to live? Or to beat down the feeling so that the heart is nothing but a dried-up shell?
Why do we always blame love…ourselves? Should we not blame the one who seeks to destroy all that is beautiful? Love is at the same time fragile and as strong as a warrior…
The fight of the warrior should be to fight protecting the object of his love…and not to fight to protect only it’s very existence.
Love will always exist…it will just leave.
I think love for the most part is a traveler…. Looking for a place to land.
Guns are deadly if found in the wrong hands…
Same holds true for the human heart.
I know I should not say this…but some people do not deserve love…but none the less. They get it anyway..
Maybe more so than the ones that do.

“He found an unsuspecting victim and casually ripped her heart from its cage…
Bit into it and tossed it into the pile….
He laughed manically….
I do this all  in the name of love he said…
His unsuspecting victims were many.”

Taken from my previous manuscript…
”The Maniac”


This type of damage can turn an otherwise open and hopeful person into a killer.
In other words…the human heart in the wrong hands can destroy love.
Or the existence of it for that person…
Love will always exist…but it is fluid…all encompassing…it will simply leave.
The sad part for the victim…is that love can be seen..heard…but completely unreachable…
They try to go back to their previous state but cant.
So they move forward…into all that is offered…a bleak and endless void…
looking for the scraps and pieces of broken hearts on the ground…
Trying to piece them together to make some semblance of what was…
But only to have an ugly mosaic of the past…
Trying desperately to reach the future thru the past is a type of impossibility that leads to a type of insanity.
Like a type of hell…they see love in others…but cannot reach it…
Simply because they do not want to…
So they look for the trampled pieces of discarded hearts…examining them for what is salvageable…
And pretending to love what is in their hands…all the while hating their very existence.
Angry that love will not save them from pain…
Because they lack the ability to sacrifice…
The very thing love needs to exist...
It's all in the details...







In a world…so superficial…so on the surface…it’s a terrifying place to be.
Everyone has someone/something trapped inside them…trying to breathe. Trying to move…
trying to be loved…trying to love.
Some simply can’t…It’s the weakness of man.
Like a butterfly in a wire cage…every time she beats her wings to try and fly... The wings become more tattered and torn….
You can tell the depth of her longing for escape by simply counting the scars on her wings.
But how do you think she got there?
Was she born there?
Was she lured…?
None the less…the door is locked…and she pleads with her eyes for the one who holds the key….
Trapped in every rib cage beats a heart…
And if the heart beats... There is life….
Our own bodies carry this metaphor of life. Even in death.
There the human heart lies…in its cage of skin and bones…





my . artist run website