Snow Time

Trying to get it right. Norman Rockwell (I think) was wont to complain about his constant fight to stay loose in his brush work. It is so easy to tighten up and pat, pat, pat the paint on soooo carefully. It's how we started in grade school. We put a lid on that crazy elf inside that says, "Splash some! You need purple here, girl!" I think its about connecting to something deep, whether its spirit or emotion, and going there, letting it emerge.

Keep Working

Feeling like crap today, laid up with something lying on my bed like a total invalid, but I am determined not to waste the day totally. Dug out some art books I haven't had time to study properly and am working my way through them.

You may recognize some of these, or not, practical and theoretical advice and info on color theory, a passion of mine. Now that I'm not working I will have the time (Ha! Best laid plans aside) to crawl my way through these one chapter at a time, implementing the lessons into my work. I am planning for great things (Thinking positively is always helpful!) and am hoping the Universe approves. If not, I am sure She will let me know.

👩🏻🎨

Won One

Woooooo-hooooooo! I won first prize in an art show on Opposites and Reflections at the Artists Corner and Gallery in Acton, MA. Very excited. Nothing like a little validation to raise the spirits. 

Pictured is myself and my sister-in-law, Lyn Slade who won a prize for her excellent needle felting. Mine is the diptych painting of the shell, inside and outside, hense opposites.

Beginning Yet Again, Studio Set up

Beginning where I am. That is the essential thing, just to start where you are and do what you can do, every day, day in, day out. Today I am tweaking my work space so I can do detail work again. I really struggled over the past several days to adjust my easel so I could handle the angle of the brush in my hand, the proximity of myself to the painting on the easel and the tilt of my back and something just wasn't working well.  And my back was telling me so also! Not good! Most of those ergonomic variables are usually not a problem, especially for many broader and not so broad brush strokes and expressive techniques. So I jury rigged an old table top drafting board to the top of an old microwave cart and now I can hunker down and get to it. I can also manage to use a Plexiglas bridge with this setup; further steadying my hand when it most needs it and keeping it out of the wet paint.

FYI - The paintings you see on the board may confuse you - they are framed! And yes, they are works in progress. I had bought a picture that was all in one with the frame, which I then gessoed over. It was a cute tourist picture of the Eiffel Tower (something that I wouldn't have painted over today given what is going on in the world) and voila! Instant picture. You do need to be vigilant not to get paint on the frame, but I haven't had too many problems in that area.

No Rope 2017

I finally made the move to go “no rope” and gave notice at my “day job”. Phew! Done! And I feel exhilarated. A little explanation may be in order. “No rope” is a reference to a Batman movie, “Dark Knight Rises” and is an incredibly important concept, day jobs and financial responsibilities aside, as it is all about focus, risk taking and being “all in” in whatever venture we are up to. So often we back off or lean, all to heavily, on supports, of which I'm sure I will have many during this journey.

Below, I have cut, pasted and edited (to make it appropriate to this point in time) an excerpt from my original “No Rope” blog post from 2012 where I wove in the need for supports, as it was an Olympic year, and worried about the affect that market pressures can have on the creative process.

Edited excerpt:

“I am thinking about two disparate things in regards to my work which are actually connected in an odd way, the movie “Dark Knight Rises” and the Olympic games. So how are Batman and Olympic athletes similar? It's about effort and trying, support and no supports, and the subtle ways they can play out in the mind. In Dark Knight, the hero of the story is trying to escape a particular prison which is a deep pit of filth and ignominy, recessed many, many stories deep into the ground. Food is lowered to them via a rope. The “guests” are not there of their own free will, but they may escape by climbing up the insides of this very deep pit. There is a a safety rope that is tethered around the waist and if our would be escapee falls, the rope catches him, keeping him from crashing into the ground and killing himself. He has support people on the ground and a mentor, people who care, counsel, feed and encourage him. Our hero tries again and again, always failing at one particular large gap in the wall which he just can't seem to make it across. Finally he goes it without the rope, and only then does he succeed. Sometimes to succeed you must really feel the need in a desperate, deep part of yourself to make that extra no-room-for error effort to leap across the chasm and finally make it to freedom.

Of course, this is real life, and the role of supports cannot be underestimated and they play an enormous role in preparing us all for whatever course our future holds for us. Olympic athletes receive intense training, coaching and funding that make it possible for them to get to where they want to be, but when push comes to shove, that final push is their own effort and they succeed or fail alone in the arena. There is no rope holding you on that balance beam. You're on your own.”

For me, as an artist, no rope means that I am more focused and motivated on where I want to go. I have to write those letters, go to those openings, research those galleries, and make those all important contacts. And I have more energy to do it, because I am not quite as distracted by the 10,000 things. I used to be concerned about whether market forces would sully the creative process, but more and more I am motivated to delve deeper into the things that I feel really passionate about and bring them forward into the world. There is an expression, actually many, about dying with your dreams inside you, or your song, or your gifts, or something and that your path is the expression of that thing you have locked inside. I have spent much time doing other things, things that were a valuable part of my process, without which I couldn't have gotten where I am, but now is the time. I'm ready.

Snow Day!

I have loved snow since I was a child, nose pressed to the glass, anxiously watching the flakes as they flutter to the silent ground, desperately hoping against hope that school would be canceled. It's a conditioned reflex. I know this from my graduate school psychology classes. Like Pavlov's dogs we sit and when we hear the bell, we salivate, but this time its not a bell, its a white piece of fluff imbued with our childhood hope, that this was a day when all our usual responsibilities would be canceled and we could spend our time sledding, sipping hot cocoa and doing nothing that resembled work in the slightest.

Many people think that art is not work. But, alas, there are many aspects of my craft that resembles the work-a-day world of the rest of you. We also have repetitive tasks, clean up duties which may takes hours, planning days (which are actually fun but often frustrating), schedules to meet, personal goals to worry about and worrying about how we will meet the next bill. And snow. We too have snow. When I paint snow, I am like a method actor who assumes the persona of the character he portrays. I am again transported back to a much younger me, the one who worried less and played more. So this is when I play. This is when I point a brush, meditate and place a pure white dot against the dark stain of a wooden barn door, open to the weather and awaiting the farmer's attention.

I am getting all sentimental about the snow, but I do love painting it, but I find I rarely plan a picture around it being a snow scene. It seems like such a sentimental subject to paint. It's not like I'm working on velvet or anything, but the long blue shadows, the two birds low on the sky to the right of the picture, and the smoke coming out of the chimney easily descends into the realm of cliché. Edward Hopper, in his paintings of lighthouses, walked right through that and came out the other side, fresh and unscathed. Connection is key. You must walk a fine line between just “painting what's there” and tapping into inner feelings that may indeed be nostalgic and wishful, but then you return to the present and just look at your topic.

I can do snow scenes “like nobody's business”, but I tend to do them in batches. I also use them as a fix it trick for work that I am stuck on. That painting that I am scratching my head over, looking sadly at muddy spots, poor design placement, smudgy rather than expressive skies, failed textures and ambiguous markings needs some strong Rx in the mix. Snow is the perfect fix. Out comes the jar of gesso (my favorite snow medium) and in comes the raw northern air from Canada, gale force winds sometimes, single flakes artfully placed on others. It obscures and covers the various boo-boos that plague a work, until that work is again filled with the hope of my childhood, pristine beauty, sparkles of ice and steep hillsides of snow. Then I am happy.

The Artist's Studio

I was recently in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts to see the exhibit on William Merritt Chase and was struck by a picture of his studio that had a dead swan hanging on the wall. Artist's studios are depicted repeatedly in art and I am wondering what a dead swan says about artists, their work environs, and how the world sees us. I am downloading and studying the pictures I have located online looking for common elements. The first thing that stands out is the mess. Wow! Talk about hoarders, as a profession, we've got that trait nailed. Some of it is an occupational hazard, the accumulation of props so our sitters will have something to fiddle with whilst idling away the hours on a sitting platform. We also collect furniture, dead animals, live animals (woof!), rugs (Vermeer), fans, millinery, antlers (K Kuerner), canoes (N C Wyeth), ladders (gets us up to the tippy top of a painting) and umbrellas (to shade out the pesky sun when its glaring meanly at us). There are great piles of papers and pots and pots of worn out paintbrushes, more than you could ever renovate. Poor Alexander Calder, who's main claim to fame with the general public are his mobiles, was totally hopeless. I am surprised that more artists' studios do not burn to the ground. Norman Rockwell's actually did once, but he was one of the neater ones. Go figure.

It is shocking, for some, the lack of organization. You would think that designing a painting, is essentially an act of organizing and ordering things. You would think that this translates into the physical environs, but no, it does not. We seem to need those items in plain sight, works in progress on the table top, not filed away, out of sight and out of mind, in some drawer. We are visual and need those things nearby, at hand, fermenting in our imaginations.