Thank you so much for following Stone Forest Studio Notes. Stone Forest is going on hiatus for a while, as I explore a different kind of "forest." It was pretty quiet around here after the birth of that second child, anyway.
Please accept this warm invitation to follow my new blog: Friendly Rock.
It's an outdoor-loving, ad-free parenting blog with camping itineraries, recipes, RV info, outdoor tips, crafts, kid stories, and plenty of midlife reflection. There might be a little art now and then, too.
www.friendlyrock.com
also on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/friendlyrock/
You can subscribe by email over there and never miss a beat, with all the new fun coming straight to your inbox.
I'll leave all the Stone Forest posts in place for now, in case anyone wants to use that nice "How to Paint Clouds" tutorial. And, who knows, the art career could come 'round again. Lots of things do.
Happy trails, happy creating, and I hope to see you over at Friendly Rock!
XO,
S
November 10, 2011 - A Nook of One's Own
Oh, it's been a banner week! I'm moving into Artful Journey School of Fine Arts. They graciously have agreed to host my burgeoning collection of canvas, paper, and supplies, and to let me use their classrooom space as an open studio. Lovely, lovely people!
Ergo, on Monday and Wednesday - this week's preschool days - I woke up with the very best kind of Christmassy Morning feeling and spent the full preschool session setting up The Nook. Hereafter, I may re-title this blog Notes from the Nook. Or is that just too too cute?
At any rate, here is my nook, a nook of my own:
I do here sincerely and publicly thank my hard-working husband for subsidizng the Nook, although I am sure he would have paid any amount necessary get all the canvases out of our living room. I think the word "bonfire" was muttered once or twice, albeit strictly sotto voce.
For the balance of this entry, I'm going to re-post last week's update email. For those who kindly consent to inclusion on my email list, this will be duplicate information, except that Poudre Studio Artists and Galleries have posted a great page for Harvest Time, complete with a slideshow of the works on display and an online voting feature.
=====
Dear Friends,
Themes of bounty and gratitude certainly are in order for this Thanksgiving month; many good things are happing here.
First, a real studio space has materialized at Artful Journey School of Fine Arts in Evergreen. After mid-month, that will be my primary working space (and, to my husband's utter delight, my primary art supply storage space as well). I am so excited to work with these fine folks and share the creative energy at their school!
Artful Journey also has invited me to give a class/demonstration on November 15. Each participant will create an abstract watercolor collage from start to finish. All materials are provided and all levels are welcome. The regular Artful Journey adult class is attending, but a few extra spots are available for special guests! Just let me know if you are interested.
November features two juried exhibits in which I am honored to be included:
November 12 through December 12 - Art Gallery 3698 Miniatures Show and Sale (Juror: Nancy Wylie)
Opening reception is Saturday, November 12, from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.
November 10 through 26 - Poudre Studio Artists & Galleries: "Harvest Time" (Juror: Marcy Silverstein)
Opening reception is Friday, November 11, from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.
Finally, new small works are available at special holiday prices. You can view them online at MesArt -- keep watching MesArt for more miniatures in the under-$50 range this month -- or in person at Osmosis Gallery's First Friday event, December 2, 2011 starting at 5:30 p.m. I hope to be there in the early evening, weather permitting.
Best wishes for an inspired fall and safe Thanksgiving travel!
=====
Next project: demo preparation for Tuesday. That should lend itself to some nice blog entries.
Ergo, on Monday and Wednesday - this week's preschool days - I woke up with the very best kind of Christmassy Morning feeling and spent the full preschool session setting up The Nook. Hereafter, I may re-title this blog Notes from the Nook. Or is that just too too cute?
At any rate, here is my nook, a nook of my own:
I do here sincerely and publicly thank my hard-working husband for subsidizng the Nook, although I am sure he would have paid any amount necessary get all the canvases out of our living room. I think the word "bonfire" was muttered once or twice, albeit strictly sotto voce.
For the balance of this entry, I'm going to re-post last week's update email. For those who kindly consent to inclusion on my email list, this will be duplicate information, except that Poudre Studio Artists and Galleries have posted a great page for Harvest Time, complete with a slideshow of the works on display and an online voting feature.
=====
Dear Friends,
Themes of bounty and gratitude certainly are in order for this Thanksgiving month; many good things are happing here.
First, a real studio space has materialized at Artful Journey School of Fine Arts in Evergreen. After mid-month, that will be my primary working space (and, to my husband's utter delight, my primary art supply storage space as well). I am so excited to work with these fine folks and share the creative energy at their school!
Artful Journey also has invited me to give a class/demonstration on November 15. Each participant will create an abstract watercolor collage from start to finish. All materials are provided and all levels are welcome. The regular Artful Journey adult class is attending, but a few extra spots are available for special guests! Just let me know if you are interested.
November features two juried exhibits in which I am honored to be included:
November 12 through December 12 - Art Gallery 3698 Miniatures Show and Sale (Juror: Nancy Wylie)
Opening reception is Saturday, November 12, from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.
November 10 through 26 - Poudre Studio Artists & Galleries: "Harvest Time" (Juror: Marcy Silverstein)
Opening reception is Friday, November 11, from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.
Finally, new small works are available at special holiday prices. You can view them online at MesArt -- keep watching MesArt for more miniatures in the under-$50 range this month -- or in person at Osmosis Gallery's First Friday event, December 2, 2011 starting at 5:30 p.m. I hope to be there in the early evening, weather permitting.
Best wishes for an inspired fall and safe Thanksgiving travel!
=====
Next project: demo preparation for Tuesday. That should lend itself to some nice blog entries.
October 21, 2011 / Updated November 3, 2011 - Denver, Colorado Area Exhibits (November Deadlines)
Calling all boys - boys
Calling all girls - girls
Calling all people on streets
Around the world . . .
- Queen
And, now, Calling All Artists.
Today's Open Studio was populated by a) me, and b) one colleague. Was everyone else out partying en plein air? It was a good day for it, if so.
My colleague mentioned that she had a hard time finding local shows. With one toe scuffing the studio lino, I confessed that I keep a nerdy spreadsheet of same. I'll share it now if -- and only if -- everyone gives me a "get out of jail free" card should I forget to update the listings in the future. Okay? Okay.
Artists, dust off your inventory; here are the Denver/Boulder/FoCo and area shows/exhibits/competitions with November deadlines:
=====FLASH!=====
Hot new deadlines added November 3, 2011:
National Screen Print Poster Awareness Month Event
Open call event for silkscreen printers, with spots still available as of November 2 for the Friday, November 4 event. Hosted in Denver by Megafauna.
Poverty Awareness Art Showcase
Deadline: November 15, 2011
Opens: December 7, 2011
This event suffers a severe dearth of Internet publicity, but it's a nice open call with a clear theme and appears to be an established annual exhibit.
LoHi Studios: Hot off the Press
Deadline: November 5, 2011
Opens: Unknown.
Also running an open call for artists at the main LoHi Studios website.
=====#END=====
Now back to our original programming:
Heritage Fine Arts Guild "This is Colorado" Annual Statewide Art Show at the Madden Museum of Art
Deadline: November 1, 2011
Opens: January 13, 2012
[There is a rumor of a show themed "Women" at Artistica Art Gallery in Southlands Mall, Aurora, but little information is available online.]
Lakewood Arts Council Holiday Arts & Crafts Show & Sale
(Crafts: All Colorado Artists / Jewelry: Members Only / 2D Art: Members Only)
Deadline: November 5
Opens: November 8
Art Gallery 3698 Third Annual Miniature Show and Sale
Deadline: November 5, 2011
Opens: November 12, 2011
CORE New Art Space: Dreams
Deadline: November 6, 2011 (or up to 2 weeks in advance)
Opens: November 10, 2011
Colorado Watercolor Society: 2012 State Watercolor Exhibition
Deadline: November 15, 2011
Opens: March 2, 2012
The Center for Fine Art Photography: Home
Deadline: November 16, 2011
Opens: March 2, 2012
2012 Telluride Plein Air
Deadline: November 30, 2011
Opens: June 29, 2012
Disclaimers apply. I don't really track art/craft fairs, I don't follow national calls (yet), and I've probably shorted the RiNo and Santa Fe private galleries, but If I made a properly comprehensive database, I would never ever have time to paint.
A further note: it's really not hard to get your work on a wall somewhere that it will be enjoyed. By way of example:
Off the Vine Coffee and Wine Bar, Englewood, Colorado
These folks recently posted a very nice ad on Craig's List calling for local artists. They want to start a gallery night. Yay! Love it! Somebody please contact them! I'd do it myself if I had any available inventory right now.
More new venues added November 2:
Evergreen Retail Boutique
Lookity look, right here at home, a local retail merchant is soliciting local artwork for consignment sale. Artists! Up and at 'em!
Denver Urban Homesteading
Craig's List again! This intriguing venue offers a rotating exhibit/sale opportunity with commission. Thank you, local business, for supporting local artists!
Rotating Exhibit Opportunity at Medical Marijuana Dispensary
All mediums welcome, says the Craig's List advertisement, with a monthly exhibit rotation. Again, props for supporting local artists in Denver!
Please feel free to comment (below) if you have an exhibit to add, and I will update this post accordingly so you can permalink [noun? verb? both?]. Enjoy. Enter. Go paint stuff.
Calling all girls - girls
Calling all people on streets
Around the world . . .
- Queen
And, now, Calling All Artists.
Today's Open Studio was populated by a) me, and b) one colleague. Was everyone else out partying en plein air? It was a good day for it, if so.
My colleague mentioned that she had a hard time finding local shows. With one toe scuffing the studio lino, I confessed that I keep a nerdy spreadsheet of same. I'll share it now if -- and only if -- everyone gives me a "get out of jail free" card should I forget to update the listings in the future. Okay? Okay.
Artists, dust off your inventory; here are the Denver/Boulder/FoCo and area shows/exhibits/competitions with November deadlines:
=====FLASH!=====
Hot new deadlines added November 3, 2011:
National Screen Print Poster Awareness Month Event
Open call event for silkscreen printers, with spots still available as of November 2 for the Friday, November 4 event. Hosted in Denver by Megafauna.
Poverty Awareness Art Showcase
Deadline: November 15, 2011
Opens: December 7, 2011
This event suffers a severe dearth of Internet publicity, but it's a nice open call with a clear theme and appears to be an established annual exhibit.
LoHi Studios: Hot off the Press
Deadline: November 5, 2011
Opens: Unknown.
Also running an open call for artists at the main LoHi Studios website.
=====#END=====
Now back to our original programming:
Heritage Fine Arts Guild "This is Colorado" Annual Statewide Art Show at the Madden Museum of Art
Deadline: November 1, 2011
Opens: January 13, 2012
[There is a rumor of a show themed "Women" at Artistica Art Gallery in Southlands Mall, Aurora, but little information is available online.]
Lakewood Arts Council Holiday Arts & Crafts Show & Sale
(Crafts: All Colorado Artists / Jewelry: Members Only / 2D Art: Members Only)
Deadline: November 5
Opens: November 8
Art Gallery 3698 Third Annual Miniature Show and Sale
Deadline: November 5, 2011
Opens: November 12, 2011
CORE New Art Space: Dreams
Deadline: November 6, 2011 (or up to 2 weeks in advance)
Opens: November 10, 2011
Colorado Watercolor Society: 2012 State Watercolor Exhibition
Deadline: November 15, 2011
Opens: March 2, 2012
The Center for Fine Art Photography: Home
Deadline: November 16, 2011
Opens: March 2, 2012
2012 Telluride Plein Air
Deadline: November 30, 2011
Opens: June 29, 2012
Disclaimers apply. I don't really track art/craft fairs, I don't follow national calls (yet), and I've probably shorted the RiNo and Santa Fe private galleries, but If I made a properly comprehensive database, I would never ever have time to paint.
A further note: it's really not hard to get your work on a wall somewhere that it will be enjoyed. By way of example:
Off the Vine Coffee and Wine Bar, Englewood, Colorado
These folks recently posted a very nice ad on Craig's List calling for local artists. They want to start a gallery night. Yay! Love it! Somebody please contact them! I'd do it myself if I had any available inventory right now.
More new venues added November 2:
Evergreen Retail Boutique
Lookity look, right here at home, a local retail merchant is soliciting local artwork for consignment sale. Artists! Up and at 'em!
Denver Urban Homesteading
Craig's List again! This intriguing venue offers a rotating exhibit/sale opportunity with commission. Thank you, local business, for supporting local artists!
Rotating Exhibit Opportunity at Medical Marijuana Dispensary
All mediums welcome, says the Craig's List advertisement, with a monthly exhibit rotation. Again, props for supporting local artists in Denver!
Please feel free to comment (below) if you have an exhibit to add, and I will update this post accordingly so you can permalink [noun? verb? both?]. Enjoy. Enter. Go paint stuff.
October 17, 2011 - Battling The Kraken
Just do it.
- Nike (technically . . . but see this.)
I'm back from an amazing Arizona art week. My preschooler is splashing in the tub five feet away. At random intervals, she screams "Mooom! Mom! MOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!," necessitating a break in typing, a mad leap to the tub, and a speedy discovery of . . . absolutely nothing. Sigh. Perhaps I left the kraken off its leash?
Actually . . . that seems an ideal metaphor about less-than ideal creative conditions, so let's go with it.
My daily art hour, which fell into the "way better than nothing" category, has further fallen into the "wayside" category. I stupidly converted my progeny's sleep habitat from a crib into a "big girl bed." Now I get a 6:00 a.m. personal visit instead of an 8:30 a.m. happy chirp. (N.B. - Next time, that fourth wall is not coming down until the kid's in college.)
So mornings are out, unless I back up to 4:00 a.m., which is not a serious option at the moment. My most wise sister likewise lost her morning painting time. Then, in preparing her house for the market, she recently also lost her painting space.
Yet she manages to paint. "I'm most creative in the mornings, but that just doesn't work around my house," she says. "So I wait until evening, when the kids have retired to their rooms and Dan is out working on the other house. Then I spread all my painting supplies out on our bed, which is the only flat space in the house, cover the bed with plastic, and . . . just do it.
"I found," she continued, "that if I kept waiting for ideal conditions, the ideal conditions would never occur. And I would never paint. So now I paint in less than ideal conditions. But I get it done."
Sister: one, kraken: zero. You go girl.
- Nike (technically . . . but see this.)
I'm back from an amazing Arizona art week. My preschooler is splashing in the tub five feet away. At random intervals, she screams "Mooom! Mom! MOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!," necessitating a break in typing, a mad leap to the tub, and a speedy discovery of . . . absolutely nothing. Sigh. Perhaps I left the kraken off its leash?
Actually . . . that seems an ideal metaphor about less-than ideal creative conditions, so let's go with it.
My daily art hour, which fell into the "way better than nothing" category, has further fallen into the "wayside" category. I stupidly converted my progeny's sleep habitat from a crib into a "big girl bed." Now I get a 6:00 a.m. personal visit instead of an 8:30 a.m. happy chirp. (N.B. - Next time, that fourth wall is not coming down until the kid's in college.)
So mornings are out, unless I back up to 4:00 a.m., which is not a serious option at the moment. My most wise sister likewise lost her morning painting time. Then, in preparing her house for the market, she recently also lost her painting space.
Yet she manages to paint. "I'm most creative in the mornings, but that just doesn't work around my house," she says. "So I wait until evening, when the kids have retired to their rooms and Dan is out working on the other house. Then I spread all my painting supplies out on our bed, which is the only flat space in the house, cover the bed with plastic, and . . . just do it.
"I found," she continued, "that if I kept waiting for ideal conditions, the ideal conditions would never occur. And I would never paint. So now I paint in less than ideal conditions. But I get it done."
Sister: one, kraken: zero. You go girl.
October 2, 2011 - Four Birds Flying; Three Birds Nesting
You must stir it and stump it,
And blow your own trumpet,
Or, trust me, you haven't a chance!
- Gilbert & Sullivan, Ruddigore
I've been wildly "stumping it" over the last two weeks. Four birds have flown: two were accepted to the Lakewood Arts Council's juried exhibit, Spotlight on Colorado Artists. Two more, to my delight, were accepted to the Poudre Studio Artists and Galleries juried exhibit, Harvest Time. I'm excited to deliver those in November, because I'll also have a chance to visit my delightful artist/theater/photographer cousins in Fort Collins.
Three birds also have alighted. I've been privileged to acquire works from Carolyn Evans Campbell, Donald Sayers, and Jared Shear. The delicious energy of their fine works creates mandala of creativity that goes 'round and 'round in a happy swirl. I also was honored to help Don Sayers with the Longmont Open Studio Tour in September, where I luxuriated in a day surrounded by fine art and fine folks.
September 2 was a big day for me: juror Jill Soukup generously selected "Roses are Red" for the second place award at the Mountainside Art Guild's Mountainside Miniatures annual exhibit. I was so impressed by this carefully juried exhibit, and most grateful to the Guild members who are sitting the show on weekends so that people can enjoy it on Saturdays and Sundays.
In the interstices, I've been pecking away at small works for the holiday season and for an upcoming miniatures show. Steve Tracy, my Wednesday Workshop instructor, is graciously tolerant of my flurry of collage paper all over our classroom at the Foothills Art Center (if you visit there, don't miss the Rocky Mountain National Watermedia Show . . . and, ahem, the Mountainside Miniatures show next door.)
That's the basic roundup. I have more in-depth blogworthy thoughts to share, but tonight is going to be a catch-up-on-sleep evening in preparation for tomorrow's open studio at Artful Journey in Evergreen. This small but vigorous fine arts school, where my preschooler produces amazing projects thanks to their amazing instructors, has become my go-to for "I've got to get away from these stacks of laundry" local painting days. Insert "luv" symbol here.
In closing, because an artist's blog entry is no fun without artworks, I'll post what I can. My photos are backlogged due to an AWOL computer cord, but said cord was unearthed two days ago and I'll soon catch up.
In the meantime, here are the pieces that will be be on display at Harvest Time in November:
The first is called "3 for $1.00" in honor of our great Colorado sweet corn . . . almost on par with Minnesota sweet corn . . . and, of course, the best way to purchase either is out of somebody's pickup at the side of a dirt road:
The second is called "Sugar Pies" in honor of the season when leaves blaze, skies darken, woodsmoke blooms, and my dear husband festoons the kitchen with from-scratch pumpkin puree:
Now that my camera is back in service, I owe several people several photos of this-and-that. I hereby make a formal mass apology for the delays and formal promises of catch-up emails soon. Thanks for bearing with me!
And blow your own trumpet,
Or, trust me, you haven't a chance!
- Gilbert & Sullivan, Ruddigore
I've been wildly "stumping it" over the last two weeks. Four birds have flown: two were accepted to the Lakewood Arts Council's juried exhibit, Spotlight on Colorado Artists. Two more, to my delight, were accepted to the Poudre Studio Artists and Galleries juried exhibit, Harvest Time. I'm excited to deliver those in November, because I'll also have a chance to visit my delightful artist/theater/photographer cousins in Fort Collins.
Three birds also have alighted. I've been privileged to acquire works from Carolyn Evans Campbell, Donald Sayers, and Jared Shear. The delicious energy of their fine works creates mandala of creativity that goes 'round and 'round in a happy swirl. I also was honored to help Don Sayers with the Longmont Open Studio Tour in September, where I luxuriated in a day surrounded by fine art and fine folks.
September 2 was a big day for me: juror Jill Soukup generously selected "Roses are Red" for the second place award at the Mountainside Art Guild's Mountainside Miniatures annual exhibit. I was so impressed by this carefully juried exhibit, and most grateful to the Guild members who are sitting the show on weekends so that people can enjoy it on Saturdays and Sundays.
In the interstices, I've been pecking away at small works for the holiday season and for an upcoming miniatures show. Steve Tracy, my Wednesday Workshop instructor, is graciously tolerant of my flurry of collage paper all over our classroom at the Foothills Art Center (if you visit there, don't miss the Rocky Mountain National Watermedia Show . . . and, ahem, the Mountainside Miniatures show next door.)
That's the basic roundup. I have more in-depth blogworthy thoughts to share, but tonight is going to be a catch-up-on-sleep evening in preparation for tomorrow's open studio at Artful Journey in Evergreen. This small but vigorous fine arts school, where my preschooler produces amazing projects thanks to their amazing instructors, has become my go-to for "I've got to get away from these stacks of laundry" local painting days. Insert "luv" symbol here.
In closing, because an artist's blog entry is no fun without artworks, I'll post what I can. My photos are backlogged due to an AWOL computer cord, but said cord was unearthed two days ago and I'll soon catch up.
In the meantime, here are the pieces that will be be on display at Harvest Time in November:
The first is called "3 for $1.00" in honor of our great Colorado sweet corn . . . almost on par with Minnesota sweet corn . . . and, of course, the best way to purchase either is out of somebody's pickup at the side of a dirt road:
The second is called "Sugar Pies" in honor of the season when leaves blaze, skies darken, woodsmoke blooms, and my dear husband festoons the kitchen with from-scratch pumpkin puree:
Now that my camera is back in service, I owe several people several photos of this-and-that. I hereby make a formal mass apology for the delays and formal promises of catch-up emails soon. Thanks for bearing with me!
September 15, 2011 - Endangered Species
My interpretation of the difference between illustration and fine art painting is that in illustration, you paint what others tell you to paint, and you paint what others want to see; whereas in fine art painting, you paint what you want to paint, and you paint what you want others to see. The former is objective, and the latter is subjective.
- Cheng-Khee Chee
My Very Best Client has requested another commission. He even paid in advance. I should be grateful. But I've been whining about it instead.
Before going further, I should note that the Very Best Client - hereinafter VBC - also is my husband. My VBC has many, many lovely qualities, but a shared taste in art is not among them. He nurtures a wicked penchant for photorealistic wildlife paintings, while Rothko is just barely abstract enough for me.
On our last go-round, he gave me a generous work order for an American Bison. I diligently researched, value-studied, sketched, splashed, scratched, glazed, layered, and ultimately procured a Great Big Bison. (If you visited the local Michael's last fall and they were out of burnt umber, that was me. Sorry.)
Upon viewing the near-final Great Big Bison, however, my VBC mused, "I really like him. But can you make him look . . . smarter?"
Smarter? Um. Many words come to mind when I think of the American Bison. Noble. Iconic. Stalwart. Mythological, even. But "smart"? Smart . . . not so much.
But the Client Hath Spoken, so I tinkered and toyed, and ultimately I produced a bison with a Disneyesque gleam in its eye. My VBC chortled with delight and promptly traipsed the painting to his office, where he proudly shows it to all and sundry. I was glad he was happy with his painting and simultaneously relieved that I would never have to do another.
No such luck. My VBC promptly commenced negotiations for a wolf. Dialogue from January 2011:
Artist: "Now I have all these great new canvases, I should paint with them."
VBC: "Yeah! Go get a canvas and get started. Are you stuck on what to paint?"
Artist: "I admit, I am still looking for ideas."
VBC: "I have some!"
Artist: "I know; I know you do. You want an Indian chief and a wolf."
VBC: "Yeah! A winter wolf. A wolf in the winter."
Artist: "Dearest VBC, I love wildlife but I don't like painting it. And I'm not particularly great at it. Do you know how much good wildlife art is out there? Scads. Tons. Heaps. From people who love doing it. Why not just buy a wolf? Support a local wildlife artist, for heaven's sake."
VBC: "But it wouldn't be YOUR wolf."
Artist: "Awww, you are sweet. You and your smart buffalo."
[pause]
VBC: (quietly but undaunted) "Or a mountain goat would be fine too."
Well, I dodged both the wolf and the mountain goat bullets, but somehow I found myself agreeing this summer to paint an owl.
"A realistic owl," enthused my VBC. "And the painting should tell a story. And can you include a baby animal in there somewhere? Oh, and it has to be big, definitely not less than 36 by 36 [inches]."
Hooboy. I haven't cashed that check yet. I am seriously considering referring my Very Best Client to the preternaturally patient Donald Neff.
- Cheng-Khee Chee
My Very Best Client has requested another commission. He even paid in advance. I should be grateful. But I've been whining about it instead.
Before going further, I should note that the Very Best Client - hereinafter VBC - also is my husband. My VBC has many, many lovely qualities, but a shared taste in art is not among them. He nurtures a wicked penchant for photorealistic wildlife paintings, while Rothko is just barely abstract enough for me.
On our last go-round, he gave me a generous work order for an American Bison. I diligently researched, value-studied, sketched, splashed, scratched, glazed, layered, and ultimately procured a Great Big Bison. (If you visited the local Michael's last fall and they were out of burnt umber, that was me. Sorry.)
Upon viewing the near-final Great Big Bison, however, my VBC mused, "I really like him. But can you make him look . . . smarter?"
Smarter? Um. Many words come to mind when I think of the American Bison. Noble. Iconic. Stalwart. Mythological, even. But "smart"? Smart . . . not so much.
But the Client Hath Spoken, so I tinkered and toyed, and ultimately I produced a bison with a Disneyesque gleam in its eye. My VBC chortled with delight and promptly traipsed the painting to his office, where he proudly shows it to all and sundry. I was glad he was happy with his painting and simultaneously relieved that I would never have to do another.
No such luck. My VBC promptly commenced negotiations for a wolf. Dialogue from January 2011:
Artist: "Now I have all these great new canvases, I should paint with them."
VBC: "Yeah! Go get a canvas and get started. Are you stuck on what to paint?"
Artist: "I admit, I am still looking for ideas."
VBC: "I have some!"
Artist: "I know; I know you do. You want an Indian chief and a wolf."
VBC: "Yeah! A winter wolf. A wolf in the winter."
Artist: "Dearest VBC, I love wildlife but I don't like painting it. And I'm not particularly great at it. Do you know how much good wildlife art is out there? Scads. Tons. Heaps. From people who love doing it. Why not just buy a wolf? Support a local wildlife artist, for heaven's sake."
VBC: "But it wouldn't be YOUR wolf."
Artist: "Awww, you are sweet. You and your smart buffalo."
[pause]
VBC: (quietly but undaunted) "Or a mountain goat would be fine too."
Well, I dodged both the wolf and the mountain goat bullets, but somehow I found myself agreeing this summer to paint an owl.
"A realistic owl," enthused my VBC. "And the painting should tell a story. And can you include a baby animal in there somewhere? Oh, and it has to be big, definitely not less than 36 by 36 [inches]."
Hooboy. I haven't cashed that check yet. I am seriously considering referring my Very Best Client to the preternaturally patient Donald Neff.
August 25, 2011 - Aspen Trees Step-by-Step (Part The Last)
This final Step-by-Step installment is a quick-and-dirty because the car is loaded, painting delivery time draws near, and there will be no time for an afternoon update because we will be at Huron Peak for a little hiking (spouse), sniffing (dog), and plein aire (me, I hope).
In Part One, we did prep work and underpainting. In Part Two, we did negative painting and some highlighting on the tree trunks. Now, I needed to blend out the stark white on the lower trees, paint upper trees, balance out the values with final glazes, and add the final "tender touches."
To knock down the gesso white on the lower trunks, I used an almost-dry foam brush and added light glazes in local color. That is, where the underpainting was blue, I glazed over the white with blue. Where the underpainting was burnt umber, I glazed over the white with burnt umber. (This doesn't actually result in polka-dot trees, although it seems like it would.) Here's a before-and-after detail:
Note that, except for wisps around the edges, most of the tree trunk is not painted. The trunk colors are the original blue/brown/yellow underpainting showing through. If I was working in watercolor (acrylics versus watercolor again!), I'd have made the underpainting even lighter and used some mid-tones to model the trunks.
Now, the bottom trunks were largely done but the tops were absent. The sky looks very white in these photos, but it's actually a subtle mix of cerulean blue and white.
I used a very watered-down ultramarine blue, a small foam brush, and a chunk of kitchen sponge to lightly model the trees against the sky. I didn't want them too dark, because I wanted the primary emphasis on the lower trunks:
In Part One, we did prep work and underpainting. In Part Two, we did negative painting and some highlighting on the tree trunks. Now, I needed to blend out the stark white on the lower trees, paint upper trees, balance out the values with final glazes, and add the final "tender touches."
To knock down the gesso white on the lower trunks, I used an almost-dry foam brush and added light glazes in local color. That is, where the underpainting was blue, I glazed over the white with blue. Where the underpainting was burnt umber, I glazed over the white with burnt umber. (This doesn't actually result in polka-dot trees, although it seems like it would.) Here's a before-and-after detail:
Note that, except for wisps around the edges, most of the tree trunk is not painted. The trunk colors are the original blue/brown/yellow underpainting showing through. If I was working in watercolor (acrylics versus watercolor again!), I'd have made the underpainting even lighter and used some mid-tones to model the trunks.
Now, the bottom trunks were largely done but the tops were absent. The sky looks very white in these photos, but it's actually a subtle mix of cerulean blue and white.
I used a very watered-down ultramarine blue, a small foam brush, and a chunk of kitchen sponge to lightly model the trees against the sky. I didn't want them too dark, because I wanted the primary emphasis on the lower trunks:
The trunks looked nice but needed heft and highlights. Because the sky behind the trunks was very light and cool, I switched to a cooler color - cadmium yellow pale - and liberally mixed it with white gesso. I laid that on pretty thickly with a foam brush:
Here, i stopped a bit. Usually I am a compulsive overworker. At each stage, I was muttering to myself the good painting adage, "Stop when you feel it's not quite finished." After some pacing and peering, I went back in with the final touches. These are too subtle to photograph, but for anyone trying to step-by-step with me, here they are:
1. Carried some "sparkles" of the cad yellow/white light down into the lower tree trunks . . . just a few, though!
2. Used a little burnt umber to lose the edges here and there in the lower tree trunks.
3. Added very tiny flashes of "surprise" color here and there; in this case, cadmium red.
An instructor of mine once called these "tender touches" - I've also heard them called "jewelry," as a reminder that they should be applied with some restraint.
So . . . trees! Now I let them dry, then went back in with a glazing medium for a sealing topcoat. Late last night, I put on the hardware. The painting won't actually be bone-dry for a couple weeks, but it's safe to transport. So transport it I will . . . with dispatch!
More lovely news: I already have a purchase offer on the painting. So Mom was right, as Moms so often are. Thanks, Mom!
I must here add a coda about soul. I didn't expect to feel connected to this painting. But it had to be done so quickly, and from such a devil-may-care place, that it turned out to be a really joyous exercise. I had to rely on what I knew, instead of fussing and worrying about whether I was doing things "right." As a result, it ended up being painted very much from the heart rather than the head.
I guess there's a moral to this Tale in Three Parts: sometimes love sneaks up on you.
August 24, 2011 - Aspen Trees Step-by-Step (Part Deux)
"Well begun is half done."
- att. Mary Poppins, but see InfoPlease Sources
The love story continues, with warm thanks to Judi of Approachable Art for the kind comment that has inspired me to promptly carry on!
In Part One, we discussed the project genesis -- read: "Holy expletive-deleted, I've got to deliver this for exhibit in four days!" -- initial underpainting, and value sketch. Now begins the fun/messy part.
On Monday morning, I sketched the trees freehand in charcoal and then mixed up nice big puddles of burnt umber, diox red, and Indian yellow (again). As a condiment, I added about a quarter-cup of Golden Regular Gloss Gel to the palette (it's worth every penny).
I then used a painting knife to begin negative-painting the background; this is a watercolor technique but can be used with any medium where you are glazing darker colors on top of lighter ones. To change up the opacity of the pure paints, I smudged gloss gel over the wet paint at irregular intervals.
Here is the result, looking pleasantly soft and moody:
To get a translucent effect where background meets sky, I double-loaded the painting knife with pure Indian yellow and pure gel medium, then twisted and turned the tip of the painting knife to gently smoosh them together on the canvas. (This is a watercolor technique; if I was working in watercolor, I'd be using water instead of gel medium for similar effects).
Things were rolling along so well that I stuck with the painting knife and laid in highlights on the tree trunks with white gesso. I would hesitate to duplicate this step in the future, though; I had to spend significant time later to soften these hard edges:
At the end of this step, the painting had entered the "Ohmigod stage." This is shorthand for, "Ohmigod, this looks so bad that I am going to burn all my paintbrushes immdiately and enroll in stockbroker school."
The only solution to the OMG stage, however, is to take a deep breath and paint right through it. So that's what we will do in the next and final entry.
- att. Mary Poppins, but see InfoPlease Sources
The love story continues, with warm thanks to Judi of Approachable Art for the kind comment that has inspired me to promptly carry on!
In Part One, we discussed the project genesis -- read: "Holy expletive-deleted, I've got to deliver this for exhibit in four days!" -- initial underpainting, and value sketch. Now begins the fun/messy part.
On Monday morning, I sketched the trees freehand in charcoal and then mixed up nice big puddles of burnt umber, diox red, and Indian yellow (again). As a condiment, I added about a quarter-cup of Golden Regular Gloss Gel to the palette (it's worth every penny).
I then used a painting knife to begin negative-painting the background; this is a watercolor technique but can be used with any medium where you are glazing darker colors on top of lighter ones. To change up the opacity of the pure paints, I smudged gloss gel over the wet paint at irregular intervals.
Here is the result, looking pleasantly soft and moody:
To get a translucent effect where background meets sky, I double-loaded the painting knife with pure Indian yellow and pure gel medium, then twisted and turned the tip of the painting knife to gently smoosh them together on the canvas. (This is a watercolor technique; if I was working in watercolor, I'd be using water instead of gel medium for similar effects).
Things were rolling along so well that I stuck with the painting knife and laid in highlights on the tree trunks with white gesso. I would hesitate to duplicate this step in the future, though; I had to spend significant time later to soften these hard edges:
At the end of this step, the painting had entered the "Ohmigod stage." This is shorthand for, "Ohmigod, this looks so bad that I am going to burn all my paintbrushes immdiately and enroll in stockbroker school."
The only solution to the OMG stage, however, is to take a deep breath and paint right through it. So that's what we will do in the next and final entry.
August 23, 2011 - Aspen Trees Step-By-Step
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night . . .
- W.B. Yeats
In this entry, and probably the next, I shall detail a love story. For those who like spoilers, here's how it ends:
Okay, I confess, it was an arranged marriage that grew into a love story. I was under deadline for a size-large painting to run across two canvases. Several grand plans for clever compositions failed to gel, one after another, while the clock ticked down. As I dipped one toe into the panic pool via phone, my genius mother -- a highly accomplished artist herself -- suggested, "Paint trees. They are vertical, everybody loves them, and they go really fast."
Inwardly, I gasped in horror. After all, wasn't my very last blog entry about painting with soul? How, then, could I face compromising the ambition to meditate, contemplate, and connect with every subject?
Easily, it turned out, when you're whining to your mother from the playground on a fine Sunday afternoon and the artwork is due for delivery on Thursday morning.
So, immediately upon returning home, I handed a foam brush to my toddler with a promise that we'd be painting in color today.
"Hep Mom payn! [help Mom paint!]" she chortled with delight, twirling around and around with the foam brush. Excellent; that's exactly the kind of enthusiasm that I needed!
We laid out the canvases in the garage, and my little one merrily "hepped" me prime them. Then she took a very great interest in the mixing of cerulean blue and white gesso, and again "hepped" me swirl in both colors for a high, clear, cool autumn sky.
At this point, happily, her attention span, our paint, and my patience all ran out at the same time. (Baths, also, were desperately needed.) After tucking her into bed on Sunday evening, I completed very washy underpainting of burnt umber, ultramarine blue, and Indian yellow:
Then, just before bed, I did my traditional value sketch in hopes that my my brain would work overnight on the exact method needed to alchemize scumbles into trees:
More to come in the next entry.
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night . . .
- W.B. Yeats
In this entry, and probably the next, I shall detail a love story. For those who like spoilers, here's how it ends:
Okay, I confess, it was an arranged marriage that grew into a love story. I was under deadline for a size-large painting to run across two canvases. Several grand plans for clever compositions failed to gel, one after another, while the clock ticked down. As I dipped one toe into the panic pool via phone, my genius mother -- a highly accomplished artist herself -- suggested, "Paint trees. They are vertical, everybody loves them, and they go really fast."
Inwardly, I gasped in horror. After all, wasn't my very last blog entry about painting with soul? How, then, could I face compromising the ambition to meditate, contemplate, and connect with every subject?
Easily, it turned out, when you're whining to your mother from the playground on a fine Sunday afternoon and the artwork is due for delivery on Thursday morning.
So, immediately upon returning home, I handed a foam brush to my toddler with a promise that we'd be painting in color today.
"Hep Mom payn! [help Mom paint!]" she chortled with delight, twirling around and around with the foam brush. Excellent; that's exactly the kind of enthusiasm that I needed!
We laid out the canvases in the garage, and my little one merrily "hepped" me prime them. Then she took a very great interest in the mixing of cerulean blue and white gesso, and again "hepped" me swirl in both colors for a high, clear, cool autumn sky.
At this point, happily, her attention span, our paint, and my patience all ran out at the same time. (Baths, also, were desperately needed.) After tucking her into bed on Sunday evening, I completed very washy underpainting of burnt umber, ultramarine blue, and Indian yellow:
Then, just before bed, I did my traditional value sketch in hopes that my my brain would work overnight on the exact method needed to alchemize scumbles into trees:
More to come in the next entry.
August 16, 2011 - Banking on the Possible
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again . . .
- John Donne
Today's stumper: can "soul" be snuffed? Or does it just go dormant from time to time?
For several months, I've been intensely thinking about what separates good artwork from good art work. The answer that keeps coming back -- from multple channels -- could be translated as "soul." Said otherwise, the artist has something to say, and that something is best -- perhaps exclusively -- capable of being visually expressed.
That's so very not a bad thing. Today I had the privilege of purchasing a painting that is technical, intense, and strong, yet utterly and deliciously reeking of soul. (I'll post the link here after it's safely delivered and enshrined upon my wall, because I love it that much.)
Earlier this month I had the pleasure of viewing artworks in fiber that also hummed and resonated with soul. The creator of those works doesn't put them out into the public. Although I think the public is missing out, I feel, again, privileged to have seen them.
I did not anticipate, though I should have anticipated, that seeking out such company, such influence, ultimately would cause/require my own strings to murmur again.
[N.B. - I had to shelve that line of pondering for the moment, because I suddenly found myself at a nexus of laundry buzzers, the Tinkerbell movie, a spouse home from work, a dog pawing at me for dinner, and a toddler needing a snack. So I wondered, "Am I fussing at myself for a lack of soul? Or could it be that I just can't hear the darned thing over the local daily ruckus?"]
When I was twenty-something-ish, a person very special to me returned to our hometown after a long absence. We met for a drink and awkwardly compared notes.
"So," he said, "you're not painting? Acting? Any of that now?"
I tossed my head with all the lovely arrogance of a Twenty-Something on the Fast Track to Somewhere and affirmed that indeed, I had put all such childish things behind me.
"No capes? No poet shirts? Not even . . . bows on your shoes?"
No, no such foolishness!, I averred, avowed, and affirmed. (I must have painfully convincing, because 15 years down the road I still remember -- and do not like the memory of -- the quiet look in his eyes at that moment.)
At that time, I had reasons to shove everything creative into a heavy strongbox and lock it up treble and toss the key far, far, far into deep thickety thickets. At that time, I was much-differently wired. At that time, I could see a clear path, but I didn't like the price tag. And they say that "if you have to ask, you can't afford it," right?
Fast-forward: I no longer believe that creativity equals craziness. This is certainly a frequent misconception of artistic twentysomethings: I forgive myself.
Further, I no longer believe that there's any particular merit to craziness-qua-craziness. It doesn't make you special. It just makes you crazy.
Further still, I believe that good art work -- three words, in italics -- comes from a serious place of study and discipline. There is always a place for the native genius, the brilliant naive, and suchlike, but the firm ground where I want to stand is underpinned with good skills and good training.
The question, then, is whether an artist/actress [turned] paralegal/lawyer [turned] artist again can complete that emotional triathlon with any tread left on the soul-tires.
I can recover the technical skills. Some never went away, and some even have improved with age and patience. But can I do this kind of painting again?
I'm banking on the possible. I'll let you know.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again . . .
- John Donne
Today's stumper: can "soul" be snuffed? Or does it just go dormant from time to time?
For several months, I've been intensely thinking about what separates good artwork from good art work. The answer that keeps coming back -- from multple channels -- could be translated as "soul." Said otherwise, the artist has something to say, and that something is best -- perhaps exclusively -- capable of being visually expressed.
That's so very not a bad thing. Today I had the privilege of purchasing a painting that is technical, intense, and strong, yet utterly and deliciously reeking of soul. (I'll post the link here after it's safely delivered and enshrined upon my wall, because I love it that much.)
Earlier this month I had the pleasure of viewing artworks in fiber that also hummed and resonated with soul. The creator of those works doesn't put them out into the public. Although I think the public is missing out, I feel, again, privileged to have seen them.
I did not anticipate, though I should have anticipated, that seeking out such company, such influence, ultimately would cause/require my own strings to murmur again.
[N.B. - I had to shelve that line of pondering for the moment, because I suddenly found myself at a nexus of laundry buzzers, the Tinkerbell movie, a spouse home from work, a dog pawing at me for dinner, and a toddler needing a snack. So I wondered, "Am I fussing at myself for a lack of soul? Or could it be that I just can't hear the darned thing over the local daily ruckus?"]
When I was twenty-something-ish, a person very special to me returned to our hometown after a long absence. We met for a drink and awkwardly compared notes.
"So," he said, "you're not painting? Acting? Any of that now?"
I tossed my head with all the lovely arrogance of a Twenty-Something on the Fast Track to Somewhere and affirmed that indeed, I had put all such childish things behind me.
"No capes? No poet shirts? Not even . . . bows on your shoes?"
No, no such foolishness!, I averred, avowed, and affirmed. (I must have painfully convincing, because 15 years down the road I still remember -- and do not like the memory of -- the quiet look in his eyes at that moment.)
At that time, I had reasons to shove everything creative into a heavy strongbox and lock it up treble and toss the key far, far, far into deep thickety thickets. At that time, I was much-differently wired. At that time, I could see a clear path, but I didn't like the price tag. And they say that "if you have to ask, you can't afford it," right?
Fast-forward: I no longer believe that creativity equals craziness. This is certainly a frequent misconception of artistic twentysomethings: I forgive myself.
Further, I no longer believe that there's any particular merit to craziness-qua-craziness. It doesn't make you special. It just makes you crazy.
Further still, I believe that good art work -- three words, in italics -- comes from a serious place of study and discipline. There is always a place for the native genius, the brilliant naive, and suchlike, but the firm ground where I want to stand is underpinned with good skills and good training.
The question, then, is whether an artist/actress [turned] paralegal/lawyer [turned] artist again can complete that emotional triathlon with any tread left on the soul-tires.
I can recover the technical skills. Some never went away, and some even have improved with age and patience. But can I do this kind of painting again?
I'm banking on the possible. I'll let you know.
August 8, 2011 - Thinking In Squares
Sa’id envisions lines in the sand.
The pieces are not yet framed in glass.
-- "Deryk," Chess Sans Voir
I am trying to solve a problem of composition.
[N.B. - Said problem-solving is not made easier -- albeit not made significantly harder -- by the tweedling of a kiddie show on the television and the occasional soprano piping at my knee: "Mama, pease I can haff . . .[item]?" [Item] can be anything, but basically it translates to "undivided attention." She is my delight.]
This week, I completed a 4x4 (foot) artwork for a commercial space, Local Market in Golden, Colorado. It was a sound project, with sound subject matter, and I am glad to have it ready for their ribbon-cutting on August 22. (Yes, it will be for sale. You can preview it here.)
Now, to balance the other side of those large walls -- and in part just to see if I can do it -- I want to do another 4x4 in the next ten days. I further want to do the second painting as a diptych. This presents some interesting problems, because my panels are 2x4 feet each, but mountains tend to be horizontal-ish things.
So. How to create two separate canvases where the images flow across as a single composition, yet keep each canvas standing on its own as a complete painting?
This problem was well-solved, over and over again, by Marcel Mouly. Although they are single images, if you divide any of his images into quadrants, each quadrant is a beautiful complete composition. Here's a nice collection for that game.
Oh, and if you'd like to purchase any little somethin' somethin' for me from that Mouly site, as an unbirthday present or for any other reason, please be my guest.
The pieces are not yet framed in glass.
-- "Deryk," Chess Sans Voir
I am trying to solve a problem of composition.
[N.B. - Said problem-solving is not made easier -- albeit not made significantly harder -- by the tweedling of a kiddie show on the television and the occasional soprano piping at my knee: "Mama, pease I can haff . . .[item]?" [Item] can be anything, but basically it translates to "undivided attention." She is my delight.]
This week, I completed a 4x4 (foot) artwork for a commercial space, Local Market in Golden, Colorado. It was a sound project, with sound subject matter, and I am glad to have it ready for their ribbon-cutting on August 22. (Yes, it will be for sale. You can preview it here.)
Now, to balance the other side of those large walls -- and in part just to see if I can do it -- I want to do another 4x4 in the next ten days. I further want to do the second painting as a diptych. This presents some interesting problems, because my panels are 2x4 feet each, but mountains tend to be horizontal-ish things.
So. How to create two separate canvases where the images flow across as a single composition, yet keep each canvas standing on its own as a complete painting?
This problem was well-solved, over and over again, by Marcel Mouly. Although they are single images, if you divide any of his images into quadrants, each quadrant is a beautiful complete composition. Here's a nice collection for that game.
Oh, and if you'd like to purchase any little somethin' somethin' for me from that Mouly site, as an unbirthday present or for any other reason, please be my guest.
July 29, 2011 - How to Paint Clouds (Finally)
Believe one who has proved it.
-- Virgil, Aeneid
I thought I could live with my previous clouds, but I could not. Ergo, I set off on a cloud-chasing mission.
A lot of folks will tell you how to paint clouds. But Tim Gagnon will tell you how to do it right. This generous soul has posted fabulous YouTube lessons on the art of cloud-painting. I tried to be an apt pupil. Here's what I've concluded:
1. A square brush makes bad clouds.
2. A round brush is a Very Good Thing: see further Tim Gagnon commentary on this issue.
3. Clouds are three-dimensional and must be modeled accordingly.
4. To beat the acrylics clock, you need to pre-mix three or four shades of grey.
Thus armed, off we go.
First, I pre-mixed several shades of grey and kept handy a big blob of unsullied white gesso. I also trimmed off a sponge brush for dabbing:
I next applied the shades of grey in layers (darkest to lightest), blending each layer out with a dry filbert brush:
On the final layer, I preserved a few hard edges:
What a beautiful difference. At this point, much emboldened, I set down my practice canvas and again attacked the poor tragic clouds in my actual workpiece.
Workpiece before:
Ew. Workpiece after:
Ah-ha! These were vastly improved but still a bit harsh, so for the next 24 hours I slapped on a gesso glaze every time I walked by the dining room table. The final product:
Splendiferous. Float me away on a fleecy cloud o' bliss. Now I must go write a thank-you note to Mr. Gagnon.
-- Virgil, Aeneid
I thought I could live with my previous clouds, but I could not. Ergo, I set off on a cloud-chasing mission.
A lot of folks will tell you how to paint clouds. But Tim Gagnon will tell you how to do it right. This generous soul has posted fabulous YouTube lessons on the art of cloud-painting. I tried to be an apt pupil. Here's what I've concluded:
1. A square brush makes bad clouds.
2. A round brush is a Very Good Thing: see further Tim Gagnon commentary on this issue.
3. Clouds are three-dimensional and must be modeled accordingly.
4. To beat the acrylics clock, you need to pre-mix three or four shades of grey.
Thus armed, off we go.
First, I pre-mixed several shades of grey and kept handy a big blob of unsullied white gesso. I also trimmed off a sponge brush for dabbing:
I next applied the shades of grey in layers (darkest to lightest), blending each layer out with a dry filbert brush:
On the final layer, I preserved a few hard edges:
What a beautiful difference. At this point, much emboldened, I set down my practice canvas and again attacked the poor tragic clouds in my actual workpiece.
Workpiece before:
Ew. Workpiece after:
Ah-ha! These were vastly improved but still a bit harsh, so for the next 24 hours I slapped on a gesso glaze every time I walked by the dining room table. The final product:
Splendiferous. Float me away on a fleecy cloud o' bliss. Now I must go write a thank-you note to Mr. Gagnon.
July 23, 2011 - Wrestling with Clouds
"What do I look like?"
"You look like a bear holding on to a balloon," you said.
"Not," said Pooh anxiously, "not like a small black cloud in a blue sky?"
"Not very much."
- A.A. Milne
Today I have been wrestling with clouds, which is neither as biblical nor as romantic as it sounds.
At yesterday's Open Studio, I began two paintings side-by-side. On the left-hand painting, the clouds were lovely, wispy, atmospheric, and everything you would want from a cloud. Witness:
On the right-hand painting, the clouds were . . . not. And they stubbornly have remained so. I've tried regular brushes, sponge brushes, paper towels, fingers, re-glazing, lifting, and even gesso-everything-and-start-overing. Here's where they stand, and they are still utterly, utterly tragic:
I am going to sleep on this problem, and perhaps I will reach for my cure-all collage papers tomorrow. In the meantime, however, the below floated by 'round sunset time:
I think Somebody up there has a wicked sense of humor.
... twenty minutes later . . .
Those tragic clouds were so embarassing that -- admittedly in a fit of pique -- I slashed a glaze of gesso over the whole sky and tackled them again. My weapon of choice for this round was a wet paper towel. It took three additional tries, but now I think can live with them:
My wise sculptor brother-in-law says that all art is a series of experiments. I repeat that to myself like a mantra. It's saving me a bucket in therapy bills.
"You look like a bear holding on to a balloon," you said.
"Not," said Pooh anxiously, "not like a small black cloud in a blue sky?"
"Not very much."
- A.A. Milne
Today I have been wrestling with clouds, which is neither as biblical nor as romantic as it sounds.
At yesterday's Open Studio, I began two paintings side-by-side. On the left-hand painting, the clouds were lovely, wispy, atmospheric, and everything you would want from a cloud. Witness:
On the right-hand painting, the clouds were . . . not. And they stubbornly have remained so. I've tried regular brushes, sponge brushes, paper towels, fingers, re-glazing, lifting, and even gesso-everything-and-start-overing. Here's where they stand, and they are still utterly, utterly tragic:
I am going to sleep on this problem, and perhaps I will reach for my cure-all collage papers tomorrow. In the meantime, however, the below floated by 'round sunset time:
I think Somebody up there has a wicked sense of humor.
... twenty minutes later . . .
Those tragic clouds were so embarassing that -- admittedly in a fit of pique -- I slashed a glaze of gesso over the whole sky and tackled them again. My weapon of choice for this round was a wet paper towel. It took three additional tries, but now I think can live with them:
My wise sculptor brother-in-law says that all art is a series of experiments. I repeat that to myself like a mantra. It's saving me a bucket in therapy bills.
July 2, 2011 - Loving: Rose Fredrick / Draw 365
“Oh, you mean draw you a cow that looks like a cow?” she said with a poisonous and knowing smile.
“Go ahead. Funny, but everybody I can think of right off the top of the head could sure God draw a fat realistic cow if they ever happened to want to. Hans Hoffman, Kline, Marca-Relli, Guston, Solomon, Rivers, Picasso, Kandinsky Motherwell, Pollock. And you know it, baby. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. You dabblers bug me. You want the applause without all the thousands of hours of labor learning how to draw, how to make brush strokes, learning all the things that give painting some bite and bones even when you don’t use any part of it. Go ahead, draw the lamp. Quick sketch. Prove I’m a jackass.”
- John D. MacDonald, One Fearful Yellow Eye
This morning, I am 10% chagrined and 90% determined.
I'm chagrined because I've known for years that I should do more heavy lifting, i.e., drawing classes, composition work, value studies, color studies, figure studies, and all the other "business of art" things that - in dear Travis McGee's words - create "bite and bones."
I'm determined because a) I've always enjoyed heavy lifting, and b) I now have opportunity and motivation for it.
At yesterday's Open Studio, we were treated to a guest appearance and critique from author, consultant, and professional curator, Rose Fredrick.
Ms. Fredrick not only has serious art chops, but an energetic style that is simultaneously warm and fearless. She was sensitive but clear with her critiques and beautifully - mesmerizing-ly - articulate about how to take each person's art to the next level.
Note: in that last sentence, I said "art," not "paintings." She did give wonderful advice for individual paintings. But she also identified skill-sets specific to each artist's style and medium; shared a basic how-to for plein aire (I needed this so much); suggested artists to contact for further training; and generously dished about what she looks for when curating a exhibit or exhibit/sale.
For hours, literally, Ms. Fredrick unflaggingly discussed our work and the larger creative process. She vivified concepts that previously were just words to me: "art is a conversation," for example. She gave extensive research and reading take-aways. I came away clutching pages of notes and reeling from new ideas. If you ever, ever have a chance to hear this amazing woman speak, you must attend.
In the meantime, please enjoy this interview, Talking with Thiebaud, on Ms. Fredrick's website. Fair warning: you'll want to curl up with your favorite adult beverage and allow plenty of time to digest the delights herein.
Now, from the mountaintop to the laundry: on Ms. Fredrick's advice, I am determined to draw something, anything, from life, every day. No matter what my schedule, surely I can find a pencil and a scrap of lunchbag somewhere in this house.
Thus: Draw 365. I started yesterday while my toddler was creating her own masterpieces:
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And today I found a moment - albeit one not quite long enough - while the dog was eating her breakfast:
![]()
I don't plan to post 365 pieces of litter from my kitchen counter, but I'll keep you updated on the project. Now go read that interview!
“Go ahead. Funny, but everybody I can think of right off the top of the head could sure God draw a fat realistic cow if they ever happened to want to. Hans Hoffman, Kline, Marca-Relli, Guston, Solomon, Rivers, Picasso, Kandinsky Motherwell, Pollock. And you know it, baby. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. You dabblers bug me. You want the applause without all the thousands of hours of labor learning how to draw, how to make brush strokes, learning all the things that give painting some bite and bones even when you don’t use any part of it. Go ahead, draw the lamp. Quick sketch. Prove I’m a jackass.”
- John D. MacDonald, One Fearful Yellow Eye
This morning, I am 10% chagrined and 90% determined.
I'm chagrined because I've known for years that I should do more heavy lifting, i.e., drawing classes, composition work, value studies, color studies, figure studies, and all the other "business of art" things that - in dear Travis McGee's words - create "bite and bones."
I'm determined because a) I've always enjoyed heavy lifting, and b) I now have opportunity and motivation for it.
At yesterday's Open Studio, we were treated to a guest appearance and critique from author, consultant, and professional curator, Rose Fredrick.
Ms. Fredrick not only has serious art chops, but an energetic style that is simultaneously warm and fearless. She was sensitive but clear with her critiques and beautifully - mesmerizing-ly - articulate about how to take each person's art to the next level.
Note: in that last sentence, I said "art," not "paintings." She did give wonderful advice for individual paintings. But she also identified skill-sets specific to each artist's style and medium; shared a basic how-to for plein aire (I needed this so much); suggested artists to contact for further training; and generously dished about what she looks for when curating a exhibit or exhibit/sale.
For hours, literally, Ms. Fredrick unflaggingly discussed our work and the larger creative process. She vivified concepts that previously were just words to me: "art is a conversation," for example. She gave extensive research and reading take-aways. I came away clutching pages of notes and reeling from new ideas. If you ever, ever have a chance to hear this amazing woman speak, you must attend.
In the meantime, please enjoy this interview, Talking with Thiebaud, on Ms. Fredrick's website. Fair warning: you'll want to curl up with your favorite adult beverage and allow plenty of time to digest the delights herein.
Now, from the mountaintop to the laundry: on Ms. Fredrick's advice, I am determined to draw something, anything, from life, every day. No matter what my schedule, surely I can find a pencil and a scrap of lunchbag somewhere in this house.
Thus: Draw 365. I started yesterday while my toddler was creating her own masterpieces:
And today I found a moment - albeit one not quite long enough - while the dog was eating her breakfast:
I don't plan to post 365 pieces of litter from my kitchen counter, but I'll keep you updated on the project. Now go read that interview!
June 19, 2011 - A Kind of Freedom
... because you know things can't get any worse.
The Freshman, TriStar Pictures (1990)
Last month, I was lucky enough to be a guest at a Santa Rita Art League meeting. The featured demonstration was "New Paintings from Old," by artist Jean Makela.
Parenthetically, I love hanging with my mother's Arizona artist posse. Many of them are retired from lifelong art careers and now feel completely free to paint how they want, when they want, and as they want. Accordingly - and this is a best-kept collectors' secret - you will find some really, really good work quietly tumbleweeding around in Green Valley, Arizona.
Ms. Makela shared a number of techniques for re-working unsuccessful pieces. Accordingly, I recently was emboldened to atack an old watercolor. Here is the "before":
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It's painted on yupo and was stored in a plastic bag for too long. When I extracted it for more work, the yupo refused to accept any additional paint.
After some head-scratching, I remembered Ms. Makela's advice and laid out some collage papers:
![]()
Then (feeling a wee bit like my toddler at Craft Time), I got busy with scissors and matte medium. The cuts were exacting. Over two days, I spent about three hours laying in the papers:
![]()
Now they are Happy Fish. And, more importantly, they are Finished Fish. The "Fast Four" will be available for sale this fall. Many thanks to Jean Makela for this successful marine salvage idea!
The Freshman, TriStar Pictures (1990)
Last month, I was lucky enough to be a guest at a Santa Rita Art League meeting. The featured demonstration was "New Paintings from Old," by artist Jean Makela.
Parenthetically, I love hanging with my mother's Arizona artist posse. Many of them are retired from lifelong art careers and now feel completely free to paint how they want, when they want, and as they want. Accordingly - and this is a best-kept collectors' secret - you will find some really, really good work quietly tumbleweeding around in Green Valley, Arizona.
Ms. Makela shared a number of techniques for re-working unsuccessful pieces. Accordingly, I recently was emboldened to atack an old watercolor. Here is the "before":
It's painted on yupo and was stored in a plastic bag for too long. When I extracted it for more work, the yupo refused to accept any additional paint.
After some head-scratching, I remembered Ms. Makela's advice and laid out some collage papers:
Then (feeling a wee bit like my toddler at Craft Time), I got busy with scissors and matte medium. The cuts were exacting. Over two days, I spent about three hours laying in the papers:
Now they are Happy Fish. And, more importantly, they are Finished Fish. The "Fast Four" will be available for sale this fall. Many thanks to Jean Makela for this successful marine salvage idea!
June 10, 2011 - How Long Did That Take You?
Happiness lies in being privileged to work hard for long hours in doing whatever you think is worth doing.
- Robert A. Heinlein
For artists, it's a standing joke, a tongue-in-cheek, a roll-of-the-eyes and a pain-in-the-other-anatomy question: "How long did that painting take you?"
Some artists answer, "A lifetime."
Some artists answer, "A lifetime," with additional flair. (See, e.g., blog entries and commentary by Martha Marshall, El Prado Gallery, and Elizabeth Berrien.)
Some artists - perhaps those more tolerant of a prospective client wondering what bang he is getting for his buck - answer in terms of days or hours.
My answer: ""How long did that take me? Probably way too long."
Today's Open Studio was sparsely populated, because most of the artists were preparing for the upcoming ASLD Summer Art Market.
Those of us who are not spending the weekend fielding interesting questions - see supra - were comparing notes on our home studios.
I confessed that my studio is the dining room table, and that I work an hour each morning.
"An hour each morning?" a colleague asked with raised eyebrow, just to be sure she'd gotten it right.
"Well . . . uh, yes . . . see, that's all I can really guarantee before the spouse, dog, and toddler wake up."
"An hour."
"But it's a good hour," I backpaddled. "I set up the night before, and then I get right to work after walking the dog in the morning, and by the time everybody wakes up, maybe I get something done."
So right now, yes, if I tell you a painting took me 18 days, it probably did. Let's see, at minimum wage, that's . . . 8 hours per day . . .hmmm . . . times 18 days . . . well, feel free to email me. We can deal.
- Robert A. Heinlein
For artists, it's a standing joke, a tongue-in-cheek, a roll-of-the-eyes and a pain-in-the-other-anatomy question: "How long did that painting take you?"
Some artists answer, "A lifetime."
Some artists answer, "A lifetime," with additional flair. (See, e.g., blog entries and commentary by Martha Marshall, El Prado Gallery, and Elizabeth Berrien.)
Some artists - perhaps those more tolerant of a prospective client wondering what bang he is getting for his buck - answer in terms of days or hours.
My answer: ""How long did that take me? Probably way too long."
Today's Open Studio was sparsely populated, because most of the artists were preparing for the upcoming ASLD Summer Art Market.
Those of us who are not spending the weekend fielding interesting questions - see supra - were comparing notes on our home studios.
I confessed that my studio is the dining room table, and that I work an hour each morning.
"An hour each morning?" a colleague asked with raised eyebrow, just to be sure she'd gotten it right.
"Well . . . uh, yes . . . see, that's all I can really guarantee before the spouse, dog, and toddler wake up."
"An hour."
"But it's a good hour," I backpaddled. "I set up the night before, and then I get right to work after walking the dog in the morning, and by the time everybody wakes up, maybe I get something done."
So right now, yes, if I tell you a painting took me 18 days, it probably did. Let's see, at minimum wage, that's . . . 8 hours per day . . .hmmm . . . times 18 days . . . well, feel free to email me. We can deal.
May 20, 2011 - Loving: Tricia Bass Workshop
In a years-ago watercolor workshop - not the one I'm about to praise - we were assigned to paint hibiscus flowers. The instructor walked among us, nodding and murmuring, "Very nice . . . very nice . . . mmm-hmmm," until she reached mine, whereupon she burst out, "Oh, my!"
Her tone was about the same tone you'd use if you found a monarch butterfly crawling on your kitchen counter on a dark midwinter morning: not a bad thing, but not exactly something you wanted to deal with before your morning coffee.
A decade later, with my oil painting supplies still fresh from their Michael's bag, I tiptoed into Painting the Still Life in Oils, a workshop taught by American Impressionist Tricia Bass.
I was so eager to take this class. I'd researched the instructor, pored over her online portfolio, watched a ton of YouTube oil painting videos, breathlessly pestered the patient souls at the Foothills Art Center over whether the course would actually proceed, and generally gotten myself all lathered up.
I'd like to blame all of this on the odorless mineral spirit fumes, but in truth I am probably just obsessive.
Ms. Bass got right down to business, painting a gorgeous demonstration piece and articulately describing each step. Then she turned us loose on our own canvases and gave one-on-one instruction for hours. What a glorious Saturday! Pages of copious notes! Plashes of oozy color! Happy happy me!
And when Ms. Bass reviewed my still life composition in the early stages, she did not say "Oh MY." She said "Awesome."
Because a picture paints a thousand words, here are two thousand to consider: A painting I created the day before the workshop . . .
. . . versus the one I created during the workshop:
Breakthrough, anyone? It's official: I'm a self-declared American Impressionist groupie. Thank you, Tricia!
Her tone was about the same tone you'd use if you found a monarch butterfly crawling on your kitchen counter on a dark midwinter morning: not a bad thing, but not exactly something you wanted to deal with before your morning coffee.
A decade later, with my oil painting supplies still fresh from their Michael's bag, I tiptoed into Painting the Still Life in Oils, a workshop taught by American Impressionist Tricia Bass.
I was so eager to take this class. I'd researched the instructor, pored over her online portfolio, watched a ton of YouTube oil painting videos, breathlessly pestered the patient souls at the Foothills Art Center over whether the course would actually proceed, and generally gotten myself all lathered up.
I'd like to blame all of this on the odorless mineral spirit fumes, but in truth I am probably just obsessive.
Ms. Bass got right down to business, painting a gorgeous demonstration piece and articulately describing each step. Then she turned us loose on our own canvases and gave one-on-one instruction for hours. What a glorious Saturday! Pages of copious notes! Plashes of oozy color! Happy happy me!
And when Ms. Bass reviewed my still life composition in the early stages, she did not say "Oh MY." She said "Awesome."
Because a picture paints a thousand words, here are two thousand to consider: A painting I created the day before the workshop . . .
. . . versus the one I created during the workshop:
Breakthrough, anyone? It's official: I'm a self-declared American Impressionist groupie. Thank you, Tricia!
May 17, 2011 - Mo'a Dat
It took me four years to paint like
Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.
- Pablo Picasso
My toddler regularly asks to "payn" [paint]. She fearlessly attacks her little pan of non-toxic watercolors. She uses every brush. She uses every brush in every possible way. She smears, pours, dabs, soaks, scrubs, and swipes.
She uses the ends of the brushes, her fingers, and her elbows. From the evidence at bathtime, she apparently also uses her ears and chin.
This child careens full-force into each little painting. Sometimes she's quick, and sometimes she's slow, but she is always fully engaged. Not once does she say, "Would you critique this for me?" Not once does she ask, "Is this finished?" Not once have I heard, "What do you think of these colors together?"
Instead, she confidently hands me her finished product at the (apparently) appropriate time, gleefully points at her personal pile of scrap paper, and firmly requests, "Mo'a dat."
Yes, more of that, indeed. Mo'a dat total freedom. Mo'a dat breathless focus. Mo'a dat boundless energy. Mo'a dat pure joy. The whole world could use mo'a dat. I will do my part. I will aspire to paint like my child.
Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.
- Pablo Picasso
My toddler regularly asks to "payn" [paint]. She fearlessly attacks her little pan of non-toxic watercolors. She uses every brush. She uses every brush in every possible way. She smears, pours, dabs, soaks, scrubs, and swipes.
She uses the ends of the brushes, her fingers, and her elbows. From the evidence at bathtime, she apparently also uses her ears and chin.
This child careens full-force into each little painting. Sometimes she's quick, and sometimes she's slow, but she is always fully engaged. Not once does she say, "Would you critique this for me?" Not once does she ask, "Is this finished?" Not once have I heard, "What do you think of these colors together?"
Instead, she confidently hands me her finished product at the (apparently) appropriate time, gleefully points at her personal pile of scrap paper, and firmly requests, "Mo'a dat."
Yes, more of that, indeed. Mo'a dat total freedom. Mo'a dat breathless focus. Mo'a dat boundless energy. Mo'a dat pure joy. The whole world could use mo'a dat. I will do my part. I will aspire to paint like my child.
May 15, 2011 - Grey
Is the spelling "grey" or "gray"? If we want to get technical, which of course we do, it's a light neutral blue-"grey."
Yes, it's snowing in Colorado. The whole Arizona week seems like a wonderful dream. I have scads and scads of blog material to share; I will parcel it out over the next few weeks. Watch for Friday updates.
In the interim, here's a question: when we rub elbows with so many females in our studios, workshops, and critique groups, why do the magazines and galleries often seem dominated by males?
I posed this question during a group this week. In response, most of the group shrugged, except for one artist who dismissively sniffed, "Ego."
Well, I think "ego" is inaccurate and incomplete. I don't have a better answer yet, but I think it has more to do with ambition. Take a look at The Scarlet A, Leslie Bennett's recent article from Elle Magazine, and pay particular attention to the comments about intentionality. Are you an asker or an askee? Is ambition distasteful? Is admitting your ambition distasteful? Let me know what you think.
And, for artists in particular, a special question: how many handicaps and negatives do you heap upon yourself? "It will never sell / It's not good enough / I can't get focused / I have no time . . . "
Bleah. I've resolved to let other people tell me "no." Pass me that scarlet A. I have a good spot for it: right here on my shoulder where the grumpy demons used to sit.
Yes, it's snowing in Colorado. The whole Arizona week seems like a wonderful dream. I have scads and scads of blog material to share; I will parcel it out over the next few weeks. Watch for Friday updates.
In the interim, here's a question: when we rub elbows with so many females in our studios, workshops, and critique groups, why do the magazines and galleries often seem dominated by males?
I posed this question during a group this week. In response, most of the group shrugged, except for one artist who dismissively sniffed, "Ego."
Well, I think "ego" is inaccurate and incomplete. I don't have a better answer yet, but I think it has more to do with ambition. Take a look at The Scarlet A, Leslie Bennett's recent article from Elle Magazine, and pay particular attention to the comments about intentionality. Are you an asker or an askee? Is ambition distasteful? Is admitting your ambition distasteful? Let me know what you think.
And, for artists in particular, a special question: how many handicaps and negatives do you heap upon yourself? "It will never sell / It's not good enough / I can't get focused / I have no time . . . "
Bleah. I've resolved to let other people tell me "no." Pass me that scarlet A. I have a good spot for it: right here on my shoulder where the grumpy demons used to sit.
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