thoughts on art and creative living

It’s been a while since I’ve created any updates… not because I don’t have anything going on, mind you. More likely, I have TOO much going on, and not enough time to write about it. First of all, I finally decided I’d had enough of trying to get anything done in my dreary basement studio, so I decided to begin renting a space in a cooperative artists’ space. I’m sharing it with another artist, so my personal space is about half the size of my last space, but what a difference it makes to have lots of light and tall ceilings!   Here’s a little visual tour, starting with the view from the entrance, then an above view:
.… then moving clockwise around my personal creative space:
.I built all the shelves from scrap wood, and have been busy meticulously planning everything so that there’s space for everything..I’m finding that I really like having everything within reach, and the possibility of working on several things at once.
.Maryanne’s space is on the opposite wall, where we both have access to the large, south-facing window. We also have some shared shelves some 10 feet away, against the entrance-wall.
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I’m still finishing up the building of all of my shelves, but I feel that I’ve been pretty successful in making a small space work for me. There’s also some extra space at the entrance which will be used as an exhibition space once I’ve finished the shelves (too much dust to leave things uncovered at this point).

Below is an image of what’s currently on my easel. It’s not finished yet, but far enough to feel excited about sharing it. I’m continually amazed by how many of my paintings develop. Usually I begin without any real intention for what the imagery will become. Then ideas spring to me while I’m in the process of creating. Images fall into my hands at the appropriate moment… and then the magic happens.

This began with a panel that I found in someone’s free box. It had an abstract painting on it which I painted over with dripped paint and sponging. That sat for about a year as just a “nice background texture”. Once I moved into this studio, I pulled it out. After going through my folders of images, I selected a black-and-white image (around 1 1/2″ square) of a 5th century Indian sculpture. There was something in the expression that interested me, so I painted it. Then I came upon this image of these weird birds. Fortunately I kept enough of the original article to identify them as “hoatzins”. They were in an article I found called “The Strangest Birds on Earth” (I can’t remember the source I plucked it from, though perhaps a Natural History magazine). Why this woman is taking a regatta ride with these huge birds by her side is as much a mystery to me as anyone else. After committing myself to this theme, I learned that hoatzins are an “unusual species of tropical bird found in swamps, riverine forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco delta in South America” (Wikipedia). I also learned that they can’t swim and that they are poor fliers, so perhaps the idea of them taking a boat ride is not so unusual. What surprises me is that they are not (yet) an endangered species, since they are reported to be fairly unwary. Perhaps they have been saved by the fact that they give off a foul smell when threatened, and they don’t taste good (a common nickname for them is “stinkbird”). Now I have another reason to travel to the Amazon river forests. I am very interested in the indigenous cultures of this area, and now I’m totally fascinated by these birds!

Now that my studio move is nearly complete, I can now concentrate on packing, organizing and getting rid of some of my belongings. Moving every couple of years is the only thing that prevents me from becoming a total pack-rat! At the end of this month I’ll be moving into my new home at the base of Mt. Tabor. More updates will come after everything is in place!

Months have led up to a recent “breakthrough painting” that I feel really proud of sharing with everyone. I feel like a lot of synchronistic events led up to the birthing of this one. A recent impulse led to taking a solo trip to the Oregon coast. As soon as I began walking the path through this particular forest, I felt this was the place that called me here. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is places like this that called me to move from magical Taos, to a place that was closer to my birth.

Soon after discovering this place, a friend from New Mexico came to visit me, and I just had to share this special forest with her. She had the same kind of magical response to it. When she saw this hollowed out tree covered with moss and ivy, she acted on her impulse to curl up underneath it. She settled into this most perfect pose within a minute. All I had to do was take the picture, and I knew immediately it would be a wonderful subject for a painting. In fact, it was SO perfect that my biggest challenge was how I would go about creating something that could rival the photo.

I decided I wanted to work on frosted mylar, as I love it’s smooth, translucent surface. First, I made a very general sketch on an 18 x24 sheet. After getting the basic composition in, I added the first layer of acrylic paint… and then a more specific sketch of my subject with colored pencils.

I decided to begin with glazes of paint, pressing plastic wrap into them to obtain a random texture. Once that’s done, I started adding more textured details using a combination of sponging and impasto texturing.

The detail below shows that at this point I am working in a very abstract manner, allowing the paint itself to suggest the texture of the leaves and moss:

I continue to add more layers, but eventually get to a point when I’m not sure where else to take it. Other than adding more detail, what can I do to bring this in a direction that’s more personal than copying the photo?

It was fortunate that I happened to take a collage class at this point. Creating a small collage helped me to decide that I needed to create a color shift of the branches, changing the grayish limbs to a purplish blue brought out more of the fantasy element that this scene inspired within me. (I make more specific mention of the collage process in a previous post).

Now that I’m on track with what the painting is asking of me, I have more energy to devote to its completion. It also happens that I’ve been asked to do a show and since I’ve decided that this piece will grace the invitation, it creates more energetic fire to stay up til 4 or 5 am for several nights. My creative juices always seem to flow much better in the evening.

I had a lot of fun adding details to the moss and leaves. “God(dess) is in the details”.

I also had a lot of fun with the patterns in her skirt.

I was amazed when I enlarged my photo of Olivia to discover that she had wrapped her prayer beads around her hand. This little detail adds more meaning to the picture. When I contemplate this pose, I think of nesting… resting in the womb of the earth. She feels sheltered, embraced by the roots that wrap around her.

It was hard for me to decide on a title for this painting. I had an idea of what it meant to me, but putting words to it were eluding me, so I queried many friends to see what they thought. It was enlightening to hear how many suggestions alluded to ideas of nesting, the womb, Gaia (mother earth), cocooning, and gestation. The image reminds me that deep within the forest I feel a natural home. Walking through an old growth forest, in particular, I feel awakened to a sense of magic… an awareness of how ALIVE the earth is. This awareness enlivens my senses, brings me out of the doldrum of (too much) activity…. and reminds me of my ancestral belonging.

(my discoveries at art camp)

For the past month, my energy has been consumed by creating websites, teaching classes, and cranking out jewelry and reproductions for art fairs. In the first week of August alone, I did 3 fairs (in Portland, Sellwood, and on the Oregon coast, in Yachats). Summer is the time for this and I’ve met lots of wonderful people through it, but production work is exhausting, so when the time came for my week of art camp at Menucha, I was ready for five days of focus on nothing but art!

I had learned about the Arts at Menucha programs through Susan Schenck, a student from last semester.  She was solving a color theory assignment with a remarkable collage technique that she said she learned from a class with Linda Berkley.  I knew Linda some 15 years ago when we were both “artists in residence” at Anderson Ranch Arts Center, in Colorado.  I decided to take Linda’s collage class offered through the Arts at Menucha program.  The workshops are located along the beautiful Columbia River Gorge, in Corbett, Oregon.  The name Menucha has Hebrew roots, meaning something similar to “place of still waters”, and the motto of the Menucha community is “Sacred Space, Purposeful Work”.  The place lives up to its motto, as the environment encourages both creative and spiritual growth.

One of my primary intentions in working with collage was to use it as a means of working out compositions for my paintings.  My first experiment was to try to resolve a nearly completed painting of a woman curled up at the roots of a mossy tree. (I’ll share more process photos of this as my painting reaches completion in another  post, since there were many steps involved in its creation before the collage exploration).  One of my dilemmas was that I felt that the painting was too similar to the photograph I had taken for its inspiration.  I wanted to add some more abstract elements, but didn’t know which direction to take it.  Linda suggested that I create a small thumbnail drawing of the painting, then do a quick collage using black and white paper, followed by a color collage of magazine scraps:

The operative word here was “quick”, as she wanted to push me towards my own expressed intention of making more spontaneous choices.  When she said I had “5 more minutes” to finish my color collage,  I hadn’t even found all the colors I needed to complete it.  It was partly from the frustration of not finding the right color that I ended up creating the purple branch that surrounds the shape of the figure.  This part of the painting originally had more grayish tones.  When I changed the branch to blue-purple in the painting, there was an “AHA” moment, in the realization that what it needed was a more saturated color in this area.  I feel that it brings out the yin-yang relationship between the upward-reaching (cool) blue branches vs. the downward flow of the (warmer) mossy green branches.

On the second day of class, it was suggested that we create a collage based on a thumbnail sketch of something drawn from observation.  Linda gave the example of using a plant in the room, looking out the window, or going outside into the landscape.  I decided to go outside since we were in such a beautiful natural setting.  I found a tree that interested me and made a few small thumbnails, followed by a longer study.  I then went about painting papers in the color scheme that I’d conceived (instead of hunting for specific colors in magazines).  Originally, the tree was going to be in blues and purples, with a reddish sky.  I started with the sky but was disappointed when I tried to build the tree with the blue papers.

By the next morning I had another idea when I saw some textured paper sitting on the top of my stack of collage materials.  It was actually a monoprint made with inked aluminum foil.  I didn’t have enough of this texture to complete my design, so I brought it to the copy machine, creating a range of values and magnifications of the texture.  I tinted the ground in green, to differentiate it from the roots somewhat.  I later added a photo of an owl (after creating another collage which included an owl).  It seems to complete the piece, suggesting more of  a narrative.

Our next assignment was to collaborate with a student in the writing class.  We were asked to give one of our collages to the writing department, where it would be randomly paired with a student. We were also given a randomly selected piece of writing to respond to.  We had 5 students, whereas the writing class had 4, so the teacher also participated.   I later found out that the poem that was given to me was by the writing teacher, Ann Staley.

“Ars Poetica” (on the nature of poetry)

It was all fading,
the dream hitchiked to Kansas.
Hot water, eyes closed -
everything too fast.
Six unknowns,
the refrain.
Lovefest in a sacred place.
But, of course,
the fragments in the desert:
broken down truck &
3-legged table,
bicycle tires, mismatched:
what is abandoned,
reclaimed by attention
and her cousin, purposeful work.

I took my direction from the dreamy feeling, and particularly the phrases, “eyes closed”, and “Lovefest in a sacred place”.  I had brought an image of a painting by one of my favorite artists, Odilon Redon, so I decided to quote it in my collage.   The suggestion of a desert prompted me to create a turban from magazine fragments of cloth.  I then made use of my painted papers and xeroxed fragments of my monoprint texture.  I played with putting a pressed flower in the corner opposite the face, but couldn’t commit to it, so off I went to the copy machine again.

At this time, I discovered that the laser copier was also capable of making color copies and reverse images, so I decided to play with a symmetrical composition.  The idea of adding an owl came from the fact that I had a dream that an owl flew at my face.  The dream occurred the morning I left for Menucha, and since I had a difficult time removing the owl from my face, I decided she had a strong desire to be included in my experiments.  I first painted the owl on vellum, then photocopied it in a few sizes to find the right relationship with the composition.  This is, for me, one of the most wonderful aspects of  using collage: the fact that you can choose to move things around, which is not possible once you’ve committed to an image in painting.

The pressed spray of Queene Anne’s lace flowers ended up being a “nest” for the baby owl crying for its mother.  (I realize that I need to add some color to differentiate this from its textured background). If I end up making a painted version of this collage, the 2 dreaming figures will have clasped hands holding the nest. They may transform into a man and a woman with similar features.

On the fourth day, we displayed our collaborative collages and writings where the rest of the Menucha community could see them, in the cafeteria.  My collage was placed underneath Ann’s poem.  Coincidentally, I found that the collage that I gave to the writing class was paired with a response by the same writer (Ann Staley).  Since my collage was not signed, she had no indicator as to its orientation, and ended up responding to the image on its side.  Once I saw it totally divorced from its relationship to my painting, I also saw it with new eyes.  I’ve included her poetic response below:

I was particularly struck by the fact that my absent figure became a rock, and that she even made mention of “who is missing from this collage, and why are they missing?”  I also contemplate the scraps and bits I didn’t use, and the fact that they might be reincarnated into yet another collage or painting.  Perhaps I’ll continue the process and create another collage based on her poem.  Maybe this time I’ll consider the presence of the wind.  Perhaps this is just another new beginning.

With 1/2 day of my class remaining,   I decided to make use of the leftover copies of the dreaming faces.  Again, I played with symmetry, this time creating a triangular composition.  The effect is a bit more abstract.  It takes a moment to even recognize that these are mirrored fragments of a person (it’s difficult to discern the gender, which is my preference).

Now home, I continue to play with my collage experiments by cropping and changing the hues of some of my compositions in Photoshop.  I went with the intention to finish some unresolved paintings, but instead came back with more ideas to generate into new paintings.  I also feel that I have found a new way of working, and a few more tools to explore.

On the morning that I left for art camp, there were a couple other dreams that bear mentioning.  In the first place, I knew within the dream that I was at Menucha , as I was surrounded by a group of people when the owl flew at me.  Although the owl would not get off of my face, I wasn’t horrified by it.  As I struggled to remove it, I told the others to throw some water on its head (I have a vague memory that someone at the center had instructed me to do this if ever the situation should occur, as if it were a likely possibility).  I then went out to my car and found a blue bird flying in it.  At this point, I remember  that that earlier in the day I’d seen a bird on my palette, on the table next to my easel. It was a dream within a dream… not too disimilar to the process of creating in collage.  I still ponder what it all means and what the birds have to say to me.  Rather than answering the question, I prefer to suggest the mystery.

An artist named Belinda Subraman recently combined my artwork with poetry and music in this video that she produced, titled “Whose Cries Are Not Music”

Poetry by Linda Bennbinghoff, music by Ken Clinger, with reading and production by Belinda Subraman.

Rate and/or comment this video on YouTube

Also, my work was selected to grace the cover of a new book!

Ghost Symptoms: Break The Spell And Be Well (Paperback)
by Kelly Kiernan Ray

Amazon Link

Ghost Symptoms explains how experiences such as emotional trauma and spirit interference affect the human energy field. I enjoy the personal tone of Kelly Ray’s story-telling of personal transformation. I wasn’t very open to the idea of spirit attachments before reading this book, but now understand that it may very well be a common occurrence.  Even without this interest, the personal stories, case studies and historical perspectives makes this a very good read. I especially find the “Claim Your Space” technique very helpful for grounding and clearing my energy field.

Other things on the Horizon:

If you are in Portland, check out my upcoming art classes on my events page. It also includes local galleries where you can see my work in person.

Here I am, trying to get a better view of the Oregon coast from my perch.  It looks like I’m enjoying a morning brew, but that’s actually my camera I’m holding.  For the most part, I enjoy being behind the camera instead of in front of it (though I tend to enjoy photos of the back of my head, blurry, or sometimes caught in a spontaneous moment).

I haven’t been on a trip to the coast since I did a show in Yachats last Summer.  Even then, I didn’t have enough time to thoroughly enjoy where I was (being too concerned with managing my booth), so I decided this time it would be something I would do just for the experience of feeding my need to travel.  It’s also a tme for image-gathering.  Being in unfamiliar places always brings out the photographer in me, and this trip was no exception.

At first I felt disappointed that it rained throughout most of my trip.  I went for clarity, and what I got was rain.  In an ironic way, this is exactly the right circumstances for clarity because it tends to make me more introspective.  And of course, there is a beauty to it as well.  In fact, sometimes it’s what you don’t see well that makes an image all the more poetic.   

Here’s my view of Cape Perpetua.  It was drizzling on and off, and when I got to the lookout, the rain clouds opened up just enough to see below.

I had a dream about the coast before I decided to travel here.  I was looking out at a magnificent view of the ocean.  In the dream, the light was dazzling as it reflected on the waves. My dreaming self asked if I would be able to muster the courage to jump if I had to… and the answer that came back to me was YES.  I knew when I awoke that this was not any kind of death-wish, but the clear recognition that I have the ability to pursue my dreams… and to survive whatever circumstances arise.  It was this dream that encouraged me to take a one-day intuitive painting workshop  (An Artist’s Life, with Diane Hoff-Rome)  in Monroe (between Corvallis and Eugene).  From there I decided to visit a friend in the coastal town of Florence… then to travel up the coast to Cannon Beach before returning to Portland.

In retrospect, the workshop had more to do with learning to trust myself (or jump into the ocean) than I had realized.  We spent much of our time drawing or painting with our eyes closed.  This is an odd shift for me.  I have a hard time letting go of control, but when I do, it is indeed liberating.  And I was actually surprised that some of my favorite drawings were those I had done with either my eyes closed, or using my non-dominant hand.  Double-blind drawings (not looking at the view or the paper), combined with using my non-dominant hand was a bit too much of a stretch for me.  Perhaps I need to give up control incrementally (like learning to swim in a pool before I dive into the ocean).

Though I had to work fast with this landscape, it did have the general feel of the scene that I viewed from the studio window.  The second image simply began with a gesture, instead of anything seen.  The archetypal image of trees are within me, however… so it’s no surprise that this is what my hand spontaneously creates.

Later in the trip, my friend, Jackie, snapped this photo of me absorbing the energy of a giant tree.  It turns out we both have a special attraction to old-growth forests. Once we entered the enchanted forest, we were in another world…

While we took plenty of pictures of the ocean, we were even more entranced by the more intimate spaces created within the wooded landscapes bordering the beaches.  We succumbed to our elf-selves, taking pictures of trees, roots, moss, mushrooms, leaves…

A kind stranger offered to click a pic of the both of us, adding her own unique twist:

Back on my own, I stopped at many of the look-out points and a few parks.  My favorite beach entrance was Oswald West, between Manzanita and Cannon Beach.  You are required to walk 1/4 mile through an ancient forest, along a river path, before you reach the beach. If you are a fan of mossy tree stumps, like me, this is the place to go (if you believe in fairies and tree spirits, you’ll probably find them here too!)

The cavern created by the hollowed out roots of this tree became my meditation spot.  To give some perspective as to size, I could stand completely erect beneath it.

Once I found the spot at the beach where I most resonated, I asked the ocean for any guidance that may come.  The first word was “Paint!”  Looking at the birds circling in the sky, I heard, “Fly!”… Looking at the waves, I heard “Flow”, and watching the surfers attempt to ride the waves, I thought, “Wait for the wave, then throw yourself into it!”

So those are the lessons of my journey.  Now is the time to apply them to my life.

I’ve finally figured out how to get the pics off of my camera phone, so I’m waaaay behind in updating some of my students’ artworks!  Here’s some samples from current and past classes.   (I’m so proud of everyone!)

Intuitive Painting and Collage

These are from a class that met for 4 sessions.  Students combined textural painting techniques, image transfers, stencils (and gold-leaf in some cases)

“Dynamic Still-Life Painting” (Spring Semester)

“Get Started Painting” (Spring semester “In Process” Shots)

“Interpretive Landscape”

Winter Semester (“Get Started Painting” class)

Simple Still-Life, Winter Semester “Get Started Painting” Students

Portraiture, “Get Started Painting” (Winter semester)

I forgot to bring my camera the day that my class played with the subject of portraiture.  Tony  (a student who is an experienced watercolorist, but new to acrylic painting), sent me this photo of a painting he began in class, but finished at home.  The assignment required working from a small photograph, making artistic choices to alter the original.

Transferring images can be done with photocopies, some magazine images, inkjet or laser prints.  I suggest using a high contrast laser image for your first efforts because I think the results are more reliable, but the options are open for trying practically anything.  In regards to imagery, try whatever you have a strong connection to.  Winter skies hold a fascination for me, with the filigree of naked branches against a sky.  Many people have an attraction to vintage photographs, or ephemera that comes through their hands regularly through magazines. Other ideas: family photos, scientific illustrations, clip art…

I’ve been intending to do some videos of the acrylic gel transfer that I’m using in my mixed media class.  I’ve noticed that there’s already plenty of artists doing this on YouTube, so I’m including some of the best ones I’ve viewed here. There’s so many ways to do image transfers and I haven’t tried all of them yet.  It can be a little tricky, so practice, practice, practice! .. and have fun!!

Gel Medium Transfer
In this demo by Darlene Olivia McElroy, the artist uses a magazine image, transfered with gel medium, a brayer, and water spritzer. You can also do this with a laser copy (high contrast recommended). The brayer can be substituted with the back of a spoon, and water can be sponged on if you don’t have a sprayer.

Check out some of Darlene’s amazing artwork on her site: http://darleneoliviamcelroy.com

Injet Transparency transfer onto fabric (Quick Method!)

This one uses gel medium with an inkjet transparency, transferred onto interfacing:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pcbkbOKplQ

Inkjet Transparency Transfer Onto Acrylic Painting

This method takes more drying time than the one above. Artist Jane DesRosier adds transfer images to her acrylic painting  using her inkjet printer, transparency film, and matte medium, but discovered later that her gel medium transfers worked best (see part 2, linked below)

Part 2 of this process shows that drying time is very important: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQtUIW66dPQ

Jane’s website: http://grittyartstudio.wordpress.com

Thick Acrylic Gel Transfer

Here’s another way to do a gel transfer that requires a thick slather of gloss gel or soft gel medium, dried face down on glass.  Takes a bit longer, but very effective!  (Hint: you can probably speed drying time with a hair dryer)

Part 2 shows the completion of the process, the cleanup and lifting stage: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTxfYS8pFSc

The image above is a painting created by Jutta Reichardt.  It illustrates the use of an acrylic image transfer, acrylic surface techniques, and stenciled gold leaf that I introduced to my Mixed Media class, taught through Portland Community College last semester. Jutta produced some really amazing work during the class, and I wish my camera didn’t keep running out of batteries every time I wanted to photograph my students works! In this particular piece, Jutta was inspired by learning about a pioneering woman journalist, Nelly Bly, who was famous in her day for traveling around the world in 72 days.  She also revealed the conditions of the working class around the world, and exposed mistreatment of people with mental illness.  It seems to me that having an intense interest in a subject (any subject) can propel the work to its own successful conclusion.

I’m sort of relieved to be on a teaching break til mid January.  It’s good to have some time to get back into my own work more fully, to listen more carefully to what drives me personally… which in the end, I think will make me a better teacher.

I love teaching, as it re-awakens my passion for disseminating information about art.  After all, if making art were just for myself, it would be a pretty selfish thing, wouldn’t it??  The truth of the matter is that the desire to create is both selfish and selfless.  I create because I must, because I am an endlessly frustrated human being if I do not have an outlet for all of the images and thoughts that pour through me.  Whenever I give myself to my creative expression, I return to the most sane aspects of my self.  I become more grounded in my experience of practically everything.  It improves my relationship to myself, to others, and the world around me.  Teaching can also be a very connective experience, and it gives me great pleasure to see anyone grow in their confidence in expressing themselves.

The catch-22 about teaching is that creating art is not merely about having a handle on technique.  Yes, techniques are important.  They are the tools we use to express ourselves visually.  But it’s having a connection to our personal vision that’s most important, and that’s a very difficult thing to teach.  To some extent, we can learn it from example.  I give my students a lot of examples of what other artists are doing, in terms of both subject matter and technique, which I hope might be inspiring to their own works.  This is the reason I’ve posted so many articles on this blog related to various art inspirations (see index for these articles here).

I’ve come to the conclusion that a lot of what the class experience is about is providing a space where students are given permission to allow their creative selves to emerge.  I give specific assignments related to using colors, surface techniques, image transfers, etc… but it’s mostly a matter of giving the students a place to create where they feel encouragement, gentle direction, and the immersion of being with others who are also creating, which becomes a large part of the learning experience.  I think that artists need a combination of experiences which include the isolation of working alone, the creative atmosphere of learning from others, as well as a number of other life experiences that provide the ideas that feed their work.

I strongly suggest some form of journaling to record one’s thoughts (both visually and verbally).  Sketching, doodling, or photographing things of interest to you are all helpful in gaining access to your personal sources of inspiration.  Your process of journaling and what to include in it really depends on what ignites your creative furnace.  You might also enjoy gathering things from walks in nature… or gathering ephemera from old magazines, thrift store finds, etc.  If you enjoy textures and patterns, you might collect cloth, lace, or decorative papers that can later be collaged into your works.

I personally enjoy a mixed media approach to creating art, simply because it opens up the range of possibilities.  Practically anything can become fodder for creative exploration.  I enjoy books that provide lots of ideas for how to bring ideas together, giving the reader permission to try anything.

I occasionally check on the blogs of other artists to see what they are creating, and I just found out that an artist I’ve been following has just released a book about exploring collage.  I’ve just checked it out on Amazon, and this looks like a really good one to get my hands on, so I’m spreading the word:

Susan Tuttle‘s new book is called Exhibition 36: Mixed Media Demonstrations (Amazon link)

Susan is offering a free book in her contest for those who mention the book on their blog.  I could really use this book to add to inspiring ideas for my own art as well as teaching, so I’m hoping I have a good chance of winning the book! (see this page of her blog for details on this, if you’d also like a chance at this).  While you’re there, check out some of Susan’s amazing mixed media art.  Here’s an example of one of her assemblages, titled, “I Went to the Woods”:

(Update: I didn’t win the book, but trying for it gave me the idea of occasionally reviewing art books that I think are particularly inspiring.  Look forward to seeing some art book reviews in the future).

I’ve been craving a bit of solitude lately.  Speaking of this need to a friend, she offered me her place for the weekend, while she was out of town.  After sharing houses for years, this small break was like heaven for me.  I decided to make it into my own little creative/spiritual retreat.  The focus was to read, write, walk, paint and meditate… and nothing else.   I highly recommend this to anyone who feels overwhelmed by the pressures of the everyday.  Whatever it is that engages you with your higher self, focus on nothing but this for a day, a weekend, a week… whatever you can afford to give yourself.

At the outset, I decided not to judge whatever I produced.  This is time for me, not for pumping out salable artwork.  Sometimes the pressure of that is itself debilitating.  I wanted to flow with whatever came up for me.

I started the painting above a little before the retreat, but brought it along to have at least one thing that already had a beginning.  It was the freshest thing in my studio.  It began with star-shaped flowers…. then the swirling sky.  I started to see a bird in the sky, so I painted that.  Then I saw the woman.  It’s not finished, but I sort of like it this way right now.  When I come to a place where I don’t know what to do next, I stop.  I feed my senses with something else until the next step announces itself.  I read, walk or I paint something else.

I was at a loss about what to paint next.  Mostly, I give myself too many choices, so my biggest dilemma is making a decision.  I got up to make some tea and looked at Joy’s walls for a little while.  I found myself staring at a madonna image.  Mind you, I’m not a religious person (in the traditional way, at least), but when a little voice in my head told me to “paint myself as the goddess”, I decided to do it.  The result is less goddess than peasant, but there’s something I like about it.   One problem I had was that the only mirror I had with me was a two inch magnifying mirror, so I can’t see my whole face in it.  I can see one eye, a nose, my lips in isolation… but could not see the whole at once.  So I decided that was my challenge, to figure out how to make them work together. I struggled with the proportions.  I’ve finally come to a place with it that I recognize myself, though there is some odd distortions.  It still needs some work, but I don’t want to overwork it. I want to leave it partly unfinished.

(When Joy came back, she was surprised, and told me that she put that madonna image up for me, and wondered if I would see myself in it).

I started a couple other little paintings which are still in their beginning stages.  In both, I started with a textured background by pressing plastic wrap into wet paint.  It was easy to see trees, branches and leaves in this, so I took out my oil pastels and started to define these shapes.  Not too surprisingly, a river formed in both of these paintings as well.  The image of water and trees is something that bubbles up in meditation frequently these days.   I visualize this body of water (a stream or river more than an ocean).  At first, I am only aware of the reflections on the water.  The water reflects the sky and shadows of trees above.  I feel gently pulled into it.  It’s like I am on an invisible boat.  I don’t have a body, but I sense myself being pulled along the river.  I am lost in the motion of ripples, the reflection, the shadows.  This is the archetypal landscape of my soul: water, trees, sky…

I realize that I want to paint from the source more frequently.  To go outside and paint what I see in the reflections of the water.  But it was a rainy weekend, so I decided “the source” was whatever I could pull out of what I saw in the paint.  These are timid beginnings so far, but I see the potential already.  Again, I like looking at the work before it’s been fully realized.

Another thing I thought about painting (but didn’t) was a pomegranate, based on images that have come up in both meditations and dreams.  But when I opened the fruit, I was confounded by the complexity of hundreds of seeds.  I decided to do a photographic study instead, to help me decide how I wanted to approach the subject before I try to paint it.  The night before I went out to purchase the pomegranate, I burned a candle that overflowed.  I picked up the wax and realized that it also resembled the pomegranate, so I posed it with the fruit, which seemed to emphasize the sense of oozing.  I ran the image through some Photoshop filters to see how different colors affected the image.

In my dream during this retreat, I was eating the pomegranite seeds (sharing it with Joy, who was sharing her home with me).  I looked down on my plate and was surprised to see that the seeds were glowing like little light-bulbs.  I knew it was about embracing the feminine archetype… to learn about and hold this power… and to realize that my connection to this world is through the senses, to embrace that also.

Last Friday, I attended the opening a show at the Launch Pad Gallery in Portland.  I was inspired by the quality of the art as well as the appropriateness of the message. Rebecca Shelly’s theme is one that fits our current economic struggles, suggesting that growing our own food can help lead to more independence as well as community-building.

Here’s a clip from Rebecca’s artist’s statement for the show:

“In World War II, our country created “Victory Garden” posters to market the idea of growing home gardens to help with the food supply shortage. They proclaimed that people could fight for the war in their own gardens. Once again, we might be faced with this dilemma. Today, these posters instead of growing vegetables to help fight a war would support a local economic structure. Instead of the term, “Victory Garden” I feel that “Local Victory” would be more fitting today. It is similar to the slogan, “Think Globally, Act Locally.”

I was really drawn into these paintings.  When you see them in person, you are more aware of the abstract qualities inherent within the works.  The piece above, for example, has some really wonderful sections which, when you zoom into a closer focus, makes you more aware of the fact that Rebecca is really a master of abstract form.  I learned later that most of her artworks are much less illustrative than this particular body of works.

Another thing that’s not easy to see in the photograph is the fact that this painting was created in two layers.  The bottom layer is watercolor guache on paper, whereas the top layer is acrylic on acetate.  The employment of separate layers also helps the viewer to be more aware of the relationship between “positive” and “negative” space in the work.

One of the things that I learned from reading Rebecca’s blog is that some of the artworks in this show were conceived from photographs from her childhood.  She was raised by parents who grew their own food.  She mentioned to me during the opening that she grew up with the illusion that this was a common experience for everyone, to find out later that few people actually shared this experience of growing up with a close relationship to the earth. In the blog, she credits her father’s gardening journals as one of the impetuses for this body of work:

“I grew up working with my parents in the gardens, but I have not focused before on why they chose to grow certain things. My father chose to grow things to maybe influence growth of other plants or to distract insects. Some varieties worked better than others and with organic gardening there isn’t much time to make mistakes. Once something worked, he would keep working that or try something different the following year. His journals were a way to look back and document what worked and what needed to be changed.”

Of the early photographs, Rebecca  notes, “These are what I consider documentation of my childhood rather than just a nostalgic image. I am not commenting on how wonderful it was, but more how interesting this was for a child. At an early age I knew how things grew, and the work that needed to go into this.”

Just as interesting as the works themselves is the way that the artist chose to display them.  By incorporating the framed artworks into a wall-drawing of posts and shadows of plants, Rebecca created an installation that brings the viewer into the narrative of the garden.

Rebecca also included 3-D props of plant shapes which occupied the floor space in front of the artworks.  On these, she wrote statements and questions that might help the viewer to consider their own relationship to food.

Ben Pink, the founder and curator of Launchpad Gallery, mirrors Rebecca’s concerns in his statement about the show.  Problems such as “rising food costs, mono-cropping, pesticide use, loss of genetic diversity in food stocks and reliance on fossil fuels to transport foods hundreds if not thousands of miles from the farm to the store; Shelly sees the modern-day Victory Garden as a small, yet potent way to meaningfully address these issues, but also as catalyst for relationships, a place to re-connect people with their local community and truly create a sense of place.”

In addition to artworks inspired from the images of her own childhood, Rebecca also directly borrowed from the imagery in the WWII posters which were a campaign to encourage Americans to plant victory gardens, as a way of supporting the war effort.  She combined the imagery with collaged text from gardening books of the same era (click to enlarge any of the images on this page):

These smaller paintings in the exhibit echo the didactic tone of the 40′s propaganda posters, yet she pushes beyond the earlier war-effort message to one which is contemporary to our own times.  The mixed-media and layered approach brings the viewer into the artwork in a more intimate way.  What was before a message of pedantic pronouncements becomes, under her skillful hands, more of an invitation to participation.

I couldn’t help but to relate the timing of this exhibition to the victory of our recent American election.  Living in a politically liberal community, there’s an air of excitement about the changes to come.  Despite the plight of financial and housing markets, there’s a charge of optimism for change.  Though its only a small part of the solution, we see many of us who have already taken up the cause for organic gardening.  A walk through any Portland neighborhood will reveal that many of our neighbors have become urban farmers.  There’s also a taste for bartering and a large population that supports bio-fuels and bicycling.  Perhaps one of the answers to these difficult times is a backward glance at the ways of the past.

Here’s some more installation photos from the show:

I thought it especially poignant when a group of young children approached the artist to ask her questions about the inspiration for her mixed-media paintings.  For me, this brings the message of her work full-circle.  The work is inter-generational, inspired by her own experience growing up in the garden.  Now she shares this with others, including the new generation that is emerging.

In addition to the artistic contribution, Rebecca is starting up a project that involves giving away starter plants to people who may want to begin gardening but may need an introduction to the concept:

“Sometimes I think people want to have a little push to do something. That is why I want to give free plant starts to people…. Already, I have received a great amount of interest in this project. A gift is great and when that can continue to give and inspire, that is probably one of the most amazing things an artist can offer.”

In order to make the work MORE available to the general public and in keeping with the propaganda roots of this project, Rebecca has created accessibly priced limited-edition posters of some of the work in the show (click image at left to view these posters).  They are available through Launchpad Gallery.  The gallery is located at 534 SE Oak Street, Portland, OR.  The exhibit continues through November 29th. (view the gallery’s website for hours, or call for an appointment: 971.227.0072)

View Rebecca Shelly’s body of abstract paintings at her website: rebeccashelly.com
Read her blog: rebeccashelly.blogspot.com
Local Victory Blog: localvictory.blogspot.com

For some time, I have been interested in ideas related to mixing abstract elements of pattern with more realistic interpretations of subjects. Perhaps the most famous artist to be successful at this idea is Gustav Klimt. Almost any appreciator of art will be familiar with his iconic painting, “The Kiss”.

For a more contemporary inspiration, I turn to an artist whom I discovered online, Thaneeya McArdle.  I find it interesting that Thaneeya divides her creative focus between completely abstract pattern paintings, photorealism, and what she terms “composite realism”, which combines the worlds of abstraction and representational painting.

The painting at left is part of her ZenPop series. The abstract background is actually an archival giclee of one of her original abstract paintings. This series relies heavily on a stream-of-consciousness method of allowing images to arise and suggest themselves. After selecting an abstract starting point, she chooses a specific image and builds the painting around the image (in this case, a fluffy white sheep). After meticulously painting the sheep in a photorealistic style, she added a decorative abstract border to the top and bottom of the painting.

Thaneeya divides her composite realism works between her “spiritual” and “animaux” subjects.  For this post, I’d like to focus on the animals, which provide the main focal point for the composite image.  I’m including a number of her images here for inspiration (click to view enlargements).

Thaneeya is very generous in illustrating the steps that go into making some of her paintings.  Her Iguana is a particularly good example of mixed media techniques, since she utilizes a collage of book pages, gold-leaf, and acrylic paint.

To view more of her artworks and learn more about the artist, please visit her website at www.thaneeya.com

I recently finished a new painting, which I’ve decided to title “Cerulean Song”.  Cerulean is the variety of blue that dominates the piece, and since it was created specifically  for a “blue themed” show, it seems appropriate to give some reference to that.  It also seemed significant for music or sound to be a part of it’s title, since it feels like the pregnant woman is being called by the owl’s song.

The ideas for my artworks are always generated by the process.  I didn’t even know that this would be my blue themed piece at the beginning, as I started with a red background.  I did a photo transfer of a collaged face as a demo in my painting class, then started painting the rest of the figure from imagination.  The red hair is the only element of the background that still exists.  (I painted an umber over it, then scratched back into the previous layer with my palette knife).  Here’s a side by side of the photographic image that inspired the face, with the one that materialized when I applied layers of paint.  The image became reversed because of the gel medium transfer:

I generally begin by priming my panel with a lighter color (in this case, orange), then use a darker acrylic glaze (burnt sienna).  The photo collage of the face was adhered with acrylic gel medium, then the paper backing was removed to reveal a mirror image of the face.  I worked on the figure enough that I decided to preserve it once I changed my mind about the color scheme.  For students and other artists interested in the process that goes into a painting, I’m including a few photos of the next steps that brought the piece to completion (click to enlarge):

(1) I created a stencil to protect the figure.  I then proceeded to drip various shades of thinned blue oil paint from the top of the panel.  If you look closely, you’ll see that there is also a plastic bag pressed into the painting.  When pulled up, this reveals some of the underground painting. This step gives me some patterns to work with.  (2) Since the drips started to resemble trees, I decided to go with that idea.  I clarified the tree structure first by removing some of the paint with my palette knife (again, revealing the red layer beneath).  I uncovered the figure and had to remove some paint that had seeped in below the tape.  Oil dries slowly, so I knew that as long as the paint wasn’t completely dried, that I would be able to easily remove any seepage. (3) I further developed the blue tones, but at this point, the dress is green. (I later decided to move it even further into the blue range by covering it with turquoise).  The foreground tree (with owl) is painted on a second layer, on plexiglass.

Because the image is somewhat static, it was important to get some vibrating colors to liven up the theme.  So I created lots of dots of color graduating down from the sky into the foreground.  The patterns in the trees also helps to activate the space, as does the expanding rings that float on the top layer.

This painting will be part of a show titled “Blue Square”, at Vina Paradiso (located at 417 NW 10th in Portland). An opening reception is planned on Dec. 3rd, 6pm – 9pm.   30-40 artists are involved, and, in case it’s not obvious enough, all paintings will be square in shape and blue in theme.

I woke from a dream this morning which I felt was interesting enough to write in my journal before returning to sleep. A larger part of me wanted to crawl under the covers and forget all about it, but since the dream related to my creative process I thought it might help unveil some things about the difficulties I’m having with balancing my work and creative life. Before this dream, I was pretty sure my next blog entry would have to be titled “Why I’m not painting”. Here goes the dream:

I am walking through an exhibit of artworks, and come upon one which is my own. As soon as I stop to look at it, it makes an eerie sound… sort of a singing of bird chirps, followed by my own voice telling a story. It’s a painting, but the forms within it are moving, as in an animation. It begins as an abstract face, becoming more distinct as the story unfolds. The face is in profile (pointed to the right), but by the time the story drifts to the end, another face (less distinct) is forming out of the back of the head (pointing to the left). The picture and voice then loops back into its original sequence. Though it’s difficult to make out any resembling features, I know that the face is my own.

It is obvious that I am within a group show, and the other artists are present, mingling around the gallery space. In addition to our group show, we are all here to take a workshop based on our individual creative processes, and how to bring it further. Before we settled into the workshop, I remember seeing a woman carrying a sculpture in the shape of a cat. I realize that it is actually a portrayal of a mummified Bast, (the Egyptian cat icon who is goddess of the underworld). As soon as I realize that it is an urn, I can see that some grey sparkling dust is on its surface. I ask the woman if she has dumped the ashes, and she says yes, that she has just returned from the river.

Now the group commences into a circle, and most of us are sitting on the floor. Someone begins to speak about their creative process. It seems to be more about psychological process than the physical process… describing the unfolding meaning behind the work. Before the first person has finished more than a few sentences, a group of people have stumbled into our space. They are here to see the art exhibit. Someone is telling them that they will have to come back after we’ve finished our workshop, but then we see that a whole crowd of people are outside of the window, following them. We decide to end the workshop and the group disperses.

The next thing I know, I am walking down a road, but it is such a steep decline that I am no longer walking, but falling (as if down a long chute, though there are no walls). I am floating down past some of the other members of the group and am about to fall past a man who engages me to tell him about my process. Just as I am about to describe something about my work, I realize we are about to hit bottom. At this point I am falling face first and need to re-orient myself. Just as I’m about to hit the pavement, I swoop back up… dipping underneath a car that nearly hits me. The only other thing I can recall now is looking at another one of my paintings. This one is an abstracted image of a figure who is falling face first, and though the body is distorted, I know it is me.

It’s been a busy, busy week. I needed to complete some of my current paintings for a new one-person show that I hung last night. I also was just accepted to be a member at an artist’s cooperative gallery, so I’m hanging there tonight. In addition, I already had a show up at another place downtown. If you are in Portland, please check out my shows page for details on the locations.

As usual, my favorite paintings of my collection of works are whichever ones I just finished. And.. as usual, whenever I get on a creative roll, I always wonder about the time I spend struggling with my creativity. At this moment, I feel like I have hundreds of paintings waiting to get out, which makes it difficult to comprehend the times that I feel at a loss for what to do. Here’s the completed “Songbird” painting:

I also finished the other painting that I spoke of in my last post.

What made this painting come alive for me was when I started adding the dots and dashes to the background. Interestingly, this idea came about in a very happenstance manner. There was a small dark speck embedded in the plexiglass, located over her left shoulder. Since I couldn’t wipe it off, I decided to add something in the background that would camouflage it (where the background is the darkest). I started adding dots of color there to add some interest, then ended up following through with dots and circles that got progressively larger as I continued down the panel. I then decided to add vertically dashed lines above the horizon, which emphasizes the vertical flow of the larger blue-green drips. Now the drips more specifically related to the idea of rain, so I decided to call the piece “Day of Rain”. I felt that the title completed the piece because it ties together the idea of rain bringing flowers. The oddity of a nude woman standing in the rain adds an edge to its poetic sensibility, I feel.

Yea! I’m finally on a roll, after feeling like I am only half into my process lately. I could note a few excuses, such as my recent activity creating other people’s websites…. or spending the past week interviewing prospects for a new housemate… but the truth is that this has been going on for quite some time, and I was beginning to wonder about my dedication to studio work. I think a lot has to do with shifting gears between producing stuff for street shows, wearing out my creative impulse by forcing myself to crank things out for a while. I’m not a very good art slave, as I tend to resent it rather quickly. I did learn a lot about marketing, what images people are most often attracted to, etc. That’s all very valuable. But now that I’ve run myself through the wringer, I’m actually glad the winter is here so that I can get more focused in the studio and do my REAL work.

That said, I’ve been starting out a little dry. I didn’t really want to pack up my lovely balcony studio and put everything in the basement. Weather wimp that I am, I couldn’t get myself to paint outside, even if the strong winds and rain are only occasional. For a little while I was moving back and forth between the balcony and basement, but I’m not organized enough to maintain 2 studios. There’s a huge part of me that resists being underground, though. Perhaps I just needed to sort things out in my head first. I’ve been doing a lot of meditating and image research… figuring out what I want to do. After spending too much time in my head, I just want to paint without a thought for a while. So much of my first steps was centered on creating a handful of new panels with abstract painting. I like to start out with absolutely no idea where I am going… just following my momentary impulses toward particular colors, shapes, and textures. The panels are each 17 inch squares, made from a combination of sponging, brushing, stenciling, and embedding textures.

These are all groundwork for layered plexiglass paintings. I decided to paint a woman over the first panel. She’s been in evolution for the past two weeks, but I finally feel that I have enough figured out to want to share her. She’s a funny little woman, but lovely.

A few days ago, I also started another painting with another background. This songbird hasn’t progressed as far, so I’ll share it later. In the meantime, I’ve also been playing around with some collages, which I then started painting over:

The first of this pair is vertical diptych, utilizing a frottage drawing above, and a charcoal drawing below.
“Frottage” is a word used by the surrealists (I think it may have been invented by Max Ernst), which describes a way of discovering imagery by rubbing various textures. It, like the drawing below it, was originally turned vertically (the drawing was of a Buddha face, originally). I turned it sideways to get a new vantage point on what to do with it. I had been painting them separately, then decided they looked good together. For some reason I actually like the head turned on its side.

So there’s my revelations from the studio!