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.

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 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.

Early in my art career I had a resistance to the still-life genre, perhaps because my college professors created pretty boring set-ups of mangled mannequins, bicycle wheels, broken chairs and all sorts of uninspiring material. I’ve always been more inspired by working from my imagination or a symbolic narrative.  However, since I’ve started teaching art, I’m forced to acknowledge the fact that (1) it’s difficult to teach imagination; and (2) learning to “see” and paint what you see is of great value.

A still-life is also a great starting point for the imagination to interpret what it sees.  Setting up objects creates a perfect situation for studying the effects of light, shadow, and color… and the fact that you have the opportunity to arrange and rearrange the composition allows for more freedom and control than practically any other subject.

Before beginning on a still-life, I feel that it’s a good idea to look at the masters of the genre… those that were able to transcend the subject of “objects on a table” into a work of personal and subjective relevance.

Paul Cézanne (French, 1839–1906): “Apples and Pears”

Cézanne was interested in the simplification of naturally occurring forms to their geometric essentials. He is one of the first artists to be spoken of when referring to the idea of the “dynamic” still life.  If you look closely at almost any of his paintings, you will notice that he chooses a rather precarious balance to his themes.  There are a few things to notice in the example above.  First, the horizon line is only slightly tilted, so that there’s a feeling of stability, yet not quite stable.  The plate is also tilted, and the fruit look like they might easily fall off the table.  This isn’t completely obvious to the casual observer, but even these slightly unstablizing factors prevent the composition from becoming totally static.  I’ve added a detail of the painting to help the student see the texture of the paint.  It also serves as an idea of abstracting the image further.

Cézanne’s explorations of geometric simplification later inspired Picasso, Braque and others to experiment with ever more complex multiple views of the same subject, and, eventually, to the fracturing of form (cubism).

To view more works by Cézanne, visit this link.

Paul Gauguin (French, 1848–1903): “Still Life Fete Gloanec”

Paul Gauguin’s artworks are frequently characterized by an intense color palette.  His most famous artworks were interpretations of an idyllic life of peasants in Tahiti. His still-life paintings are less known, but were consistent with the rest of his work in that they tended to simplify the subject and key up the colors into somewhat unnatural hues.

A Post-Impressionist, Gauguin’s bold and colorful paintings significantly influenced Modern art, especially artists Matisse, Picasso, Braque, and Derain (including the movements of Fauvism, Cubism, and Orphism among others).

To view more of Paul Gauguin’s artworks, visit www.paul-gauguin.net

Vincent Van Gogh (Dutch, 1853-1890): Sunflowers, Irises, and Lemons

Vincent Van Gogh’s artworks span the subjects of landscape, portraiture and still-life.  He worked at a feverish pace, producing almost 900 paintings between  a span of 9 years (1881-1890).  He painted quickly, deliberately, and almost always from live subjects.

“I can’t work without a model. I won’t say I turn my back on nature ruthlessly in order to turn a study into a picture, arranging the colors, enlarging and simplifying; but in the matter of form I am too afraid of departing from the possible and the true.”

Van Gogh firmly believed that to be a great painter you had to first master drawing before adding color. Over the years he clearly mastered drawing and began to use more color. His early works were shadowed by the dark color themes of Dutch realism, but after viewing the works of the French Impressionists, his color scheme shifted to the tints and tones of a brighter world.  In time, one of the most recognizable aspects of Van Gogh’s paintings became his bold use of color.  The energetic use of line and brushwork is also a trademark of Van Gogh’s work.

To view more of Van Goghs drawings and paintings, visit www.vangoghgallery.com

Georgio Mirandi (Italian, 1890-1964): the muted still-life

Morandi was the master of monochromatic compositions of subtle power.  He tended to emphasize the shapes and profiles of his objects with gentle shifts in color, unified with an even-handed, brushy application of paint.  He preferred matte surfaces and neutral colors. Boxes and bottles were stripped of labels and sometimes painted white or gray to destroy reflections and homogenize the materials, reducing them to essential forms. In this way, his still life paintings became studies in abstract geometric archetypes.

To view more works by Giorgio Morandi, visit this site.

Georgia O’Keefe (American, 1887-1986)

Georgia O’Keefe’s studies of natural forms are generally viewed less as still-lives than powerful expressions of abstracted realities.  She did occasionally set up objects on a table, but more often there is no reference to man-made forms in these paintings.  Sometimes (especially in the case of her bone-studies) she would float the subject agains an expansive sky.

Wikipedia says, “O’Keeffe has been a major figure in American art since the 1920s. She is chiefly known for paintings in which she synthesized abstraction and representation in paintings of flowers, rocks, shells, animal bones and landscapes. Her paintings present crisply contoured forms that are replete with subtle tonal transitions of varying colors.”

Patrick Chi Ming Leung (born in Hong Kong 1953; resides in Canada)

I actually know very little about this artist.  I discovered him by wandering the web, researching artists of the still life.  I immediately recognized something very powerful in the way that he abstracts natural forms into circles, lines, textures, and shapes.  It makes me realize that it’s possible to push the possibilities of each, simultaneously !   I’ve enlarged a section of the above painting in order to focus on what is happening, at a spatial level.

I’ll soon write to the artist and see if I can gain any insight into his process and thoughts (and to obtain permission to use his image).

For more images by Patrick Chi Ming Leung, visit gallery site.

Joseph Plasket (Canadian, 1918- ):

Another discovery from browsing the web, Joseph Plasket actually has quite a renowned reputation and I’m surprised I hadn’t come across him before.  Joseph Plasket comes to us from Canada.   He’s a gem (and I want to meet him!)

What I appreciate most about these compositions is that the still-life subjects are rendered in a lively attention to detail, seeming fairly realistic, yet slammed against the plane of rectangles, squares and octagons.  It’s as if two planes of dimensional space have intersected or collided with each other.  Brilliant!  In some ways it goes further than the discovery of Cubism by Picasso.  Picasso smashes space up into a bucket of glass and puts it back together into a less recognizable form.  Joseph Plaskett has performed a trick on our perceptions also, but it seems a friendlier place to me.  It’s the kind of world that I would like to step into, with all of its pure hue, elegant shapes, and colored light.

I love how he can take the same basic forms and, combining each with a different light and temperature, creates completely different atmospheres!

Reflections on Turning 90, by Joseph Plasket:

“The ecstasy I feel as I survey  work I have done I want to share with the world – not the whole world  which couldn’t care less, but my private world, which is my country, Canada. An aged painter cannot help but accept the fact that his work belongs in the past. Younger painters have leaped into the phenomenon called contemporary, where it would be foolish of me to try to enter. But I can claim my own phenomenon, the existence of a public that loves and is moved by what I do, and this public even includes my peers some of whom are young and contemporary. I now paint works that I would previously have not been capable of painting, works that take me by surprise and leave me in a state of wonder and amazement. When I see older work that has stood the test of time (not everything I do does) I cannot recall how I have done it. At a certain point the painting seems to have painted itself without my help – what I have called the “eureka” moment when a sudden daring intervention has worked a miracle.”

In my personal opinion, the worlds that Joseph Plasket has created is just as contemporary as anything else I’ve seen.  I see that he has fractured the world into 2 planes: the receding objects on the table, and the flat plane of the table, which has a shifted perspective.

To view more paintings by Joseph Plasket, view his gallery webpages.  Here’s another, with more : www.gallery78.com/jplask.htm

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Note: Most of my posts related art instruction, art history, and classes are being posted on private pages, instead of within the main frame of this blog.  Here’s an index of the class-related pages I’ve created so far. You can also view them on the sidebar, under “Pages” (between categories and blogroll), arranged in alphabetical order:

Painting Subjects

Staging a Simple Still-Life

Masters of the Dynamic Still-Life

Contemporary Botanicals, Mixed Media

The Interpretive Landscape

The Interpretive Portrait

Mixed Media/Painting Techniques:

Textured Backgrounds

Acrylic Image Transfers

Combining Pattern and Realism

Color, Space, Repetition

Golden Inspirations: Gold Leaf Painting

Stencils, Stencils, Stencils

Color Theory:

Mandala Color Wheel

Color Wheel Masking

Creating Harmony in Color

Color Shift from a Photographic Source

There was a point earlier this week that it suddenly dawned on me that summer was over. Realizing my tendency to shrink into the indoors during winter months, I’ve been making sure that I get some outdoor activity every day before the rains hit. I just came back from a rather magical walk which reminded me why I made a commitment during the spring to take my camera around with me whenever I take my afternoon walks. Well, I started to amass a collection of hundreds of photographs (mostly flowers, plants and textured walls which, for some reason consumed my attention for the moment)…. But I failed to do much of anything with them and didn’t see any reason to add to my unsystemized files. It just seems like such a load of work to go through them all and figure out what’s useful to me.

This evening I went out and began the habit again. Gotta catch that last golden light. It’s always a revelation to me how much more attention I give things when I look at them through a lens. It focuses my attention on the macro-world which one fails to see when keeping a pace to simply “get somewhere”. Another thing that happened this time around is that children playing in the neighborhood were very interested in seeing what I was doing and wanted to talk to me. Usually it’s the cats that come up to me to accept a little cooing and stroking. This time, on 3 separate occasions, children came out to talk to me (first a couple of sisters, then a boy with his dog, then a group of 4). Each incidence had a bit of magic to offer me.

I don’t spend much time with children, so I am pretty out of touch with the way children think sometimes. Being involved with something I am interested in doing somehow makes me less intrusive to their world, as they become inquisitive and start looking at the flowers with me, or start telling me stories, or simply play with each other in my presence. The child above spontaneously bowed a flower down to smell it as I walked away.

I’ve just begun the process of getting back into the studio. I can’t say I’ve made a LOT of progress… but I’m starting to play. I’m just layering colors and patterns, trying to figure out my next step. I also started a new painting based on the process workshop I took a couple weekends ago. So far, I like the original piece best, though it does create some presentation problems (painted on buckly paper that’s not easy to hang). I wanted to re-create it as a layered glass painting. So far it lacks the intensity of wildness of the first. Maybe it’s not a good idea to try to re-create a painting. But I also don’t feel that I should have to reinvent the wheel every time I begin. I know there’s more I can do with this idea, and it’ll be interesting to see where it goes.

The technique of painting on glass is inherently less spontaneous than tempera on paper. It’s necessary to keep areas of the painting clean, so that the lower layers are revealed. This requires me to adopt a more careful attitude towards the work, and it’s already looking more stiff in its composition. (The “moon” in this photo is actually a reflection of the paper lantern hanging in my studio, but it gives me another idea to add to the painting.

In the meantime I might also dig out some of those photos I’ve been collecting. Might be some food for new imagery among all the botanical studies. Though I am transferring my balcony studio back to the basement and it’s starting to get nippy, it can still be a time for blooming.

It’s funny how I’ll start a painting thinking it is going in a particular direction, then at some point I’ll change my mind and add a layer that was intended for another painting… and voila, it works better than my original idea! I do still have my faltering moments when I can’t seem to get enough energy up to work on the paintings. I get distracted, go on walks, feel too cold in my outdoor studio, retire to a book or the computer once again. It’s an odd thing that I often have difficulty mustering motivation for something that gives me so much joy. It’s also a lot of decisions being made over a period of time, and it’s easier to do something less challenging. As soon as I have some real deadlines around the corner, though, I tend to kick into high gear.

One of the things that has been continuing to provide satisfaction is the continual evolution of my balcony studio. I am sort of amazed by how much I can fit into a small space. I bought a bunch of grid-wall panels as a means of displaying my works for outdoor shows. It turns out that they are just as effective for organizing my studio, as I can hang my art on them, attach shelves to them, and make better use of my small space by having them hold things. I even like them aesthetically, as they are modular and can be re-combined for several purposes. Now if I could only get my office as organized as my studio!

My creative output has slowed down a bit, since I took on a few new web jobs and have felt compelled to pay bills. We’ve all got a job to do, and I can at least be happy that I am my own boss and feel some creative satisfaction in creating sites for other artists. Being on a computer for extended periods of time isn’t a particularly healthy habit, though. I am continually learning to balance the scales of work time vs. my personal creative time. Like most people in similar situations, I can never say I’m completely successful at it.

When I find myself getting too hypnotized by my long stretches at the computer, I take walks to the park, shooting photos along the way of practically anything of interest. Lately, I seem to focus a lot on the textures of bromelaids and lichen…. or of the branches and roots of trees. I then go sit under a tree for a while, and contemplate various factors of my life and work. It’s easy to let the chattering mind run its course without too much notice of where my thoughts are taking me. Simply sitting in the company of large trees is a grounding experience, and brings me back to center.

I came back to my studio last night and decided to paint this bluejay on one of my current experiments. It seems to tie it together. I don’t know what I’m trying to say with it, but for me it brings up a sense of mystery. The blues of the background are serene, but the dripping red brings out a disquieting feeling. It’s not inappropriate, I suppose, considering how much of their time birds spend hunting. That’s just an afterthought, of course. I’m actually hoping that the red drips don’t remind one too much of blood. I personally think of it more as a tribute of appreciation to an element of the natural world… a part of which I can only witness, but feel a connection to. Being born with a bird’s name feels completely appropriate, given my connection to trees and flying animals.

I am in a blissful state this evening because I’ve finally surpassed my creative impasse. I knew it was only a matter of time. This has happened before. I know I’m not the only one to occasionally wonder if the juices will ever flow again. Once the creative pump is primed fully, I wonder how it ever slows to a trickle. Truly, there are so many ideas flowing through me now that I wonder if I’ll be able to catch up with my brain.

I’ve been playing with these surfaces for the past week or so. I go back and forth between layering colors on 6 small paintings and a few larger ones. It’s been fun, but now and then I stop and question myself, “what will ever come of this?”. It feels like total chaos to me, and I long to settle on an image so that I know what direction the work is taking. I hush myself. If I want to paint the same way I’ve been painting for 20 years, that’s fine… nothing wrong with it… but then why is this discontent bubbling up within me? I know that to change requires courage. It requires sticking with the process even when I have no idea where I am going or if I am heading the right direction. I decide it doesn’t matter if I end up throwing all of these paintings away. I give myself permission to make a mess. I keep painting. Layering. Dripping. Rolling textures. Smearing. Stop. Start another painting. Repeat the process of simply following whatever impulse guides me. The next day, return to the studio and play again. Then a day comes when I am afraid to face it. Too much uncertainty. Delve into it anyway. Forget that I am the creator. There is no room for ME here, just the simple play of colors and textures. I get out of the way. At some point, I stop and realize something magical has happened

In a way, some of these new paintings have taken years to make. I created the textures of the painting above by making a collograph in school many years ago. A collograph is basically a collage-plate which is printed onto paper. I glued crinkled paper, string, and dried glue doodles to a mat board, sealed it with varnish, inked it up, and ran it through a roller. 15 years later, I dig it out of my collage bin, cut it up, glue it to a board and paint it. The flying swan pendant belonged to my mother. I took it off of my altar the other day because I thought I might draw it. I saw it sitting next to my unfinished collage and decided they might belong together. An interesting note: I was thinking the shapes in the piece symbolized a “mother” figure… a sort of nurturing, protective form. The flying bird symbolizes freedom for me. I can make my own personal allegory: perhaps it’s my mother’s soul, which is now free from this world. Or maybe it is a more universal idea of “mother spirit” which nurtures until her young are free to fly.

More experiments (all of these images enlarge when you click them):

None of the paintings in this post are finished yet. I am just documenting my own progress.

A friend of mine recently remarked that she’s horrified when she sees artists posting their unfinished works on the web. For her, she needs to work through the many layers and incarnations of a painting before she can feel safe about revealing it. I probably used to feel the same. But I don’t feel that these paintings really belong to me yet. They are still coming through me and I am simply curious about my own process, especially since this way of working is still new to me.

While I was on my walk today, I found a clipped yellow rose on the pavement. I was in a business district and could find no yellow rose-bushes nearby, so someone must have cut it, walked with it, and dropped it. I immediately picked it up as if it was a present left for me. It’s scent was fragrant and the bloom was still fresh. I brought it home and decided that it was what I was meant to paint for the evening. Again, for some reason it reminded me of my mother, so I decided to paint it as a dedication to her. I picked up one of my panels which I decided would be a good back-drop. With the contrasting blues and accenting yellows, it seemed a perfect match. I got my oil palette set up and went to town. I realized that part of me was missing the “rendering” aspect of my painting. I was having fun with layering acrylics, but creating a “portrait of a flower” put me in a meditative state. I’ve decided that I like this combination of painting with wild abandon, then painting with serene focus. A perfect balance of Order and Chaos (just like my mind).