Otherwise Engaged

Desert Cathedral
24" X 18
Acrylic on Canvas

Long overdue, I bring you the completed painting of "Desert Cathedral", a sideways view of the iconic Church Rock that lives on the Navaho reservation along Highway 160.

I finished this piece a few weeks ago, but hadn't taken the time to share it with you. If you remember waaaaay back to my last post, I was inspired by paintings that began with a coat of rusty red that still shone through in the final paintings. You have to look hard to see any of that color in this piece, but it certainly was a fun way to begin a painting.

Working on this took me back to that broad expanse of dramatic desert, tinted gold and orange by the late fall sun. It's a magical place and although the ride across the Res is long, it is rich with beauty and mystery, and it awakens something spiritual inside me.

I started another painting of the same subject on paper, only starting with a deep-toned blend of purple and brown as my base. With this piece, I am painting the light back into the scene--a very different approach than starting with a mid-tone. This is still early on in its development, so we'll see how it comes out.

It's been an odd start to the year. After two years of record-breaking painting productivity, I've hit a chasm of inactivity. Familial obligations and drama have occupied most of my free time and emotional energy. I look forward to not providing the same to any of my remaining relatives as I creep into old age. Sometime well into my 90s, I plan to keel over with a brush in one hand and a glass of wine in the other—while plein air painting, of course—because I love "outside." The coyotes will eat me and what's left will return to the earth, while my soul quietly exits to the next plane of existence. At least that's the plan... 

But there is light at the end of the tunnel (figuratively) and I'm finding my way back to the studio by way of my sewing machine. Not quite ready to paint, I became focused on finishing a quilted cover for a down comforter I started last year during a long stretch of snow. In a frenzy, I finished it, and it has kept us nice and warm since.

The kitties like the new quilt too. At night they nestle in between
and around us on top of the warm down.

A few days ago, I started another quilt. I'd been thinking about this one for a while. I'm making it from my grandmother's fabric stash—just the red fabrics—because her birthday was on February 14th and it seemed so right to do this now. It may take me a while—and it's quite likely I'll return to painting before I complete this new project. But for now, the smell of the old fabrics and the rhythm of the sewing machine provide comfort and creativity.

As you can see by this post, I've returned to tell you about my art, so I know that returning to the studio is not far behind.

Only the Shadow Knows

Here is a snippet of the painting. 

As you see, the shadow is very dark--too dark!
Can you see my frustration in the brushwork?

Work on California Dreaming continues, though the painting has taken a turn on me (like I had nothing to do with it). I'm not sure where the piece will go next. It’s that darn shadow. I'm struggling to nail down the right colors and values and I haven't found the magic combination.

All these years of mixing paint you'd think I would have figured it out by now. Yet more often than not, finding the right color and value is akin to herding cats. What makes it so difficult? Color is affected by surrounding color. You can mix up a shade of “shadowish” on your palette that looks perfect, but once you put brush to canvas it’s suddenly too dark, too light, too green, too gray, or some other color catastrophe.

Coincidentally I watched my student Morgan struggle with the same thing this week. Studiously she mixed and mixed—serious brow furrow in place—adding a dab of blue, a dribble of medium, a little more cadmium red, a touch of white. Her shoulders relaxed as she achieved the perfect color. She smiled and moved the brush to the canvas to place the perfect glob of paint.

“OH!”

Big sigh. "That's not what I wanted!"

Mix, mix, smear, scrape, mix, wipe, rinse, swirl.

“There! That’s much lighter.” Confidently she dabbed the canvas with the amended color.

“OH!”

“That looks almost the same as the last color!”

After about the fourth “OH!” we started to laugh about it. Finally, she found what she was looking for.

At one point I told her, "Mix it beyond what you think you is right. Make it lighter, darker, cooler, or warmer."

Hmmm. Maybe I should follow my own advice.

Musings on What's Next

Towering Sycamore

Acrylic

11 X 14

 

I haven't had much time in the studio lately and it's starting to make me a little crazy. As a result, I couldn't sleep last night. I started to think about how I haven’t had time to paint and I started getting an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know—why would I be anxious about that? Not working. Not painting. Not creating and adding to my inventory—many levels of why. I'm hanging some paintings in a local bank on Saturday for a month-long exhibit. As I looked around last night to choose my pieces, I realized how small my framed inventory is these days.

So then, I had the burning urge to go up to the studio. Yep, 1:30 am and I’m thinking maybe I should get up and go paint. Not a good idea. I had plenty to do the next day and I couldn't afford to be fuzzy from lack of sleep. Eventually I drifted off and dreamt of deer with wide racks of sharp-pointed antlers running towards me.

I think some of my anxiety is that I don't know what to do next. I just know I want to do something different. I took a few minutes to look through my photos last night and I'm drawn to images of rusted junk and broken glass from the desert. We went out to Goffs a few weeks ago, a semi-ghost town where there is an old school house, a few rescued buildings, and lots of desert junk (oh and several retirees that zip around in golf carts). 

It was the desert junk that intrigued me most. Shovel blades and rusted frames of car seats, with springs spiraling out every which way. Santa Fe rail cars with ruddy peeling paint; old stamp mills from the mines, sewing machines, giant bolts, military helmets, and tractor seats. Ornate dresser pulls, broken glass in milky purples and cobalt blues—and a spilled bucket of coke-bottle-green marbles cast across the sandy soil, beaming brightly in the sunlight.

But those kinds of subjects are the paintings that people walk past with just a glance, thinking, "What the hell is that? And why on earth would I put that over my sofa?" So you see my dilemma.

I've got some new relief printing ink to try. It's a delicious burnt brown and it might just be the perfect thing for rendering rusty objects. Maybe that's where I'll go next. Even if it's not marketable. I never wanted to be an art whore anyway.

But first, we will head back to the desert for a quick visit. Revisiting the wild places where the horizon is far away, the sky is bluer-than-blue, and the Mud Hills, which despite the drab name will show us their rich color and texture. A rainbow of layers upon layers of ancient sediments and stones pressed and folded and weathered and twisted into soothing stripes of celery, sage, cocoa, cinnamon, cumin, and cream.

We'll explore colorful canyons, sit by the fire, take in the night sky's show of stars, and if the wind Gods favor us, sleep the peaceful sleep the desert brings during its moments of quiet calm.

Out of My Element

This time of year, it’s more likely that I’m painting frosting on cookies than applying paint to canvas. Holiday prep takes away much of my art time—although I'm not complaining—I love the holidays, but I get a little crazy when I don’t have my studio time.

This year, in addition to the normal holiday activities, I have a volunteer project that is keeping me busy. I’m painting a sign that will be mounted on a small billboard at the entrance of town. The billboard welcomes folks to town and also serves as the gateway to our new Village Hike and Bike Trail.

Had I been asked to design and paint a woodsy kind of sign that represented our little mountain community, I would have been the perfect gal for the job. This project, however, is outside my skill set. It involves enlarging and recreating a sticker that declares Wrightwood as the Land of Four Seasons. Having “real weather” and trees that change color attracts a lot of people to our town—and that’s why we love it here.

Well, I must say this project has been a struggle. The stylized pine tree in the middle was a snap, but the fine serif lettering encircling it—not so much. I have some major performance anxiety going on with this project. It’s not the people in cars whizzing by that will notice my lame vibrato letters, it’s the walkers who will pause and say, “Boy, they sure didn't hire a very good sign painting company for this.”

My hope is to finish it up this weekend. Paint, touch-up, and repaint—repeat as necessary—until the type looks like type instead of burbles. So, until the paint fumes start to get to me, I'll keep at it.

Meanwhile, that boot has been on my mind. The golden highlights of the sun where it lights the leather, the tidy eyelets, and the toe—molded by sweat into the shape of the wearer’s foot, scuffed by hard use. I know it will be an acrylic painting, because I'm craving the texture of paint pushed around by a stiff brush. Plus, I have some new brushes I’m dying to try out.

Sometimes my best paintings are the ones that burst forth after art deprivation periods. This year our last holiday hurrah is Christmas Eve (Quiche-mas Brunch for friends and family), after which we will enjoy a quiet Christmas day at home—just the two of us. If we’re lucky, it will snow. Clint will curl up on the couch with a book and I’ll head up to the studio for some creative time.

Cheers!

Coming Around Again

In the Woods

18" X 24" 

From an especially prolific period last year.

I know it has been a while since you’ve heard from me, but fear not, my art will go on. You see I’ve had a bit of a dry spell and current events in our life have kept me from the studio. The time and the desire to create have not intersected lately. But that’s OK. Over the years, I’ve learned to take this in stride and not panic when I’m at the lull in an art cycle.

As in all things, creativity is cyclical too. It’s much like the seasonal transition of a year, only more compressed. Green buds of ideas swell as in spring, unfolding to a luscious summer of expression, then the creative flow mellows and slows, then withdraws into a winter-like dormancy.

I find it is best to relax and not stress when I have these dry spells. Being an over achiever, this lack of productivity makes me twitch a little, however I've learned to recognize that when I start to struggle with my art, if I let it rest, I'm rewarded with a juicy burst of creative flow when the spell is over.

How do I know the dry spell is nearing an end? What tells me I'm ready to make art again? I begin to notice my perception is heightened and the way I look at everything changes. It’s a little bit magical and sensual too.

I start seeing the world around me as though it were a subject for a painting. I get lost in detail; find myself deeply studying the shape of objects—the shadows and the highlights. I mentally mix colors to match the pasta sauce I'm cooking, the towel I'm folding.

I compare color temperature, the warms against the cools. I pull on a sock and ponder how I would render the texture of it. Would I use a dry brush? The blankets on the beds are mountains covered in soft grass; dappled sunlight comes alive as shattered layers of transparent color.

Saturated; the feeling becomes liquid inside me. The urge to create begins as a wind ripple on the water, growing into a wave that pushes into peak curling in upon itself, building power and energy. I return to the studio and the wave of create releases and spreads across the chosen surface as though it were a long white shore, casting off a mist in its urgency, and leaving behind a million bubbles as the energy is released.

I know, it sounds a little sexual. In a way it is. When it happens, it’s not just one wave. It’s a series of waves as the flow of creativity continues and grows. The art flows easy and often.

Really, it’s more like the tide coming in. There is a flurry of activity as two or four, or sometimes more paintings are created before the tide begins to ebb. Then the art making begins to wane. The sand dries and waits patiently for the next wave that signals the return of the tide.

I have a canvas on the easel with the next painting already drawn, quietly awaiting my return. It’s a long weekend and a good time to let the tide come in.

Farewell to Winter

Sunflower

6" X 6"

Acrylic on canvas

A week or so ago, the birds declared it was spring. We got up one morning, and for the first time since last fall, it was warm enough to enjoy our coffee out on the back deck. When I opened the door, the welcoming confetti of cheeps, peeps, and songs filled me with joy.

There were birds everywhere. It was like being in a crowded auditorium where everyone is talking at once, an unintelligible burble that is a bouquet of voices. Only this was much more pleasant. Added to that, it smelled like spring—green—the warmth of the sun coaxing the scent out of everything.

Once the weather warms and we say farewell to winter, I want to be outside. Three-year-old Gabby said it best when she told Clint last spring, “I like outside”. Me too.

I went outside and trimmed back the skeleton stalks of the sunflowers and hollyhocks. They are the winter guardians, hunching over the garden withstanding rain, snow, and wind that will send seat cushions into the next county. I especially love the remains of the sunflowers, which I cut and keep around the house.

I cheated a little with this post. Sunflower is a painting I did last year and sold at my show in November. I thought I’d share it this week in honor of the trimming I did while I continue my work on the next new new painting (sorry, I was outside). Here’s a hint of what’s to come: daffodils.