Time Off for Good Behavior

As a thank you to everyone
for your support over the past years, 

you all get a reprieve from my annual art show. 

And, it’s a break for me too.

That’s right.
There’s no show this year.
This is an anti-invitation.

No worries­­—I’ll be painting, drawing, and arting
as usual in preparation for next year’s event. 

Mark your calendars for early November 2014.

As always, you can stop by or see my latest work here.

Thanks again for being an art fan
and we’ll see you next year!

Artfully Yours,
Susan

Another Echo

 The Ruins of Wide Ruin

24" X 18"

Acrylic on Canvas

Have you ever been to a place that feels like a vague memory? Maybe that's why I painted the ruins of Wide Ruin twice. I feel as though I stood in the dust of that yard…waiting for something…and finally taking refuge from the blistering sun under this Spider Woman tree casting a shadow of protection with outstretched arms.

This pattern of repeating images in my paintings is fairly recent. I never used to paint things more than once. I would become bored with a subject by the end of the painting and would never consider repeating it.

It's not due to a lack of images to work from. Sometimes I’m curious see what would happen if I used another medium or different approach. In this case, the echo of Wide Ruins is painted on a much larger canvas than the first version.

When I started this painting I was on fire—bringing it near to completion over a weekend. But then, I lost my momentum. The piece sat languishing in the "viewing area" for weeks. I ignored it and started three more paintings.

And that took some serious ignoring. Not finishing a painting bugs the hell out of me. There are very few pieces I'll give up on. I hate to admit defeat (this extends to my non-art life, too).

An example? The painting of the wonderful horse we saw running across the desert near Toadlena (toe-AHD-lenah) was one of those aggravations. It's buried in a stack of canvases in my studio so I don't have to look at it and come to terms with my unsolved problem. It's likely I'll paint over that canvas, since the horse has declared I shall not capture him.

Eventually I heeded the lament of “the unfinished one” and returned to complete The Ruins of Wide Ruin. It only took a few minutes of concentrated brushwork to repair the nagging boo-boos. It wasn’t as large a task as it had grown to be in my head.

Speaking of unsolved problems, after looking and looking and looking at it, I think I've figured out what to do with the other unfinished painting I mentioned a post or two ago. Now I just have to buckle down and fix it.

Though I might start something new first.

Fire & Rain

Fire & Rain

Watercolor

10" X 8"

It was a long-anticipated trip to Lone Pine. We hadn’t been camping in what seemed like decades and we needed to sooth our souls with some Sierra time.

Fire season had reared over the world like a beast from hell and we’d had two fires in two weeks that were too damn close. Everything in the house smelled like the smoke that had hung over us like a dirty coat for days and days.

The morning we set off, the desert was still blanketed by smoke from recent fires. As we headed north, it thinned; and by the time we saw the first white shoulder of granite, the skies were blue again.

  

We set up camp and goofed the afternoon away inhaling the cool moisture of the falls up at Whitney Portal. Once back in camp, we squeezed our chairs into a dinky patch of shade and watched the afternoon unfold. It was hot, but a stiff breeze kept the heat down. And by stiff, I mean that anything you weren’t holding on to (beers, chairs, maps, and hats) would blow over—or away, ending up somewhere near Bridgeport.

I sketched (a death grip on my pad and pencil) and watched a growing cloud of smoke blow over the ridge from the west, tinting the landscape yellow-orange. To the southeast, the clouds mushroomed over the Inyo mountains, gathering for a dump over the desert.

I really wanted to paint, but it was just too darn windy. I exchanged one pad for another and worked on another sketch. As the light faded, the wind lessened. By dark, it was calm, the smoke had lifted and we enjoyed watching our favorite show: Stars and Campfire.

  

Two weeks later, I dug the sketches out and painted from memory.

Although I’ve not shared much art with you lately, I have two more paintings to show you, plus another that is still being fine-tuned. That third and larger painting has been giving me trouble.

I’m tempering my activity on that one so as not to destroy it (yes, it happens), especially after all the time I’ve put in on it. I know what needs to be fixed, but I haven’t figured out how to fix it. One morning I will wake up with the solution. I find those last moments in and out of sleep often yield answers to nagging painting problems. Stay tuned...

The Ruins of Wide Ruin

Wide Ruin

12" X 9"

Watercolor

We exited I-40, the drab road that shows you the turned backs of little towns. If you never got off the freeway, you’d never see the pretty faces, only the stone backs of towns fringed by gas stations and sad restaurants struggling by on people passing through.

North we went, into the Navaho nation.  It felt good to get off the freeway.

“Just a few more miles to the turn-off,” I told Clint after consulting the map. We weren’t far from the freeway and already the scenery had improved. The flat dry earth transformed into gentle rolling hills with folds of green grasses‑-the shrubs and trees just beginning to set energized buds of brilliant green.

We were going to Wide Ruin: a place where a once well-known trading post had been. We followed an old truck, plodding along slower than necessary. The curves and bumps in the road prevented us from passing. We came upon “The Turn-Off”, a dirt road angling off to the right.

“Maybe there’s a new one now, maybe they rebuilt it; it’s been years since it burned down,” said Clint. 

Wide Ruin is known for a specific style of rug weaving: pieces with bands of earthy colors, bound by narrow, contrasting rows to delineate the color shifts. I’d come to know the attributes and appreciate the subtle beauty of these weavings under Clint’s tutelage.

The road was bumpy, with deep tire ruts squished into the surface after the last rain. A few side grooves still held water, while the center was a map of deep cracks. The truck ahead of us had turned off on the same road. The driver sped up, now more comfortable with the rugged road close to home.

The track curved back around to the north and down into a dip. Here we found these adobe ruins. Were these the remains of the trading post? Or, the ugly leftovers of an Indian school? Was this a place where they force-fed Christianity and took away the People's culture, their language?

I was captivated by the long shadows, the brilliance of the sun, and the faded-to-a-memory adobe walls.

“Stop! Stop! I have to take a picture!”

Though I’d hoped for a dusty surprise of a trading post, this was all we found in Wide Ruin. The map showed the road was supposed to loop back to the highway, but all we found was a school with warning signs that demanded we register at the office. We turned around, drove back past the ruins of Wide Ruin, and bumped our way back to the highway.

A Left Turn

Distant Dreams

9" X 12"

Mixed Media

 
This piece ended up a long way from where it started. Is it a monotype, mixed media, or both? There's so much mix of the media, I'm leaning toward the latter.

I'd been dreaming about using the creamy printmaking paper and sepia ink I had on hand. So, I pulled out a metal plate, rolled a gooey layer of ink over it, and began scraping away the pigment to create the image. It was a water-based ink, which turned out to be runny and messy. As I scraped, the ink stubbornly flowed back into place. It was taking so long, I ended up wiping out some of the ink so that I could manage to make a print sometime before Christmas. By the time I was ready to put it on the etching press, there was more ink on me than the plate.

I gently placed the plate face up on the bed of the press, centering the beloved paper over the image (without adding too many fingerprints!). Then, I flopped the padding over the top of it and cranked the drum down so it would apply pressure to the ink-paper sandwich. A few good turns one way, then the next, and it was time for the reveal.

Oh my. It was a blurry mess. In printmaking, you dampen the paper to soften it and make it more receptive to your medium. There's a fine line between damp and too damp. I kinda over did it.

Yet I didn't give up on it (dang that paper is expensive!). After it dried a bit I went back in with watercolor to tint it here and there. Then I broke out the prismacolor pencils to bring back a little of the detail I'd lost.

I think I was able to save it. What do you think?

Rejoicing in Spring

 

Desert Mallow

9" X 12"

Watercolor

When in Vegas, some people gamble, see shows, or do things they can't talk about after they leave. Me? I paint. I leave the gaudy strip of decadence behind and head out to Red Rock Canyon. It is a peaceful place with hiking trails, a fabulous visitor’s center, and plenty of places to stop and take in the scenery. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the hottest spot in Vegas.

This trip, I only had about three hours of free time, so I passed on visiting one of my favorite places along the way, Cactus Joe’s (a story in itself), in favor of getting in as much painting time as possible. I stopped at a picnic area near the park entrance, tromped off the asphalt, and found a reasonably flat rock, where I set up my gear for painting.

It was one of those perfect spring days: the first of the spring flowers were blooming and the crisp blue sky’s fluffy clouds cast dramatic shadows across the rusty monoliths that frame the canyon. The changing light was stunning, making my tummy tingle with joy. I was so wrapped up in watching the shadows change I forgot to take photos.

For my subject, I settled on a nearby Desert Mallow erupting with small, but brilliant orange blossoms. Most of the year, you wouldn’t give Mallow a second glance. The tightly crinkled dusty leaves, designed to hold on to every bit of moisture, aren’t much to look at. However, in early spring, while there is still moisture left in the ground from winter, they unfurl and soften—just a little—complementing the blooms that bob in the breeze. The flowers are an airy and delicate contrast to the sparse stems and leaves.

Spring is slow to come to Wrightwood. Though the apple trees are blooming and the daffodils are about done, Mother Nature can throw us a snowstorm without warning just to humble us. In early spring, I crave blossoms and budding sprouts of lime green.

This heavenly day was cut shorter than anticipated, yet I still had enough time to complete this watercolor. The next day, we were heading to Flagstaff and on to Durango, where I was inspired by a well-known local artist that has me pondering my next painting…