Fuzzy

Here's the deal: I've been working on one painting for a month now. Apparently, it's more complicated than my skill level. When my family looks at it they unanimously say that it needs more work. The sad pathetic thing is, at this point I don't think I'm capable of achieving a higher standard on this painting. For the life of me I can't figure out what to do next. I have no idea what colors to mix to get the effect that I want. And even if I knew what colors to mix, I have no idea how to translate that to the canvas. I don't think I have the right brushes, and I don't even know which ones to buy. And if I bought them, would I even know how to use them?

The good thing is that all artists learn by trial and error. I just wasn't quite ready for this painting to be an error. An artist friend of mine who knows a LOT more than I, suggested working on fuzzy landscapes to rebuild my confidence. The ironic thing is that the fuzzy landscape part of this painting is a big part of why it looks so unfinished. UGH.

Naive

Naive is a term that art muckety-mucks use to describe an untrained artist. It means that the art is unsophisticated, simple, and lacks perception (usually). Henri Rousseau is one of the most widely known of the naive artists. What Rousseau lacked in technical skill, he more than made up for in design and imagination. His paintings were well collected during his lifetime, but too often he undervalued his own paintings, trading them for a simple meal.

Rousseau started painting at age 40 because he loved it. He seemed to keep an innocence about life that translated well into the fanciful paintings he produced. His paintings often have a yin yang quality, balancing danger and innocence. "The Sleeping Gypsy" is perhaps his most well known work. In it we see an idyllic desert moonlit night, a gypsy asleep after perhaps singing for his supper, and an ominous looking lion, the king of beasts just casually sniffing the gypsy. Am I reading too much into the painting to suggest that the lion represents a harsh world ready to devour us, and the sleeping gypsy is an innocent, a naive, perhaps Rousseau himself, who still is drinking from the elixir of life, is happy and content and has found peace in the world?

As a non-academically trained, and more precisely self-taught, I fall into the category of being a naive artist.

Last week was rife with inspiration. I met new people, tasted new food, saw new places, and learned new words. I'm really excited about a few paintings in the works because of these new influences. Another thing I learned about myself last week was that not only am I naive with regard to art, I am also naive with regard to people. My husband and I spent a few days in an unique environment, and more and more we found ourselves extremely naive to our surroundings. Suffice it to say that I am inordinately naive.

Maybe perceptions change as we age. Maybe when life knocks us around a bit, we become "sophisticated," I don't know. Is it so wrong to be naive? Is it better to be schooled so much that we lose our joy of life? Would it be better to be afraid of the lion or blissfully unaware of it's existence?

The Pianist---Doh!

This new painting I'm working on has turned out to be much more complicated than first imagined. To be true, I thought it would be a piece of cake. Not so. First of all, this is the painting that did a belly flop last week (jelly side down). And it's the painting that caused such turmoil yesterday (pit of despair). I just couldn't find the right color values. (which amazes me that I have now used the term 'color values' in a sentence---go figure) But my friend, Joan came by yesterday and agreed that the painting was a little off.

We are expecting company on Friday night, and I was sure that this painting would hide in my bedroom closet, not be displayed in the studio for all to see. But after dreaming about the painting last night, and avoiding it for most of the day, I finally went back in the studio. I am so pleased with today's results. It's not finished, but it's in a much better state.

In other news, as I was looking through a book on Cezanne today, I found this.

Pit of Despair

Does an artist need to experience turmoil and suffering in order to produce great art? And if so, does the turmoil and anxiety experienced while painting count as said suffering?

The Pianist

Several artists have given me the same advice. They say, "study the masters!" Even Renoir, Cezanne, Mary Cassatt, Matisse, etc., studied the masters. Of course, the Louvre was at their disposal. Perhaps I should spend more time studying the masters. But every time I go to the museum, or half price books to get another art book, it's not the masters that interest me. I like the impressionists and post-impressionists and modern painters like Cezanne, Matisse, Cassatt, Monet, Manet, Degas, etc. While everyone acknowledges that Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo da Vinci are indeed masters, I don't find myself as often drawn to them as I am a good Cezanne painting.

Lately I have been looking a lot at Matisse's work. In addition to his "Still Life with Magnolias," I was inspired by another of his paintings. It's called "La petite pianiste, robe bleue, fond rouge."

What I like about it is that it is in an intimate setting; the young lady is thoughtful and concentrating on what she is playing; the use of color; the fuzziness of her hands; the outlines; the big bold strokes; the blue dress....when I first saw this painting in a postcard from our daughter who saw it in the Matisse Museum in Nice, France, I felt like I could sit and enjoy the music the young lady was playing. And maybe she wasn't the best pianist in the world, but you enjoyed the music because you loved the one playing it. 

Rachel is a wonderful pianist. As I've been thinking of using Matisse's "La petite pianiste" as an inspiration, I wanted to make sure that someone posed for me who loved, lived and breathed music. Like in the Matisse painting, I wanted it to be a young lady, and it was a huge plus that Rachel was wearing blue jeans the day she posed. So I took the same theme by a tried and true artist (though not considered a master), and painted it with a more modern feel. By modern, I mean contemporary with Rachel in blue jeans with a ponytail and t-shirt. She was playing so fast and beautifully that her fingers were a bit of a blur like in the Matisse painting, too. And it just so happens that as much as I enjoy hearing Rachel play the piano, she really is quite talented, I enjoy it even more because I am so fond of the one playing it.

Jelly Side Down

While painting today, the painting I was working on fell off the easel and landed jelly side down. Bummer. Kind of knocked the wind out of my sails.

Thankfully I had a drop-cloth under my easel, well, a drop Twister mat. A Twister mat makes the perfect drop cloth. It's plastic and it has remarkable paint splatter barrier abilities...I'm not THAT messy, usually it's just a smidge of paint or once in a while I'll drop a brush. But a whole painting....? Who does that!?

I called it a day.

Starving artist? Not hardly....

...but I know why the term was coined; painting supplies are expensive. Yesterday, I went to Texas Art Supply and spent a huge amount of money on a few items. You have to know why this hurts so much. I am, to put it kindly, very thrifty. Loathe might be a good word to use to describe how I feel about shopping. It's mostly because the thought of using money to pay for items that will be instantly consumed and/or immediately depreciate in value slightly sickens me. Because of this aversion to shopping, I have developed a few tricks on how to make parting with money less painful. For instance, I am not above "curbside recycling." Quite a few items in our home have been acquired this way, most just need a thorough cleaning. I also frequent consignment shops, garage sales, estate sales, and re-sale shops. Thrifty.

Art supplies are not created equal. To get a professional quality end product, one must acknowledge that the artist will pay more for higher quality supplies. When I first started painting, Reese and I searched for the cheapest stuff we could buy. But as time has past, and art supplies have diminished, I started replacing my supplies with higher quality items. I noticed a tremendous difference in the experience of painting and the outcome of the work. Instead of a 1.25 ounce of oil paint costing $3, like when we first bought supplies, what I buy now costs $30. Big difference. And instead of being able to buy one get one free for canvases, I've fallen in love with painting on linen, for which no such deals exists. Don't even get me started on the brushes....I still haven't brought myself to totally go sable, which transcends painting to pure pleasure. The paint just glides on with a sable brush. I check the sale bin every time I go to Texas Art Supply hoping for a mis-marked or discontinued high dollar item. I'm holding out for those sable brushes.

So, though I'm clearly not starving, there has been a noticable shift in my budget. I've yet to find good art supplies at a garage sale or consignment shop. Not that I won't keep looking....

Flaming Snot

Pepper Ann is a cartoon that we used to watch with our daughters when they were younger. In one episode, Pepper Ann was selected for the "brain" team because of her unusual grasp of modern day trivia. It was kind of like jeopardy, only for middle schoolers and there were teams instead of individual players. So she gets really into the competition, and starts memorizing all kinds of other facts (i.e., history, geography,etc.) for the good of the team. In the final showdown, there is one question about Pepper Ann's favorite rock band, Flaming Snot. Pepper Ann has re-arranged the files in her brain to make room for geography, and imagines herself desperately searching all the files and boxes in her brain for any or all references to Flaming Snot. "Must--find---Flaming---Snot."

This is exactly how my brain feels today. I've been stuffing it and stuffing it full of art files. But I'm not very organized, apparently in my life as well as my brain. Especially with all this new art knowledge...where can I find the right colors to mix (in my brain), so I don't feel like I'm re-inventing the wheel every time I paint? Where is that file on proportions? How do I put in that shadow again? Which paintbrush did I use to get that effect?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I bet people with organized houses and offices also have an organized file system in their brain. When they need a file, it's right where it should be. I'll bet people who plot charts and graphs THINK in charts and graphs *all the time.* I'll venture to say that their closets and underwear drawers (so to speak) are neatly organized. Maybe even their cupboards are alphabetized.

Me, not so much. I have old cardboard boxes in my brain, full of bits and pieces of who knows what. When I need to retrieve new information, none of it has been put in a proper file cabinet and it's difficult to rummage around the old musty attic. THINK. "Must-----find---glasses."

Chad said....

"Chad said....
I love your title, by the way. It's vague enough to mean anything, yet apt for describing views on painting, how to read paintings, or even how to create art. Nice work."

Chad left this comment on this blog's May 9th entry. "Finding My Glasses" is the title of my solo exhibit in November. My daughter, Anna, helped come up with the name. It really signifies this new vision I'm discovering through painting, this new way of looking at life. I hope that people will enjoy my "view" through what I put on canvas and that this vision stays unique. (remember, you're unique just like everybody else) It is a new perspective for me. I'm transforming from one phase of my life (stay at home mom, mostly) to a new phase of being a professional artist. I'm "finding my glasses."

But that's not really why Anna suggested the title.

"Sarah said....(my response to Chad)
Also, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking for my glasses. They get in the way, or are uncomfortable, and I take them off and forget where I've put them. One day I found them in the refrigerator."

Just this past week, I "found" my glasses (1) on top of the dryer in the garage (2) in the parking lot at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston (3) on the front lawn of our house at 10 o'clock at night. I had been looking for hours.

Maybe this is just par for the course. All artists have their eccentricities, right?

Before











After

Things I've observed while painting today:

1. It's harder than it looks.

2. I forget that it's a bit hard.

3. I move around a lot, and walk backwards away from my painting and trip on stuff.

4. I get messy, and have to clean my hands and fingers because.....

5. I use my fingers to paint sometimes.

6. A beer helps me relax and get in the groove.

7. I hate the minutia of details.

8. It's good to not have distractions.

9. It's great to be back in my studio.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been 18 days since my last paint session."

I know it's not a sin not to paint, but I feel like this today. That it's almost somehow wrong for me to have waited so long between painting.

May I be ever faithful in service to the King, whatever He puts before me. Soli Deo Gloria.

Myths are powerful. For instance, it is a myth that Van Gogh never sold a painting in his lifetime....probably perpetuated by starving artists consoling themselves when their work doesn't sell. Van Gogh did sell work during his lifetime. His brother Theo represented him in Paris and sold several of his paintings.

A few months ago we were in Gremillion Gallery, and for the first time saw works by a wonderful artist, Lionel Kalish. The gallery who-ha we were talking to at the time said that he was an 80 year old man who painted with a magnifying glass because his eyes were so bad. Last night, we went to an opening reception for Lionel Kalish at Gremillion Gallery. Delightfully I got to visit at length with him. He's not 80, but he is 75. He gave an extensive explanation of his style, technique, his feeling that his art should inspire an emotional response in the viewer...it was awesome. He graciously answered all my questions.

He asked me and my friend, Debra what we did after a while. I replied that I was a new, fledgling artist, at which he immediately replied, "Oh, I'm sorry." He then asked me to describe my work. This is a toughy for me. How do I describe it? I started with, "It's nothing like yours. It's not detailed (his is very detailed), it's a little messy (his is very neat), representational (his is all from his imagination), sometimes fuzzy (his is focused, for lack of a better word), colorful (his, though colorful, is much more muted than mine), painted in bold strokes (his is very precise). I also mentioned my upcoming solo exhibit. Then an amazing thing happened. He asked me if I would send him an invitation! I couldn't believe it! I didn't want to leave to find a pen because it seemed so surreal. When no one in our group had a pen, he himself went over to the guestbook with me following him like a little puppy dog. He found a pen, and carefully wrote his address on a piece of paper for me. And said again, "Please send me an invitation to your exhibit."

We sat down together for another little visit, and I asked, "So, do you use a magnifying glass when you paint?" Right then and there he said with a sigh, "No, I don't know why they perpetuate that myth. Thankfully, my eyes still work, and I don't need a magnifying glass."

Reese and I had been so amazed at the original telling of this 80 year old man using a magnifying glass to paint, that we had repeated it several times. I came home and told Reese what Lionel had said, that it was a myth, and Reese said that he heard the same gallery who-ha telling someone the same story she told us that same night, not five feet from the truth.

In a previous phase of my life, I was a competitive runner. With running, or at least competitive running, it helps to have a good coach. A good coach takes a no-talent, and by the end of the season, with drills, time, and encouragement has produced a real athlete. I thrived with good coaching. Even after I had my fourth daughter, with a good coach, I was able to run my best college times. (not anymore)

My favorite art coach is Miss Joan. Miss Joan was our family art teacher when we homeschooled our two youngest daughters 5 years back. She invited anyone in the family to join this class geared toward supplementing our education efforts. She was always cheerful and quick to praise. We worked on everything from paper mache to wire art to that mosaic I told you about before.

But seasons of life evolved, and family art lessons went by the wayside. So when Joan called me and told me about this oil painting class she was taking, I said,

"You take the class, and then come here and teach us what you learned."

This of course was in keeping with how we operated---her teaching the family, and us reveling in her praise. She insisted that I join her.

"I don't have any paints, or paint brushes...no, you take the class and then come teach us."

She said that she would loan me everything I needed if I would just come take this one class. How could I resist?

We made arrangements to meet at the class. She said that would let me borrow all her supplies and she promised to stand beside me. But she was late. The teacher, Bruce Williamson, motioned for me to come inside....Which I did. He said to get my palette ready as class was about to begin. But I didn't have anything. He was in the process of loaning me his supplies Joan arrived. Alleluia!

What they do in class is set up a still life, all the artists gather in a semi-circle, the teacher does a little demonstration, and then says, "Paint."

Are you kidding me? What?! Art speak is a different language. I had no idea what he was saying. All I heard was, blah blah blahblahblah....(or in Arrested Development, Bob Lob Law) I kept saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

That's not all. At the end of the class guess what happens? Everyone lines up their paintings in the front of the class and the art teacher critiques them!

Talk about nervous. I tried to beg off saying it was just my first painting, and I didn't want to put it up front. I didn't want to know what he thought....especially if it was negative. I didn't want anyone else to see it.

But up front it went. Along with the others in class... When you are at the starting line in a race, you sort of look around and size up the competition. And then you stop, turn inward, and just focus on your own race. Everything else sort of blurs as you concentrate on running your best race. That's what happened to me that day. First, I looked at all the other paintings in the class, and sized them up, if you will. Then all that blurred as I looked at what I had painted and tried to focus of what I needed to hear about this "race." Bruce was amazed that I had never painted before. He was not overly effusive in praise, but he definately had no criticism. The other artists in the class were murmuring approval. Joan was grinning, standing in encouragement beside me all the way.

I was near tears when I got home from all the nervous excitement. My adrenaline must have been pumping overtime. Reese saw the painting and about flipped. We went out the next day and he bought all the supplies for me to take the next week's class, the next starting line in a new race. And who did we "run" into at the art store? Miss Joan, my favorite art coach.

There's a quote that I thought was attributed to William Turner, the British landscape painter. But I can't find a source to verify my story anywhere. Whether or not he said it, I have embraced this quote as part of my art doctrine.

"A painting isn't truly finished until the artist has abandoned it."

The story I heard, (again I have no proof of this other than a foggy memory) is that William Turner was often not satisfied with his completed paintings. The story goes that he would sneak into the British Museum, paints in hand, and start touching up his own paintings. The British Museum! Can you imagine? A little old man with paints, pallete, and brushes painting right there in the gallery? The guards had to chase him out! (That's how I heard it)

"Please! No! Wait!...Just a touch of cobalt blue by that tree!"

Did the guards expect him every Friday? Did he wear a disguise? How did he conceal his supplies?

For me it's not a far stretch. Sometimes I have to live with one of my paintings for a while before I notice something that I am compelled to "tweak." I've dreamed about my paintings....before, during, and after painting them. For the most part, what you see, the photos of the paintings on the website, (or in person) is what I imagined it to look like as a completed painting.

All that said, the painting I worked on last week is finished. However, "Magnolia" has not been abandoned.

Last night Sam posed an assumption about art and the creative process. He supposed that artists use a particular brushstroke to convey a feeling, or choose a color to force a mood. Have you done this? Gone through museums and galleries trying to figure out what the artist was thinking/feeling when they painted this or that? Art books are full of stories and explanations about art. There's this one Matisse painting called "Harmony in Red." It began it's life as "Harmony in Green," then was painted over and transformed into "Harmony in Blue." Someone bought it as "Harmony in Blue," and after they had owned it for a year, Matisse persuaded them to return it, and then he painted over it a third time and it became "Harmony in Red." What the heck was Matisse thinking?

When Erin was home last summer, she spent a lot of time on facebook. Sometimes she would leave the windows open, and if I just so happened to walk by...and see some things, well, she would have closed the windows if she didn't want me peeking in, right? One of her dear friends, Lillian, had a GREAT photo of herself on facebook. I was enthralled the moment I saw it. It had mystery, beauty, light, and shadows. We (and by we, I mean Reese) copied, pasted, saved, and printed Lillian's facebook portrait in a 4x6 size so that I could use it as a guide for a painting.

I like how it turned out. It was a great photo that translated into an interesting painting.

Months later, Summer Rudd, with the American Cancer Society, asked if I would donate a painting to their Starlight Gala. Flattered, I initially decided to donate "Lillian." I temporarily re-titled it "Ever Hopeful" because...."the painting is symbolic of life with cancer...longing for an idyllic future, and seeing glimpses of it, but firmly planted in the here and now. One foot in shadow of cancer, and the other anticipating a brighter day. It can relate to one someone's personal battle with cancer, or pertain to looking for a cure within the medical community (which is what the evening is/was about!)"

Turns out that having a story to go with the art was not high on the priority list for the Starlight Gala silent auction. No matter. I'm still figuring out the business end of all this. Two huge positives were that the money raised went to a great cause, and I had the opportunity of having a piece in Gremillion Gallery for a day. (I still have the Lillian piece---donated something else)

I think Matisse just changed his mind. Apparently red worked best with the harmony he was trying to create on canvas.

And it was really better for "Lillian" to stay "Lillian."

So yes, some things are intentional, and no, some things just are what they are.

I'm preparing to do another mosaic. My third one. The first one was HUGE. For beginners especially. Miss Joan suggested we do a stepping stone mosaic for the family art class. Instead, I cut a rather large piece of plywood to top a coffee table that was missing it's marbles, ahem, marble. When we rolled, tugged, lugged it up 3 flights of stairs for class the next week, Miss Joan said,

"That's going to take a while."

We also brought a lot of our own tile and pottery pieces. Instead of throwing broken plates away, like normal people, I had been thinking of using them in a mosaic some day. So I was delighted to get started. It did take forever. At least 2 months, maybe 4... it was a while back. We even ran out of studio time and had to bring it home to finish. Which I did since excitement for the project had long since waned. I swore I would never do a mosaic again.

But like giving birth, you forget the pain when you are enjoying your new coffee table so much. And I did a second, smaller, simpler table top. It's 98% finished, (the 2nd one) even though we have been using it for a year.

I found this great iron coffee table base around 6 months ago. Somebody was throwing it out. It was begging for me to rescue it, breathe life into it, help it live again. We just so happen to have broken quite a few dishes lately, too. See a pattern? So yesterday, I mixed up some of my paints to get the right color (I'm calling it Aunt Mary green) and got the base painted. It's VERY wet. In order to get a smooth consistency for painting on iron, I probably added too much linsead oil. Very wet. It will probably take a good two weeks for it to dry enough to touch. Did I mention that this is in our den?

Matisse's "Still Life with Magnolia" is/was supposed to be my inspiration today. As the painting was taking shape, and still in the sketch stage, it actually looked pretty good, like Matisse's later, more simple works. Since magnolias are in bloom, and it's a southern favorite for painting subject, I THOUGHT that now would be a good time to try. I've been planning the set up for a week now, tweaking it at the last minute to look more like the Matisse. The more I do to it the messier it looks.

So, I'm taking a break. And hoping the flower holds it's shape. And trying to figure out what to do next.

Being an artist, for me, has altered life as I knew it. Since 1985, I've been a mother, and since 1991, a mother of four. That involved learning how to cook, creating a pleasant home for my family, a little psychology, gardening, painting (the walls, not a picture), plumbing (installed a toilet), electrical work, general carpentry (added a room to the house), tile work, landscaping (designed and installed patios and footpaths), and entertaining, among other things.

Now, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about and creating art. Most of it indoors. By myself. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just different.

What I hope to do with this blog is have a forum for delving further into describing/explaining my art work. It's mostly art pleasure for me, not work. I love painting!

People always have an opinion on what some piece of art means. They talk about brush stroke, application of paint, choice of subject matter, colors, style, you name it. If I show the same painting to 5 different people, I get 5 different views/opinions. So to me, what's important, is having confidence in my own work.

I will attempt to update at least once a week. And give my own stories corresponding to the pieces I create.