Colorado Governor's Invitational Show

The Golden Hour oil 9 x 12

I am very excited to be participating in this year's Colorado Governor's Invitational Show which opens April 23rd at the Loveland Museum in Colorado.  There is a ticketed opening on Saturday from 5:30-9:30 which benefits the local Rotary Club and the show runs through the month of May.

I have been working for most of the winter to compile four paintings for the show.  If you are in the area, stop by the museum if you have the time--the show presents a cross-section of Colorado's contemporary artists and should be worth the visit!

I always worry a little about my choices for shows like these. The pieces are not juried first. The artists are chosen based on their previous body of work and so there is some pressure to perform. It does keep me focused though! I was captured by the abstract nature of winter and the late day color that happens right before the sun goes down in the painting posted here. It is easy to overlook the beauty of a snow covered landscape.

Pivotal People



Cattails in April oil 10 x 8

 I recently watched a video of a talk given by the artist Bo Barlett and was struck by his artistic journey.  Every time he thought about closing the door on painting, someone would show up and lead him back to a life in paint. He was very fortunate that one of those people was Andrew Wyeth.  He was invited to work with the family to produce a film and that led him back to painting.  Since Wyeth's death, he says he has been even more motivated to do the best paintings he possibly can.

When I look back at my winding path in the arts, there have been several pivotal people that have shown up at the right time. There are memorable people who tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me to stay on course when I thought I wouldn't be able to make a living in the arts. People who opened doors for me and provided opportunity when I needed it, oftentimes immediately after a run-in with someone who did everything in their power to discourage me.

In fact, every time I tried to head in a different direction where I thought I should pursue something more stable, roadblocks appeared, and someone would show up and whisper, "hey you, remember painting?" Nothing but a career in art has made sense to me and I am lucky that there have been positive influences and pivotal people who make me want to work harder every day.

Your Own History

Early Winter oil 18 x 36

Robert Genn has a recent post about getting rid of your old or inferior works.  His advice was to destroy the bad work instead of selling it at a discounted price. Good advice. However, I would add to this by saying give the pieces at least six months before you burn them.

I turn many of my boards over and paint on the other side, gessoing the first attempt (now on the back) out. I keep about 60-70% of what I paint. So while I largely agree with making a "burn pile", the post did make me squirm a little bit.

I ask my students to keep what they have made--even if they hate what they have done at the moment.  It shows progress which can be otherwise difficult to see--like how much your own child has grown. At the very least, photograph the piece and keep the photo in the recesses of your files. No one needs to look at it except for you. Remind yourself of how much you have grown. If you must burn it or paint over it at this point, do.

Many of my better paintings started out in the burn pile.  Something in them made me come back and rework what I didn't like.  If I had destroyed them immediately, they wouldn't have made it on the wall. Furthermore, the more distance I gave them--some sat for six months, the more potential I saw in them.  The time lapse let me separate myself from the initial frustration. The painting posted here was saved from just that fate.

So, save your work for awhile before you destroy it. It shows your own history, your growth, and can end in some pretty good work.

Recharging



Relics oil 9 x 12

A while back I wrote about cabin fever--the urge to be outside during the long winter months. April has arrived in the high country and the weather is chaotic and unpredictable.  The trees remain bare and the snowbanks are receding but dirty and the landscape is rather unappealing. Definitely not the stuff for hanging on your wall.

When I need some inspiration for upcoming shows, I have found the best thing to do is get in the car and drive to points south to recharge.  Taking in a different landscape, warmer weather, and unmuddied roads allows me to sit at my desk the next day with a clearer head and new ideas. We drove to Salida over the weekend and though there is just a tinge of green, the snow has melted and the ranches are filled with new babies and it was just good to get out and see the promise of Spring. I have been busy the past few days painting from that trip with a renewed energy.

Risk



Slivers of Light oil 12 x 12

Risk is an inherent part of the creative life.  The decision to make one's paintings available to the public is one that invites judgement and criticism. Opinions are offered, good or bad.

Every time I make a painting, I am exposing a part of myself that is deeply personal even if I am "just making landscapes".  They are a part of me. They reflect how I see the world. They show my struggle, my questions and observations about my surroundings, and they occasionally show my triumphs too. I try to keep that in mind when looking at other people's art.  What were they risking? 

A painting without risk is lifeless, made for viewers who expect something pretty. Try starting a painting that scares you, whether it be a new subject or a never-tried color or technique. It takes courage to venture into the unfamiliar and to invite failure or criticism. The risk is always worth it.

"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go."-T.S. Eliot

Inviting People In

Reflection in Sienna and Gold oil 12 x 12

Something jumped out at me as I was reading another artist's blog post today.  They were talking about sharing your secrets--about letting people in as a way to connect with your audience (they used Bob Ross as an example). It resonated with me.  The idea was this: a piece is more personal to a collector if they know more about the whys and wheres and hows of your work. Be an open book. A collector is going to remember you if you were generous with your time and you told them a story or shared your technique. Or you offered them something extra like a personalized inscription on the back of their painting. And you did it with a smile. This may seem elementary, but you would be surprised at how many artists there are who would rather remain mysterious.

Yesterday, I was talking with someone who had purchased a painting by Stephen Quiller.  They visited his studio and he offered that they stay and fish in the river on his property.  Then he offered to deliver their painting to them since they didn't have room in the car with the dog.  They subsequently bought three more paintings and raved about how nice he was even though he had just met them.  Those paintings are going to mean more to them than the painting bought without the personal experience and the story and the generosity of an artist inviting someone in.

Themes--Earth not Air

When I look for themes or strengths in my work, I notice a gravitation to earth and water, not air. I just don't connect to skies, though I admire a good skyscape when I see one.  Maynard Dixon is a master. I also am intrigued by the cloud studies of John Constable.

Maynard Dixon

As much as I have tried and tried again to paint skies, my efforts fall short.  I paint earth--mountains, trees, fields, rivers--most with high horizons. I like to garden and dig in the dirt.  I love the smell of Spring--its earthy, wet scent. I notice the pebbles on the beach, the hidden aster in August, the cranberry torch of the understory in autumn.  I think I am fairly grounded, not flighty, when it comes to personality. So it is earth and its many variations and surprises that speak to me. You may have noticed if you are familiar with my work.

Is your head in the clouds or do you connect to land and water?



Mountain Theater oil 12 x 24