The Making of Magic



Tracks by the River oil 16 x 12



 Working at art was different--I could do it, then I couldn't do it.  This cycle repeated itself again and again.  Sometimes I spent as much time trying to work as I did working.  I talked to friends--"maybe you're not inspired now," they often said. "Screw being inspired, I don't want to be inspired, I just want to be able to work." So in the making of magic, there is no magic in doing it.--William Accorsi

In painting, there are days that everything flows easily. Those are few and far between, but when they happen, I am extremely grateful.   More often, every brushstroke is hard work and struggle and a whole lot of concentration and I really have to earn a painting for the day.  Sometimes I will wipe out or sand down a whole day's work.

People often ask me how long it takes to make a painting.  There is no answer for that.  Some flow easily and some take days or weeks. I make many more paintings than I actually show.

Picasso said each painting had taken his whole life. The process really isn't magic.  It is a lifetime of hard earned skill and hours in the studio.  I had a beginning student once, who after the first day in class announced, "Now I know why paintings are so expensive!" It is certainly a lot more work than one might think.

The public enjoys the magic part.  The artist knows that if we can make the process seem like magic, then we have really done our job.

The painting I posted above was on of those magic moments where everything just works.

The Creative Drive

Spring Line Study oil 9 x 12

I can't imagine a life where I didn't use my hands to create something. I paint because I am driven to paint. It is difficult to explain the creative drive to anyone who doesn't wake up in the morning excited about what they may make that day. When I was an illustrator, I remember thinking that I couldn't make work without a set deadline or a specific assignment.  What would I choose to paint everyday?  There were too many choices and too many risks. I didn't have the vision to just paint. Who would pay me?

There were gaps of time between illustration assignments and I started to yearn to paint what I wanted to paint everyday. It was difficult to sort out what was important to me at first, but after a trip to Taos to make monoprints, I started to have more clarity about what I wanted to create. And I began to work. Ideas flooded my head. I was in tune with my environment. I wanted to paint it--loosely and with a focus on shape and brushwork. I got cranky if I couldn't get in the studio and work. I didn't need an assignment to motivate me anymore. I had found my creative drive.

What motivates you to paint? Is it your creative drive or something else?

Staying Humble

Snow Remnants oil 14 x 18



Most of my students are quick to point out what is wrong with their paintings during group critiques.  Often they overlook what is good about their painting to point out the bad.  I tell them to celebrate the parts of their paintings that work, but I am quick to say that I would worry more about them if they thought their paintings were perfect. It would mean that they see no room for improvement and there is always room to improve. The best painters are constantly pushing to be better. Sometimes that means making a "bad" painting, not a "perfect" one.

Good paintings take years of dedication and skill. I am humbled by what I do every time I sit down to paint. My hope is that twenty or thirty years from now, I am still striving to make a better painting than the last one.

I think it is important to separate yourself from your ego, to see your mistakes, to celebrate the small victories, to accept praise when it is given, to be open to criticism and to grow and push beyond what you could do yesterday.

Influences





Western Landscape oil 14 x 18

I was browsing the internet today, looking at some of the artists' work at the Dowling Walsh Gallery in Maine.   It got me thinking about influences and how region plays a part in the style of work an artist might produce.   I grew up in the East, but have settled for the past 15 years or so in the West. Much of the work that is created here obviously reflects the Western landscape and people, but also shows the heavy influence of Maynard Dixon, Edgar Payne, the Taos painters and others who have previously painted the area.  As I was looking at the art at Dowling Walsh, I noticed the direct influence of many painters who famously resided in Maine such as Fairfield Porter, Andrew Wyeth, and Edward Hopper. The paintings differ stylistically from those produced in the West.

Does the choice of place--where one chooses to set roots, determine one's influences?  I think in many ways it does.  I can say that I look to Hennings and Wendt and Blumenshein because they relate to my way of seeing the West. We have place in common. I have experienced the landscapes and people that their paintings depict and that carves a certain character in my paintings. Their modern counterparts continue to influence the styles of the region and those paintings also influence me. It is an interesting historical connection and it is satisfying to find some common ground.

Breaking Rules



Richard Diebenkorn oil  Interior with View of the Ocean

 There are lists of rules about what makes a good painting.  And, in general, they should be followed.  However, there are paintings that break these rules and still succeed as paintings. Every year I give my students an assignment which allows them to break the common rules. Place your subject or horizon line in the middle of the canvas. Use an even number of objects in your still life. Use paint straight out of the tube. Use black.  It can be a challenge of its own.

I've used Richard Diebenkorn as an example.  He divides his painting in half with the large window on the right.  But he balances it with the shape of the window on the left.  He also places his subject, the chairs, smack in the middle of the painting. He uses a local color there to catch the viewers eye. He does use an uneven number of chairs. He then structures several yellow triangles to add movement and activity to the bottom half of the painting. Notice how he uses complements. I'm guessing there is some black paint out of the tube in there as well, but I could be wrong. The painting works, but it breaks a number of rules.

Salt Brush in Morning Light oil 16 x 20

Here is a recent painting of mine.  I've placed my subject in the center of the page, but balanced it with the shapes at the top of the painting. There are two rooftops that provide structure to an otherwise organic subject. I was interested in the way the light on the bushes led the eye through the painting and I have emphasized that by letting it occupy the mid-point of the painting.

Emerging

                                      

                                      

                                  

I've been thinking about the word "emerging" lately.  The dictionary defines it as "1. to rise up or come forth into view; 2. to come into existence; 3. to become known or evident."  Ironically, the entry is right below a picture of  a cow embryo illustrating another entry all together, but rather relevant as well! To me, the word conjures something that is fragile, but also has strength.

I am an emerging artist. In fact, I have been emerging for quite some time now.  I began my art career in the children's book business and through the hand of fate, am now quite happily making paintings for galleries. I have been painting (or illustrating in oils) for over 20 years.  Making my living as a fine artist was an abrupt U-turn and I had to start my learning process all over again. I did it most of it by the seat of my pants (there were times where it definitely showed).  I am just now beginning to understand the process of painting better, but I still have a long, long way to go. An art career is definitely something that is earned. Perhaps I will always be emerging.

I made the images above in an artist's journaling class a few years ago.  My theme for the journal was emerging....

Just Start



Renewal oil 12 x 12

 As I am new to blogging, I have a list of ideas that I would like to write about at some point.  I sat down to write today and reviewed the list and realized none of the ideas were really speaking to me, not one stood out as a good place to start writing.  I had even forgotten what I was thinking about when I wrote some of the ideas down.

The same thing happens to me sometimes at the start of my painting day.  I have limitless materials that I have been thinking about painting and not one of them speaks to me. Or all of them do and I freeze up choosing which one to start with.  Or I've forgotten why I even pulled a photograph to begin with.  As a result, I lose my focus and begin to procrastinate--usually this means running through my photo files for hours on end.

So, the only thing to do is START.  Start painting something. Start writing something. Show up. Usually the rest works itself out. I have found that soon after I have started, an unconscious process kicks in and suddenly I am only wrapped up in what I am doing that moment.  The act of creation is good that way.

I started this painting this morning in honor of Spring.

Productivity

Mountain Stream oil 16 x 12

"There seem to be times of reception and times of creation and it is perhaps difficult not to confuse the two." -Margaret Wise Brown

This week has been a bit of a wash when it comes to work.  Life sometimes gets in the way (this week the dog was at the vet and we had to deal with the neighbor's broken pipes flooding our house) and productivity goes out the window.  I get a bit flustered when I don't have much to show for my time in any given day, but I have to remind myself that as a painter, I am always taking in ideas. 

On my daily walk with the dog, it is hard not to notice the early morning light, or the color on the mountains, or the way the willows dip to touch the river along the way. Sometimes ideas will come when I'm driving, or cooking dinner, or watching a movie. I'll take those collected thoughts back to the studio.  It is important to have your eyes open and to be receptive, and though it doesn't seem like I'm working when I'm noticing the world, that time is just as important as time spent in the studio.

Why Selling Matters



Crossing Seasons oil 12 x 12

 For those of us who are pursuing art as a career, selling matters. Oh, I know there is the romantic notion that we should create no matter whether our product sells, but, in the end, it matters.  Selling what I have made means that my work speaks to someone. It means that I am not idly spending time in the studio. It means what I am doing goes beyond myself and makes a difference in someone else's life   It propels me to make more work. It means I can buy more materials and put food on the table and pay the mortgage.  Essentially, it means that I can do what makes me happy and that makes me very lucky indeed. 

Van Gogh is an astonishing example of someone who painted without making sales (of course, we all know what happened to him)!  He was so driven that he largely ignored the real world and his brother had the task of supporting him. Perhaps I am too practical to understand how Van Gogh managed to have any momentum, though I imagine it helps to have someone else to pay the bills. I sometimes wonder what would have happened to him had he made money from his paintings.


Van Gogh Two Cypresses

 There is a natural ebb and flow to sales.  Here in the mountains, sales follow the seasons which gives me time to compile my best work before busy summer and winter traffic.  Lately, the economy (gasp!) has kept sales in check and made me very aware that they do matter.  It is important to me to sell my work. It provides validation. It means my vision and my convictions matter.

The Pond

Reflection-Finale oil 20 x 30

Reflection-Mirrored Willows oil 12 x 12

Reflection-On the Fringe oil 30 x 24

There is a pond about a block from where I live.  I walk around it with my dog almost everyday.  Over the years, it has become a common place to find me painting and many of my works are about this one place.  Cezanne explored Mount St. Victoire in his backyard in much the same way.  Monet painted in series often throughout his life as well.

The pond is in constant flux, reflecting the seasons and the direction and position of the sun. I know the pond better than many other places I paint because I have painted it again and again.  There is a certain intimacy to those pieces (for me anyway).  Most of my works that come from this place have the word Reflection in their title.  I like the word because it connotes more than just a physical reflection.  It also connotes a sense of thought.