Attachment and the Importance of Failure

Winter's Designs 12 x 9

   When you make your living as an artist, it is easy to get attached to the final product in your painting.  When a painting does not succeed, it feels like the day has been unproductive.  I want every painting to be a painting that I am proud of, and, as I have written before, sometimes you have to allow yourself to make a bad painting in the process of coming up with something good .  Being too attached to the results can actually hinder you.

I started out the day today wiping out a few hours of work.  But I am trying to look at it as a good day because I tried to paint something that scared me.  I tried painting something that was out of my comfort zone.  And I learned something from it.  And one of these days, I am going to master the things that I failed at today. 

It is important to me to try and tackle new subjects and new ideas. Failure can be and indication of growth. It isn't the easiest thng to face, but it is better than making "safe" paintings. There is nothing worse than being stagnant with your work. 

So its back to the easel for me. A new day and the freedom to fail if that's what it takes.

Try again. Fail again. Fail better. --Samuel Beckett

P.S. I tried to tackle the painting posted here about 8 months ago and failed.  I tried it again this week and I feel pretty good about this attempt!

The Illusion of Speed

Brush in Sunlight oil 12 x 9

The subject of speed has come up recently in regard to my painting so I thought I would discuss it here.  I love loose paintings. I love accurate, loose paintings. My goal is to create something with obvious brushwork that is applied thoughtfully and with intention. You may prefer something more detailed with hundreds of hours poured into the surface detailing.  Neither one is better than the other--again, it is a matter of preference.

Richard Schmidt writes in his book Alla Prima," Looseness should describe how a painting looks, not how it is done".  In other words, to create something that has confident control takes training.  It does not mean that the painting was done in a couple of hours. It means that the person who created it has practiced for hundreds and hundreds of hours to produce the illusion of speed. And I am still practicing this! Some paintings are finished quickly--on the days where the paint flows easily.  Most are labored over far longer than they may appear.  The paintings that appear labored are burned.  The paintings that appear to have been made quickly on the first try are framed and hung on the wall.

In the Eye of the Beholder

All that Glitters oil 22 x 28

Painting is subjective.  There are basic concepts that make a piece a good painting. Concepts like composition, color, balance, and rhythm, and drawing.  But after that, the definition becomes blurred.  Perhaps you prefer very detailed renderings of fruit.  Or painterly interiors. Or works that recall the past. Maybe you like the color blue.

What makes a painting "worthy" or "good" has been weighing on my mind lately.  Sometimes I feel like there is a very narrow definition. And the tastes of the general public or the magazine editors are not always a good barometer. Sometimes I imagine Cezanne or Matisse standing before a room of contemporary paintings.  Which would they think were the best?

Making the Ordinary Extraordinary

Across the Divide oil 36 x 30

Artists are supposed to be the ones with imagination.  A good part of our job description is to get people to use theirs.

--Robert Genn

If I could write a job description for the art profession, it would probably include something about making the ordinary extraordinary.  The best artists make the viewer use their senses in a new way.  They take the everyday and make it special.  They make the viewer notice the small things. They paint not objects, but subjects. They cause you to pause for a moment during a busy day. They tell stories.  They allow their viewers tell their own stories. They use skills that, in themselves, are quite ordinary to produce a kind of magic that can be awe-inspiring, thought-provoking, uncomfortable, noble, ambitious, curious, and commanding.

Our job is to expand upon the world--to make some kind of order out of chaos. A skill that is rather extraordinary.

Crested Butte Plein Air



In the Thick of It oil 16 x 12

I am just settling back in the studio after a week in Crested Butte for their plein air event. I had a great time painting--we did have some challenging weather to work around.  I spent the first night huddled in my tent listening to the rain and woke to a substantial amount of fog.  Hard to paint when you can't see anything other than what is at your feet!!!

I finally took shelter in a stand of aspen trees and waited out the rain.

Aspen Enclosure SOLD





When the weather cleared, I was in full production mode and I managed to get some good painting time in.  What I really love about these events is being around other painters and the chance to look at how everyone interprets the landscape in their own way.  There was some really beautiful work and I have returned a bit tired, but definitely inspired. A select amount of paintings from the event are still for sale at the Oh-Be-Joyful Gallery through this week.




Above the Valley SOLD



Turning Towards the Sun oil 14 x 11

 

Preparing for a Plein Air Event


In a few days, I am headed off to Crested Butte for the Plein Air Invitational. I participate in these kind of events once a summer and after three years of painting in Estes Park, I am excited to be painting in a new location.  Crested Butte is one of the most spectacular settings in Colorado. I made a preliminary trip a few weeks ago to paint for a few days before my return this week to complete the required days.

There is a lot of packing to do including framing supplies and a tote for wet paintings and a tent and sleeping bag. I always make sure that I have new crisp brushes with me and clean turpentine.  I try to pack light as I love hiking in to the more remote spots.

This time of year the wildflowers are in full bloom and the snow has yet to fully melt from the moutain tops.  I'm looking forward to painting with a great group of artists.  I'll update you with more details upon my return!

Working Large



The Pond-Late Spring oil 30 x 30

I have been focusing on painting some larger paintings for an upcoming show this summer. I readily admit I am more comfortable painting small than producing large works.  I used to illustrate books, and the work had to be fairly portable and had to be no larger than a drum scanner.  So it was a leap to start working big.

I realized recently that I do get a lot more attached to the results in a big painting which really doesn't make a lot of sense.  I edit a large portion of my smaller paintings, so why do I have such a hard time doing the same to the larger ones?  For one, they take more time and more materials.  I feel like I should have the idea pretty well figured out before I start a big panel. The failure just feels bigger.

What I am finding is that though most painters work up a small study and use it for a larger painting, if I am stuck in the work on a large painting, working up a small study at that point helps to resolve any problems I am having.  I can try out a different shape or a new color without spending lots of time or actually ruining the larger work. Since I find I am more reluctant to gesso out the larger works than I am a small study, I feel like I can burn the smaller piece if I need to.

Sometimes, the smaller piece is the one that makes it out of the studio, but I am finding that this process can help me succeed with the larger work. And a few of those are making it out the door too!

Me and Leonardo

Leonardo da Vinci

I admit that I DESPISE finishing paintings.  I like the first session where the idea is fresh and exciting and I feel hope about the outcome. If I could make every painting alla prima, I would.  But, alas, I can't...

I spent the day going over the unfinished paintings in my studio.  I need to have a body of work completed in the next few months and it is imperative that I finish those that should be finished.  Generally this means that I am adding detail or changing shapes or fixing edges and sometimes I don't get it right and the whole painting goes down the tubes. AND I FEEL LIKE I'VE GOTTEN NOTHING DONE. 

In addition, the unfinished paintings tend to be the ones that I lost interest in half way through, and there is nothing that makes you feel like you should just give it all up for a waitressing job like bad starts. I can spend hours trying to make a bad start work to no avail.  BUT, I did make some progress today and I have a line of FINISHED and partly wet paintings lining my walls. HOORAY!

Leonardo da Vinci rarely finished his work.  I think oftentimes he had moved on to the next thing in his head and lost interest in what he was working on at the time.  But, that's a guess.  I wish I could say I was half as talented or ingenious, but I can't. HOWEVER, I did finish something today.

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

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.

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.

Joining the Masses

Open Water oil 12 x 12

I tend to be an introvert and joining the world of blogging is a little nerve wracking to me. I'm not good at talking to strangers and I am even worse at phone conversation.  Most of my time is spent alone in my studio and I like to let my galleries do my talking for me.  Hopefully, some of my work does that too.  So why start a blog?  I guess it is a way to share what I do everyday and I think I have something to contribute to the online art community. I am enthusiastic about art. I follow other artist's blogs (see links on the right side of this page) and I find common ground there. I teach.  So here I go blindly into this new endeavor.  I think I will learn from it.  I hope you find something of worth here too.