What Will 2019 Bring?

"The Observer" 21"x21" acrylic

If 2019 provides half the learning and change that came with 2018, it's going to be an exciting year for me.  Since last April, I spent much of my studio time teaching myself to incorporate a new form of expression in my painting that allows me to speak more clearly. I've learned that when I change the perspective, I create space for ideas and stories. While I was initially inspired by the work of artists like Romare Bearden, Jacob Lawrence, Stuart Davis and Charles Sheeler, I took their ideas of expression and made them into my own. Now I'm using my own new and growing body of work to springboard new ideas.

Color, shape and value have always been important to me in my work. Increasingly pattern is playing a more conscious role. Symbols I've developed and personalized over the years move into the compositions naturally. I've learned to think of an object or see a suggestive shape and build a story around it. I like to see how the story changes if I change colors, values or move the object in space. It's like working a puzzle, getting the pieces to fit. I'm doing a lot more thinking.

"Her Majesty's Garden" 14"x21" acrylic

Fran Larsen is correct in insisting that art is work, not fun. The work must be done with the brain engaged.  The fun part comes with the satisfaction I get when it's finished and when a piece is accepted into competition or is purchased.

I wish everyone a Happy New Year on this final day of 2018. I have one thing to say to the New Year 2019: "Bring It On." 

About Being Frightened, Scared

"Our House 2" 2018 10" x 14"acrylic

When you step away from who you are and how you are known and what you do well, which is a very secure place, you have to accept that you will probably fall flat on your face many, many times. You also have to give yourself permission to change, to grow. We do this many times, very unconsciously, while we are growing up, maturing. At age 40, we say, "hey, why not?" At age 70 that casual shrug does not come off so readily. I am changing the way I paint images and that relates to the way I talk. I don't think in words. I think in images. To speak to you, I have to envision the words first. Now I am stepping away from a body of 20+ years of work, of images that spoke what I did not have the words to say. It's very much like standing on the edge of a cliff. It's truly scary.

"Sandy's Place" 2012 10"x 14" varnished watercolor

I see much of my work has already touched on this new place I am entering. I see  works that say "hey, no one noticed me how I am! Put me in your new work." I'm getting a lot of ideas from looking back, from thinking "what can I bring into this form that I have defined in my past work?'

What is life if not an accumulation of life's work and experience? Does it really matter if I'm recognized, applauded, congratulated, acknowledged? I don't think it does. I think what matters is that I keep working until finally one piece expresses my heart and my voice. And I'm not there yet.

I remember so many places with Mad Mike, scared, pretty sure I was going to die in a bad splat off a mountain or a bad place on a river. And I haven't yet. And I don't really think I'll die from this new idea, either. Should we shrink back from what we don't know and what we are afraid of because of our age? I think not.

Stepping Out

"Only When I Listen 3"
21x14" poured watercolor

When you are good at something, it's not easy to give that up for something unfamiliar and new. Giving up something you are known for, admired for, is an enormous step. It appears I'm taking that step in my artwork. It's scary. It's unknown. And it's completely mine, to define as I wish, to make use of and to learn.  So it's also exhilarating. That is why I'm "stepping out".  I'm stepping out of the safe place I was as an artist and venturing out into the unknown.

Well, not completely unknown. Many fine artists have come before me with these ideas. There is much to learn from looking at a body of artwork by another artist. There is nothing wrong with saying "that appeals to me and I'd like to paint like that." There is also nothing wrong with saying "I've done as much as I can with this and now I'm moving on."

"My House" 11x14" wc
a first attempt

This change means that I will again spend years learning my "craft". I like to compete, to have paintings accepted into national and international shows. That likely won't be happening much with this new style. I have to let competition and recognition go. I have to learn how to express what I feel and think in my paintings in a different way. It's important to me, to the person I am and to the life I live that I find a clear and concise way to express that.

"Our House" 11x14" acrylic
2nd attempt

I'll be 70 years old this September.  I'm following the wisdom of Fran Larsen, a teaching artist who I consider one of the best, most intuitive and honest artists anywhere. If she can, over a lifetime of being a successful working artist, redefine herself 5 times, then  I've got time enough for one more iteration.

When you get "stuck", when you say "I've done all I can" and "I'm as good as I can be" then you aren't, not really. No matter how old you are or what you've done, there is always room for new growth. Just ask the plants in my garden. Be the mint. Grow some new roots.

Abstracted Thinking

"Peoples of the Earth 1" 21"x 14" collage on paper

I will have 3 paintings in a show in Bend, OR starting February 2nd. The show is open to artists in the area. The theme is "Abstract". "Define 'abstract'" I said to the gallery owner. She smiled, shrugged and said that she would like to see how people interpret the word. I've asked that question many times over the years: "What is an 'abstract' painting?"

Instructor and master painter Gerald Brommer once told me that some artists believe something is abstracted as soon as the pencil or brush touches the paper. He felt abstraction in art occurs in degrees. In one painting the viewer might recognize what the painting is about, what shapes are representing or suggesting where in another work nothing makes sense. Artists work in varying degrees between what is called "realism" and what is called "non-representational" art. 

"A Winter's Dream 1"
10" x 14" Acrylic on paper

I had the great privilege of attending a workshop with Glen Bradshaw many years ago. Mr. Bradshaw painted in the more traditional definition of "abstract". He would, for instance, take a seed and break it into it's components arranged artfully on the paper so that one could see the outside, inside, top, bottom of the seed. For a while, Donna Watson had a similar body of work regarding an Asian coin which had a shaped piece cut from the center. This is another definition of "abstract": real but not real, broken, abstracted into it's several components. 

"This Moment In Time" 14" x 21"
 poured acrylic on paper

When the gallery owner left the issue entirely up to me, I decided to submit 3 paintings that are each entirely different degrees of "abstraction" as well as different media. Many of my paintings are "abstract" in that they do not represent anything "real" and yet the paintings will portray "real" shapes. While I love to paint a completely non-representational painting, most of my paintings use recognizable subject matter in symbolic ways. These are, by anyone's definition, "abstract" in that realism has been left behind.

Does It Count?

"Weaving - Autumn Fields" 10"x10"
yarn on a pin loom

Does it count if I only write a blog post two or three times a year? I think it does. I think it "counts" if I show up. I show up in the studio nearly every day that I am at home. I try to show up on my blog but only when I have something to say about what I'm doing. When I first began to blog, I was determined I'd do a post every month. Then I realized that it's more important to do the work of an artist than it is to write and blog about it. I don't seek fame or even fortune, which seems to be the aim of many bloggers. I seek knowledge and understanding of my own work. Writing about what I'm doing and thinking helps me define my progress. So if I write a post now and then, I think it does count.

Cover page of a small book
 5" x 7.5" collage 

"Daisy Duet" 15"x21"
poured acrylic on paper

I keep a sketch notebook of my work. It includes photos of my artwork on the left hand pages and on the right side I record thoughts, ideas and notes about what I'm working on. I blog, in a sense, to myself. I also practice the "morning pages" described by Julia Cameron in "The Artist's Way". I've done these pages for 20 years. That is also blogging to myself. Then, when it comes to a public blog, like this one, I can review, sift and sort, and decide what people might like to hear about.

Artistically speaking, this has been an interesting year. While I'm still painting, collage and multimedia have taken over this year's inventory as the most product. I started weaving on a pin loom and also created a number of collage and assemblage pieces. Does it count? I am, after all, a painter. Those weaving and assemblage pieces required that I figure out problems, that I stretch my imagination and my form of expression. Painting has become "flat", assemblages challenging. Does it matter? Does it count? It does, to my personal self. Anything I do that expresses what I see, how I feel, what I'm thinking and what I'm imagining "counts" and that includes writing this blog post. I hope everyone has had a productive year, has grown in some way, come to understand their own selves better. I have. And it does count. All of it.

Walking Alone

"POE XV - Traditions"
21" x 21" acrylic on paper

It's almost June and my last post was in January. I spent a lot of time this past winter thinking about the peoples of the desert southwest, reading books and getting prepared for a week long tour of the Chaco Canyon area of AZ and NM. The "ancient ones", the people called "anastasi" by many, became my focus, to the exclusion of all else. In April, back home from the tour, I began to sketch down some ways I could express what I learned, saw and felt.

Those people, those ancient ones, can only be studied by what they created and left behind. There is amazing stone work, buildings 4 and more stories tall, tucked into cliffs and on top of  mesas. There is pottery, several types, scraps of weavings, remains of murals. The people lived and built in relatively small numbers and then vanished. Archaeologists match the departure with a 50 year period of drought.

Today both the Hopi and the Navajo claim that arid and rocky land. The two tribes live in an uneasy balance. The Hopi, far fewer in number, literally live on reservations surrounded by the Navajo. The Navajo have embraced much of the culture of the Europeans. The Hopi, smaller in  number and much more insulative, secretive, have resisted, to a point.

"POE XVI - Traditions Witnessed"
21" x 21" acrylic on paper

Hopi culture has a legend that when lines crisscross the sky, times will end (at least for the Hopi) and so the "hardliners" (pun intended) live in Old Oraibi without electric power lines coming up from the valley nearby. I visited Old Oraibi and noticed the solar panels on the roofs of some of the dwellings along with the tv satellite dishes. There is no running water, no sewer, no electricity. And small luxuries creep in, regardless. The people of Old Oraibi exist in a far more fragile and marginal way than their claimed ancestors, the anastasi. They barely exist selling artwork and trinkets to the tourists. They still live in stone structures but lack the skills to rebuild them, so one by one those places crumble. They still practice ceremonies that hark back hundreds of years. And every year there are fewer and fewer of them.

In contrast, the Navajo move more easily within our European based culture. They understand how to negotiate with our government, how to change in exchange for those dollars the tourists bring. One of the hotels I stayed at during my tour was on a Navajo reservation in Chinle. The only difference between that and downtown Flagstaff was that there was no alcohol available. The traditional housing of the Navajo is hogans but most live in European style housing now.

Two paintings so far have come as a result of this specific trip, and there are more planned. I am trying to express what I learned and what I felt. The symbols are my own along with the Hopi and Navajo. Both tribes believe that there are 4 sacred mountains and assign colors also associated with corn (white, blue, yellow and red) to each mountain. This much at least they agree on. The Hopi's directions are NE, SE, NW and SW. Navajo are N, S, E, W. They disagree on up and down: Hopi believe they originate from the center of the earth and Navajo believe it is the sky. There are four sacred or traditional plants: corn, beans, squash and tobacco.

What I want to show in my paintings are my feelings that as strong as their beliefs are, I think their time is ending. This is part of the whole message of the "Peoples of the Earth" series which began in 2015. It isn't just the Hopi and the Navajo whose time is running. People are stretching and straining and tearing at the very fabric of life on which we depend. When I paint in this series (not everything I paint is part of this) I often feel very lonely. Will anyone understand or even care about what I'm saying? Is it important that they do? I walk alone here, because there are things I must put say and my primary means of expression is paint.

Measuring Progress Over Time Part II

"Journey - Feather Moon II" 21"x21" poured watercolor

In April 2015, at the Intensive Studies Seminar at Taos, NM, Katherine Chang Liu challenged me to figure out how to combine my non-representational gestural marks with my love of pouring paint.  "I plan everything I do" Katherine told  me. "I don't have a lot of time to paint and I don't want to waste the time I have." That brief conversation changed my approach to painting. I could not get those words out of my head. She plans those beautiful collages and paintings?!  I look back to that exchange almost 2 years ago and realize now how much it influenced my thinking and changed my approach to painting.

"Journey - Feather Moon I" 21"x21" poured watercolor

For two years now I have explored shapes and symbols that have meaning to me and that help me express the thoughts and feelings about people and the earth that began to crystallize during my trips to Arizona and New Mexico in 2015. I've developed a symbolic language of my own, taken shapes and arranged them and poured a LOT of paint. 100 paintings, collages and weavings are on my inventory list for those two years and more than half of them are planned poured watercolor or acrylic.

While I've identified and learned to use many symbols, I had yet to figure out how to incorporate my gestural marks.  A couple weeks ago I took several sheets of paper and using a marker I just made large sweeping gestural marks. Each was distinct. So I looked at the mark I find most often in past paintings which was the very first paper I had marked and then I tried to figure out how I could incorporate that sweeping gesture in a painting plan. Once I changed the mark from a line to a shape I immediately saw how that could replace the twisted energy lines I'd used in earlier paintings. Now I had my own gestural energy shape!

"Feather Moon II" 21"x14"
poured watercolor

"Feather Moon II" was completed on Feb. 3, 2016. It is one of my personal favorite paintings of the past year. These two new paintings take the same symbols and put them into a square format which required a different composition. Here is the symbolism: feather is journey, moon is cycle (not necessarily a period of time), stars are wishes, the coins are the payment or the reward. The swirl is, as I said, energy. Now you can make up your own story, cast your feathers into the winds, make your wishes, pay your price and reap your reward. Happy New Year everyone.

Measuring Progress Over Time

"End of Summer VII" 21" x 21" 

I finished a painting today.  It's a little like giving birth, a sense of exhaustion along with "WOW! Look what I made!" Not all paintings arrive with that impact, this particular one did.  Facebook has been offering up photos from the past and one caught my eye, a photo I posted of artwork I was working on one year ago.  I was surprised when I saw it. What a measure or marker it made compared to where I am right now.  It's a measure of  how my thoughts have matured and the expression through painting right along with it in one short year.

"Peoples of the Earth IX" 21" x 21" 

Over this past 12 months I've started to use weaving in my paintings.  I was very influenced by my visit in 2015 to the US desert southwest, both Arizona and New Mexico.  Those visits started me thinking of how much the human race has impacted the earth.  I saw how a single tire track through the desert landscape could alter it because of the fragile microsystem on the surface, how footprints (hoof prints) would only create pools, tire tracks create rivers.  I saw how civilizations vanished because they tried to control their environment which failed utterly as conditions changed.

"Weaving the Desert" 

The weaving represented, from the first tentative uses, the story of how we humans are tied to the land and to nature and how, because of our influence, the weaving of human life on earth and earth itself starting to pull apart, become distorted. Within this year, as well, is an increasing sense of my personal age, how I am in my ending years.  All of this is being conveyed in all that I create.

A short series called "Peoples of the Earth" began.  It quickly featured a barred moon, a barren tree of life. Fran Larsen challenged me to understand all the symbols I use.  Catherine Chang Liu told me to plan my work, not to waste time hoping something will turn out and to combine my love of spontaneous with the discipline of pouring paint.  Both of those ladies have influenced my approach to  my work through this past year.  The second series became "End of Summer".  It doesn't just suggest it's autumn - it also suggests the end of my passage through life.

The Journey Series of the past 4 years continues, I think, just with closer looks and a little more discipline.  We all have friends who help us on our way.  I have numerous.  I am very blessed.

On Creativity and Belief

From my Morning Pages journal of January 29, 2001, I found this entry on creativity and belief:

"Peoples of the Earth XII"

…Big wind storm this morning, trees outside are really rocking, clouds are screaming across the sky. The branches that form the lady’s face in the tree outside are moving, making it look almost animated, as if she’s moving and talking, laughing. I could have a conversation with her this morning. “Good morning, Lady” I say. “Good morning, sweetheart” she replies. “I see it’s a windy day so you are able to move and speak with me.” “I can speak with you always. Just usually in the whisper of light breezes or hushed in soft air flows. Today I can sing and shout and you can notice that I am doing so.” “Yes, I can hear you way up here in my house. The sound of your laughter comes in through the door and through the skylight.”

“Tell me” I say “who are you?” “Why I am as you see me” she replies, “the Lady in the Tree is the name you give me and that is who I am, nothing more. I see you every day that you see me. If you don’t see me, then I don’t exist.” “You mean you exist only when I see you, the rest of the time you are not there?” “Right, the rest of the time, the thing that’s me is just branches on a tree. You see me, you give me life.” “Huh. Aren’t I powerful though! Like painting, I create you when I see you and that’s when you come to life.” “That’s right.”

"Peoples of the Earth IX"

“Well, this is interesting, having a conversation with a tree.  What should I ask you? What do you see up there?” “That’s two questions, which one do you want answered?” “How about: what do you see up there?” “I see the earth and sky, birds, flowers. I watch the neighbors come and go, I peak in your window and watch you write in that book, (and) when you look up I smile and wink.” “Aren’t you smiling and winking all the time?” “No, just when you look up. You can’t prove otherwise. When you look at the page, I only exist in your head.” “So I’m purposefully not look at you, I’m still talking to you and you’re still talking to me.” “I know. People would say you’re crazy or having delusions, having a conversation with a Tree Lady, whose face you won’t even look at right now.” “There, I peeked to see you laughing and nodding and smiling.” “Yes, I know, I saw you.”

“So what” Tree Lady says, “would you say to the accusation that you’re crazy having a conversation with a face you made up by seeing a space in some tree branches. You’ve even named me, given me a voice; you must be crazy!” “You and I both know the truth of this conversation” I say, laughing.  “I have three blank pages to fill every day and I don’t have great 3-page-long thoughts every day, so if it takes an imaginary (there! I admitted it!) conversation with a lady’s face I imagine I see in the tree branches (outside the window where I write) to fill up these lines, then, yah sure you betcha I’m gonna having a nice long chat with the Tree Lady.  Or with the pen. Or with the chair. Or with the coffee cup which announces ‘I’m 40 and damn proud of it!’ I only need to keep that cup another 28 years and it will be true. The cup will be 40. I hear the whistle of your laugh at the door, Tree Lady. I see your lips move and your eye wink. Belief is a powerful thing.”

I end this story with a quote by Mary Oliver from her poem 'The World I Live In' : 

"only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one."   

Stretching, Reaching, Growing

In June I took two consecutive workshops at Sitka Center for Arts and Ecology near Lincoln City, OR. Neither of the workshops were about painting. The first was "Poetry Meets Weaving," a 3 day mixed media class led by Carolyn Drake. The second was "Landscape and Memory," a 2 day writing workshop led by Nancy Linnon.  

I liked the concept of weaving to poetry, especially because I'm noticing, reading, and trying to write verse. I thought the writing class might be beneficial for the same reasons. For the weaving class, I chose Elizabeth Bunsen's delightful poem from the book "Storytelling With Collage":

  

once upon a time 

there was a girl who lived by a lake

whose pockets gathered seedpods and stones

dancing barefoot in moonlight was her habit

sunshine sparkling through laundry gave her delight

she sang with the wrens

the crows called her by name

clouds shared their secrets on her walks

one slow and quiet day

she circled

round and round and round

then

a bluebird dropped a feather

a feather striped with sky and sea

and tipped with a piece of the moon

of course

this feather found her pocket

the girl smiled

and dreamed a dream of blue

In the writing workshop I discovered that my habit of writing 3 pages every morning made me very comfortable doing the spontaneous 10-20 minute writing assignments as well as reading them aloud when it was my turn to do so. Until those workshops, I had not imagined myself  a writer or someone who made artwork to poetry. Now I know I can do both. My self-image has been stretched and has grown over the summer. I hope your summer has been just as fruitful.          

The Value of a Good Workshop - Meucha and Linda Rothchild Ollis

Linda and I are both expressive and intense.
One difference is she needs a mic
(very soft spoken and gentle) and I do not.

I’ve just returned from a 3 day workshop with Linda Rothchild Ollis at Menucha Retreat in Corbett, OR.  The workshop was called “Stronger Design: Before and After” and the description fit with what I felt I need at this time.  The workshop was full at 18 artists.  It began late Sunday afternoon May 15th and ended Wednesday afternoon, May 18th.

When I signed up in January I was initially put off with the idea of sharing a room with complete strangers. Menucha is owned by the Presbyterian Church and, I discovered, run much like the Methodist church camps of my youth (except no tents, outhouses or homesick kids). One big benefit of holding the workshop there was that I was in the same building, whether in the workshop, in the dining hall or in my bed.   I shared a room with only one person (some had 2 or 3). The room had a bathroom right outside the door.  We roomies were respectful of each other’s privacy and nocturnal rhythms. Meals were very good with generous servings. We all volunteered as table “hosts” for two meals and I found that being a “table mommy” was a lot of fun with very little work.  We could leave our materials and possessions around in the studio or public areas and not worry.

My friend and table mate was Mary Rollins who took
this great shot looking down at the workshop area from
a balcony above.  

At the time I began the workshop I had just finished pouring a painting modeled after a collage I’d done a week earlier which I called “Peoples of the Earth I”.  During the first day I thought about and worked on 2 sketches for other derivatives. However I never actually started the paintings.  The process Linda took us through was completely absorbing. I let go of all other plans and ideas and just went with the flow.  We began with analysis of award winning paintings, using tissue paper to see large shapes, values and composition (without the trivial detail).  Then we stepped it up by evaluating our own work and learned how to expand our design skills using nonrepresentational pencil, paint and collage techniques. 

I came home with several thoughts.  I had become too focused on producing paintings that might lead to the next competition entry.  My work had become tedious which is reflected by the end product.  Linda taught several interesting methods designed to increase awareness of potential compositional forms, exercises designed to (if you will forgive me) “expand our minds”.  I had forgotten how to “play”, how to paint and create without concern about whether I would produce a competition worthy product or a painting someone wanted to buy. I came home excited, rejuvenated, and ready to add some new practices to my routine, try some new materials and, perhaps most important, I was out of my rut. 

From the first day I heard about the workshop to the day I got home (yesterday) I had a feeling that some powerful guiding energy was moving me along, presenting just the right stuff at just the right time. Linda proved to be just the right fit, in tune with where I am, and just the right instructor.  We had 18 participants and they were all positive.  The energy that flowed around in that group was nothing short of astonishing.   The work produced was as varied as the group and the talent in that room was amazing.  And Linda just gave and gave of her time and herself.  We all benefited.  We all came home blessed.  

The Value of Negative Spaces

"Vernal Equinox II"
the negative sky shapes
holds space for the trees

Recently I attended a meeting of a local critique group.  One of the participating artists had some very nice pieces with good use of clear color against neutrals and large negative spaces. The paintings were of children in various poses.  In my opinion the artist had a nice sense of placement of the figures on the page, both in size and location, creating lovely “negative” spaces that contributed to the “story” the piece was suggesting. Many of the critique group suggested that the pieces cropped, tighter and tighter, in towards the figures.  I disagreed.  I felt the artist did a great job of creating more interest in the subject through her use of generous negative space.  For instance, one painting was of a very young child seated feet out as toddlers do, finger drawing on the ground.  The figure was in the bottom part of a vertical sheet of paper leaving the top half empty.  To me that space told the story of the child growing and standing and filling that space. Cutting that space out lost that part of the story and reduced my interest in the painting. 

"Wishes On The Wind V"
lots of negative space
at play here

 Later I was thinking about the value and contribution negative spaces can make in a painting.  A simple definition of “negative space” might be the areas around a subject. Not all paintings have a “subject”. Not all have a “focus” either. For those works that do, the negative space is what is left if you cut out the subject.  It can be very little or a lot.  There are artists whose work is as much a work in the negative spaces as in the positive, or subject matter.  A few I can quickly name are Will Barnet, Milton Avery, Modigliani and Mary Carlton. Is negative space a component of design? Yes! It’s part of “shape”. Composition is simply an arrangement of shapes. Shapes themselves can be busy, quiet, light, dark, soft, hard, small, large, simple, complex, organic, geometric, singular, repetitious, etc.

As an artist I LOVE shapes. They are spaces that can be empty or be filled with color or texture or to contain line or to be defined by line. They can blend smoothly into one another or contrast sharply. After the experience at the critique I am more aware of the positive value of a negative space, that space I'm creating with all my other shapes. I will use them, create them, more thoughtfully in the future. 

New Thinking - New Learning

I just finished reading "Big Magic" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I found myself nodding, smiling, laughing out loud, and most of all agreeing with what she has discovered and written down, that embracing creativity for itself and for the joy it brings is the biggest and best thing you can do with your life. Don't look to some goal, like being in MOMA or at least in the next local show or paying the bills with your art or selling something, anything, ever. You might. You might not. Look instead to the incredible joy and creativity art brings into your life, think how empty your life would be without it, and just go for it.  You will be less if you don't.

This month has been one of great personal learning. I mentioned in my last blog post that I'd bought "Storytelling With Collage" by Roxanne Evans Stout. I have several new Facebook friends because of this book and I am enjoying their creative posts. These friends routinely post things they call "assemblages" or "bundles". These can be permanent or very ephemeral. I challenged myself to create a new one every day for a month. I find I do them at the end of the day, that they are impulsive and creative and that other people like them when I share a photo on Facebook.  Which I like.  

Along with this new practice, I've taken up reading "verse" or poetry, especially that by Mary Oliver and writing something, some verse or saying or some words, every day. in a small book I dedicated to that purpose and called "Verse A Day". I decorate every page, and every day I write something, either in verse or perhaps something I wrote down long ago. I find I do this in the morning.

I'm 67 years old right this moment.  I think I am learning more every day than I ever did in my life except perhaps infant-hood when I had to learn to crawl, stand up, understand words and feed myself. It's what Elizabeth Gilbert tells us in her book: if you embrace, accept and love your art then it will embrace, accept and love you right back.

Where will this take me?  Who knows?  Who cares? Will I be famous, make money, accept awards?  I don't think it matters.  What matters is that every day I show up and every day my creative spirit shows up and every day we commune: this, how about that, and then what and so on and on. And it gives me great joy.  

Understanding Myself Through Art

I finished a collage today.  The collage came together rather suddenly after waiting up on the shelf for almost two years when I had woven paper cut from an old watercolor into a mat, fastened it to tin foil, glued it down on a sheet of 300# watercolor paper, 30" X 14.5" colored with tinted white gesso. And then I had no next step.

A new book arrived the other day, "Storytelling With Collage" by Roxanne Evans Stout.  Inspired by what I read, I went in the studio and immediately saw objects I'd kept because I felt an attachment to them.  I got the collage off the shelf and added the copper bird and the origami sun.  I knew I wanted to echo the copper, the silver and the green so I called a friend who uses fabric in collage.  She arrived yesterday with an armload of possible pieces and I began my first collage work with fabric.  The collage also had another "first": using a lovely purple thread my same friend had given me earlier I had stitched the copper bird and 4 wooden beads onto the paper. Stitching on a collage was something I'd never considered before reading Roxanne's wonderful book.

I completed the collage and photographed it, rather roughly since I plan to frame it and keep it.  I posted the photo on Facebook and a wonderful artist friend, Margaret Stermer-Cox suggested it could be a "totem".  I sat down and examined that idea.  A "totem" is a spirit being, sacred object, symbol, or spirit guide.  A "totem pole" (and therefore a collage) has no religious significance and can feature numerous designs and can tell stories.  My totem is "bird" and has been since I first identified it years ago.  I had forgotten this and did not connect my use of a copper bird with my own totem.

In this collage a bird tops the design and is tied to the work, literally, with seeds or eggs.  I would say that's me.  Next is a clear geometric pattern, warm over cool, copper over green over blue/silver which ties to the words: "Thoughts of Spring.  Rebirth. New Growth. New Beginnings.  Coming Summer Heat.  Retreating Winter Chill" which follow.  Next is the origami Sun in the green of new spring growth with a sparkly gold center.  Finally the fractured pattern, a reminder of the fragility of life, how easily torn apart it can be.  This echoes what I've explored in my Desert Series, the lesson of the earth.

This collage most certainly is a "totem" and a story type.  Roxanne pointed out in her book: "A collage is a story of this moment in time".  As I studied this collage I realized I've been ahead of myself and of my conscious thought all along.  I knew this was the trend two years ago.  I just didn't know how to express it.  So I learned a lot about myself and my art today, through the help of my friends.

Heavy Thinking - Too Many Questions, Not Enough Answers

"Feather Moon 1" 14" X 21" poured watercolor

Oh, the questions!  Is this painting too simple?  Is this complex enough to draw interest, inspire "stories"?  Can I do this another way?  Will a juror notice this or dismiss it?  In the past two years my work has gone through many changes.  The most radical have been in the past 9 months as I have begun to use pouring both watercolor and acrylic pain to express my thoughts through simplified representational shapes.  Along with that change I began to self-evaluate at a more intense level.  How can this be better?  What can I change to make this work more engaging?

A few days ago I was writing exactly these thoughts in my journal.  There are several good offers of workshops I could attend in 2016.  I was considering a couple of them.  At this stage, I do not want to learn how someone else paints or thinks.  I want to learn how to make my own work better.  I want to learn to answer all these questions.  If there are methods I do not know now, that's what I want.  I turned on Facebook that morning and saw a promotion for a workshop that actually echoed the exact words in my journal.  A new, to me, instructor, Linda Rothchild Ollis, is giving a workshop in May at Menucha, a retreat on the Columbia Gorge.  It only took a few minutes to decide this is for me.

"Untitled 4" 21" X 29" Poured Acrylic 

Menucha is associated with the Presbyterian Church.  Rooms are shared, at least 3 per room. Meals are provided with a selection of 3 or 4 choices.  The bathrooms are shared .  There is wifi.  There's also coffee both in the rooms and in the central hall (cash only, they caution).  I am such a creature of habit.  I get up around 5AM, make my k-cup of coffee with heavy cream, spend 45 minutes to an hour in my chair writing my journal.  Then I depart to my computer for news and then into my studio for early morning work.  All of this is done in quiet, no talking, no music, no noise, except for a morning greeting with my husband, perhaps comments in passing.  By going to Menucha for three days I will not have my normal routine. How will that go?

As happened this time last year before ISS at Taos, NM, the thought of this workshop commitment is already pushing my work, answering some questions, raising some new ones.   I have the materials list, I am guessing at some of the uses.  I have more than 3 months of painting between then and now. Given how swiftly my work changed in the past two years I cannot begin to imagine where I will be by mid-May.  Which raises a final question:  how can I possibly plan?  I see now, more than ever, that "be here now" is the best advice.

Changing My Perspective

"Untitled I" 21" X 29" acrylic on paper

I've been really "stuck" for almost a month.  I'd run out of ideas, enthusiasm, and energy.  The holidays were busy and I wasn't in my studio enough to continue the creative process that had carried me through 2015.  When I was at work, I found myself "pushing paint around" with no real ideas, no inspiration.  It became a frustrating cycle and I couldn't see a way to break out of it.  

A friend had given me a couple of inflated exercise balls to try out as a desk "chair".  I've just started using the smaller one to do passive reclining back stretches.  When I'm doing a stretch, everything in view is "upside down".  As I was stretching yesterday morning I looked back at a line of coats hanging in the entry and noticed a rather pleasant abstract composition created by the bottoms of the coats and the wall.  I got my camera, took a photo, rotated it 180 degrees.  Then I took a pen and drew the idea onto a 300# full sheet that was covered with paint from previous days.  I made changes, of course, but I finally had an idea, a direction, a goal.  The painting was completed in a matter of a couple hours, paint nearly mixing itself, happy accidents occurring all over the place.

Coats as viewed from my exercise ball

I put the painting in a mat and was considering it this morning.  It inspires me with a number of different ideas, approaches, interpretations.  All it took to break out of the stagnation I was in was a different perspective, an upside down view of things.  This painting is a very simple "compressed space" or layered composition, one of the most basic designs, often used in landscapes.  To me, it suggests rocks, perhaps a canyon.  Certainly not coats viewed upside down!  

Now I have a plan forward, ideas to work from.  How this will all fit together remains to be seen but at least I'm out of the mud, figuratively and literally speaking.  Happy New Year.

Year End Treasurers

"Desert Sky II" 21" X 30"
acrylic on paper

Winter Solstice is a natural time to look back at the year passing and plan for the year coming.  In thinking about what I have accomplished in 2015 I turned to my sketch notebook where I record ideas, workshop notes, experiments and 5X7 photos of completed paintings.  I also have a different sort of record that I can review, a summary of thoughts, in this blog, which is what is prompting me to write this post.

A year ago this time I was anticipating our trip to southern Arizona in February and preparing for the Intensive Studies Seminar in Taos, NM in April.  I was also transitioning from multi-layered non-representational painting style used in my Journey series to the more simplified representational shapes evident in my Desert series.

During the year and without my really noticing, I was making dozens of new friends, many of them fellow artists.  I met them at workshops, art fairs, art conventions and through social media.  I began to look forward to opening Facebook in the mornings because my news feed has become a gallery of incredible art as well as photographs from my traveling friends of places I might otherwise never see.

In looking back over 2015 I realized that my old and new friends, with their thoughts and ideas and experiences, are the best thing about the year, and their friendship is a treasure I find becomes more valuable with every passing day.  I am looking forward to 2016 with anticipation.  Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you.

A Time To Reflect

"Adrift on the Energy Sea"
 aka "I bumped into Bob yesterday"

Last night was the opening night of a month long show of my artwork at Sage Gallery in Bend, OR. The gallery owner, Denise Rich, hung the show earlier this week.  We put out some snacks and opened some wine and people started to arrive.  During the evening there were numerous moments, talking to people, that I felt a deep connection, as if what I was saying or showing was of incredible importance right at that moment.  Eyes would "light up", heads would nod, swivel, cocking ears towards me. Afterwards, when I recalled some of the conversations, I realized I was not only connecting with other people, I was connecting with myself. I talked about where my thoughts are now in the desert series and I realized that I'm presently moving back into more abstracted painting because I don't yet know the symbols I will use to discuss the disruption of the land and peoples and for the faith I have that the overriding spirits will hold it together.   Those symbols will come out as I paint.  

I believe I exist for a purpose.  It may have absolutely nothing to do with me.  I might be here to say or do something that in turn helps someone else move along.  It's my "bumped into Bob" theory of how energy works.  During the height of the evening I was talking to some guests when an unaccompanied child came in.  She stood uncertainly, looking around.  After a few minutes, she moved shyly to the table, picked up and ate a single pirouline, and then did something that caught my eye - she picked up my business card.  I know that at some festivals children will "collect" things like business cards.  I've heard vendors comment about the practice.  The child was really looking at the artwork.  I regretted I was engaged with someone else and could not speak to her.  I wonder who else will pick up that same card.  I wonder where and how that bit of energy in the card will spin off.

"The Lesson" Transformer teaches chick
how food is energy and energy is food

By talking to visitors about the paintings, about the series, I have come to a much better understanding of why I'm painting this series.  I realize my new interest in weaving baskets and using fibers is to better understand the peoples and culture of the desert.  I want to rise into the sky and look over all the lands, desert, mountains, forest and sea and find the commonality, the binding spirit.  Kachina, after all, exists in one form or another all over, not just in the desert.

To those of you who came to see the show last night, thank you.  I had a great time and I hope you did, as well.  If you couldn't make it and are in the Bend area during November stop in and see it (834 NW Brooks Street), say "hi" to Denise and maybe buy yourself a little christmas present.    

A Time To Celebrate, A Time To Learn

My painting, "Klamath Lake Lily III", received 6th place award from Juror Ratindra Das at the 50th WSO Fall Watercolor Exhibition in Hermiston OR, with the convention held this past weekend.  In July I wrote about making choices for competition, about the difficulty, the hope, the fear I face when offering up my works to a juried show.  My painting was accepted.

I rejoiced in that acceptance, got the painting framed and delivered it to the convention.  On awards night this past Saturday, I saw the 6th place ribbon on MY painting and had to sit down, rather suddenly, on a nearby bench.  I've been in several shows in the past few years.  I've never won an award before now.  I was speechless.  My husband recorded the event with a photo.

One of the people in charge of the exhibition told me that the Juror had said he wished to speak with me.  So I sought him out in a quiet moment before the evening's festivities began.  I explained who I was.  I expected, I don't know, I guess some discussion about my painting or my technique.  Mr. Das said "Your mat is too small.  It should be bigger by at least an inch." I was startled, said that I used the standard 3 inch size and that I try to enter pieces that are smaller to keep shipping costs down.  He shook his head.  In a show like this one, a larger mat would have placed my painting in a more prominent position on the wall, he told me, which was absolutely correct.

It took a day or so for what he had actually shared to soak into my brain.  I'm "there" now.  I won't get into every show I enter but I'm getting in regularly enough that what I'm offering is worthy.  Now I have to think of the business end of things like presentation and positioning in the show.  The cost of shipping has to become irrelevant.  My friend and instructor, Ruth Armitage, has been telling me to pay attention to the "business" aspect of the art world.  Mr. Das reinforced what Ruth has been saying.  I guess I am ready to take the next step forward.

Watching a Series Evolve Into a Personal Journey

"Spirit Song" painted in 2012

I'm caught in the passion of a series that began after my visit to the desert southwest last spring. Every new painting provokes thoughts for the next pieces.  The series itself seems to draw in new ideas and materials and asks me to learn now, quickly, because we, the series and I, have some place we have to go and no time to waste.

My thought pattern in the series has reached out to include all native peoples and their beliefs, the stories and common elements that are found among very diverse people.  I have had an interest in coastal Native American art, and now the desert series is prompting me to weave that into my paintings, to think about how the spirits of one people could have traversed great distances to become the spirit stories of another population.  Paintings I've done in the past suddenly have new relevance to this present series.  The meaning of symbols I use have become clearer. This seems to be why weaving has suddenly become important.

I've always had an interest in weaving.  I have done collages that incorporate simple woven pieces with natural elements.  Recently I hosted a workshop led by Sheri Smith <www.pineneedlecreation.com> on weaving pine needles, beads and waxed linen thread into lovely medallions.   I created a simple piece and left the ends loose, added feathers I'd found on the roadway.

Pine needle medallion

The series is telling me that I have to bring this together, that I have to weave the stories of the peoples, the animals and the earth. I am being prompted to create more 3 dimensional pieces.  The almost frantic early pace of the series has abruptly slowed.  I'm pondering the meaning of the colors, shapes and symbols that have developed.  I've developed an interest in natural dyes and fibers. Notes, sketches and collage materials are scattered over my studio like flakes in an early snow.

Perhaps it is just as well that I will be traveling over the next couple of weeks and will be away from the studio.  I tell myself I will take some books and my sketch notebook and let the chaos of the studio subside even as the series is prompting me to take a canvas, beads, thread, pine needles, twine. "Spirit Song", in a frame on my studio wall, laughs and plays his music.