Make do.

I was puttering away in the studio last night, thinking.  I often work late at night, until midnight or later.  I find there are fewer distractions, no phone calls, it's too dark to see what needs weeding.  And one thing struck me, what I would have told myself as a 20 year old who wanted to be an artist.  Aside from the obvious, "just paint, you need to paint at least 100 bad paintings before they start getting good" was the other thought...make do.

Early in my "career" I worked in an art supply store.  It was the perfect place for me to be.  It opened doors to other artists, classes, supplies, information on framing.  A thousand good things came from that job.  But one thing that it also did was surround me with bright shiny arty things.  Bundles of pencil crayons in pretty boxes, beautiful hand rolled pastels from France, x-acto knives in stylish containers.  I had an employee discount and I used it.  But now, 25 years later, I have learned to make do. 

If I were starting again, I would still buy a few good things, that expensive aluminum ruler they made me buy in college?  Still have it.  Paint?  Even to the chagrin to some artist friends I still buy top of the line paints, papers, and canvas.  But the other stuff?  Meh.

Now I buy packs of cheap brushes that cost about the same as one gleaming russet colored beauty.  I have dropped the x-acto knife for a hardware store knife, and when I've lost that, a single edged razor blade works perfectly well, and you can buy them by the hundreds.  Rather than buying expensive pre-printed papers to collage with, I make my own with tissue from old dress patterns, for free.  The pencil you found in the back of the drawer works about as well as the sparkly new one at the art supply store.  A palette? A chunk of tempered glass from a yard sale and old yogurt cups.

Make do, make it part of the process.  It's a sure fire way to avoid the "sameness" so common in the art world.  Let the creative part start from the beginning.

New Year, new thoughts, new work

There is something about this time of year that pushes me to change.  To try again, reinvent, give it another go.  It is probably a simple question of timing, and schedule.  Generally from the first of Feburary through mid November, shows come and go at a pretty even clip.  A show every other weekend, sometimes every weekend, doesn't leave much time in between to just think.  But winter time does, and this winter is no different. 

 

Linoleum block prints are something that I learned how to do sometime in the 9th or 10th grade, I would have been around 15.  I have come back around to them more times than I can count.  An image is carved into a sheet of what's called battleship linoleum.  It is grey, sort of a hard rubbery surface about the thickness of cardboard.  A reductive printmaking method, everything carved away with a razor sharp gouge stays white and clean, and what is left behind picks up the ink and transfers to paper.  The image needs to be carved in a mirror image of what you want. 

 

For a few years, this was my main squeeze, printing small multiple color editions.  Following the rules, (and there are many) of a good print.  Throwing away all the mistakes, the missteps in color, the misses in proper registration, and the "doinks."  Doink is a word I invented for the the little blemishes, the bits of dust, the parts that didn't take ink evenly.  This is the perfect medium for a perfectionist to revel in, to find fault in, to discard mistakes.

 

But this past year, I have found a way to enjoy the carving, enjoy the printing, and find a lot of joy in the imperfections.  The carving is still tight, and slow, but I love that part, and the printing is a joy.  Rather than expensive cotton rag paper from France, I print on wadded up wrinkled dress patterns.  I change colors mid stream, I look for lap marks and wrinkles, and doinks.  This is what I get...

 

 

And they look rather pretty drying in the window...

 

I have been using them to create repeating patterns in my dress pieces for the past year or so.  But this winter I have started working without the dress.  Just enjoying the combination of paint and print.  Collaging, and painting over with layers of transparent washes, and opaque paint.  This is the most recent piece to come off the easel...

 

 

Now it is time to pull the pieces together, to work on a dress, to find the story.  All I can say for sure at this point is there is a piece in the studio incorporating all these things.  It is still in the beginning, and as with all of my pieces, I'm sot exactly sure what it will be when it is finished, I'm not even sure I will be able to make it work.  But I am trying, I am giving it another go...

 

And you'll all be the first to know if I pull it off.  Until then, if you are enjoying the process, take a look at my newest blog, www.elleements.blogspot.com  I am posting a new little piece every day.  Y'know just to kill a little time waiting for the next big piece.

Blog Juggling

Yes, I have started another blog!  This is a daily blog featuring one or more of my (elle)ement series each day.  You can find it at: http://elleements.blogspot.com/ I hope you'll take a look.

It's been awfully quiet around here...

Well, I've sorta gone off the deep end. 

If you've been familiar with my work for any time at all, you probably know that I am easily taken down a new path.  Maybe not completely new, but I am switching things up a bit.  You know how the linoleum block prints on the dress paintings came to be the little (elle)ement series?  Well now the (elle)ements have expanded, and grown.  A new group of layered abstract collages have been percolating in my head, and now are starting to come together.

This is a terrible photo, but have no fear, I'll start posting good ones soon.  If you live close by, many of these pieces are having their first wander into the public eye at our Annual Christmas Show at United Bank in Jackson, GA.  And a handful of others are at The Swan Coach House Gallery in Atlanta.

Now if you are feeling the urge to grab me by the shoulders and ask about the dress paintings, have no fear.  You'll be able to find me and the big dresses at several shows this Winter and Spring.  And I am pretty sure this layered abstract look will find it's way into new dress paintings.  I am looking forward to seeing where this all goes!

Once I have these babies back in my hands, I'll get some good photographs taken and get them up for you to see.  So stay tuned!

Did you know?

Did you know?  It seems to be such common knowledge around here, but you, sweet folks I meet here and there at shows may not know.  That fella that helps drive the van, (when he's in either the driver's or passenger's seat) the one who helps set up the tent, and the walls, and keeps my art show neighbors entertained.  That guy?  Well, he's a pretty good painter too.  My other half, my go to guy, actually is a pretty big deal. 

Scott is a signature member and Past President of both the Georgia and Southern Watercolor Societies.  His work can be found in private and corporate collections in the U.S., Canada, France, Australia, and a few other places.  He doesn't show at outdoor festivals much anymore, as his commissions keep him busy enough at home.  But next weekend is an exception!  Next weekend, I'll be helping him drive the van, and set up his tent and be his go to gal and all that stuff. 

Come and see us on Saturday, October 6th at The Bluff Park Art Festival in Birmingham, Alabama.  If that is too far to drive, you could catch a glimpse of his work on our Etsy page.  I've just put some fresh work up, check it out at http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheSpringGallery?ref=si_shop

What I did today.

I didn't plan to paint a still life.  I just walked out to the studio.  I have been finishing up a commission, which got temporarily sidelined, and somehow I just veered off course. 

My big pieces have elements of still life in many of them. I used to paint them all the time, so it's not particularly shocking that a lemon and pear wound up on my drawing board.  And I have a pretty good idea why.  Those of you who know me will understand a need for something simple after the last couple of weeks.  So here is what I did today, and last night.  Two pieces of equal size, 8" square, on canvas.

I have put them up on Etsy, you can see them, and other work here   Remember to bookmark the page, so you can check back, as I plan to add something new daily.

Here they are, Still life on Dirty Drawing Board, done last night.  And Still Life on Fleur Des Lis, otherwise known as what I did today.

Prettybird and Sourpuss

I am on the road again, heading to the St. Louis Art Fair.  Opening this Friday night on the streets of Clayton, MO it is the art show I have been looking forward to for months!  I will be surrounded by many of my favorite artists, and am looking forward to seeing all the beautiful work they will bring.  You can see the list of Mixed Media artists and links to their websites here and once you get there you can find your way to the other media.

I thought I'd take a minute to show you a couple of brand new pieces I will be bringing to this show, Prettybird and Sourpuss.

 

Prettybird is a pretty collage of a dress, sewing patterns and linoblock prints, incorporating a little painting of Tufted Titmouse eggs.  "Pretty" is stitched through the canvas above the dress.

 

And Sourpuss is an ironically warm piece about a bitter girl.  The dash marks behind the dress indicating that Sourpuss keeps score.  The lemons are painted on top of a repeat pattern carved and printed from linoleum.  Both pieces are 20" wide, by 24" tall.  $895

So if you are in the St. Louis area this weekend, come and find me, or pass this on to a friend.  And if you tell me you saw this blog, I'll give you 10% off your purchase!

Chatterbox

Chatterbox sat on my easel for almost 2 months.  I poked around with it, found a few successes, but found myself stuck, and put it aside.  Working on other paintings, chatterbox stayed in the back of my mind, trying to find the answer.  The pressure started to mount, as I had two shows on the horizon that I wanted this piece for.  Finally, three days before packing the van, it started to come together.  I needed the megaphone! 

Starting at the top, the first panel has a cardinal apparently calling out the name, which is stitched through the canvas.  The typewriter images are photo transfers of a fabulous old typewriter that sits, rusted solid on my front porch.  The bulls eye represents the epicenter of chatterbox's voice.  Text behind the dress is from a spam email I received, a long letter filled with typos.  The megaphones are linoleum block prints that I carved and printed on pattern paper.  Below is a bit more of the letter, and a long, transparent glove.  The last canvas has the bottom of the dress, with more megaphones, transparent this time, and a circular pattern in the background.

I think this piece pulls together the feeling I wanted of unending one way communication.

I finished this piece around midnight, the night before leaving for a show in Cleveland, OH.  Scott framed it around 6 the following morning.  Perhaps she should be renamed "Just in the nick of time!"

A new gallery

One of the things on my to-do list this year was to make some more contacts with galleries.  Actually it has been on my to-do list for a very long time, but folks who know me well know that I can move glacially slow sometimes.  This is especially true of things that I worry may not be pleasant.  And the whole prospect of sending in a portfolio to a gallery seemed pretty high on the unpleasant list.

One of the realities of being an artist is you are always applying for a job so to speak.  Occasionally at a show I'll hear someone saying to their friend, "oh, you should do this next year!"  Like all we have to do is roll in to the festival, pop up a tent and *poof* you're in business.  But the truth is there is an application process to all the outdoor shows I do.  The artists apply through different online systems, sending in a short artist statement, and usually 4 images of your work, and one of your display.  And of course your non-refundable jury fee of anywhere between $25-$90.  The work is juried in categories, with usually jewelry, and mixed media work (that would be my category) getting the lion's share of applications.  The jurying is done by a blind jury, meaning the folks doing the decision making don't know the names of those applying.

A show with a good reputation will get somewhere in the neighbourhood of 1000-1500 applications for a show with 250 available spots.  A few have much higher odds, with as many as 2400 applications.  And notification of acceptance, or rejection, is always in the form a a quick email, usually read with one eye open to minimise the impact.  While rejection letters are usually met with a sigh and a grumble, acceptance letters are like crack for artists.  The kind of crack that keeps you applying next year.  Those happy endorphins just start buzzing as you think about how only 1 in 10 artists got in the show, how you had to score higher than the 1000 or so artists who didn't make it, and all that ego building nonsense that the brain can't help playing with.  But truth is much of the jury process comes down to the simple things, like personal taste, how many oily landscapes the jury has already seen this morning, whether the lighting in your photographs is a little weak.

But all this usually happens in a city far far away, by folks you don't know.  The artists never get direct feedback for the money they spend on jury fees, and frankly I'm good with that.  The application process and the one eyed email opening has become part of the rhythm of my life.  I am used to it.  But applying to a gallery?  That seemed like a totally different animal.

Galleries usually have a much more stand-offish way of dealing with interested artists.  If you look at some good gallery websites and find the submissions link.  (That is no Freudian slip, the artist is submissive here)  Often you'll find what they expect from an artist, number of images and the like and how they want it delivered, mail, email...whatever.  Then they say something warm and fuzzy like how they don't have time to reply to all submissions, if we are interested, you'll hear from us, if not, you won't.  Don't call.  I guess the rosy part is you don't have to pay an application fee this time to be ignored.

And I am sure this all comes for good reason, I expect galleries get pecked to death by folks who think they can paint.  I actually witnessed an artist meltdown as he was turned down by a gallery owner when he walked in with ordinary paintings tucked under both arms.  So I do understand the need for distance.

So this all takes me back to the idea of applying to a gallery.  I found one I really liked.  I thought about applying for a year or two, I went in a few times without saying anything.  Then one day I actually opened my mouth, introduced myself and got a card.  And still I fiddled.

The push came from an unlikely source, Scott and I were invited to stay at a friend's house on the way back from a show.  And an artist who has been included in galleries and exhibitions in New York and Washington among other places was there also.  I was tired, we had a few drinks, we were unloading about the show, and art in general.  And I was explaining about what a big assed chicken I was about applying to a big "white wall" gallery.  How the rejection would sting a little more if I was standing there all alone rather than in a group of a thousand.  The next morning as we were leaving he asked to see my work, as I had been talking about it the night before, and he really didn't know me from Adam's house cat.  So Scott and I pull one big piece out of the van, rest it on the dirty sidewalk on the side of the road and let the cover it is wrapped in slip to the ground. 

He got this look on his face like he was surprised that I had sense enough to form words or dress myself and said, "You don't think you could walk into any gallery in this country and get in with this work?"

So I applied to Pryor Fine Art, in Atlanta.  And if you go to the Artists link, you'll see my name, second from the top.

Ok, enough celebrating...back to the studio!

Surly Girl

 Surly Girl was just that.  A surly, difficult painting, with numerous re-dos and fiddles.  I could give a handful of excuses as to why this one was such a pain, all of them legit in my mind, but I'll save you from all that.  Let's just say, I love the way she turned out, and there are some beautiful things that happened in this piece that wouldn't have happened had I nailed it the first time round. 

The title came from a night at The Surly Girl Saloon after a show in Columbus, OH last year.  The name just stuck in my head, which is a rarity these days, for anything to stick that is.  In fact I just had to check with Scott to find out just where we were, but the name was a winner.  And certainly worthy of stealing for a painting.

Starting at the top and working down, the lemons signify that this girl isn't making lemonade out of a damn thing thank you very much.  She is a little bitter, so deal with it.  The crow is there simply for the sound of his voice, although the patterns in his plumage are quite attractive.

The dress itself is painted with a knotted up tree.  I took and developed this photo about 25 years ago in art school.  It finally came in handy!  The pattern around the dress was one of the things that was done twice, and because of this has a lot of beautiful color shining through.  You'll have to trust me on that one though, as it needs it's own close up to show that off.

And the bottom, the tornado, is my favorite.  Built with linoprints on pattern paper, and not much else, it is a vast improvement over the first version.  The first version is currently facing the wall in the studio, it is nicely painted and would stand well on its own if you have a hankering for a tornado painting.  But man, did it fight with the rest of the painting.  It had to be separated from the rest like a cranky sibling.  And if you've ever known a surly girl, you know what kind of damage they can do, a tornado seemed like a good metaphor.

Yesterday, as I was finishing up the piece I knew it needed one more thing.  Although I don't always stitch the name of the piece into the canvas it is becoming a favorite thing for me to do.  So I spent another couple hours last night coming up with a little crosstitch pattern, poking holes through the canvas and stitching in a yellow so subtle that pretty much no one will see it, ever.  It won't show up in the shots I send in to get juried into shows, but it's there.  Hopefully to be discovered by someone as they hang it on their wall!  "Girl" is stitched on the other lemon.

Now to get back out there and see how "Chatterbox" is coming along.  Thanks for checking in!