Nest

All other issues aside, I think I have made one of my more difficult to photograph pieces to date! "Nest" really does shine in person, unlike this flat image. But please bear with me, and maybe you'll be able to see it at a show near you.

This is a triptych, meaning it is 3 separate canvases that fit together. It's overall size is about 36" wide x 60" tall. Working from the background forward I started with a soft antique kind of blue, leaning towards the turquoise side, but a little bit dirty. The repeated pattern was created by carving the damask sort of pattern into a sheet of linoleum, it was inked just like a block print would be, with a roller, only the medium was acrylic paint.

For those of you who have known my work for many years, this may sound somewhat familiar. Some of the first pieces I ever exhibited were lino block prints. Perhaps I'll show some older pieces in my next post. In any case, I still love to carve linoleum, a slow process as one little curl after another peels off the knife. And I love the smell of the linseed oil in the linoleum.

So the block was "inked up" with paint, deep gray at first, and stamped like a big rubber stamp. The process was repeated for each block, allowed to dry, then I repeated the process, this time in creamy white. The blocks don't register tightly on one another, the white ones wiggle a little allowing the gray to show.

The nest itself was found in a rose bush in our front yard, cardinals come and build a new one each year. I photographed it and had them enlarged to this size and used an acrylic transfer process to get them on the canvas. I was originally only intending to use one, but the painting begged for more.

The dress was laid down on top of all this background, a vintage 50's house dress with a Swiss dot texture that shows through the paint and a little floral lace trim. And painted the "starter home" plan on top. With all the "bonus rooms" and "media rooms" in today's house plans it was fun to look at how they were laid out in the '60's when two bathrooms was considered a little extravagant!

NEST was stitched through the top with embroidery floss, and filled in with a little translucent yellow paint. Sometimes I think of nest as a noun, other times as a command, it changes the flavor of the piece significantly.

So what is the point? Well I was brought up in an era of "hope chests" and "starter homes." My nesting instinct was encouraged from a very early age. And I'm really not all that sure how I feel about it. So I often come around and take a little poke at the issue. Is it instinctive, like birds building nests? Is it taught through china patterns and paint samples? Is it just brilliant marketing?

Creating a home, a place of my own, is like a constant art project mixed with a search for comfort and peace. But others seem to be much happier constantly migrating, or need little more than one room with a bed and a TV. How does this happen?

This piece I'm sure will wind up in the home of someone with a great nesting instinct, art collectors often are "nesters," and I hope it brings a little comfort and peace, and introspection on how and why it got there. Enjoy!

Introducing Elizabeth

Introducing Elizabeth.

I have been working on this piece both in my head and on the canvas for about 6 weeks now. A record by far. The major elements, maps, a dress, class photo, and china were planned out early. Other ideas, all needed to make the piece "whole" slowly emerged. Quietly knocking on the door of my consciousness, or occasionally barging in when all else failed.

Elizabeth was one of those quiet children. Not particularly pretty, nothing special. She grew up in a time when preparing for life as a girl included things like collecting china for a hope chest. She never wandered far from home. Not even in her mind.

The life she got was so different from the life she imagined. So different, it was almost abstract.

Starting with the larger panel on the left, the background begins as a map, a big piece of what is now "home." A green landscape. Over this is a series of linoleum block prints. A simple pattern that hopefully triggers thoughts of quilting bees, grandmothers, women's work, craft.

The dress on top, a simple house dress is washing over with waves. Ripples really. A not so subtle reference to a fish out of water, or more precisely a water girl on dry land.



This is a close up of the bottom right panel. A class photo from sometime in the 50's. A girl is singled out, in the spotlight as it were. Linoleum block prints obscure part of the class, strengthening the circle shape that is often repeated in this piece.

I have named her Elizabeth, only because I'm sure that's what her name would be somehow. In reality I have no idea who she really is. A circle of small silver beads is stitched through the canvas.

The top right hand panel begins with a map, I chose this part of the world because of the abrupt change in scenery. Driving west you are in the middle of flat nowhere. Miles and miles of nothing, then practically in an instant it all changes, a city, and mountains, huge mountains. How things change. The china floats above. Something that speaks of a simpler time, it gives a sense of stability, family dinners, and somehow, privilege.

I had a few issues working on this piece. One of the maps in the background that I had copied and spliced, layered with acrylic and set to dry, folded over on itself at some point. I may have folded it...who knows. In any case, it stuck to itself and became a wadded up heap in the trash after spending too much time trying to rescue it...

The water on the dress eluded me for days. I am not sure why, it almost became like that trick your mind plays on you when you study a single word for too long. It somehow loses it's meaning, and makes no sense. Scott told me over and over it was looking great, I would play every game in the book, looking at it upside down, from on top of a ladder, or spin around suddenly just to see if I could catch it with fresh eyes and see what was really there. Finally photographing it seems to have done the trick, because I like it in photos.

The china by the way was the simplest part, I painted it in a couple of days and it just came together beautifully. No hiccups, just poof, done. A gift from the art gods. There is a thin line of beads and freshwater pearls that mirrors the quarter circle on the bottom piece, taking your eye all the way back to the dress.

Sitting back and looking at this piece, wondering why it took so long, why so much drama? I have to think back to my original plan, separating elements in a piece, rather than piling them one on top of the other in layers. Painting water, and china, both for the first time. I think I set myself up for a huge challenge without even realizing it. Talking to a friend lately about what it takes to make it as an artist, he said, "someone asked if I could do that, and I said sure, then I had to figure out how to do it." That seems to be the whole game, set you own bar higher, then start jumping.

Elizabeth is 48" wide and 36" high. $5000