Finished?

The question of when a painting is finished is more of an issue than you might think. Standing in front of the easel the little voices in my head get quite chatty. One is shouting "quit now, less is more" another says, "you didn't spend nearly enough time on that." "You could push that a little further" is met with "Whoa, quit before you screw it up!"

This was an interesting piece in that respect, because I was happy with the background and was working on the china, a little highlight, a little glazing in shadows, a few dabs of magenta in the roses. I turned around and looked at the piece and WOW! I loved it.

But was it finished?

I'll back up a bit and tell you what is going on in this piece. The background (as I call it, or the parts around the dress) is a collage of ads from the late 50's. On top of that is a block print of a repeat pattern of circles. The circles are woven together, and sometimes they shift and turn into flowers. I was happy with this red pattern, and how the greys in the background gently move your eye around the piece.

I didn't actually have a plan of what to put on the dress at this point. But on my "bulletin board full of crap," (others have beautiful names for this, memory boards, idea boards, dream stations...whatever) I saw a catalogue cover with a painting by Peter Plamondon. It is a huge painting, of a collection of white bowls, some upside down, one filled with white eggs, it's a beauty.

As a side note I was in a Gallery in Chatham on Cape Cod this summer and saw a few of his original works, simply stunning, google him!

But what truly struck me was how that composition would carry the repeated pattern of the circles from the background onto the dress. But I didn't want to copy the idea to the point that I made it look like the piece I just saw. So I pulled out what I have, china. Lots of china.

Without digging too deeply into my head, I have decided that my china collection is becoming a metaphor. It is in a cabinet and in boxes, I have collected it since I was about 12. It has moved with me at least 12 different times, and sometimes not made it out of the boxes before it was moved again. The china has become a reminder that the future I thought I would have as a child is nothing like what actually is. Not necessarily a bad thing by the way!

So I laid out the cups and saucers, and photographed them from above. I painted from the photo. So this is where I was when I had the "holy smokes, this is looking great" moment. I dug through my button collection and laid out the hula hoop shape of buttons (yet another circle) and stitched them through the canvas.

Then I let it hang on the wall for a few days. It wasn't finished.

The only thing the finished piece has, that the earlier version didn't, is the shadows under the saucers. I liked how they floated on the red background, but once I stitched on the black buttons it became more obvious that I needed a little more black in the composition to pull it all together.

One of those push pull moments of a painting, everything you do means you may have to do something else. To balance it out, to make it work.

So this is it, finished. She is titled "Enough." 40"x40"

A week of experiments

I have to admit, I've been feeling a little "stuck" lately. New ideas have been slow to come, and I've found myself, more often than not, spinning my wheels and reworking past ideas. I couldn't manage to keep myself in the studio for any length of time. I needed a serious kick start, but wasn't sure how to begin.

So I started a little self analysis, always a dangerous thing.

One of the issues I discovered was that supplies were becoming scarce, tubes were wrung dry, and there were only a couple empty canvases around, big expensive canvases. It is a difficult thing to take a leap of faith and start something fresh when resources are low, what if I mess up one of those big canvases? So this all meant I needed to do a little shopping.

In the art supply store I told myself I was going to get at least one new thing that I hadn't tried before, or at least not in several years. I ended up checking out with a tub of powdered graphite, three inexpensive canvases, and replacements for some of those empty paint tubes. And some really pretty papers, those still haven't been touched!

Then I simply convinced myself that this was a week off, a week of experiments. I wasn't going to try to complete anything, just start mucking around and see what happens. I grabbed some paper and tried different transfer processes, using oil of wintergreen and lacquer thinner. The oil of wintergreen works much better, and is less flammable, a good thing. But being an oily process I wasn't so sure that water based acrylic paints were going to work well on top. So I picked up a canvas and started a different transfer process using acrylic. While that was drying I was in the powdered graphite, and chalk, and pastels, and pencil, simply making marks, with no thought of a finished product.

Papers were collaged, silver leaf was added, I found some stencils, and just kept going. I ended up with a canvas that was simply full, and thanks to the graphite, quite dark. So I started cutting back in with paint, highlighting favorite parts, blocking out the bits that didn't work, by the end of the day I had this...



Now I know some of you aren't going to be thrilled with this direction, but bear with me. I have always loved abstract work, and have dabbled with it from time to time. And this just felt so fresh, and full of life that I decided to keep going. But my next piece was started with a little more deliberation.

A few photo transfers, a little graphite, some mucky brushwork...

Then more photos, silver leaf, and you can see a rough pencil drawing of one of my latest studio finds, an old birdcage. Add to this some color, reworking the cage with a little more precision, map bits, old stamps, more, more more...

I was a little slower, this one took a couple days to complete, a little less experimenting, letting things dry properly before moving on. Learning from the process. I finally decided this one was done. Time to move on to the last canvas, and the week was coming to a close.

So the last one started like the others, with very little idea of where it was going (I am a planner, so this was a breakthrough and a relief in itself.) The nest was transferred to the right hand side. The "nest" on the left was collaged using old patterns. I like drawing parallels between humans and birds and our building abilities. Rubber stamps are repeated in the background, and the gauzy thin glove attached on top, I love how transparent it is, allowing the viewer to see what is going on underneath. The bird was painted, the three little eggs are stitched with little glass beads.

What I am enjoying about this process is how it started being so random, yet became more and more symmetrical. But still keeps the visual richness. And I know this week is going to influence my new work. I am looking forward to seeing where I go from here!

All three of these pieces are 20" square, I still have to fuss over them for a while to decide if I will bring them to shows. But I am happy to be on the other side of that case of "painters block" and looking forward to my next canvas!

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!

My Sketchbook

It was my first art teacher, in the eighth grade, who preached the importance of having a sketchbook. As a place to work on your drawing skills, and to work out ideas. And I have always had one, sometimes used every day, and sometimes not for months. But I always had one around somewhere. The only thing that has changed, is how I use it.

At first, as a teen, I would pour over every drawing in there, I couldn't stand to show my work to anybody if the whole book wasn't perfect. And of course it was never perfect. Blind and partially blind contour drawings were my favorite things to do. Watercolor or ink sketches wrinkled up the pages. But I always thought of my sketchbook had to be a series of finished works.

Not now.

Now I rarely sketch, the most I ever do is a reasonably accurate line drawing of how I envision a commission to come together for a client. Now my sketchbook is there mostly just to take visual notes. These quick little 3" or so square squiggles in ballpoint pen map out the little thoughts about how to put a painting together. Scrawled notes with arrows poke into the drawing with instructions that aren't apparent in the sketch..."soft warm gray background." Just to jog my memory. My sketchbook is full of these little blocks, often working out ideas for a painting over and over again in different forms. And eventually, as I flip through all the ideas looking for one to basically blossom, boom, there it is! That idea, and this one a few pages back, all of a sudden just fit together.

And the sketch usually gets me about 3/4 of the way through a painting, the last 1/4 is the hard part though. The discussions and negotiations with the painting directly in front of you. But that's another story.

My favorite thing about my sketchbook now is how it serves as a journal. I don't think about it at all when I'm drawing in it, or making a list of whatever. But when I occasionally come across an old sketchbook, from last year or the last decade, my memory is taken on a bit of a ride, without having specific references to the outside world. Try it, put what you want in it, and don't think you have to show it to anybody!

And just as a note, the two lino blocks peeking in at the top of the page are elements from a commission I am working on. "Queen Bee" I think she'll come together just fine!

Sugar

Here's the latest out of the studio, "Sugar" is 30" square. This one doesn't have a long story to it, I was just simply trying to use such a sweet southern name just a little tongue in cheek. A ring or hula hoop of candies circles her waist. The text on the dress? The chemical formula for table sugar.





I'll be in New York City on Oct 2nd and 3rd at the Gracie Square Show in Carl Schurz park, hope to see you there!

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

Paper dolls

I've been enjoying using collaged papers in these new little dress pieces, and I thought I'd show a few of them off. This one has an old map of Paris as the dress, the lines are stitched with bright pink embroidery floss, and two buttons are sewn on with the same thread. The background, as with all of these, is a collage of Simplicity sewing patterns from the '50's and '60's. **sold**

This one has more of a '70's feel to it. The paper in the dress is a bit of rice paper that I marbled years ago, and tucked away in a flat file until I found a good use for it. The embroidery floss is green. The little green glass and iridescent shell beads are stitched along one side. Reminiscent of a beaded curtain!


The paper in this spring green dress has just a bit of sparkle to it, in the form of silver glitter no less! The glass button on the left has a little diamond shape of silver in it also, and mimics the notch shape just above on the pattern piece in the background.



And last but certainly not least is this transparent dress! The text that you see is an acrylic transfer from an etiquette book from 1910. Matched up with two crystal clear glass buttons, I think this one is stunning. The stitching is black, to keep it very neutral.

All of these dresses are the same size, the image size of the artwork is 5" square, they are matted in a bit of a shadowbox style to make room for the buttons. The mat is a double thick cotton (acid free) mat in off white. The overall size is 9" square. They are all shrink wrapped and ready for framing. $145 each.

Dream Sweet

"Dream Sweet" is my newest experiment with linoleum block printing in the background. Damask and floral patterns were carved into two different blocks, then "inked" and "printed" in the checkerboard pattern. I use quotation marks, because I used acrylic paint for the whole process, not the old oil based printing ink I used to use in my lino prints on paper. I did apply the paint with a roller, but the printing process was more like a stamp, or even a potato print. Kinda loose, rubbed down with fingertips rather than the trusty wooden spoon.

The dress was a donation from an artist friend, thanks Joan! A beautiful turn of the century cotton baby dress, or perhaps nightgown. It has beautiful details, netting, and embroidery, tiny little pleats. It needed little work from me, as it was lovely to begin with.

The "stars" are little freshwater pearls, individually stitched through the canvas. Dream Sweet is also stitched through with a dusty blue embroidery floss. I chose a primitive childlike hand for the words this time, if I do it again I may try a type that looks a little more formal. Such is my life, already trying to figure out how to make the next one better before this one is even good and dry.

I am sure this will hang in a baby room somewhere, and hopefully become a treasured memory. One of the fun things about making little baby dresses is knowing that my piece is the beginning of a new art collection! And I'm all for nurturing new art collectors!

24" square $695

Busy Bird

Introducing "Busy Bird"

Steps forward in the life of a painter seem to be few and far between. As much as I know my work is improving over time, the tiny shreds of evidence are not always easy to find. What seems to me like an overwhelming epiphany in the moment, may result in little more than a shrug in the real world.

But this piece had one, perhaps a tiny one, but still it is a small step forward. Rather than use a rubber stamp from my collection to make the background, the lines of x & o's, I carved a small lino block. Not a huge task, those who have known me for many years know how familiar I am with linoleum block prints as they were my medium of choice. I've pulled dozens of multiple color reductive lino prints, never with a press, as I've never had that kind of dough, but with a wooden spoon.

But I don't think I can tell you how much I enjoyed carving that little block, the smell of linseed oil, the carving knife went through like butter. I thought it had been 3 or 4 years since I had carved a block, but I have just surprised myself. I just checked the date on the last lino I remember carving, it says 2001, time flies. Anyhow, this little change, has opened up a bunch of new possibilities, carving any patterns, or text into a block, and treating it like a stamp. Much more original than using store bought stamps, and endless possibilities.

Now back to Little Bird, the star of the show. The dress itself was a little sweater dress. I have never used a sweater dress before, and as I was soaking it in the goo, I really wasn't sure it was going to work, I expected it to stretch into some unidentifiable blob. But it went down very nicely. The key coming out of the top is silver leaf, with an acrylic transfer of a photo of this crazy little wind up bird I have. The bird is also repeated along the hem of the dress. Busy Bird is stitched into a halo shape where the head would be.

I must say this is a bit of a self portrait, it was the last piece painted in a marathon painting push after a really great show, as I was trying to get ready for the next. If you sat me down and asked me my mother's maiden name about the time I finished this, I'm not so sure I could have told you. But it is at times like that when the grand, or even puny ideas seem to come out of nowhere.

Little Bee

You can tell someone has been to art school when they have an aversion to making something "cute" or "pretty." And I have to tell you, I have this affliction in spades. Usually deep in my dress paintings, there is a little bit of irony, or snarkyness just waiting to be noticed. In fact, when someone walks into my booth and says "Oh CUTE!" (Or even worse, "cute, cute, cute, cute, cute....) I know they aren't really paying attention.

But this one....this one is simply too cute. Little Bee just sort of fell together nicely, it was going through an ugly phase...many of my paintings do, and then *poof* there it was, over the top sweet. And I just couldn't do it, I couldn't find a way to make it a little more mischievous. Or ugly it up a little, it was so pretty sitting there, that to do any of that stuff seemed as mean as poking a kitten.

So don't confuse this with an earlier "little b," where the b is the beginning of a 5 letter word. This one is what it is, just sweet. And I know it will be in a baby room soon, making everyone giggle. I can hear Moms everywhere making little bee buzzing noises, while they tickle someone small to sleep. And I guess that's ok too!

If you click on the image to make it bigger, you'll notice little stitched wings above the shoulders. Now I'm off to the studio to work on the next one, which will probably be a little snarky, just to make up for it. And please, don't tell any of my art teachers from college!