Rebecca Crowell

early painting memories

2012-02-23T21:29:00.000-06:00

While going through some boxes in my mother's basement I came across the oil painting above, done when I was 13. My mom had gotten me started at age 11 when she'd let me use some paints she had for craft work (stenciling furniture) and a friend of the family offered some basic tips to get started--but I was pretty much on my own at that point. That was a good thing, I think, instilling as it did an experimental approach early on.

Finding this painting brought back memories of this pivotal time in my young art life, including my first "studio"--an assemblage of cast off stuff that I put together in the basement. A rickety folding easel and small metal cabinet for my supplies, a board balanced on two stools for my palette, an old floor lamp for a bit of dim lighting. I liked the idea of it more than the reality, preferring other less gloomy settings most of the time...outside, in my room, or some other place in the house.

Besides the painting above there are lots of early drawings, watercolors, collages and a few oil paintings that have survived in the parental archives. My mom and dad knew very little about art, but respected my passion. While I never doubted their support (they always hung my work in the house, bought me supplies, and were pleased that I had such a focused interest) for the most part they let me figure things out by myself. That seems to me a good, respectful model of parenting--expressing interest, providing something in the way of materials and supplies, then backing off and allowing the child to decide how to proceed. Had they pushed and gushed and made too much of my art aspirations, I wonder if I'd have retreated.

Two things strike me about this painting. On the back of its canvas board support, on the pre-printed place to label the work with date, media etc. I had crossed out the word "artist" and substituted "painter." In spite of the fact that my parents loved my work, it seems that at 13 I knew I had a ways to go to earn the more elevated title. I definitely recall that my go-it-alone adventure into art was sometimes frustrating and difficult. Good lessons to learn early though.

The other thing I notice here is the subject matter of nature and an interest in abstraction...the composition is probably not all that original since I had an early attraction to Georgia O'Keeffe, but my interest in her paintings laid some important groundwork.

I recall other important influences around this time, including a 6 or 8 week Saturday class (the only extra-curricular art I had as a kid) at the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh (memories of riding into the city alone from the suburbs on the bus...)called Design in Nature. This class was conceptual in its approach and exerted an influence on my thinking and perception forever after, dealing as it did with the beauty of patterns, textures and colors in plants, shells and rocks.

I was also privileged to have an extraordinary junior high school art teacher, Penny Russell, who maintained an active, intense art practice in her home (her daughter was my best friend so I had a person view of this.) Penny's work often ventured into the abstract, and she shared with me a process of discovering interesting compositions within randomly patterned and textured sheets of oil colors. But her most important influence was as an adult role model, always involved, inventive and curious about her own work and that of others.

These memories bring thoughts to ponder...such as how to best nurture and mentor young artists, and also that themes and interests that emerge early in life so often occupy us our whole lives. Unearthing layers of my artistic past in my parent's basement (my mother not only kept a lot of my work, but also every show announcement and newspaper clipping from way back) has been a sweet chore. I owe so very much to my parent's support and belief in what I could achieve.

mixed media

2012-02-14T10:25:00.005-06:00

The descriptive term I most often use in labeling my paintings is "oil and mixed media" and I am sometimes asked what this means. I choose this phrase because I use a variety of materials besides straight oil paint...to those familiar with my work, the most obvious of these is cold wax medium, a thick, room temperature beeswax paste that adds body, increases drying time and enhances the brilliance of the oils. But there are other materials that I rely upon, including:

Dry pigment, graphite, and charcoal: these powders add texture, color and body when mixed into the wax and oil on my palette. I also apply them directly to the surface of the work when it is semi-dry to the touch, or mix them with solvent and apply with a brush for gestural marks.

Various solvents: selectively applied, I use these to make textures and marks, or to wash out entire areas to expose underlying layers.

Drawing materials including graphite, wax pencil and chalk pastel: I use these for mark-making on the surface when it is in a receptive state, either semi dry or fully dry.

Powdered marble: this substance is colorless when mixed into paint and wax, and adds body--a light, almost fluffy quality, making the paint easy to spread with a palette knife.

Metallic leaf: I use this very sparingly and with subtlety in some paintings.

Sand: again I am quite selective and sparing with this material since it can be a bit intrusive in a subtle painting. It can also easily clog up painting tools like brayers and brushes. But in small doses it creates a beautiful textural layer.

Painting with cold wax medium and oils is a process that lends itself naturally to experimentation, and anything that will not conflict with the basic chemistry of the wax can be incorporated into the work (for example, dried leaves, bits of paper or cloth, plaster...)I love this aspect of cold wax painting--that the medium is so compatible with various other materials.

But however spontaneous and experimental I may be, the decisions about which materials end up in the work are carefully considered. Along with everything else--from the scale of my paintings to the decision to add or take away a panel in a multiple panel work--I am looking for what will make meaningful contributions to the work. In the case of mixed media, I gravitate towards substances that interact with the paint and wax to form complex textures, contribute to the richness of layers, or provide visually striking contrasts.

antoni tàpies

2012-02-07T18:21:00.003-06:00

Antoni Tàpies was on my mind all day in the studio and my work was more spare, more bold than usual because of that. His death yesterday, and recaps of his life and work have been widely reported, and I feel no need to write an informative or objective post about him. But I am moved to write a more personal response--I'm one of countless artists who have considered Tàpies among my strongest influences. When I first saw his work in 2001, it came at the turning point of my own paintings toward abstraction, and pointed the way to a form of expression that is both deeply emotional and formally strong.

Before my visit that year to Barcelona--his home city--I only knew his name and a few reproductions in books, but that was enough to compel me to visit the Fundació Antoni Tàpies. The idea of a museum devoted to a living artist was amazing enough (I couldn't think of a single example in the US) but even the little I knew of Tàpies left me wanting to see the work in person.

The main gallery was completely hung with his work (on a subsequent visit in 2008, other artist's work occupied that space) and I was torn between rushing through to take it all in at once and standing in front of each painting, appreciating it as a total experience. The gritty textures, subtle earth colors and monumentality of scale combined to speak directly to my emotions, while the unusual materials, including sand and foam, and the complex, subtle compositions intrigued me.

Leaving the museum, I considered the city in a new way--as the context of his work. The crumbling old walls, graffiti and surreal Gaudi architecture were obvious influences. Later at the Museu d'Art Contemporani I moved to tears by his huge pale colored--almost white--painting in one of the lower galleries (I've been trying to find its title or image online with no luck) which mystified me with its power.

Since then. I've learned more about the man, his political stance against the Spanish dictator Franco, his strong Catalan identity, his philosophical views of the every day materials and subject matter he used, the influence of Eastern spirituality on his life and work. All fascinating. But his work stands on its own, apart from anything that can be said or written about him (and there is plenty of that in the past two days.)

To me it feels as old as rocks and dirt, and as fresh as a young child's drawing. His appreciation of the ordinary is expressed through intriguing inventiveness with commonplace materials and images. Freedom and spontaneity, and the quirkiness of mind and memory...but always the sense of being grounded in the earth and in human history. Often profound stillness, and always mystery.

my studio

2012-02-02T20:51:00.007-06:00

A couple of weeks ago I posted some photos of materials, shelves, walls and other random images I saw through my camera lens as I wandered around the studio. Today I took more shots, this time of works in progress.

There was a moment, as I did this, when I felt strongly how personal a studio space is, and how creative process is felt and seen in every aspect--what the walls look like, how things are arranged, what lies buried in stacks and what is prominently on view. I thought of Joe Figg's book, Inside the Painter's Studio and the rather mundane questions he asked of the artists he interviewed that, when answered, yielded enough personal detail and passionate feeling to make fascinating reading.

Most artists do have a great deal to say about their studios, and this post is a tribute to mine, which has served me wonderfully for the past 24 years. At the time it was built, it was larger than our house (which was in its early, tiny stage back then) and my older son was a toddler, my younger one not yet born. I had been painting in a rental apartment and later, in a friend's attic--and now this space, all mine, was a huge improvement. My husband persuaded me that I did need my own studio, and that we could somehow afford it, and I will always be grateful for his insight and support. From its first days, it has been my refuge, and every time I walk in the door I feel a return to creative home base.

It is not pristine by any means, and it's nothing like the vast, clean expanses seen in many New York artist's studios in Figg's book and in slick art magazines. No, over the years it has filled up to bursting, then been cleaned up and organized, in more cycles than I care to remember. In the past few years there have been some important improvements--better lighting, the in-floor heat activated, a new chimney for the wood stove, and an excellent storage unit built. Now, when it's relatively tidied and organized, it can handle up to six students and all their stuff when I teach--which would never have worked during some of its earlier, messier incarnations.

I do almost all my painting on the east wall, where I have a counter height painting table (famously messy) and my panels hung on screws and oversized push pins, as you see above. On a counter along the south wall, I have my water based mixed media materials and watercolors in progress. Another area I keep more or less clean for wrapping and packaging paintings to ship, and supplies for my workshops take up a large table at the back of the studio. Sounds fairly neat, but when I get involved in painting, things get out of hand. Typically there are works in progress stacked everywhere, papers on the floor, tools and coffee cups scattered around, books heaped on the table and couch. (It intrigues me that I prefer a neat house and cannot cook in a messy kitchen, but I tend to be oblivious to chaos in the studio.)

My studio works for me and is intensely mine, a power spot, in a way that no other space can be including my house. Sometimes people ask me if I feel invaded when visitors come in to see my work, or students spend days there taking a workshop. But for whatever reasons, I find it easy to retain my connection to what is mine about the studio at the same time that I occasionally share, and in fact enjoy sharing, the space with others.

the year ahead

2012-01-25T10:25:00.005-06:00

It's the quiet time of year for me, which I appreciate, winter weather and all. For the past couple of years--including this one--I've avoided scheduling any workshops or exhibits from November through January or early February. Of course, hours (days!!) are devoted to planning for the rest of the year, but the anticipation is enjoyable. I'm exceptionally happy with everything on the calendar for 2012.

A quick summary of 2102 workshops and exhibits: Three introductory Oil and Wax Workshops are scheduled in February, April and May for my home studio, and one advanced class in March. Teaching in my own space, where I have everything I need, is a pleasure, and since the size of it limits classes to six artists, the small group dynamic is unique to these classes. (Click here to read an older blog post about the value of studio classes.)

I'm especially pleased to welcome back six artists in March for an advanced Level Two Workshop. Along with one additional person, this is the same group of five that came last March--to some extent they have kept in touch with each other and they're eager to work together again here. They personify the ongoing involvement and commitment to working with cold wax medium that motivated me to begin teaching advanced classes.

In April, I'll exhibit some of my Ireland paintings at Elaine Erickson Gallery in Milwaukee, a new venue for my work, along with Allison B. Cooke, who will show paintings inspired by time in Italy. Work for the show is coming along really well, and the opening (April 20-21) will coincide with Gallery Night and Day in Milwaukee's Third Ward, so should be a lot of fun.

After the opening I will head down to Mineral Point, WI to teach a 2-day Critique Workshop at Shake Rag Alley on April 28-29. This class is one I've in the back of my mind for years to do, and I'm am excited to put my ideas in action. Plus, I love teaching at Shake Rag--great people and a beautiful historic setting.

June begins a season of frequent travel, starting with California at the beginning of the month. I'll fly into the Bay Area, rent a car and drive up to Yreka, where I'll teach an intro level Oil and Wax Workshop, June 8-10. I'm already feeling very welcome there, and excited to see this place of great natural beauty. In the past few years I've had many workshop inquiries by artists from California and the Pacific Northwest, so I am expecting a full and exciting class. I plan to teach a private workshop on my way back to the Bay Area, and perhaps visit a friend or two before heading home.

July 16-20 I will be teaching at Cullowhee Mountain Arts, a new summer workshop program on the campus of Western Carolina University. It is an honor to be included in the first summer faculty. This class is a week long, beginning the evening before with a reception for instructors and students--it will be great to have time to dig deeply into the work and enjoy a sense of community. There will be lectures and artist presentations throughout the session.

Early August will find me on an extended road trip, first to Dallas for an Oil and Wax Workshop (this one is now filled, with a waiting list) and then on to Albuquerque and Santa Fe, to deliver paintings for an exhibit at Darnell Fine Art. After a few days in NM, I will head to Colorado to each a Level Two Oil and Wax Workshop at the Ah Haa School of the Arts in Telluride, Aug. 13-16. I love that town, and the school is a top notch venue. This class is so far about half full with returning students from introductory cold wax classes. I'm looking forward to seeing familiar faces and spending four days with some of the more conceptual angles of painting that can be explored in an advanced class.

That's everything on the calendar...I intend to go back to Ireland this fall, but I'm not sure yet when and where, so I am leaving myself open from September on.

For a complete list of workshops and registration details please click here.

The painting above is Irish Garden 16"x16," oil and mixed media on panel. It may be seen at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe, NM>

my studio in photos

2012-01-17T22:14:00.011-06:00

Just wandering around the studio with my camera...

landscape

2012-01-09T15:08:00.003-06:00

While I consider landscape to be only one of many influences on my work, it's been a pretty obvious one in a few of my recent, post-Ireland paintings, such as the painting above, Carrowmore, 20"x16".

Interpreting landscape in a pictorial way has also happened in the past after I return from travel or a residency. Maybe I'm drawn a more literal or direct approach in order to process some of what I've experienced.

What remains strong in my mind about Ireland are the misty atmosphere around the lake at Annaghmakerrig, the saturate colors of the damp forest, the rugged western seacoast, and perhaps most compelling, a number of megalithic sites made up of ancient cairns and standing stones, which I experienced in the pouring rain (I seem to have very few sunny memories of Ireland!)

The influence of rich colors and rugged textures is also coming through in my more non-objective paintings, which I'm working on at the same time as these few more literal landscapes...and because I identify so strongly as an abstract artist I tend to dismiss the landscapes and think the more abstract way of working is more valid. Yet it seems wrong to box myself in or put up too much resistance to letting a painting evolve in a more representational way.

Besides, I recognize that landscape and nature images have been the most consistent and enduring influences over my lifetime of painting. The expression of nature's complexity and beauty in all its many aspects is the core meaning of my work. So I'm OK with letting in a few bits of objective reality...with letting the occasional landscape be a landscape.

(By the way I should note that all I'm writing here pertains to how I see and interpret my own work...viewers have always tended to read a certain degree of landscape into my work, and that's fine, especially considering that core meaning I just mentioned. I'm just usually the last one to see it.)

a thought for the new year

2012-01-03T21:20:00.000-06:00

Emerson's version of Trust the Process:

Don't waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

(photo above, detail of a recently completed multiple panel painting...)

a wide world

2011-12-28T18:07:00.004-06:00

It's the season for looking back at the past year, and while I will spare you a detailed month by month recap of my 2011, there is one career milestone that I think is worth mentioning. For me, 2011 was a remarkable year for connecting with people and places in other countries--the year that my work first crossed international borders in the context of galleries and sales.

It started last February when I signed on with an agent in Ireland who works to promote my work in Ireland and the UK; also in February I was accepted into Gallery 133 in Toronto, and a month later I drove five large paintings across the border into Canada. Later in March, an artist from Sweden came to one of my studio workshops, and although she was not the first person from another country to attend one of my classes--I've had several students from Canada, and one from Brazil--she was the first to cross the Atlantic for that sole purpose. In April I learned from my agent that I would be showing in Dublin at the tail end of my autumn artist residency at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in County Monaghan. In September, while I was in Ireland, a collector in Austria contacted me to purchase a painting from my website. (Fortunately my husband was still at home and could get it packed and shipped.) My exhibit at Gormleys Fine Art in Dublin opened September 30, and sales were decent despite the rather dire economic situation there. Heading into the new year, I will be having a solo exhibit at Gormleys' Belfast gallery in February, and plan to return to Ireland in the fall for another residency.

So it's been an exciting year, and although I've had "pinch me, is this real??" moments, I've also started to see what is possible in reaching beyond our own borders. We live in fortunate times as artists--the internet provides a world context for art, and everything that happened for me outside the US this year can be traced to internet contacts and exposure. An artist can live and work anywhere now--even rural Wisconsin--and be active in a much wider art world.

(The as yet untitled 12"x9" painting above was inspired by travels in the west of Ireland.)

time and patience

2011-12-20T10:02:00.004-06:00

Because my paintings evolve in their own organic way, and in their own time, I need to be very patient with them and not push for a finish too soon. Their progress and resolution happen in a way that seems outside of clock or calendar time. Continuing to add more and more layers and paint until there is a moment when the painting comes together into a visual whole, rich and satisfying means staying in the moment, not projecting forward to the end result. Equally so, it means letting go of what is covered up or "lost" (and I always say that nothing is ever really lost in this process.)

Following this path throughout a painting is an ongoing challenge--to respect each moment for what is evolving and maturing in the painting, to avoid being satisfied too early in the process, or with a mere display of technique...to give the paint an honest chance to speak. Spontaneity and impulsive, radical changes are important aspects of my work, adding to the layering and richness of the painting, but not necessarily speeding anything along. I don't believe that my work reaches its highest level without patience for this unfolding process.

I work mostly in oil, traditionally one of the slowest ways of painting, so this approach fits with the form of my work. But I don't mean to ignore forms of painting that call for a faster pace--for example, plein air painting or watercolor, nor the many serious, accomplished artists who explore pure spontaneous expression, wet in wet painting, or any other approach to painting in which the work comes along quickly. Focus, persistence, patience, allowing the work to evolve in its own way, holding to high standards, and not settling for easy solutions are important for all of us. These qualities are seen in an overall body of work and don't necessarily have much to do with measurable time spent on any one painting. In the big picture, fast or slow, clock time is beside the point.

(Photo above, works in progress stacked in my studio.)

watercolors

2011-12-12T17:10:00.004-06:00

Last week I saw Sean Scully's watercolors at the Chazen Museum in Madison, along with a huge room of monumental oil paintings. Though I was awed by the oils, it was the intimate, sensuous surfaces and inventive patterning of the watercolors that I took away with me. Scully's watercolors have a simple, effortless look that belies the difficulties of this medium. (Photos were prohibited in the gallery, unfortunately, but above is an example I found online.)

A few days later I felt the urge to dig out my own watercolor supplies, which usually do not get much use in the studio, and have not been updated in years--I had only a couple of usable brushes and a some very used tubes of paint, some of them dried up, some student grade. As with most art media, you get what you pay for...so I experienced some frustration with brushes shedding hairs and a limited range of paints. Still, I enjoyed playing around, inspired by Scully's simple color divisions and patterns. My own color fields developed a considerable amount of texture, because, of course, that's what I like...I enjoyed working the texture through the dripping and wet-in-wet mixing of color that is characteristic of watercolor. I also worked in some of the gorgeous Unison chalk pastels I brought back from Ireland.

My Christmas gift to myself will be some quality watercolor paints and brushes, because I sense more of these small paintings ahead. I really enjoy the delightful immediacy of watercolor, and it offers plenty of challenge. In fact I tend to think of each watercolor painting as a game or puzzle--can I solve it, make it work, pull it off, or will it dissolve into a muddy mess?

synthesis

2011-11-30T14:45:00.004-06:00

A friend recently asked me, somewhat rhetorically, how do you teach about abstraction in a workshop? It's a hard question...although in the few days allotted to me, I show the work of a number of abstract artists, talk about my own process and ideas--and, in my Level 2 classes, address conceptual concerns directly--there is no time to delve deeply into this topic.

Yet without background knowledge and a context in which to place it, abstraction can seem fairly meaningless… limited to moving paint around until something looks cool. Which is certainly a start, but where to go from there?

A conceptual basis of some sort seems to me the key to working in a fresh and original way –the work needs to arise from a personal center —perhaps rooted in specific, definable ideas, but more likely in a synthesis of source material of multiple origins...personal experience, memory, emotion, intriguing aspects of the visual world, perhaps some area of study such as science or mathematics...plus an awareness of art from other times and places, and that of accomplished contemporaries. (See last week's post for further thoughts on the importance of knowing a bit of art history.)

The artist must also bring into play all the basic elements of art—color, composition, alignment of form and content, and all the rest--since technical accomplishment is a given for strong work.

To me it is this synthesis that marks a mature artist. The ability to create an interesting visual stew from the many ingredients of a complex life is a skill that takes years. It’s a compelling challenge—at its heart is the powerful idea of creating meaning out of one’s own experience.

Sean Scully’s work (above) is an excellent example of this synthesis of many aspects of life, distilled into powerful painting. It works as strong formal abstraction, as process oriented painting, and as personal expression. His sources for ideas are as diverse as the stone walls in the Irish Aran Islands, the way that Irish society has in his words become more “chequered,” his many travels worldwide, his sense of spirituality, impressions of historical painters, human relationships, and many other aspects of life--some of which I'd guess are difficult to define, if he is anything like the rest of us! (For an interesting, in-depth interview, click here.)

Knowing something about how Scully works and thinks opens up a broad view of abstract painting that is inspiring and energizing. It is this exciting, encompassing view of what abstraction can address that compels my own work.

(Above, a recent 20”x16” painting, as yet untitled…sources for this painting are in the process itself, the rich textures of the Irish landscape, rust and weathered wood, thoughts about aging...)

art appreciation

2011-11-20T17:54:00.006-06:00

My paternal grandmother was hardly the benevolent or cuddly sort--she was stern, imperious and more than a little scary. She certainly commanded respect, and in turn she would occasionally grant it--even to a child. She always called me Rebecca, for example, rather than the nickname by which I was better known, and when I was 12, she gave me one of the most important Christmas presents I ever received--Famous Paintings: An Introduction to Art, by Alice Elizabeth Chase, the book that is shown in the photo above. She gave it to me as an acknowledgement of my emerging interest in painting, and I remember being awed by the honor of such a gift.

This book made a huge impression upon me, and I pored over each page many times. It is arranged by themes, and illustrated with a variety of relevant examples from almost every era and many styles of art. Two pages each are allotted for such topics as "The Cold World in Winter" (featuring a page from a medieval illuminated manuscript showing a farm with people huddled by their fire, and Bruegel's Hunters in the Snow) and "The Smile" with (of course) a color plate of da Vinci's Mona Lisa, and a wonderful portrait of The Laughing Cavalier by Frans Hals. The text discusses aspects of how the artist expressed the theme in terms of basic art elements and interesting anecdotes. In all, over 100 themes are covered--this boggled my adolescent brain with the possibilities of what painting could express. The emphasis on universal themes also made me see that painting is an activity that unites people across time and place, which was very appealing to me. I felt connected emotionally to many of the paintings in the book, and it seemed completely logical and necessary to then make my own (I was given this book around the time I first started oil painting.)

In later years when I'd see one of the paintings from my book in a museum or on a slide in art history class, I would feel a happy jolt of recognition. And as I became familiar with the chronology of the various eras and movements of art history, I could understand where these old friends fit in. So this book was the first step in learning to appreciate all kinds of art, and it launched me in that direction in a very natural and pleasurable way.

I mention this book now because for months I've been pondering the topic of art history and appreciation, its importance, and how one learns about it. In contrast to my own lifelong, gradual accumulation of knowledge about art in the context of history and culture, I started to realize that many artists I meet have had very little exposure to this topic--usually, because they didn't go through a degree program in art. Though plenty of self-taught artists pursue this knowledge on their own, it's admittedly a huge, daunting subject to dive into and sort out. In a typical four year college studio art program, a student starts with a survey class and then takes one more in-depth class each semester until graduating. Those who have had this experience may have groaned over memorizing slides and sorting out Manet from Monet, but most probably appreciate that base of knowledge--I know I do. For those artists whose formal education went in some other direction, effort is needed in this direction, at least in my opinion.

I advocate that we all keep learning, keep trying to understand the roles that visual art has played in our world over time--the styles, movements, individual artists, and groups of people we may not be familiar with. That means reading artist's biographies, visiting museums (and not just the contemporary wing,) watching documentaries, buying or borrowing illustrated art books. I also think that exposure to, and appreciation of the incredible riches of our shared visual history is probably more important than trying to piece it all together in terms of chronology or theory--unless that appeals. If that's too daunting, just look and wonder.

Without stretching our awareness to other eras and places, our sources for ideas and inspiration become limited...when we seek out what is unfamiliar and unknown, our work is enriched. In my own art life, I've been intrigued by everything from medieval manuscripts to African American quilts, from 19th century photographs to megalithic carvings. It's not that I am an expert on any of these things...my interest is mainly in what aspects of visual interest, style or content fit with my own aesthetic intentions--but the stories of these works of art, and where they fit in the context of history also fascinate and draw me in.

(For anyone wanting a comfortable route into art history and appreciation, the book my grandmother gave me is still available --a few used copies are online at Amazon.)

critique class

2011-11-14T22:17:00.004-06:00

I've been working on plans for a new workshop, called Critique Class, that I will be offering for the first time for two days in late April at Shake Rag Alley in Mineral Point, WI. This idea has been simmering on the back burner for years and I am happy to bring it forward this spring. The class will be open to artists working in any 2-D medium, and will focus on developing methods of self-critique, getting the most out of studio visits and formal critiques, and being able to offer constructive criticism to others.

While "critique" is a word that tends to imply heavy baggage, my goal is for everyone in the class to practice communicating about their own art and that of other class members in a non-threatening, direct and helpful way.

My interest in teaching this topic comes from a belief that self-evaluation is one of the most essential skills for artistic growth. Figuring out some clear goals and fair standards for your own work leads to healthy self-regard--feeling confident and unafraid, yet also humble. Neither insecure nor arrogant. Just "this is where I am...and this is what I believe is important and will continue to seek in my work."

Almost everyone runs into harsh or self-serving criticism at some point in an art career, and the knowledge and confidence that comes from self-evaluation can be strong protection. At the same time, this knowledge allows an artist to be open to criticism that is credible and constructive. A self-aware artist is in a good position to understand the context of criticism and whether it fits and is useful.

Sensitivity to the nuances, strengths and weaknesses of your own work is also helpful when a friend or colleague asks for feedback. It's a lot easier to be articulate and compassionate with another person when you have had similar conversations in your own head.

I speak from experience on all of this...I'm a strong critic of my own work, but not a harsh one. Although of course I have frustrating and infuriating times in the studio, I try to have patience, trust in the process, and an understanding of what I'm after in the big picture.

(The painting above, Ireland #2, 10"x8," has met my self-imposed painting criteria...)

in the studio

2011-11-05T17:07:00.002-05:00

It's now over three weeks since I got home from Ireland, and I'm starting to see some new directions unfolding in the studio. The saturate color of the rainy, misty countryside that surrounded the Tyrone Guthire Cenre, and the textures of rough stone, lichens and megalithic carvings are exerting an influence.

I've been experimenting with layers of colors that do not initially seem compatible, but through glazing and the use of neutrals arrive at complexity and depth. To enhance texture, I've been allowing some of my initial layers to set up longer before going back over them, and using additives like sand and powdered marble. All of this is leading to tactile and richly colored surfaces that resonate with my memories of Ireland.

Although at times my attempts to express such a complex experience seem like grasping at dream memories--elusive and fragmented--I'm pleased to see an essence of those days in Ireland beginning to emerge.

I'm working on a series of small paintings that work well for these experiments. (Slieve, above, is one of these--10"x8.") I also have a number of larger paintings in progress, some of which are visible in this studio shot.

my artist residencies (part 2)

2011-10-28T11:08:00.004-05:00

After my first residency (see Part 1, last week's post) seven years passed before I got serious about doing another. I was drawn back to the same place, the Centre D'Art I Natura. Hoping for a stay without catastrophic events at home (the dates of my first residency coincided with September 11, 2001) I scheduled my residency for September, 2008. (Though alarming, the major stock market crash during my first week there was only a minor distraction.)

During this residency, I stayed for three rather than two weeks, and found that to be a perfect length of time, with a few days in Barcelona at the end. I noticed that I was able to dive more quickly into my work this time around, and to focus for longer periods of time...I already knew my way around, and was familiar with aspects of the culture and environment that on the first trip had overwhelmed me. I had come prepared with specific ideas for my work, and with more appropriate art materials and other supplies than the first time. On this second stay, I recognized the value of returning to a residency more than once--many artists do go over and over to the same location. (Usually, an initial acceptance allows an artist to simply sign up again according to availability of space, rather than having to re-apply.) Coming back to a place I knew and loved allowed me to go deeper into my work, and I found that the painting I did there opened up ideas that remained with me all during the following year, and continue to this day.

While I did not have the kind of breakthrough insight that I did on my first stay (see Part 1), I did end up understanding more about how my abstract imagery evolves in response to the landscape and my experiences in it. This was an unexpected discovery, not something I'd planned to explore ahead of time (as so much of what happens during a residency is unexpected!) It came about as I spent part of every day out hiking, photographing and sketching--observing closely what was around me in a way that travel always stimulates in me. But back in the studio, I painted as I was accustomed to doing at home, allowing the work to develop intuitively, trusting the process of layering paint and seeing what emerged. It was fascinating to see the close correlation to the landscape of texture, color and form that came through without conscious direction-just by taking in the surroundings and then allowing intuition to have its way. The small painting above reflects the experience of being inside one of the old barns that could be found in the surrounding countryside, with a whitewashed wall. (For illustrations and further description of what I mean, see my book Old Walls and Lost Paths, published in 2009.)

The third residency I have been to, at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in County Monaghan, Ireland, is very recent; I've been back for only a few weeks. I know that as time goes by I will have more insight into its impact on my work. For now, I can say that I was grateful every morning to wake up in a place in which my sole purpose was to do exactly what suited my creative impulses...to walk, to paint, to photograph, to hang out with other residents. I could also see the same process at work in the studio as I'd noticed in my 2008 residency. What was coming through intuitively in texture, color and symbol bore strong connections to my experiences in the landscape and especially to visits to various megalithic sites such as Newgrange (the world's oldest known existing structure) which is located not far from the Centre. In my studio since coming home, I am still feeling a strong connection to Ireland, and can see added richness in my textures and colors.

I found Ireland so compelling, and so welcoming, that I'm planning to return next year, and possibly the year after--there are at least two other residencies I visited during my travels there that interested me (Cill Rialaig, in County Kerry, pictured above, is one) and if they don't work out I'd be happy to become a regular at Tyrone Guthrie. (For posts about Tyrone Guthrie, see my entries from September.)

Recently several colleagues have asked me if I believe that artist residencies are worth the time commitment and expense (some residencies charge the artist, some do not) and what I feel I have gained by going. While in this post I have spoken from my own experience, I've met many other artists during my travels who seek residencies out on a regular basis, and believe them to be an important aspect of their creative journey (as do I.) Residencies do not have to be expensive or far from home, by the way--I'd say that any location that provides a fresh experience, contacts with other artists, and time away from daily life to completely focus on creative work is potentially worthwhile. For a listing of many (not all) artist residencies worldwide click here.

my artist residences (part 1)

2011-10-16T19:43:00.013-05:00

Many artists have been curious about my experiences at artist residencies in Catalonia and Ireland, so this is the first of two posts describing how I ended up at these places and what they meant to me. Every residency location and each individual stay is unique, of course--that's part of the charm! But although limited to my own experience, perhaps these posts will be informative and inspiring to anyone interested in an artist residency--in my opinion, the perfect way to visit another country. (If you have already been to a residency, I'd love to hear your thoughts about that in the comment section.)

The first time I applied for an artist residency was in the spring of 2001, when the director at the Centre D'Art I Natura, in the Catalonia region of Spain, contacted me via my gallery inviting me to submit images of my work and a proposal. I was pleased and surprised, but a bit skeptical. I had never considered a residency abroad as a possibility for myself, and I knew no one who had gone to one. Not knowing quite what to think, I put together a proposal and slides and filled in some fairly random dates for my stay, and sent it off. The whole thing seemed more like a daydream than a reality.

Then came the reply, which I opened as my older son, who was then 13, stood by. I read through quickly and then started to laugh at the line, "...we shall expect you on the 7th of September." It struck me as completely ludicrous that anyone could expect such a thing, and even more so that I could actually do it. But I'll always appreciate my son's response when I read that line to him--"Mom, you HAVE to go!!" When my husband and 10 year old son heard the news, they added the same kind of unconditional support, and I gradually soaked up enough of their confidence to send in my acceptance. At the beginning of the school year that fall, I headed for the Pyrenees--never having been to Europe before and speaking neither Spanish nor Catalan (the language of the region.)

In spite of my inexperience, I had only minor (even laughable in retrospect) difficulties during my travel to the residency in Catalonia, via Barcelona. Then September 11th occurred, four days into my stay. It was hard to be so far from home and family at that time, but the isolation of the language barrier and location shielded me quite a bit from the horrible details of that day, and the people surrounding me there, especially the couple who run the Centre, were very kind. In fact I didn't grasp the real impact of 9-11 until I returned home at the end of the month...most of my time during that two weeks--hiking in the dramatic mountain scenery, painting in my rustic studio, meeting artists and others from around the world--was peaceful and focused, though of course I was also haunted and disturbed by the little I knew of what had happened.

The impact of this residency on my work was profound. For years I'd been going back and forth between abstraction and representation, but during my time in Catalonia, I found a commitment to abstraction that I've maintained ever since. I've joked that there must be something in the air in that homeland of Gaudi, Tapies and Miro--but what I really believe is that I was simply overwhelmed, and the unusually intense stimulation to my senses and feelings opened the way. The incredible beauty of the remote mountains, the excitement of a new and intriguing culture, the sadness and fear of being away during my country's great tragedy--I could find no representational image that was an adequate expression of this mix.

Yet I could sense that there was some essence of this place I loved, and of my own complex emotions, in the textures of dry grass and rushing water, the colors of slate, the clear light, the patterns of old pathways through the woods, the eroded surfaces of walls. This is what I paid attention to and worked with--the close up, intimate view of nature and its effects, focusing on rich colors and textures, and a sense of aging and weathering. Gradually, over time, working with this kind of imagery, I saw how to use these visual impressions as a vocabulary to express places, memories, and states of mind. This path developed over several subsequent years, all generated by what I began to work with during my residency.

(In my next post--my second visit to the Centre D'Art I Natura in 2008, and a few thoughts about my recent time at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Ireland.)

ireland wrap up

2011-10-12T18:58:00.015-05:00

I'm home after nearly five weeks on the Emerald Isle, and its true that there are at least forty shades of green, all of them rich and intense. But I was a bit surprised by the equal number of shades of gray and all manner of rusty browns and reds among the rocks, moss, lichen and fall foliage. The paintings I did there reflected this palette, and the textures of the landscape, which often manages to simultaneously be both gentle and rugged...the photo above, taken in The Burren, County Clare, illustrates this perfectly. Stone fences bordering softly glowing green fields, with a rocky mountain in the distance that appears smoothly worn.

Ah, I miss it already. I found both Ireland and Northern Ireland to be exceptionally friendly, welcoming, comfortable places to visit, and I'm especially grateful to have been able to live and work for three weeks as an artist-in-residence at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in County Monaghan. This length of time allowed me to relax into the ambiance and culture of this "epicenter of loveliness" as one of the workers there called it. (See posts from the past weeks for more description of my time there.) Below is the third of the three medium sized paintings on panel that I completed during my residency (Annamaghkerrig, 48"x36"):

I also worked on a number of acrylic paintings, most of which I brought home incomplete--but I'm sure the visual impressions of Ireland will be with me for a long time and help me to finish those and more. I'll be in a two person show at Elaine Erickson Gallery in Milwaukee in April (with Allison B. Cooke) which will give me the opportunity to exhibit some of the work inspired by my time in Ireland here in the US.

Below is a shot of the end wall of the gallery space devoted to my work at Gormleys Fine Art in Dublin--the show is still up for a few more days.

Exhibiting in Dublin gave my time at Tyrone Guthrie a focus--the show came at the very end of my residency. But fortunately this seemed to stimulate me rather than stress me out. I knew I'd have enough anyway, with work I'd already shipped over for the show...but it was a personal goal to have at least one decent sized painting that I'd done in Ireland on exhibit. Turned out I had two--the one in the center above, and this one, Faddan More, 48"x36":

A few more photos from the opening, and the exhibit:

It was a thrill to exhibit in another country, and I actually had friends at the opening so it was a good time--several people I'd met at the Tyrone Guthrie center, a Facebook friend from Dublin, and of course, Janice Mason Steeves, the friend who shared time with me at the residency.

What a lovely time it all was (people in Ireland say "lovely" a lot.) I will keep my memories and impressions of a beautiful, ancient and mysterious landscape, and the smiles and good cheer of the many wonderful people I met along the way. I expect that my thoughts and paintings will continue to reflect this experience for some time. I'll leave for now with one more photo from the Irish landscape, this one taken in Kilarney National Park in County Kerry:

stay tuned!

2011-10-08T03:51:00.002-05:00

I'm still in Ireland, now touring around the countryside with my husband...when I get back home later in the week, I promise a lengthy post with pictures and thoughts about my time here, including my exhibit in Dublin and other art-related experiences. There has been much to see and process.

At the moment, we are off to drive the Ring of Kerry, hoping the fog will lift for some good views of the dramatic seacoast. Internet usage has been sketchy and usually not top priority, but I'll catch up with postings once I am home. I have the feeling this trip will be on my mind for a long time to come...

painting in ireland

2011-09-24T15:42:00.000-05:00

I am in the last stretch of my time here at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in the beautiful countryside of County Monaghan, Ireland. This Friday, I'll head to Dublin for my opening at Gormleys Fine Art, and then return to the Centre for just a few days to wrap things up. I'll leave Monday to tour around for a week or so with my husband.

At this point, I find myself taking stock of what I've done here and what I still hope to do before leaving. The time has gone very fast so far, and I console myself with a plan to come back again before too long.

This morning an Irish-born writer in residence here came into the studio, and her first words were, "oh, you've really captured Ireland in this work!!" Which was the most gratifying thing she could possibly have said--because I've been painting from my heart, full of the experience here. She asked if I had been to Ireland in the past, or had family roots, but neither is true. I just have strong impressions from the past couple of weeks of a complex, ancient and many-layered place of poetry, pain and deep beauty.

(The painting above, as yet untitled, is one I have done here during my residency. It is 48"x48", oil and wax on panel....below is another oil and wax painting, 48"x36" also awaiting a title.)

more from ireland

2011-09-19T11:48:00.005-05:00

I've been here at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre a week, and I'm settled in, as they say. As I write this I'm in the cheerful sitting room of my cottage, looking out at the drizzle (which comes and goes throughout each day, interspersed with periods of sun as well as more serious rain) and across at the renovated stone cattle barn that serves as studio spaces,only steps away from my door. Everything here is beautifully kept up, comfortable and well suited to a rhythm of work and relaxation. I've met some of the other residents, and have spent time each day walking and having dinner with my friend Janice Mason Steeves, who is staying in another of the self-catering cottages (they are more like apartments, really--pictured above.)

My studio is spacious, well lit, and is starting to fill up with paintings--my work has been going really well. Below is a photo of several large paintings that are in process or nearly done and some smaller ones underway. I have been inspired by the ancient stone monuments of Newgrange and Loughcrew, as well as by some medieval texts I saw at the National Museum in Dublin.

I'm so grateful to be here for three weeks, and I've been able to spend at least part of every day painting since arriving at the Centre--for me the ideal way to process all the stimulation of a new country and the culture and history I've been exposed to. And here at the Guthrie Center the creative atmosphere is very strong--everyone I've met is intent upon their work, whether painting, writing, or composing music.

I did take one day off last week to visit Newgrange with Janice and another painter here. This is believed to be the oldest surviving building in the world, built 5000 years ago, part of a complex of other structures located in the bend of the Boyne River. It was astonishing to be able to go inside this ancient structure, view the carvings and marvel at the construction, which involved huge stones weighing up to 10 tons fitted together without mortar to form the domed interior. Although the inside tour is carefully regulated (and no photos allowed) and is a bit crowded, it was nevertheless a moving experience. We had more time viewing the exterior, which has been reconstructed from materials found at the site, though it is not known how accurately done. It's beautiful though, and there are a number of carved stones around the base of the huge mound. (The entrance, below, with carved stone.)

This is only a brief, condensed version of my time here so far...my friend Jan is blogging also about our shared stay, so if you are interested in another view, check out her site. Internet is very sketchy here at Tyrone Guthrie, so I am hurrying to post this while the connection is good!

thoughts from Ireland

2011-09-14T01:42:00.006-05:00

I find it easy to let my eyes glaze over in familiar surroundings, to allow my observation muscles to slacken, to stop noticing and marveling and wondering. Travel anywhere, but especially in another country-- where even the smallest details (sidewalk pavement, breakfast cereals, electrical plugs) are different-- sharpens my senses. Not to mention the more striking differences of language, culture, landscape and history that constantly stimulate awareness and comment.

Here in Ireland I am delighting in the weather, which can change dramatically in ten minutes, the landscape--at the same time both tidy and wild, with ancient undertones, the Irish accent (which shifts noticeably from area to area) and expressions. (Yesterday an artist here said "...and then I just lost the plot" about a situation that was making no sense to her--I loved that!) It is the prehistoric sites such as Loughcrew, though, that have most intrigued me and are providing inspiration as I begin work in the studio at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre, where I will be in residency until October 3rd.

Below are a few photos of the cairns at Loughcrew, taken a the day before coming to Tyrone Guthrie. Another major prehistoric site, Newgrange, is not far from Tyrone Guthrie-- Janice Mason Steeves (an artist friend who is also here in residence) and I hope to find a way to visit there soon.

As always, my work here is inspired by a mix of visual responses, the painting process itself, memories and other wandering thoughts. The extent to which the surroundings of the Irish countryside and the prehistoric monuments will contribute to the work is yet to be seen, but I feel it inside--it will no doubt come through. Painting went very well on my first full studio day (yesterday) and I'm about to head off to the studio (conveniently located just a few steps from where I'm staying) for day #2. Tonight will be a dinner with the other artists, writers and musicians in residence. The Tyrone Guthrie Centre is a beautiful place and full of promise.

notes from Dublin

2011-09-10T11:49:00.005-05:00

I've been really enjoying the past few days in Dublin...while Thursday, my first day here, I was mainly a wandering and somewhat dazed tourist, yesterday and today I shifted into artist-having-an-exhibit mode with the arrival of my agent Alan Evans and his wife. Alan introduced me to Oliver Gormley, owner of Gormleys Fine Art where I will be showing (pictured above...it is much larger inside than appears from the street) and I was able to look around the gallery and hear a few details and arrangements concerning the show. Later Alan and I visited a number of other galleries including the Hugh Lane (which featured the work and actual (extremely messy and chaotic) studio of Francis Bacon) and Hillsboro Gallery, an excellent contemporary space where I discovered the work of John Noel Smith. Today we went to the Royal Hibernian Academy, where I was very drawn to the strong abstract paintings of Charles Tyrrell. We were in and out of a number of other galleries too, and I came away impressed with the thriving community of abstract Irish painters.

Dublin has, of course, much more to offer besides galleries, and I have had several great meals, a pint (or two) of Guinness in the local pub last night, and some good walks around the city--from crowded, chaotic Grafton Street to the quieter side streets and parks. I took some photos this morning, struck by the patterns of sidewalks, colorful doors and intricate tiling. It is these small details that always seem to strike me when I am in a foreign city. (Below, two views of the sidewalk.) More to come: I have another day here before leaving for Tyrone Guthrie Center on Monday, and tomorrow I am hoping to see some prehistoric sites outside the city...

2011-09-05T20:13:00.003-05:00

On the eve before my flight to Dublin, I'm reflecting on the many decisions and actions, large and small that have made this trip possible, and on a larger scale the focus it takes to make any big idea happen. Some things come at you seemingly out of nowhere, others take prolonged effort and planning...my Irish trip has had some of each. It all started with an email contact about workshops almost two years ago from the man who would later become my agent in Ireland and the UK, Alan Evans. I was pleased of course to hear from someone "across the seas" as he put it, but had not a clue that this would eventually evolve into representation and my first exhibit in another country (Still Spaces, opening at the end of this month in Dublin with my work and that of two Irish artists.)

It was at Alan's suggestion that I applied for a residency this fall at the Tyrone Guthrie Center--though I had heard about it during my previous residencies in Spain, and had for years thought of going there "maybe some day." It seemed the perfect opportunity to get to know the country and culture a but--though when I applied, I had no idea about the exhibit. As it turns out, the opening comes at the very end of the residency, allowing for the possibility of work done there to be included in the show. The bulk of the work though, I painted this spring and summer, and it has already been shipped.

So, I will be at Tyrone Guthrie painting from September 12 through October 3rd. An unexpected development that came up this spring: my friend Janice Mason Steeves turned out to have the same ambition of a residency in Ireland, and we ended up with the same dates at Tyrone Guthrie. We both chose the self-catering cottage option (one can also stay at the grand main house on the Guthrie estate) and we're looking forward to studio visits, sharing dinners and perhaps a pint of Guinness after the work day. There will be other artists around too--as always, one of the best parts of a residency is getting to know creative folks from various parts of the world.

But first, two days of travel (somehow I ended up with an 11 hour layover at Heathrow in London) and four days of exploring Dublin and surroundings. I'll be blogging when I can, so stay tuned.

The painting above is Mineral Point, finished during my last workshop and now in the collection of James Edward Scherbarth. One of his wonderful necklaces is in MY collection and I'm wearing it at the opening!

level two oil and wax workshop

2011-08-27T18:13:00.002-05:00

I'm really enjoying the workshop I'm teaching this weekend at Shake Rag Alley (in Mineral Point Wisconsin) --a Level Two class, for those who have had prior experience working with cold wax medium and oils. My intention for this class is to place special focus on ideas--to help the artists who are here in their search for unique expression with this medium.

As much as I love the "ah ha!" moments in my introductory classes when people realize the versatility and potential of cold wax, there's a special, satisfying pleasure in seeing the growth in technical achievement and personal direction of these more experienced students--most of whom have have been working on their own for about a year since their last class.

For an abstract artist to create--and continue to develop-- a vocabulary of marks, textures, colors and shapes that can be combined and manipulated in a dynamic dialog with the paint is a compelling challenge. Meaning, symbolism and personal connection grow alongside proficiency with the materials, but there are certainly difficult and frustrating times on this journey. One of my students remarked that what he has really learned in the past year is patience. Working with artists who have accepted these challenges, stuck with this process and trusted that their work would grow and develop is exciting...and it means a lot to me to know I've played a part in setting them on this path. It's been a wonderfully satisfying reunion.

process

2011-08-18T17:27:00.006-05:00

From chaos....

into order...

That's all for today...I'm out the door for a family trip. And I did pick up the studio (a little) after this photo! (The painting above, Fragment, 16" square, will soon be on its way to Ireland.)

paintings for Dublin show

2011-08-09T22:45:00.003-05:00

I'm almost done with a series of ten 16"x16" paintings, plus a couple that are 14"x11" which will make up the bulk of Still Spaces, the three person exhibit in which I'm taking part at Gormleys Fine Art in Dublin at the end of next month (September 30-October 15.) The paintings I am sending over are almost all done on on multimedia artboard, a painting surface that is something like paper, but impregnated with a resin so that it accepts oil paint without the need for gesso or other preparation. This makes for easy shipping; the paintings will be framed once they arrive in Ireland.

I'll have an additional three weeks to paint for the exhibit while in Ireland, at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre where i will be staying, and plan to come up with an 3 or 4 more paintings there to include. But I'm doing most of the work for the exhibit before I leave, and so I hope to avoid feeling pressured to produce during that time. I love the idea of the residency as a break not only from the demands of daily life at home, but also from deadlines and demands of conducting art business--a time to experiment, absorb, and respond to a new situation. I will certainly have some art biz to deal with, since the show opens during the last weekend of my residency--but I believe there will also be plenty of time to relax into the ambiance of this special location, and allow ideas to incubate and grow.

The title chose for the show--Still Spaces--inspires me on several levels. As source material, I've been looking at drawings and diagrams of Irish archeological sites, tombs and standing stones, aged walls and weathered, eroded surfaces. I find that the title has a two fold meaning in reference to ancient sites and buildings--there is the deep stillness of accumulated eons of history, as well as the persistence of ruins and artifacts over time. I also like the title on a more personal level--that stillness within--that grows from an accumulation of experience and knowing oneself.

The painting above Personal History, 16"x16" on multimedia artboard.

thoughts on teaching

2011-08-03T09:48:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure why—maybe due to some especially interesting conversations that took place--but when I left my teaching gig in Telluride, CO a few days ago I had new insight into what my classes are about. For over two years, since I began teaching, I've thought of my workshops as being about technique and basic instruction in using cold wax medium, with oh yes, a little philosophy, aesthetics and information about abstraction thrown in around the edges.

That's certainly true…but the artists who take my workshops consistently bring up other issues that have to do with personal challenge and growth as much as they do with painting technique. The highest compliment I receive about my classes (and this comes at me fairly often) is that they are life-changing. This has always floored me…how can that be?? But I’m starting to see that while the technical stuff I teach is plenty challenging, it may be the emotional and mental demands of the class that are the most powerful--at least for artists unaccustomed to process-driven, intuitively developed painting.

For example, I often hear in class how hard it is to submit to the process of painting, to abandon preconceived ideas in the beginning, and to allow each step in the painting to reveal itself. For many people, this is a daring leap into trusting intuition, and requires a flexibility that feels out of character. The saving factor is that cold wax is a very “forgiving” medium, and changes can be made quickly and as thoroughly as the artist desires. This fact seems to be the biggest factor in allowing people to loosen up and try things out, and the rewards for being flexible and intuitive become very apparent. In this type of painting there really are no mistakes--nothing ugly, muddy or otherwise disastrous that cannot be corrected.

A related challenge is to push past initial stages of the painting, to be ruthless in non-attachment to precious areas of paint, until the work acquires enough color interactions and textural layers to be rich and exciting. Trying to build a painting around one area that works early on is a sure recipe for a stiff, overly controlled end result. In my opinion this speaks of a lack of confidence, because efforts to preserve those “happy accidents” are due to the artist's belief that once this special bit is buried, nothing equally lovely or better will happen later in the process. In fact, although exciting areas of paint may appear early on in the thinner layers, the most magic happens when there is plenty of paint, lots of layers—when there is deep potential built into in the work. (Here I can see parallels here to relationships, to meaningful work, to anything in life that is rich and non-superficial.)

With practice, many seemingly random or accidental effects can to some extent be predicted and pursued with intention. But knowing this requires practice, a lot of patience, and mental discipline. Taking the first steps in a workshop can be a revelation, but true understanding of this process happens over time, and patience with oneself in the learning process is part of the big picture.

The issue of wanting finished paintings by the end of class also comes up often—again, this is a challenge to patience, and the need to stay with a painting until it is resolved in its own time. I don’t encourage the idea of finishing paintings in class, because this shifts the focus away from experimentation, and fully exploiting the possibilities of the medium (some of which will become evident only when the painting dries more thoroughly than it will in a 3-day class.) But I acknowledge that for some artists, being able to take a completed painting home is important, and I stand by.

Here’s what tends to happen, though--even after spending considerable time trying to come up with a finished piece, the artist will often abandon the effort-- perhaps in frustration. The point of letting go of the preconceived goal, though, can be a breakthrough. It allows the artist to return to trusting the process, letting the painting unfold. Sometimes a painting does reach a finished state in class, but when this happens, it seems to come out of grace rather than striving...another lesson that relates as much to the bigger picture of life outside the studio as it does to painting.

There are also life lessons to be had in the group dynamic of the workshop—not particular to my own class I’m sure, but to any group of people seriously engaged in a common, creative endeavor. The people I've taught have been, without exception, friendly, inclusive, engaging as a group. I almost always end up with students from diverse art backgrounds in the same class—from practicing, professional artists, to people re-entering the art world at retirement, to beginners looking for an entry point. Yet these distinctions seem unimportant in light of the sharing, openness and encouragement that prevails. This atmosphere is important, especially for people without a lot of art experience. One woman in my last class told me she was glad we’d saved introducing ourselves and our art background until lunchtime on the first day—if we'd started out first thing with that, she'd have wanted to run away! As it was, she figured out in the first few hours that it was a welcoming atmosphere. It's great to break down the usual categories of who has status in the art world and who doesn't, and to see what can be learned from each other (I always come away with new ideas from my students, and a great deal of respect for everyone willing to engage in the intensity of the workshop.)

All of the lessons and challenges above are ones I am still working on myself—they are difficult to know and integrate deeply and consistently. Yet I think that the mental and emotional tension of these challenges provides essential energy in the studio—the moments of joy and frustration, the knowledge of insights, the depth of experience. Sharing these struggles with students is the connecting undercurrent of the class, running beneath and alongside the demos of technique and practical information, and the general camaraderie of the group.

loose ends

2011-07-27T21:20:00.006-05:00

This post seems likely to head in several directions, since I've been on the road for a week and a half now, without much computer time and with lots happening. First, here is a link to view an online album of my work currently on display at Darnell Fine Art in Santa fe, NM. The show also includes the work of Bill Gingles, and as anticipated the pairing of the two of us worked very well in evoking both similarities and contrasts. The opening was last Friday night and was a fun evening of conversation and connections. I also spent time in NM with family and also with friends old and new, looking at art, talking about art, and generally soaking up the rich culture of art in Santa Fe and surroundings.

A couple of days after the opening, I left NM for Colorado...a trip memorable for great scenery along the way (see photo below) and a lesson learned the hard way--do NOT follow a GPS in remote areas! I ended up getting pretty lost and actually fording a small river in my Subaru before finally getting to Telluride, where I am currently teaching an Oil and Wax Workshop.

The workshop is my first one that is four days long, and although it's tiring to teach, I am appreciating the extra day of class, and excited to see how far along the work is coming. The facility in which I am teaching is a building that houses the American Academy of Bookbinding. A light filled, spacious studio, with views of a mountain and cascading waterfall--it is truly a gorgeous venue and an honor to be there.

One more day of class, then the long drive home. Once I'm there, I'll be finishing up my work for my exhibit in Dublin in September, and a Level 2 Oil and Wax Workshop that I am teaching the end of the month in Wisconsin...leaving for Ireland in early September. I think then I will catch my breath.

exhibit preview

2011-07-20T18:32:00.005-05:00

Above is one of the larger paintings I delivered to Darnell Fine Art in Santa fe for my exhibit that opens on Friday night, 7/22 (Site #2, 6"x48".) For images of all the paintings, please click here, then on Crowell Show/New Works. Black Beach Walk #2, 16"x16" (below) is at the smaller end of the work in the show.

Subtle, neutral quiet colors, and explorations of texture and lines are evident in most of my paintings that are in this show, which seems to me a particularly meditative collection. As always, what is visible on the surface is the result of many layers of oil mixed with cold wax medium and manipulated with various tools and the occasional application of solvent. I have experimented in some of these with the addition of sand and some new drawing materials, and in others allowed minimalist color fields to simply radiate their quiet presence.

My paintings are interspersed in the gallery with the work of Bill Gingles, with whom I share the exhibit. Bill's work is considerably more active than mine, but we share an attraction to layering, texture, subtle color shifts, and looping, gestural lines. The show was partially hung yesterday when I stopped in at the gallery, and I was immediately drawn into the conversation going on between my work and his--the back and forth of silence and animation, solitude and poetic interaction.

(I will post pictures of the installation after Friday's opening.)

improvising lines

2011-07-11T18:51:00.002-05:00

A quote from Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art by Stephen Nachmanovitch(pages 25-26):

The essence of style is this: We have something in us, about us; it can be called many things but for now let's call it our original nature. We are born with our original nature, but on top of that, as we grow up, we accommodate to the patterns and habits of our culture, our family, physical environment,and the daily business of the life we have taken on...when we are grown up..everything we do and are--our handwriting, the vibrato of our voice, the way we handle the bow or breathe into the instrument, our way of using language, the look in our eyes, the patterns of whorling finger prints on our hand--all these things are symptomatic of our original nature. They show the imprint of our deeper nature or character.

It is sometimes thought that in improvisation we can do just anything. But lack of a conscious plan does not mean that our work is random or arbitrary. Improvisation always has its rules, even if they are not a priori rules. When we are totally faithful to our own individuality, we are actually following a very intricate design...as living, patterned beings, we are incapable of producing anything random...As our playing, writing, speaking, drawing or dancing unfolds, the inner, unconscious logic of our being begins to show through and mold the material. This rich, deep patterning is the original nature that impresses itself like a seal upon everything we do or are...

This quote is an excerpt from a long passage about Nachmoanovitch's idea that even our most seemingly random expressions are highly individualized, the result of our unique lives and experiences. I find this very interesting in terms of painting. My own work is made up of many layers of colors and marks, which would appear quite random at least in the beginning stages of the work. Some of these are carefully considered as the right next move, but the majority are spontaneous and not consciously thought out. The most obvious spontaneous marks appear on the surface of my work though, as gestural lines, scribbles or doodles, and most are not as random as they might seem.

With the death of Cy Twombly, that master of scribbles, last week, I have been thinking about my own mark-making--where my ideas come from and why I tend towards the kind of lines--scratched, dissolved or drawn--that activate the surface of my work.

Sometimes, the marks I make are very unconscious, perhaps akin to what the Surrealists called automatic drawing. This is a close-up detail of a small painting called Stack.

I find this type of line drawing difficult, actually--only rarely do I feel the marks coming together in a way that does not seem directed by thought. Even the Surrealists found that conscious mind is hard to avoid, and in other kinds of mark making, I can identify conscious source material.

Sometimes the marks are derived from my own handwriting, but obscured or scrambled so that there is no perceivable message:

(Recently when I explained to someone at an opening of my work that the "writing" lines do not actually say anything, she smiled and replied, "Oh, but they do!" I loved that.)

Other times I am aware of referencing the landscape (this detail shot is from a small painting called Field of Gold; I was thinking of meadow grass when I scratched these lines.

In some of my recent paintings, there are images inspired by my brother, Dr. Aron Crowell's archeological site drawings/diagrams. Aron is an archeologist and Director at the Arctic Studies center, a branch of the Smithsonian in Anchorage. When he was visiting me in April he remarked that some of my paintings reminded him of both the physical substances of earth and rock that he excavates, and the mark-making of some of the visual notes he takes on site. It is intriguing that we are both interested in what lies beneath the surface--he, of the actual earth, and me, of the layers of paint that I build up and then gouge and dissolve back into. Perhaps this interest leads back to Nachmanovitch's idea of original nature, since our childhood included rock and fossil-hunting (passions of our father) and other explorations of nature.

A detail of a recent painting called Site, with lines loosely based one of Aron's drawings:

I'm excited about the possibilities of developing this idea further.

PS: Two links for further investigation: Artist Nancy Green has written a series about mark-making on her blog (there are several consecutive posts on this topic.) And I also found that Stephen Nachmanovitch has a website with many links to writings and other sources for ideas about improvisation in the arts, that looks quite fascinating.

productivity

2011-07-06T09:40:00.001-05:00

With three exhibits this summer/early fall (currently at Woodwalk Gallery in Egg Harbor, WI, and opening July 22 at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe, NM and September 30 at Gormleys Fine Art in Dublin, Ireland) I'm pretty much living in my studio these days. For all three shows the total number of paintings is over 40...of course, one show is already underway and much of the work is either finished or underway for the other two, so although I have my moments of panic, things are actually under control.

With multiple galleries, it's very easy to get into a time crunch with a lot of work required in a short period of time. I know this situation is not uncommon--I've heard some interesting stories over the years from art friends about huge amounts of work being produced in mere weeks, and have certainly had my own experiences too. Whether it's because of deadlines or it just happens in the normal flow of work, times of high productivity with lots of work underway are energizing and exciting--so rather than complain about feeling pressured, however tempting, I'm going to focus here on what I love about this situation.

First, with a large number of paintings in the studio, it is easier to see various threads of ideas all developing at once. Looking around at what is in progress or recently completed, I can recognize several distinct ideas that in times of lower productivity might seem isolated or unrelated to other paintings. When there is enough work underway, series emerge in a strong and recognizable way.

For example, in terms of technique, I've been adding sand into my oil and cold wax mixture on quite a few of my current surfaces. It's something I have tried before, and liked--but now, working with a number of paintings, the effects of sand on the texture and color layers are more obvious to me. I'm learning faster what is possible and how to work with this material--each new shift in technique leads to not just one, but several applications simultaneously, so technical progress is noticeably improved.

Ideas too seem to take off more readily and feed into each other more easily when I am working intensely. By this I don't mean just repeating one solution on everything--I avoid doing that! But a particular idea may find expression in more than one painting when many are in play.

Although I am speaking of having many paintings in progress, within any particular session I do tend to focus on one or two at a time. But I also recognize that in a time crunch, I cannot wander endlessly through a particular painting...if something isn't working, I am likely to put it aside, and by the time I get back to it, something new has opened up. Decisions about where a painting is heading seem more clear with a deadline hovering, and oddly I am more likely to try new ideas when I'm under pressure. I'm not sure why that is--maybe it brings out a more reckless side of me--but in any case, I'd say that deadlines are good for my work.

Finally, there is the emotional aspect and unconscious processing that occurs when I have a lot of work to do, and I am spending so many hours in the studio. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a solution to a visual problem, or an idea for a new painting comes in a dream. I feel very excited about painting even when I am feeling physically tired or know I should take a break. "Obsessed" might not be too strong a word.

Which is not to say I don't sometimes feel overwhelmed and a bit crabby about not having some down time. This morning, feeling like that, I posted something on my Facebook page about having an intense couple of weeks ahead in the studio, and Barbara Chappelle (who was a student in the first cold wax workshop I ever taught) replied that she knew I'd enjoy that intensity. This post was inspired by her remark, and I thank her for causing me to contemplate how much I do love these times. How fortunate it is that the very situation of needing to produce a lot of paintings leads to work that feels so satisfyingly connected and deeply felt.

The painting above, October #2, 50"x30" is in my current show at Woodwalk Gallery.

intelleto

2011-06-28T11:25:00.005-05:00

From the book, Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art, by Stephen Nachmanovitch:

Lets return to Michelangelo's idea of removing apparent surfaces to reveal or liberate the statue that had been buried in the stone since the beginning of time. Michelangelo claimed that he was guided by a faculty he called intelleto. Intelleto is intelligence, not of the merely rational kind, but visionary intelligence, a deep seeing of the underlying pattern beneath appearances. Here the artist is, as it were, an archaeologist, uncovering not as ancient civilization but something as yet unborn, unseen, unheard except by the inner eye, the inner ear. He is not just removing apparent surfaces from an external object, he is removing apparent surfaces from the Self, revealing his original nature.

I love this idea of intelleto...for all that we speak and write about our work, there is something compelling us in the studio that is best described as "something as yet unborn, unseen, unheard..." And as much as viewers of art like to know the background story, the intellectual underpinnings, the influences and what the art critics have to say--they too recognize this search and respond to it in a similarly wordless, gut-level way. However individualized (and highly so, in each artist) that searched-for unknown is a universal experience. When an artist is following the intelleto path there is a sincerity and honesty that shines out.

I also love the idea that what is searched for in the work is right there within the self, to be uncovered by chipping through various preconceived ideas and influences. But while there is some casting aside of unnecessary or false leads, there is also an over-riding positive, compelling and joyful aspect of this process--the probing and exploring of memories, thoughts, visual impressions, and what the medium we work with can do to express these. In the Michelangelo analogy, I think it is his trust in the process that speaks of his genius as much as the final sculpture.

(Plenty there to contemplate in this quote, isn't there? And it is just one paragraph from this remarkable book, recommended to me by two painter friends on separate occasions-Carol Beth Icard and Janice Mason Steeves.)

The image above is Landmark 12"x12", oil and mixed media on panel.

time to leave

2011-06-22T21:19:00.004-05:00

How does an artist know when it's time to depart from a gallery? I have left a few in my career (and a few times early on, I was asked to leave, which is another story!) I think it is important to consider both intuitive feelings, and objective, business oriented facts --and to re-consider both from time to time also, since situations can evolve slowly away from what is workable. Both the subjective and objective views need to be basically positive...I know I've lingered too long at galleries where I felt welcomed and appreciated, but was selling nothing, and on the other hand I've done the same at galleries where I was making money but losing self-respect.

The easiest galleries to leave, of course, are those getting poor marks in both categories. Why would anyone stay with a gallery if it leads to frustration, constant misunderstandings and anxiety, all the while not selling anything and being subjected to unprofessional business practices? Actually, of course, that isn't terribly uncommon...there are some poorly run galleries out there, representing plenty of artists. It's easy, especially early in an art career, to regard gallery acceptance as a sort of prize, something that gives an artist legitimacy and status. The urge to hang onto that prize no matter the price is understandable. But since an artist and gallery enter a representation agreement as equal business partners, it has to work for both.

In the remainder of this post I am assuming that the artist is doing all that he or she can to make things work, including keeping the gallery supplied with fresh work and updated images, meeting commitments and never undercutting the gallery's sales. Those are the artist's responsibilities, and if not met, troubles can't be blamed on the gallery. As a further note--I want to emphasize that the majority of my own gallery experiences have been very positive--I have worked with, and continue to work with many wonderful, insightful, supportive and thoroughly honest people. I have never been one to gripe about galleries, and I owe my career to the great galleries that represent me. But I'd guess every working artist encounters a few difficult situations sooner or later, and the ability to know when to move on can be hard won.

Policies and practices in artist/gallery relationships vary quite a bit, and until one gains considerable experience it can be difficult to know what's acceptable, and what should raise a red flag. An example of the latter is an artist placed in uncomfortable or compromising positions as a result of the gallery trying to please a client. Perhaps there is a drastic discount offered without the artist's approval, or promises made about delivery of a commission without checking the artist's schedule. There are plenty of other ways a gallery can be difficult to work with--failing to understand the artists working process and pushing for unreasonable outcomes, handling the work carelessly--resulting in damage--or failing to keep accurate records. All of these have happened to me in galleries that I have left. I did not leave over any one issue, though. Instead it was an accumulation of problems, and the accompanying gut feelings of "I've had enough." Perhaps the objective fact of the problems alone should have clued me in, but in a busy life it's certainly easier to stay put than to make a move, and until I started to feel the emotional need to leave I stayed put.

On a more philosophical note, I've been considering the idea that money represents a flow of energy from person to person, and thinking of where this flow is impeded in my own life. Of course, my thoughts land quickly on places where my work sits but does not sell. I have already begun to move out of certain galleries and look for others in places with more potential.

The hardest situations to leave, of course, are the ones where feelings are good all around, the relationship between artist and gallery is solid and long-standing, but for whatever reasons--the market or some shift in what fits with the gallery--sales dwindle to nothing. The hope is that things will improve, and this hope can derail a more hard-nosed business approach. This was the case in my departure this week from Circa Gallery in Minneapolis, where I have been represented since 1998. The decision to go was quite agonizing, but I could no longer afford to leave work there when it was not selling. When I loaded up my station wagon and pulled away on Tuesday, I thought, "It's the end of an era." At least in my life it is.

(Painting pictured above is Stack, 12"x 12" and will be exhibited in my show at Woodwalk Gallery in Egg Harbor, WI, opening July 3.

summer schedule

2011-06-15T21:38:00.001-05:00

Last year at this time, I was at the beginning of a steady stream of activity and commitments that carried on right through November. For better or worse, I had accepted nearly every teaching gig and exhibition opportunity offered to me for the summer and fall, which left little downtime, and resulted in a lot of travel and complicated scheduling. In one three week period in late September through October, for example, I had two shows, two workshops and a speaking engagement, all far from home. I learned some things from this crazy-busy time... I know first hand now that this kind of pace is exhausting and occasionally mind-numbing, and I'm learning to say "no" when I sense that I'm getting in too deep.

At the same time, though, when my schedule does get heavy (in spite of all intentions otherwise) I feel more confident that I can handle it. Gradually over the past year, I've realized that I do not need to worry about getting everything done, because...well, I always get it done. After years of feeling anxious whenever my schedule got full, it finally dawned on me that, in fact, I'm pretty good at time management, and I always meet my commitments. Considering that, I've been able to keep more calm when things get busy, and just count on myself to pull through.

Prior to last year's busy time, I told a friend that I was feeling nervous with so much ahead to do and all the logistical juggling involved. Her reply-- "Actually Rebecca, it sounds like you will have a lot of fun and adventure,"--proved to be right on target. That is exactly how it turned out. Exhausting and difficult at times--yes--but overall it was an exciting and memorable season. My friend's take on the situation made me consider how much my own attitude could influence the outcome of the months ahead. Of course, I had some frantic and stressful days, but her words were helpful, and remain so.

The summer of 2011 now looms--not as packed as last year, but I do have a steady flow of plans, and only small stretches of down time. Although travel is tiring for me, there is plenty to look forward to...and like last year, I expect the highlights will include meeting a lot of wonderful artists in my classes, visits with old friends and family, and spending time in some of my favorite places in the country (and elsewhere!)

First on the schedule is an exhibit that opens July 3 at Woodwalk Gallery in Egg Harbor, Wisconsin. The painting above (Stripes #4", 12"x12" oil and mixed media on panel) is one that I will be taking to the gallery along with a dozen others of various sizes. Woodwalk is in scenic Door County, the "thumb" of the state that extends into Lake Michigan, and it's always a pleasure to visit--I will drive the work over and then visit with a friend for a few days before the opening. I have shown at Woodwalk for a number of years but this is the first time I've had an exhibit there, and I've been working hard to get the work ready.

Later in July I will again pack up paintings in the car, this time bound for Santa Fe, and an opening at Darnell Fine Art on 7/22--this one is a two person show with painter Bill Gingles, whose work I admire and am eager to see in person. I think my work and his will be very complementary--we share in interest in rich, organic surfaces and gestural mark-making.

A few days after the opening, I will head up to Telluride, CO to teach a 4-day workshop at the Ah Haa School for the Arts. I had a fun time there last October...Telluride is a beautiful town with plenty of charm and character, great food and good art. There are still some openings in this class, if anyone reading this would like to join.

August will be dedicated to finishing work for my exhibit at Gormleys Fine Art in Dublin, Ireland. I've already started quite a few of these paintings--there will be a dozen or so, mostly 16"x 16" works on multi-media board, and I'll need to have them ready to ship by the middle of the month. The last weekend in August, I'll be at Shake Rag Alley School of Arts and Crafts in Mineral Point, Wisconsin, teaching a Level 2 Oil and Wax Workshop (this class is full) and then, after relaxing for a few days with a couple of art friends from out of town, I'm off to Ireland for a 3 week residency at the Tyrone Guthrie Center, followed by the exhibit in Dublin, and a little touring around with my husband who will join me for the last week or so. When I return to the US in October, I'll have one more Level 2 Workshop to teach--again at Shake Rag Alley (there are still openings for this class, designed for those who have already had an intro session) and then, I will be quite ready for the quiet part of the year, late fall and winter, when I avoid planning anything other than painting...

commission

2011-06-08T14:07:00.011-05:00

Now that this painting, Cloak #2 (commissioned through my Santa Fe gallery, Darnell Fine Art, for the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas) has been received by the hospital, and the word is that they love it, I feel free to discuss the process and personal story in more detail than I have up until now (I've put a photo or two on Facebook in the past couple of weeks, but have not written much.)

A commission of this size (it measures 5 ft. x 8 ft.) is a huge honor, and it was exciting and challenging (in a good way) to create...but it's also been, frankly, a bit nerve-wracking and I am now exhaling in relief after hearing of its safe arrival and positive reception in Texas. Helping to load it into the truck from the packaging company in late May, I imagined several disasters that could befall it. And even though I'd sent photos and had followed all the specified requirements (this one is based on an earlier painting, made to a specific size and horizontal orientation) I was still eager to hear that the client was pleased when it arrived.

Actually, the painting process went very smoothly from the first day I worked on the piece--my concerns were mostly logistical. Would the custom built panels arrive on time (travel plans already in place when I heard about the commission made studio time with the piece less than ideal)...and would they fit together correctly when bolted? How would I handle the painting physically since it is so large, and how would I handle any transportation needs of the finished work? Happily, all of these issues resolved in positive ways. The panels were a few days late, but because the process itself went so well, I ended up with plenty of time, and the guy who does my bolting was very pleased with how well they fit together (there are 9 separate panels in the piece.) My husband helped me each time the painting had to be moved in my studio, once it was bolted together and became awkward to manipulate. As for transporting it, I was able to get the piece to and from the woodshop in my Subaru wagon, by partially unbolting it, and the final aspects of transport to Texas were handled completely by my gallery. All I had to do was paint the painting, and by arrangement, the rest was taken over by the packing and shipping pros.

I have a few photos that illustrate the painting process. This first shot is the painting that the client chose as the basis for the painting, Cloak from 2006. I was pleased with this choice--it's a painting I really like, and I enjoyed revisiting the color choices in the main panel, which I had not used for several years. This photo is fairly degraded (it's from back when I did not understand digital photography at all!) but I had a fresh print-out to reference from the gallery. The colors in the main panel are actually very close to the way they turned out in the commissioned painting.

This is the very beginning, when I planned out how to arrange the panels. Because the proportions of color areas would be different from the original painting, when made larger, and the visual weight changed when it was viewed horizontally, I decided to break up the surrounding panels to add more visual interest.

This one was taken on the first day that the panels arrived, and I got everything covered with a layer or two of paint.

In this photo, all of the color areas have been established and somewhat developed, but it is far from done.

The process of making Cloak #2 was very different from my usual search and discover method of painting. I was rather surprised to find that my experience with layering color allowed me to successfully predict and carry out the underlying layers in a fairly logical and step by step manner. This was a bit of an eye-opener for me, because I do not choose to work this way normally and past commissions have not demanded this level of complexity. In this case, the expected end result was fairly clear, and I seemed to know how to get there. Because of the scale, and because I have learned a lot since painting the first Cloak, the surfaces of the new painting are far more intricate--which gave me a place to try new things, experiment and not simply copy my old work. This last photo is a close-up shot of an area in the lower white panels.

I definitely engaged emotionally with this commission, as I was constantly aware of where it would be hung. My father died of cancer eleven years ago, and numerous others in my life have been affected at one time or another. Currently, a dear friend is struggling along with Stage 4 cancer in various parts of her body. Above all I wanted to make a beautiful painting that would pull the viewer into a meditative state. A friend of mine, who saw the finished painting before it shipped out, commented that it made her feel happy to look at. I guess I could not ask for more.

new gallery

2011-06-02T09:43:00.003-05:00

This is a short post to announce my new affiliation with Elaine Erickson Gallery in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My friend Allison B. Cooke introduced me to this gallery, and yesterday I met the owner, Elaine Erickson, viewed the space, and dropped off five small paintings. It is a great location in Milwaukee's Third Ward art district, which has become quite vibrant in recent years, and I am excited to see what may develop. Allison and I are tentatively scheduled to exhibit there together in April 2012.

I'm in Davenport, Iowa now, teaching an Oil and Wax Workshop for the next three days...more later!

teaching in my studio

2011-05-23T20:49:00.005-05:00

A week and a half ago I held the second and last of my scheduled Oil and Wax Studio Workshops for 2011. Six artists (pictured above) came here from Vancouver, BC, California, Minnesota and Wisconsin. We all painted, talked and shared information for three days, and had some good laughs too. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and very satisfying. There were some very nice paintings underway at the wrap-up sesion at the end of the third day, when the photo was taken, but just as significant was that everyone stretched and pushed beyond their initial ideas and efforts. And as always, there were ideas generated during the class that were new to me--including the "stomp on it in the driveway" technique (interesting gouged textures...)

I have decided that due to the success of these classes held in my studio, I'm going to shift my emphasis to this format starting in 2012. I do love to travel for teaching, and certainly don't plan to cut that out entirely--I've had a great time visiting various parts of the country since I began teaching in 2009. It's fascinating to interact with artists on their home turf, and to see what the art life is like in various locales. Though there are almost always some people who travel to attend, the majority of artists in my "away" classes live near the workshop venue, and this makes the class affordable and convenient for them, which is a huge plus.

But I am starting to appreciate some unique aspects to my studio classes that go beyond my own convenience (which I admit prompted the initial idea to hold classes here.) Obviously, there is no place like my own studio for feeling entirely at home and at ease...my studio is just steps from the back door, we eat lunch at my kitchen table or at the picnic table in the yard, everybody meets my husband, dog, cat, and obnoxious parrot, and in many ways it is a pleasure to share my environment with the artists who travel here. But there are other bonuses, both social and educational, to holding class in my studio.

Probably in part because they do travel, I've noticed that the folks who come here tend to bond and form friendships quite easily. Although there are some who come from areas of Wisconsin and Minnesota, many students fly in from a distance (and a few have come from quite far away, including Sweden and Brazil.) At my other workshops around the country, many of the artists who attend live nearby--and while there is, without fail, a wonderful camaraderie in class, people understandably tend to head home at the end of the day. Here, most everyone stays at the local hotel, and the small town near me offers very little for entertainment or distraction. So, the workshop artists often choose to eat and socialize together after class. At least one recent group bonded strongly enough to continue email correspondence after they went back home, and are talking of plans to re-unite next year for a Level 2 workshop.

Another reason I love teaching here is the wealth of resources at hand--everything I need is available. I can easily pull out a painting in progress to illustrate a point, or grab a book, sketchbook or some seldom-used supply that adds something to the moment.

Finally, based on feedback from the artists who have come to my studio workshops, there is added value to the experience of demos and watching me work. In every class I teach, I work on my own paintings throughout the three days--a sort of ongoing demo. Many students have told me it's valuable to observe a painting develop through various stages. In my "away" classes, I use small 12"x12" flat panels, which are supplied as samples by the Ampersand company and are easy to transport, and they work out very well. But in my own studio, this ongoing demo comes closer to my actual working process--I can use larger panels, hung on the wall, and can also pull various panels together in the multiple-panel arrangements that are typical of my work. I also have lots of panels stacked around in various stages of development, and students are free to look through these and ask questions about whatever they wish. These incomplete panels are also handy when I discuss various techniques and approaches in the layering process, since some techniques work better on drier panels.

For 2011, my scheduled studio classes are over--I have a very busy summer and fall ahead. But if you are interested in coming to my studio sometime in 2012, please email me (crowellart@yahoo.com) with a request to join my mailing list, and I will send out my schedule in December or January. I can take six students at a time and hope to hold 5 or 6 classes throughout the year.

authority

2011-05-18T10:22:00.008-05:00

Authority is a word on a list of guidelines and intentions for my work that I made a few years ago, to help me when I critique my paintings. These purposefully open-ended concepts and ideas are springboards for thought while I contemplate whether a painting is finished, if it's working or not working, and why. (There are other words like presence, connection, and complexity on the list, each focusing on a different aspect of any particular painting.) For me, a painting that conveys authority is decisively made, expresses an inner logic, exudes creative power, and engages the respect and interest of the viewer. To me these are worthy goals, and a challenge that I enjoy.

Authority is on my mind at this moment after reading a recent blog post by Nancy Natale, about meaning in art--with specific mention of artists working with encaustic who fail to move beyond experimentation with technique into work that has consistency and a conceptual basis. Like encaustic (hot wax), the medium I work in (cold wax) can also be very seductive in the range of techniques available and effects possible. It is easy indeed to relax into "play" mode with cold wax and put aside more formal concerns or rigorous self-evaluation. I certainly know that beginners in any medium need to fool around and experiment, and I also value spontaneity and experimentation as integral to the overall process. Yet I agree with Nancy that there is also a time to move past the completely experimentation phase, to find something to say, and to say it well. When I teach my workshops in cold wax medium techniques, I make a point to talk about intention, sources of ideas, developing personal style, self-critique and so on, in an effort to motivate this kind of higher level work as a goal once the basic methods are learned. Whether ideas and meaning are brought into the work or whether they grow from within the art-making process, discovering and developing them are crucial for growth as an artist and the ability to involve an audience.

In this context, it's interesting to contemplate the word author, the root contained in "authority." What does an author do but hone in on an topic, convey a clear idea or story line, edit and make choices for the best possible combination of words--and in many other ways, say something of meaning and importance (or at least tell a good story) while employing a distinct "voice" or style? Though an artist's language is visual, this is not a bad model at all.

The word authority conveys the idea of being in charge, of taking responsibility. In the artist's case, this is taking charge of what one creates, not simply allowing it to happen without direction. It means bringing in order, structure and meaning, to balance spontaneity and intuitive mark-making. And in the work of experienced artists, even spontaneous marks often convey decisiveness and intention, for the underlying structure and meaning have been well established.

Authority also implies power--in this case the creative power of the artist. I think of this power as being earned by the artist through years of focused, diligent practice, and by persistence in seeking a unique voice. Power is also conferred on the artist by others who appreciate the work--who acknowledge the artist's power to move and engage them. All of this takes time, patience, hard work and trust in the processes of creativity.

Finally, authority also means being an expert on something...and I love the idea that each of us is the world's leading authority on our own work! Given that, I believe that we artists should be able to discuss our own art with intelligence and insight, and that the paintings we exhibit should display technical mastery, even as we are continually learning and experimenting with new ideas.

The painting above, Trails, 10"x10", has, I like to think, a degree of authority despite its small size (10"x10".)

news about dublin exhibit

2011-05-10T09:46:00.003-05:00

It's been in the works for awhile, and is now official..I'm going to be included in a three person exhibit in Ireland, opening September 30 at Gormley's Gallery in Dublin. I hold the artists I will be showing with in high regard--Jane Swanston and Elizabeth Cope -- and look forward to meeting them in Dublin. It will be an exciting mix of stylistic approaches and mood, and I'm really excited that Gormley's is offering me this introduction into the Irish art scene. It is a large gallery, established in 1989--currently over 100 artists are represented in three locations--emerging and established, Irish and international.

I am quite drawn to the work of several abstract painters Sean Cotter, John Kingerlee and Ger Sweeney who are represented by Gormley's, and look forward to seeing some of their paintings while I'm there--as well as whatever other art and galleries I can take in during my several days in Dublin (and later, Belfast.)

Thanks for this opportunity goes to Alan Evans, my agent in Ireland and the UK. He represents me and 3 other artists (all of them Irish) and he owns IrishArt.com , which is the biggest art site in Ireland--helpful in promoting the exhibit. (You can sneak on as a free artist member if you like - you don't have to be Irish.) Alan's appreciation for my work and the vision he has for its potential are very inspiring. And he certainly knows how to get things moving...I'm impressed! He and his wife Hazel have become friends with my husband and me, as well. He's a generous man with a great sense of humor and very impressive knowledge of the Irish art world.

For this show, I'm planning to exhibit 12 or more works on paper (such as the one above, Lost Wall #2, 14"x11") and several larger paintings on panel. Included too will be some of the work I do while an artist-in-residence at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in County Monaghan, (September 12-October 3.)

I'll be in Ireland for over a month all together, enough time to soak up lots of Irish culture, history, landscapes, and Guinness. Happily, my painter friend from Toronto, Janice Mason Steeves was awarded a residency at Tyrone Guthrie during the same time period...we'll have a great time!

new small paintings

2011-05-04T19:36:00.006-05:00

I've done a lot of small paintings lately, ranging from 10" x10" to 20"x16" (all untitled, so far.) Lots of bigger work too, including a 5 ft.x 8ft. commission, but the smaller ones always continue. Here are a few, without further comment...

thought about writing

2011-04-26T13:09:00.003-05:00

Writing fills a strong inner need of mine to record and document my life, and to observe my thoughts, experiences and surroundings. Even in childhood, I used writing to a search for what was real and true via my own experience and the observations of others, and that has continued all my life in the form of journals, letters, newspaper articles, art criticism, essays, a couple of self-published books about my work, and now this blog. Whether for a private or pubic audience, writing has been a touchstone for many years, and I can't imagine life without it any more than I can imagine life without painting.

But, I'm a painter first and foremost...why the focus on visually interpreting my experience, when writing has this obvious pull? I've been thinking about this question, and also the balance that the two activities provide.

Painting comes first for me for several reasons-- the most obvious one is pleasure in the process. It is compelling, always pulling me on, a journey of endless discovery. Beyond the joy of the process, I also love what painting expresses and reveals, both during its creation and as a finished object. In painting I feel I tap into basic aspects of life that I hold dear--trust, generosity, communication, openness to possibility, creation of beauty, peace of mind, and the celebration, mystery and acceptance of being human. Both the paintings themselves and the process of creating them are spiritual in essence. This is true not only of my own work, of course. It's what I find compelling in the work of others that I admire and feel pulled into, the basic glue that binds viewer and artist.

Writing (always non-fiction, in my case) is for me a very different process. While pleasurable in its own way, it draws on skills and energies unrelated to the kind of creation I experience in painting. It requires that I pull existing thoughts from my brain—where they are lurking, usually half-formed and unorganized --and then that I form logical and cohesive structures from these thoughts. There are parallels to painting for sure, especially in forming structures and in the rather picky editing I apply to both forms of expression. And writing does lead to discoveries...I often don't know where I am heading with something until it is mostly written, and this is a familiar mode in the studio as well. But in the end, everything I write I already know in some way, it is a matter of digging it out and clarifying, making connections.

On the other hand I often feel that a painting comes from some place beyond me. While writing is very satisfying to me, it is firmly rooted in my own brain, and lacks the mystery and power of painting... more akin to sorting and organizing the closet than channeling something mysterious and magical.

I often do a bit of "writing" (nothing legible) on my paintings to add visual texture. The diptych above is Black Beach, each 16"x16" (2011.)

re-entry

2011-04-20T21:02:00.006-05:00

After over two weeks on the road, I'm back home and reflecting on the trip...feeling very grateful for all the people who made it possible, who provided places to stay, memorable meals, companionship and conversation, opportunities to relax, and many other forms of hospitality. And of course, I'm also thinking of the artists who came to my two workshops and those who provided working spaces in Asheville,NC and Beaufort, SC. Both workshops went very well. Painting sessions were intense, lots of good work was created and connections forged among the participants.

The kind of trip that this one was, with 1-2-3 days here and there, is difficult (at least for me) when it's over. Along with the suitcases and crates of workshop materials I've hauled home are a great many pieces of mental luggage that have been dumped unorganized into my brain during the past two weeks. Ideas, notes, impressions, reminders, things to follow up on..some of it exists in physical form on business cards and lists, but most of it only in thought, and all of it seems a huge jumble this morning, as I sit with my coffee and contemplate return to normal life. I know I need to give myself some time to get everything-- both mental and physical-- sorted out and dealt with.

The truth is, re-entry into usual life after a big trip is never my favorite part...and this return seems especially disorienting. Besides the general chaos of things needing attention, there is also a strangeness to our surroundings here. It is as if time stood still while we were gone, because there have been only small advances into spring. The Wisconsin landscape is still very bleak compared to the lush greenery and flowers of the southern places we visited--the trees are leafless, the ground is muddy and snowy in patches, with only a few green things poking up. At least my daffodils have bloomed...hardy things.

But it's home, home sweet home, and I am eager to be off to my studio this morning. Whatever else goes on, the studio is my quiet center place.

The painting above, Stripes #3 (12" x 12") is a small one I finished before the trip and had along on my travels.

cold wax workshops

2011-04-15T07:12:00.004-05:00

Winter, which was still hanging on a week and a half ago when we left Wisconsin, now seems far away. My husband and I are now traveling through the Carolinas and Georgia, a wonderland of spring flowers, leafy trees and warm sun. I'm in between workshops—last weekend I taught my first Level 2 Oil and Wax Workshop in Asheville, NC, and today I begin one of my basic level classes in Beaufort, SC. As always when I teach, I've worked with enthusiastic, involved artists and have gained new ideas for what is possible with the medium of cold wax. Some new ideas are contributed by the artists who attend class, some already well-tested, while others arise spontaneously as we work ...often in the midst of one of my demos someone will suggest a variation or new direction that has come to mind, and I'll try it out on the spot to see what will happen.

Cold wax medium mixed with oils (or powdered pigment) is a mixture seething with potential and begging for experimentation. All of the techniques that I share in my workshops began as “what if” questions, arising from years of painting experience and an early background in printmaking. The body, luminosity and enhanced drying time afforded by the wax steered me firmly away from more traditional brush painting into new territory.

While visiting several galleries in Atlanta this week, I recalled an earlier visit about 9 years ago--the first time I had seen encaustic (hot wax) paintings displayed in large numbers, and I’m sure I was a bit behind the times in noticing this…the popularity of encaustic paintings, with their luminosity and brilliant textural and layering effects, continues among artists, art lovers and collectors Now I often hear people who love cold wax medium suggest that cold wax is the next wave.. The appearance and techniques employed in the two approaches are quite different, but the common denominator of wax does lend similar abilities (such as being able to build paintings in luminous layers.) Cold wax has its own special attractions, such as ease of studio set-up, less toxicity, and the intuitive aspect of being able to paint with the mixture...no need for fusing with heat. In any case, the excitement over cold wax painting is palpable among artists who contact me for information or who take my classes.

off to the Carolinas

2011-04-04T18:00:00.005-05:00

The painting above is a small, 12"x9" piece called (Relic #2) that has been packed up along with others for the road trip to the Carolinas. Below is another small painting, Chant, 8"x6." I like to take along some of my actual work to show students when I teach, and this time, I'll have a gallery wall to hang them on at River's Edge Studio, in Asheville, NC where I am teaching an advanced level Oil and Wax Workshop on the weekend.

The following weekend I will be teaching my basic class at ART Works in Beaufort, SC. (There are still 1-2 spaces left in that class.) In between, my husband and I will have a few days in Atlanta, where I hope to check out some galleries, and the High Museum. I'm looking forward to the trip very much, and besides all the usual reasons for enjoying travel and teaching, this trip means finally getting to experience some real spring (Wisconsin is still chilly with snowy patches...)

Today is busy with packing, organizing, and getting things set up for our house-sitter, so this post is a short one. I'll depart with one more painting photo, below: Timanfaya #5, 12"x12".

quiet times, busy times

2011-03-28T10:02:00.006-05:00

December through mid-March was a relatively quiet time for me, without a travel or teaching schedule. Those days are behind me now--I've launched into a much busier schedule, and I'm looking back at the winter now with slight nostalgia. In retrospect this timing worked out well, coinciding with the cold, huddled down time of year. It was a very productive time in the studio. It's not that I miss winter itself (which we still seem to be in half the time, anyway) but I do miss the focus on simply painting and being in the studio.

Of course, I still had plenty to do all during that time--shipping work to Ireland, getting ready for my trip to Toronto, having my website updated. Life never seems completely quiet! But simply being at home most of the time, and making it to my studio nearly every day, makes me feel grounded and calm. Recognizing that this is good, I've started to consciously set up times of the year when the schedule is less demanding. My intention is to keep a similar block of time next year, early winter through early spring, as a period when I will avoid scheduling much.

Busy times have their own pleasures too, of course. I just had my first studio workshop of the year, and am feeling the glow of its success. Five artists from various distant places (including Sweden!) came together for three days of intense exploration of cold wax medium techniques. It was a friendly, compatible group, and the artists were very open and full of ideas. There is nothing like the energy that flows in these workshops! I have several more to look forward to through the spring and summer--two in the Carolinas in April, one in my studio in May, in Davenport Iowa in June, in Telluride, CO in July, and in Mineral Point, WI in August and again in October. Two of these are upper level classes that I'm adding for the first time this year, so they require planning and preparing the new material. (For details on all of my upcoming workshops, please click here.

My travel plans include road trips for several of these classes, plus a residency in Ireland in September, at the Tyrone Guthrie center. I guess it's fortunate that I really enjoy travel, whether it's a road trip for a day or two, or off to another country. The class, the exhibit, or whatever the purpose of the trip may be provides structure--but there is also times for meeting new people, and often for spending time with old friends too, and seeing sights.

I have two exhibits scheduled at this point for 2011, one at Woodwalk Gallery in Door County, Wisconsin (opening July 3) and one at at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe (opening July 22.) In addition to creating work for those shows, I also just received a large commission for a 5x8 foot painting, for a cancer care center in Texas.

As I write all of this, my head starts to spin thinking of the mountain of to-do lists that will be generated by this schedule. I know that the key to handling a busy schedule is to take it one step at a time, and try not to freak out at the cumulative pile of stuff to do ahead. Also to pay attention to the usual advice: eat right, get exercise and good sleep (not always easy to shut down the brain!) and take time out for fun and for open-ended studio sessions, with no big agenda on my mind. It's the time of year to remind myself of all of this, breathe deeply and carry on.

The small untitled painting above (12"x12" oil on panel) is one I am sending to Woodwalk Gallery to start off their spring season.

parting with paintings

2011-03-18T23:37:00.006-05:00

The painting above, Threshold (60”x36”) is one of five that I delivered to my new gallery in Toronto, Gallery 133, on Tuesday. I hope that my work does well there, and that this painting and the others will soon find new homes.

Parting with my work is not hard for me, though my husband says he remembers a time early on when I did not detach so easily. I guess that’s true, but my focus has shifted over the years to the process and the journey of the work, rather than holding onto the final result. Aside from a few paintings I have kept that hold personal significance, or that I want to give my sons, I acknowledge the need to sell my work to keep going--so I’m sure part of my attitude also comes from pure practicality.

That said, a part of me is always curious about where my work ends up. Although once in awhile I meet a collector at a gallery opening or learn a bit about the circumstances of a purchase, usually I don't know much about the sale of my work (this information is not routinely provided.) Since it's left to my imagination, I sometimes daydream about where my paintings are hanging...over beds, couches and dinner tables, in entryways, hallways, kitchens and bathrooms, in grand homes and modest ones, a part of people’s lives. But what is most important is not where specific paintings are hung—it is knowing that something I’ve done has connected with someone else’s emotional life and experiences.

Like a lot of artists, I find this sense of connection to be both a powerful motivator and a vital source of energy. It is hard won, elusive and mysterious—this basic, gut-level communication with another person, often a complete stranger. It is acknowledged through comments, conversations, and recognition of various kinds. But one of the strongest affirmations of this connection is to sell a painting directly to someone who has fallen in love with it.

For me this kind of sale happens only occasionally, since most of my work goes out to my galleries soon after completion (truly the best arrangement for all concerned, since I am no sales-person and I am very grateful for what my galleries are able to do for me!) But once in a while, a friend approaches me about buying something from my studio, or someone contacts me that knows me through email, my blog, website or Facebook. In making a direct sale, it is quite moving to know who has purchased the work, where they will hang it, and most importantly how they feel about the piece.

The last time this happened to me was a little over a month ago, when I posted the painting below (Timanfaya #3, 12"x12") on my blog, and heard from Seth Apter, a mixed media artist in New York, whose work focuses on paper arts and textural assemblage. We have corresponded a few times in the past, and he reads my blog with some regularity. Timanfaya #3 spoke to him strongly--his excitement over it came through in his initial blog comments and later as we wrote back and forth discussing price and shipping. When I wrapped up the painting for shipment, I felt deeply satisfied to know who was at the other end, and how he felt about the work. And it's funny, but in knowing all of that, my usual detachment abandoned me it was a bit hard to send the painting off.

We decided to post simultaneously on our blogs today, he from the point of view of a collector, and me from that of the artist. Please click on his name above to read his thoughts.

toronto report

2011-03-16T18:49:00.004-05:00

I'm writing from Canada, near Toronto, where my husband and I have been since Monday afternoon. I delivered five paintings to Gallery 133 in Toronto on Tuesday, and loved the space, the personnel, and the vibe of the gallery. Once the art business was accomplished, it's been all about enjoying the time in Toronto, a city I have wanted to visit for a long time. We've seen several of Toronto's interesting neighborhoods, eaten great Thai food, and in general relished our time in a new environment.

The friend we are staying with, Janice Mason Steeves, and I have visited numerous galleries, and we've enjoyed what seems like one, ongoing conversation about painting, cold wax medium and teaching workshops (which she also does) since I walked into her house two days ago--with barely time out to sleep.

Here is Jan in her studio, with several of her paintings in the background. Jan uses cold wax medium in her work--in fact, I first met her about a year ago at a workshop she took with me in Wisconsin. We have kept in touch since, and even met up in Barcelona in November. Her work lately has become very abstract and vibrant in color. She has developed a unique way of gouging of the paint surface that yields a most interesting line.

Don and I plan to leave tomorrow morning for the long drive back. I will take away not only great memories, bit also an appreciation for a number of Canadian artists whose work I had not viewed before seeing it today in Toronto galleries. These include Ed Bartram, Stu Oxley and Zhang He.

attention

2011-03-05T09:56:00.003-06:00

Whether you're reading this post on Facebook or on my blog site, stop for a moment and notice what other information sources are competing for your attention, just on the computer alone. How many other tabs are open? How many Facebook or blog posts have you read prior to this that are lingering in your mind, and how many have you glanced at as next in line? Are you multi-tasking, maybe researching a trip or purchase? And beyond the realm of the computer, is there a TV or radio on within your hearing, or is your significant other or your child trying to tell you something (and you're only giving half an ear?)

Even as I write this, I'm monitoring open tabs for incoming emails and Facebook notices, downloading some music, and approving a new member for my ning site. And that's just on the laptop. I'm also slightly distracted by a phone call I need to make, some logistics to work out for upcoming workshops, my husband's plans for the day, and news of more snow on the way. It's 10 a.m. and I feel like I've already reached information overload. It's normal life...I spend parts of every day immersed in this information soup, as most of us probably do. I love the benefits, the connections, conversations, awareness of issues, and other perks of our information culture. Yet I have no doubt that this flood of scattered bits of information creates stress--I can feel it in body and mind.

And it is interesting to consider that it also may tamp down creative focus, according to an article in the current issue of Newsweek magazine. The article discusses the effects of too many bids for our attention on effective reasoning and decision making. This line in particular struck me, as an artist:

(research)...has shown that decisions requiring creativity benefit from letting the problem incubate below the level of awareness—something that becomes ever-more difficult when information never stops arriving.

For me, my studio is the antidote to information overload, because I control it in a conscious way to be conducive to painting. I only take a phone in there if I am expecting an important call, and there is no computer. Once in awhile I do listen to news on public radio, or a music station, and quite often I have my Ipod playing in its dock (usually at a "background" volume, unless I am looking for a particular energy.) But sometimes, I really prefer silence above all. For me (and this will be very individual,because we all have our strategies) creative focus and incubation come about more naturally and powerfully in a subdued atmosphere. I also value the quiet times I spend out walking, cross-country skiing and doing modern dance, all of which bring focus to a quiet center. Though I have never practiced formal meditation, I suspect it too would be excellent--and that all mind-quieting practices are related, and are vital for creativity.

The painting above--El Golfo, 60"x36" oil and volcanic sand on panel.

new work

2011-02-27T10:34:00.004-06:00

No matter how many times I struggle through frustrating, slow times in the studio followed by productive, exciting times (and no matter how many times I write about that cycle on this blog) I am always grateful for the breakthrough, and rather amazed at its appearance. Although from experience I know it that it will always happen, in its own way, on its own schedule, it is always a relief. (A bit like spring here in the frozen north, I guess!)

From December through early February, I struggled with five (later consolidated to four) 30"x30" pieces, painting and repainting them, advancing a bit on some days and on others starting over (pleased at least to have an interesting base of color and texture from all the going-over and wiping out!) My goal was to have two paintings of this size to send to my agent in Ireland (I wanted to offer him choices.) I also intended to put my best foot forward and to have the work sent off in a timely way.

During those months, I worked with determination, but not a lot of joy. Of course there were some good days, but overall this time (which will be familiar to my artist readers) had a nose-to-the-grindstone quality that is not my favorite working mood. Still, I was dedicated to finishing the work and I stuck it out, with results in the end that were very pleasing to me. I have since sent two of these paintings to Ireland and a third, shown below, is promised to my new gallery in Toronto...Blue Cliff. (Blue Cliff appears in my January 16th blog post photo, third from the left...and I thought when I wrote that post that it was nearly done!)

Once the paintings were finished and dealt with, near the end of February, that particular logjam broke, and the time since has been very productive, with several new directions emerging. This is typical of the pattern I've observed over time: the aftermath of a blocked or slow time is usually super-charged with good work and ideas, a reward for sticking it out through the difficult times. The mental picture of backed-up water finally breaking through some obstruction of its flow seems apt.

What led to this this particular obstruction was a bit of a mystery to me...the project of completing these four paintings was not much different from preparing for a show or completing a commission, which I have done many times without undue stress. But I realize in retrospect that I put limitations on myself that actually worked against me. Instead of including the four as part of the body of work in progress, I shut down everything else to focus on them exclusively, reasoning that this was the most efficient way to get them finished. But, my normal process, which has developed over the years to suit my particular personality and artistic character, is to move freely between numerous paintings, and to keep the arrangement of panels and resulting sizes in flux. So, I learned something: when I need "X" number of paintings in "X" size, actually the most efficient approach for me is to integrate those panels into all the rest of my ongoing work, giving them their share of attention but not my exclusive focus.

I have to smile at this realization--I like to think I am aware of my process and what works for me, yet obviously I can still give in to a "logical" part of my brain that thinks it knows best! Once again I humbly bow to that wise phrase that stands the test every time... "Trust the Process." In this case, recognizing and respecting my intuition about how to approach this project would have saved me some grief.

Of course there were probably other, more elusive reasons behind the bit of creative block I was feeling...new directions incubating, experiences being integrated. Accepting a slow-down gracefully when such mental shifts are underway is also part of trusting the process.

One result of my new-found energy in the studio is a series of as yet untitled 12"x12" paintings (one is shown at the beginning of this post) in which gestural solvent lines are prominent.

form and content

2011-02-20T20:55:00.001-06:00

"Art, Sternfeld believes, is at its best when there is a unity of form and content--'When you have unity, I think, it squares the reach and power of the work'..."

(From a Smithsonian Magazine article about the photographer Joel Sternfield's photos of consumers in Dubai shopping malls, taken with the iconic consumer good, an iPhone.)

The need for form and content to be equally strong and to work together is a concept I took note of as an undergrad, though I had only a superficial knowledge of it at the time. Simple on the surface, the idea becomes complex and subtle with deeper understanding. It encompasses everything about what an artist has to say and how it is said...an ever-changing consideration, a guide, a challenge, a way to evaluate your own work and other's.

Form--the materials and techniques used, and how the elements of art and design principles are employed--is pretty straightforward. When students are asked to address Form and Content in evaluating a work of art, they seem relieved that Form can be neatly described. Content, which is idea-based, is harder to pin down--the artist's intentions for the work, the choice of subject matter, if any...the ideas and motivation and influences behind the work, how the work comes across, the viewer's response. These answers lead to more challenging questions: does the Form the artist has used support the Content, or is it moving more clearly in another direction? Does the Content lead logically to the Form, or would the artist's intentions be better expressed in a different way? Are Form and Content each strong, and working together?

Lest anyone's eyes glaze over with this academic approach, let me say that working with F and C (my abbreviation for the rest of this post!) is often a highly intuitive process...an idea or direction arising from materials used, or exploration of a new technique. In other words, C does not necessarily lead the way. In a lot of process-driven work, done in a loose and experimental mood, C develops in tandem with F. If an artist begins with F (materials and techniques) the challenge is to develop intention and a unique vision along with mastery of the medium.

An initial F-C convergence tends to be energizing, exciting and promising. But where to take it, how to sustain it, how to develop it and give it the depth of personal meaning? Again, progress may be more intuitive than thought out, but I do credit some conscious attention to F and C with deeper understanding and development in my own work.

These are useful concepts when looking at other people's work too. So often, a strong work stands as a good example of unity of F and C, while weakness comes down to a poor pairing of the two. For example, if you wanted to express the power and energy of a rushing river, would you meticulously render the image from a photo? The result would probably come across as still and frozen in time, rather than energetic. On the other hand, that approach would make perfect sense if you were more interested in the abstract pattern of reflections on the water, captured in a split second. Or if your intention was to play with the viewer's expectations in regards to alignment of F and C (a huge post-modern trend.) In each case, how does the F make the C understood to the viewer? And what has been revealed to the artist during the painting process if F has led the way? These questions open up a rich source of critical thinking in regards to any work of art.

In my work, the medium and techniques I use lend themselves to rich, textured and nuanced surfaces, and these are in fact where I find inspiration in nature, and in the worn and weathered human environment. I like the way that the paintings are built up in layers and then eroded mimics the same processes in nature. So, overall I am pleased with the interaction of F and C in my work, while attempting to be alert for shifts in either that are less than successful.

The painting above, Markings, is one of several large panels I've been working on lately. (It is 54"x36'.)

2011 workshop updates

2011-02-13T19:16:00.003-06:00

In the past few months I've been publicizing my 2011 Oil and Wax Workshops, updating the information on my website, sending online newsletters and posting on Facebook and the Oil and Wax website. The artists who are helping me to organize classes in several locations have also been wonderful at getting the word out. The response has been great--some classes are now full and others nearly so. It seems a good time to update those of you who may be interested as to where there are still openings, and also to fill you in on new offerings this year, and a little background about the various classes and locations.

First, an update on my Studio Workshops, which are held at my home in Osseo, Wisconsin: I have two on the calendar this spring, and both are filled. But if you were hoping to come to one of these studio classes this year, please note that I may add another session later in the year. Also, I'm planning to clear out more room in my studio work area, and when this is accomplished I'll have room for up to 6 students instead of the current 4. If you would like to be on a waiting list (in the event that I get this done in time for the May class) please let me know. This will be a busy spring and re-organizing will be a major project, but I will try to accommodate you.

April Workshops in the Carolinas: I am teaching a Level Two class in Asheville, NC at River's Edge Studio, April 8-10. The Level Two class is a new class this year, and limited to those who have already had my regular, introductory class in the past, or one taught by Cindy Taylor Walton or by Janice Mason Steeves. Both of these excellent artists have taken my class in the past, worked intensively with cold wax and now teach their own workshops in cold wax medium. Taking the knowledge of techniques, tools and materials to a more advanced level should make for an exciting and rewarding three days. I'm also looking forward to my first visit to Asheville, a city widely recognized for its vibrant art scene.

The other workshop in the Carolinas (a regular intro class, open to all) will be held April 15-17 in Beaufort, SC. There are two spots still open for this class, which I scheduled at the urging of my former junior high art teacher, a wonderful woman who influenced my career choice and who moved to Beaufort after retirement. She'll be taking the workshop...isn't that a sweet circle? Beaufort is a nice coastal town... and after the winter we've had in Wisconsin, I'm really looking forward to seeing spring in both of these Carolina locations.

June in the Quad Cities: I'll be teaching at Bucktown Center for the Arts in Davenport, Iowa, June 2-4. Enrollment is still open, with seven spots vacant at last count. What better way to kick start a summer of painting? The Quad Cities are an excellent central location for anyone desiring an Oil and Wax Workshop in the Midwest, and Davenport itself is an interesting historic city on the Mississippi River.

July in Telluride, Colorado: This workshop, which will be held at the Ah Haa School for the Arts from July 25-28, is an opportunity to experience a longer workshop than I usually teach--four days instead of three. I am excited by the possibilities of more in-depth exploration of the media. Telluride is also one of the most spectacularly beautiful places I have seen in the US, a small, very friendly town surrounded by impressive mountain vistas. If you come, it would be smart to schedule and extra day or two just to hike and enjoy the surroundings. One more reason to choose this workshop: I am represented by Telluride Gallery of Fine Art and chances are good that there will be examples of my work on view there, which will give me a way to talk about the process with finished work on hand.

Late Summer/Fall: the Level Two class scheduled for Shake Rag Alley in Mineral Point, Wisconsin in August has filled, but a second session has been added for the same location in October (10/21-23.) There are plenty of openings in that class, and again if you have studied with either Janice Mason Steeves, Cindy Taylor Walton or myself, you are welcome to attend.

Registration information for all introductory level classes may be found on my website workshop page. For Level Two Workshops or with any questions at all, please email me at crowellart@yahoo.com. Thanks, and I hope that if you are looking for an Oil and Wax Workshop in 2011, one of these classes will fit your calendar and travel plans.

so much stuff

2011-02-06T11:09:00.006-06:00

The photo above is a snapshot of a small area of my work space--a portion of what extends over several tables in the part of my studio where I paint. The variety and quantity of supplies I use is always growing, and this has been the case since I moved away from traditional brush painting about seven or eight years ago and started using cold wax medium with my paints. The piles of tools and supplies are an outgrowth of exploring the possibilities and wonderful versatility of cold wax medium. (That my supplies are normally in a state of chaos is an outgrowth of something else, I guess! I do try and organize things now and then, but the order always disintegrates once I start working.)

Besides the cold wax medium and innumerable tubes and jars of oil paint, my supplies include boards and multi-media paper on which to paint, powdered pigments, charcoal and graphite, brayers and palette knives of all sizes, various objects used as squeegees and scrapers, brushes (mostly old and splayed, for more interesting lines), many pointed implements for scratching and gouging the paint surface, high quality odorless solvent (I use Gamsol), a variety of papers (used to impress texture onto the surface, transfer line drawings, and lift off layers of paint), sand, dish scrubbers, whisk brooms, steel wool and cotton rags. There's also a lot of miscellaneous stuff for creating interesting textures--including bits of packing material, corks, yarn, blocks of foam, and stamps I've carved in wood, rubber and sheets of foam.

This list will be at least partially familiar to others exploring cold wax medium, with variations according to personal favorites and, I'm sure, additions I haven't thought of myself. Using cold wax medium with oils allows for a smorgasbord of techniques adapted from printmaking (especially monotype), collage, drawing and traditional oil painting, each requiring some additional supplies and tools. Fortunately many of these supplies are everyday objects, not pricey or specialized.

Although it may sound reasonable for beginners with cold wax to set about acquiring this mountain of stuff, I don't recommend it. It's good to know the possibilities, but having the all the needed supplies on hand may actually be counter-productive and result in being overly focused on technique alone. My own cache of supplies has grown slowly. I think a good approach is to work through a limited number of techniques in some depth before moving on, keeping the focus off technique for its own sake and on one's personal vision, and what is being said in the work.

On the other hand, a few new art toys can be very energizing--I'm definitely not opposed to having fun shopping in the hardware or kitchen supply store, where many of the best tools are found. (The current trend in silicone kitchen gadgets like dough scrapers and rolling pins is a boon for cold wax painters, as some are perfect for spreading, rolling or impressing textures into paint.) Or browsing the art supply store or catalog for some new products to try out, a few here and there that fit the budget.

As with so many things in life, there's a balance to strike--and finding the right tool or supply at the right time can lead to a whole new vision for one's work. After all, that was cold wax for me, a number of years ago--just an interesting new (to me) art supply with which to experiment.

another round

2011-01-30T10:55:00.004-06:00

I am working on several large pieces to take to a new gallery in Toronto, and cycling once again through creation and destruction...a surface on one that just yesterday was quite beautiful, is tonight nothing but an uninteresting mess. All the grace and promise gone, and nothing to do but start again tomorrow.

I'm thinking about the famous quote from Pablo Picasso: “Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction.” The surfaces of my paintings are formed by many acts of destruction, and are impossible for me to create any other way. It is by scraping, dissolving, and painting over many layers that rich, evocative textures and colors are achieved. So I suppose it makes as much sense to welcome the next stage of the painting I was working on tonight as to mourn any perceived loss.

I tell myself this as I wait for the wrenching frustration I experienced leaving the studio tonight to subside...knowing that the glimpse I had of the painting's potential still lives in my mind, and in whatever traces of that image are left in its current muddy state. The journey will continue, and there will be good days and not so good days until the painting is done.

As I left the studio tonight, I marveled that anything I paint actually does ever get finished. But hanging near my door are quite a few paintings ready to be sent to my galleries, reassuring proof that I do reach "done" on a regular basis. (The small painting above, Timanfaya #3, 12"x12", will be on it's way to Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe this week.)

variety

2011-01-24T09:48:00.005-06:00

Struck by the variety of imagery and formats in my work, a recent studio visitor remarked about how many different things I have going on. I thought about that over the weekend as I finished up a number of small 12"x12" paintings, and as usual, ended up with a range of solutions to the unique puzzle each had presented. Some paintings emerge as soft and atmospheric with gestural imagery, and some are rather severe and geometric. Others fall someplace along that continuum. (Examples below: the two extremes of soft and geometric, top and middle image: Echoes and Timanfaya #4, and at the bottom, in between idea, Zoco. All are 12"x12" oil on panel.)

I think this range is the result of my process-oriented approach (following leads that emerge during the act of painting) as well as the fact that I use the materials themselves with an experimental attitude. The longer I work with cold wax medium and a variety of tools, the more techniques and ideas I have to draw upon, and the richer the mix. There is an energy to this exploration of process and materials that compels me to keep trying new things and shaking up the older ideas.

At the same time, I pull back from paintings I'm working on that seem too different, not "me" enough. While this may seem counter-productive, I trust that over time whatever is sincere and real there will re-emerge in a more integrated way. I have always believed that, at least for myself, true change happens in an evolved and incremental manner. At this point, all of the various threads in my paintings have come about through honest searching. All seem to me hard-won, and of the same body of work.

In working on my newly designed website, I decided to present my work in the context of several conceptual categories, rather than in the simple divisions of single and multiple panels that appeared on my old website. Deciding upon these was a helpful exercise for me. While these are not strict divisions--many of the paintings could have been placed in more than one category--grouping them helped me identify my own thematic and visual explorations.

I admire many artists whose output is far more diverse than my own, while remaining true and centered on a unique aesthetic. I believe it's a good thing to be open to diversity of expression, to whatever extent that it suits our own needs, and to trust that following new paths will still bring us home in the end.

struggles with new work

2011-01-16T18:15:00.004-06:00

Surely all of us who paint have times when things roll along in a satisfying and productive way, and others when the process is more like wading through mud. In my case, I've been going through a rather extreme example of the latter--mired in a series of five 30x30" paintings for weeks now. I've felt impatient, frustrated and blocked (although I have actually kept at it nearly every day.)

I'm perfectly fine working under pressure in normal circumstances, to meet an exhibit or commission deadline, for example. Over 25 years of painting, I've developed confidence in my work and tend to find pleasure and energy in those kinds of commitments. And while struggle is always an essential part of the process, I'm rarely blocked or anxious about my work for more than a short time. Given all that, I was really not anticipating the issues I've been having with these paintings.

But there is a different agenda for these--an opportunity that may be a one-time chance (more later on that, if it all works out.) So, from the start I noticed pressure in my own mind and perceptions, and I began to gradually lost the ease and spontaneous feeling that I rely on in the studio, the ability to trust in the process. I found myself slipping into hyper-critical mode, destroying most of the progress made on an almost daily basis. As a result, each painting in this small series has cycled through way more than the usual number of transformations, coming close to being finished and then once again painted over.

I've always maintained that in this kind of destruction, nothing is really lost--that each change, each new layer put on or removed, adds richness and texture, and in fact these changes are necessary to achieve the surfaces of my work. And also that every change, including radical transformations, comes about because it is needed--something is not right. Under normal circumstances I have so many paintings in progress that I don't get very attached to anything, and these necessary steps are usually exhilarating rather than anxiety-producing. In this case though, I was so completely focused on 5 paintings, that I had to keep reminding myself it was OK when hours of work once again disappeared under my palette knife or solvent rag.

It has all been a bit grueling and certainly humbling. But today and yesterday were a breakthrough--excellent painting days. I believe I just had to acknowledge that while self-criticism is important for developing excellent work, perfectionism can become paralyzing when it creeps in...and also that any one painting cannot represent the depth and breadth of an entire body of work. A painting is simply a moment in the course of a long journey. With these thoughts, I was able to loosen up, enjoy painting and feel my faith in the process return.

The photos above show four of the five paintings at the end of today, nearing completion, and a closer view of one, as yet untitled.

new website

2011-01-09T11:03:00.005-06:00

After several days of intensive work with my web designer, my new website is up. Please visit and enjoy. This is a portfolio type of site, with a selected number of paintings plus information about me and how to contact my galleries.

An interesting development, noted in the new site, is that I am now represented by an agent in Ireland and the UK. He will also handle any inquiries in Europe. I'm excited by this opportunity, especially since I'll be in Ireland in September as an artist in residence at the Tyrone Guthrie Center in Annamaghkerrig (I have actually learned how to spell that) in County Monaghan.

My old website, which many of you will have visited in the past, has a new URL, CrowellArtConection.com. In the near future, CrowellArtConnection will undergo a complete overhaul, and will be focused on teaching information and resources for artists interested in my work and techniques. For now it is much the same as ever, but I have updated my teaching schedule now that I've set my calendar for 2011.

Many thanks to all of you who follow my work! My aim is to to provide a more focused way to keep up with new paintings and career developments, plus a format for expanded information on painting for the artists among you.

new year thoughts

2010-12-31T18:32:00.003-06:00

Iced in on this New Year's Eve 2010, and contemplating the lows and highs of the past year in my art life. Things certainly began badly..art sales were slow for me last winter, and expenses high. If I'd known then that 2010 would turn out to be my best year to date for art income, I'd have spared myself some sleepless nights and general anxiety! It's a pattern though, one that I've observed in over 25 years of ups and downs in the art world. Things may look very bleak, and then suddenly there is a breakthrough, an opportunity, a new idea, a sale, a gallery call, some form of recognition...and once again, there's forward momentum.

2010 was my first full year of giving workshops, which was the best new development for me. They ranged from one-day sessions in my studio to three day classes in various locations around the country...culminating in a private session on the island of Lanzarote in the Canary Islands in November. (THAT was more that I imagined possible when I first started teaching in 2009.)

Every workshop I taught was its own adventure, and I loved the travel, connecting with interesting people around the country, making new friends, and the satisfaction of providing other artists with something they value (while learning plenty from them as well.) I was touched and honored that even in the slow economy, artists were willing to pay tuition and sometimes considerable travel costs to come to my classes. Only a few classes had less than full enrollment. (I'm looking forward to adding some new locations and new content in 2011--I'll be posting my calendar soon, and sending out a newsletter to people on my workshop mailing list.)

In the studio, it was a productive year, and I had three exhibits in 2010 (at Circa Gallery in February, and Darnell Fine Art and Telluride Gallery both in October.) Over the course of the year, I felt a shift away from specific references to my 2008 artist residency in Catalonia, though influences remain. New techniques for adding lines and gestural marks, as well as more contrast, and evidence of paint layers evolved. I will have quite a bit of new work online when I launch my new website in January. Actually it's going to be two websites--my main one will focus on my paintings--a straightforward gallery/portfolio site. The other (www.CrowellArtConnection.com...that's not an active link yet) will be aimed at artists, and have my teaching info, writings, links, and so on. At least that's how I envision things now--I'm heading for Ithaca, NY next week to get down to specifics with my website designer.

Tonight I'm feeling grateful for a good year now past, and optimistic about what's ahead. I wish all of you satisfying work, new ideas and a pleasing degree of prosperity. And that you experience great generosity, both in what you are given, and in what you give back to others, as well.

art biz

2010-12-24T13:48:00.005-06:00

I'm managing to post a finished painting (Red Plane, 30"x30", oil and wax on panel) but the past few weeks have involved more computer time than studio time (and of course, there have been the usual distractions of the season, though our own celebration this year is low key.) I've been working on setting up my teaching schedule for 2011, and this has led to taking on a chore I've put off for too long--updating and organizing my mailing list. To facilitate that chore, I signed on with Constant Contact, and so far I've been very pleased with the service. makes it easy to organize multiple mailing lists, and to put together and send out attractive emails and newsletters to large groups of people--eliminating the annoying chore of sending out information in small batches from regular email to avoid spam issues. As I enter all the data from my email mailing list into Constant Contact, I have been trying to make notes and nail down details about the people on it (over 500)--using the search function on my Yahoo account to remind myself of how we came to be in touch.

Of course, many on my list are well-known or at least familiar to me--friends, relatives, collectors, art reps, former students. But there have always been some contacts whose origins were lost in time. Solving the mystery of the who, when and where has been kind of fun--and it relieves some of the tedium of this whole chore. In a few cases, when I look back over old correspondence, I've been reminded of some unfinished business, or the need to get back to someone about an upcoming class, which lends a bit more satisfaction to this whole project. It seems like a fitting one for wrapping up 2010.

Another art biz project is also demanding my attention. With the new year, I will be preparing to launch two new versions of my website. One, my main site, will be a focused portfolio site, highlighting my paintings and professional accomplishments. The second will be devoted to my workshop information, various writings, links, and other info for artists. Years ago, when I set up my original site my web designer commented on the amount of information that I wanted to share, and she built that into the site. Now seems the right time to give this information its own focus and room to grow. I'll be traveling to Ithaca, NY in early January to spend a few days hammering out the details of these two sites with her.

By the way, if anyone reading this would like to be added to my new, updated and wonderfully organized (!!) mailing list, please email me and let me know if your interest lies in workshops, general info (upcoming exhibits, studio news) or both. If you'd like to add a little about yourself to the email, that would be great. My mailing list feels a lot more friendly when I have more than just a name...thank you. I am grateful to all of you who show their interest in my work and classes.

OK--I'm done for a few days with art biz! Heading out now for Christmas Eve dinner at my mother's house. Happy Holidays to all who are celebrating the season!

from chaos into order

2010-12-17T09:42:00.003-06:00

(Above: Timanfaya #2, 12"x12", oil on panel, 2010.)

A quote from the abstract modernist painter Beatrice Mandelman (that I came across in the December/January issue of Art and Antiques magazine) struck me as a succinct description of my own painting process:

"I'm trying to work from chaos into order, stripping away, using the basics; that part is intellectual..."

I don't know how Mandelman arrived at her brand of chaos to begin with, but I suspect she laid down color and marks in a spontaneous manner during the initial stages of the work, responding to the paint without much constraint. I do this in my own work, then edit, as she says, using "the basics"--thoughtful decisions arising from elemental design principles. For myself, and likely for her, this is not a simple one-two step process, but a back and forth journey between the edited and the unedited. Each stage of chaos gets organized, but something is missing or undeveloped...then on goes the next layer of chaos.

Although the word usually has a negative implication, chaos in this case is a positive, essential stage in the process--characterized by energy, exhilaration, opportunity, and the direct link between emotion and paint. The editing process that the chaos is subjected to seems analogous to the maturing of an adolescent into an adult. Direct emotion and reaction are gradually shaped into something more restrained and structured.

Living with a work in progress as it goes in and out of chaos requires patience and trust in the outcome. I once read that creative personalities often have a high tolerance for ambiguity and unresolved situations...I'm not convinced this is true outside the studio, but certainly it seems essential in this approach to painting.

I had not heard of Mandelman until seeing the article, and wish I could be in Taos to see her work on display with that of her husband, Louis Ribak at the Harwood Museum.
This is one of her paintings:

"

slow painting

2010-12-11T07:20:00.006-06:00

Years ago when I was in college, my watercolor teacher commented favorably on something I had dashed off in a matter of minutes. I resisted the praise-somehow I didn't feel right about the painting because it had happened too fast, too easily. His reply, which has stayed with me all of these years, was exactly right. "So, if you don't spend enough time wrestling with it, it doesn't seem like your work?"

It's true. Until I've gotten to know a painting over time, worked through a few issues, and had some interesting back and forth dialogue, it doesn't seem sincere or authentic to me.

Though I move quickly and intuitively with the paint, speed does not characterize my work as a whole. I engage in a long process of continually burying and embedding marks and color fields until there is a substantial and rich foundation of color and texture, with those spontaneous marks visible on the top layers, or exposed from underneath.

Last weekend I started three 30"x30" paintings on Claybord that proceeded very quickly (Claybord is a surface on which the initial layers dry fast.) Within a few days I had developed satisfying images on all three, and even the richness of surface that I like. Since these are paintings that I have reason to finish in the near future, I told myself that this was good, and that I should be open to the occasional "fast" painting experience.

But I guess I wasn't very convincing. A week later, all three paintings have changed beyond recognition. None are finished, and I feel much more connected, involved, and excited to see what will develop.

Sometimes people ask me how many layers of paint and cold wax I build up under my work. A better question might be how many nearly-finished paintings are under there. Every painting I do goes through one or more stages that seem close to being resolved into a decent painting. Often think I am done, but a few days later, I am less satisfied, and I push on. It's important to refuse to settle for something that doesn't truly move me (especially hard when there is a deadline or time pressure.)

I try to follow my mantra--"work it, work it, work it." If I keep at it long enough, the result is always a step beyond what I might have settled for. Sometimes the resolution is reached through endless tinkering, other times in one surprising, decisive final move. Artist Catherine Carter discusses her similar painting process in a recent blog post, "Trials, tribulations, and finally, success" and related Facebook comment, "After days of battling it out, a painting finished as if by magic!" I know that feeling!

(The photo above is a studio shot that includes a couple of the 30"x30" paintings at an early stage.)

thoughts on travel

2010-12-02T21:17:00.003-06:00

The painting above (Timanfaya #1, 12"x12") is one that I've done since returning from the island of Lanzarote just before Thanksgiving (see previous posts.) Its earthy colors and gritty texture are a direct response to my time on that volcanic island.

Before the first time I attended an artist's residency abroad (in 2001, Catalonia) I had some doubts about whether landscapes far from home would speak to me. I wondered whether impressions formed in a few weeks in a foreign country would be only superficial, and if they could lead to authentic, deeply felt paintings. At the time I had a strong sense of my home--my place--as embodied in the woods and fields where I live, and had been using my own landscape as source material for years. It's not that I didn't want to travel, but I wondered if the experience would really seem relevant to my work.

On the other hand I could easily imagine that travel combined with painting would open my eyes to the landscape in ways that shuttling through and taking a few snapshots as a tourist would not. I liked the idea of purposeful travel, of seeing new places and then processing the experience through my work. In the end, I was intrigued enough by the possibilities to apply for my first residency. This was followed by another in 2008 (also in Catalonia.) I've also traveled in England, the Western US, most recently to Lanzarote, and all of these experiences have fed my work. My next goal is an artist residency in Ireland.

A few years ago, walking on a foggy, craggy moor in central England, I had this insight: that there are many places in the landscape around the world (like that very moor) that feel like home, the true home of one's senses and feelings. This feeling of "home" is not about nationality and human culture...instead, it's about our emotional relationship with nature and the earth, and is a sense of recognition that in this kind of landscape, we belong, we feel the energy of our surroundings.

(Oddly enough, my "home" landscapes are nothing like the gentle hills of West-central Wisconsin where I actually live. Though I love it here and find it beautiful, I identify with places that are wilder, more barren, ancient feeling, dramatic, rocky and remote.)

I love what happens to my creativity when I'm in this sort of place. The landscape around me resonates with visual ideas that I'm already exploring, or that lie just under the surface of my awareness. I feel myself becoming hyper-tuned in to colors and textures around me, all the nuances of a landscape that is both new and strange, and deeply familiar. The landscape itself seems to offer validation, and the ideas and inspiration gained in such a place can carry me along for months after returning home.

painting on lanzaote

2010-11-27T09:06:00.003-06:00

Pictured above is the only painting that I actually finished during my week on the island of Lanzarote (Lanzarote #1, oil and wax on paper with volcanic sand, 14"x11") which I gave to Alan, the artist who invited my husband and I there. It is considerably more gritty and gestural than a lot of my work, and seems to me a direct expression of what I had experienced in the landscape there. I was very pleased with it.

The painting below (Black Beach) was done as a collaborative project between Alan and myself. On the third morning of "class" (loosely defined, since basically we were just painting together with me offering tips and suggestions, and Alan offering his own commentary) Alan appeared with an old painting that he suggested we work together on, and paint it completely over with cold wax and oil. The original painting was abstract/figurative, and apparently had been through several other forms including landscape. He considered it ripe for total transformation.

After moving the painting operation from the tiny laundry room to the more spacious patio, and arranging paints and materials, the work began--somewhat tentatively, but soon enough we were deep into it, discussing its progress and making bold moves. I had not worked collaboratively on a painting since graduate school, in the sense of a complex process of back and forth action and discussion, and I have never worked side by side with anyone. So it was a new and fascinating experience. (In grad school, several of us passed a painting back and forth, but we worked on it individually.)

There were inevitably a few moments of tension (like when Alan was momentarily distracted by a workman appearing at the villa, and I couldn't stop myself painting over a whole section that he was rather attached to...) But we managed to maintain a sense of humor throughout. It was interesting because our basic impulses with the paint were quite different--mine, to apply unifying color fields, and his to activate the picture plane with organic lines and forms. Over time (with compromise, generosity, and curiosity on both our parts) these differing approaches created some interesting layers of paint, and possibilities began to emerge. We made good use of solvent lines and drips, and scratching with skewers into the paint to add surface texture. In the end, there were even a few small areas exposed from the original painting.

The entire process took two full mornings, with a few minor adjustments and touch ups on the third. We arrived at the painting's final state after negotiating a division of the panel. The top section, featuring Alan's gestural marks, I was absolutely NOT to touch (not that I even wanted to, it was lovely.) The bottom section would be my territory. We worked together on the line between the two parts, trying to achieve not a strict division, but a more complex interaction. The final unifying touches on the painting as a whole were done by Alan on the last morning (when he requested that I just go away for awhile...the entire process involved a certain frankness.) I found it fascinating to observe how another artist approached dividing the space, deciding which areas were dead and which alive, which bits were worth keeping and which could go. In the end we managed to produce quite a nice painting, which Alan promptly hung in his villa.

The secret, I think, was a sense of play--we were serious and deeply involved, but carried on with humor and an experimental attitude. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we disagreed, but there was mutual respect. (I knew from several previous days of painting with Alan, and discussions about various other painters, that he has an unerring eye and instinct for what works.)

In the continued spirit of collaboration I asked Alan for any comments on the painting process that he'd care to make for this post, and this is what he sent ..."Painting with Rebecca I was struck by her great virtuosity and skill with colour and gestural painting techniques. Her work, with its complex and seemingly almost random layering, is certainly not intended to be any window onto reality. Yet, watching her work it is apparent that her painting is not unstructured in any way. She creates little pools of "chaos" then seeks to impose order and structure on them and through them, on the painting as a compositional whole. I thought of the phrase "an archaeologist of paint" as she dug, scraped and re-exposed the many previous layers of her paint surface. The other key thing that struck me about Rebecca was how fast, focused and hard she worked!" (Thank you, Alan, and you were no slouch yourself!)

The photo directly below shows the original painting, the next one down is an intermediate step, and lastly a shot of us at work.

texture

2010-11-21T05:47:00.004-06:00

I'm home from my trip to Barcelona and the Canary Island of Lanzarote, and my art brain is teeming with textures--rocky, grainy, gritty, eroded, formed-by-eons of natural forces textures. And those that evolve in human time as well, walls chipped and painted over, paths worn smooth, structures built of natural components in the landscape.

I was also able to view the work of several artists whose textural abstractions appear related to these sources, at least in part--in Barcelona, at the foundation devoted to the life and work of Antoni Tápies (which also featured the inspiring work of Anna Maria Maiolino) and at CaixaForum, the work of Miquel Barceló. I stood in front of these artist's works for long minutes marveling at the complexity, boldness and sure handedness of textural applications. (Tápies's work is in the top photo, Barceló's below.)

(photo taken on the island of Lanzarote, Canary Islands.)

As always, I wonder what is so compelling to me about rough, gritty texture in the landscape and in works of art. Though intriguing to the eye, these textures are not always welcoming in a tactile sense, and perhaps I'm drawn to the push-pull of visual beauty and complexity combined with this somewhat repellent aspect. (If you were to touch or place body weight upon some of these surfaces, it would not be pleasant.) But I have to relegate this insight to the subliminal...it's not something that has come to mind until writing this post. And besides, I'm just as intrigued by surfaces that are textured in a visual sense only--not necessarily rough to the touch.

What I'm much more conscious of in my attraction to texture is the weathering and aging over great expanses of time that so many of these surfaces call to mind. Since childhood I've been drawn to collecting rocks and fossils, and had an early interest in archeology, all of it related to the intrigue of uncovering ancient, buried objects.

I also love the beauty of the seemingly random, yet perfect patterns, forms and contrasts that emerge as the result of nature's forces--the striations of exposed rock or earth, the scattering of pebbles on a beach. There is underlying structure and balance to it all. As an artist, I encourage my own version of this interaction between the random and the structured to emerge through the paint, and am drawn to this in the work of others.

painting on lanzarote

2010-11-13T14:56:00.004-06:00

Here is my temporary studio, the laundry room (open to the sky) of our villa in Playa Blanca, on the Canary Island of Lanzarote. I am working each morning with an artist, Scottish by birth, and now from Northern Ireland, who invited Don and myself here for a week to learn more about cold wax medium. Work is going very well, inspired by the strange and beautiful landscape of this island, formed by volcanoes and now covered with volcanic sand and strange formations. We are making time each afternoon to travel around with Alan and his wife to see various parts of the island, eat delicious food, walk on beaches, and ride camels. (I admit, we are tourists when away from the studio!)

It has been an amazing trip, begun with a few days in Barcelona...we flew here to this other-worldly environment on Thursday. A few photos of the landscape, the one above taken at nearby El Golfo, a black sand beach, and the one below along a highway.

I have noticed in the past that some landscapes I visit speak to my work and resonate with my visual interests more than others, and this one is high on the list of all I have experienced. The rugged textures, earthy colors, and feeling of light, open space are all exactly what I love to work with.

Lots of new ideas...today Alan and I both experimented with mixing black volcanic sand in with the wax, to very interesting ends. Besides the cold wax paintings, I've also started some with water-based mixed media. And of course I am taking a lot of photos. I will post some photos of the work as it develops...

thoughts about landscape

2010-11-06T16:29:00.005-05:00

Though it has been years since I described my paintings as "landscapes," landscape and nature continue to be major influences in my textures, colors and mark-making. This influence has been on my mind lately--starting when I was explaining my work to some people at the Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Colorado last month. I mentioned that when I draw or scratch certain kinds of lines, I am thinking about landscape. Specifically I'm remembering the grasses and plants in the alpine meadows of the Pyrenees where I have done two artist residencies. Representational sketches and watercolors I did while there opened up new ideas for including lines in my work. Besides the ones that I think of as grasses, twigs, and other flora, I also use meandering lines that relate to the long walks I would take during my residency--these are a kind of memory map--a more abstract interpretation of my experience in the landscape. The person I was talking to was quite surprised, and said she had thought my work was pure abstraction, with no reference to visual reality. But actually my work is infused with ideas derived from nature--textures and colors that relate to rocks, earth, and plant life.

Later, I thought I could have expanded my little speech beyond those more literal references. The techniques I use, of building up layers and then cutting and scratching back through, relate to processes in nature, and the structures and order of my pieces also speak of natural balance and order. So on this more abstract level I continue to derive many of my ideas from the landscape.

Back when my work was more obviously landscape, I thought of it in the more traditional sense of "scenery" and now I feel I am growing closer to its essence and spiritual meaning. The painting shown at the top of this post was done in 2002, after my return from my first residency in the Pyrenees--created during a transitional phase from more literal landscape into something less specific and more abstract. It is one of five older paintings that a local hospital in in the process of purchasing from me, and is shown here in its new home--one of the Meditation Rooms of the hospital. This placement seems to me an affirmation of my intentions for the painting and so is very pleasing to me. The meditative and calming aspect of landscape is something that continues to be a strong current in my work.

I'm also thinking about landscape as I prepare to leave for Spain and the island of Lanzarote, where I will be next week. This video shows the dramatic and rugged geography of Lanzarote, and even this little five minute visual trip gives me ideas.

This seems to be exactly the kind of landscape that inspires me--rocky, rough and barren, with evidence of the powerful forces of nature. I realize that this may seem a contradiction to my paintings, quiet, orderly and meditative as they are. But somehow this landscape, and the images I make feed my soul in the same way--they are expansive, and at the same time intimate--bringing me close to core of my own self and the expression of that center.

down time

2010-11-01T20:31:00.005-05:00

The last couple of weeks have been relaxing, after the busy travel and teaching schedule of September and October. I'm still getting some things done--including much needed cleaning and organizing (therapeutic after weeks of living out of a suitcase) and working on my teaching schedule for 2011. The days have been warm and conducive to being outside, and I've been cleaning up the gardens for winter.

But overall I've not been ambitious about much...spending only part of the day in the studio, and not pushing very hard. No deadlines or commitments, and plenty of new work out at my galleries already, so the slow pace seems right. I know there are ebbs and flows to creative energy, and can accept that this is low tide.

Even so, my first few days back in the studio were frustrating; feeling tired, I made nothing but mud and mess. But things have improved since I began to focus on smaller work rather than big multiple panel pieces. Back in September I had a stack of eighteen 12"x12" panels (which I'd started in various workshops as demo pieces) mounted onto cradles. Happily, they are giving me what I need to ease back into painting. Since they were already well under way, some of them are reaching conclusion in just a few sessions. (The painting above, as yet untitled, is one of these recent 12"x12"'s.)

These lazy days are just about over though. A week from today Don and I leave for Barcelona and from there on to Lanzarote, in the Canary Islands. Packing and getting things ready to leave in the care of our house sitter will demand attention from here on out, and I can feel my excitement kicking in. Lanzarote, a volcanic island, has an extremely interesting geography. From photos it looks like the kind of barren, dramatic landscape that I love. I'll be working one on one there with an Northern Irish artist who wants to learn about cold wax medium, though he warns me we will not work too hard--we must take time out "to chill!" OK--I think I can handle that! Don and I are renting a car so that we can explore, and there will also be plenty of sitting by the pool at our little villa, and no doubt some delicious local cuisine. I expect to have internet access once we arrive on Lanzarote on Nov. 11th, and will post some photos and thoughts about the trip.

memory lane

2010-10-26T11:39:00.004-05:00

I've been clearing out old file drawers to make my office space more usable, and musing over their contents--documentation of art business in all its many forms. The oldest files go back over 25 years to my undergrad years at the University of Wisconsin, and graduate years at Arizona State. Others are more recent--but almost all predate my heavy reliance on the computer, and provide a look at those times when conducting art biz was a bit more labor-intensive.

Some of what I came across:

*Dozens of entries to the same few grants and publications, never successful, but sent off year after year--with accompanying slide sheets, of course, carefully labeled...remember how many hours those paper and slide applications could take? I dreaded the whole project, but felt compelled to go through with it every time.

*Piles of files from various group and juried shows, many of which have long since fallen off my resume...but important enough to me at the time that I saved every scrap of correspondence, publicity, and other documentation.

*Plenty of gallery correspondence, both with those that represented my work and those that I wished would. One of my favorite rejection letters of all time: "While your paintings are beautiful and mature, they do not fit with our current aesthetic direction"..."so, what you're looking for is ugly and adolescent?" I was tempted to write back.

*There are also files on various galleries that ended up representing my work for 6 months or a year, and then sent it back to me citing a lack of interest by their clients....in retrospect, the lack of interest was at least as true of the galleries themselves. It took years to connect with galleries that were truly excited about my work, and could sell it well.

*Carbon copies (!) of resumes, cover letters and such...I should probably save these for their value as ancient relics.

*Lots of art supply product information sheets, price charts, brochures from framers...the kind of thing that is now easily accessed with a few mouse clicks, on a need-to-know basis.

*A thick folder of artist statements, dating back to college years...with draft copies and rewrites of everything. The earlier statements tend to be long and detailed, and include accounts of profound childhood experiences. The more recent statements are less grandiose, more concise and thankfully, much less embarrassing.

I'm tossing out most of this stuff, obviously, and feeling quite happy that with almost everything now on in computer files, new paper files have stopped accumulating so thickly (although my e-files too could use some clearing out!) That old paper is going to make good tinder for my winter studio fires, and as I feed it into the woodstove piece by piece, I'll be reminded of the hard work and persistence in the years behind me-- the hopes, ideas, plans that fell through, as well as those that came to be, and those that still remain as possibilities. Makes me feel a bit old--or maybe "seasoned " is more like it. I'm just glad that the toughest struggles for recognition and representation--which these old files testify to in such excruciating detail--are behind me now. And very grateful too for the cleaner, more organized computer systems that now make art business so much easier and more efficient.

it's complicated

2010-10-22T09:19:00.006-05:00

Like many artists, I find that the way that I paint--dancing back and forth between various approaches--is complex and hard to explain. My work includes pure abstraction and also hints of landscape...spontaneity as well as careful editing...definitive mark-making along with color fields and very subtle textures. I find energy and inspiration in this mix, but it is also difficult to describe--and this makes teaching a real challenge. I'm now at the tail end of a month of workshops and endless talking about my work and other people's work...things have gone very well, and I'm happy and satisfied, but acknowledging the difficulty of what I want to get across when I teach. It's not just technique, but technique as inseparable from conceptual aspects of the work and process. Each class is different and brings a new challenge in explaining and demonstrating what I want to say.

One thing I try to do is dispel the idea that an exploratory, process-oriented approach to painting relies heavily on happy accidents and random occurrences. The techniques I present, when practiced over time, become tools to be used with foresight and decisiveness. There is plenty of thought involved in finding the direction of the work, its structure, and the many choices and decisions that shape the final piece.

At the same time, I believe that preconceived ideas and reliance on photographs (even those of abstract subjects) are inhibiting, at least with the approach that I teach. The goal in my process is not to render something in paint, but to allow the paint and wax to suggest a path through the work as it develops. The artist remains in charge of what to keep and what to discard, and how to structure and organize the image.

Many artists in my classes understand all of this at a gut level and already use this basic approach in their work. But for at least an equal number, it requires a lot of effort to understand, and in some cases a huge shift in perception. So, it's a challenge to work through these ideas, often one small step at a time--and it's very rewarding when the ideas do take hold and there is an "ah-ha" moment for the student.

When that understanding happens, it seems to open up a great deal more patience with the process--one of building up rich color and texture over time, rather than leading directly and quickly to a finished painting. (As an aside--I see patience as an extremely valuable quality for any artist, no matter what personal style evolves--and I do encourage personal direction, always. Even in approaches that lead to faster results, such as plein air or very gestural abstraction, patience plays a role in the big picture of perfecting one's work.)

The painting above is Chronology #2, 20"x16", oil and wax on panel.

two exhibits

2010-10-14T12:16:00.005-05:00

My husband and I are back home after three very full weeks of travel, from San Fransisco to New Mexico to Colorado. Although preparing for this marathon back in September was stressful and exhausting, I guess it paid off --that and a little luck-- because aside from a few car issues, everything went amazingly well. The two Hot Wax/Cold Wax Workshops that I taught with Shawna Moore were full to the max, with excellent students and facilities. And both openings--at Darnell Fine Art in NM, where it is always a pleasure to be (bottom photo) and at Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in CO (above)-- were fun and well-attended. It was especially good to finally meet the excellent, friendly staff at Telluride and the owner of the gallery, Will Thompson, and to find some time to explore the town and surrounding mountain landscape. I cannot say enough good stuff about how we were treated by the gallery and by the school where Shawna and I taught, the Ah Haa School for the Arts.

Our commute to the school from the (really nice) accommodations they provided was by ski gondola. Although I have a fear of heights, I managed to get over it enough to love floating over golden aspens with snowy peaks beyond...this photo was taken from the window of the gondola.

So, I'm back to an emptier studio and (aside from a class I'm teaching next week at Peninsula School of Art in Door County, Wisconsin) a quiet few weeks before we head for Spain and the Canary Island of Lanzarote in November. I know, I know, it's all a little crazy--a lot of travel, an unusual amount. I'm taking stock of this as I go, thinking about pulling back next year on the number of workshops I teach. But as I've mentioned before, there is nothing that I'd have wanted to leave out, and so far I'm holding up well.

Of course it is studio time that suffers in all of this--the main reason for wanting to cut back on time away. I brought or shipped 27 paintings for my two exhibits, and all but a few were done this year-- most in the past 6 months. I don't exhibit anything I'm not pleased with and feel sure about, so it's not that I think the quality of the work has suffered. The issue of producing so much in a short period (there were two long trips and several shorter ones during this time) is more one of feeling rushed through a crucial stage--the one in which I process and learn from my own work...consider, analyze, and soak it in.

I also had to divide the work into two separate bodies to supply each gallery, and lacked the opportunity to study it all together. Deciding the best way to split up the work was not easy, and eventually it was the result of hours and days of moving things around the studio into various groupings.

The good thing is that I did find the opportunity at each of my exhibits to study the work as it hung, when things were quiet. Viewing it in the pristine and well-lit gallery space was a valuable way to see connections and new directions. I am pleased with the strong graphic quality of paintings like Coiled (in the top photo) and also with some new color and compositional ideas that have begun to creep in.

Well, it is always a juggling act--how to keep things in workable balance--energy, travel, solitude, studio time, down time. Sometimes I push pretty hard in one direction, but I also feel that things even out in the big picture. I'm looking for a good mix and taking past experience into account as I plan ahead for 2011...

still on the road

2010-10-05T23:04:00.004-05:00

My husband Don and I are still on our Western trip, and although we're assured by our house sitters that all is well, I'm starting to miss home...the familiar people and things, and the beauties of Wisconsin in October. We're in Colorado right now for a few days of vacation in between exhibits and workshops, and of course, it's completely gorgeous in the mountains (a good antidote for my touch of homesickness.) I took some photos of rocks and lichens today during a long hike near Frisco. I love the rusty colors of the kind of lichen shown above, especially glowing against the gray rock. The colors and textures of the woods and rocks were very soothing after a couple of fairly hectic weeks on the road--certainly enjoyable in many ways, but also exhausting.

When I last wrote, I was in California. Much has happened since then, including good visits with family and friends, an opening at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe, and the Hot Wax/Cold Wax Workshop that Shawna Moore and I taught there last weekend. It was a large class, 15 people, and as always the energy level, curiosity and creative output of the students were impressive. Shawna and I will be doing the same basic class (and exhibiting our work) in Telluride, CO later this week. The class there will be smaller, probably ten students, and the logistics much easier since it's being held at the Ah Haa School for the Arts (in Santa Fe, we were renting a space, and had to handle everything ourselves--from registration to lunch orders and renting tables.) After that, home. I sincerely appreciate all of these opportunities, even though they have been packed pretty tightly into just a few weeks... maybe it is as Shawna put it, simply an economical use of time!

california report

2010-09-27T18:48:00.006-05:00

I'm flipping through all the photos I've taken since arriving in the Bay Area and trying to pick out just a few to represent what I've been up to. But although photos and people and places are great, most of the experience has been internal and I have only just begun to digest it all.

The top photo shows the expansive view from the home of an artist friend near Livermore where I am staying for a short time before heading to New Mexico tomorrow. We arrived yesterday with a third friend, taking BART from San Francisco, where the IEA (International Encaustic Artists) Advance took place. It has been an appreciated opportunity to rest, relax and repack (my suitcase blew out all its zippers, necessitating a shopping trip...maybe I packed too much?) All three of us are still pretty worn out from the conference-- two intense days of talks and networking, and a final day (yesterday) spent touring several artist's studios. I'll be writing more about the IEA Advance itself, I think, in a future post, but for now I'll just say that I'm very glad to have attended.

We wound up yesterday at an art collector's estate north of the city, where the middle photo was taken. Imagine a large home with every room absolutely filled with an eclectic display of art--so much art that the owners do not even live in the space--it is exclusively a display area, and they were generous enough to allow us to wander through after a nice catered lunch outside under the trees. The painting in the photo was one of my favorites, by Korean artist Hyesook Park.

The photo below represents a sharp turn away from the gorgeous and refined...my friend in Palo Alto threw a party the second night I was in California for the express purpose of making Bad Art. Choosing materials from an enticing array of neon colored poster board, styrofoam, glitter, puffy paint, dyed feathers, old cardboard, fake plants, all sorts of little 3-d objects, and a more traditional selection of paints and drawing tools, we dove into several hours of creating stuff we'd never think of making in our normal "serious" studios. Would you believe I made a big-eyed kitten out of foam, surrounded by garish feathers in a styrofoam frame? It's true. It was the most fun I've had at a party in a long time. We ended the evening with a critique session, exploiting every art jargon term we could, while at times giving over to honest admiration for what had been created. Everything was done in clashing or muddy colors, cliched and poorly executed--yet all of it was spontaneous, playful and humorous.

After weeks of long studio days finishing work for my two upcoming exhibits--hours and hours spent refining, reworking and evaluating, this party came at the perfect time. Tomorrow I'll be leaving the Bay Area to follow up on those efforts, with an opening at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe on October 1, and one at Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Telluride, CO on October 7th. Shawna Moore and I will be teaching Hot Wax/Cold Wax Workshops at both locations as well...busy days ahead.

visual thinking

2010-09-19T21:35:00.000-05:00

This coming Friday(gulp) I will be speaking to about 75 people at the International Encaustic Artists Advance in San Fransisco, CA. I'm on a panel discussion entitled Visual Thinking with artists Cari Hernandez and Laura Moriarty. We'll each have a short time to discuss our work in the context of the topic, and then will respond to questions from the audience.

The following is what I wrote as an introduction to my talk (although I will attempt to ad lib rather than read this when the time comes.)

"Visual Thinking" to me is a synthesis of several states of mind I'm typically in while working in the studio. Being completely immersed in the painting is one--meditative and timeless, it seems the core of creativity. Yet it’s so seductive I can become completely absorbed in even small nuances of paint, losing the bigger picture.

The analytical and self-critiquing mode, at the other end of the subjective/objective spectrum, makes it seem as if there is an invisible viewer in the studio with me. Which is not a bad thing, as long as the critical voice does not become too overbearing or the sense of being watched lead to self-consciousness.

I conceive of visual thinking as a middle ground, a state of being that is neither total submersion in the work nor pointedly objective. Visual thinking means being intuitive, subjective, and involved--but also aware of the viewer and concerned with communication. It is visual intelligence, perceptive and attuned to nuances in the work, receptive to where things may be heading, and aware of how a viewer might respond. There is observation and response, a loop in which one creates interesting visual situations, and then responds, sometimes spontaneously and intuitively, sometimes with thought and decisiveness.

I still have some work to do to put this together with images of my work, and there will be considerably more content of course. About half of the hour allotted to our panel will be questions from the audience, and I expect it will all be very interesting.

I've also been busy finishing, photographing and wrapping paintings for my upcoming shows. The painting above, Vertical #24, 66"x12" represents a return to the series of vertical pieces I have been doing off and on for about 6 years. I enjoy the ongoing challenge of visual thinking involved in working with this unusual format.

new painting

2010-09-11T18:50:00.005-05:00

I just finished this painting, Omni, (60"x30") for my upcoming exhibit at Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Telluride, CO. It will be the biggest piece in either of my upcoming shows (the other is at Darnell Fine Art in Santa Fe, NM.) The past few weeks have been an intense push to get ready for both of these exhibits, to be shared with encaustic artist Shawna Moore. They open only a week apart--October 1 in Santa Fe and October 7 in Telluride--and somehow two dual shows equal more than one solo show, with the galleries requesting between 10 and 15 pieces. So I have almost 30 paintings to deal with--to finish, in some cases, to photograph, enter into the computer, and pack up. Since Shawna and I are also teaching a collaborative Hot wax/Cold Wax Workshop at each location, the logistics of pulling it all off are mind-boggling.

Still, to work well it is necessary to shut out all the demands and requirements of travel, exhibit and workshop planning, and simply be in the painting. As I ought to know, a painting evolves in its own time, in its own way, and generally will not cooperate if rushed or forced. I'm sure I have learned this a thousand times by now, but it can still be a challenge when under a deadline. Even though I should know better, I tend to resist making big changes when a painting for an upcoming show seems to be nearing completion...even if that is exactly what the painting needs.

The painting above presented just that situation, and I was mired in it for days. Until this past Wednesday, its largest panel was dark green/turquoise in color, with coppery highlights. It was a beautiful, complex and highly developed surface, and I kept going back into it and making it ever more rich and deep. I added the other panels, and worked it all over again and again. I longed for it to reach a happy ending, as soon as possible.

But Wednesday morning, in a moment of brutal honesty, I acknowledged the truth. This was a static and tired painting, and adding more of what was already there was not the answer. The large panel had grown dull and heavy--no matter how many times I went back in to add flecks of color--and the other panels were not sufficient to wake it up.

So--the answer was to abandon caution and go for radical change. I covered the whole surface of the large panel with light gold (metallic) paint and cold wax for luminosity, and then began working over that with a brayer and white paint/wax mixture. Immediately the surface was energized, as bits of the underlying green and copper came up through the top layer, and deliberate scratching and use of solvents revealed more in selected areas. Now instead of a large field of dark green and copper, there were small, intense focal spots, which carried considerably more weight and impact, and the whole painting seemed lighter and able to breathe. Today I finished the piece by going over certain areas again with white, and adding the kind of subtle refinements that are distinctive in my work. The three supporting panels, which had appeared a bit random in earlier incarnations, now came into their own with a bit more tweaking and color adjustment.

When I teach I often tell the students that nothing is lost by going over a dull or confused panel with a new layer of paint and wax, and much may be gained. I only wish I had a "before" photo to better illustrate the changes that this painting went through. It would be a good reminder for myself when I need it...

FAQ part 2

2010-09-03T19:32:00.003-05:00

In this post I'll continue with answers to some of the questions I am asked most often about my painting process in general and the use of cold wax medium (which I mix with my oils) in particular. If you're interested in learning more ( a lot more!)about using cold wax medium, please sign onto the Ning site that I created for discussion and sharing of ideas and questions, and posting of art work. (If you do wish to become a member of that site, please sign in using your complete name--a strategy to ward off spammers!)

FAQ:
When/why did you start using cold wax medium in your work?

I think it was around 2002 or 2003--I only remember that I bought some at the suggestion of a sales clerk at my favorite art supply store. For several years I didn't attach any special importance to the wax. I liked it better than other painting mediums I had tried, but it took awhile for me to start to discover its potential and what it could bring to my work. At some point I realized that the body, luminosity and faster drying time that it added to the oils were leading me into the more abstract direction I had been seeking in my work, and that there were countless ways to use it for complex textures and mark-making.

Even as recently as 2008, I did not think of mentioning the role that cold wax plays in my process when the video was made of me working in my studio. It was not until I was asked to teach a painting workshop that the importance of the wax some to mind. I listed in a notebook all of the techniques I had developed and realized that this was unique information around which I could create a 2 or 3 day class.

How many layers of oil paint and cold wax do you put on your paintings? (a variation on how long does it take you to make a painting?)

I can't really give a specific number of layers or amount of time spent on a painting. This is partly because I always have a lot of work in progress and cannot keep track of how any one panel develops. The answer is also impossible because I remove a lot of paint during my process. A painting with ten applications of paint layers today may have only two tomorrow, but traces of all ten will remain.

In general, I like there to be a substantial body of paint on each panel, enough so that there are complex interactions between layers and applications of color, and so that scratching and other mark-making can be impressed upon the surface.

How long does it take the oil and wax mixture to dry?

This depends on many variables, including the humidity in the air, the thickness of the cold wax/paint mixture, the surface on which it is laid down, and the color and brand of oils. So it's hard to say! But in general, the oil paint/cold wax medium mixture will start to set up and become tacky in a few hours, and will be noticeably set up overnight. Within a week or so, most paintings are dry to the touch and can be exhibited or shipped. But like any oil painting it takes more time to be completely and thoroughly dry. One advantage to using cold wax medium is that no final varnish is required--always a tricky issue with regular oil paintings when the recommended time to apply that varnish may be months after the painting has gone to a collector.

Are cold wax paintings fragile? Do you have to be careful about hanging them in direct sun or leaving them in hot places?

Cold wax paintings have a hard surface when dry--there is no trace of softness as with encaustic (hot wax) paintings. As with any oil painting, exposing to extreme conditions or hanging in direct sunlight is not the best idea, but they are not especially fragile, or sensitive to heat once dry. They do tend to be a bit brittle on the edges and corners of the panels, so care must be taken when moving them around.

Can you mix cold wax medium with anything besides oil paint? (People most often want to know if they can mix cold wax with acrylic paint.)

Cold wax medium can be mixed with many things, but water-based paints or other substances that would be adversely affected by the solvents in the medium are out. What will work: powdered pigments and metallic powders, charcoal, chalk pastels, and any other fairly fine-grained, natural substance like marble dust or sand. You can also use cold wax medium in collage, with materials like paper, photos, cloth (silk works beautifully), metal leaf, and even dried organic substances like dry leaves or pine needles.

Where do you get your panels? How do you fix them together in your multiple panel paintings? or are the panels just hung together but not actually held in place?

I purchase panels made by Ampersand Art, and prefer those in their Museum Series line, either Claybord or Gessobord. It is recommended that you use a rigid support if you plan to build up any thickness with cold wax medium, but there are plenty of other options--other companies that make panels, home-made ones, or even paper if it is eventually framed or otherwise supported.

My multiple-panel paintings are permanently bolted together on the back by carefully aligning them and drilling through their cradles (not being handy in this way myself, I have a woodworker perform this operation.)The arrangement and orientation of the various panels that make up a painting are as carefully considered as any other aspect of my work.

The painting above is Casa #2, 42"x36", oil and wax on panel, 2010.

FAQ

2010-08-28T08:32:00.006-05:00

People who are new to my work often have questions about my paintings and art life (people who know me may have them as well.) To cover some of that ground, I've decided to post a few of the questions I get most often. This first post covers FAQs of a personal (but not too personal!) nature, and next time I'll cover the more technical types of inquiries.

How do you find time to do all this stuff--painting, teaching, exhibiting, blogging, writing?

I think it works because it is all related and fits together. Painting gives me the material for all of the rest of it and of course, it's my most essential activity. I would be painting even if all the rest of it were to fall away.

There are definitely times when various tasks and commitments pile up and I feel overwhelmed, pulled in too many directions. And there are chores that get neglected like paper work, updating my website and data files. But when I look at what actually does get accomplished, it gives me confidence and momentum. And the bottom line is, I like doing all of these things and there is nothing I want to cut out.

How long have you been teaching workshops? Do you plant to teach in my area?

Teaching is a relatively new addition to the mix--my first workshop was in April of 2009. I enjoy it very much-it provides income plus many intangible benefits. I travel, I meet fascinating people, and sharing my experience and knowledge is very satisfying. I have been very gratified by the response to my classes.

But teaching is also something that I can and probably will cut back on in the future. Recently, I counted up all of the classes I've done or am scheduled to do in 2010. I came up with thirteen, including all formats and types--about twice what I anticipated when I started out. I plan a more restrained 2011, with an emphasis on classes held in my studio. (As much as I enjoy traveling, it takes a lot out of me.) I do have a few other interesting locations that I'm working on, though, and have accepted one return engagement. I intend to post my teaching schedule for next year on my website by December.

How do you find your galleries, or do they find you?

There's a different story behind each gallery that represents my work or has done so in the past. Usually I approach a gallery because of research I've done or on the suggestion of an art friend, and send a packet of photos and information. Sometimes I'm contacted by a gallery...last October I had a call from Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Colorado. I checked out their website, and looked over some material they mailed me, and was very pleased to join the gallery. Other times, when I do my research, I decide that the location or type of gallery is not what I'm looking for. I think it's important to choose representation carefully, and also to reevaluate it periodically.

Locating and approaching galleries, and evaluating how they are working once you're in them is a huge topic, and an evolving lesson. Each artist seems to have a personal and anecdotal take on it. So far my experience has usually been along conventional lines, researching galleries and locations, and sticking with established ways of submitting my work.

Do you ever do art fairs?

I've never gotten involved in the art fair circuit, although I know of many artists for whom it works well. I'd rather work with galleries because I don't enjoy marketing my work directly. But that does mean that the people who purchase and collect my work usually remain anonymous to me. Sometimes I wish I knew them a little, and could talk. That is a great advantage to selling face to face.

And finally...how can you find anything on that messy paint table?

Ha, ha, my favorite question. There actually is organization here, it's just hard to detect under the layers of crud.

old walls

2010-08-23T21:35:00.006-05:00

The photos above were taken in a limestone brewery built in the 1850s in Mineral Point, Wisconsin (the town I spent this past weekend teaching an Oil and Wax Workshop.) The building, owned by artist Diana Johnston (who participated in the workshop) and her husband Tom, is now called Brewery Pottery Studio. It serves as their home and studio, and much of the ground floor is occupied by a gallery showing the work of area artists. (The outside view is at the bottom of this post.)

On Saturday night, Diana and Tom welcomed the workshop artists to their remarkable building for dinner and a tour of various cavernous rooms not open to the public. There were several workrooms for making pottery and Diana's welded objects and clocks, a large room that served as basketball court and teenage hangout when their kids were younger, and eerie subterranean caverns cut into the earth, once used for storing beer. Spring water flowed through channels in the floor of one room on the lower level. Everywhere were 19th century doors, some with the original brewery labels such as “Bottling Cellar” intact, eroded walls with the original brick exposed, and the occasional glimpse of the old cork used as insulation. Their living quarters on the top level of the building were beautifully and charmingly adapted to the quirkiness of the building.

I had forgotten my camera that first night, but Diana graciously invited me back today to photograph and have another look around. I love the textures and patinas created over time on old walls and other surfaces--the fissures and chips of age and wear. Perhaps their poignant beauty has become more significant and symbolic to me as I myself age, and I see the effects of time passing on others around me.

While I don't ever use photographs as direct references in my work, I am pleased to have some record of these walls as inspiration.

red

2010-08-15T16:13:00.001-05:00

I know I'm not alone in finding red a difficult color to work with, at least in the color fields that typify my paintings. I've often spent many hours building a surface that seemed to have the depth and complexity I like in my work, only to see it flatten out when I come back to the studio the next day. I've developed a few strategies to help enhance the texture and contrasts in a red color field, though I do still struggle.

My usual approach to building rich surfaces is to vary a color with lighter and darker shades layered and juxtaposed with the main color I'm developing. However, red is difficult to lighten or darken--adding white leads quickly to pink, a color with a completely different emotional aspect. Adding black or another dark color usually results in mud. Without some degree of contrast though, red does not easily rise above the admittedly brilliant but flat color that comes from the tube.

Another strategy works better--using related colors for layering--oranges and purples, and also bits of contrasting blues and greens. (I often build up the initial layers in a painting I would like to steer towards red with contrasting colors.)For dark contrast I like a bit of sepia or other dark earth color.

I find it helpful to apply the paint rather roughly and allow it to dry somewhat between painting sessions. This creates surface texture and allows for more interesting scumbling and glazing opportunities. When cadmium red medium is my base,I like to scumble over it with a brighter color like cadmium red light or cadmium orange, and glaze with one of the transparent reds available--such as Sennelier Antique Red (a bit like Indian Red, but without the heavy opaque quality) and the quinacridone reds (Daniel Smith has some beautiful ones) or a dark color like asphaltum or sepia.

Powdered pigment, powdered graphite or charcoal brayered into the surface also create texture and contrast. But no matter what approaches I use, in every red painting I've done, working and working the surface seems to be the only way to develop richness and luminosity.

I also find red paintings hard to photograph...the one above, Red Cliff #3, 54"x30" is a bit less orange than it appears here. It is a commissioned painting that I delivered a couple of weeks ago to my gallery in Santa Fe, Darnell Fine Art.

another road trip

2010-08-11T17:23:00.007-05:00

I got home last night from two weeks on the road in NM and Colorado, during which I taught one private and one group workshop, and delivered work to my Santa Fe gallery. Today is the stage I call "re-entry" when I'm road-weary, exhausted in body and mind--and bewildered by the sheer number of things to unpack, emails to catch up on, huge weeds in the garden and spiders reproducing in the corners of the ceiling. (Sorry, arachnophobes...it's country life.)

Rather than forcing my brain into thoughtful blogging mode, I'm just going to post a few photos from my recent workshop at KC Willis Gallery and Studio in Longmont, CO. This three day workshop was attended by seven very accomplished and involved artists, and was one of the most interactive groups I have taught. We had some great discussions and some good laughs, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable time--with many impressive paintings begun.

As usual when cold wax artists gather, there were new ideas contributed for tools, techniques and sources for materials. The photo below shows a selection of painting tools that Nancy Green brought along--she has been working with cold wax for awhile now and used all of these for creating interesting textures.

on the road

2010-08-01T22:59:00.002-05:00

This is just a quick post to say that I am on the road, currently in Santa Fe. I have had very little computer time and even less to reflect and process, which for me are necessary preludes to blogging. I'm just noting here my intention to post something longer, with a photo, soon--but it may be a week or more before that happens. A little blogging break, I guess.

process

2010-07-23T13:30:00.002-05:00

I wrote the following as a description of what I teach during my Oil and Wax Workshops, but it's also about my own work:

This is a process-oriented approach to painting, ultimately a balance between spontaneity and control-- though the control is something that comes with practice and experience.... the basic idea is to observe and react to what develops in front of you...as the painting evolves, the best attitude is to be selective in what to emphasize and pull out for the final version, while at the same time, maintain an attitude of non-attachment and free experimentation. With these techniques, changes can be made rapidly...and while at times your work may seem to go from good to bad, nothing is really lost, and change is always possible.

Since I've been working with various cold wax and oil techniques for quite a few years now, I feel I've gained a very satisfying degree of control over the painting, but it can still be a wild ride with plenty of surprises--which keeps things interesting. The painting above, Coiled (24"x18" oil and wax on panel) is a case in point. I had completely covered the surface of the panel in sepia (perhaps in frustration--I don't remember now.) When I went back into it with a solvent-soaked brush and squeegee, I was excited to see the multiple layers of pattern and color that emerged. (The layers below had also been built up with layers of solid color cut through with solvents.) A bit of selective tweaking of the surface, in order to create some variation in its thickness, and some additional scratching completed the painting.

studio wall

2010-07-17T21:12:00.003-05:00

This photo shows a bit of my studio wall with some mixed media on paper work tacked up. I took it simply to document the larger painting, and loaded it into my editing program intending to crop the background and save that image. But the visual impact of this unedited version struck me. The drips and push pins on the wall have their own parts to play in the composition, as does the smaller strip of paper--something I'd cropped from a larger painting and was playing around with as a collage element. This bit of well-used wall has an unexpected beauty and rightness about it, so easy to overlook when focused on some task or idea.

During last weekend's studio workshop, we talked several times about the beauty to be found in old walls, sidewalks, and time-worn objects, and how once you begin to focus on them, to "see" them, a world of textural and color possibilities opens up. We all seemed drawn to the intricate textures and patinas that evolve over time on these kinds of surfaces that collect bits of nature and the scuffs and dents of human use.

I like the fact that the processes that I use in my work, both in cold wax and oil, and in mixed media (as shown here) are in some ways congruent with these natural process of accumulation and weathering. Layers are built up and then eroded or scratched into, and a variety of marks and stains made in passing contribute to the richness of the surface. Of course, I also edit and give careful thought to composition and other elements of art when I work--thus steering the work in certain directions, while much of the basic texture retains its random feel. In the photo, I like the juxtaposition of the paintings with the wall that has similarly evolved.

studio workshop and a day of mixed media

2010-07-13T11:01:00.005-05:00

I just finished an Oil and Wax studio workshop with the group above--some of the most intensely focused artists I have worked with to date. Quiet, serious concentration on painting prevailed throughout the three days--plus good discussions and many interesting questions raised. Of course we had our share of fun and laughter, too! Thanks Caron, Jim, Eduardo and Barb for your wholehearted plunge into the cold wax and oil process.

Brazilian artist Eduardo Recife had arranged awhile back for an additional workshop day in order to explore my use of mixed media on paper. He had seen some of the paintings on my website that I did with mixed media during my 2008 residency at the Centre D'Art I Natura in Catalonia, Spain, and was curious about my methods. (My project for that residency was to use mixed media, largely unfamiliar to me at the time.)

Though willing to oblige him, I was feeling a bit rusty with my mixed media supplies. So last week I brought them all out, including a few new things I purchased (it always helps to have new toys!) I started several paintings in order to reacquaint myself with the possibilities and to explore some new ideas. My materials for mixed media work include watercolors (which I use full strength); various acrylic mediums; chalk pastels in stick and pan form; powdered charcoal, graphite and pigments; acrylic paints in tubes and liquid form; and assorted colored pencils and crayons, mostly water-soluble types. I keep a variety of surfaces on hand for these including Ampersand Claybord, watercolor paper, and paper made for mixed media. I use the same tools as I do in my cold wax and oil paintings--brayers, squeegees, palette knives and the occasional brush, and many of the same techniques and approaches.

My approach is all-out experimentation, using any and every combination or technique that comes to mind, gradually building up the painting surface. I also selectively dissolve back through the layers with rubbing alcohol or water (this effect is more subtle than the similar process I use with solvents on my oil and wax paintings) and scratch and scrape away at the surface.

I did not feel that I "taught" in yesterday's studio session as much as simply painted, along with some commentary--my mixed media process is far less defined in my mind than is my oil and wax approach and I do not feel that I can explain it in a logical sequence. However this approach seemed fine with Eduardo, who went back and forth between watching and working on his own paintings. For myself, I thoroughly enjoyed the excuse to get back into this mode of painting. I've worked at it sporadically off and on since my time in Spain, but yesterday I felt as fully engaged as I had during my residency--a great feeling.

Below is one of the paintings I did yesterday (Bronze, 10"x8" mixed media on paper.)

early influences

2010-07-04T09:18:00.005-05:00

Recently, artist and blogger Lynette Haggard asked me some questions about myself and my work for an upcoming post on her site. One of the things she wanted to know was a bit about early influences, and I'm copying some of what I wrote to her below. Interesting timing because I have just returned from a trip in North and South Carolina, and during my trip I had dinner with my 8th grade art teacher, Penny Russell, who is mentioned in the excerpt for Lynette's post.

Her daughter was one of my best friends in high school, and so besides what I learned in class, I also was privy to Mrs. Russell's "real" life at home. I often saw her latest work when I visited the house, and observed the way that various events in her life and in the world influenced her imagery. This was a revelation--the intersection of art and life. I recall a painting she made in response to the Birmingham church bombing of 1963 in which 4 little girls were killed...I realized that art could be about something outside one's own experience, and could express emotions of outrage and sadness. Of course, I did know this in an academic sense--I'd seen reproductions of Picasso's Guernica for example, but observing this in the work of someone I knew had a more personal effect.

She could also be quite experimental in her techniques--for example I recall a series of drawings made from gravestone rubbings. Another revelation to me, that 2-D art was not just painting and drawing! (I was also rather impressed that she would venture into cemeteries with her art supplies.) And although much of her work was representational, she also made small paintings using a kind of monoprint process, which she viewed as abstracted landscapes, finding and cropping out evocative imagery within the somewhat random process of making the print. I tried some of these myself, and it was my first exposure to creating abstraction with an emphasis on process.

But perhaps what I remember best about those early times at her home was the absolute joy she took in making art. She would show me her work with an attitude of joy and enthusiasm that was infectious.

Below, an excerpt from my answer to Lynette about my early life and influences through young adulthood:

I grew up in many areas of the country, because my father's job was to manage large construction projects like tunnels and dams--things that take only a year or two to complete. I identified myself as an artist from an early age, always making things and drawing. Although neither of my parents were artistic or knowledgeable about art, they supported my interest, and supplied me with materials and occasional Saturday art classes. It's probably a bit unusual that they continued to be in favor of my art ambitions past childhood and on through college and graduate school, and for all of that I'm very grateful. Once they took me to visit the elderly sculptor Genevieve Hamlin, who was a friend of my grandmother's. I was about 12, and was awed by my glimpse of her life. Here was a professional artist, serious, focused. She looked at some drawings of mine and gave me an honest critique, then let me ride her horse. It was a magical day.

A couple of art teachers also inspired me early on. One, who taught me in 8th grade, was the first to engage my imagination through abstraction. We're still in touch and I saw her just recently. Another teacher in high school was a role model for professionalism, with her serious demeanor when discussing student work, and high expectations. Later in college, I was inspired by a number of instructors, including a woman with a small child, who demonstrated to me that family life as an artist was possible (I thought of her often when my 2 sons were little.) I had excellent painting and art history instructors in both college (University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, BFA in 1982) and in graduate school (Arizona State University, MFA, 1985.)

The painting above is Gesture #2, 12"x12."

workshop tips

2010-06-28T12:17:00.011-05:00

I'm writing this along the way home from my two teaching gigs in the Carolinas, feeling tired but pleased with the whole experience. (I'm also really eager to get back home to my own studio, but that will happen soon enough.) With every class, I learn more about how to teach, and how to handle the business end of giving workshops. And because everyone is experimenting, making discoveries and sharing the results during class time, each group of students adds to the growing pool of information and techniques. The workshops are definitely "works in progress" because each one results in an accumulation of notes, ideas and revisions.

I've also noticed over time that certain issues come up over and over, as students encounter new information and ways of working, and sometimes find themselves far out of their comfort zones. I experienced some of these issues myself when I took a couple of encaustic workshops earlier this year--I found out what it's like to be in a room of strangers trying my hand at something unfamiliar and difficult. Kind of humbling!! I have put together a few tips to keep in mind for getting the most out of one of my workshops:

**Have patience with yourself--it takes a long time to learn to learn use cold wax in a way that fits your own style and expressive purposes. I've been at it for about 7 years, and only on the last few have I felt a real sense of mastery with the medium.

**Let go of expectations, including that of having finished paintings at the end of the workshop. Although some people will end up with a few they are happy with, it's fine to come away with just a start. The short class length means that you're working with panels that are only semi-dry, and although there are plenty of ways to work with these, more options will open up once you're back in your own studio.

**The techniques that I teach will lead to some beautiful and seductive passages, and these can occur early on. But please don't stop too soon, just enjoy the passing scenery. Allow those happy accidents to happen--that's how you explore possibilities--and then move on. Once there's a good base of color and texture built up, you can start to select areas to develop and retain. Nothing is really lost, because the more layers underneath the richer the final result will be.

**Don't worry if you create a muddy mess. We all do it. One of the beauties of using cold wax medium is that you can change the surface very quickly and very radically by applying another layer of paint.

**Although working in a group can be difficult when you're used to your own studio can be hard, having all those studio mates also means lots of brains to pick. It's good to be generous and open--new ideas for using wax, technical information, new brands of paint and colors to try, titles of books and names of artists, gallery leads and art biz resources are all commonly shared and discussed in the group setting.

**Sometimes people are very eager to know about a particular technique or aspect of using cold wax, and you're always free to experiment and move ahead at your own pace. However, my demos and explanations follow what I think of as a logical progression, so please be patient and I will get to everything I can by the end of the class. There are no rules for a particular sequence to follow, but at least for the duration of the class it is helpful to follow along as the information is presented.

**The process is one that balances intuition with intention. Avoid preconceived ideas, and allow the paint to lead you through the initial stages of the work. Evolved areas generally have the most beauty and mystery. As you enter the final stages of the work, be a ruthless editor and you will end up with a more coherent painting.

the workshop experience

2010-06-22T08:25:00.006-05:00

In between two Oil and Wax weekend workshops in the Carolinas, I'm reflecting on what goes on in these classes, and what the experience is like for those who attend. The brief class descriptions and the promotional information put out by various venues where I teach really do not tell the story. The truth is that the workshops tend to be quite intense--for some people even "life-changing" (as I have been told more than once.) Though I can also honestly describe them as "fun" (which everyone seems to recognize as good marketing,) "fun" is really too superficial a description for what goes on. I think most people find fun in the camaraderie of the class, because in every workshop so far the atmosphere has been friendly and warm, with lots of laughter and open exchange of ideas. On the other hand, there tends to be only a limited amount of chit-chat, and long periods of silence in which people work with serious concentration. Everyone seems to recognize that there is serious work to be done and a lot of ground to cover.

I think that "joy" probably applies to most people's experience more than "fun" when it comes to actually working with the cold wax medium. Mixing wax in with oils adds a freedom and expressiveness to the painting experience that many people say they have been seeking, and that can be a deeply satisfying discovery. Although the first day of a workshop can be frustrating, by the end of the class a lot of people say they are hooked on using cold wax. Some leave unsure about how they will carry on with using it in their work, but from emails and posts on my Oil and Wax discussion site I know that lots of them do figure it out.

I've been listening to what people say about their experience in my workshops, from beginners to very experienced artists. I hear that in the course of the 2 or 3 days, they have experienced frustration, fatigue, and confusion...but also tremendous excitement, a rush of ideas, pride in what they have done, and yes, joy and pleasure. I'm grateful and somewhat amazed that so many are willing to take this sometimes wild ride (although I am sure there are some that did not realize quite what they were in for!) At the core is a desire to grow and push forward, and it is this energy that drives every class and my own pleasure in teaching.

What does it take (besides the obvious investment of time and money)to get the most out of an Oil and Wax Workshop? In my next post I'll have a few thoughts about that, along with a photo or two from the workshop that I just finished teaching in Spartanburg, SC.

ups and downs

2010-06-13T15:53:00.007-05:00

This is Alto, (54"x30" oil on panel. I am shipping it tomorrow to Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Telluride, CO, because they asked for a large painting. That sounds straightforward, doesn't it? But of course there is always more to a painting than responding to a request, as if it were a simple order to fill. In fact this painting was quite a struggle, made more intense by my goal to have it done before leaving on a long road trip on Tuesday.

I started with the large panel, which had a few payers of paint already, and over several days, I brought it to an interesting point of textural and color complexity. Then I worked with the upper two panels for contrast. A few more days along and I considered it quite a nice painting, and had the bolts put in, and left it sitting to one side of the studio for a few more days. This was a turning point--as described in my last blog post, I allow a few days to make sure the painting holds up--studying it head on as well as glancing at it more peripherally. It became clear to me that as it was, the colors were too bland and light--the painting lacked depth and richness. It was still, on some level, a very nice painting--it had an airy, almost lyrical feeling. But it did not stir me or hold my interest. It lacked presence, that elusive quality that tells me it is finished.

So, I went back into it one morning, and by the time I left the studio that night, I had on my hands a very chaotic, ugly painting. At three different times during the day it had seemed close to resolution, along three very different paths. But none satisfied me enough to hang onto, and I kept going back in and making more changes.

Let me say that my state of mind was not calm or pleased that evening. I thought I had wrecked something that was really lovely in its own way. This was Wednesday of last week, and I had planned to ship the painting Friday. I tossed and turned that night, and finally realized that if I didn't get the painting shipped before the trip, it was not the end of the world. It is far more important to be satisfied with the painting, and know that the process has played itself out, in its own time.

The next morning, in a much more calm and focused state of mind, I simply washed the whole painting down with solvent. And, something magical emerged--a very complex, rough texture that was close to the original painting (at the point I first considered it done)--but now with a much more developed surface. The solvent leaves traces behind, so washing back to the original painting meant that, while mostly still there, it was newly enhanced and re-defined.

I then began to apply veils of thin color, to scrape some areas and build up others, and make other subtle changes. Gradually the painting that is pictured here emerged. Once I had found my way with the main panel, the top two panels called out for more development too. My final move was the delicate forms drawn on the upper panel. (It's hard to see the detail in this small image--clicking on the photo will go to a somewhat larger picture.) The end of the story is that by Friday morning, the painting was done--and because the cold wax medium leads to quick drying time, I will still be able to get the painting on its way before we head out on Tuesday.

This story seems to have a lesson at its core. In stepping out of my impatience to finish--accepting that the painting needed to unfold in its own way--resolution occurred in a graceful and completely satisfying way. Not that I think I have learned the lesson and will be forever enlightened! No, I humbly acknowledge that I have been through it all before and undoubtedly will do so again. And I bet a lot of you know exactly what I'm talking about.

PS: Regarding the trip mentioned above--I will be on the road teaching two workshops in the Carolinas, this coming weekend and the one following. I believe there is one spot left in each, so see my website for details and to sign on--there is still time. I am looking forward to the whole trip, which will include a little down time. We're leaving home and studio in the care of our house sitter. (He is also the plumber--a very nice combination, since our bathroom is being remodeled while we are gone!)

is it finished?

2010-06-06T17:29:00.003-05:00

I'm often asked "how do you know when a painting is finished?" It's a good question since I don't work towards a preconceived endpoint, and adding more layers of color and texture usually just increases the depth and beauty of the surface. Also, since my working methods allow for rapid changes in color and format, a new idea or technique can spark a desire to rework everything in sight--meaning that big changes can happen fast. Yet in spite of this fluidity, I do get a lot of paintings out of the studio, and each one I send off is "finished."

So how do I decide to stop working on a painting, and bring it to a conclusion? Deadlines and external demands play a part, as well as a sense that I've gotten what I need from the piece, and it needs to either be done or become something totally different.

A prerequisite for the final stages is a certain depth and complexity of surface that makes the work my own--this is something that I recognize intuitively. Once I have that, entering the home stretch is usually a conscious decision, though actually finishing can take only a few hours or many days. (I tend to think I am closer to being done than turns out to be the case...as always in the painting process, a minor change can lead into many more.)

Wrapping things up involves some self-critiquing--for example I look for the sources of tension or focal areas in the painting, and push and pull if one is not clearly dominant. (At least in my particular style, this makes for a stronger painting.) I consider whether the painting is strong from a distance as well as from close up, and in a multiple panel work, I spend some time making sure the arrangement of panels is my favorite.

The last stages of a painting amount to an editing process. I assess the amount of visual information presented and whether it is too much or too little (I actually do this more intuitively than that sounds, but I'm just trying to explain the process.) As in editing writing, it is all about fine tuning and subtle changes. I love this stage when every small tweak makes a real difference.

Finally, I set the painting aside, panels clamped together as needed, for a few days. I look it over with fresh eyes as I come into the studio, and glance at it once in awhile throughout the day. If it passes all this scrutiny, and if it continues to excite and please me on a gut level, I'm done.

A completed painting has what I think of as a personality--a presence that is hard to define, complex, yet connected and whole. It seems outside of myself, yet I recognize it as part of me, someone or something I know.

It's kind of funny, but in spite of all my efforts to make something exactly right, I recognize a certain arbitrary aspect to the process. There are so many decisions along the way that could have gone one way or another, right up to the very end. Seen a month earlier, a month later, a year later, the same painting would look different to me, and I might not think it done at all. Most of my paintings do hold up over time, though--and some even get better. But there will always be some that don't, that make me cringe and wonder what I was thinking. (If a "finished" painting is a snapshot of the artist on his or her journey...not all will be flattering.) Please excuse me for repeating my mantra one more time--but being able to call a painting "done" may be the ultimate move in Trust in the Process, and includes the acceptance of an occasional misjudgment.

(The painting above, Green Alchemy, 14"x 11" is finished.)

transitions

2010-05-29T10:39:00.011-05:00

Activities in the studio for the past few weeks: sorting, stacking, configuring, packing, getting ready to ship, and painting, painting, painting. With several shows coming up and a busy summer/fall of travel and workshops looming, I'm trying to sort out the business end of things. I want to get a handle on which paintings are for upcoming exhibits, which can be sent out now, which should be earmarked for this gallery or that. So I make lists and piles, but so far only a few firm decisions, and this is all kind of stressful. I certainly don't hate the business part of what I do, in fact I've learned to like it for the most part...but unlike painting, it often lacks a certain satisfying flow.

I'm always happier thinking about the work for its own sake, rather than where it will end up. And right now, there's a lot of diversity in my work that is interesting to me. For example, at the same time that I've been allowing some fairly recognizable imagery (mostly botanical) into my work, I'm also painting some of my most purely abstract paintings yet--simple color fields with solvent marks and scratches. I also have paintings going that feature primarily soft, atmospheric color fields as well as paintings with very bold contrast in both color/value and geometric division. I'm really enjoying the way these various paths are diverging and intersecting. It seems like a time of transition, but fortunately not the awkward kind--instead, various directions and impulses are feeding off one another and occasionally working all together in one composition.

Just to add to the mix--at the same time that I'm exploring a horizontal format in some paintings, I have resurrected the Vertical (or Column) Series which has been dormant for the past year or two. I painted a lot of these up until about 2008, then moved away from them--but am now seeing new possibilities, incorporating some of the techniques I've been working on with lines and interior divisions within the panels. Both formats, the emphatically horizontal and vertical, are older ideas that now seem fresh again.

One of the benefits of writing/blogging is that it often brings clarity to an issue. OK, now I see it--no wonder I'm feeling confused about galleries and shows and whatnot. There is so much unfolding right now in the work itself that I must need to turn off the art biz brain and just paint. Let's see if "trust in the process"-that great mantra--can apply to the whole picture--not just the art itself but the art business too. I expect that things will fall into place if I quit insisting that they have to do so right now!

The photos above and below are a couple of studio shots that may provide a glimpse into what I'm talking about, though at the distance they are taken, much is lost. I include them mainly to get a sense of my environment, of things placed around, under consideration.

new painting

2010-05-23T17:36:00.002-05:00

The very first multiple-panel painting that I did, back in 2003, was a horizontal arrangement of five square panels. In the year that followed, my work gradually shifted into mostly vertical formats, and within another year or so I completely abandoned horizontal work. I think this strong preference for verticality has been a way into abstraction for me, removed as it is from traditional landscape/horizontal interpretations. I love vertical work for its own sake too--for its associations with architecture, and for its somewhat unexpected presence when pushed to extremes (as in my Column series.)

So I'm not abandoning the tall and narrow (or the square, with its own appealing attributes...)but in the past few months I've found myself working with side by side panels--in a few paintings anyway. And it seems a little ironic that given my original urge to distance myself from landscape, these paintings all have linear elements suggesting tree trunks and other plant life. I posted a few weeks ago about botanical imagery emerging in recent work, and the discussion that followed has helped this direction to sink in and feel rightly "mine."

The creative process always seems to be looping back on itself...but we emerge from each round in a new place. Perhaps face to face with an older idea, but now it exists in a new context, with new possibilities. It occurs to me that revisiting and revitalizing older ideas may be the most authentic expressions, since each of us seems to gravitate towards certain themes in our lifetime of work, and these become richer, more individualized and more resonant with layers of experience.

(The painting above is as yet untitled, 60"x24' oil and wax on panel.)

workshop weekend

2010-05-17T20:49:00.003-05:00

Time for blogging escaped me this past week--I was so busy getting ready for my first extended Oil and Wax Workshop in my studio, which meant a lot of cleaning and organizing--then teaching for three days on the weekend. Everything went very well except for one slight glitch...I came down with a bad sinus infection which wiped out my energy and clogged up my vocal chords. But the show went on, thanks to the gracious attitude of the participants, who urged me to take needed breaks and helped in various ways to keep things moving. And at the end of the day, especially with feeling less than 100%, I was grateful to be in my own bed.

Although I go through the same basic material about techniques for using cold wax medium in each workshop, each class is unique. I notice that certain things I say in the course of teaching tend to strike a chord and become a catch phrase for the weekend (for this group it was "knock it back"...referring to the way I like to bury imagery and technique under layers.) Often someone will bring in ideas related to a different area of expertise that are a good fit for using with cold wax--in this class, one of the artists is well versed in making textural effects in watercolor, and suggested some new uses for cheesecloth and solvents. Each group mentions favorite books, artists, galleries and museums in the course of conversation, adding to my own general knowledge which I can pass along to other classes. I also enjoy the fact that although people come in with very different levels of experience and background in the art world, this seems to lead to generous sharing of ideas and feedback rather than creating any rift or division in the class.

Without exception I have had cohesive groups with wonderful energy and enthusiasm, lots of laughter and interaction, along with long stretches of serious concentration. But each group has its own dynamic and particular direction, and each group contributes to the overall knowledge and growing enthusiasm for using cold wax medium. I find special enjoyment in teaching in my own studio, where I can grab a book off the shelf or pull out an older painting to illustrate something I am talking about. But teaching in other venues also offers the stimulation of a new area and generally a more spacious set-up than my own studio. The larger groups possible in these bigger spaces have their own dynamic.

This workshop has kicked off the busy and exciting summer and fall season of teaching ahead. For details on upcoming workshops--most of which I will teach away from home--please visit my website.

thoughts on imagery

2010-05-09T21:36:00.002-05:00

An e-pen pal, Nancy Green, has started a new blog that's off to a very good start, with--among other topics--ruminations about moving away from representational landscape images into abstraction. In most recent post, she links to some earlier blog posts of mine about the topic, which made me realize how back and forth I have been over the years in my inclusion of identifiable imagery.

For the past few years, my work has been mostly color fields with subtle variations. Now I find things once again moving toward bolder activation of the surface, which sometimes includes recognizable imagery. For example, lately I've been playing a lot with lines--made with brushes, paint sticks, scratching sticks and solvents. Making lines seems to trigger an impulse to draw "things." These tend to be botanical in flavor--grasses, twigs, flowers--with some geometric references to buildings, stairs, and ladders. Sometimes, though I just "scribble," and make gestural lines that resemble handwriting, plus some simple shapes and curves.

When imagery does appear, I would say it grows out of the painting process in the same way that other elements do, like color and texture, or non-representational lines. In each case, I try to find what the painting needs as it evolves, rather than beginning with a plan to include (or avoid) an image.

Right now in my studio are quite a few paintings with (for me) bold lines, some of which are suggestive of imagery such as trees and other plants. I've been enjoying painting them, but I'm not sure if they are what I want...questions present themselves about the amount of attention that the eye and mind give to identifiable objects.

The painting above is actually from a few months ago, and more subtle than the very latest paintings. (The ones I'm not showing. Yet.) This one is Winter Garden, 30"x34".

workshop biz

2010-05-06T18:45:00.003-05:00

I have spent almost the entire day at the computer doing art-related business--my few hours in the studio I devoted to cleaning up in preparation for an upcoming workshop, so, not exactly creative time. You can probably guess this is not my favorite kind of day. But I had let business things pile up, and become overwhelming and stressful. The best solution seemed to be to spend an entire day dealing with them--I'm not done of course, but did make a satisfying dent.

If you're wondering, just what IS all of this art business...a great deal of it has to do with teaching workshops. I've been planning for some time to make a general post about art business, but quickly realized as I started writing that workshops have come to completely dominate my non-studio time. The actual teaching part is very enjoyable and rewarding--so much so that I hardly feel justified in charging anyone--we're just having an art party! But in the months and weeks leading up to a class I definitely earn my fees. There is so much to deal with--innumerable emails and calls with venues and contact people, efforts on many fronts to spread the word about my classes, website information to update, print publicity to design and/or distribute, donations of sample supplies to request, my own supplies to purchase, travel plans to make and schedules to coordinate. For classes held in my own studio things are somewhat easier. But many of the above jobs still need to be done, and in addition there is organizing and cleaning, and figuring out food. The most enjoyable task is always that of communicating with people interested in taking a workshop from me-that brings a flavor of actual teaching, which is a pleasure.

To get a sense of my life right now, take that list above and multiply it by 9--the number of workshops I have coming up in the next 6 months. There's some overlap for sure...a blanket request for donated materials can be made for everything on the calendar, for example. It's also a huge help when someone volunteers to help coordinate things, as Carol Icard has done for me for my workshops in the Carolinas in June. But for the most part, each workshop has to be treated individually, as its own project.

I want to offer a few tips and hints I've learned over the past year or so about teaching workshops for anyone who is contemplating this life. I haven't come across very much information about this aspect of art business via the usual channels, and have learned it mostly by experience and talking to other people in the field. I'm convinced that although the work load can get a bit crazy at times, teaching workshops is a great job and very rewarding. I treasure the experience of meeting artists from around the country and becoming immersed in art-making with them for days on end. I learn so much and always come away feeling stimulated and personally appreciated, which feels good of course!

Clearly I've started this post with one big "what not to do." Don't let business tasks pile up. I mean literally, in terms of stacks of papers, and also electronically, with that dreaded "messy in-box." I like to use the little red flags that Yahoo accounts have for important emails (I assume other types have something similar) but when there are 20 or 30 red-flagged items they lose their impact and sense of urgency. Obviously I am not one to lecture here, but..I do try. I try to spend a couple of hours a day doing business chores. Often this is not enough, but it's enough for me! (It is about all I can stand on a regular basis.)

Here are a few other tips:
Deposits from students, and contracts with venues are necessary (I learned both of these the hard way.) Nail down in writing (email is fine) all details no matter how tedious they may seem--anything that if misunderstood will cause problems. These include what you will be paid (a big one!), the supplies if any the venue will supply, making sure the physical set-up is adequate, the minimum and maximum number of students, the time frame for registration. If you will be flying to the venue, you need a cut-off date for registration that allows you to either cancel or buy your plane ticket depending on whether you've got the minimum number of students.

Designated teaching and demo supplies are a good idea and save a lot of time (this may seem obvious, but until this particular light bulb clicked on, I was running around before every workshop collecting stuff off my painting tables.) Stockpile paint and other supplies when they are discounted and put them aside on the Designated Supplies shelf. I am currently working on getting duplicates for everything I use and take to workshops.

Realize the limitations of your student supply list, and figure out how to cover any lapses. My list is fairly open-ended because it includes choices for people who are on a budget or aren't sure how deeply they want to dive into cold wax painting. But because I don't have a clear cut, "Buy This!!" kind of list, and because there are a lot of choices available, sometimes people show up with inadequate supplies. And not every venue is conveniently located next to an art supply store, as was my very first workshop at Rochester Art Supply. (I recall this one fondly, and how fortunate it was that people could just run up a tab in the shop...the first version of my supply list needed a wee bit of fine-tuning.) So, I've learned to bring extras of panels and some of the more specialized supplies that I sell at cost. This doesn't work when I fly to a workshop, but otherwise seems to provide a welcome cushion.

Ask for donations form art supply manufacturers. I've been pleasantly surprised to realize how willing--eager even!--the people who make paint, panels, and other supplies are to provide you with freebies for your students, and for your in-class demos. Actually until recently I hadn't asked more than a couple of places for donations, but now I see how it works, and will be expanding my requests. Everybody wins--students save money, you have more stuff to offer, and the companies gain new customers.

Make the effort to communicate with your students prior to the class. When someone else is handling registration, ask for the email list of people who have signed up, and send out a welcome email a few weeks ahead. This gets everyone thinking about what's ahead and often prompts questions about materials to purchase. You can arrive at the workshop feeling a bit more connected to the participants, and they to you.

During the class, be flexible, listen carefully, stay loose, have fun. I have a plan but it's mainly a reference. I check it over a few times during the day to make sure I'm hitting the main things, but I don't get too compulsive about it. I try to keep a good rhythm going, keeping talk and demos fairly short, and providing lots of work time. I work on my own paintings during the work time, which I gather is somewhat unusual, but the students seem to appreciate seeing my work develop over the 2 or 3 days. I make sure they know I am always approachable, and break frequently to walk around and see who might need help.

Plan for pre-workshop prep time and post-workshop exhaustion. Organizing and packing for a workshop, traveling to and from, and regaining energy afterward take a toll on time and energy.

These are the tips that come to mind--surely I am forgetting some, and perhaps others can contribute a few. I am fairly new at all of this and very interested in other people's experiences.

(The painting above is Interior #5, 30"x30" oil and wax on panel.)