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Turbulent Times

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Home at last. We flew out of Milwaukee this morning to Phoenix, and then on to San Diego. A very long week away. I love seeing my family , but I missed my life at home. I had grand plans to come home and work. I figured that since we got in at 12:20 I’d have all the time in the world to work this afternoon. We left rainy Milwaukee and ended up in beautiful, sunny San Diego. There was no other choice than to head out to one of the cafes in Little Italy, sit outside with our friend Lori, who had been kind enough to pick us up, and share a meal and a bottle of wine. We had a lovely time, talked to our waitress Tatiana, a charming girl from Italy, who happened to be working her last table before leaving for her vacation in Honduras. Between the Xanax for flying earlier in the day, and two glasses of wine, I was too tired to produce anything by the time I got home. Fortunately I had painted on the plane, unfortunately I was painting during turbulence. Watercolors and turbulence don’t always mix. Actually painting and flying don’t necessarily belong together. I used the cap off my water bottle for my water cup, and tried to balance it, my watercolors and paper all on that little tray, and then turbulence. Really? But I persevered and created a little piece that I’ll post tonight. I’m tired from my day of travel, and writing a very short blog tonight.

Sunflowers and lemons in watercolor.photo

 

One More For The Road

Headed home tomorrow and not a moment too soon. As I felt the tug of war in my heart this week between Chicago and Temecula, I was also feeling something else…unwell. I believe the scales are tipping in favor of Temecula, or Southern California in general. As much as I love Chicago, it doesn’t always love me. I had so many respiratory infections when I lived here that I could just call my doc, tell him it was that time of year again, and he would prescribe medicine via the phone. We arrived a week ago today, by Monday I wasn’t feeling great, by Thursday I thought I had dodged a bullet, but today I feel like I’m one day away from a respiratory infection once again. I actually left Chicago with Bronchitis, the first person I met when I moved to Temecula was my pharmacist, Darryl. We don’t see each other as often as we used to, and although he is a lovely person, I wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t have to see him for a while. So tonight I’ll be making it short.

While I was visiting my Dad I had the opportunity of going through old photo albums. I love old family photos. I’ve used some of them in art work, and I have a very special project in mind for my Dad using some photos I took this time. I’ve actually had a great deal of luck photographing the photos. I don’t need the originals. My phone takes great pics and I spent a day taking photos of some of the pictures I wanted. When I was thinking about what I might want to paint today, I glanced through all the photos on my phone for inspiration. I came across a photo of my cousin Gavin. It is a photo taken in Ireland, where he lives, and it is when he was a child. I loved the expression on his face in the picture. Watercolor once again.image

Mysterious Inspiration

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Sometimes as an artist, for inexplicable reasons I see something that appeals to me, a cloud (don’t worry, not that again), a landscape, a face, a scene, that calls to me. Something that leaves me with the overwhelming urge to paint. There are times when even I am puzzled at the what and whys of my choices. The painting I did today falls under the mysterious inspiration category. I wrote a couple of days ago about being back in Chicago, in the heart of the city. The diversity of the people and places. As we sat at a red light I glanced out the window and saw a man sitting waiting for the bus. It was one of those moments that I felt the urge to capture. Maybe it’s the body position, or the way the light and shadow bounce off the figure. Or it could just be human curiosity. I’ve mentioned in a previous blog my sister, Colleen. I’ve also written about how funny she is. My Mom never learned how to drive. As kids we walked, rode in cabs, or most of the time, we took the bus. As we would sit on the bus, Colleen would look around the bus and choose someone to talk about. She would say things like, “See that lady, she had a fight with her husband this morning, and now she has to take the bus.” Or it might be, “That guy doesn’t like his family, he moved out of their house.” Or possibly, “That lady dyes her hair.” My poor Mother would be diving on her to try to get her to stop talking, sometimes really loud. I think what it inspired in me was a curiosity about who those people really were, and where they were going. I love Hopper’s Nighthawks, and I think it inspires that curiosity as well. I look at that painting and wonder about the patrons of that diner, who they were, and why they seem so lonely. I’ve also mentioned that I am a solitary figure myself, and maybe that’s the draw. My subject was the man at the bus stop, sitting in the rain with an empty shopping cart. I wondered about who he is, and where he was going, and what would eventually be in that cart. And as always, when I see someone who is alone, I worry for them and hope that it is only a temporary state.

Watercolor of a solitary man.image

Torn Between Two Loves

I was finally able to grab that elusive moment to paint this evening. We have spent most of this week holed up in my Dad’s house. Today we ventured into our old neighborhood after dropping my Dad off with his friends, and I came away inspired. I wrote the other night about Temecula, and missing home.  So here’s where I change my mind. I grew up in the heart of the city, and there is something about being in the thick of it once again that makes me feel alive. Chicago is such a mixed bag of nationalities, we were driving down Lawrence Avenue today past the Greek bakery across from the Vietnamese bakery, having just dropped my Dad off at the Irish Heritage Center, at every bus stop there are people of obvious racial or national diversity. I absolutely love that. We drove by a home that I owned at one time, it’s for sale, and I’d buy it back tomorrow. The neighborhood has only gotten better since I left. We drove down residential streets where wild flower gardens were lush with overgrowth, no home owners association to tell the home owner that their aesthetic doesn’t “fit in”. Streets so narrow that one car has to pull over to let the other pass, and the sound of the El train rumbling from the next block. I love being in the rush of people, catching snippets of passing conversations, feeling part of the community. I have to admit it, I’m really torn between Temecula and Chicago, and then there is Paris….life is just too short, and costs too much! The area in Chicago that we were in today is a neighborhood named Lincoln Square. It is a very old neighborhood, at one time primarily German. There is still very European feel to the neighborhood, one of the really fantastic old German restaurants, and Merz Apothecary, which has been in business since 1875, still one of my favorite places. With all of that said, tonight a watercolor inspired by my old neighborhood. A European street scene.image

Jigsaw Puzzle Art

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Like the title of today’s blog? I called it that because that is what I feel like I produced yesterday. I decided to go with oils, and also to try something new. Many of my paintings appear flat to me. Again, without lessons I’m not really sure if I do things the way they should be done. I did a small 9×12 painting based on a photograph I took in central California farm country. I am very drawn to old barns, abandoned buildings, old doors and windows, essentially anything that looks lonely, speaks of solitude, and seem left behind. I haven’t mentioned it before but I am also quite a good photographer. My photography is much the same, lonely; there are never people in my photographs. I was a very shy child and sometimes quite lonely. Alone is a place I’m comfortable in. (I’m sure at this point arm-chair psychologists eyebrows are raised.)…back to my painting saga…

I tried to use a palette knife to lay the paint on thickly. My knife was too big for the small canvas, so it quickly became a mucky mess. I scraped it off and tried again. Same issue. At that point I was feeling defeated, I felt like things just weren’t going to go right. My artistic mojo had abandoned me. I almost gave up, but the blog was calling. I kept thinking that I had to do something. My “not good enough” voice was whispering in my ear, “You have other work you can use.” Do you think it’s possible to get Catholic guilt from a blog? I believe it is, because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t use an old painting, or another piece of art, I couldn’t break my promise to myself. I told my “not good enough” voice to shut up, and I tried again. This time I used a small brush and dabbed the paint on the canvas thickly. It seemed to be working; at least the piece had texture. My husband came in the room and said he liked what I was doing. That gave me the confidence to continue. All in all it took about two hours. When I was finished my husband said he loved it, me not too much. There are particular areas that I like very much, where the paint has a vibrancy that I love, but quite frankly, in the end I don’t like it very much. I wrestled once again with the thought of not posting it, but this blog is about discovering who I am as an artist, so I guess that means warts and all. Even if I think it’s garbage, it will be here. Things will get better, of that I am sure. I have not consistently produced art or painted in years. So I have decided to give myself a break and tell “not good enough” to shut up more often, maybe at some point it may go away.

Oh, the title of today’s blog? When I looked at the painting and told my husband I didn’t like it he said, “I love it”. To which I replied,”You know what it looks like? It looks like one of those awful paintings they turn into a jigsaw puzzle.”

Anyone need a thousand pieces?Image