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The Second Half

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I announced the halfway point in my blog on Friday, had the wedding yesterday, so today is the official start of the second half of my year of dealing with my artistic procrastination. I went out today and purchased a few things to enhance my oil painting. (I know, the idea is to use up the supplies, not buy more), but I’ve decided that for this second half of this journey maybe its time to actually try reading and studying about the art I want to create. Flying by the seat of my pants has done pretty well by me thus far, but all those experts can’t be wrong. Its time to wave the flag of the surrender of my stubbornness. (A note to those close to me, the surrender applies to artistic endeavors only, sorry to burst your bubble.) I took the time this weekend to print out wallet sizes of most of the art I have produced in the last six months. The only comparison I can make is maternal. I obviously remember the birth of my children, I also remember much of their lives, but sometimes it seems as though I just turned my head for a second and they were grown. It’s similar to what I felt when I held those photos in my hand. It feels as though I just started this project. When I held that stack of photos in my hands I was surprised at the amount and scope of work I have produced, and dare I say it? I’m proud of myself for sticking with it, and pretty impressed with some of my work.  I do have to admit that I wish there were more of the pieces that I really love, but maybe as I glance through those photos of the finished work I’ll inspire myself to do more. It might seem strange that I printed them all out when I have almost all of the originals here, but to print them all out in the same manageable size makes it easier for me to see what I have done so far. There is so much I didn’t think about or plan for as I headed into this, there have been some really frustrating days when it seemed as though nothing would work, but I’m feeling really good about this.

For tonight I finished the sketch for watercolor that I started last night. It is inspired by a photograph I took in Giverny. As I looked at the piece it a little like a children’s book illustration. I decided to go with that, and let the work lead me where it wanted. In the end I also added some fine line pen. I may just have to write a little story to go with it.10 13

 

Turning The Old Into New

So often we hear comedians joking about how we turn into our parents. In my case I think I’ve reversed the process. When our son Brian was a little boy, he would often be someplace else in his head, fingers flickering, a look of concentration on his face, his mind obviously out in the universe somewhere. His first grade teacher commented on it once. She said she would see that far away look on his face and call out, “Earth to Brian.” Dan coached him for a season or two in soccer, and he would often see Brian standing in the middle of the field tapping his foot, and tapping his wrist, much like his favorite character, Sonic the Hedgehog. This while his and the other team played around him. We were out shopping with him, maybe around the age of three or four, and as always he was somewhere else. We watched in amusement as he began following another man, although it wasn’t the man he was following, it was the man’s jeans. Brian had barely picked his head up, only long enough to see jeans and began to follow, because Dan was wearing jeans. I’m reminded of the incident because lately Dan and I have begun to walk every day. We began with a usual walk through the paths of our subdivision, but after a week or so decided to add a little mileage to our trek. We chose a subdivision across the street, the path is longer, and actually quite a bit nicer. We’ve been walking this path for about a week. I have mentioned before that as talented as I am with my hands, I am sorely lacking in other areas, one of which is that I have no internal G.P.S., not one ounce of a sense of direction resides in my brain. (It’s the monkeys that live in there. I know it is.) Every morning as we walk the same path I find myself unable to remember where to turn next. The sun is still strong here in Southern California, so most of the time despite a hat and sunglasses, my head is down. So what do I do? I follow Dan’s pants. Like my son, my brain is always somewhere else, and usually not on what direction I’m traveling. That makes me have to ask, do I get it from Brian? Or does he get it from me?

We had a wedding to attend today, and as well-intentioned as I am, I just didn’t have the time to finish a project. I did begin a sketch for a watercolor, but it isn’t far enough along to use. I decided to post a few photos of some furniture projects. An old jewelry chest repainted for a teenager, and a chair that I decided to reupholster for my own bedroom. I’ve never upholstered before, but like so many things I do, it was one more by the seat of my pants. I simply looked at the chair and figured it out. I find it funny that as I said above, I really truly have no internal map, I have a designated parking space at the mall and grocery store because of the amount of times I lose my car. I can get lost in my own neighborhood, and math? Forget it. I can however, look at a chair, take it apart and redo it. It’s a strange, strange brain that I own.bergere chair 002Before

bedroom chair (1)

After

MISC (59)Before

MISC (204)

Hitting The Halfway Mark

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Six months and counting. It has been 182 days since I began this project, my studio is in disarray, but I am happy to say that I have more artwork in my portfolio than ever before. I think it just might be time to let my kids go. I haven’t sold a piece of fine art in years. It was my choice not to. I spent so little time pursuing my artistic dreams that I had almost given up on them. Every time I found the time to paint, and actually finish a piece, it meant so much to me that the thought of letting it go was incomprehensible. Not that every piece I have worked on in this last six months is a piece that I would sell. There are some that are definitely of the “last-minute homework” vein. There are those that I love so much I can’t imagine ever selling them, but I’m running out of wall space, I think its time to take the next step. So my choice is obvious, I turn my house into a museum…just kidding…time to start selling my work. There are a number of shows here in Southern California, now I just have to figure out the rest. As for my project, reaching this benchmark has re-energized me, I can’t wait to see what the next six months brings.

I mentioned a day or two ago that I love Maxfield Parrish, I felt inspired just writing about his use of color. I wrote that I wanted to duplicate his technique, but life as always gets in the way of plans ( no matter how inspired they are), so I took another route. I didn’t want to pull out the oils tonight, too much clean up, I decided to give it a shot with acrylics. Using Maxfield Parrish’s color palette, I painted a simple winter scene. I’m thrilled with the color, but it is missing the depth of color that I think the layering of paint and glaze would bring. Still, I achieved some vibrancy, and definitely Parrish color. I’m thinking that my next step will be to buy an acrylic glaze and see what it does for this piece. Next week, oils. I want to see what I can do with the oils and glaze. For anyone who might be wondering what happened to the portrait of Jessica, she is still peering at me from an easel in the dining room. You know how it seems as if the eyes of a portrait are following you? I think more than the eyes are following me, I think that the mouth is moving as well. It calls out, “chicken”, every time I pass it. I’ve been avoiding the challenge of finishing, it’s time to jump over that hump as well.10 11

Blustery Day

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There’s an old song with a line that states, “It never rains in Southern California.” For the most part that’s true, but every now and then we have a day like today, a rainy, overcast, windy, and wet day, and I couldn’t be happier. That might sound strange to some, but for someone like me who grew up in Chicago, it’s a little taste of home. I’ve been in California long enough to be considered a Californian, but I’ll always be a Chicagoan at heart. I love the beautiful weather here in Temecula, but I really miss the change of seasons. There is something so magical about the first Spring day when it is warm enough to crack open a window. In Chicago that could be at forty degrees. Trust me, when it has been near freezing for months on end, forty is practically tropical. There is also that first day of Fall when the wind is just crisp enough to call for a sweater, or the quiet pristine beauty of freshly fallen Winter snow. I miss all of it. Yes, it is wonderful to not have to scrape the ice off my windshield, or to dig out a parking space, but there is something about the cycle of the seasons that appeals to me. Maybe because in a way we all live our lives in a cycle of seasons. I love the rebirth of Spring, and the maturity of Fall. There is an anticipation of the seasons that is lacking here. A few years ago when we were back visiting my parents, my kids were enthralled by a good old-fashioned thunder and lightning storm. I have memories from my childhood of standing in the garden during a Summer rain, when the air was warm and the rain water was cool on my skin. When I was a little girl there was a blizzard in Chicago, twenty-three inches of snow fell. I remember the snow over my head, and the games we played. My sisters and I built a house in the snow. We made a couch, a table, and I think even a television. I remember the thrill of running across the fence that had been covered by snow into the neighbor’s yard. Mrs. Hackel wasn’t very nice to us, and we thought we were so daring to run into that garden. Brian, my son, was devastated to discover upon moving to California that he was losing his “Snow Days”, bad weather free days built into the school calendar. Maybe it’s because I’ve been here in California for ten years that I can wax so poetic about those bad weather days. All I know is that when I have a day like today,  a day when you want to cuddle up inside with something warm to drink, and a good book or a movie, I feel nostalgic.

I had company tonight, and a rather busy day. As always looking through photos from something to paint, I came across a photo from my phone of one of my cats. I was trying to photograph Riley, and she became very curious. She put her face right up to the phone. Riley in watercolor and pencil. Riley is a Chicagoan too.IMG_1669

 

A Storm Of Color

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As always, unsure of what I would create today, I decided to revisit my fourteen year old self. Back before I knew there were rules that applied to painting. Back to a time when I painted for the sheer joy of putting paint on a canvas. No subject matter in mind I simply began to layer the paint on, thickly at first, then dissatisfied, scraping away the paint frustrated at my inability to know what it was I looking for. Aside from my struggles with perspective, my greatest failing as an artist is my inability to transmit what is in my head onto a canvas. There are times when I see a shadow of an idea, but lack of completion of the thought. I don’t believe it is something that can be taught, its instinctive. I truly believe that it comes from the daily practice of brush to canvas. It is what I intended those many months ago when I began to transform this project from its original platform of simply using up what I had on hand, to a transformation of my artistic self. To become a fully developed artist, to understand who I am as an artist, and to find that elusive confidence that I have lacked for so long. I have without a doubt seen signs of what I can achieve, I have discovered new ways of creating art that I truly love, but I still find myself searching for my artistic identity. I am capable of incredible likeness in portrait drawings and paintings, and six months ago that perfectionism was what I thought I wanted and needed, that is no longer the case. I believe there is more to me than that. My Dad has on occasion volunteered my talents. I have done the portraits of children I’ve never met, and even after a printer failed to come through on an order, replicated the logos and business ads for and entire booklet for a fundraiser. (Needless to say, not happy about that one!) I would complain and say, “I’m not a copy machine.” Yet here I was months ago bemoaning my want for perfection. No longer. Photography has it place. It produces the exact image of its subject. What I have failed to understand is that art is more than a representation, it is an emotion. I want to feel about my subject, and I want you to feel when you view it. What happened tonight was a scraped canvas that caused a reaction, a feeling in me. Colors that jumped off a canvas begging to be repainted. It’s a solitary work, I am a solitary woman, you can see that in much of what I do with a brush and a camera. It was very windy here today, I’ve also been hearing much about hurricane Karen. I didn’t think tonight, I painted. Troubled skies, and uncertain seas, maybe my mind is on the canvas after all.IMG_1646

A Startling Awakening

Dear Wrong Number, I myself have made calls to the incorrect number, but I usually don’t make them at 4:30 in the morning. I also, once realizing my mistake, will stay on the line long enough to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s the only polite thing to do….especially at 4:30 in the morning. The thing is Wrong Number, I happen to be one of those unfortunate people who don’t sleep well, and once jarred from a sound sleep by the shrill ring of the phone, I am unable to return to sleep. There is also the minor stress on my heart thanks to you scaring me awake, and thinking that it might be about my elderly father. You have no idea what effect your little error has had on my life. To begin with I spend my day looking like an extra from The Walking Dead. My face has this incredible ability to absorb makeup when I’m tired, as though I am SpongeBob’s mother, it’s really quite amazing. Then there is the voice in my head that tells me, “Hey, it’s OK, eat whatever you want, you’re tired.”  Managing to break through the Great Wall of Dieting that took years to construct. And finally Wrong Number, I pride myself on being a productive person. The only productivity that goes on when I’m this tired is the relationship between me and my refrigerator. I realize that you know none of this when you call…at 4:30 in the morning, but I thought maybe since you have had such an intimate relationship with my day, and if that perhaps my number is close to the one you meant to call, and by chance it happens again, you might wait and say, “I’m sorry”, or “hello”, before you bang the phone down on my ear. I hope you had a nice day.

On to more pleasant subjects, like art, recycling, and my little friend Emily.  Years ago the manger for our very old Nativity set began to fall apart. My Dad decided to build a new one, which was fine had Mary and Joseph booked a room at a Swiss chalet. The frame of the old one was still usable, so I, being the artist in the family, was given the job of recreating new sides and a back for it. I did a fine job, and it’s still around these many years later. As for the Bethlehem Swiss Inn? We turned it into a doll house for my daughter. Now it will become a doll house for Emily. It needs a little work, which I am thrilled to do. As anyone who reads my blog knows by now, I am just a little crazy when it comes to recycling. Two years ago I began my own private mission to prove how much paper was thrown away at my local Starbucks in the form of coffee sleeves. I decided that I would save our sleeves for a year and shame them into recycling. We are avid coffee drinkers, but not in my wildest imagination did I think I’d end up with the amount of sleeves that I collected. My plan was to collect them , make something artistic out of them, and then write Starbucks corporate office with my complaint and fabulous art project. By the time my year was up, I heard rumors of recycling bins being placed in the stores, and that has since happened. Meanwhile, I have more than one hundred sleeves. Not one to waste the paper, I held on to it, knowing a project would present itself. Last week I went looking for doll house roof tiles for Emily’s house. They were way too expensive, and then…a brainstorm! Corrugated cardboard roof tiles courtesy of Starbucks. I started tonight by deciding on a size, and proceeded to begin the painstaking effort of cutting out these tiles. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the process. When I was a little girl my Mother once said there was something wrong with me because I was always cutting paper. I think I was just connecting with an inner Martha before there was Martha. When I had cut a few out I decided to go a step further and use the technique I wrote about last week. I applied glue to a few and burnt them over a candle. I love them! Much sturdier than plain cardboard, and I believe much more paint-able, however having only finished thirty tiles I decided that I was insane. I am obviously still under the spell of Wrong Number. Emily would be attending college by the time I finished. I decided instead to try painting them with a coat of Modge Podge to seal them instead. Much easier. I am also painting the roof in the same color as the dresser that it will sit upon. You can thank “Wrong Number” because I’ve barely started and need to quit, but this is going to be really special when it’s finished. I can’t wait to finish the doll house, and to get some sleep, and I’m turning the phone off.IMG_1624  IMG_1626  IMG_1627IMG_1628  IMG_1631

Blending Flavors

I failed to get back to my watercolor portrait today, but not without very good cause. I was very busy pursuing my other great passion, cooking. As an artist I enjoy using all kinds of medium, and for me cooking is another medium. Ingredients are like paint, blending together to create a work of art on a plate. I created a new recipe today. We were watching an episode of Anthony Bourdain in Spain the other night, and by the time it was over I was in a Spanish frame of mind. I love tapas, and unfortunately for us our favorite tapas restaurant in San Diego closed down. We loved going down to the Gaslamp Quarter and sitting at a sidewalk cafe, enjoying some small plates and a pitcher of Sangria while watching the world go by. Of course as most couples do, we would comment on the people walking past. (All in good fun, because we of course are perfect….back to the food…) I created a shrimp dish with Mexican chorizo for lunch. A lovely, rich, smokey sauce, and succulent shrimp dusted in smoked paprika, topped with a little fresh guacamole and chipotle mayo.  Dan gave me a lovely compliment, he said, ” When we watch Anthony Bourdain’s show and watch him eat in these great little restaurants, I always think, “I wish I could eat there.”, and today I did.” Brian loved the base of the dish, but isn’t terribly fond of shrimp. He suggested that he might like chicken instead. So off to the store with my friend Theresa, for a very fun afternoon of ingredient shopping. By four fifteen I was back at the stove and created a different version of the same recipe for dinner. This time a gumbo of sorts with chicken, Mexican chorizo and Spanish chorizo, with some chopped cilantro and green onion. My guys loved it, cleaned their plates and went back for seconds, actually Brian cleaned the pan as well. Now I just have to remember everything I put in there. I’ve made some great dinners over the years, telling my family to enjoy because they will never have it again. Some of the meals in this house are made from what’s in the fridge and a little kitchen wizardry. I get a great deal of personal satisfaction from painting, but cooking for the people I care about is good for the soul. There are honestly days when I think if I could go back in time and choose a career path to follow, I’m not sure if it would be cooking or art. I guess I’ll just have to continue doing both.

Lunch….

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Dinner….IMG_1582

Not the portrait for tonight, but a watercolor. Just something pretty to look at.

Art…

 

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A Good Day

Not 100% today, but not nearly as bad as yesterday. I heard quiet whispering from the couch, but I had too much to do to answer the call. That and my inner Martha Stewart was talking over it. Every now and then I feel really inspired to cook. I have mentioned before that I love cooking, and that I’m quite good at it, but once in a while I have the urge to really create in the kitchen. Tonight I made Deviled Crab Cakes with a mango lime butter mayo, on freshly baked brioche, served with a small salad. For dessert Goat Cheese Cheesecakes with Rosemary, with a ginger snap crust, served with blackberry sauce and mango purée. I got the recipe for the cheesecake from a Food and Wine email, created by chef Sandi Reinlie. It is meant to be served with a lavender honey, but I make a terrific blackberry sauce that I thought would pair well with the cheesecake and I was right. Delicious. And since I was in such a culinary state of mind I chose an appropriate subject for tonight. I have a handful of photographs that I took at our local farmer’s market. I chose a photo of some beets, and painted them in watercolor. (I think I hear inner Martha telling me to alphabetize my spices, but I’ve decided to ignore her.) A day like today makes me feel terrific. I love feeling as though I’ve accomplished something. A very satisfying, creative day. IMG_1549

Deviled Crab Cake on BriocheIMG_1556

Goat Cheese cheesecake with Blackberry sauce and Mango puree IMG_1555Watercolor on paper

Living A Better Life

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While I was at my Dad’s house I looked through his old photo albums. I ended up bringing quite a few photos back with me to repair. I’ve gotten pretty good with Photo-shop, particularly on the old damaged pics. Some were photos of my grandparents when they were young. Those pictures got me thinking.  I wondered if my grandparents thought about their lives, if they were satisfied, or if they ever gave it any thought at all. We live in a very me, me, me, society. Some of that I believe is good. I think if we are allowed and encouraged to grow as people it benefits us in a multitude of ways.  At the same time, in all of this self focus, do we lose sight to those around us? Is it possible to satisfy your own needs without taking into consideration the needs of others? Yes and no. One of the books I really enjoy, and have reread many times is Mitch Albom’s “The Five People You Meet In Heaven”. In essence the book speaks to how each moment in our lives we touch others in ways we don’t even realize. I think about that a lot. I’ve mentioned before that I like to think about being the “nice lady”  someone remembers from their childhood. Just think of the difference we could all make if we thought about that every day. A smile, a compliment, an open door for a stranger, simple acts that cause a ripple effect. It is so easy to change the day of another person. When I think back on my life I can remember moments that make me smile with the memory of something I did that I know made a positive difference in the life of someone I barely knew. Unfortunately I can also look back and remember when I wasn’t my best. These days I’m working on always keeping what is really important in life at the top of my list. I believe as I grow (yes, even at my age…), in particular through this project, as I am more content, as I am happier, I want others to feel the same. Things that bothered me in the past seem silly now. Anger has changed for me as well. I am angry about things that I see happening in the world that I cannot change, but I am finding it difficult to be angry with those I love most. Learning to let go of nonsense makes for a better life. Focusing on who and what we love can change all of us. Thinking about those single moments with the people you love, as well as those you will never know but have a split second with, can change a life, and you won’t even realize you did it. I guarantee that in that instant you can make the world a better place.

In amongst the photos at my Dad’s was a picture of my cousin Lorna’s son Oisin. As the world around me moves at lightening speed, Oisin is quite a bit older than when this photo was taken, but I loved it. Like the painting from last night it called to me. I experimented a bit with mixed media for tonight. Watercolor, pencil, and pen.IMG_1474

Acting On Inspiration

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I spoke the other day of not quite understanding inspiration, what makes one idea or subject stand out more than another, why one photo calls to me more than another. That isn’t the case today. A friend of mine posted a photograph of his son and a friend on his Facebook page. From the moment I saw the photograph I wanted to paint it. I actually had turned to Dan and said, “You know what this is? It’s a painting, a watercolor painting.”  My friend labeled it, “Best buds on the bench.” I love the photograph, and I love the label. There is a nostalgia that emanates from this photo, an innocence that these days is too easily lost. As I said, I know why I wanted to paint this one. Mike, thanks for permission to paint your wonderful photo, for giving me inspiration, and I hope Ryan and his “Best Bud”, remain that way for a very long time. 9 22