January 2022
Following Your Road Map of Intent
If there’s any plus side to this pandemic it might be the revisiting of dreams with newfound intent; perhaps there isn’t a more appropriate time than actually…RIGHT NOW. We’re learning to be brazen and “If not now, when?” is more than a platitude. That wild idea doesn’t necessarily need to smolder for years. Allow that sharp turn in the road to become a gentle curve, one that will not lead us astray but will actually guide us on our personal quest.
That’s what my painting “The Tug” refers to…the constant allure of places unknown, a curiosity of an intangible landscape. After residing in Billings, Montana for 30 years it was time for my husband and me to design our future and that meant a new landscape. We were ready. He was recently retired and I can do my art most any place. And yet…
After a few visits to the Oregon coast, it was decided that the place that best matched the interior and exterior landscape in our minds, was Astoria, a picturesque Columbia River town whose historic, colorful homes climb its hills, creating a Pacific Northwest town meets Italy’s Cinque Terre feel, especially as one gazes across its shoreline as the sun sets and the ships’ lights reflect on the enormous expanse of river.
It wasn’t just a decision of whether Astoria would be the right place for us. It was spring 2020 and we were navigating this new terrain in the eye of the pandemic hurricane. Would we be able to find a moving company? What services might there be on the 1,000 mile drive through four states?
The proverbial fork in the road also had multiple lanes and was constantly changing directions. We were in a new state, a new town, faced with a never in our lifetimes disease with the hunch that the road map might not include all of the routes.
If you’re going to land in a new place without a social network and at times businesses in lock down, a town as idyllic as Astoria cushions the vast uncertainties with the joys of exploration. Walking is a favorite activity. There are trails through forests, along the river, and paths that I refer to as 'secret sidewalks' linking dead end streets. Oh, and believe me, there are a lot of dead end streets! But, getting back to my original rumination, these treks feed the imagination, lure ideas, and solve problems. Walking through forests and gazing skyward to the tops of 250 year old trees is freeing, soothing, and somehow manages to bring answers to any numbers of quandaries. Most importantly, a new terrain provides us with new subject matter where we may have been feeling a deficiency.
As with many artists, I found myself being very productive in my home studio. It wasn’t only the excitement of the recently discovered subject matter but also the extra time I had available without meetings and events crowding the schedule. I’ve never had to talk myself into going to work in the studio. There are few places I would rather be, now more than ever. Bald eagles fly overhead, gulls screech, the sound of ships’ blasts in the fog, and the occasional barking of sea lions, all make it feel a bit surreal, as if its all on cue awaiting the director’s instruction. Escape comes easily as we venture deeply into our work and the our studios become the safety net of a pandemic world.
So, why the “and yet…?” I’m not so sure an artist can work from any place. Where’s the motivation and drive if you’re not moved by your surroundings? And what if you’re provided with awe-inspiring moments of artistic revelation but you don’t have an audience? There's another dynamic of changing one's hometown. Will our work be accepted? Was it the closeness of community that drove sales? And if the artist can work anyplace is that partially due to online sales driving the market?
It all remains to be seen. Once again we pull out the road map and look for clues. We’re all new navigators. Every day.
Following Your Road Map of Intent
If there’s any plus side to this pandemic it might be the revisiting of dreams with newfound intent; perhaps there isn’t a more appropriate time than actually…RIGHT NOW. We’re learning to be brazen and “If not now, when?” is more than a platitude. That wild idea doesn’t necessarily need to smolder for years. Allow that sharp turn in the road to become a gentle curve, one that will not lead us astray but will actually guide us on our personal quest.
That’s what my painting “The Tug” refers to…the constant allure of places unknown, a curiosity of an intangible landscape. After residing in Billings, Montana for 30 years it was time for my husband and me to design our future and that meant a new landscape. We were ready. He was recently retired and I can do my art most any place. And yet…
After a few visits to the Oregon coast, it was decided that the place that best matched the interior and exterior landscape in our minds, was Astoria, a picturesque Columbia River town whose historic, colorful homes climb its hills, creating a Pacific Northwest town meets Italy’s Cinque Terre feel, especially as one gazes across its shoreline as the sun sets and the ships’ lights reflect on the enormous expanse of river.
It wasn’t just a decision of whether Astoria would be the right place for us. It was spring 2020 and we were navigating this new terrain in the eye of the pandemic hurricane. Would we be able to find a moving company? What services might there be on the 1,000 mile drive through four states?
The proverbial fork in the road also had multiple lanes and was constantly changing directions. We were in a new state, a new town, faced with a never in our lifetimes disease with the hunch that the road map might not include all of the routes.
If you’re going to land in a new place without a social network and at times businesses in lock down, a town as idyllic as Astoria cushions the vast uncertainties with the joys of exploration. Walking is a favorite activity. There are trails through forests, along the river, and paths that I refer to as 'secret sidewalks' linking dead end streets. Oh, and believe me, there are a lot of dead end streets! But, getting back to my original rumination, these treks feed the imagination, lure ideas, and solve problems. Walking through forests and gazing skyward to the tops of 250 year old trees is freeing, soothing, and somehow manages to bring answers to any numbers of quandaries. Most importantly, a new terrain provides us with new subject matter where we may have been feeling a deficiency.
As with many artists, I found myself being very productive in my home studio. It wasn’t only the excitement of the recently discovered subject matter but also the extra time I had available without meetings and events crowding the schedule. I’ve never had to talk myself into going to work in the studio. There are few places I would rather be, now more than ever. Bald eagles fly overhead, gulls screech, the sound of ships’ blasts in the fog, and the occasional barking of sea lions, all make it feel a bit surreal, as if its all on cue awaiting the director’s instruction. Escape comes easily as we venture deeply into our work and the our studios become the safety net of a pandemic world.
So, why the “and yet…?” I’m not so sure an artist can work from any place. Where’s the motivation and drive if you’re not moved by your surroundings? And what if you’re provided with awe-inspiring moments of artistic revelation but you don’t have an audience? There's another dynamic of changing one's hometown. Will our work be accepted? Was it the closeness of community that drove sales? And if the artist can work anyplace is that partially due to online sales driving the market?
It all remains to be seen. Once again we pull out the road map and look for clues. We’re all new navigators. Every day.
Spring/Summer 2019
What the Work Represents
What the Work Represents
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There truly is a method to my madness. Apparently a slow learner, I have been creating art for 40 years and it finally hit me--when I have the ability to explain my work there is an increased appreciation. I recently had donated a painting titled, "Fearless," sell for asking value at Living Art of Montana's annual Light Show. Equal to the works they accepted were the words that accompanied them: "How does this art reflect what people are going through with terminal illness?" My description was: "Every flower, every leaf is amazing to me. They are little works of art that nature has created and gifted to us, if only to last a day, maybe a week, we don't know and it doesn't matter because we appreciate and love it, here, at this very moment. As an artist, to recreate any form of nature is to transport us to that space of soft breezes, hypnotic fragrances and the soul-filled essence of every summer day we lingered and lollygagged in places that mattered to us. Whether we create, or whether we are the spectator, art will put us there, in that spot, to honor who we are. Yellow has a reputation for being a color of caution, of cowardice. I don't believe this for a minute. It is a color that grabs us and screams, "Look at me! I am bold and exemplify all of the warmth of the sun, and you can not look away from my exuberance." So I named this painting "Fearless" because we are all as strong as the flowers that hold their heads up to the sky." So---the marbles. Yes they represent innocence and a time of life that seemed softer on the soul in some ways (sadly, not an era for women and minorities and gays throughout those decades but that's another story). The marbles in my paintings represent humans. "MUTINY!" was my response to the political parties. "Comrades" was my response to losing another friend to cancer. "Introverts" is showing love to my quiet friends who are the creamy center we all long to get to. If you've made it this far, thank you, for trying to understand my art and for your indulgence. I have had sad doubts recently about what I do. It came to me that maybe no one knows what it's about. It has a life all its own. And, we carry on. Winter/Spring 2018 Elation and Trepidation...A Fine Line Walked In the Life of an Artist Georgia O'Keeffe's "The White Place in Shadow" 1942 In August of 2015 my husband and I visited what Georgia O' Keeffe referred to as "The White Place." This place of rock pillars a few miles from O'Keeffe's Abiquiu, New Mexico, home is in a remote area known as Plaza Blanco. It is on private land currently owned by Dar Al Islam (house of Islam) but is open to visitors. O'Keeffe described it as "a vast area like something dead but startlingly alive in its beauty." She also wrote in 1940, "It is so isolated I don't go alone." I too felt this foreboding. We were the only visitors. Having spent the bulk of my years in Wyoming and Montana, I am no stranger to places of solitude but I was suddenly stricken with an unsettling sensation of being stranded in this place where no one knew we would be visiting. Ravi (14 years old at the time and lovingly named after Ravi Shankar, being a Toyota Rav4), was the only vehicle in the lot above the trailhead. I was consumed with a mix of elation at being in this beloved place of O'Keeffe's, which had inspired five paintings, and a feeling of unease. That pretty much sums up the life of a full time artist. It's a bit of "beyond here, there be dragons." O'Keeffe herself was famously quoted, "I've always been absolutely terrified every single moment of my life and I've never let it stop me from doing a single thing I wanted to do." We have this fierce need to explore but it does not come without fear. We have this overwhelming desire to create but it does not come without reserve. We want to get our name "out there" in the world, and yet there is a cringe-worthy essence when so many of our days are spent solo in the studio, days contemplating if we are producing a body of work that will go into The Faraway Place, another of O'Keeffe's terms of endearment. Who is seeing our art? Do they understand it? Am I building a legacy or will other generations know nothing about me? Every submission to a gallery or museum is a test of reserves. Are we brave? Are we okay with rejection? Are we ready to accept accolades? Are we alone in this remote area? Yes. We can be brazen. The fear of being stagnant, for me, has to be overpowered by my willingness to try. Forward movement. It's is a risky place. The world might not like us. We may have put far too many hopes on this one venture. But there is that, a life of risk and hope. Chances taken with dismal results might set us back with disappointment but long term will propel us to the places we want to be. Trying equates to exploration. You'll want to visit the unexplored places, white or black. There are lessons. There is joy in knowing you tried, that you conjured up enough confidence in your work that it was worth the fear of forward movement. Georgia O'Keeffe saw the White Place as a refuge. Our artistic goals can be that, simultaneously foreboding and welcoming. Fear and refuge can go hand-in-hand. Going into this new year let's make a pact with ourselves to be brave. To take risks. Those dragons may be loving lizards. As a side note: I wondered who would ever find us in this remote place should we have problems. We drove back to Taos without incident, but the next day after brunch Ravi was stranded, unable to start, in a parking lot. We found he needed a new battery and were fortunate on a Sunday afternoon to find someone to do the work. So perhaps foreboding has a bit of logical influence on our lives, but don't rule out graciousness. |
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Summer/Fall 2018
Changing Midstream |
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We all have a style. It helps us to become recognizable in the vast creative landscape of art. Many times this dovetails with a theme and we will see not only the same style from an artist but the same common denominator…the topic. Repetition springs eternal! Where does the thin line lie between making an income and satisfying the artist’s joyful spirit of exploration fall?
Well, speaking of income, I’ve heard the advice that it is better to seek gainful employment whilst one is with job. So the parallel for creatives might be to explore a change in your style while happily ensconced in the studio. Why not? If the quiet voices telling you to seek change are suddenly screaming with excitement over an idea, why not pursue it?
I had been very content in my unique idea of painting marbles and chocolates and sprinkle donuts. Some of these works hang in my home and bring a smile every day. But when I was looking at other art, it was a whole different look that was grabbing my adrenaline. The art of print-making, in all of its luxurious boldness called out. Blocks of color forming a picture. Magical!
There are artists I have admired for years. Their work I have framed in my studio remind me daily to answer the call of what is creatively speaking to me. Gustave Baumann, Eyvind Earke and Kazuyuki Ohtsu. Eyvind Earle was an artist with the Disney company. He created the art for Sleeping Beauty. For me, it has always stood out from the other Disney films. The lines were sharper, more angular and clear-cut, more vibrant in movement.
Since changing my methodology, new ideas became strong and apparent. I was pulled toward painting landscapes and still life works but what could I do that would stand out, that I could call my own? Somewhere along the line the light bulb of combining print and the paintbrush illuminated my creative spirit.
I have a wealth of files from being a photographer for so many years, a digital photographer for the last 11 of those, and I reminded myself that I took those photos for a reason. The scenes were beckoning to be caught on camera. I live in the west! Come on! What’s not to love in the landscape of Montana?! And Wyoming, and New Mexico, and Oregon.
So, I changed my way of thinking and I pulled a 180 on my process and new venues have opened to me. I put my photographs through a photoshop program and decide if it works or doesn’t work and when it works it’s obvious. The paintings slowly come into realization through blocks of colors until I can see the original image I had taken with my Nikon. The blocks are geometric and odd shaped pieces of color against one another. The process is slow and methodical. The result is fairly abstract.
I have found a new audience and my work that was submitted on the east coast and the west coast has been accepted, juried by people who have been much more active in the art world than I have likely been. Am I talking about success? In my equation of fulfilling my artistic dream, yes. Financially? Who knows? But if you have not yet learned in the art world that money doesn’t drive the fulfillment vehicle then you may want to rethink your profession.
Your creative destination should always be the clear voice talking to you. Let’s listen to those thoughts and practice using our inside voices.
Well, speaking of income, I’ve heard the advice that it is better to seek gainful employment whilst one is with job. So the parallel for creatives might be to explore a change in your style while happily ensconced in the studio. Why not? If the quiet voices telling you to seek change are suddenly screaming with excitement over an idea, why not pursue it?
I had been very content in my unique idea of painting marbles and chocolates and sprinkle donuts. Some of these works hang in my home and bring a smile every day. But when I was looking at other art, it was a whole different look that was grabbing my adrenaline. The art of print-making, in all of its luxurious boldness called out. Blocks of color forming a picture. Magical!
There are artists I have admired for years. Their work I have framed in my studio remind me daily to answer the call of what is creatively speaking to me. Gustave Baumann, Eyvind Earke and Kazuyuki Ohtsu. Eyvind Earle was an artist with the Disney company. He created the art for Sleeping Beauty. For me, it has always stood out from the other Disney films. The lines were sharper, more angular and clear-cut, more vibrant in movement.
Since changing my methodology, new ideas became strong and apparent. I was pulled toward painting landscapes and still life works but what could I do that would stand out, that I could call my own? Somewhere along the line the light bulb of combining print and the paintbrush illuminated my creative spirit.
I have a wealth of files from being a photographer for so many years, a digital photographer for the last 11 of those, and I reminded myself that I took those photos for a reason. The scenes were beckoning to be caught on camera. I live in the west! Come on! What’s not to love in the landscape of Montana?! And Wyoming, and New Mexico, and Oregon.
So, I changed my way of thinking and I pulled a 180 on my process and new venues have opened to me. I put my photographs through a photoshop program and decide if it works or doesn’t work and when it works it’s obvious. The paintings slowly come into realization through blocks of colors until I can see the original image I had taken with my Nikon. The blocks are geometric and odd shaped pieces of color against one another. The process is slow and methodical. The result is fairly abstract.
I have found a new audience and my work that was submitted on the east coast and the west coast has been accepted, juried by people who have been much more active in the art world than I have likely been. Am I talking about success? In my equation of fulfilling my artistic dream, yes. Financially? Who knows? But if you have not yet learned in the art world that money doesn’t drive the fulfillment vehicle then you may want to rethink your profession.
Your creative destination should always be the clear voice talking to you. Let’s listen to those thoughts and practice using our inside voices.