Gratitude

I am unspeakably grateful for the support of fellow artists. Artists almost always work alone, but the creative impulse doesn't reach its full potential in complete isolation from other artistic minds. When artists get together and share their stories, joys and frustrations over a simple meal, each individual enriches and energizes the group and all other individuals. I'm particularly touched and honored when an artist chooses to purchase one of my paintings for their home, as my artist friend Mary did yesterday. (The image above is actually half of a dyptich entitled Red Line - but for some reason I only photographed one panel! I'll try to update the post at some point after I get around to photographing the other half - Mary, can I come over with my camera sometime??)

I would encourage any artist to join a community - or a few communities - to foster creative and emotional support. Much is made of us being "a breed apart" in more mainstream society. When we connect with each other in the present, just as when we learn about artists of the past, we also connect with our own roots.

Red Line. One of two 12x12" on canvas. 2009

Juried out!

Well, Scarborough Marsh won't be exhibited in the juried show at the Harlow Gallery this month, because it didn't make the cut - and I'm fine with that.

No, really. I'm not saying I'm fine with my painting being juried out of a show because I want to save face or save my friends from feeling that they need to call me up and say something cheery - I really am fine with the jurors' decision. It's theirs, and I respect it as I do my own decisions.

Two years ago, On Calm Reflection was juried out of the same show. A short time later (well, a year seems like a short time to me, so I won't attempt to count the weeks), I was exhibiting it in another gallery, and the owner bought it. (Sandie, I hope the match will always be happy!) Which only goes to show you never can tell.

There are a good number of reasons for being juried out of a show. When more work is submitted than can fit in the gallery, a high percentage of it has to be culled. This gives the jurors a chance to develop a thematic approach to the show, choosing works that harmonize in color, texture or theme. So, one reason art can get rejected is because it doesn't flow with the theme that's developing.

Or, because of technical weaknesses. Or unoriginality. Or, maybe the jurors just don't care for it. Which is also ok. And which I find quite liberating - because the statement also applies to me: my opinions are valid, too. I'm going to share some with you, but don't mistake them for a lecture - I'm anybody, and your opinions are as much yours as mine are mine.

As a twenty-something student, I visited the museums in New York, Paris, London, Madrid, always in awe of the groundbreaking, historic work I saw in these places. Some of it thrilled me. Some of it I didn't understand. I knew I would learn more and hopefully come to understand it later. The deficit was always mine. I didn't think of giving myself permission to simply dislike something, or disagree with the curator as to its significance.

Friday night John and my fifty-something self went to the Portland Museum of Art. I wanted to see the Frederick Lynch exhibit - which we both loved, as it turned out. Google him. His art incorporates fractal geometry and handmade texture in sublime balance.

While we were there, we also browsed some of the other exhibits. There were some Mapplethorpe photographs, beautiful black and white studies, technically superb. Of course I was reminded of his controversial stuff - the photograph of the cross suspended upside down in urine was my introduction to his work. When was that - back in the 80s? At the time I was young enough to discount my personal feelings, which included revulsion - I'd learn to understand it if I studied hard enough.

My opinion today is that his beautiful work is not particularly memorable - it's just too beautiful to really be extraordinary. His cross-in-urine photograph may be his strongest image - it forces a visceral reaction (from all but the most self-effacing ascetics - they never appreciate art - LOL!) - but I don't like it. Because it's icky, and disrepectful, and when I think of it my nose wrinkles up and I remember the atmosphere in too many unsavory train stations. I don't feel the need to have that particular reaction forced.

We also saw a Matisse seascape that I thought was rather bad. Part of a great body of work, assuredly, because it was a Matisse, but it was half-assed. I imagine Matisse admired economy of expression: I do, too. To me a good smear is a much more realistic representation of a tree than a trunk and a bunch of leaves and branches - just as a concise metaphor is so much better than a long dissertation... oh, what am I doing blogging??

I can see that when I am slightly older and grumpier I'll need to be on guard against making pithy pronouncements without enough forethought. OK, I could start watching out for that now. I think it happened to Uncle Henri the day he painted that seascape. I also imagine the breeze was pretty brisk up on the bluff where he was, and his eyes got dry and squinty, and his fingers ached and a drink at the pub sounded like an excellent idea - and that's what may have become of this particular painting.

Just my opinion, for what it's worth.

On Calm Reflection. 20x20" on panel. 2007

How is a painting like a cat?

I'm so happy that Keyhole has finally found a good home. I painted this 22x32.5" acrylic painting in 2008 for my Portage show - "portage" being the name I gave to a system for hanging paintings on unstretched canvas that I had developed that year. It turned out to be a wonderful show which still brings back warm memories. A lot of my friends came to the opening and we all went out for a late supper afterward. It remains my most successful show ever - I sold three paintings at the opening, and two or three more during the run of the show. During the opening, a lot of people told me they were drawn to Keyhole. Yet, not only did it not sell at that show, but in all the months since then, it still hadn't sold. So, I was beginning to think I'd have it forever.

Enter my friend Amy, who designs jewelry, fosters cats and kittens, and appreciates art. She fell in love with Keyhole, and a match was made. A word about Amy: she fostered our fabulous Maine coon cat, Gemma, as a kitten. Gemma was one of a large number of cats found in a feral colony north of here. As a kitten, Gemma was just about as wild as a bug, but you'd never suspect that now, and that is largely a testament to the wonderful, loving fostering she received at Amy's. Amy doesn't foster cats and kittens with a view to just getting them placed as soon as possible - she matches them very carefully with suitable homes where they'll fit in and be loved and appreciated, as Gemma is by our family. There are lots of cats at Amy's, for whom no such home has materialized, and that's ok. They can just stay there for as long as it takes.

Strangely, that's very much the way I feel about my paintings. They're not "like my children" - there are way too many of them, for one thing! If I felt they were like children, I could never let them go. Also, as an adoptive mother (our son James is adopted), I use that word extremely judiciously, even as applied to pets. But I do care about my paintings in a such way that they almost seem alive to me. I like to think of them being part of someone's home, and their worldview. This is the only way I know how to change the world.