Lucky Pink Cat Mug

Monday morning while I was drinking coffee out of my lucky pink cat mug, the red phone rang! It was a commission, for a painting, maybe two or three. There was a strict color palette, and a deadline: the end of the week! I jotted down notes and disappeared into the studio, reminiscing nostalgically about the corporate world. Back in the day, I would roll out of bed and hop on a downtown bus or train, ready to drink my first cup of coffee and find out what creative magic was expected of me on that day. 

That afternoon I emailed the first image to the contact, and the client had changed his mind - now they only wanted one painting. And likely not that one! So, back to the easel. I still love my lucky pink cat mug. It's from Spindleworks.

Can you see the cat's face on it? At Spindleworks they do magic every day. If you live anywhere near Brunswick, Maine, I encourage you to visit. They have a new place in Hallowell, too.

Oh, the other painting? It's about done! :-)

Exhaling

People often ask me if I paint every day. My answer is, "Sometimes." For whatever reason, I've never been a person who handles routine well, but it's more than just that. I'll cruise along and then suddenly stumble on an empty well right where I'd been finding inspiration for weeks. Then - I do something else.

Sometimes kids' schedules or a family vacation need to take precedence. Other times, I intentionally concentrate on writing, so painting gets pushed aside. (It happens the other way around, too.) Plenty of times, I just feel used up, and need to wait for the well to fill up again.

Dry spells - that's what I thought they were - used to worry me deeply. In my first few years as a painter, every time I lost my creative momentum I wondered if I'd ever find it again. At last I noticed that, like a wandering cat, it always comes home eventually. So at that point I began to relax into a rhythm of producing, and - noticing.

I've come to appreciate my times of soaking up impressions. I realize that I do a lot of work during these times, consciously or unconsciously exploring compositions suggested in everything I see around me. In fact, I do a lot of painting while I drive - but I don't think I'll get pulled over for it, since it all takes place in my head. It's like breathing - taking in images, producing work.

Recently I lost a very dear old friend to cancer. I made a twelve-hour road trip to say good-bye to her, and then a month later drove the same road again to her memorial service. Twelve hours on the road is a long time to gather images and impressions. I knew the initial trip and its purpose changed me, but I had no idea how richly the road itself had blessed me until I returned home to a new purpose, a new format, new colors and textures. I took a really deep breath there on the road to my friend - and now I'm singing.

I wonder why I do this?

Gold Marsh (working) 30x40 acrylic on canvas

So, I get all ready to do something really abstract. I have a sketch I'm working from, something small I did a couple of years ago that I like, and now I'm going to go BIG (well, fairly big for me). And as I'm painting along, in the art zone, I'm putting in more and more stuff, and the image becomes more and more representational, less abstract. I'm mystified as to why I felt I needed to add detail. Now the painting is sort of half-and-half. I like balancing, normally, but I had planned to do something different. At this point I feel like I'm dealing with a split personality. The painting wants one thing, and I want another! I don't dislike this painting. (It's not signed, because it isn't done.) It's just that I was sure there was another painting in me wanting to get out and this one jumped the line somehow. Or else I'm simply afraid to permit myself to do abstract work, and that fear worked its way right into my art zone - yowie, I hope not!

Here's the sketch. I love the sketch. 9x12 acrylic on paper.

New Winter Work

Winter Sunrise, 16x20" acrylic on canvas

Ghost Structure/Upper Champlain, 28x10" mixed media on panel

I love winter. Although I must admit it's been a few years since my cross-country skis have seen any appreciable action, I simply love the season for its stark beauty and its introspective atmosphere. And the colors! Subtle they may be compared to a summer garden, but so nuanced. So, lately I've been quite inspired to paint, and here's what's going on.

Ghost Structure/High Street West Paris Maine, mixed media on plywood

I Like This

I've been doing more writing lately (not on my blog!), and paintings seem to be coming faster and easier concurrently, which is something I never foresaw. This is Lemonade Sky, 40 x 30". I resisted the notion that it was done for over a month, during which I turned my attention to lots of other projects. Today I signed it.

I wonder why creative work seems to benefit from the cross-pollination of disciplines? Can't answer the question, but the results make me happy!

Out In The Yard

This is my student, John's, painting of the view from my front yard on a recent almost- rainy afternoon.

"I've decided to make the road into a river," he informed me as we painted.

Given the weather, it was a natural decision!

Here's my more prosaic interpretation of the same scene.

Learning From Students

This past Monday my homeschooled student, John, came over for his art lesson. I use the word "lesson" loosely in this context; what John and I generally do in Studio Time is work on projects while yakking about art. If, at the same time, a few technical pointers are absorbed, so much the better.

Monday was a chilly, misty day. I was getting ready to teach basic facial proportions to my evening class, and thought John and I might experiment with self-portraits, but when I told him I'd recently bought some new slow-drying acrylics for plein-aire painting, he surprised me with his response.

"It isn't exactly raining right now," he said.

And he was right. A mad dash to the side yard ensued, and we spent the following hour painting views near the house.

I feel so blessed to benefit from the wisdom of children. And so glad I know John.