Painting in Steuben

You know I'm always interested to find new places to paint. Last weekend, I found Steuben! What a gorgeous place, downeast of Acadia. My student, Lucille, was the angel who offered her family camp as a venue for a student retreat (and got a painting in return). And what a retreat! There were seven of us. Friday was gorgeous. Saturday it rained, but we had plenty of room to paint inside at the windows, right on the ocean. Sunday morning the sun broke through.

Words are inadequate. Here are the pictures:

Early on a foggy morning, one artist in Steuben
is already thinking about coffee!

Morning hike in Grand Manan.

Road signs for arriving students.

Psyched to paint!!

Autumn: Busy doings...

SO, all summer I don't write a word, because, so I tell myself, I'm just too busy. Then comes autumn - and there is SO much to write about - because ... I'm even busier!!! (Does this strike a chord with you?) Kids are back in school, all the regular meetings and activities that we took a summer break from are now back in gear and revving up. Summer's gone, it's harvest time and garden food needs putting up as we enter the last quarter of 2014. Which means...

My 2015 12 Months in Maine calendar will be coming out soon!

Like last year, the calendar measures 8x8". Even better than last year, they cost only $10 each! (Plus tax where applicable.)

To order just send an email to mary.brooking@gmail.com. You can either copy and paste the liink into your email program, or click on the link to my website and the email link at the top of that page. You're welcome to leave a comment here, but sometimes I don't see them, so I don't recommend ordering that way. Anyway, sooner or later I'll need your email address.

After the calendars are printed I'll send you a PayPal invoice, or if you prefer, an address where you can mail your check.

Thanks to all who have ordered my calendars in the past, and who will in the future. You are some of my most important art patrons. I hope they bring a you whole year of colorful enjoyment. 

~m.

Monhegan!

OK, it was June. And yes, this is September. Busy summer!

One of the joys of my life lately is teaching painting. Last June I got brave and led my first retreat, in a big house I rented on Monhegan. It had to be Monhegan! Artists have been inspired here for over a hundred years.

Several of my students joined me for this adventure, but I came out by myself a day early to get settled into the house. It was a jewel of a day, crystal clear, warm and Monhegan-magical, and I was walking around almost in a daze - couldn't believe my luck, getting to work there all week.

That magic never ran out the whole time we were there.

Over the Top 8x8" acrylic on panel

Sunshine Yellow 6x6" acrylic on panel

Down to the Sea 6x6" acrylic on panel

So, next month (yes, October), several of us will be meeting for another painting retreat in beautiful Steuben, Maine. My son spent Labor Day weekend with a friend in Steuben. I'd never been there, but when I saw the photos I knew I wanted to go. Then, as I was arranging my next student retreat, I lucked out again - one of my students offered her family camp in Steuben as a venue!

I will not wait until the dead of winter to post photos. ;-)

Run Away!

It may not be considered honorable to cry "Retreat!," but retreating is something I happily do now and then. Art isn't all advancing, anymore than breathing is all exhaling. Sometimes you need to breathe in, and that's what a good retreat is for.

I attended a very good retreat last weekend, at Pemaquid Point with the Pastel Painters of Maine, a lovely group of artists who graciously allowed me admittance despite my proclivity for painting in acrylic instead of pastel.

Here we are at the Hotel Pemaquid - that's me boldly claiming the foreground!

In a couple of weeks, I'll be leading a retreat to Monhegan! 

M-o-n-h-e-g-a-n!! 

- where the siren's call to artists is so strong that people have been coming there to paint for well over a hundred years!

Many, but not all, of those who will be joining me are my students. 

If you're interested, you can find information here.

There are two sessions, June 22-24 and June 25-27. 

The first session is just about full, and the second, as of right now, has space for two or three more people.

Last night at the opening of the current Saccarappa Art Collective exhibit, I was involved in a conversation about retreats, when I distinctly heard myself say, "I'd like to lead a retreat every month." And that spirit under my breastbone which occasionally makes it wisdom known clearly rejoined, "Why don't you?"

What do you think?

Off to Pemaquid Point

 Monhegan From Pemaquid, 2012

I don't post nearly as often as I should. I haven't posted a word about the class I taught - and what it taught me. I will, pretty soon! But today, I'm packing for the retreat on Pemaquid Point. It's sponsored by the Pastel Painters of Maine, but they don't object to having me and my acrylics along for the ride. I went last year and it was wonderful: a little room in the Pemaquid Hotel and a big studio in the carriage house across the road.

What is it about artists - and writers - that we so often need to retreat from the world we usually inhabit? Our batteries seem to require a great deal of charging.

Speaking for myself, I find that working creatively both costs and pays a lot of personal energy. The getting-away thing is less about nurturing the creative mind than it is about shaking the Etch-A-Sketch to erase all the expectations that build up so quickly, about who we are and how we work, and how we allocate time.

So, I bid adieu for the weekend, to my family, and to the usual me. I'll open the windows, and let the sea breeze in.

"Can we come too?"

Bon Voyage

This week I'm saying farewell again, to an old friend who left a year ago for a better place. She was one of my oldest and dearest - someone I could call up and tell anything, and she'd laugh with me, or get mad at whoever had ticked me off, or tell me what crazy thing happened to her that was nearly as good - or as bad - as what happened to me. You know, one of those rare friends. And call her I did, often enough, because although we shared a dorm one year in college in another century, we spent most of our lives afterward living in different states. A year ago, breast cancer took her farther away than satellite technology can reach, but I still talk to her anyway.

Back in the day, she could have made phone yakking an Olympic event. She was a great talker, but one of the rare ones who's equally skilled at listening - and also one of the few people I've ever been able to talk to while painting.

This one, Coastline, came along during one of our conversations. a few years back. It's all about rolling waves and turbulence, the curvature of the earth that separates, but also holds us together, and fragile boundaries that never really manage to divide anything important. It's always been one of my favorites, and last week someone had the very good sense, in my humble opinion, to buy it. Now it's back in the studio for framing before heading out to its new home.

Bon voyage.

Dear Students,

The day is coming... I'm teaching my first acrylic painting class next Monday morning, March 25th, at Saccarappa Art collective in Westbrook, Maine. 

OK, if you read my blog entry about teaching painting, you know that I have been too scared to do this until now, even though I've taught other stuff and a good many people have told me they’d like to take a painting class from me.

Why? Well, I was raised to never tell others what to do, for one thing. (Although my kids would probably tell you I’m pretty good at telling them what NOT to do.) But especially when it comes to creative expression. I grew up in the freewheeling 1970s, when the country  was all you do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and there was no wrong way in art.

And actually, I still feel pretty much that way. If you want a teacher to tell you, “First do this, and then do that,” I’m sorry. I’m not going to be that teacher. I’d rather give you a few basic tips and demonstrate my way of working, and then try to empower you to paint your own way. I’ll be with you for your questions and stuck places, but you’re not a passenger here, I want you to drive your bus.

So, that’s one of the things that intimidated me about teaching this class: the possibility that I might not live up to people’s expectations of what a painting teacher should be. 

Another thing that makes teaching difficult for me is that the art side of my brain and the talking side seem to live a good distance apart from each other, like across town and not on a bus line, so I have trouble articulating what I’m doing with paint while I’m doing it. I usually do my best work without remembering thinking about it at all – in fact, I love not thinking. So please bear with me while I stumble around searching for words to express myself about making art!

The one circumstance where I intend to tell you firmly what to do is when I think you should STOP painting, and look at what you have done. If I yell STOP at you, it won’t be because you have done anything wrong – it’ll be because it’s time to take a break and notice what’s working well with your painting and think about how to make sure you don’t overwork it. I’d like stopping and looking at our own and each other’s work to be something we all get used to doing a few times each session.

Materials

I have paper, paint and brushes for you to work with. I also have canvasboards that you can buy from me for $2 each if you prefer, or you can bring your own media, but paper is enough. I have old crappy brushes, because I like working with them. I find that cheap materials free me from fear about ruining things. You are welcome to bring your own nice brushes if that’s what you prefer. I have some tabletop easels and some boards and tape you can use. You’re welcome to bring something of your own to paint on if you’d rather. We have a terribly small sink to rinse our brushes in, unfortunately, but I have some fairly large water containers. PLEASE be very careful not to spill paintwater on the floor! And no throwing paint. Sorry, it would be fun, but there are too many paintings in harm’s way in the gallery.

Lesson Plan

This is pretty loosey-goosey, as you will no doubt come to expect from me. I will show examples of landscapes, both photographic and painted.

Then I’ll share with you a painting I did fairly quickly, and show you approximately how I did it - and how a painting can be changed on the spur of the moment.

We’ll do a bit of color mixing, and I’ll share a few basic tips about that.

And then you’ll paint, from a photograph (yours or mine) or from memory or imagination. When using a photograph for reference, do not copy it. Try setting up your reference photo across the room where you can’t see the details. Better yet, take a look at it and then turn it over or put it somewhere you can’t see it at all. Improvise, make it different; make it your own vision. Don’t like the color of a house, the ground, the sky? Change it. Tree blocking the view you want? Get rid of it. You can literally move mountains if you choose to.

The Sky is NOT Blue

At a party last weekend, the subject of teaching classes came up AGAIN. I have been planning a new class since late last year. I want to encourage people to paint beyond what they think, and into the realm of what they intuit - or what they believe can be. Or what they want. I want to impart a message that despite persistent rumors, the sky isn't always blue, nor does it need to be.

I want to teach people how to turn a square of canvas or paper into a window on a world all their own. I want each of my students to have a painting they've done themselves, that's ready to frame by the end of the course.

Once again, at the party - which happened to be a celebration of a friend's first year in a new creative business - people wanted to hear about this class. They wanted to take my class. Why haven't I begun teaching it after lo these many moons? Fear. Fear of not being able to communicate. Talking has never been my strong suit. Talking while painting - oy.

Ironic, right? I've said I want to encourage people, when I myself suffer from a lack of courage.

"You've just got to shut that b_____ up!" my friend advised. "She dogged me the whole time I was planning my new business. Now she's sitting right on your shoulder, telling you you can't do this."

I'm guessing you've made the acquaintance of "the little voice." You know, the one that says, "You can't do that - who do you think you are anyway?"

So. Determined to shake her loose, I have ordered tabletop easels for my students. Thrown down the gauntlet, as it were!

Classes will commence at Saccarappa Art Collective in Westbrook on six Monday mornings from 10 until noon beginning on March 18. Contact the gallery (link in the nav bar) or me to sign up. I'll need at least five students prior to Saturday March 15. $120 per person, basic supplies included. I'll start with a short demo and some examples, then a bit of color theory. We'll go from there.

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.

A Manifesto

There's a pervasive mindset in our culture, that if you're an artist, and you make enough money to live on, you're selling out, prostituting your muse. As though it weren't a legitimate calling to produce art and feed oneself at the same time - or that the artist must choose a single option: to value their art either materially or spiritually; never both.

This is a rationale I've come to reject only by staring it very hard in the face. I can now see the holes in the fright mask. Behind them is a false humility that's actually rooted in hubris: the belief that art and artists are somehow special; not of this world; above other trades. Oh really?? Want to argue that when you need a plumber? A firefighter? People provide valuable services and create good things every day. And they make a living at it, as they deserve to do. If your toilet backed up, you probably wouldn't want to call an artist to fix it. But when you need an uplifting vision, the discount store won't do. The person you should get in touch with then is an artist.

To that end, I'm sending my Holiday Card promotion to my email list, and creating fun, affordable art to fit within real people's shopping budgets. I'm advocating for people to think about giving art for the Holidays this year. Remember that even if an original painting is not within your means, a signed print of that painting may well be. It's simple, it's real, it's local, it's unique, and it will keep you out of the craziness at the mall. It's even affordable, whatever your budget. But the best reason to give art to your loved ones - or yourself - is because it is uplifting and intrinsically valuable.

So, please visit my website, www.mainebrook.com/art , and think about how you would feel about giving someone you care about a gift that is beautiful and may be a cherished part of their life forever.

That's it. Commercial over. Wishing you and your loved ones a blessed and happy Holiday season.

Crow #3. 5x5" on canvas. 2010

The Basics

I've been reading the book Musicophilia, by Oliver Sacks, a neurologist. It's a fascinating book about the various ways the human brain perceives and processes music, and how profoundly music can change us.

Perception is one of my favorite things to think about as I go about my day. The information our eyes perceive, and what our brain tells us based on this information, is so very different - and yet again both must be so different from the reality - as we're given to understand it - of atoms awash in tides of energy, with far more space between than solid material.

Am I the only person in the world who is nuts enough to think about things like that while driving from the post office to the grocery store?

Anyway, back to Musicophilia. Sacks writes that Mozart created music by repeating and enlarging on patterns, while Beethoven started with a grand theme and illustrated it. (If Sacks ever stumbles across my blog I hope he'll forgive me for interpreting his opinion!) Reading what he wrote made me think about my painting. I'm definitely more in the Mozart camp, myself. In fact, one of my favorite modern composers is Philip Glass, whose work is decidedly all about pattern and texture. I often listen to his recordings in my studio. I've been a realist in the past - and realism will tend to creep into my paintings if I allow it - but rather than the scene itself, I am so much more interested in painting the patterns and textures I find within the scene.

Blue Line. 9x9 on masonite. 2010

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.