I'll Miss You, Tom Butter;)

Magenta Pool, 18"x18" Oil on Wood Panel, 2010

Sadly, I have finally decided that I just really can't go to the Vermont Studio Center this January. It truly pains me because one of the visiting artists that month is Tom Butter, who was also one of my teachers about 25 years ago at the Philadelphia College of Art. I was thrilled when I noticed that he was scheduled to be at VSC during January which is about the only month out of the whole year that I can actually get away from here to go there and was SO looking forward to seeing him and also getting his feedback on my work these days. He was one of my favorite teachers mostly because even though I was an interloper in the painting department (an illustrator crossing over) he took me seriously unlike some of the other painting instructors who shall remain nameless. Well, mostly because I can't recall their names anymore, but whatever. However, at least Tom and I can be Facebook friends, there is always Facebook, I guess.......

Anyway, besides Tom being there, I also wanted to go because I have some plans for some new work in mind and being at a residency is such a good place to focus on new ideas. Or get really confused about what to do. Either is fine; as both are valuable processes. I will just have to settle for trying to get started on those new things here at home and hopefully will have made some progress before January 2012 which is when I have rescheduled my residency.

So I will stay home and paint. I will also prove how grown up I have become by using my residency funds for upcoming expenses, including two crowns I need and that our dental insurance probably won't pay for, and also by staying home with the kids while Doug does some traveling for his business. Evidently. we aren't supposed to leave kids home alone even if two of them would really enjoy that, heh.

And the sliver of the bright side here (besides new crowns) is that it may be better for me to skip a year anyway. As much as I enjoy those residencies, they are also kind of intense, and so I think I should take a bit more time in between.

But still, bleh. I am kinda bummed out about this today......

Back in Black

Black Painting#78, 2009, Oil on Gessoed Paper, 9.5x9.5

So the color abstracts have spawned at least a few new directions for me so far, first it was The Blues and now it's black and white paintings. Or to be more accurate, the Black Paintings, (which I am calling the series) as there is no white paint involved. A mere technicality, I suppose. Clearly these can be called black and white, but whatever. I like the sound of Black Paintings.

Actually working in a monochromatic style is not new to me. In college, as an illustration major, we were often required to work in black and white in order to maximize the ability to work in a wider variety of print media. Publications liked b/w illustrations because they were usually cheaper (not really a plus for the artist, who is still creating a fully realized image, but don't get me started on the inequities of pay for creative types) so it was good to be able to include b/w imagery in our portfolios.

Here are some examples of a piece that I did in college, and one that I did when while I was trying to get work as an illustrator:



Clearly my work was quite representational then, and I used brushes and turpentine to pull the black paint off, and in some cases I also used white paint to bring out the light areas. I seldom mixed the two together though, didn't really care for painting the gray scale, I guess.

I loved working in black and white although I was never entirely pleased with the results. And when I began painting again a few years ago, I simplified this same process when I developed my underpaintings for the landscapes. And even though I was trying to find a way to meld a strong, monochromatic underpainting (I shifted to a red underpainting, black didn't really do what I wanted to accomplish) with color glazes over, I often dreamily considered using black again.

Black Painting#76, 2009, Oil on Gessoed Paper, 5.5x9.5

So to me, going back to the b/w was a natural offshoot of the color abstracts and it finally seems like a good chance to go for it. My own limitations this time around are no brushes and no white paint are to be used as those were two of the elements that always frustrated me most before. And just by virtue of the big shift in imagery I have gone through since college, the subject matter is of course, very different, and more in keeping with what I want to express in my work now.
Black Painting#77, 2009, Oil on Gessoed Paper, 5.5x9.5

I am also using a tool to scratch back into the paint, I do that in the color abstracts too, and in the landscapes and barns as well. The marks were fairly random at first, or they were used to imply windows or doors in the structures. However, they have become a bigger element in the abstracts and even more so in the Black Paintings, I think. I really struggle with the integrity and meaning of each mark, while still trying to keep their random quality. Not sure if I have accomplished that yet, but will keep on with the process. I have to say that I have been quite obsessed with the Black Paintings and am so happy to be back at them.
Black Painting#79, 2009, Oil on Gessoed Paper, 7.5x5.25

I have about five more on the drying rack today which will probably go up on my sales blog soon. And like always, the Black Paintings look SO much better in person than in these jpegs. Every single mark, paint groove and swirl is visible.....

Our Philadelphia Experience

So Doug and I drove down to Philadelphia on Saturday to attend a surprise 25th wedding anniversary for one of Doug's childhood friends. Everyone who had been a guest at the wedding was invited, which I thought was a wonderful concept and while our friends suspected something was going on, they were surprised to see the whole crew there. It was a wonderful party and even though I only knew a handful of people, I had a GREAT time. My party social skills have been on a decline in the past several years so it was lovely to really enjoy myself this time.

After the party we drove to our hotel in Center City and even though it was perilously close to our usual bedtime, we were both anxious to go out and walk around our old neighborhood.

(Just to recap if you are new here, or if you have not committed my background to memory: I moved to Philly, from Minneapolis, in January 1985 to attend PCA, now UArts, and lived in a variety of places in Center City, a loft in North Kensington which was a bit dangerous for a single gal what with the constant gunshots and all, then I lived in a really yucky apartment in South Philly at 8th&McKean when I met Doug. Doug grew up in Broomall, a Philly suburb, attended Tyler 1976-1980 or so, lived at 13th and Walnut 1984-1986, then moved up to a studio on North Delaware Avenue which is where he lived when we met. We had a place together on Fairmont Avenue, then moved to Milford Connecticut in 1991. Phew!)

The first thing I learned on our walk is that the building at 15th&Spruce where I had a beautiful studio apartment on the 14th floor is gone, replaced by the Kimmel Center. I knew about the Kimmel Center but didn't realize that it was right THERE. Sigh. But McGlinchey's, one of my favorite dive bars just a few doors down was still there and we decided to go on in. It was like walking into a time machine (except I did NOT get carded this time;)), absolutely nothing was different, including the bartender, Fred. I didn't know I remembered his name until I saw him and his name just naturally came to mind. Old habits.....

Anyway, Doug and I hung around awkwardly for a few minutes, then started to talk with the guy at the door. I decided to chat with Fred and even though he didn't remember me (I think I am glad about that, it means I did not do anything there that someone might remember for more than a few years at least!) he was very sweet and chatty and it was great to talk to him. He seemed glad to know that I had moved on from the bar scene and that I have a family and good life. Anyway, it was very surreal to be in that bar again, many events occurred there for the few years I was a regular; I made friends and lost them, had a few torturous romances, drank too much. I recall watching the 1988 Winter AND Summer Olympics there and cheering for Debi Thomas, Gordeeva and Grinkov, and winced when Greg Louganis hit his head on the springboard, but still went on to win the gold medal. Doug and I spent our first New Year's Eve there together (even though he hated bars). The beer there was cheap back then, 50 cents on tap and there was a lot of Tom Waits music on the jukebox. Perfect. Well it was back then anyway, last Saturday, I felt uncomfortable there and so we moved on. These reviews give a pretty accurate picture of McGlinchey's. Some people might be a bit too uptight to enjoy this particular dive bar;)

It was wonderful to see my old school, which has taken over much of the area and I have a lot of great memories of late nights in the studios, rushing to an early class loaded down with art supplies and books. Sitting in the small park (which is now gone) between classes, grabbing something to eat at the health food store on the corner (which is now a Starbucks) and going for a swim at the Jewish Y (which is now a UArts building). Sigh again.

And then onto my other dive bar, Dirty Frank's:
Dirty Frank's has been at 13th&Pine forever and everyone that I have ever met who went to UArts also spent more than a few evenings there. Even though the beer cost a bit more (always an issue for a college student) I actually liked Dirty Frank's much more than McGlinchey's. They were open on Sunday nights and also on the holidays and I spent more than a few Thankgivings, Christmas Eves and New Years there for several years. It was the perfect place to cry in your beer from loneliness, then turn to the person next to you and have some fascinating, or really stupid conversation to pull you out of it. I also spent a lot of time there with my friends from school, it was a good place to go after a long day of classes and a night of painting in the studio. Anyway, it was basically the same as 20 years ago, but instead of the boarded up look that I remember, there are murals of Franks on the exterior. Inside it seemed a lot more cluttered, tons of cut paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, faded Mummer's parasols over the bar. The old wood booths are the same (now I wish I had carved my name in one when I had the chance) as well as the bench covered in chipped linoleum by the door. A lot of art hanging on the walls and I am just going to assume that the bathrooms are still as disgusting as they used to be on a Saturday night. I tried to find out but the ladies room was occupied for a disturbingly long time. Heh. Doug and I decided to sit at the bar and I am quite sure that a. the barstools are the exact same ones that were there 20 years ago and b. the guy sitting on the other side of Doug was also a regular in the 80's. I hope he was just back for a visit like me, but somehow I don't think he was.

And to top it all off, the same bartender from 1987 was still on duty. We started chatting and she didn't remember me either. Safe again!

Funny thing about sitting at Dirty Frank's though. I felt VERY comfortable. Kinda like I was back at home. Maybe I should feel sad about that but I don't really. It was like a home to me at a time when I was really lonely and troubled and even though I did a lot of stupid things in those days, I could always go and sit at Dirty Franks and feel more at ease than I ever did in my childhood home. That seemed pathetic at the time, but I don't feel that way about it at all anymore. Plus, there was something very satisfying about getting all teary eyed, while Peggy Lee asked "Is That All There Is?" I had a melodramatic streak back then, hehe.

So after Doug finished his beer and I drank my ice water (did learn a few lessons from the old days at least, I don't drink alcohol anymore!) we went on to look at the building where his father's graphic design studio was for many years, which was coincidentally right behind one of the apartments that I lived in. Then we went to look at his old place on Walnut Street.

It was great to walk around the streets at night without worrying about anything, as it used to be a bit hairy, lots of shadowy types, hookers and cars slowly cruising by. Now the streets are crowded with people, lots of restaurants with tables out on the sidewalks, a really great atmosphere! I did get a shout out from a creepy guy in a car driving by which was a real blast from the past. I used to get hassled quite a bit like that when I lived there (I think it was the red hair) and always hated it. This time Doug and I had a good laugh and frankly at age 44, it was almost gratifying. Heh.

Back to our fabulous hotel room near Rittenhouse Square which made me seriously consider putting all my belongings in storage so that I could move in there and had a great night's sleep.

The next morning we drove around to see the other places we lived. We sat in the car out front of the building where Doug lived and worked when we met and reminisced. That area looked EXACTLY the same, down to the sauerkraut factory across the street:

We drove down to South Philly to look at my old apartment:
I lived in the 2nd floor apartment and there were NO flowers climbing up the front when I lived there. The neighborhood looks a bit better now, it was getting pretty bad when I moved away. The old Italian guys that hung out at the store on the corner (a photo of Mussolini hung prominently on the wall just inside the door) and pestered me about working at a "Jew" owned business while I waited for the bus are long gone. But the building still has an Italian theme:
and it still looks like some sort of hangout.....

So all in all it was a very memorable trip down memory lane. On the drive home, we daydreamed about moving back into Center City when the kids are grown, but all that disappeared when we drove up the beautiful, quiet country to our house. So happy to be where we are now.

PS. But we might visit Philly a bit more often. We still have friends there! And there is a museum! And art galleries! And lots of restaurants! And Zoe Strauss!

Memory Lane: Ely's

Illustration Thesis Exhibition
Each spring, the illustration program presents one of the most exciting events on campus, the William H. Ely Illustration Exhibition. This competitive exhibition features the work of the entire senior year class and gives illustration majors the opportunity to show their work to thousands of people.

Shown above are the illustrations that I did in 1987 for the Ely Thesis Exhibition at the Philadelphia College of Art (now University of the Arts). It was a long project and involved choosing the subject, a proposal, notes, sketches and various thumbnails, and "semi-final" illustrations. We had to do four pieces, they each had to be the same size and I can't recall for sure but I think we could choose the topics and format; record album covers (old days, remember?), book covers, posters, etc. Mine were posters for performances of four plays by Tennessee Williams.

On the day of the deadline, near the end of the school year, all of the illustration majors left their final pieces in the gallery at the school and a group of teachers placed the where they felt they should be displayed. Mine got a primo spot, visible as soon as one walked into the front door from Broad Street. Way exciting! Then all of the students had to come back in and hang their pieces, which was pretty interesting as most of us had not really done that before and well, hammers AND glass were involved. But all went well, and there was a pretty kick ass opening party which of course, continued on at Dirty Frank's (my favorite dive bar) after.

Anyway, I was very proud of my work for this event, and actually looking at it now I still feel that way. I admit to faking my way through the preliminaries just a bit as planning a final painting was never my strong point (still isn't, actually) but I wasn't sure how to express my intent in sketches. I knew I wanted to combine my realistic painting abilities with the more abstract and textural qualities that I had been playing around with and somehow, um, and luckily it all just fell into place at the end.

The type was definitely an issue and the way I handled my mine caused a bit of hubbub with the graphics department. Adding type was a requirement and back in those days (you know, before electricity) options were pretty limited not to mention very expensive for financially challenged art students. Most of the other students had type printed on a clear sheet of plastic which was then placed over the painting and a few incorporated more formal type into their images by painting it directly on the work, in the space designated for it. And back then getting something printed was complicated and involved going to a printer, not like now when we can so easily print everything from our own computers and printers. Anyway, after getting input from all of my instructors as well as other students, I debated about the type until the last minute. Finally, late one night I just decided to do what I felt was the proper solution-I scratched in the hand lettered information. I had been warned not to do it that way, but when it was done I recall that almost everyone thought it worked. Except for about half the graphics students, and maybe a few instructors who felt it should have been done more formally. I have a vague memory of hearing something about a graphics instructor holding a meeting in front of my paintings and discussing the type, but that could have been a rumor. Or a product of my faulty memory. However, I still think I did the right thing. It actually related to the style of the painting unlike professional printing would have done.

But despite all that and having the work placed in such a great spot (a wonderful vote of confidence from the instructors who laid out the show), my work did not win any of the awards given, not even an honorable mention. At the time I was pretty sure there were some politics involved (a common refrain in something so subjective as art college, I am afraid), but to be honest, I couldn't fault those did win. It was all good work and everyone had worked just as hard, if not harder than I did.

And one more story about these paintings: While I was still in college, I became friends with Tom Leonard, who had taught a few classes in illustration a few years earlier. We have kept in touch over the years and awhile back he sent me a book that he had illustrated. He wrote a few things about our friendship and included a reference to the iguana I had painted for the Ely's. He still recalled that image after almost fifteen years. That might be better than any of the awards that I didn't get.

Also, while I did my Ely's in my senior year, I ended up having to come back the following year to finish up enough credits to graduate (and after that I still was short about 8 credits and so never did actually graduate, shhh). I didn't have to do the Ely's again, but I had to watch the next group of students go through the same crazy process which was pretty interesting.

Close ups below, and in case you are wondering, the white specks are where the paint has been rubbed off, due to the fact that I just stacked these paintings together with nothing in between each one. What a moron. Anyway, the paint in general has held up really well and I believe my process was similar to how I paint now- a monochromatic underpainting, followed by a layer or two of glazes. I think I also did a bit more alla prima painting especially in the representational areas. I don't recall exactly what I used to do all the scratching, but it was probably either an x-acto blade or some sort of scratch board tool. All four pieces are 18x24 and are oil on illustration board.

Memory Lane (Part 3) More College

Doesn't every art student draw their shoe?
The shoe drawings were done in my freshman year at Minneapolis College of Art & Design. I know that because by the time I transferred to Philadelphia College of Art in 1985, I was so over the moccasins. Before I left Minneapolis, I bought a pair of black leather ankle boots which I wore until they fell apart. They were completely impractical as they had no traction whatsoever, and they absorbed water like a sponge. But they were in fashion and by god, I was going to be in fashion when I started my new life in Philadelphia as a new and much more hip person. Heh.

Anyway, the following work was done during my first few years in Philadelphia. I have a vague memory of the instructors who gave me the projects and in most cases that helps me place the year. Approximately. It has been about 25 years after all and now I see that while I often wrote the month and day on my work, I left out the year. Back then I guess I thought it would always be 1985.

These were done at Penn's Landing one spring day in 1985:
I was nearing the end of my obsession with Doc Martin's inks but I totally enjoyed doing these. I remember feeling for years that I should do more, although I never did. Looking back I also think these were the most colorful things I had done and they almost foreshadow how I handle color now. Of course at the time, I was just squinting to see shapes and then throwing down some fairly random color down on wet paper.

The assignment here was a street scene:It was a rather involved project, we had to have references, including photos, sketches and written notes. Preliminary drawings of a variety of compositions then a monochromatic sketch done in the planned medium. And then finally we could move on to the final painting. I had a great street scene all planned out that mostly focused on some mannequins with the reflections of the street in the window in front. I went through the whole process, the references, the sketches, everything, and got about halfway through the final piece when I decided that I completely hated what I was doing. I was painting very precisely and realistically and even though it was pretty good (sorry, I thought I had that unfinished piece, but I couldn't find it) I just couldn't keep doing it. So the weekend before the final project was due, I put together some new references, sat down and whipped this painting out in acrylic. The teacher loved it and even though I enjoyed doing it, over the next few years I kept started pieces by working tightly then bailing on them after I lost interest in working like that (examples of that are in this post). I can't believe how long it took me to begin a painting by working loosely, I sure hung on to how my head wanted to paint, rather than what my heart wanted.

And of course a copy of a Rembrandt self-portrait:
I enjoyed doing this and it was a good introduction to working with an underpainting and glazes. I gained a new appreciation for work I had previously thought of as somewhat stuffy and obviously, Rembrandt has nothing to worry about as far as I go.

The following work is from a series of still lifes:
We were required to work in different mediums but from the same objects. I think I did many more in this series but I guess these were the only ones I thought were worth saving. I recall one of the crits where I put up this particular piece:and the instructor never talked about it. Someone mentioned that she missed one but she didn't hear that comment and I was too embarrassed to say anything. To this day I wish I knew what she might have said about it-she did really good crits, very constructive and honest without being insulting. Maybe I should email her and send her the jpeg. Heh.

Here are a few figure drawings done with ink:
I know I did about a million more, but I haven't found them. Probably just as well, surely they are not as good as I think they were.

A small drawing in graphite:

I have no memory whatsoever of this painting:but my name is on it and so I guess I did it. I think I like it. It looks like an illustration assignment and I recall that by my junior year or so I was working on putting design elements together with more organic subjects so I suspect this was done around then. Also, there is space on the right which is probably intended for some sort of copy, which was always a part of any illustration assignment.

Next time I will put up my senior thesis paintings. It's pretty cool to see how they relate to my current work. Thank goodness something I did back then does, I was starting to get worried that what I do now came from out of the blue.

Memory Lane (Part 1)

Well, I managed to get out to the barn this weekend to retrieve my portfolios of the work that I did in college. Actually I got Doug to trudge through the three foot high snow drifts, shovel out in front of the door and then poke around in our junk filled barn, but whatever. I was busy in the hen house and had my own issues with the snow and cold.

He brought in two portfolios and after going through them I realized that there is still another batch of work somewhere, so perhaps another trip out there is in order. I am pretty sure that I stored quite a bit of work in an old brown suitcase. Awesome storage, I know. Heh.

Actually most of the work is in pretty good shape all things considered. I have moved about 9 times since college and everything has been stored in basements, or attics and now it's been in a barn for almost five years. Many of the pieces are only scuffed because they were not protected by a covering and were rubbing against the back of another piece, but the paint itself looks good, no cracking or peeling. And since it has rarely seen the light of day, the colors have not faded.

Ok, now that I have reminded you all about how NOT to store your art, we can move on. I was an illustration major in college so much of my work seems a bit out of context now. We did a lot of portraits, both from live models and from photographs (I wrote a bit about that here). We also had to put images together, make visual statements for potential editorial assignments (not my thing, but I tried) and we did a ton of figure drawing. Most of the work I am putting up today are portraits, which seems appropriate considering what I have been working on lately.

So here are a few:
Painted from a live model, and it was obviously during the 1980's. I had more than a few jumbo disc earrings like that myself!

From a photo of course, and it looks like I did some scumbling to prepare to make some changes on his chin and in the background. Yet again, left unfinished.

Graphite on Gesso drawing from a photograph. Looks like it might have been for a toothpaste ad. heh.

These were done sometime around 1986, maybe 1987. I had learned how to glaze over an underpainting, in a class with Phyllis Purves-Smith, using traditional methods and I worked in that manner for quite awhile. Struggled is more like it. What I see now is that working so precisely and realistically was totally not right for me. I recall that I enjoyed doing the monochromatic underpaintings but clearly the rest of it wasn't me and I often gave up and left the work unfinished. Same goes for the graphite drawing. It is interesting to note now that I paint in a very loose manner, yet there are places where I can utilize the more exacting side of me too. It's like I solved the puzzle of me. Well, temporarily, anyway; I am sure there will be more shifts in the future.

Anyway, the assignment here:
was to paint a romance novel cover. Our illustration class lugged our supplies to one of the historical buildings in Philadelphia and the models posed in various ridiculous dramatic situations. I was very unhappy with this piece, the figures are SO stiff! BUT it was also kind of a breakthrough for me-I was really excited about how the background looked and how the more simple glazes worked over the underpainting and textured surface (gesso).

That painting led to more work like this: where I was playing around with textures, and more dramatic lights and darks. And for some strange reason I was also perfecting the art of making paint crack by coating a layer of oil paint with matte medium. Eventually the matte medium cracked and then I rubbed burnt umber oil paint into it which gave it sort of an old wood like look. Now you can buy a product that does something similar, but back in the old days I had to find other ways to get the effects I wanted.

This portrait:was done soon after I painted Bette Davis and is directly related to what I am doing today. I got a shiver when I saw it again. I was still using paintbrushes (now I just use a cloth to rub off the paint) and probably turpentine too, so it's a bit tight, but I remember understanding that I wanted to figure out how to add color. I never got to it back then, but it has nagged at me ever since I began painting again and now finally I am beginning to solve that puzzle too.

I have tons of drawings that were done directly from the model, but this is one of my favorites:
The model was a guy who I got to know a bit at the bars, he was a nice guy, AND he had great hair, which is always a plus when it comes to a model! I always wanted to give him this drawing because it actually looks quite a bit like him but he moved away before I was able to and of course I haven't the vaguest memory of his name.

Another interesting thing about looking at all of this old stuff is how bad it is! My perception has always been that the work I did in college was mostly really good, especially this work, the work I chose to save and lug around with me for 20+ years. However, I am less than impressed with it now. I guess that means that I have grown as an artist, since it is usually a good sign when old work is cringe-worthy, but still. Kind of a bummer, you know? Also, clearly I have since developed a very different color sense. The old work sure does look pretty dreary next to what I am doing now and I think that might be a huge understatement.

Anyway, more to come!

It Figures

It has not slipped my mind that I will need to be writing some sort of statement regarding the figurative work that I have been working on recently. At least if I want to do something with it, other than to continue tucking the finished pieces away in my flat file.

So I guess I'll start here on my trusty blog. The place where I can rattle on and on and maybe get some feedback too.

I was an illustration major back in college so there was a lot of emphasis on figure drawing. Endless hours of drawing from a model daily. I loved it but also hated it just a little bit, it was so draining. But my drawing skills were pretty good and got better and I still value that so it was all good. Later on, much time was spent on capturing likenesses, a pretty important skill if one hoped to work as an illustrator. we worked from life as well as from photographic reference and I did pretty well with both I think. Once I did a painting of Bette Davis (above) using a photo that had been printed somewhere. It was great fun to do, but I never really felt that I wanted to keep painting portraits in such a realistic manner. Even then it didn't feel right to me.

Around that time I got a hold of some my old family photos and became really intrigued with them. I was doing a lot of monochromatic paintings, which was actually the beginnings of the development of my current underpaintings, and so I began working from the images I had. Here are a few that I did right at the end of college, around 1988 or so.


Doug has always encouraged me to paint portraits, but when I began painting seriously again a few years back I didn't know what I wanted to say, although I had a lot to express. I fell into the landscapes by chance really, we had moved to this beautiful area and I figured I'd give them a try. About a year ago I started to really yearn to do something different and again Doug encouraged me to go back to portraits, and so I guess I just picked up where I had left off after college, deciding to work from photographs again as well. Not to faithfully interpret them, but to make my own interpretations, my own conclusions, my own stories about the photographs I collected.

In many ways the process of using a photographic reference for the figurative work is the same as how I use references in my landscape work. The photos are a starting point, a reminder, the beginning of a story that I can tell. The difference is that with the landscapes I mostly use my own photos, taken in a place that I have been, a place that I have experienced and have felt. Oddly, I have so far been unable to work effectively from photos that I have taken of people. Perhaps that will change in time but for now working from other family's old photos is something that is resonating with me and I will continue on in that direction for now. However, I view the process of interpreting the photographic reference as part of the painting process no matter where the photo originates. The process is still me and there are obvious similarities (palette, composition, drawing) no matter where the image comes from.

And a few more details. I am not interested in getting the likeness, although it is very tempting sometimes, especially if the photo is very appealing or if it is someone that I know in person. I am also not interested in doing commissions. I know this because when I was younger and was doing more realistic work, I did a few and it made me miserable. Few people are ever very happy with how they are represented by an artist and I couldn't handle feeling badly about how they felt. I suspect I have not matured much in that area and so will be refusing commissions, already I have been asked (casually) and I politely say no. Which brings me to the next point: I am not doing nice things to the people I work from! I am not making them more beautiful or more graceful or happier or better! I do hope to express though, my respect for their lives, their place in time and the relationships they have with others. There are also visual aspects that are important to me; color, form, looseness, patterns, the curve of a leg, the impressionistic drawing of a shoe, an arm, a hat, those are things that I love to be able to express.

So that's what I am thinking about this work. Of course, I try NOT to think too much, often thinking and planning messes me up. When I am actually working, hands and/or brushes in the paint, I am going on instinct and am not plotting out what I will do next. My work is really all about me and my instincts, for better or for worse, I suppose.

Crazy Train

Rest Stop, 2008, Oil on Gessobord, 5x7

In the 100 Things post yesterday, I made mention of telling the story of how I came to kill and prepare an animal to eat. It's kind of a long story, or at least I will make it into one (heh), and it also involves some things that perhaps if you are related to me, you probably should not keep reading!

By the time I was 17, I had been in three foster homes, as my mother was unable to care for my sister and I. The first one was a friend's house and I was there for about 2 years until her step dad starting drinking too much and taking out his anger on me. Then I went to live in a young couple's home. They had very young children and were also VERY religious. I was only 16 but already had some opinions (pro-choice) that they were offended by and after about nine months I was sent off to another home. The third one was a really good one, my sister had been there previously (we were never placed anywhere together) and I already knew them. They had four kids and it was pretty easy to just fit right in, which I did for awhile. But by the end of 11th grade I was fed up with the whole system, with being told what to do, where to live, and when to move. I was also starting to drink a little bit and had a boyfriend too, which fueled some rebellion in me. So I acted like the troubled immature child I was and just up and moved out one day. First I shared a place with my boyfriend but that didn't last long, so I got my own two room apartment with a bathroom down the hall that I shared with two other women that I never actually saw. I reaffirmed to myself that I wanted to finish high school, go to college and make something of myself, so I became an emancipated minor. There were some legalities involved and I had to agree to a visit from a social worker each month. I worked two jobs in addition to going to school, but after a few months it became really tough to handle the rent and I began to look for a cheaper place to live.

Around the same time that I turned 18 and had no one checking up on me any longer, I answered an ad in the paper for a room for rent. It was in a big old house out in the country, a few miles from the city where I lived, worked and went to school (Rochester, MN). It would mean more driving and gas, but the rent was only a hundred dollars a month including utilities, so I took it. But here is the bad part: the occupants of the seven other rooms were all men. My mother tried to stop me, but even though she and I had kept up our relationship, it was tenuous at best and I was not interested in hearing her advice about anything. The owner of the house was good guy, worked as a wrestling coach and teacher at the local junior college and then there were a variety of other guys living there. At the time they seemed so much older than I was, but really they were mostly just babies too, in their early 20's, trying to figure what to do with their lives. I became buddies with them, and they were fun. There was always a wicked game of pong going on in the living room and we shared many meals together. There was also a lot of drinking and several few parties in the barn that required the rental of a beer truck, but honestly that wasn't exactly unusual at that time.

I moved to the house in January of 1983. By April, I had started to date a friend of one of my roommates, His name was Jeff, but for the life of me I cannot recall his last name anymore, and this really bugs me for some reason. Anyway, Jeff was in a band and they practiced in the barn at the farm. I used to watch the practices and when the band played at a few local bars and parties, myself and the other girlfriends tagged along. Ok, I was a groupie, fine, I admit it. Heh. I can still remember the songs they played; Crazy Train, White Wedding, Lay it on the Line, La Grange and we all thought the band was incredible, awesome, they should have a record deal! I painted a backdrop for them (hmmm, I can't remember the name of the band now either...) and I gave Jeff, who played lead guitar, a pair of nylon parachute type pants. Then I spent a month's rent on a pair of leather pants for him too. There were a lot of bandannas tied to the forearms, near mullets, Sammy Hagar videos, and way too much drinking. I won't go into all the details about that, but even though we all did some very reckless things, we were lucky and nothing bad happened.

Anyway, what does this have to do with killing and preparing animals, you say? Not much actually, just setting the scene. In that same spring, one of the older roommates, Dean (he was all of 25), bought a load of maybe 50 live chickens, though it seemed like a thousand at the time. He offered to share them with whoever would help kill, pluck and prepare them. Since I had spent all my money on leather pants for the boy whose last name I can't remember anymore, I volunteered, along with a few other roommates who needed food too. Dean showed us all how to kill the chickens. I won't get too specific, but we all killed at least one chicken. It was horrible, yet also somewhat fascinating. However, none of us were into killing more than one and so Dean did the rest, he had been raised on a REAL farm. We had a kind of assembly line set up. Someone else put the dead chickens into a pot of hot water, then plucked them. Dean showed me and a guy named Phil how to cut them open after they were plucked and pull out the insides without spilling the contents of the gizzard, something that I think I could still do properly if I had to. And then someone else took care of the rest (legs, neck, etc, sorry) and put them in freezer bags. We kept a few out for a bbq later that evening and I still can recall how good those chickens were. Even though I couldn't bring myself to kill more than one chicken, I did my job well that day and we had a full freezer of fresh chickens for awhile at least.

So that's my story. I couldn't imagine chopping off a chicken's head now (we are planning to raise meat chickens next year and they will definitely be going to a slaughter yard for that part) but I have euthanized a few of my sick egg layers and I always feel horrible about it after. I can't quite believe that was me then, but I guess it was. Sometimes I can't remember who that girl was at all and she seems so distant as I sit here and write about this tonight.

PS. I actually managed to graduate from high school that spring, and by the end of June I was feeling very restless again. I had been accepted to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design and just decided to pick up and move up there a few months early. Another pretty dumb decision, and it wasn't my last, though eventually I managed to (mostly) become the person I always thought I should have been in the first place. I kept up with a few of my farmhouse roommates for awhile, but now haven't heard about anyone for many years. I'd google them, but alas, most of their last names have slipped away from my memory too. I saw Jeff once or twice after I moved to Minneapolis, but then I heard he went back to live with his parents who were very devout Jehovah's Witness. He had been having his own kind of rebellion I guess.
Oh and I am still very close to the third foster home family that I lived with. We mended our relationship, (meaning they understood my problems) and we all went on. They have been a part of my life ever since and I am very grateful for that.

Art in the Family

Fall Away, 2008, Oil on Gessobord, 5x5

So with two parents who are artists* all of our children have varying degrees of and interest in art. Our oldest son, who is handicapped and is also adopted has seemingly picked it up by osmosis. Language isn't his strong suit and he never participates in any art projects at home. However he does wonderful things at school and we are always blown away by whatever drawing or painting or sculpture actually makes it home.

Our 13 year old son has probably been the most consistently interested in art and has been telling us that he wants to do to art college for years already. He loves pottery and I have a whole bookshelf full of clay bowls and sculptures to prove it. He has recently been really into throwing pots, however that's been on hold during football season. He doesn't draw too much anymore but once in awhile he does something wonderful, he did this sketch of Penny when he was about nine:

When he was younger, he went through reams of paper, writing and illustrating the adventures of his character FUNNY BUNNY in comic book form, based on a beanie baby that someone gave him once. You know, Funny Bunny Saves the Sun from Blowing Up, Funny Bunny vs. Godzilla, that sort of thing. He has also played around with computer animation and you can see a few of them here. (obviously he is not 21, shhh)

Our oldest daughter, who is now eleven, has not done much in the way of drawing or painting over the last few years, although she has been doing a lot beading and other craft projects-things she and all her friends enjoy. This year she began middle school and has simply fallen in love with art, thanks to the awesome art teacher at her school. She is so excited about everything she is doing in the class and has also joined the school art club (she also is in the drama club and plays clarinet and will be starting piano lessons soon). I bought her some pastels and she has been busy doing all kinds of drawings in her sketchbook and then last night she did this self-portrait in watercolor:

I may have to get some tips from her on the portraits I am working on.

Our youngest daughter, Ginger, LOVES painting and her artwork has graced a few of our holiday cards. She is incredibly enthusiastic about everything and I suspect that she might make a very good assemblage artist someday, based on the fact that she is a total pack rat and is always hot gluing stuff together. In the meantime, she is also involved in music, plays percussion in the fourth grade band, and does lovely, very elaborate drawing of animals and ladies with up-do hair styles.

Of course art projects have always been a big thing around our house, but the kid's interest in them comes and goes. We don't push it either way and just try to go with whatever they are into at the moment. We have a lot of art on our walls, which we enjoy but the kids don't seem to pay much attention to any of it. Maybe it is soaking into their sub-conscious though, I hope so. And my older daughter has been spending quite a bit of time lately looking through my art books.

I love though, that they all have a wide variety of interests, with art being just one of them, which is something I didn't really have when I was a kid. I was sort of pegged as an artist when I was young, which was fine, I knew that I wanted to be an artist when I was five, but when I made noise about doing other things, like writing or being a special needs teacher, I didn't get any encouragement. I grew up believing that I was good at only one thing, something that I have tried to change as an adult, by learning how to do other things (um except for math, which I suspect I will never figure out). So that is a lesson learned and while our life clearly revolves around art, we make sure to encourage and support our kid's other interests too.

However, I can't say that Doug and I won't be doing more than a few happy dances if anyone decides to attend art college.

*Doug has a BFA from Tyler in photography and sculpture. He is an artist at heart, and his interest in photography led to holography, a field in which he was very successful, both as a creator and and in the business side. But he will get back to his own art someday, I know.

Here Comes the Night

Crazy Fields, 2008, Oil on Gessobord, 6x6

In the old days (before kids/husband/any kind of responsibility whatsoever), I only felt comfortable working in my studio at night, after dark to be exact. When I had to, I could get some work done in the daytime classes but that was definitely under duress. I was a night owl through and through and loved the night. The quiet, the darkness, the solitude, the pool of light at my table, even my scratchy eyes from being awake forever. I loved all of it and always felt as if I did my best work at night.

After the kids though, the nights were not my own anymore. They belonged to crying babies, breastfeeding, changing diapers, a snoring husband and the desperate hope for at least a few hours of sleep. Studio time, day or night, was not an option then, at least not if I was going to raise my kids the way I wanted to so I put it all aside for many years.

When I began painting seriously again, everything was different. I still felt like a night owl, but wasn't anymore. I had started waking up by 6am each morning and all of my activity was during the day; getting the kids off to school, cleaning, cooking, after school kid stuff, etc. By evening it was all I could do to stay awake until 9pm, I think because I was really working against my natural inner clock that wanted to be up half the night and then sleep in a few hours or so in the mornings. But I also decided that if I was going to work, it would have to be while the kids were at school only and that when they were home I was all theirs. This has worked pretty well for the last five years and I have been incredibly productive, even (gasp) making pretty good art in the daylight!

Now though, things are gradually changing. I still get most of my work done during the day (um well, I would if I actually had any lately, but that's a whole different post, hehe) but ever since I have gotten my own studio, which is a bit separate and even has a door that closes, I have been spending a lot of evenings working under my comforting pool of light. Not so much actual painting, but other things, like preparing supports, doing sketches, organizing ideas, etc. and quite often on the weekends I HAVE done some painting well past sundown.

I am totally loving my own time in the studio late at night, still with my scratchy, tired eyes, and cloaked in darkness. I even have some patchouli incense which totally makes me think of college, but mostly helps to get rid of the musty attic/new construction smell. My iPod has made listening to music while painting much easier (no getting up to change the album) and every song I hear now is my favorite. I even love it when Doug comes up and we talk about art while I work. Maybe this is the grown up version of studio time at art school.

I sleep even less now than I used to and although I know I could actually fall asleep at any time, anywhere, each day, I don't. And when evening comes I get my second wind and enjoy my studio time all over again and I marvel each time about how cool it is to have my nights back.

PS. Well I should add that I do go to bed a bit earlier several nights per week now that the TV season has begun. Oops, so much for the love of art. Heh. Sometimes mindless wins out.

Gessoing Paper

Turner, pencil drawing on gessoed paper

Katherine asked about the gessoed paper in a recent comment. I would love to offer a great description or demonstration about gessoing paper but to be honest this is the first time I have gessoed paper to use for oil painting. In college I did a lot of experimenting with various materials and supports, but by my last year I had settled on gessoed illustration board, which I really liked and which has held up perfectly after 20+ years by the way.

Anyway, this time around I did some google searches, read through my art materials books and talked to other artists who work on paper. After my head spun around counter clockwise 35 times due to the conflicting information and overwhelming amount of process involved, I decided to keep it simple. I just wanted to do some studies on paper, a surface that would be similar to the prepped panels I normally work on, easy to store, and relatively inexpensive.

So this is what I did: I had a pad of 140lb cold press watercolor paper on hand, so I cut each piece in half and taped them down to my work table. I applied three coats of gesso (it dries very quickly), then pulled off the tape and applied three coats to the other side. The paper was still wrinkled (I will use 300lb paper next time) and so I put a piece of release paper on the surface and ironed both sides. This worked pretty well to flatten the paper and so I taped each piece down to a scrap piece of hardboard so that I could work on a firm surface as well as easily move them from my easel to the drying shelf etc.

I have since found some more recommendations concerning paper. I have a few pieces of this on order and will try it next.

Also, when I was in Vermont, one of the other residents introduced me to the wonders of (Gamblin) PVA Size. She said that could be used to size regular drawing paper, which could then be painted on, even with oil. She used it for her studies often. I tried it while I was there and at first the paper wrinkled like crazy. But the next day it was perfectly flat and so I used it for one of the figures that I did there. I have been meaning to use the sizing again, and now that I have said this maybe I will feel motivated to pull out the bottle and try it again. Not sure how archival working like this is, but really these are just studies and experiments so I am not going to think about the next 400 years for now.

Well, I can't imagine that I have been very helpful here at all! Plenty of you must know much more about gessoing paper than I do so feel free to leave a comment and offer all of us a few more tips. Google searches are good too; "gessoing paper" yielded the most info for me.

Oh and by the way, I use Utrecht brand, acrylic Gesso. Probably not the best gesso ever, in fact it's not even authentic gesso, nor is it oil based which many think should be used when painting with oils (again, my head is spinning), but I like its surface and Utrecht has been my first choice ever since college.

First Day

My Studio.

First I have to say that as soon as I arrived here I had the most intense deja vu ever. I was pretty sure that I was back at ny first days of college. Um, but older and with bifocals this time. Thankfully it has subsided now but I have to say it was pretty freaky!

Ok. The drive went very smoothly (I heart mapquest) and although my car was acting suspiciously, the back end was significantly lower than the front end and I was convinced that it would collapse onto the back wheels, I made it here without incident.

When I got here a girl named Arista showed me where my room is, and then my studio, which is beautiful and big and freshly painted. I unloaded my things and then met up with Arista and about a dozen other residents and she took us on a tour. I think we all felt a bit awkward and no one talked to each other much, we were all just trying to get our bearings I suppose. However. this is where the deja vu kicked in-I was pretty sure that I had known some of the younger women from my college days, they seemed so familiar (the hair, the clothing, even the patchouli) but of course they were just babies then. Sigh. Anyway, it felt funny to be on the other side this time around, when really I still feel like one of them. Not sure if that makes sense.

I settled into my room and then went to the reception at the dining hall, where I stood around feeling like an idiot. I have gotten so used to people wanting to meet me at my openings and initiating the conversation, that I have seemingly lost my ability to just go up to someone I don't know and start talking. Actually I have never been all that great at that, but it was much easier when I a. drank alcohol, which I don't do anymore, and b. when I used to socialize more, which I also don't do anymore. Well except when it revolves around me. Heh.

At dinner I had the pleasure of sitting next to David Grozinsky. I was told by two people Steven LaRose and Tom Butter, a former teacher of mine at art school and who is frequently a visiting artist here) to find him, he works here, and I did find him at the salad bar. I had no trouble calling out to him that I know people that he knows (guess I just need a mission) and he was especially tickled to find out that I (sort of) know Steven. He invited me to sit next to him at dinner and we chatted a bit. Then I spoke to some of the other people at the table and everyone was very nice, of course. I look forward to getting to know everyone, there is such an interesting variety of residents here!

After dinner I puttered around in my studio and unpacked a few things and now I am off to bed. Tomorrow morning there is a meeting for the painters and I am totally excited about the figure drawing session in the afternoon!

So there you have it. A really big day in Tracyland. I will post in a few days, hopefully with some updates on new works.