The WORK of art

Last week, I had the joy of focusing much of my time on creating a piece of art for Advent (more on that in another post).  So far, this week has been all about the WORK associated with being an artist.  

Caaaarefully packing the car…it is stuffed!

And believe me, that is not glamorous or particularly creative and mostly it’s not all that fun. It just has to be done.

Monday’s focus was on hanging my part of the “Feathers and Petals” show at Green Spring Gardens (you can read more about that in my Art on Display page).  Planning the show goes on for months, literally, making decisions about what the show should look like, which of my paintings would further that vision, and then, in turn, were there ones that needed to be framed? Yes, three.  Were there ones I would like to take but don’t have room for (yes, two, at least).  I’d been framing, packing, writing up my inventory over the past few weeks, and Monday morning was packing time.  Carefully, carefully fitting nine paintings into the car, remembering the tool kit, the paperwork, the labels…

All the paintings out of the car, along with the all-important tool kit—first things first, unwrap them all from their packaging! and then figure out where they will hang…

Hanging the show went smoothly, as far as show hanging goes.  It always takes longer than I think it will. Constant decisions: should this painting go here or there?  Is there room for ALL the paintings?  Is that painting still crooked? And why can’t we get it to hang straight?? Many thanks to my daughter Stephanie who helped in innumerable ways.  

And then--it was done.  

So that was Monday.

Yesterday morning was all about the website, adding new work to each of the galleries, changing out the paintings on the revolving slides, updating the CV and letting people know about what’s going on in the “Art on Display” page.  Realizing I haven’t written a blog post since July -- really?!? Ok, here’s a new one!

And then it was time to deal with acceptances and rejections from shows (one of each yesterday); continue planning for a talk I’ll give in December; write an explanation to go with the Advent painting (only a few short paragraphs, but it takes a while…); gather up news from fellow artists to send off to be published in an art organization’s newsletter.  

Also in there, before and after hanging the show, and in between yesterday’s other tasks, is the work of keeping track of my paintings using Artwork Archive.  Because at this point, I need a database to help me remember things like: did this painting already get displayed at the Art League Gallery?  How big is that painting?  What’s the price of this other piece? I’ve found this database to be extremely helpful--as long as I put in the work to keep it updated.  

Which is what I’m doing this week!

Trees and Dreams

I’m staring out my kitchen window into the wooded area behind our home and humming “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” from Disney’s “Cinderella”--and believe it or not, those two elements are connected.

Once, I had a dream to paint that woodland, to put onto paper some of the wonder and joy that fill me each day as I watch these trees live their lives. And a few years ago, I did just that, created a series of paintings, ending with a large triptych (40” high x 78” wide, unframed). That triptych -- three paintings that form one whole image -- symbolized for me the culmination of that dream of painting those woods. So that part of my dream came true…

The Tree Triptych, parts One, Two and Three, all together.

But there is another part of the dream. Because that painting needed to be out there, in the world.

Others needed to see it. I wanted to sell it.

Nonetheless, it sat quietly in storage.

I couldn’t afford to frame it.

I couldn’t exhibit it unless I framed it.

I presented its image as part of a proposal for a solo show. I was rejected.

The triptych waited, carefully packed away.

On a whim this spring, I took the three pieces out and showed a couple who came to visit my studio. After many ooh’s and ah’s, I put them away again. The triptych was not for them. But then it came out for another studio visitor. Each time it was revealed, it shouted out its beauty and glory to me, and I dreamed once again of selling it. The second visitor loved it, but chose something different.

Finally, friends came to visit and wanted a look at my new work. Obligingly, we toured the studio, and again, acting on impulse, I pulled out the triptych. It wasn’t new work, per se, but I had been seeing it with new eyes. Perhaps they would too.

They did.

And so the rest of the dream has come true: the Tree Triptych has sold, in its entirety, and will soon grace the walls of Ecosystem Investment Partners in Baltimore, MD.

One phrase from the Disney song quietly repeats itself in my mind: “Have faith in your dreams and someday…”

Two Weeks' Notice

It is generally supposed that two weeks is a good amount of time to give for notice--when you are leaving a job, for instance.  In this case, the two weeks’ notice is for the Fencepost Art Gallery.  That’s right, after over a year of posting original art on a daily basis outside my home, Saturday, May 22 (weather permitting), will be the final day of the Fencepost Art Gallery.  

The Gallery was created over a year ago with the goal of bringing beauty and order in the midst of a global pandemic. Judging from the comments I’ve received over this past year, both in person and online, that goal was met.  Over and over, people let me know that seeing the beauty of a piece of original art was uplifting, soothing, inspiring and, sometimes, just fun.  It became a destination for neighbors, a pinpoint of light in this very dark year.

And now, it’s time to stop--or at least, take a long break. In the Northern Virginia area, so many people are now vaccinated, schools back in person, and so much is opening up.  Folks are once again moving faster; they have places to go, things to do, people to see. While the pandemic is far from over on a global scale, around here, life is slowly approaching normal.

So let’s go out with a bang and not a whimper: on Saturday, May 22, in addition to the pieces I’ll hang on the fence, from 10 till 2, I’ll be out front selling a number of smaller, unframed works at a 15% discount. AND, to make it even better, 10% of the proceeds from that day will go to So Others Might Eat, a non-profit organization in DC that helps those suffering from food insecurity. 

Any questions?  Contact me on the form here on the website.  

Remember, Saturday, May 22, from 10 to 2, at 1841 MacArthur Drive, McLean, VA 22101 for the sale!  Artworks will be 15% off!  A portion of the proceeds donated to So Others Might Eat!  Don’t miss it!

Just a few of the paintings that have been featured over the past year, along with my faithful sidekick Arlo, who always wanted to help.

Penguin Crunches and Other Creatures

Penguin crunches, donkey kicks, froggers, seal jacks...My studio has been invaded by strange animals.  Also by mountain climbers and speed skaters.  But don’t worry, they are all making me stronger.

Specifically, they are making my body stronger:  these are all exercises I have begun doing since the pandemic began.

This is the painting I stare at while I’m exercising (what, you didn’t think I was going to put a picture of myself exercising, did you?!?)

Pre-pandemic, my exercise mainly consisted of quick trips to the local Planet Fitness gym for a half hour spin on a recumbent bike or elliptical--while reading a magazine or watching one of the many tvs there.  It wasn’t great exercise, but I told myself it was enough.

I’m not sure who I thought I was kidding. My doctor gave me a little side-eye at my last annual physical and said I really needed to strengthen my core...yeah, yeah…

Then: shutdown. No gym.  

But Planet Fitness to the rescue--they began posting daily “work-in” sessions for all of us stuck at home. I began to do them, down in my studio. I learned new terminology.  I realized just how out of shape I really was...mountain climbers?  I couldn’t have climbed much beyond a small hill when I first began.  Still, I kept at it, three or four times a week, as uncomfortable as it was/is, because I felt better after the work in was over.  

Now, after months of consistently exercising, I’m stronger, more flexible and have more energy, really and truly.  My arthritis doesn’t hurt as much.  I can zip up the stairs instead of plodding.  Challenging, regular exercise -- a definite silver lining to this time.  

And I’m almost looking forward to that annual doctor’s visit, just to show her that, yes! Thanks to penguin crunches, Russian twists, planks and more, my core is strengthened!

My favorite teacher Aja leads another great class—Planet Fitness on Youtube.

Making Space

People frequently ask me about my studio when they find out I’m an artist. My art “studio”, such as it is, has always been a small portion of a room in our home.  For many years now, it has shared space in the basement rec room, with the family desktop computer and sole printer, along with the ONLY television in the house.  Pre-pandemic, this sharing of space wasn’t a huge issue, I made due at home for small projects and borrowed space in a friend’s studio for larger work.  Actually, I spent a lot of time in that friend’s studio...until COVID.

Suddenly, that other studio space wasn’t available.

I needed to make space in my own home, since that seemed to be (and has proved to be) where I’ll be working for the most part for the foreseeable future.  And I need space to make larger works.

It seemed like a simple enough proposition: Find another spot in the house for the television, get rid of some extra furniture, move a few things around and -- presto-- I would have my studio, that whole basement room to myself.  Back in April, I even bought myself an easel, stashing its box in the garage till that little re-organization process was done. 

Do I actually need to say that there has been nothing simple about this process

Remember that game you play with dominos, where you set them up on end, one behind the other, and one must fall before the next can fall--that kind of approximates what we had to go through, except in reeeeaaaalllly slow motion.  The photo here of the lists of what had to happen first, then next, only scratches the surface of what we went through, since it doesn’t include the three (!!!) separate trips comprising many hours my husband made to the nearest Verizon store for equipment needed to deal with the television move (and did I mention that our lone tv was 14 years old and so we had to upgrade?), nor the hours spent on hold with Verizon to get all the new equipment to actually talk to each other.  

But this is supposed to be about my studio, not the television ( kudos to my husband, nonetheless!).

Bit by bit, the dominos fell.  Furniture donated or moved.  Space cleared.  All the items on the long lists checked off.

In celebration last week, I finally put together the lovely easel I so optimistically purchased back in April when repurposing this room seemed like a simple weekend project.  It had gathered quite a bit of dust in the garage over the intervening months. But when I opened the box, the clean smell of its beechwood drifted like a promise through the room; it was the scent of creativity, the promise of struggle, the anticipation of beauty in the making.

Easel-in-a-box!

Sturdy and big enough for some good-sized canvases—check back to see it in use!

Always good to have a helper when you have to put together one of those things that only has pictures to guide you to assemble.

Puzzling Out the Process

At long last, the first completed puzzle—the extra piece belonged along the bottom edge. Oh, and the dog ate one of the pieces from the center of the puzzle, when the piece fell on the floor, that’s why there’s one missing…

Prior to the pandemic, jigsaw puzzles had a very specific time and place:  on vacations, with lots of family, they were a way to be occupied just enough for conversations to blossom, and to stave off boredom if it was too rainy for the beach…

All that changed with the pandemic too.

At the beginning of the shutdown, I pulled out a 1000 piece puzzle of paintings by Vincent van Gogh.  I began the puzzle, as always, by putting together all the pieces that had flat sides to create the outer perimeter.  Problem was that when the perimeter was put together, one piece with a flat side was left.  There was no obvious place for it anywhere.  Everything seemed to fit--with one piece left over.  So I set it aside and kept going, trusting that the place where it belonged would become clear.

Working that puzzle became an art lesson as I scrutinized puzzle pieces, examining and comparing colors, shapes, brushwork, composition. As painting after painting within the puzzle came together, I grew more confused about the one piece that didn’t fit.  But the words “trust the process” came to mind.  Joining piece after piece, one by one, step by step, the process of creating continued.

And then, at last, the one spot that was not connected quite correctly revealed itself, and the one stray piece with the flat side fit in.  

Such triumph! Fulfillment. Right-ness.

What was needed revealed itself in the moment that was right.  And I realized that this-- taking the next obvious step while waiting for the revelation to the hidden question -- THIS was “trusting the process”.  In one of the most tangible ways possible, doing puzzles showed me how “trusting the process” truly works.

And this is how I have to paint.  Putting down the next brushstroke, finding the next color, attempting, adjusting, examining, just like with a puzzle, trusting the process.

The van Gogh puzzle was only the first-- as the pandemic has worn on, I’ve since completed a diabolically difficult Monet, an even more complex Singer Sargent, and am now at work on a Dutch still life by Van Dael.  With each of them, I re-learn the lesson of trusting the process.

The current puzzle in process—you can see how I group pieces together on little paper plates, I’ve gotten very methodical in my methods! And did you know the Spanish word for puzzle is “rompecabezas”? That literally means “head-breaking”—yup, I get it!

The Fencepost

The second day of the Fencepost exhibit (I forgot to take a photo of the painting I put up on the first day). This painting is “Breaking Dawn”, one of my favorite pieces that walks the line between abstract and representational.

It’s taken me a few days to get my head and heart back together after the events of last week.  Or at least, together enough to write about another silver lining to this pandemic time--a silver lining which also, as it happens, has relevance to the unhappiness of the political time we now are in.

I’m writing about the Fencepost Art Gallery (Fencepost for short).

If you follow me at all on social media, you know what I’m referring to, but in case you missed it, here’s the scoop on the Fencepost.  Way back at the beginning of the pandemic, an artist friend who lives in DC began putting her paintings on an easel on her front porch each day, for passersby to enjoy. She got lots of positive responses--people felt so uplifted by seeing the art.  I wanted to do the same, but -- no front porch.

Think, think, think--how could I display my art for others to find encouragement in this dark time?

Well...what about the fence that runs parallel to the road right in front of my house?  Could I hang paintings on it?

YES.

That was back in late April.  Every day since then, barring inclement weather or short travel stints, I’ve put at least one painting up on the fence.  I even had a very professional sign made, and that goes up too.  And I’ve tried to also take a picture and post that on social media (although that hasn’t been quite as consistent, to be honest).

The response has been significant.  Over and over, people tell me--sometimes in person, sometimes online--that seeing my art has helped them, cheered them, given them relief from the never-ending cycle of bad news to even worse news.  Folks have let me know that they plan their daily walks to include a stop by our fence. The Fencepost has begun discussions about art and life, has brought beauty into bleak days, has given joy to many more people than I even know.  

And here’s another fun outgrowth of the Fencepost:  an artist friend who lives in Maryland liked the idea but complained that he didn’t have a fence...I told him that I didn’t have a porch--surely, he could find a way to display his art.  And he did, in his driveway.  So even more beauty was spread.

“My Green Thumb Again” is the largest painting that’s hung at the Fencepost so far—4 feet wide, 3 feet tall.

Back when I began the Fencepost, if you had told me that I would still be hanging paintings outside almost nine months later, with no end in sight, I would not have believed you.  And if I had, I probably wouldn’t have begun it!  But, I did make a start, and each day (after checking the weather forecast) another painting goes up.  And more beauty shines out.

One more positive result of the Fencepost, and then I’m done, at least for now--I’ve sold a fair amount of work because of it. That’s a pretty great side effect of brightening up a dark world.

Eventually, I ran out of framed pieces to hang— that’s when I learned to put unframed pieces into acid-free acetate bags and hang them with thumbtacks, which greatly expanded my inventory. This “Coldest Winter” series is the only time I’ve hung four paintings at once.

The Big Commission

Seems fitting to begin the Silver Linings Sketchbook with this story, given that today is Epiphany, the last day of the official Christmas season.

Specifically because of the pandemic, I received the largest painting commission I have had to date.

To be exact, the painting is 5 feet wide by 6 feet high. I can just barely carry it if I stretch my arms out as wide as possible.

Here is how it happened: when our church staff was trying to figure out how to have a family-oriented Christmas Eve service during the pandemic ( this is a service which normally would have included a live Nativity scene, with real people, not a possibility in the time of COVID), they decided they would like a life-size nativity painting. They approached me to see whether I would consider creating such a thing...would I?

Would I !?! Of course!!!

Sketching in the basics with charcoal…

In the end, due to even stricter regulations, and out of an abundance of caution, the in-person church service with the painting didn’t happen. What did happen was a video of “Mrs. Louise’s Neighborhood”, where our church’s children’s minister talks about the story of Christmas in various ways, including taking a trip to visit “Ms Carolyn” in her studio. The link is here; Mrs. Louise's Neighborhood (Christmas Special) - YouTube. If you don’t want to watch the whole thing, you can find the studio trip beginning about minute 4.5 and ending about 11.5.

So, my first really large commission, all due to the pandemic. I hope it’s not my last!

The finished painting. All rights reserved; this image may not be reproduced without permission of the artist.

Arlo was a good companion through the process, though he did end up with quite a bit of charcoal in his fur.

The canvas was exactly as wide as my work desk, so I tied the stretchers on the back onto the desk so that the canvas wouldn’t shift as I worked.