Free to be

Some weeks ago, I hung up my saddle and walked away from my work life in Human Resources.  I came to this profession through the back door, so to speak.  I had always been fascinated by human behaviors, and made my way into this work through organizational development.  After several years as a behavior management trainer and systems and procedures analyst / consultant, I moved to the world of employment within HR, progressing upward with increased responsibilities, making my way through the political minefield of corporate machinations.  I always found that a BFA was priceless, with its gifts of constructive thinking and creative problem solving, using the concept of building rather than tearing down.  During these many years, I never stopped painting, and felt fortunate that I could apply the concepts of my artistic life to my business life.  I had been told for eons that an artist cannot paint what he or she does not know.  After all these years, I am still learning.  I’ve made it a practice to learn at least one new thing every day.  Sometimes I learn from a flash of insight, and epiphany of sorts.  I had one of those moments within a week or so of letting go and walking away from my day job.  I was happy to go, pleased, in fact, to be able to choose my daily activities.  I’d been warned of the surprising fatigue that would find me in the early months of retirement and settle on my body, demanding inordinate amounts of sleep.  I had also been told that it would take me weeks to re-calibrate a routine…maybe even to feel good.  I found the fatigue – or should I say it found me – in a quite unexpected way.  My re-calibration has come in the form of setting my internal clock to more reasonable expectations.  I have had to reconnect with the luxury of a time clock that I set to match my mood, my needs, and my desires.

As I became aware of this reality, I decided to paint my way through it as an means of furthering my knowledge and understanding of personal freedom.  I call this painting Breaking the Chains…Free at Last.  

This is an emotional painting describing my feelings about leaving work after 42 years.  I have found it scary and unpredictable leaving that clock that has governed too much of my personal time.  Leaving the mental list of timely ‘must-dos’ has been difficult, but I’m working on it.  My next painting on this same topic is called Fifteen Steps.  

We’re all familiar with various forms of a 12-step program.  I found 15 days with 15 baby steps to the rest of my life was to be more truthful for me.  From the darkness of boundless tasks and indecision on what to do first comes cognizant thoughts of where I want to go and what I want to do.  This painting metaphorically depicts my journey, moving from that darkness towards a personally purposeful life.  I have paid my dues, and have helped a few people along the way.  Now is my time to bring me closer to my creative self, as I teach, guide, and encourage others to find their own creative selves.  I am committed personally to growing as a fine artist, painting daily, looking to life and nature for inspiration and growth. 

Won’t you join me as my journey continues…?

Cooling breezes of the still Sabine

I went out to Cedar Creek to a house concert, where local Americana singer-songwriter Jenny Reynolds sang songs from her cd Bet on the wind.  The lyrics and memories of past winters, along with Austin’s weather at the time made me remember.  We had experienced spring-like weather, followed by storms with heavy rain, sending temperatures plunging for days on end.  I began to wonder if the sun would ever shine again.  All the greyness of what seemed like time without end harkened me back to Jefferson County, growing up on the coast, adjacent to the Neches River, Sabine Lake, and the Louisiana border.  Grey days and thunderstorms were the order of our winters.  There were very few days of sunshine between late November and the Ides of March.  In the middle of all that winter weather lay the still Sabine.  This lake is held captive by the Cameron peninsula of Louisiana and the marshy shores of the upper Texas Gulf Coast.  These land formations hold it apart from the Gulf of Mexico.  Short of hurricane winds, the lake manages a remarkable stillness.  It was a great place to fish and sail, or merely watch for coastal birds from its shores.

All that peaceful stillness in the turmoil of a winter storm’s fury came to mind.  As I thought about it, I decided to make an effort to capture the energy of a storm rolling in from the Gulf, with all the turbulent clouds, pouring rain, and fleeing birds.  Using 300 pound Arches watercolor paper and a limited palette, I began.  In building this painting, I worked to capture the light of the grey overcast sky and the seemingly still water of the Sabine.  Beautiful cloud formations are abundant over this lake.  Generally speaking, painting clouds is a ‘less is more’ proposition, creating nuanced shapes.  I employed a wet-on-wet to fuse the edges of these subtle vapor forms by dropping in color and rubbing out the edges.

After allowing the painting to dry over several weeks, looking at it intently with an editorial eye, I chose to add birds and additional color to the storm clouds on the left side of the picture plane, along with a strong rain pattern below the clouds.  The storm was my focal point.  The additions created greater detail and interest within the painting.  Again, after applying an editorial eye, I added additional purple to the storm clouds, widened the rain pattern to extend deeper and therefore more fully within the picture plane.  I drew in the Texas jetty’s rock forms with a size 6 brush.  The jetty helps prevent flooding of the Texas Coastal Marsh and provides a place for land-bound fishermen to cast their lines into the Sabine’s deep and rich waters.

Final touches of green marsh grass and a bit of additional color drama to the clouds finished my painting.

The sea breeze that our little town enjoyed was cooled by the waters of the still Sabine.  I’ve included two songs here that feature the essence of Sabine Lake and its influence on the patterns of daily life and the culture of the area:  ‘Jefferson County girl’ by singer-songwriter Larry Looney, and ‘Bet on the wind’ by singer-songwriter Jenny Reynolds.  (You can click on the song titles to hear the songs)

When you look at this painting, I hope you can feel the still Sabine’s cooling breezes.

Looking for the Sacred Heart

In honor of St Patrick’s Day and acknowledging by Irish-Spanish heritage, I am sharing my Sacred Heart painting.  In Catholicism, in the traditions of the Irish and Spanish Church, the Sacred Heart is often depicted and is at the heart of devotional prayer.  The image for the Sacred Heart of Jesus often consists of a heart surrounded by roses, pierced by a sword, bound by a crown of thorns, with fire emitting from the heart’s center top with a cross.  Very vivid color is employed in the image in both the Irish and Hispanic traditions.

If you were looking for a single word to define this concept, it would be ‘Love’.  The devotion to the Sacred Heart is widely practiced, taking Jesus Christ’s physical heart as the representation of his divine love for humanity.

If we look at the symbolism of the heart and other objects, we find the Heart represents love and life.  The fire represents passion and purity.  It exudes the transformative power of divine love.  The crown of thorns signifies his suffering, endured for the love of man to redeem him.  In traditional images of the sacred heart, you may also find a cut, a lance, blood and roses. 

I did the preliminary color placement in watercolor using a wet-on-wet technique with vivid pinks, reds and purple last fall.  I liked the color but wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, and literally where I wanted to go with the painting – so I hung it up and looked at it for a period of months.  I have employed this type of editing process for years and have found that the unfinished painting will ‘speak to me’ over time.  I have found it best not to push the process.

I chose to focus on a heart image in the color field of phase one, called Fire and Ice, and defined it as a more literate heart shape.

At this point, I really felt the painting had moved beyond 'Fire and Ice' and was seen in my mind's eye as a part of my Heart Series.  I didn't re-name it, but simply let the process flow.

As things often do, our world evolves and I run across people with seemingly Machiavellian intent.  As I analyzed and thought through this human behavior, I couldn't help but wonder what happened to integrity, sincerity, purity and goodness.  In our modern world, it seems like these traits get lost in some individuals' greed and aggressive lust for power. Often times we're surprised by the players who evince these traits.  This brought to my mind the concept of the sacred heart, and how we long for simpler times when things were as they seemed, without ulterior motives.  As this idea formed in my mind, I decided to explore the image of the sacred heart.  I added the traditional crown of thorns and the background painting for the fiery flames.

I began to look at many different contemporary artists' depiction of the sacred heart.  I did not like the flame shape on my painting, and in my quandary decided to define it as individual flame-shapes.  I did not want the thorn shapes to be isolated in the crown, so I repeated them around the heart itself to give interest and to carry the darker dark of the painting into other portions of the picture plane.  I was pleased with the shape of the flames, but remained determined not to put the more obvious cross shape into them, which is seen in the more traditional renderings of the sacred heart.

I also decided to add additional bands of the thorn vines to make it wider and give it a more dominant place in the picture plane.

I felt my next challenge was to give definition to the flames with some color that would reflect the ethereal qualities of fire, so in two separate applications I added gold and bronze powder to acrylic varnish to capture this quality.

Being happy with the flames, I next focused on the heart and unifying all parts of the its shape with a wash of napthol red, magenta and alizarin crimson (I love this color!).  I also found that it mirrored the color of the heart in traditional renderings.  This was pleasing to me.  Next I added a light gold to the brown metallic scumbling I had placed in the negative space surrounding the heart and flames.

Finally, I felt that the painting was finished.  All that was left was to place a coat of acrylic varnish to release the depths of the various colors and to seal the watercolor of the red heart shape.  This is my interpretation of the sacred heart.

Tomorrow honors St Patrick, who was known to have driven the snakes out of Ireland.  A snake in traditional painting often represents evil.  In my mind, St Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, represents the true essence of the sacred heart.

So, for St Patrick's Day...and always...

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warn upon your face,

and rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Sláinte!

The Heart of the Matter

How do you know a Real Sweet Heart?

(mixed media)

February is the month of Groundhog Day, Abraham and George, cold, wet Texas weather, the flu, Ash Wednesday, and the beginning of the 40 days of Lent.  We also celebrate Black History Month in February.  But before all that, it's the month of love, when red and pink and white prevail, and hearts are seen most everywhere

Hearts in Sync

(acrylic)

Love & Hate

(acrylic)

In My Heart of Hearts

(acrylic)

When we were children,. we drew them and made them to put inside a special, decorated Valentine box.  Later on, we placed these special offerings in our handmade paper mailboxes, to be opened the day of our classroom party. 

Mend a Broken Heart

(crackle paste & acrylic)

Romance

(watercolor)

I grew up loving everything about Valentine’s Day – the colors, the cards, the sentiments…and especially the chocolates!  My family celebrated every holiday on the American calendar, as my dad took great delight in sharing his knowledge about each one.  My mother celebrated each occasion with treats from her kitchen, such as a cherry pie for George’s Day and cut-out cookies for our Heart of Hearts celebration.

I Can See the Goodness In Your Heart

(acrylic)

Heart Line

(watercolor & metallic acrylic)

I carry on the celebration of love with February’s finest holiday by making original Valentines to give.  They are a small canvas on which to experiment with color, texture and heart forms.  I often find them inspirational for larger heart paintings of various sizes, colors and styles.  These hearts and the concept thereof are often inspired by current events or cherished memories.

Heart of the Matter

(acrylic)

Although Valentine’s Day was officially yesterday, February14th, I’m sharing my collection of heart paintings with you today.

Heart Shield

(watercolor)

Here's a wishing you a heart-filled February...!

Be my Valentine 2015

(acrylic)

Hail the Arrival of Austin's False Spring!

Today marks the beginning of the last week of January, 2015, and the beginning of Austin's false spring.  Temperatures daily are in the 70s by mid-afternoon, and the citizens of this fair city are trading their sweaters for shorts, relieved to be rid (temporarily, at least) of the cold, dank conditions we've endured for the last two months.  The warmer weather creates a longing for the real spring, and reminds me that it is not far away.

Last November, I completed a commissioned painting of last year's first sign of the season.  I call this painting Wisteria - Harbinger of Spring.  Wisteria, like flowering quince, announces the arrival of the vernal equinox.  This particular wisteria makes its home just north of Austin, on the outskirts of Leander.  The wisteria is glorious, but my favorite part of this painting is the blue tree in the woods behind the cabin, by the creek.  Not many people can say they own a blue tree!  The tree is actually a blue-grey, seen here through the whimsical eye of the artist.

Celebrate with me the anticipation of the season of rebirth.

It's All About Lines...

Working in a series is a cerebral endeavor that connects thought with experiences and evolves into an exercise in visual and verbal association.  When I worked on my Memories series, I went back in time to remember significant vignettes of my life, as I wanted to paint the sensory image as well as its continued impact on my life.  It was an enlightening experience.  After finishing a series, I will often reflect on its purpose and what I enjoyed about the process.  There is often a co-relationship between a prior work and how I choose to move forward in another series.  Painting in sequence is a means of focusing the mind, as well as the heart and the hand.  

I think I am at an age where looking backward occurs more frequently.  Looking back was certainly at the center of Memories, and this concept is present in the new series, It's All About Lines.

This particular group of paintings was inspired by the perceivable motion of Freedom, a memory painting celebrating my blue Schwinn bike and the wind in my hair when I rode it around Groves.  I call this series It's All About Lines to represent the many ways lines occur in our lives.  

Begin Again was the first in the series, and went through a number of visual changes as I decided on the direction the painting would take.  It has rich, deep hues, thinly layered, that can be seen by the viewer in person more readily than in its photograph.  Layer upon thin layer, it is tonal, requiring white light to release its color nuance.  The gold signifies illuminated thoughts and ideas, as if a person was waking from a place of misconception and illusion to a point of acute awareness, an epiphany of enlightenment.  I've always found a state of illuminated wisdom is a great place to begin again.

I often heard, as a child, that the lines in our hands foretold our life's experience in health and longevity.  The second painting, Life Line, plays with that concept, along with the visual image of DNA seen as a ribbon twisting and interwoven, holding the secrets of our unique genetic code.  

As a child, I was fascinated by the thought of a person's life line representing the individual's vitality and length of life, but more importantly to my romantic nature was the endless possibility of the hand's heart line.  It is thought that this line indicates the person's ability to give and receive affection.  This third painting, Heart Line, reflects a nest of sorts, where the visual heart rests, protected and secure.

The fourth painting, Moon Waves, celebrates having confidence, finding the authentic self within, and the strength and courage needed to step out of the secure nest, to speak up, to be who we are.  There is a quote that I love - Don't worry if you're making waves simply by being yourself, the moon does it all the time  (Scott Stable).  We need to be true to ourselves, authentic in what we have to say and do, and like the moon, make waves.

A week or so ago, there was a hurricane that made landfall on Mexico's Baja Peninsula, with its effects reaching as far as central Texas.  Growing up on the upper Texas Gulf coast, hurricanes and various tropical storms were a part of life.  In Squall Line, I chose a cool palette and created the turmoil and energy with bright yellow.  The rain and howling wind brought flooding water into our creeks and lakes, overflowing into our streets.  The energy released outside was matched within the confines of my work life as dramas played out with a familiar cast.  In some respects, I was secure in the calm eye of the storm while the squall swirled around me.  It is not easy to leave the negative energy as it seeps into our inner being just as the dampness begins to close the cracks in the dry earth.  Every squall line has outer bands of thunderstorms that form ahead of the cold front.  This is true in working relationships as well.

Right along with recognizing the root cause of the storm is realizing that there are lines of demarcation that, although they are not clearly defined, we see them in stark reality for the truth that they are for us individually.  In my sixth painting in this series, Line in the Sand depicts the subtlety of nuanced color.  When we step back, the line is drawn just as clearly as the line William B. Travis drew in the dirt at the Alamo, long years ago.  The Alamo's defenders stepped over the line consciously, committing to what they believed, and refusing in any way to be a part of what might have been the easy path.

Last but not least in this series, It's All About Lines, is the painting Coloring Outside the Lines.  I have worked at my individual expression since I lifted my first Crayola at the age of 4.  I was encouraged at the age of 7 to throw away my coloring book, to draw and express myself. Therefore, staying within the lines holds little appeal for me.  Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements, takes it further when he encourages us to toss out all that we have been told.  We have been so inculcated with rules, standards, decorum and beliefs that it is no wonder we have taken it in and that it became our rules of engagement.  Until we closely examine and analyze the effects of these constraints, we are basically committing to living in the prison of standards prescribed for us.  We owe it to ourselves to do this.  Lines are as we draw them, and can be a circle, a never-ending line, symbolic of infinity, where the possibilities are without end.

A Meditation on Memories

This February, as I have done for the past 10 years or so, I picked a theme of visual meditation to explore as my Lenten introspection.  I was a bit slow in developing the vignettes with their individual images for this endeavor, as I stayed open and responding to various stimuli that jogged significant memories. Therefore, this journey took longer than the 40 days of Lent, and longer than the additional 50 days from Easter to Pentecost.  I have often said, ‘the wine in its own time’ and applied it to this visual meditation process.   It is July 7 and my visual meditation journey is completed.  Each of the paintings in this series reflects a specific memory and has an ethereal quality, as if time stood still for me to capture the moment and preserve it for eternity.

When I started this last February, it was loosely thought through and began with early memories.  In this blog post I will attempt to tell you why I chose to depict a particular memory, what it meant then and why I remember it as special, as well as the significance it has in my life today.

Let me begin with a memory from first grade.  My teacher, Mrs. Hartzell, was a jolly young woman who made me feel at home and comfortable in my classroom.  She was a loving and caring person, and as her name might imply, had a special affinity for Valentine’s Day.  She made the most beautiful heart box and covered it with pink crepe paper.  It was my first encounter with this medium, and in her hands, I thought it was magical.  She then made lighter pink and rose colored roses out of the paper, complete with stems and leaves.  They were exquisite.  She completed the box on the last day of January so our classroom Valentine box would be ready to receive our many cards beginning the next day.  I fell in love with hearts, roses and all the romantic notions that Valentine’s Day holds.  It is still one of my favorite holidays.    The Valentine box is captured in a dream-like state, not so much as I remember its details but at its caring core.  I call it Romance, with the memory of the excitement and anticipation the holiday held at its roots.

In second grade, the local steel workers went on strike and the new elementary school remained unfinished, so my class was going to be held in the Sunday school rooms of First Baptist Church of Groves.  It was around the corner and 3 blocks down on Grant Avenue.  Becky Gonsoulin (Bell), who was to become my lifetime best friend, lived on Grant Avenue and walked to Parochial school at ICS.  She was often ahead of me, walking with her brother and sister.  I had an opportunity to observe her walking and was quite fascinated with the fact that she wore a hat.  I wore a hat on Sunday but I did not wear one to school.  Her hat was navy blue and had white and yellow flowers across its brim.  The net was knotted in the back of the hat and it swung back and forth as she walked along.  She was a friend of a girl in my Blue Bird Troop and I had met her at Pam’s birthday party but I did not know her then.  I call this painting of Becky’s blue hat Fascination, to celebrate the curiosity that a child wearing a hat to school held for me at the age of 7.

School brought to the forefront a problem with my eyes.  I had ‘lazy eye’ or a muscle imbalance from birth that became more noticeable as I grew, causing my left eye to grow tired when focusing on a subject, i.e.: a blackboard, words in a book, or flash cards, etc.   When my eye grew tired, it would literally wander off in another direction, causing my right eye to do all the work of seeing, learning and guiding.  Over time, the vision in my left eye had weakened to the point that my doctor was concerned that I would literally loose the vision in it. By third grade, I was very cognizant of the problem and worked mightily to learn to read.  My mother had placed me with a reading expert, Mrs. McMahan, as my third grade teacher. I’m not sure what she did or how she did it, but I found my focus and learned to read, and read well.  About that same time, I discovered the game of Jacks!  It was a game of concentration and coordination and helped me focus.  Over time, I became pretty proficient at Jacks, which was a triumph of mind over matter.    Depicted here is the magic circle where I played Jacks under the sheltering Cedar trees, next to the old Groves Elementary.  This painting honors concentration and determination and is called Focus.

During the summer between third and fourth grade, I had the surgical procedure to correct the lazy eye.  Dr. Keith tightened the muscles in both eyes so that I could focus and continue to read and generally get on with life.  At that time metal shoe skates were the rage and I, like most soon-to-be 9 year olds, wanted a pair.  There was only one problem – due to my eye surgery, my summer was spent healing, applying warm compresses and doing eye exercises.  I was not allowed to get overheated, and most summer fun in the form of running, swimming…or skating… was denied.  I was given the skates because I longed for them, but I was not allowed to use them.  By the time my eyes had recovered and I could skate again, my feet had grown and the skates no longer fit.  My skate painting is called Patience, and celebrates the items we long for in life but for whatever reason are denied.

About this same time, I developed a new relationship with glasses and they became my best friends. Thank goodness, my mother let me pick them out, and of course I chose some of the most glitzy, over-decorated frames on the planet. That didn't matter to me, I loved them!  Early on I had been prescribed glasses in first grade but hated their round gold frames and did not wear them.  They were created to reduce my eye strain and not much else.  They certainly would not have cured my lazy eye…so I carried them around in my satchel but did not wear them.  This painting celebrates the somewhat out-of-focus view that I had of the world early in my life.  Seeing what I wanted to see and leaving the rest behind created a rose-colored view that I have retained to be pulled up on occasion.  I have learned to face the dragon of reality square in the face, but put on my rosy glasses to see the goodness that abounds if we take the time to look. This painting is called Clarity.

I love color.  I always have, and most likely always will.  That is a fact.  I love how Crayolas look, how they smell and how they feel in my hand.   When I was young, a Crayola Box of 64 represented all the luscious color in my world and oh, how I longed to own that assortment!  The next painting, Choices, represents those colors and all the time that I have spent making art with them.  Crayolas still mean a great deal to me, as that is the media I chose so long ago to begin my artist’s journey.   I keep a pristine box of them in my studio to remind me of all the possibilities, then…and now.

We just celebrated the Fourth of July, America’s birthday.  When I think of that holiday, I am reminded that the figs are ripe and need to be picked.  I spent many an early Independence Day on a ladder in the top of my dad’s tallest fig tree picking figs.  I did not care for them but my mom was a mother who canned and preserved fruit for winter cooking and baking.  Figs were her favorite!  She loved them but did not like to pick them because it was an itchy, scratchy job…and besides, she had her minions to do it for her.  I call this painting Itchy to celebrate the tradition and time spent with my dad climbing around in the fig trees on Jefferson Street.  The irony is today, I have a fig tree and I treasure that itchy memory.

When I was in fifth grade I received a brand new blue Schwinn bicycle for my summer birthday, to my utter delight.  I call this painting Freedom, as it celebrates the feeling of riding wherever I wanted to in Groves with the wind in my hair and a sense of true happiness in my heart.  Those wheels opened up my world and let me see how others lived and played in our little town.  Today, I’ve traded in my bike for a chili-pepper red hardtop Miata but the feeling is the same…with wind in my hair and such a sense of well-being filling my heart and soul.  As the Suzy Bogguss song 'Give me some wheels' goes, “If I can’t have wings, then give me wheels and a man who will let me drive!”

Music has always played an important part in my life and when I am happy, I sing...off-key and a bit flat, but making a joyful noise all the same!  I sang, ‘hello, mellow, Jax little darling’ (not knowing or caring one bit that it was from a radio beer commercial) to my dolly because I liked the sound of the words.  I sing today most often in my car where most folks can’t hear me...often to Mark Viator and Susan Maxey on ‘The bottom of the blues’ or ‘If you were a bluebird’, singing along with my car CD player.  I really love music!  I learned to play the flute and managed to qualify for the marching band in junior high and high school.  I still get chill bumps when I hear Sousa’s ‘March grandiose’ or ‘The Stars and Stripes forever’.  I love music…all kinds, and although this painting was inspired by the song ‘Autumn Leaves’.  It was originally a 1945 French tune entitled 'Les feuilles mortes', written by Joseph Kosma and lyrics by Jacques Prevert and whose English lyrics were written by Johnny Mercer and recorded by many singers, including Nat King Cole.  It celebrates the various musical elements of jazz, and the chromatic relationship between music and color as well. I call this painting The Song in my Heart.  It illustrates how music lifts me up.  How fortunate I am to have friends who love music even more than I do, who play, who write and sing for and to me and celebrate the gift that music is, right along with me.

Last, but not least, let me pay homage to what it meant to attend a high school that received a charter from the Cherokee Nation, indigenous to the banks of the Neches River, where our school (called The Reservation) was located.  We had a fight song called ‘Cherokee’.  No one took it lightly, and being allowed to represent the school, our tribe, was an honor.  This spring, Don Dorsey, a friend who was a classmate in high school, was presented an Eagle feather by Native Americans for his work in securing their representation in the Texas Capitol Vietnam Veterans Monument that honors all Texans who served in Vietnam.  There are many alumni of Port Neches - Groves High Scool who carry that same spirit today and fight the good fight for the good of others.  We are older and wiser but each one is A Warrior Still.  We may not all have an Eagle feather encased on our mantel, but we celebrate the brave warrior spirit just the same.

Memories are precious.  These painting meditations cannot do the memories justice. However, when I look at them, I am transported back to a different time when life was simpler and less commercial.  They were good times, filled with special people.  Our memories are a collage of our experiences.  They make us who we are, what we feel and how we choose to live our lives.  I hope you have enjoyed this stroll through some of my most treasured memories, simple and plain.  I have tried to encapsulate the emotions and true joy these memories bring to me through these visually conceptual paintings.