Reflections

This time of year is very demanding professionally, and I often find it difficult to make time to paint.  This year was no different, other than the fact that my job demands escalated to the tenth power.  Additionally, in the middle of the fall, I zigged when I needed to zag, and tore my left meniscus.  Learning to use a cane has not been easy, but a definite necessity for mobility.  During all of this personal and professional hullabaloo, a dear friend shared her grandson's new website.  Travis had become interested in photography as a Boy Scout, and found he had a profound talent.  Trips to Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico, the Central Texas countryside, and the glaciers of Alaska offered him a plethora of photographic opportunities, with their glorious natural vistas.  His mother encouraged him to create his own website for showing and marketing his work.  My friend has long been active in the arts, running her own gallery, serving as a docent for the Austin Museum of Art, and as a keeper of art's vast history she has a keen eye.  I've learned to pay attention and take note when she recommends an artist, photographer, sculptor, metal or glass artisan.  When she told me about Travis's site (click here), I immediately checked it out, and was most impressed...so many beautiful images!

I instantly fell in love with his photo of a goat weed flower, taken at Round Top, Texas, during a family gathering.  This little flower reminded me of another flower I had painted some years before.   That little jewel was spotted during a tour of St Louis Botanical Gardens, in its climatron.  Gracing the top of a huge tropical, this little flower stalk was only about four inches high.  I used my telephoto lens to capture its tiny regal nature.  It later became Study in Green, a watercolor, 22 X 30, and now hangs in a place of honor in my daughter's living room.

I enjoyed the challenge of taking a very small flower and enlarging the image to fill the page.

I purchased the goat weed photograph from Travis in color and black and white, and sought permission to reproduce it and interpret it in watercolor.
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Again, I wanted to face the challenge of painting values of various hues of green.  Green, as it is seen in nature, can be most difficult to reproduce.

When drawing off the watercolor, I returned to a graphite line drawing.  This image may well become a series, as I can easily imagine interpreting this little flower in many ways.  In this first effort, I began to paint early in the morning and late at night.  Allowing it to dry completely between sessions, it was easier for me to see my progress and where I wanted to go next.  These are the first three steps...

Taking this methodical and time-consuming approach allowed the color cones in my eyes to recover so that I could see all the nuances of the greens.  Once I got to phase 3, I left it hanging to apply an 'editorial eye' in order to make decisions about what was working and what was not.  I decided it was too green!  I envisioned a bright reddish-pink leaf (in the opposite position on the color wheel) to balance the painting's 'greenness'.  After looking at it for a week, I made the decision to put subtle alizarin crimson stripes on significant leaves.

When this was completed, I still felt it needed a brighter pink leaf to 'pop' and balance the amazing greens, so I intensified the redness of the stripes and painted the pink leaf.  Down to the moment I took the brush in hand, I planned the pink leaf to be slightly to the left of center and right up front.  At the last possible second, I chose the leaf behind and somewhat obscured to become pink. I also intensified the reddish-pink stripes that lead the eye to the center of the painting, along with the pinks in the heart of the flowers themselves.  I think I made the best choice, and have learned to listen to the intuitive voice and heed its direction.

No Small Wonder is the result...

Just as this painting was finished, I visited my daughter over Thanksgiving.  She and her husband had just finished redoing her office, and she was most enchanted with their new light fixture from Pottery Barn.  Once I saw it, so was I.  I could not get over the shadow patterns on the white walls, releasing shades of grey and lavender.  I took several photographs, and vowed I was going to paint it as well...time or no time...!
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After printing the photos, I drew off the spherical image in silver acrylic with a size 12 flat brush.  I placed the sphere slightly off center on the page, honoring my asymmetrical preferences.  This painting was created with a limited palette of various values of silver, white, gold, blue and purple, with subtle touches of rose and green in the negative space.  With this painting comes my personal homage to 12/21/2012, as it reminds me of a moon wrapped in the icy aura of Winter Solstice.  It also speaks to me of a mandala in Eastern spiritual traditions, a circle representing wholeness and life itself.  The mandala shows our relation to the infinite in the world that extends beyond both our bodies and our minds.  We see the circle repeated in many of life's aspects:  the celestial circles of the earth, sun and moon, as well as our circles of friends, family and community.  With my Winter Mandala, let me share with you the blessings of the season on this octave of the New Year, 2013...
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Autumn's glory

November is one of my favorite times of the year.  Growing up in Jefferson County, southeast Texas, it was a time when I enjoyed the seasonal change to cool, crisp, dry blue skies with geese flying southward, honking their way toward the horizon, and the smells of 'comfort food' that emanated from my mother's kitchen.  The aroma of hearty soups and filé gumbo, along with the fragrance of freshly-baked bread, filled the air.  It was the one time of year when I truly felt the bayou coming to life, as the colors changed to a variety of what artists call 'earth tones', with the hues of burnt sienna, yellow ochre and the umbers.  Those rich colors, combined with the robin's egg blue of the sky, made the landscape vibrate.  They drew the artist in me home to paint.  I have found home to be several favorite places in November...central Texas and the hill country, along with the high mesas of northern New Mexico.
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I realized I have never painted the golden sunlight of the southeast Texas bayou grasses, with egrets patiently fishing the cool, still waters.  This is an image that is very alive and real, and in my mind's eye I see it clearly.

Through the years I have taken time away from work in the latter weeks of November to seek quiet and to capture on paper my vision of the color released from the land before the cold and wet of winter settles in.  During this time away, I photograph and paint in the solitude and beauty of Nature's playpen.

Recently, we were asked for fall images of Texas for our holiday calendar at work.  I happily complied with photographs I took at Schumacher's Crossing on the Guadalupe River between Hunt and Ingram, in the Texas hill country.  What a delightful spot!  Tucked away on the opposite side of the highway is Schumacher Falls, with its shining, cool, clear water that forms a pond of sorts among the cypress, oak and other trees.
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Can you imagine how delighted the Native Americans were to have such a treasure in their midst?  As beautiful as the falls and pond are, my artist's eye was drawn to a stand of five cypress trees across the road.  Because of the way they're grouped, I felt a real sense of kinship among them.  I call them the Five Sisters.
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The Five Sisters at Schumacher Crossing was inspired by the magnificent color of the landscape and my joy at the privilege of just being there...
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Northern New Mexico is much colder in late November, and unpredictable with the possible whimsy of a blue norther changing the sky, the light, and the temperature in a matter of minutes.  Lone Cottonwood on the Chalma reflects the light of just such a day, when the blue sky went grey, and the temperature dropped into the teens at Abiquiu.  This is exactly what happened as I literally sat on a log in sixteen-degree weather.  I've never been so cold in my life!  Did you know that watercolor paint will freeze on the paper as it is applied?  It does!

Lone Cottonwood on the Chalma

Another area I love in northern New Mexico is the Galisteo Basin.  I've included my photograph of the creek running through the village of Galisteo, as well as the painting of the tack room at the Galisteo Inn.  I mentioned before that the golden light enhances the landscape, but it also creates luscious shadow patterns.  The painting of the tack room is all about the old apple tree outside the casita, with its few remaining apples and the marvelous November shadows cast upon the adobe.  Winter is truly knocking on the Basin's door, but autumn has not given away all its color, and it remains for just one last hurrah.

The Creek at Galisteo

The Tack Room at Galisteo Inn

Winter is an etching,

spring a watercolor,

summer an oil painting,

and autumn is a mosaic of them all.

Stanley Horowitz

As a colorist, the hues of the fall landscape are my favorite.  I hope you will delight, as I have so many times through my photographs and paintings, in the landscape, where the light is subtler, releasing Nature's magnificent color in all its glory and splendor.  This is one of the many things for which I am so thankful.  May we all take the time to enjoy the autumn season, and to make note in gratitude for all the beauty that surrounds us.

When was the last time you consciously appreciated the beauty of Nature?  There is no better time of the year to tramp through the woods, or to sit on a rock and drink in what lies before you. 

Be still, and the beauty will find you.

Now for something completely different...

I often paint subjects that are centered in humor -- either because I find mirth in unusual places, or because amusement comes to me with unexpected clarity.  I recently shared this story with my dearest friend, along with my impression of the creature's slow waltz across the carport roof.  I'm not a comedian...but my little act sent him into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.  The other diners in Kerbey Lane Café probably thought we had both lost our minds...!

Here's a little background...

A few years back, I was helping a friend personalize her new townhouse living room.  She knew I was creating murals at the time, and asked if I might do something with her very long and narrow room -- she literally wanted to make the back wall 'come forward'.  We collaborated on ideas, paint and background, and then I went to see the room in person. 

Her townhouse shared a vine-covered carport with that of her student neighbors, which provided a very shady canopy.  I had heard stories for some weeks regarding Benny, the neighbors' pet iguana.  I was quite intrigued by the whole idea of an iguana companion.  A pet iguana was exotic -- certainly not a predictable choice.  Having never had the experience of even seeing one (let alone 'up close and personal'), I thought I wanted to do so.  Over a period of weeks, during which I created a 'tree of life' mural for her living room, filled with many species of birds, I looked for Benny during my comings and goings.  Just a glimpse would suffice.  So every time I arrived, I checked the canopy.  No luck!

One afternoon, as I was leaving, I had the distinct and unmistakable feeling that I was being watched.  I certainly knew it wasn't the Eyes of Texas (my friend is from Oklahoma!), but nonetheless, I felt I was being watched.  I looked around...nothing!  The feeling intensified.  Something told me to look up, and I did.  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.  There, among the green leaves, sat a giant, silver-green iguana...Benny...!  At last...!  In full 'display mode', ruby-red bloated throat puffed out for all to see, Benny just stared me down...and I stared right back!    I've often thought about that moment, and I smile.  It was a surprise of the rarest kind.  He was huge! 

I created this painting in honor of my friend's reptilian neighbor, Benny.  I call it Say mama...come over here...and I laugh all over again every time I look at it....

Sometimes, what I paint is all about having fun.

Angelfood Duels...and friendship

I return to my Women's Series: Social Observation and Comment this week with my latest edition that examines friendship between women while celebrating all the core values women of the 1950s adhered to with fierce loyalty and conviction: family, home, food and friends.

My models for such behavior and standards were my mother and her two closest friends:  Mae, who lived next door;  and Margarette, who lived across our small town.  My mother maintained a small circle of friends who had similar interests and were dedicated to making a comfortable home for their families.  My mom, Mae and Margarette also belonged to The Home Demonstration Club, or simply 'the club', as she often referred to it.  This club contained a wider circle of acquaintances, friends whose friendships she cherished, but Mae and Margarette were her true 'sisters of choice'.  They all looked forward to club day and the choice goodie they might share.  Without exception, each one of these Ladies of the Club was quite adept in the kitchen!

Ladies of the Club II

My mother and her two best buds have all passed from this life now, but memories keep them alive and well...and as very real to me now as they were in my life then.  Both served as my surrogate mother from time to time, filling that role as naturally as breathing whenever my mother was away, or otherwise occupied.

Mae lived next door to us on Jefferson Street.  She was the first person to reach out to my mother when she and my dad moved to Jefferson County in 1940, getting her involved in the local women's grassroots war effort.  The friendship grew, and they really bonded when my parents moved out of Atreco company housing to right next door.

In the 1950s, people 'neighbored'!  Mae's husband built a gate in the fence so the two women could easily visit.  I can still hear the melodious clank of the gate swinging shut numerous times during each day as one of them passed through to share a cup of tea.

Mae was a tall Scotswoman who wore her moon-gold hair, once red, long and coiled upon her head.  She was a very imposing figure and had a matching personality.  Her only son had been aboard a Texaco tanker that was torpedoed off the coast of South America in the early days of the war.  My mother's children helped fill the gap in her life.  When she retired from her job with the Chamber of Commerce, she took a course to become a professional caterer, and learned the fine art of cake decorating.

Always experimenting, Mae would try out her latest cake design on my birthday cake.  As a result, I had elaborately decorated cakes at my party each summer.  This tradition began when I was 7 and continued through high school.  Sometime around the age of 10, I became fascinated with doll cakes.  An angelfood cake lent itself well to create the skirt because of the pan shape.  Thus the real Angelfood Duel began.

My mother took great pride in her angelfood cake that was as light as a feather and truly tasted like 'bread of heaven'.  Mae's sole intent was a cake strong enough to hold up what seemed like pounds of frosting!  These two dear friends competed relentlessly with their angelfood cakes.  The cakes were a true study in contrasts:  one light and airy, one tough and sturdy.

My mother contended that Mae baked hers in too hot an oven, thereby ruining an otherwise good cake.  Mae told me more than once that my mother's cake was sorry because it would not hold up a thing!

These 'sisters of choice' would bicker with strong conviction over the criteria for a good angelfood cake.  Neither would give an inch, and the contest was on!  Neither ever conceded on this point.

My painting, Angelfood Duels, celebrates the love and friendship shared across the back fence in a simpler time, when real people took the time to be involved in each other's lives, and practiced the fine art of neighboring.  Their lives were filled with resolve and a competitive spirit as well as a fine sense of loyalty.  Consummate bakers each, they competed relentlessly, certain that their cake was the best!  I became the observer of this match of wills, and the beneficiary of a beautiful cake to show my friends...and a tasty one to share as well.  Lucky, lucky me!  Margarette, an equally consummate baker, chose to stay out of the fray.  Smart woman!

Times have changed.  Life is not so readily shared over the back fence any longer, nor do most women have the time to perfect their baking skills...and of course, there are present-day worries about calories, etc.  Angelfood Duels celebrates all these things and the women in my life who made it possible...Mother, Mae and, of course, Margarette.  All of these women had a significant place in my life and I am truly richer for their love and caring.

Angelfood Duels

Art is no different.  Unless you are passionate and committed to your work and to the unique path that is your journey, you won't begin to know or realize all that you still need to learn.

If we aspire to be an artist -- a greatly skilled, perceptive and enlightened, thinking artist -- it is a lifelong journey that only starts with learning and practicing the basics.  Doing that is truly just the beginning.  The journey continues from there.  Being an artist is an interdependent marriage of skill and inspiration that, coupled with a message to share, allows one, as an artist, to find his / her voice and go forth.  When we have confidence in our basic skills, the fun of painting is at hand, along with the more difficult aspect of finding and learning all the things that we don't know.

This is where the hard part starts.

Making a habit of practice, very deliberate practice, of what you have learned, going back to the white paper and putting it down with ease and confidence while reaching into the innermost core of who you are, in order to interpret what you see and feel with an artist's eye, is essential.  You are the only one who can create the work that abides within you.  The artist that lives within us must find that creative spirit, and, with a unique voice, share that artistic vision with the world.  Like the women of the Angelfood Duels, you must be loyal to the standard of producing a quality product, and convinced that your work is certainly the best and can stand the test of your audience's scrutiny, admiration and criticism.

Too Many Choices...?

About 5 years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with my lifetime best friend and her family out in California.  Her daughter is an actress / singer / dancer / director / writer in musical theatre.  Immensely talented, but not one to ever rest on her laurels, she gave me my current mantra for life and living:  Be bold and be brave!

It became my New Year's motto the following January and I have returned to it often in the ensuing years.  It is not easy to live up to its full meaning!  I will admit it has inspired me when I felt tired and totally un-inspired.  Just thinking about the words has managed to push me out of my comfort zone over the years, to try to do things that I would have been satisfied to watch others do, once upon a time.  As a result, I find myself challenging complacency in myself and in others on a regular basis.  I often find that I want more for other folks than they want for themselves.  I cannot have much effect on them, but I can control my thoughts, my actions, and in most cases my responses to the stimuli in my world.

In an effort to do more creatively, and to have the time, I gave up television 3 years ago, reclaiming the mindless hours I had spent watching the few shows that I followed.  I was surprised to learn that I didn't miss TV.  My daughter had done the same thing when she cancelled cable the year before.  I was amazed at the time.  When I thought about it, I had to ask myself, 'Why not?'  It has been an amazing experience to have the 3-to-4 additional hours every evening to spend doing something constructive...pushing myself, risking and learning.  Whether I read, paint, crochet or sew, I love the fact that I have something tangible to show for the hours.

I have written about creativity in this blog many times.  I am a firm believer that we all have a solid reservoir of creativity that is just waiting to be tapped.  Sometimes...actually, many times...when I have worked with adults who desire to get in touch with their own creativity, I have found that it takes digging down deep inside oneself to let it out.  Betsy Dillard Stroud, a well-known abstract painter, summed it up very well when she stated, 'To be creative, you simply open a door, the door of the subconscious mind, and allow thoughts and images to emerge unedited.'  Frankly, this is much easier said than done.

Several posts previously, I talked about painting with a brayer instead of a traditional brush or paint knife.  I've employed this method for the past few years, and have found it very satisfying.  Lately, I have wanted to take it to another level, but wasn't sure how to do so.  Inspiration often comes from doing mundane tasks, such as cleaning out closets or drawers.  About a month ago, I was organizing the contents of some storage bins in my studio space and came across several linoleum blocks that I had carved to fulfill an experimental process.  I had worked a pattern into their surface, used them, and then put them away.  I had forgotten the interesting patterns that I had achieved with a mono print of their painted surface on a blank piece of paper.  I set them aside, thinking I would use them once more.

A week or so later, when I was on just such a quest to personally satisfy my need to risk something and experiment a bit, I decided to play around with the blocks.  I prepared a limited palette of acrylic paints, placing them in containers that would keep out the air, so I would have the luxury of using them over an extended period of time (normally, acrylic paint dries very fast!).

Deciding to work small, I used pre-cut watercolor paper cards, 3 1/2" X 4 1/2", of various weights.  Using a brayer to roll on thin layers of dark pigments, I managed to create a variety of textured patterns.  I followed up with rust, gold, and, in some cases, a teal green.  I used the same colors repeatedly on about 50 cards, establishing different patterns of form and color.  Some of these images were left as is, as they had a sense of near completeness.  Minor additions of color, and on some a sandstone-block-printed Chinese character in traditional red, was all they needed to reach the finished stage...

Because I had done many small works with this process, I had enough to allow me to experiment further.  After this paint application had dried, I painted the surface of the linoleum blocks with light pigments diluted with gloss medium, printing them by hand, pressing the block directly onto the small pieces of watercolor paper.  I rubbed the back side of the paper vigorously and evenly to ensure a transfer of paint in the pattern of the carved block.  Here are 9 examples of the variety of pattern is achieved with this simple method...

Several very pleasing designs emerged.  The block prints looked very much like the wax-resistant patterns of batik fabric.  I found this experiment most satisfying,  Taking the idea further, I added more colors and began to do all types of print and texture combinations.  I felt compelled, and literally could not stop experimenting!  Thus, some 30-odd tiny works of art were conceived and borne to fruition.  They are simply named Brayer Batiks.  I later varnished them to further enhance the various layers of color.  After they dried, I was very excited about the way they looked, and went so far as to imagine what they might look like as a repeated pattern in fabric.

I also love playing around with collage.  Collage means simply glued paper.  If the paper is also painted, it can add greater dimension to a finished work.  With a few, I continued experimenting, added portions of painted watercolor paper to add interest, a focal point or texture.  There are a few examples...

I was having entirely too much fun to stop!  I began to imagine what it might look like if I went larger using similar techniques.  I took it up a notch and worked on a larger ground surface, literally going through the same process on a 22" X 30" piece of Arches CP 140# rough watercolor paper.  From the beginning, I felt the results were mixed.  My brayer ground painting was colorful, but of more mid-tones rather than darker darks...

I made the first layer of pattern from the block dark, seeking contrast.  Not really satisfied with the look, I went in an opposite direction and applied the gloss medium thinned white.  The size of the block was problematic with the larger ground.  The initial application seemed to 'float'.  I added more individual prints, until I had an established pattern of printed images, a type of asymmetry, yet with a sense of balanced form.  I didn't have anything specific in mind when I set out, but an abstracted Log Cabin quilt pattern definitely wasn't the intention.

What did I learn?  I learned that it is easier to set up a pleasing composition of design elements of a smaller picture plane.  Some designs do not become more successful on a larger scale.  I learned that it is much more difficult to print a small block on a large surface and get an even transfer of paint in order to create the desired pattern.  I learned that it is risky to take a concept to a larger scale without losing some of the pleasing qualities that existed when it was smaller.  Most importantly, I learned that one can literally have too many choices!  No matter what we do, how well something turns our, or how poorly...it is the lesson that we must not lose!

This, the name for the piece...Too Many Choices.

Would I do it again?  You bet!  I have never wanted to be predictable or stuck in a particular style or genre of painting.  It is probably one of the reasons that I paint in several genres, bouncing between them, wanting to express myself in different ways, depending on how I feel or what is inspiring at a particular time or place.  An artist has to decide whether they are an outcome painter or a process painter.  I am definitely a process painter, as it's all about the journey.

Not desiring to be known for a particular look that some would call a style identifies my creative work in some respects.  This can be seen as a plus or a curse, depending on your point of view.  One could say I have no style.  To me, that is a compliment.  I like the idea of an independent, one-of-a-kind visual expression that makes a piece of paper with paint on it art, and no just a stylistic rendering.  Getting to the point of innovative, original expression is another matter.  It is one of the reasons I return to blank white paper again and again.

There is one element that is present in all of my creative endeavors: color.  However, there are other times when I seek the quiet, subtle nuance of a hue to express emotion, mood and light.  The small works depicted in this post are examples of 'tonal' paintings.  Daylight allows the full spectrum of dark, nuanced color to be viewed and enjoyed at its fullest.

When I use color with joy and abandonment, or with finely tuned, subtle nuance, I come closer to finding my place, self-actualizing, being bold and brave, risking the success of a creative piece as I push myself and experiment.  To me, that's when my creative effort is worth rubies...and all the time, expense and trouble!

Convergence and random thoughts

Back in the spring, I was given three rolls of decorative Japanese paper tape from etsy (If you've never visited, you should have a look -- they have a great variety of wonderful handcrafted items).  I was very excited about the tape's potential, although not really sure what I would do with it.  Initially, I used a green, tan and cream roll to create a grid on a painted canvas that evolved into a collage.  The other two rolls had to wait their turn.
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When I began this painting, I had no end in mind, just felt like splashing paint and creating layered colors and texture.  As you can see at the end of phase 1, I had a ground painting that had lots of layered color, no focal point to speak of, and not much else.  The only thing that could be considered a focal point would be the atom-like figure in the bottom right corner, which didn't do much for me.

Convergence, phase 1

After looking at it for several days, I decided to get out the pink, blue, red and cream roll of Japanese paper tape, and proceeded to create a grid.  Then, I painted in the kanji character for 'love' over the top of the atom.  I needed to simplify the negative space around the kanji in order to help it have a place of greater prominence within the picture plane.  I created a simplified background by diluting white with gloss medium.  This allowed the colors beneath to give the white additional luminosity, which I further enhanced with rose and gold.  I set it aside and made a small thumbnail sketch of the painting, with which I then experimented, using pencil to create additional lines.  I decided, at that point, that what was missing was curved linear elements, which I added with a black Sharpie pen.  This further broke up the picture plane and gave birth to the visual idea of a journey.  I painted the curved lines with black gesso mixed with gloss medium.  Again, I set it aside to contemplate its content.  I decided to further break up the picture plane, and placed a number of lighter, thinner loops, in grey, symbolizing the side trips that often distract us from our path of purpose.  These thoughts took form while listening to Iris Dement's song 'When my mornin' comes around', from her album The way I should (see below for the lyrics, and a link to the song).

Convergence

This painting celebrates the powerful emotions present, but often hidden from our view and understanding, as we move through life. Of these emotions, love, next to anger and mistrust, is often one of the strongest.  Love -- the convergence of two souls -- comes in many forms and 'packages'.  We all search for it, long for it and yet when it is present, we often look right past it, perceiving it as something all together different.  It's very important to be 'present in the moment'...every moment...lest we overlook the gifts that are right before our eyes.

Click here to listen to Iris Dement sing 'When my mornin' comes around'.  Like so many of her songs, it speaks from the depths of the heart about strength and self-renewal.  I find it hauntingly beauiful and inspiring...and I hope you will, too.

When my mornin' comes around

When my mornin' comes around, no one else will be there,
and I won't have to worry about what I'm supposed to say,
and I alone will know that I climbed that great big mountain,
and that's all that will matter when my mornin' comes around.

When my mornin' comes around, I will look back on this valley,
at these sidewalks and alleys where I lingered for so long,
and this place where I now live will burn to ash and cinder,
like some ghost I won't remember, when my mornin' comes around.

When my mornin' comes around, from a new cup I'll be drinkin',
and for once I won't be thinkin' that there's somethin' wrong with me,
and I'll wake up to find that my faults have been forgiven,
and that's when I'll start livin' - when my mornin' comes around.

- Iris Dement
(c)1996, Songs of Iris

Healing and Renewal

The idea for this painting began to take form 18 months ago when I told a friend I'd like to create a painting for his expected baby girl's room, and asked if there was a particular visual element he and his wife wanted to use.  'Butterflies' was his response.

I love butterflies and all they connote and symbolize...so I began to draw, and looked for painting photo resources that I could use to build my drawing and use again later as a color reference when I began to paint.

Looking for butterflies became quite an obsession, and I found some real beauties!  Just how to integrate them into the picture plane was another quandary for me to resolve.  About that time, a friend gave me a picture of her garden, and I had my answer.  Resplendent in lavender and blue delphiniums and radiant red poppies, it was a perfect setting for my painting.  I made a simple drawing, and small individual butterfly cutouts that could be moved around as I went through the process of final placement.

The child for which the painting was destined was born with health issues, and by the age of 6 months had undergone 2 surgeries, and was, thankfully, beginning to thrive.  A beautiful baby, this warrior princess warranted a more significant tribute in my mind.  I chose a monarch butterfly to be the royal subject, smaller than some of the other, more vibrantly colored specimens,  but more suited to represent her spirit.

The painting took months to come to fruition, as it took form on the Arches 140 CP watercolor rag paper:  simple shapes, painted flatly, evolved into larger-than-life stalks of flowers, so real that one is tempted to bend over and smell their captivating fragrance.

So much of the illusion of real blooming flowers was created by brush-drawn calligraphic marks with various colors to define the shapes of the bloom clusters on the stem stalks.  These strokes gave them a sense of reality and eliminated the sweetly-colored flat shapes that were so displeasing to me personally at that stage.

The final result is a painting in which the garden comes alive with growing things, further enhanced by the magnificence of butterflies flying freely among the blooming spires.  A painting to love and to grow with, Sloane's Garden is so much like the little girl for whom it was made -- alive, hopeful and filled with the promise of a life renewed.

Sloane's Garden

Beginning again

There are points in time when the planets line up and the universe dictates that no matter how much you know, you don't know anything...and the situation requires that you 'begin again'.  There's a quote from Albert Camus that I have long cherished and continue to carry with me into day-to-day life:  'What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.'  In the last week or so, there has been a card making the rounds on facebook that paraphrases the Camus quote, and adds '...and at this point I should be able to bench press a Buick.'  Julia Cameron, in her book The artist's way, maintains that to be successful one must be willing to begin again.  In my worklife, I have had just such an opportunity in the last month that has proven to be frustrating, challenging, sometimes overwhelming, but nonetheless a chance to grow and to learn...and to begin again.

In an effort to give a visual impression of this concept, I took an old, unsuccessful painting of the lighthouse at Los Pinos and...began again.  I was very intrigued by the patterns that its dome and windows created as I brayered thin layers of paint to break up the original image.  It reminded me of photographs I had seen of carvings made into the sides of mountains in the Far East.  With this memory, and the lyrics of the song 'Pilgrim steps' in my mind, I decided to build on this image, and to flesh it out on the surface of this painting.  Continuing on the Asian line of thought, I became curious to know what the kanji for 'Pilgrim steps' might be.  I was very intrigued by the calligraphic form of the characters, and decided to integrate them into the painting.  The colors I chose are deep and dramatic, much like the emotions that accompany 'beginning again'...but if you look closely, to the left of what appears to be carvings in stone, there is a bridge, a visual sign of 'the path'. 

Pilgrim Steps

In closing, let me share one more quote, from Sir Ken Robinson.  He says, 'Being creative has all kinds of manifestations.  It's not just in the arts.  It's not just in music, or dance, or theatre, or writing, or painting, though it is in all of those things.  You can be creative at anything.  You can be creative in business.  You can be creative in technology and science - in anything that involves your intelligence.  But being creative, which is about having original ideas, requires actual skills in the field in which you are working - and an openness of mind, a willingness to explore, a confidence in your imagination, a willingness to try things out and make mistakes and try again.'

To get past fear and anxiety, and to be a true pilgrim, carving a way through uncharted territory, we must learn to breathe and have confidence that the skills we hold within, along with our creative energies, will be enough to see us through.

To hear the song 'Pilgrim steps', written and performed by my friend, Larry Looney, click on the 'play' arrow below...

The Art of Celebration

When reading fineartsonline's newsletter this past week, I ran across an article containing a statement that caught my eye and set me to thinking:  'If I believed art was a talent I would have given up long ago,' said Mark Allen Adams. 'The ability to create art is something that is earned through years of constant study and dedication.  It is not a gift given at birth.'  I agree with this statement only to a degree.  In my opinion, one may be given an aptitude or a gravitational interest in the arts, but making fine art takes work, study, commitment, and facing the block of clay, blank canvas or white paper every day.  Making art requires discipline and dedication as well as a willingness to fail over and over again, only to stand back up, brush oneself off and start over with all the confidence and hopefulness to begin again.

I feel that I have always followed creative pursuits in my life, from as early as I can remember (I have drawn from the age of 4).  Thanks to the influence of my sister, Norma Ann Waddill, I was encouraged to express myself freely, step by step, pushing myself and risking the drawing / painting / object.  By doing so, I was able to create something unique.  This is the fuel that has spurred me on.  The mystery of creating something new is a great motivation.  I personally find color to be quite inspiring.  If I add texture and a dose of unpredictability, it becomes very pleasing...actually, it translates into pure joy!

In expressing our creativity, when to we begin to see the world differently...?  I am not sure of the particular day or year that it occurred for me.  I just know that, over time, it happened.  It is only in the past few years that I have steadily progressed, seeing differently, honing my skills to become the artist that I am today.  When I reflect over the time I have spent making art, I realize how little I knew when I graduated from UT's Art School!  By finding a few minutes, if not hours, every day to work in my chosen profession, facing the white paper, I have allowed creating art, often intuitively, to take me to new heights of personal expression as I continue on my creative journey.

I grew up in a family that celebrated many occasions...St Patrick's Day and even Ground Hog Day had a significant place in our household's modus operandi.  However, celebrating birthdays was in its own class!  In my family, one's birthday was more important than Christmas.  I came to think of my special day as a pseudo state holiday of sorts, planning my party, creating a menu, etc., as my celebration generally announced the end of summer, since plans for returning to school soon followed.  Generally speaking, my birthday was a big deal!  I loved everything about it, including getting older. Today, I ignore the years a birthday marks, but find I still love the celebration!

I created a small series called Celebration to honor the traditions I had grown up with surrounding birthday festivities and the very act of celebrating.  Bright, flat color in favorite vibrant hues, painting in shapes that connote happy, jubilant times, I offer these as a testimony to the value of holding fast to the times in our lives when we honor and give attention to the miles we have traveled, the lessons we have learned, and to the progress we have made.

Celebration I

Celebration II


Celebration III

With this post, I honor my parents and the joy they brought to the simplest of days;  my sister for encouraging me creatively;  and my brothers for not raining on my parade, allowing me to celebrate my life to the fullest, one day, one accomplishment at a time. 

This weekend, I celebrate my day and the launching of my new website, Donna W. Goodwin, Fine Art.  Just click here to visit. 

Let's raise our glasses and enjoy...!  L'chaim...to life...!

The Magic of Imagination

In my desire to continue my dialogue regarding imagination, let's explore the magic an artist can effect when applying the concept to visual art.  Dictionary.com defines imagination as 'the faculty of imagining, or of forming mental images or concepts of what is not actually present to the senses'.  For example, when painting plein aire (on location), the artist is often replicating the reality that lies before them, even though in the process they are placing their own 'human stamp' on the visual image.  One of my favorite places to paint plein aire is at Fishermen's Wharf in Monterey, California.  I often find myself, upon arrival, in the city park just adjacent to the Wharf.  The cement tables and benches create an ideal 'easel' for painting in watercolor, with plenty of room for board and palette.

I had painted the Wharf on several occasions, and found it to be a perfect warm-up exercise in creating a quick watercolor sketch.  The vivid colors of the buildings, along with their reflected counterparts, create interesting myriad shapes, colors and textures.  One such watercolor sketch is Fishermen's Wharf, Monterey, created, as cited above, while listening to the barking of the abundant seals and cries of the gulls.  These creatures serenaded the scene and created a vibrant audio backdrop that augmented the visual experience.

Fishermen's Wharf, Monterey

Although this sketch turned out quite pleasing to my eye, I felt remiss that I did not include influences that were unique to that particular location.  So I took a full sheet of Arches 140cp and used my reality sketch as a place to begin.  Monterey is surounded by hilly terrain that is located relatively close to the shoreline and wraps around the Bay.  If one looks across towards Santa Cruz, the mountains are very much in evidence.  They are heavily wooded, adding to the study in constrasts created by the mounains, the sea, the buildings, and the ever-present wildlife.  Monterey Bay, because of its unique depth, is home to a plethora of sea life that is not visible to the casual observer, unless one visits the Monterey Bay Aquarium, located about a half mile from Fishermen's Wharf.  The Aquarium brings the creatures and plant life of the deep sea up close and personal, allowing one to examine their physical attributes.  This beautiful environment is an extremely fragile one, affected not only by the natural elements but by the presence of human life.  Although I do not consider my efforts in representing the non-visible elements to have captured the ambience, imagining the flora and fauna was a magical experience.

Fishermen's Wharf, Monterey (imagined)

Allowing one's imagination to augment reality is playful as well as productive.  It stretches the artistic envelope to include new methods and tools, allowing the creative process to grow.  This can result in works that are less predictable, and much more interesting to look at and to contemplate (as well as to create) because they are filled with so many possibilities...and possibilities are the bread of life...!