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   Welcome to my blog! I'll be posting thoughts about art, photos, happenings, and other things that strike me--and hopefully my readers--as interesting. And please visit my website by clicking the link to the right--thanks!

   Also please check out my second blog, The Painting Archives to see older (pre-2004) paintings for sale.


Monday, August 24, 2015
  impressions of italy
I'm home now after a very memorable, first-time visit to Italy, overwhelmed with new experiences. Most of my stay was in the Lake Como area in the northern part of the country, where I taught two workshops at a very charming, renovated 17th century farmhouse (see my previous post.) Then came a few days of visiting Verona, Venice, Padua and a bit of countryside with my Italian friends, Roberto and Paola.  (Roberto lived with us 45 years ago as a foreign exchange student, when we were in high school; we have kept in touch ever since.) Here we are in Verona:


My return trip on Thursday took 26 hours from the time I woke up in a small village near Padua until I reached my own bed at home. During my travel, I dozed when I could--in the car, the plane, and the shuttle van-- exhausted from eight days of teaching and all the sights and interactions of the short vacation with my friends.  My dreams as I napped held the atmosphere, the light, the colors, the sweet details, and the stillness of Renaissance paintings-- a gift that kept me cocooned for a just little while longer in a particularly beautiful essence of my experience.

Now, several days into readjustment to normal life, my thoughts about Italy are difficult to summarize-- almost as elusive as those dreams.  My mind brings up a complex mix of memories and emotions, of ancient surfaces, the faces of dozens of people, the intense workshop energy, the feel of cobblestone streets, the constant soundtrack of Italian and the occasional note of church bells, the sights of elaborate old buildings and richly colored paintings, the tastes of food as beautiful to look at as to eat. A wild ride to Como on a hot night in a 1974 VW bug convertible.



Given this deluge of memories, instead of a normal blog post, I'm going to just note some of my impressions. They are  in no particular order and without much regard for grammar. Time will tell what aspects of my experience will continue to speak to me and come through in my work...

The workshops: my first days in Italy--studio with three walls, open to the air, everyone painting with focus and intensity as the wax turned soft in the heat, and the mosquitoes buzzed. There were breakthroughs, especially noticeable in the small works on paper we did.  Frequent need for translation in my communication with students from Italy and Switzerland. Communal meals on the porch, quiet at breakfast, raucous by dinner time. Fireworks from the village festival and rain dancing on the last nights of the two sessions.




Food:  heaven for vegetarians like me...nice, light eggplant parmigiana, crispy bread, a lovely cheese they make at the Cascina from yogurt, my friend Paola's minestrone, thin crust pizza, lots of home made pasta, caprese salad (fresh tomatoes, mozerrela and basil), numerous flavors of gelato. Lunch and dinner rarely less than two courses; until that realization set in, I ate too much on the first round, unaware of what was yet to come. Did not take food photos, wish I had.

Wine: every glass I had (and there were quite a few) was savored. Nice grappa, too.

Heat: air conditioning pretty much non-existent except in cars and some shops. Early on the temps climbed to over 100 degrees--thick old walls of the Cascina kept the bedrooms comfortable. Windows without screens, opened at night, closed up and shuttered during the day. Everyone sweaty during class, taking cool showers before dinner. Loose clothes and lots of chilled water. Heat wave shattered by massive thunderstorm halfway through the time at the Cascina.

Italian: the sound of two, three or six people going at once, with passion, a confusing block of sound. Gradually picking up some words and phrases. Managing some simple conversation with my non-English speaking friend by the end of my stay. Brava! (pats self on back.)

Shopping for art supplies:  concern about the safety of open bins of powdered pigments in tiny, stuffy back rooms appear to be culturally based.  I bought lots.



How to relax: nap in the afternoon, linger over supper until bedtime, sit the terrace with wine, hang out with lazy cats. Stop for a coffee or gelato or limoncello every time you go out.  Wait for your purchases to be wrapped in paper, with slow, thoughtful precision.

Medieval frescoes: close-up, intimate views in church if St. Zeno, Verona... crumbling, overlaid images, delicate colors. Exterior walls on upper floors covered with painted fragments all over Verona. Most remarkable: those by Giotto in the Scrovegni Chapel, Padua. Limited time inside, no photos=extremely focused observation. Being very present. Faces as real in their emotional expression as any in our lives. Below, one of the S. Zeno frescoes.



Urban contrasts: ancient/modern,..old walls butting up against shiny glass and metal of expensive, trendy shops. Commerce and sacred antiquity co-existing.



Venice:  narrow, dark calles (alleyways), vast sunlit plazas, water lapping at the bases of ancient walls, intricate marble work, ornate facades, a story behind every building and statue. Thinking of Turner's paintings. Signs for Biennale (closed the day we were there.) Shops selling masks and costumes for Carnival, gondoliers punting self-conscious looking tourists around. Peggy Guggenheim Collection and exhibit of Charles Pollock (Jackson's brother--who knew??) Crowded water buses, crowded streets, crowded cafes. Then suddenly a quiet corner, a dark tunnel, a sweet, nearly empty little plaza.






Colors: everywhere I went, a paradise of subdued earthy colors, blues, greens, roses and ochres. Unexpected pink and orange painted buildings. Weathered layers revealing shades of similar hues. A particular bluish green on the shutters of a building in Venice, against a mellow white wall.





Scents: lavender, basil, garlic, incense, bug spray, boxwood, rain, peaches.

Things that moved me to tears: My beautiful solitary lunch the afternoon I arrived at the Cascina. Sweet words of praise for my teaching on our last night, and the departure of workshop friends. The view of the Grand Canal from the water bus in Venice (thinking of my mother's affection for Italy and her "Italian son," Roberto.) Stepping inside the Scrovegni Chapel. Hugging Roberto and Paola goodbye at the airport.







 
Saturday, August 08, 2015
  in northern italy
An olive tree outside my window, and the morning sun hitting red tiled rooftops on the opposite hillside. The scents of lavender and basil.  Intricate brick work in a 17th century ceiling. A grey cat sprawled beneath an ancient wood ladder. Espresso, homemade bread, local cheese, and fresh juice made from watermelon, peach and lemon. Trees laden with pears, apples, figs, and elderberries. Church bells ringing in the village below.



It's morning at Cascina Rodiani, the exquisite old inn just outside Como, in the Lombardia region of northern Italy, where I'm staying for 10 days and teaching two cold wax workshops. There are ten artists here for the class, from Italy, Switzerland, the UK, and the US. The group arriving next week is even more diverse, from seven countries including Australia, Sweden, Ireland, and Spain. We're working in a rustic, open-air atelier, where we are holding up well despite of the hot days. 






This is my first time in Italy; I arrived here by bus on Wednesday straight from the airport in Milan. Aside from what I could see from the bus passing through the countryside, and the cities of Como and Chiasso, Switzerland (we are right on the border here) I saw very little until I arrived at the hotel. Although I have plans to visit with friends near Venice at the end of my stay, for now, the lovely grounds of this green hotel--its gardens, workshop, porches, ancient rooms and pathways, are my entire view of Italy.



As I've photographed the surroundings here, I'm reminded again that the essence of a place can be found in its details. Filtered through my personal perceptions, emotions, and experiences, the soul and spirit of particular places is what has guided my abstract painting ideas for years.



I am completely charmed by what I know of Italy so far through the textures and colors, the quality of light, and the poignant aspects of ancient objects I am seeing here at Cascina Rodiani.



 
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
  thoughts about 2016
I'm home again after an exceptionally fine week of teaching at Cullowhee Mountain Arts in North Carolina. I love this program, guided by the vision and superb management skills of its director, Norma Hendrix. The facility on the campus of Western Carolina University is top notch, and one of the best aspects of the program is that several classes run concurrently during the week. That means all the students and instructors have the opportunity to meet and learn what the others are up to. I taught next door to Lisa Pressman, and enjoyed some collaborative painting and sharing of info between classes. Here, Lisa and I work together on two paintings, passing them back and forth on command from a student we designated to call time. Fast-paced and challenging! (sorry, I don't know whom to credit for this photo...cameras were clicking around the room, and this one made the rounds on facebook.)



The group of artists who came to the advanced cold wax workshop I taught were all very focused, perceptive, and open-minded in their work, including those with comparatively less experience. They were a delight to work with in every way. Lots of good conversations, laughter, and hours of painting.



And then, when it was all over, I set out for the drive home, already tired from the week of teaching. The trip was over 1000 miles through heat, road construction and highways clogged with summer vacationers. To add to the discomfort, the air conditioning in my old Subaru petered out during the trip, and the hotel I'd booked for an overnight stay on the way home was far less wonderful than its website (and price) led me to expect. I wish I'd have flown--and I will next time-- but flying can be exhausting too. I arrived home yesterday around 4pm, too wrung out to do much except watch television for the remainder of the day (very unusual behavior for me.)  I know from past experience that it will take me several days to find my energy again.

In the meantime, I'll attempt to take it easy, but my to-do list will be on my mind-- I leave for my Italy workshop in just over two weeks. After that, I teach in Mineral Point, Wisconsin, then I go back to North Carolina, and will finish out the year with two workshops in Ireland. In all of 2015, I'll have made three trips to Europe, two to North Carolina, one to Ontario, one to Taos, NM and one to Tucson, AZ, plus several more local road trips to workshops and galleries in my area. Travel is enriching and exciting, and going overseas fulfills a long-time dream to see more of the world.

And yet...there are concerns that have come up repeatedly in the past few months of this very busy year. How can I find time for rest and relaxation, along with creative rejuvenation and time for my own painting? How can I keep from becoming overly tired and losing my art mojo? These are questions that many busy artists face, as various aspects of life pull us from our quiet, creative centers.  Though I've resisted this issue for years, I've gradually come to understand the risk of becoming depleted, physically and artistically if I don't take more time for myself.

I've noticed the difference I feel when I do give myself more "me" time--for example, how important the silence and low stress environment was during my recent residency in northern Sweden. I love residencies for this reason--drinking in that quiet, centered time like cold water when I'm parched. I can also find this quiet, inner place when I'm at home, in my garden, on walks, and when I'm in my own studio.

Thinking about all of this, I've started looking more consciously for ways to give myself small breaks for relaxation and reflection. For example, before I left North Carolina after my workshop, I stayed on an extra night in my woodsy cabin accommodations, which I'd had little time to really enjoy due to long teaching days. I gave myself a lovely, quiet day to sit on the screen porch, write in my journal, read, take a walk. I wondered then when the last time I took a whole day off had been. Below, one of the photos I took as I walked beside a little stream that ran along the cabin property. It seems a metaphor for the flow of vital energy, which can only happen when the channel is free of excess debris.



After six years of holding up to 12 workshops annually, and with these insights on my mind, I know it's time to slow down. Not an easy decision; several times a week, I hear from new people that are eager to take class from me, or from former students hoping to return for another session. It will be a challenge not to give in and start adding on classes (please don't tempt me!)  But my firm plan for 2016 is to teach only six workshops total: two with Cullowhee Mountain Arts (venues and dates TBA), two in County Mayo, Ireland in the autumn, and two at my studio (probably one in spring and one in summer.)  The classes at my studio and in Ireland will be cold wax instruction for mixed levels, beginner to advanced (beginners will need to be experienced in some other type of painting.) At this time, I expect the other two workshops, the ones through Cullowhee Mountain Arts, to be aimed at advanced levels only--one for advanced painting with cold wax, and one for advanced painting in any medium, with a focus of developing personal direction in abstraction.

I'll publish full details before the end of this year, but in the meantime, if you wish to join a contact list for priority registration, you may email me for the studio classes, or Una Forde for the workshops in Ireland or Norma Hendrix for those associated with Cullowhee Mountain Arts. (Some classes will involve instructor approval and submission requirements, which have not yet been worked out, but you can still join the contact list.) If you haven't joined my mailing list, you can do so on the contact page of my website or on my Facebook page. By doing so, you'll receive full details of the scheduled classes for next year.







 
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
  outer / inner
Although I admire and respond to a lot of pure, non-referential abstract painting, my own work has never been in that camp. I've always abstracted from a visual source. For the past twenty years or so, my fascination has been the intersection between the outer, visual world and the inner world of memories, feelings, ideas and responses to my experiences. Almost always the outer,visual input in my work comes from landscape and nature. (You can read earlier blog posts on this topic here and here. )

The exact mixture of outer and inner elements varies with every stage of every painting, and as time goes by, the search for the perfect balance compels me as much as it did when I was just beginning. My favorite paintings are the ones in which I sense a clear connection to my outer source material, but transform it with meaning that arises from my inner vision and intent.

the studio at Ricklundgarden

I've recently returned from an artist residency at Ricklundgarden, in northern Sweden (see previous May/June posts for photos and commentary.) While I was immersed in that spectacular landscape, my paintings were fairly direct references to my surroundings, especially in terms of color and texture. Ice and snow, rocks, lichen, and birch bark all contributed to images that emerged in the Ricklundgarden studio. When I am on an artist residency, and inspired by new and unique landscape, I feel I am taking visual notes as I paint. The beauty and energy in the work I do while on residency lies in its directness and spontaneity. I try to take in and respond to as many aspects of the visual landscape as I can while I'm there. Although the more thoughtful and conceptual aspects of my work are always present to some extent, they play a secondary role during those few precious weeks of soaking up the visual world and responding to it in the studio. There is a free flow to the work that I do after spending time outside soaking up the unique beauty around me. That is enough, and very satisfying. Below are two photos, one of a small work on paper and one of the ice melt on Kult Lake that inspired it.

Kultsjon, 6"x4" mixed media on paper



Now that I'm back in my own studio and working on larger, more developed paintings, though, a new process begins, one of filtering and mixing my visual impressions with ideas, memories and feelings. The paintings I did at Ricklundgarden are now source material themselves--my visual notes. I have them spread out on a table and sort through them often, looking, remembering, and analyzing.

Below is a small painting I did at Ricklundgarden in response to the birch trees that grew everywhere. Especially when I first arrived and the world there was smooth and white with snow, I was drawn to the complex textures, colors and lines in the bark. I played around with these in a number of small works on paper.



Now here are two larger paintings I have done since coming home. My visual source in nature is birch bark once again, but less obviously so than in the smaller work done in Sweden. What have stayed with me are the colors, and the lines that appear on the bark that look almost like drawings. As I worked with line on these paintings, I had the sense that I was drawing maps of my memories of travel in Lappland, the meandering walks and the several road trips that my friend and fellow resident artist, Janice Mason Steeves, and I took.

So, a shift happened that I value in my more developed, larger work--a synthesis of both my inner space as well as what I see and observe became integral to the painting. When this happens, it helps me to know the painting is finished. I'm excited to see what other ideas emerge from my time in Sweden as well as how this particular thread will play out.

Travels in Lappland #1, 40"x40" oil and mixed media on panel

Travels in Lappland #2, 36"x48" oil and mixed media on panel




 
Sunday, June 07, 2015
  leaving ricklundgarden...
the sky at 1 a.m. this morning....

It's my last day here at Ricklundgarden, the artist's residency in Northern Sweden where I have been living and working for the past month. Along with my friend and colleague, Janice Mason Steeves, I will fly tomorrow to Stockholm for a few days of seeing the sights, and then to Toronto on the 10th. On the 12th I'll start my drive from her place to Wisconsin and home, sweet home.

It's cold and rainy outside, and a good day for getting ready to leave. Along with packing and cleaning, yesterday we also finished writing one of our co-blog posts--an ongoing project in which we have a conversation about a particular topic. This one is about our time at Ricklundgarden.  Click here to read our thoughts.

It's been a very productive time--I've done almost 70 paintings, most of them small and quick, others more developed. That's a lot to take home and contemplate. Here is a photo of my studio taken a few days ago from the little balcony overhead, and the other showing the view from that balcony window.





There is much to consider about this residency, and I know my views about it will continue to evolve after I leave, and gain some distance on it. The influences may be subtle, woven in with other ideas and experiences, or they may be more direct. The mystery and magic of the intuitive process is that from all that is taken in--visually, emotionally, experientially--what persists and takes on the most meaning over time cannot be predicted. 



 
Thursday, May 28, 2015
  a creative loop
Last weekend, Janice Mason Steeves and I paid a visit to the Swedish city of Umeå on the opposite side of the country from where we are staying for a month at Ricklundgarden (an artist residency in Saxnas.)  While we both love the quietness and remote location of Ricklundgarden, a few days of exploring another location and being among flowers and greenery was very appealing. We thoroughly enjoyed the museums, shops and other delights of the city.



On our return, we stopped at Umedalens Skulpturpark, a sculpture park on the city's outskirts, and spent an hour or so wandering among the works on display, some by well known artists such as Anish Kapoor, Louise Bourgeois and Antony Gormley. The sculptures are scattered around the extensive grounds of a complex of buildings, once a psychiatric institution, and today an office park and school. We had a map, but even so, we had to search for some of the sculptures, and a few fit into the surroundings so well--or were otherwise somewhat concealed-- that we almost passed them by. It was an entertaining sort of hide and seek to find and identify what we could. Some of the sculptures had an interactive element, including one of our favorites...

Cristina Iglesias, Vegetation Room VII, 2000

After leaving this immersion into a sculptural world, we both noticed that ordinary objects around us (trash bins, road markers) suddenly took on the aura of art objects. We had undergone a shift in perception that allowed us to notice the form and presence of things normally unseen.  I've experienced the same phenomenon after leaving the studios or exhibits of certain artists who caused me to see differently, or more acutely, at least for a short time--a particular focus brought on by the artist's interpretation of the visual world.

I've also noticed the same thing with my own work--that after a day of being immersed in painting, I see more texture, color, contrast and detail in the world around me. The act of putting down color and manipulating paint seems to open up my own vision, and I leave the studio seeing through a painterly lens. I suspect this must be a fairly universal experience for those of us who spend hours in the studio. It is certainly helpful for generating continued ideas and direction--a creative loop in which the work and visual experience feed one another.

I am thinking about how creative loop works for me here at Ricklundgarden, where I am surrounded by a spectacular landscape that changes every day with the melting of snow and ice and the gradual appearance of spring. I'm spending time outside every day, and constantly looking out my windows when I'm inside, given the incredible views I have of mountains and lake in a world that never seems to actually get dark (there are a few hours of dusk around midnight to 3a.m.) I take a lot of photos and soak in every visual experience.  But I notice that my sensitivities to the landscape are especially open when I go out in the evening, after a day of painting.





My work is not about the visual experience alone, though--it also comes from the emotions I feel in this remote, majestic place.  The power in the contrast of ice, snow and rock, in the changing weather and the flowing of the water moves me. There is also a sense of mystery about what lies beneath the surface of the snow and ice. Every day that moves toward spring allows rocks and plants emerge that we did not see before. The grounds around Ricklundgarden that seemed so smooth and gently contoured with snow when we first came are now revealing their rugged and stony character, and the accessible parts of the lake shore constantly expand. As Jan and I head out for our evening walks, there is a feeling of childlike play in exploring the woods and shore. There are also bicycles for us to use, which are really fun. I feel about 10 years old when I take one down the road to the grocery or to my favorite waterfall spot down the road.




All of this experience is important to my paintings, which evolve intuitively, based on what I feel about the surroundings here as well as what I observe. As on other residencies in beautiful, remote places, being out in the landscape--walking, photographing, and just soaking it all up-- is the other half of what makes being here worthwhile. The creative loop of allowing the landscape to feed my work, and my work in turn opening me up to the landscape, is a rich experience.

A photo below of an ice formation taken after a day in the studio that involved a lot of white paint...



Below are some of my recent paintings, that come from the idea of what lies beneath the snow and is now emerging, and the visual delights of snow and ice contrasted with stone and ground cover. Both are currently untitled--top one is 10"x8", lower one is 12"x12", oil and cold wax.




 
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
  at ricklundgarden
Two weeks ago today, my friend Janice Mason Steeves and I talked and giggled our way through the Toronto airport (already anticipating a fun trip together) and flew overnight to Stockholm, Sweden. We spend one jet-lagged, lovely evening wandering around the oldest part of the city, before departing again the next morning on a tiny plane to Vilhelmina, in the far northern part of the country. Although we were a bit shocked by the amount of snow still on the ground (knee-deep in places at Ricklundgarden, an artist residency in Lappland-our destination) the striking beauty of the silvery-white landscape soon revealed itself. Within the first few days we were out on snow shoes and loving the experience of being out in the snowy world, with its vistas of lake and mountains. The warmth and green of spring at home has come to seem very far away.





Now I can see it would have been a shame to have missed this end of winter display--the contrasts of dark stone and sheer white tundra, the ever-widening clear water on the mostly still frozen lake, and the first small flowers and birds appearing.  Some days, spring is in the air, the sun is warm and the piles of snow shrinking almost visibly. Others, like today are gray with light snow coming down.  From what we hear, real spring is still weeks away--probably coming near the end of our time here.

All last week we co-taught a workshop in abstract painting with cold wax medium, to a small but dedicated group who made the somewhat complicated journey here. Teaching and painting time were supplemented with other activities which added essential depth to the experience, along with some fun social times.



A highlight for everyone was our day out, when we visited a spectacular waterfall area not too far from Saxnas, called Trappstegsforsen, in the morning.  There were places where we could get right to the water's edge.



That afternoon, we drove to Stekenjokk, a region above the tree line on the road to Norway. The road itself which was closed to traffic at some point, as it is still being cleared of snow. We left the car then and walked through a landscape so sublime, it was like a dream of a smooth, still ,white world.







Now that class has ended,  Janice and I are enjoying the next few weeks as time for our own work and exploration; we have until early June here as artists in residence. I've been working in mixed media on various kinds of paper, mostly quite small, with visual ideas taken from the contrasts and textures of the landscape. I have especially enjoyed working with egg tempera, seen in the examples below. As always when I'm on a residency, I spend a good deal of time out in the landscape taking it all in, and then allow imagery to emerge intuitively in my work.






I'll post more images of my paintings next time. Painting, reading, writing, walking, exploring and visiting take up the days. Gerd Ulander, the director of Ricklundgarden, has been a wonderful resource and host on our various excursions, and she is ever gracious and spontaneous. Just this morning, a ride she gave us to the grocery store evolved into a drive to a vista point atop a nearby hill, and a stop at the local church that features a striking mural of the Good Samaritan story by the Swedish figurative painter Kalle, who spent time at Ricklundgarden in the mid-20th century. We shall miss her when she leaves tomorrow for an extended trip away, but she has helped us to plan several more adventures for our remaining days here.

To be continued...



 

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