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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, May 28, 2018
  dualities
Dualities are contrasting concepts that may be seen as opposites, yet also as parts of a whole. Day/night, young/old, male/female, birth/death--all are pairs that actually complement each other to form a complete idea or cycle. It can be said that one does not exist without the other, that they are interdependent and meaningless individually without their counterparts. And while we may personally prefer one aspect of a duality over another, not acknowledging its opposite undermines a wholistic view of life and acceptance of what is. (I'm adding what I see as an exception to this idea at the end of the post.)


An Ancient Conversation, 36"x36" oi/cold wax on panel

For years my work has had an overall softness without strong edges or lines.  But now contrasting elements of light/dark value, organic/geometric shape, and calm/active textures have been growing much stronger in my work. This has happened gradually, without conscious intent, at least when it began. I've thought a lot about where this more emphatic contrast is coming from and why. 

The most important influence on my work--experiences and memories of wild, rugged landscapes--is still the same. But there is something new in my response to these places. I'm thinking of them in a more universal way, instead of according to particular location as in the past. At some point I realized that my overall response to them--wherever they happen to be--is consistent, and that there are certain dualities at its core. My thoughts and feelings about being in wild and rugged places are complex, and this makes these places compelling to me beyond their visual beauty. So I think there is a connection, between these dualities and the greater contrast I'm bringing to my work--a new alignment of form and content.  


Benwee Head, Co Mayo, Ireland

Downpatrick Head, Co. Mayo, Ireland

An interesting thing I've noticed in the past about being in wild places is the calm and quiet they can bring to the soul, even though they tend to be dramatic, very active places (at least the ones I love best). The wind may be howling and the surf crashing but inside there is peace. I think my interest in dualities started with that realization, and it's been percolating ever since. It may well be the root of my need to express something new in my work--the drama as well as the subtlety and quiet. 

Over time I've become aware of other dualities in my experience of wild places. Even though they may seem on the surface like contradictions, in fact they offer a sense of unity that can be profound. For example, I often feel a split in my sense of self when I'm alone in nature. I feel insignificant, a tiny speck in the vast spaces around me, yet in some mystical way I'm also connected with the land at my core. Both perceptions seem equally true and expand the experience in powerful ways. 


Northern New Mexico

Another kind of duality has to do with my shifting sense of human frailty and vulnerability. I may fully acknowledge the danger of descending a steep, rocky hillside alone, for example, while at the same time my mind is completely, calmly at ease. The risks I sometimes take in remote places are part of fully engaging with my surroundings and not holding back out of fear. Of course, the other side of this duality is basic common sense. While I sometimes push the limits, I also recognize that the forces of nature and the laws of gravity care nothing about my need for adventure. Perhaps at its core this duality is about being both inside and outside of my physical self. 

Contrasts of inside/ outside also happen with thoughts and feelings. No matter what the surroundings, at times I slip away from being fully present. Like many people, I can easily become pre-occupied with thoughts of everyday life. On a spectacular rugged shoreline in Ireland, I might be wondering whether I'd answered an email or if I needed to stop at the store. Yet whatever is running around in my head will shift abruptly the second I return my attention fully to the landscape. In that abrupt transition the beauty of my surroundings will stun me and hold me completely-- until the next random thought worms its way into my brain. The dichotomy between inner and outer worlds puts human trivia in stark contrast to nature's power. But such moments make me feel grateful to be alive, monkey-mind and all. I'm sure that many people who love nature experience this and other dualities; they create a fascination that pulls us back again and again. 

And finally, there are dichotomies within nature itself--its wildness and gentleness, strength and frailty, the light and dark, the macrocosm and the microcosm. The beauty and power of nature encompasses all of these aspects and more, and they inform my work alongside with my more personal responses and memories.

Memory and Presence 40"x30" oil/cold wax on panel



Addditional notes: 
I mentioned in the first paragraph that I can think of certain concepts or realities that do not seem to require an opposite for completion. Perhaps it's idealistic of me, but I believe they are singular and complete in themselves. These include love, truth, goodness, trust, peace. I'm sure there are more. 

I also invite you to read a recent blog post by my friend Janice Mason Steeves, who also loves and is nurtured by wild places. Click here for her post, which inspired me to write about my own response to wild places. 

This video shows me working on the painting above, Memory and Presence.

 
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
  my month in ireland
There's a change that happens shortly before you leave a place that you love. A feeling of nostalgia sets even though your'e still there...you miss it already and know it will be a long time until you are back. Today I'm almost done with my stay as an artist in residence at Ballinglen Arts Foundation in Ballycastle, County Mayo, Ireland, packing up and reflecting on my time here, having those goodbye feelings. I fly home in 3 days after a short stay in Dublin. 

By now, the landscape here in North Mayo has become familiar --the lanes and back roads, the hiking trails, the beaches, the fields, the old walls, the spectacular, wild coastline. But every time I come here (this is the sixth time)  I still discover new places. This visit, I came upon the tide pools near the Stella Maris pier just a few miles from Ballycastle and spent an hour or so there marveling at these small worlds of texture, shape and color. 



Tide Pool, near Ballycastle

Even though my work overall has been evolving away from specific landscape references, when I'm here the landscape and seascape always assert themselves in what I paint. But in fact the bolder shapes in my new work have their origins in the cliffs and rocks I've seen on previous residencies here; I appreciate being back at the source and seeing the continuity.



at Benwee Head

I came here in March with an idea about exploring an intersection between painting and printmaking, something that has been in the back of my mind for several years, and which I've played with a bit at home without much success. My plan was to start with prints (drypoint, carborundum, and monotype) and then add layers of cold wax and oil in ways that would allow both media to contribute to the final piece. 

My first attempts here, like my previous ones at home, weren't very successful. In addition to some technical issues that I had to work out, I couldn't figure out how to handle the paint application. Either the layers of paint quickly obliterated the prints, or the bits of print that did show through became so precious they got in the way of developing the work as a whole. I needed to find that delicate sweet spot in which both the print and the paint had a voice. 


print/cold wax/oil  10"x8"

It can be a frustrating process to work out a new idea or technique. But here, there is a lovely calmness to each day, no rush, no pressure, and the process as it unfolded seemed  interesting, rather than difficult or discouraging. I ended up with five pieces that I considered successful, and will keep exploring this path once I'm back home.  

As I start to clean and pack, I'm pleased with my work here and feel that the ideas I've been working with in recent months have taken another step forward. I'm excited to see what will happen when can work again on a larger scale in my home studio (I do sometimes feel constrained when on residency by suitcase-sized surfaces.)  


oil/cold wax on paper, 16"x12"
my studio space at Ballinglen with finished work

In other ways too this has been a good and satisfying time. During my first week here, I taught a workshop to a very compatible, fun, and competent group of artists. I had caught a cold and was feeling a little less than wonderful, but they were all kind and compassionate and we carried on. 


workshop group at Benwee Head

As for my residency time, this has been one of the most enjoyable I've experienced. The other artists here have been wonderful--congenial and generous, those with cars often inviting those of us without on various outings, and there have been lots of casual chats and evening get-togethers with food and wine. I've had some deep conversations about my work, other people's work, and things we all have in common as artists. I love spending time with people who understand what it means to be seriously focused on art, but are also up for fun and adventure. At the same time, we have all respected each other's needs for studio time and solitude. It's kind of a perfect little world...some of us here joke about the Ballinglen Bubble--the feeling of happily floating through our days, mostly oblivious to the outside world. 


Michael Geddis and Eva Isaksen, artists in residence at Ballinglen
Happily, I'll be back next year at this same time, experiencing the early Irish spring (or maybe, as was the case this year, a few weeks of lingering winter). For now I need to turn to my typically messy studio and the need to clean, organize and pack. My bubble hasn't quite burst, but I do feel it gently descending toward solid ground.  


 
Sunday, March 11, 2018
  my current exhibit
Crossing, 48"x 72", oil on panel

In many years of exhibiting my work there are certain shows that stand out for me, and my  current exhibit (through April 11, with sculptor Christian Burchard) at Telluride Gallery of Fine Art in Telluride, CO is one of those. It's the debut showing for a body of work in a new direction--overall a more stark and angular approach than in the past. It's still very recognizable as my work--I've kept the intricate textures and layers that I've been working with for years, and organic form still sometimes dominates--but the approach and concept have gone through changes.


Light and Shadow, 42"x36" oil on panel, sculpture by Christian Burchard

My main interest now is in dualities--strength and fragility, organic and geometric, dark and light, subtle and bold, color and neutrality, held in dynamic balance.  This is a shift away from previous work that was generally tied to experiences in specific locations, based in memory, and often had a softer, more atmospheric sensibility. What I'm doing now deals with more universal and formal ideas about contrast and the balance of opposites.



Astir 48"x24" oil on panel

The changes in my work have been evolving over the past year and a half or more. At first they were subtle, then more insistent as my ideas began to shift. It's been an interesting journey finding my way-- I've had many frustrating days in the studio, fumbling for answers, older approaches no longer working for me. Yet I've been buoyed along as one after another painting was finally resolved. Each has been a learning experience, and the learning continues. (The triptych at the top of this entry took 7 weeks to complete.)


Ancient Site, 48"x24" oil on panel

The definite shapes in this work have posed the biggest challenges, because I've wanted to keep a sense of fluidity and not allow them to become too tight or solidified. I've also had doubts that such angular and defined shapes can really "be me" after years of using a softer approach. I have wondered where they came from and why they appeal to me so much. But looking back at earlier multiple panel work from 2002 through about 2012 I see that I do have a history with geometric shapes (as seen below in a painting from 2008.) I love the way that over time, earlier ideas can re-emerge in a new way.


Coast, 2008, oil on multiple panels

My new direction has surprised, challenged and even scared me a little, knowing that the work in my Telluride exhibit would be a noticeable departure from what I've shown in the past. (The show includes a couple of transitional pieces from my older style but overall the emphasis is on the newest work.) Considering my trepidation, it was really gratifying that the show has been so well received, with numerous sales and an exciting opening night. Lots of credit goes to the gallery for the spare and sensitive installation, and the beautiful co-ordination with Christian Burchard's wood sculpture--a very compatible pairing.



Passing Through #1 and #2, each 60"x b24", with sculpture by Christian Burchard
Change can be disorienting, but this review of my current show by Susan Viebrock for Telluride Inside and Out reminds me of my roots.

Crowell’s work is the result of a physically demanding, sometime violent process of layers that are scratched, eroded and dissolved to reflect what occurs naturally in the rugged landscapes she loves. Nevertheless her paintings feel quietly intense, almost Zen-like...Crowell’s spare but dense work seems tethered to spirituality.
...it becomes evident that Crowell believes in the transformative powers of art, the ability of a painting to conjure emotions such as happiness, love, beauty, perfection, as well as the experience of a return to childhood vision..

Despite the changes and new emphasis on the formal aspects of painting, my work retains its ties to landscape, memory and experience. This source is a constant and is aligned with my process of working with layers of organic and textured surfaces. Where the source takes me has changed, and will likely continue to change over time. 


Ascent, 42"X36" oil on panel

 
Monday, January 29, 2018
  podcast
Back in mid-summer my younger son, Ross Ticknor, came up with an idea for something he wanted us to do together--a podcast about art, the creative process, travel, and art business. He envisioned each episode as a conversation between the two of us, with an occasional interview conducted by me with a guest artist. With his knowledge of digital recording and editing (he has produced several audio books) he believed that we could do a professional sounding job. He felt that it would be a new way for me to connect with other artists and people who appreciate art. 

Ross is a convincing person and always has been--even as a little kid, he would go after things he wanted--not by whining or demanding--but by stating his well thought-out case calmly and reasonably. Although my reaction to his idea was mixed, and a bit hesitant, he won me over. I worried about coming up with content every week, and felt a bit of stage fright even considering the thought of my voice going out to unseen listeners, but I loved the idea of having an ongoing, collaborative and challenging project with my son. 

An early task was to find a name for the podcast. I half-jokingly suggested The Messy Studio (anyone who has been in mine or seen photos knows that is quite descriptive). We didn't seriously consider it though until we'd run through a number of other ideas that all seemed dull in comparison  At some point Ross said, "You know, I actually like The Messy Studio" and I realized that I did too. Although it's a bit quirky it also has some depth; while lots of artists manage to have very clean studios, in the big picture the creative process itself is rarely tidy or well-organized. And so the name stuck. 

Our first recording was made in August with both of us crowded into the walk-in closet at our house in Wisconsin (fabric is good for the acoustics). That location is still our main recording studio. When I'm in New Mexico, and Ross is back in Wisconsin, he uses the closet and I drape blankets around a corner of my bedroom. As Ross commented, "who would imagine that making blanket forts would be part of your professional life." Of course, we're hoping to upgrade to a more permanent recording location at some point. But it's good to realize that everything doesn't have to be ideal in order to launch a project. 


The New Mexico recording studio/blanket fort

The recordings that I make with other artists are less controlled in terms of background noise -- a truck roared by outside when I spoke with Jeff Hirst in his urban Chicago studio, the Irish wind and rain can be heard faintly in the recording with Joanna Kidney, and Kai Harper Leah's dogs occasionally added their comments from the next room. But for now, Ross and I accept these quirks and hope they add to the atmosphere and reality of the setting.

As I write this, we have six episodes available for listening, and the response has been very gratifying. We are approaching 2000 downloads, with over a quarter of these coming from more than a dozen countries outside the US. My talks with Jeff, Joanna, and a round table discussion with Randall Exon and Una Forde at Ballinglen Arts Foundation in Ireland are now online, while other artist interviews with Janice Mason Steeves and Nuala Clarke are in the pipeline. 

I've gradually begun to relax about the idea of my voice being heard by so many people--at first I sometimes lay awake at night after a recording wondering anxiously if what I'd said made sense, or if I might have offended someone or overstated a point. Fortunately, it is not a live show! But the truth is that is difficult to change the content. So far, what you hear is the total of what was recorded, minus some edited-out coughs and false starts.  Ross and I did ditch one entire episode in which we both sounded tired and unfocused. Our format is conversational, but we want to stay on topic, so we now use a rough outline of what we want to cover. 

Podcasting is a challenge in terms of allowing a conversation to evolve naturally while also keeping it on track. Making it coherent is very different than when I write, my usual means of online communication. When I write a blog post, I do a lot of deleting, cutting and pasting to produce a coherent flow. Obviously, in a recording, that cohesion has to happen in the moment.

Another thing I'm learning to be aware of is that in ordinary conversation there is a lot of drifting and rambling. People also tend to interject "OK" and "right" too often, interrupt each other, and laugh at odd moments. When you are caught up in a recorded conversation it can be hard to remember to not only keep it on track but to limit "ums", chuckles, and other unnecessary vocalizing. These can be very distracting in a podcast. 


My official Messy Studio portrait

Those are some of the practical challenges that we've been working on. However Ross and I both feel we're off to a good start, and overall the recording sessions are satisfying and engaging. Once things get rolling in a podcast session, I find that I enter an intense state of concentration in which I can almost see ideas as they weave together. Whether it is Ross posing questions to me, or me speaking with other artists, the focus on what is being said needs to be very strong. The conversation at times enters deep and revealing territory, with surprising insights that the people conversing had not realized. 

I find a special pleasure in interviewing other artists--hearing their unique stories and perspectives. It makes me realize how seldom in ordinary circumstances we take the time to ask questions of other artists, listen intently, probe into their process, explore their ideas. As one artist said to me, "how come we don't talk like this more often?" 

One of my goals for 2018 is to learn from other artists, past and current, through reading and watching interviews and documentaries. I can see that my own podcast will also be a way toward this goal, as well as helping me to be more articulate about my own art life. 

I invite you to listen to The Messy Studio and if you enjoy it, to subscribe, and to leave a ranking and comment on ITunes. We also appreciate your suggestions for topics that you feel would be if interest to a general audience of artists and art appreciators--just leave a comment.. 



 
Sunday, January 07, 2018
  memory and presence

Worn Away 
16" X 16", oil/cold wax/mixed media on pan



This morning I was immersed for awhile in Maria Popova's excellent weekly newsletter, Brain Pickings, a compendium of philosophical musings by writers from many perspectives, their common thread an investigation of what makes our lives rich and meaningful. Her post this week featured one of my favorite writers, the Irish poet and philosopher John O'Donohue. Clicking on one of the links, I was led to an excerpt of his writings on the role of memory in our creative lives. He wrote: 

It is crucial to understand that experience itself is not merely an empirical process of appropriating or digesting blocks of life. Experience is rather a journey of transfiguration. Both that which is lived and the one who lives it are transfigured. Experience is not about the consumption of life, rather it is about the interflow of creation into the self and of the self into creation. This brings about subtle and consistently new configurations in both. That is the activity of growth and creativity. 
I love this quote, acknowledging how closely my painting is tied to memories of wild places in the landscape, and the feelings I associate with them. It's the basis of the visual language that I've developed over the years, and has grown and changed with new layers of experience. 

What is it that allows some experiences to become integrated into one's deeper self--and so to become part of an ongoing and growing creative process? It may seem like a contradiction, but I think there is a connection to another philosophical belief, expressed by writers such as Eckhart Tolle--the importance of the moment, of the Now. When you're truly present in a moment, it seems to me that moment then becomes--as memory--part of your creative journey. 

I'm not thinking here of the kind of memories that are so significant they have an obvious imprint--a wedding, the birth of a child, the death of a loved one. It's the mystery of why some memories stand out in the more ordinary flow of life. As an artist, I'm especially curious about those that lodge in memory as visual impressions, combined with inner response of pure emotion. For myself, I realize that many of the memories that feed my work happened as a result of being very present, in the moment, and allowing what I was experiencing to push aside other thought and interpretation. Simply being and experiencing. 

I love it when what comes through in my work is not only conscious observation of colors and textures in nature, but also the more mysterious source of memory, a by-product of O'Donohue's "journey of transformation." Accessing these memories in a way that allows for creative interpretation, rather than literal depiction, is an ongoing challenge. It seems to happen best when I shut off inner narrative and enter a more intuitive flow. Memories can then become their essence of visual impact and feeling, They can also intermingle, form new connections, cross barriers of time and location and the constraints of labels and verbal descriptions.
 
Thursday, December 14, 2017
  looking back, looking ahead
It's time for end of the year reflections and a few thoughts on what lies ahead...I'm back in Wisconsin for a few weeks, leaving behind the sun and warmth of northern New Mexico where we've been staying in our new winter home. The transformation of our 100-year old (and once decrepit) adobe into a simple but beautiful home has been a highlight of the past year. 




My studio in New Mexico is small, but I've done several large paintings since arriving there in late November. When we go back west after Christmas, I have plans to spread out a bit and do some water-based work on paper on the enclosed sun porch, along with additional  large paintings on panel. With two big exhibits coming up ( at Telluride Gallery of Fine Art, opening March 1, and at Jen Tough Gallery, opening May 11) I'm focusing on painting as much as time allows. I'll be away in Ireland for a month this spring, so productive studio time--especially for making large work-- is a bit tight. I've optimistically ordered a bunch of big panels though, and will do my best. 


Many Layers, 48"x36" oil/cold wax on panel
Strong shapes and contrast continue to feature prominently in my work; these changes have been asserting themselves in every painting lately, whether I invite them to or not! Sometimes it seems I'm just along for the ride, as over and over these elements come through. A question that Jerry and I often ask our students as they search for personal direction is "does this painting feel like you?" But with this work, I prefer the inverse...do I feel like this painting--each one ia presence that is strong, bold, dynamic, yet subtle and nuanced. It is exciting to work with this duality, and to recognize a personal as well as technical challenge. It's teaching me as I go...I want to understand and "own" this work, as I watch it unfold.

Shifting Light, 48"x36" oil/cold wax on panel

In other aspects of life--outside the studio--2017 was heavily impacted by the publication of my book, which I co-authored with Jerry McLaughlin, Cold Wax Medium: Techniques, Concepts & Conversations (Squeegee Press, Dec. 2016). The positive response from artists, critics, and bloggers has been overwhelming and gratifying, and the demand is such that we have just ordered a second printing. Squeegee Press keeps growing with new plans and products, including our upcoming full-length instructional video. This will cover everything that an artist would learn  in a five-day workshop, and more. To be honest, I'm a little nervous about making my film debut-- but fortunately we've found a really nice and very professional videographer, and I trust he'll bring out my best side. Jerry and I are putting a lot of thought into what we want to cover, and how best to reach our goal of a clear, clean, and well-paced video.

Lastly--as many of you know by now, I'm cutting way back on my teaching schedule in order to spend more time on my own work. I'm planning to semi-retire in 2018 from doing workshops, and will teach only two (both of which are full with long waiting lists). 

Of course, I have mixed feelings about making this change. Teaching has given me rich rewards, personal connections, and experiences. But at 63, I'm looking forward to a new phase of life in which I am not always juggling my calendar to accommodate everything. Painting, traveling, writing, exhibiting and working on Squeegee Press projects--along with just an occasional workshop--will be enough. I'm reassured to know that the book, the video, and the workshops run by my partner Jerry and other great instructors in the cold wax community will fill any gap I'm leaving.

A few years ago, I thought that 2017 might be the beginning of my semi-retirement--but somehow, it didn't turn out that way! Instead, I taught this past year in New Zealand, Italy and Ireland as well as in the Bay Area and New Mexico. All were excellent experiences, and some included extra travel and even painting time. I'm not intending to give up these great opportunities completely--I'm just aiming for a slower pace. 

As I move away from my former full teaching schedule, I want to express deep gratitude for all of my students over the years. Their trust, enthusiasm and support has given me the opportunity to grow as an artist and person, and it feels really good to know I've been helpful to others. Before I began teaching, I used to sometimes view my life as an artist as too narrow, too self-absorbed. Teaching changed that completely. And there was a bonus I'd never anticipated--what I would end up learning from my students as I helped them with their struggles, listened to their stories, and observed their unique approaches to art-making. 

Wishing you all Happy Holidays, and may we look ahead to 2018 with hope and optimism for for positive change in our own lives, and in the world. 




 
Sunday, November 05, 2017
  the whole
I'm back from a very satisfying time in Ireland, where I spent six weeks at the Ballinglen Arts Foundation in County Mayo. My exhibit in the gallery there, and the connections made and strengthened with other artists deepened my overall experience. Plus I taught some great people, had some wonderful visitors, and good adventures. 





This was my fifth time at Ballinglen and while many aspects of the landscape inform my work, each time I've been there a particular aspect of the surroundings has stood out as most compelling and important. The first year it was the rugged seacoast, and in other years it was the bog plants, the hedgerows, and the moving water of surf and stream. On a walk to the beach on my last morning in Ballycastle, I asked myself what had been most significant for me this time. 


Moving Water #1, acrylic on paper, 29"x38" 2016
It was a misty day, with the fields along the lane glowing in many shades of green, and the huge rocks on the shore appearing rugged yet soft in the atmosphere. Crows and seabirds flew overhead. The surf pulsed and foamed like breath, and the sand shifted and flowed where it met the sea. The kelp lay in odd lumps and twisted mounds. For a while I simply took this all in and thought of nothing much. Then the answer came...what was significant for me this time was everything...all of it, without labels or categories or boundaries. For a moment, on the beach, I sensed the perfection of everything fitting together in a magnificent whole. And that went beyond what I saw and sensed in this particular place--it was about the perfect interlocking of elements. The way that nature has a presence and rightness that arises from its individual parts but is more powerful than any one thing.



bog plants, County May0



As I walked back to Ballinglen I thought about this some more. What I experienced on the beach resonated with changes in my work over the past year or so. I've been looking for a different kind of expression, less tied to particular locations and more about the fitting together of parts. I've been interested in the idea that power and presence, intimacy and intricacy all exist together. That the deep beauty of the landscape arises from the presence of these seemingly contradictory elements. In my work I've been working with the strength of shape and contrast, while retaining the subtle and delicacy of texture and layered nuance. 

I have to smile a little at my circuitous journey with abstraction. Looking back, one of my first conceptual leaps-- about fifteen years ago-- was to realize that an essence of a place could be found in its details. Rather than the traditional view of landscape with its horizon lines and pictorial illusions, I began exploring the idea that the close-up textures of rock or the rich colors of foliage could convey a feeling of connection with nature in general, and relate to specific places as well. I don't think I have lost that idea-- the microcosm still fascinates me, and I continue to want parts of my work to reflect detail and specificity. But I also want to craft these parts into something strong, a fitting together of small bits and pieces into a bigger whole. And rather than evoking particular locations, I'm interested now in a more universal idea of the complex beauty and power of nature. 


Shelter, 42"x36" oil/cold wax on panel 2017


Passing Through, 24"x20" oil/cold wax on panel, 2017; painted at Ballinglen Arts Foundation

These ideas have been percolating for months, but I've only just begun to work with them consciously. I'm excited to see where they take me. With only one workshop left to teach in 2017 (next week in Oakland, with Jerry) I'm looking forward now to the winter months ahead--I'll be in New Mexico with Don through early March, painting (and maybe even relaxing a little!) A time to slow down and process. I am thinking about large work, and about perhaps returning to my old  multiple panel format as a way to introduce more contrast. Looking ahead, my teaching schedule in 2018 is by design very minimal. I want to make good use of the time I've cleared for my own work, and ideas are coming together... 
 

       www.rebeccacrowell.com




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       Rebecca Crowell