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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.

Saturday, March 13, 2021
  a strange year

 A year ago today I was in residence at Ballinglen Arts Foundation in Ballycastle, Ireland, trying to take in the news about the spread of Covid 19. My workshop there, scheduled for the end of March, involved an international group of students and I needed to make a decision about canceling. At the time, it was hard to know what to do. Advice ranged from going ahead and teaching those who could still make it, to packing everything up and booking the first flight I could. A doctor friend at home advised me to wait in Ireland until the threat passed rather than risk air travel. He figured it might be a couple of weeks until things were safe. 

I took a long walk in the bog to sort things out. 

March 13, 2020, Ballycastle, Ireland

Today I think back to those panicked but far more innocent days with astonishment. Of course, I did leave Ireland rather than wait it out. I flew back to New Mexico on St. Patrick's Day, feeling the urgent need to get home. And home is where I have been, along with most everyone else on the planet.

Many of us are taking this week to look back at the unfolding events a year ago, and to reflect on how we have struggled, but also gained in personal ways. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I've had some sad and anxious days. But the freedom I felt in the studio with no deadlines or demands was a positive effect of the pandemic. It was my refuge, and overall I was productive, experimental, and focused when I was there.

As I take stock of my work from 2020 and early 2021, I see a range of directions, with some cross-over of ideas. At the same time, I worked in so many ways that connections are mostly unclear. I do assume intuition is at work, and that in time, I'll  understand the work from this year in a more cohesive way.

the studio today, March 13, 2021

But within the variety of my output, there are two main bodies of work I can identify: works on paper and paintings done with oil and cold wax. The oil paintings have been mostly explorations of bright, saturate color without distinct large shapes or edges, but some have evolved in an earthier or very pale palette, and a few do have definite shapes. 

These are a couple of recent ones in the colorful category. 

Mesa, 48"x36" oil/cold wax on panel 

Chroma #8, 38"x50" oil/cold wax pn panel

In painting, I'm surrounded day after day with color, shape, and texture, building up the surface. It is a slow, tactile evolution, an immersion into feeling and memory, and the joy of the paint's materiality. 

The works on paper are a very different experience. Almost all are done quickly, in one setting, and range from small images in my daily sketchbook to images on larger sheets of around 22x30 inches. Media have included charcoal, ink, gouache, acrylic, pencil, and pigment stick. I love exploring how the different materials interact. Many of these pieces share a compositional similarity-- a dominant cliff-like shape--and marks and small shapes appear in almost all. 

page from Pandemic Sketchbook, mixed media on paper

untitled, 18"x24" mixed media on paper

My approach with these is impulsive, direct, simple, sometimes playful. Certain shapes and types of lines keep appearing, and it pleases me to find ways to bring these to the paintings. In the recent painting below the small ovals come directly from my sketchbooks and works on paper, and symbolize footsteps, or stones in the path. I am gratified by this cross-over of ideas, and I want more of this to happen.

Fraglie #2, 40"x40" oil./cold wax on panel 

Although these two bodies of work, on panel and paper, are very different at first glance, I do see other connections. Each is an interpretation of landscape--the experience of walking almost daily in the arroyos and mesas around my New Mexico home. This area of New Mexico is vast, rugged and rocky, with volcanic boulders, petroglyphs, dead trees, twisted roots, and cacti. The climate is arid and at times the orange and gold colors of the mesas and cliffs seem unreal. I feel this dreamlike atmosphere in all the work, along with the influences of color and line.

But other than that, pointing to specific similarities and connections eludes me. I wonder if the overall variety in this work comes from the uncertainties of 2020. In day to day life, inside and outside the studio, my normally steady, basically optimistic outlook often broke. The shifting realities of the times demanded flexibility and balance and when that failed my emotions often took over. To cope, some days I gravitated to self-reflection, and retreat in the studio, and on others to physical activity--hiking, wandering, and encounterng the rough edges of nature. Some days I wanted only solitude, others I craved social life. These up and down days are all mixed into the work, and in the end, maybe is all that needs to be said. Like many artists, I suspect I will look back at the work from 2020 as being as perplexing, challenging, and unexpected as the year itself. 

Sunday, January 03, 2021
  what changed

"How did 2020 impact your work?"  Recently I asked listeners of The Messy Studio (the podcast I produce with my son) to comment on this question, and I received some very heartfelt and introspective replies. Artists who had felt paralyzed and blocked shared their feelings, as did others who found new directions and insights in their work, and who appreciated the extra studio time that opened up. 

All of the replies were efforts to focus on answering this complex question in a few sentences. But in fact most of us could talk for hours about the changes we've experienced and the range of emotions associated with them. As I read through what people wrote, I realized that I could relate to almost everything they said, applied to different stages of my own journey through 2020. My own experience in the studio has been positive overall, but like so many others I've also struggled with the hard emotional impact of this year.

When the pandemic descended in mid-March, I left my artist residency in Ireland abruptly and flew home in a bit of a daze. It was a shattering and scary time, but a new studio was waiting for me in New Mexico with only a few finishing touches still needed to be fully functioning. Like many of the artists who replied to my online question, I appreciated the extra studio time of quarantine, and was especially grateful to have this beautiful, light-filled space which made sheltering in place seem less like a hardship and more like an opportunity. 

in the new studio

With galleries going into lockdown and nothing much on my calendar, I started work in the new studio feeling unencumbered, free and experimental. Along with painting, I did lots of work on paper with drawing materials and water-based paint. Mark-making and drawing--those very direct expressions of the moment--took on more meaning for me, and I began making a sketchbook drawing as a spontaneous record each day. I also experimented with figurative work and painting on Venetian plaster. In the spirit of expansion, my painting also changed. Although land forms and local color still play a part, I have become interested in expressing a more inner landscape with intense color and less referential imagery. I've continued in all these directions and there are a few more waiting. I don't think I've ever had as many different things going at once, but each has a role in processing these crazy times. 

Some recent paintings:

Red Earth 30"x24" oil/cold wax on panel

Chroma #5, 36"x36" oil/cold wax on panel

The biggest change in my lifestyle has been no travel; three international trips had to be canceled and we did not go back as usual to spend summer in Wisconsin. But the time to really focus on my surroundings here seemed fortunate. I started walking almost every day on trails within about a twenty mile radius, but mostly close to my house. Being out on foot grew my appreciation of the stark beauty of the arroyos, canyons, and mesas along with their plant and animal life, history, and geography  All of this, along with the long stretch of uninterrupted studio time, has fed my work. 

A scene this October along my road: 

Another big change has been the launch of Cold Wax Academy with Jerry McLaughlin, with whom I've been collaborating as Squeegee Press since 2015. Our new format includes a carefully designed program of online instruction and has been very well received. Now that I've made it through the initial tech challenges, I'm really enjoying the challenges and rewards of this very different way of teaching. We have lots of excited and engaged students and are fired up to start a new quarter of lessons this week. 

So for the most part, it has been a good year for me in the studio and with my business. But times of doubt and loss of motivation and direction have also hit hard. Like many artists, I wrestled with existential questions of why to make art in such catastrophic times. And also like many, ultimately I see that it's part of being human-- important as a basically optimistic and trusting process. Or maybe I've just realized there is nothing else I do that means as much to me, and I am not about to give it up. 

I also went through some difficult periods when paintings went nowhere, when my mind was confused and anxious. After decades of painting, I know and accept that these downtimes happen, but this year they felt more dire. But just as always, they eventually revealed themselves as progress in disguise, incubation periods when ideas were evolving beneath the surface. 

My most recent painting, after a lull: 

The Beauty of Arid Places 68"x40" oil/cold wax on panel (diptych) 

Although the end of the year is the traditional time to take stock, we are still in the midst of the pandemic and other distressing news. While we can all find ups and downs in the past year, we really can't see the big picture of how 2020 impacted us until we can truly look back on it. 

In my journal this summer I wrote: We're affected in ways we can't really know or describe when we're in the midst of it. How am I shaped by this time of staying in place, in this particular landscape, in this emotional atmosphere of fear and hope? 

Hope seems to be the word for 2021. All my best to all of you as we step into the new year, and may we all find clarity and purpose in our work.                                                

Monday, October 19, 2020

This afternoon I took a walk among the cottonwood trees along an arroyo here in Northern New Mexico. This is the first time I've been here at the right time of year to experience their glorious golden luminosity. 

A week earlier I was back in Wisconsin for our son Ross's wedding and the leaves there were radiant too, with more reds and oranges than we see in New Mexico. These weeks of autumn color align with a new interest in luminous color that I've been developing in my painting since August. I find myself not just appreciating the leaves for their beauty but looking closely at the effects of light and color. As often happens, nature provides guidance for ideas that are percolating. 

Is this new interest in luminous color due to the bright light in my new studio here, or the influence of so many walks in this arid landscape under brilliant sky? Or maybe it's an  emotional urge for more color in these anxious times, or simply the desire to try something new. I'm not sure, but my attitude toward color shifted away from earthy neutrals back in August, and I began to think about how to increase the luminosity of my work. 

A few weeks before that, a friend had admired a barely-begun painting in which bright colors stood alone without the layers of dark value I typically build in for contrast and depth. I initially dismissed his remarks since the painting was barely started, but in considering how to express luminosity, that conversation came back to me. 

I decided to try a painting with only minimal use of dark and neutral colors. Contrast is always important for richness and depth, but this time I concentrated on variations of the complementaries of red and green rather than on strong value contrast. The effect was vibrant and harmonious. I also abandoned the stronger shapes of previous works so that the focus was entirely on color and textural interaction.

Chroma #1, 36"x48" oil/cold wax on panel

I followed this green paintng with a large, bold red one, and two more in an analgous range of yellows, oranges and light greens (below). Each of these felt energetic, even joyous to me, feeding my soul in this difficult time. It's been a while since I have given myself over to the power of color, and for now, it is very satisfying. 

Chroma #2, 42"x60" oil/cold wax on panel

Chroma #3, 40"x40" oil/cold wax on panel


Chroma #4, 40"x40", oil/cold wax on panel

Saturday, August 08, 2020
  being here
Writing this blog during the pandemic has been a challenge. I'm healthy and doing OK, but coming up with anything original to say that is hopeful or philosophical has led to writer's block. There's plenty going on in the studio though, and so for now, I'll put the rest of the world aside.

This has been a time of exploration in the studio, free of outside demands--the longest stretch of time I've had for just my work in years The walls in my New Mexico studio are now covered with works on paper, media experiments, panels large and small, and even figure studies--they are part in my overall release of expectations, and indulgence in play. This one is from a series made from taking textural rubbings from a rock. 

Figure study, pencil and clear gesso on mineral paper

I'm on another side trip with some of my paintings.  A recent series explores oil/cold wax, pigment stick, and pencil on a background of exposed Venetian plaster. The isolated image on plaster forming its own shape seems connected to the figure studies, and other drawings and small mixed media work that I've been doing since March. There is a clarity to these paintings on plaster that feels calming.

oil/cold wax and pigment stick on Venetian plaster, 16x16"

A friend said it seems that I am looking for a new relationship with the landscape, and this helped me understand my current focus. Overall, I feel that I’m edging closer to expressing experience and essence, and to being freer with shape, mark-making, and texture. This is a painting in progress that shows this looser approach. 

Work in progress, 23x26" oil/cold wax on panel

For a long time, I've painted with an underlying awareness of traditional landscape painting, including horizon lines and a sense of depth. Even my most abstract work has been more about countering these conventions than escaping them. But at times, I've felt the limitations of this dynamic, and I've noticed this more in the past few months in New Mexico than ever before. There is something mystical and dreamlike here that inspires me in new directions. In the past few months, I’ve walked nearly every day in this rugged and strange place of canyons, rock spires, arroyos, and unfamiliar plant and animal life. I am still taking ideas from from the shapes, colors, and textures that I see, but loosening their more concrete or literal ties. 

Rocky cliff near my New Mexico home

Oddly, my most recent oil and cold wax paintings harken back to a more atmospheric approach that I developed in the past. But this new work feels very specific to my experiences walking in the high desert. The arid environment, the textures of rock and tangled deadwood are present as abstract elements in the painting below. But in working on it, I never felt it had to conform to any pictorial conventions, It's hard to explain, especially as I am in the middle of these ideas. Time will tell where this is heading but for now, studio days feel loose, open-ended, and exciting. 

Monday, June 15, 2020
  high desert thoughts

It was not until this, our fourth winter in New Mexico that I started to pay attention to the huge area of canyons, cliffs, and arroyos directly across the highway from our road. Before this year, it was part of the majestic high desert landscape surrounding our town but I didn't think to explore it. As a midwesterner, I'm not used to assuming I can walk in places that might be private. But now I know that, like so much of this part of the country, these are public lands under the Bureau of Land Management. There are no signposts or marked trails, but you are free to wander. 

Once I began to explore this landscape its beauty opened up to me. Now I walk there four or five times a week, always grateful to live just down the road from such a wild and amazing place. In the past months, I've valued this area even more as a place of peace and refuge. 

Just off the highway a quarter-mile from our house, this wide, flat area, threaded with large and small arroyos is bounded further in by spectacular cliffs and odd rock formations called hoodoos. Though I seldom see any other people when I'm there, ATVs have made convenient walking tracks through the more accessible areas. Over time I've gotten familiar with most of the trails, tracks, and arroyos, and I now have a mental map of how to get to certain favorite places. I especially like to cross over the ridge of rock and go down into the next valley, where highway noises and sights of the village disappear. I've also climbed up high to see how the various canyons and cliffs connect in the larger landscape. 

Cholla cactus in bloom in the arroyo

Sometimes, I walk mainly for exercise, paying attention to my fitness app, and sticking to the main trails where I can walk at a good pace. Or I have a destination in mind and head there directly. But more often I just wander and look, and get lost in what I see, the textures, colors, lines, and shapes of the land. The dry, packed earth is a neutral background for nature's drawings--heaps of deadwood and tumbleweeds, cacti, juniper, and wildflowers, deep crevasses and odd shapes in the cliffs, intricate patterns in rocks, the skittering trails of lizards.  

Inevitably these visual impressions are finding their way into my work. Shapes and colors of cliffs and boulders, and mark-making inspired by the plant life and rocks. But beyond abstracting from the visual aspect of the landscape alone, there are ideas and feelings that interest me. In several recent paintings I've built up texture and somewhat random shapes and marks to try and capture the sense of fragile and intricate life forms in this seemingly barren environment. Warm, subtle color is broken by jagged and frenetic line. The high desert is a place of contrast with a sense oif deep time. 

Untitled, 16"x16", oil/cold wax on panel. 

I've also been using dry stalks and other plant remains that I pick up on my walks for mark-making in paintings and drawings. 

Here is a drawing done with gouache and ink. The gestural marks are made with a dry yucca leaf. 

Untitled, about 12"x18", gouache, ink on paper

It amuses me to gather these bits of nature, bring them back to the studio and play around with what kind of marks can be made. But they also serve a serious purpose of connecting the work directly with what grows in the desert. I feel I'm getting closer to expressing an essence of this place, at the same time that new ideas keep unfolding. 

Tuesday, May 05, 2020
In the past weeks, my son Ross Ticknor and I have addressed issues related to our struggles as artists in the time of COVID-19 on our podcast, The Messy Studio. We've talked about feeling blocked, responding to changing times circumstances, and staying focused. We also did a very popular interview with art marketing expert Dave Geada in which I unwittingly played the role of the Old Fogey who does not quite believe that art can be sold online. (Dave walked all over that quaint idea.) Our hope for all of these recent episodes is that they provide some support and uplifting ideas for other artists. 

We record and edit our episodes in advance, and a few days ago while reviewing our current episode, A Call for Change, before publishing, I had a strange experience. As I listened to the recording of my own calm, assured voice, in the actual moment I was struggling with an emotional meltdown. The day before, my usually reliable composure had snapped. I'd heard one too many reports of bad news, tragic deaths, and an unknown future. 

Looking back, that moment of contrasting responses seems to embody much of daily life in these disturbing times. On the one hand, we make an effort to continue as best we can with life in its new guise. Sometimes we manage to maintain an upbeat, confident voice, while other times we feel fearful and sad. From day to day, we try to balance our understanding of the tragedy with a need to stay on track with who we were--and are--as much as possible.  For me, daily walks in the natural beauty near our New Mexico home make me very grateful, but I worry about people who are far more confined.

near my house in New Mexico

I've been working as usual in my studio, but I notice some differences. One is that I have less stamina for my more developed, layered work; I can only maintain a good focus for a couple of hours or less. Yet working even for a little while is satisfying and soothing, a refuge from all the other upheaval.

from the Arroyo series, 16"x12" oil/cold wax on panel

Another change is that I often work quickly and directly on paper, using a variety of mixed media. Almost every day I do something which is finished in minutes, rather than hours.  

I think both of these changes are rooted in the emotional vulnerability that accompanies making art, especially now. Raw feelings make it harder to focus, to have the energy for decisions and self-critique. Those emotions are better suited to the kind of quick, direct work I've been doing. But both directions seem important right now--being able to enter the more solid, ongoing core of my ideas, as well as working more spontaneously. In everything I'm doing now, there is a freedom from concern with exhibiitng and sales. Art business is more or less on hold. I believe a lot of artists are experiencing this and using the lack of expectations to loosen up and try new things. 

approx. 8x10" pigment stick, powdered pigment and cold wax on paper

There is no one, right way for us to respond, of course. Some artists I know are taking a conscious break from their work, others are struggling with the frustration of feeling blocked in spite of having the desire and a place suitable for studio use, while others are maintaining a basically unchanged, steady practice. Art reflects our personalities, background, and circumstances--and although we share many of the same COVID-19 related restrictions, our individual situations vary hugely. Surely this is a time to be flexible and accept any path that helps you find refuge and satisfaction in your work, or maybe to channel your creativity in other directions until "normal life" someday returns. 

Wednesday, April 01, 2020
  in these times
As ordinary life has been overturned by the COVID-19 pandemic, a lot of artists are having trouble staying on track with their work. Anxiety over the news, disruption of routines, and limited or no access to studios and materials all make it hard to focus and create. Yet we probably need creative involvement more than ever for our emotional well-being and to feel connected with other artists. 

As many of us are sharing helpful ideas and encouragement, an episode of The Messy Studio Podcast  came to mind that was recorded back in December. You can click here for the link to the episode. The topic is Studio Struggles, and In it Ross and I focus on insights and suggestions for dealing with creative block. At the time we recorded it, only a few months ago, it made sense to talk about a creative block as a normal part of the creative process. Today a block is often the result of outside forces related to the outbreak of COVID 19, and is accompanied by some harsh realities of the changing art world, such as show cancelations and gallery closures. 

Yet no matter the cause, the ways we experience creative blocks are similar. They are agonizing times, full of self-doubt and fear that we will never bounce back. We long for the satisfaction and excitement of times when things were going well. Right now, even the normal studio days of a month ago can seem ideal in the light of our new reality.

Goodbye to Ireland, 14"x11" oil/cold wax on panel

The effect of the pandemic on my own work has been the urge to open up emotionally and to see where that takes me, rather than continuing on with ideas I was interested in before last month. I don't believe that the other ideas have disappeared, but they are being overtaken by more immediate concerns and I'm giving in to that. The recent painting above seems to contain the sadness I felt at leaving Ireland abruptly in mid-march, in the middle of my expected time there. 

The red in the painting below is to me a vibrant color of life and strength. As I worked with this color I felt energized and powerful, but more difficult pandemic-induced emotions of anxiety and disorientation were also in the mix. To me there was something healing about working with such strong color, shape, and contrast.

Untitled, 20"x16" cold wax/oil on panel

A difficult aspect of creative block is self-blame--feeling badly about ourselves because we've gone off track. Working from pure emotion may be a good way back, But it seems important right now to give ourselves credit for pursuing our art in any way we can. Our normal output may be way down, especially if we’re restricted to minimal supplies, a makeshift studio, or distracted by the news and the needs of our families. Our work may seem disjointed or out of character. But this can be a freeing time without concerns for productivity, pleasing others, or meeting deadlines. Whatever studio time we can manage is completely our own.

PS: Here's a list of previous podcasts on The Messy Studio that are potentially helpful in our current circumstances. Have a listen, or listen again...and share...all of these and lots more can be found in the listing on our website:

Episode 105: Why Walk (relationship of walking to the creative process)
Episode 102: Studio Struggles (discussion of creative block referenced in this blog post)
Episode 100: the Art of the Side Hustle
(new income streams)
Episode 99: Branching Out (working in other media)
Episodes 88: Working on Your Website Part 1 (a good time for this project?)
Episode 89: Working on Your Website Part 2
Episode 70: The Importance of Drawing (an idea if your space is limited)
Episode 47: Creating on a Budget (no need to explain that one!)



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