One Month Down

What a great weekend! I enjoyed instructing a great class of artists on Saturday at the Minden Opera House. Those folks accomplished a great amount of learning in just a few hours, and I admire their willingness to jump right in and get to work. The Opera House is a terrific place for workshops (hint hint) and it appears that people around that part of the state are eager for the opportunity. (More hint hint.)

This Monday, Mavis and I begin our fifth week of daily painting. This idea of finishing a painting every day has been around for about 4 or 5 years. Today there are hundreds of artists taking on the challenge of showing up at their easel every single day and completing a painting or project every...single...day.
(Please note, I asked, begged and pleaded for weekends off. My idea, not Mavis'.)

By Friday, the 20th day of our project, I was sucking wind. Seriously. Who knew? Who knew that those mere 5 x 7 paintings would take so much out of me? If you've been paying attention, you know that the compositions aren't that complicated. The size is not overwhelming. So why am I bent over gasping for breath?
It's because I'm showing up. Every day, rain or shine, busy or not, I'm there. You're waiting to see what I've promised I'll do. I'm thinking, really hard, and I'm learning. And learning, at least for me, is exhausting. I mean, those brain cells are vibrating faster than they have in a long, loooooong time.

So . . . what have I learned since my last post on the subject?

It can be summed up in three words: just for now.

A very smart lady told me this once. Just for awhile, do it. Not for a month or a year or a lifetime, but just for now. Don't paint the 80th or the 90th piece, just paint the one in front of me. I don't have to get all anxious that for the rest of my life I'll be up in my studio, like Rapunzel in her tower, painting all day and missing out on everything fun that's going on. Just for now I will focus on one small canvas-covered board and enjoy the task. When today's piece is done, it's done. This simple thought quiets my mind and allows focus. My heart, all a-quiver with anxiety over the thought of another painting, calms and slows. I'm doing this one painting, now. Not forever. Now.

Once this sunk in I feel stronger and more capable about this project. Last week I was imagining all kinds of excuses, really good excuses, for not being able to keep up with this commitment. You know, the dog ate my canvas, I'm just toooo bizzzzzy, I have to iron handkerchiefs...
Tonight I'm looking forward to starting day 21. Afterall, those handkerchiefs get all wadded up anyway, and we don't have a dog, and that other stuff can wait.

For now.

One Hundred Daze

Minden Opera House, downtown Minden Ne.

Right off the bat, I want to thank those of you who attended the opening reception for my solo exhibit, "Marking Time" at the Minden Opera House. We packed the house and had a great time. I was honored and humbled by your presence.

The gallery entry is to the back of the lobby. A beautful start!

My Monster Fan Club

I hinted at a new project in last week's post. Now that the MOH show is up, I'll give you the skinny on the new deal.

My friend Mavis and I have jumped on the bandwagon, joined the crowd and gotten on board with the "Painting a Day" game. For 100 days, starting March 2nd, we have promised each other - and you - that we will create a 5 x 7 painting every weekday for 100 days. (C'mon, I gotta have weekends off.) Our theme is "Off the Highway". We live in different time zones and use different styles in our artwork, but we' ve got highways, both physical and electronic, that link us to each other.

What's the point? (Besides all the cool kids are doing it?)

For the same reason there is Mount Everest and hot dog eating contests at the county fair.

Just because. Just to see if we can. Just for 100 days. Just 100 little paintings.

It seemed like a good idea at the time?

(Day 4, Winter Sky 5 x 7oil)

Reason 1.It's show up or shut up time. No whiners allowed. Put down the paper, ignore the crossword puzzle and stride purposefully into the studio. Laundry can wait. Trust me on that.

Reason 2. Learn. There's no way I can paint that many pieces and not learn something. I may learn I don't like to paint every day. I may decide I want to paint larger. I just might find I love it...who knows?

3. Make it count. If the goal is to finish the painting in one day, my decisions had better be good. No more diddling around. Mix the paint right the first time. Make the brushstroke say what it must the first time.

4. It's only one hundred days. It's not a lifetime. Granted, one hundred days is longer than some marriages or careers, but it's doable for me.

5. Learn to see. It'll be interesting to see what opens up for us as we find new subject matter for 100 paintings.

Check in on us from time to time. Comments welcome.

One hundred days, one hundred paintings.

Okay Now What?

Jane's Pond 2009, 5x7 oil, Off the Highway Series

I'm posting earlier than usual due to being out of town over the weekend delivering artwork to the Minden Opera House Gallery. For all you burglars out there, my gigantic burly angry husband and his ferocious toothy slobbering angry dog will be staying home. Chewing on glass.

Anyway...

I've been staring at this computer screen for about an hour waiting for something intelligent to zip across my brain. "Yes", you're saying, "we're still waiting..."

Maybe it's the blahs after having packed up all the artwork for the show. It's kind of like the Christmas Morning Gift Extravaganza Hangover. You know the feeling. It's anticipation and excitement and anxiety for weeks and weeks and then ...


It's over. You can actually hear the clock ticking in the next room.
It's "Okay, Now What?" time.

My easel is empty. My palette could use a good cleaning. Pastels are piled rather unceremoniously in their boxes. They could use a good corn meal bath. A couple of rejected paintings are leaning against the wall staring like puppies at the dog pound you finally decided might not be such a great idea after all.

Okay Now What? I've got stacks of 5 x 7 boards all gessoed up and ready to go. One for each day of the week. For weeks. One for each day, actually, for 100 days.

Tune in next week and I'll tell you all about it. Until then, I'm going to sit here and listen to the clock tick...tick...tick...

It's Just Legs

Handsome Husband and I were at Graham Gallery in Hastings last night, enjoying a fascinating photography exhibit by Todd Brown. Todd's photos deal with movement and space, of those who have left their mark in rooms and hallways. They're thoughtful, beautifully presented, and maybe even a bit uncomfortable, if only because they are outside my experience. The images are still on my mind, which I'm certain would please Todd immensely.

I'm a landscape painter in a generally realistic manner. My job is to make a scene interesting and attractive. Seeing Todd's photos reminds me that it's okay for art to be uncomfortable. It's just fine when images don't fit neatly into pre-conceived packages, to be hung on walls and matched to the color of the divan. And I don't have to 'get it'. It's hard for me not to have the back story, the why behind the conception. I want to know why this texture, why this shape, why this subject. Sometimes it's 'just because', and that's enough.

My favorite photo in this exhibit is a front view of a young woman from the chest down, lanky legs sticking out from a shapeless shift. She's holding a branch at a 90 degree angle to her torso. Of course, my first thought was 'what does it mean??' And there was no answer. There was no paragraph beside the photo explaining Todd's deep, personal beliefs about peanut butter and it's relationship to the environment. There was no catalog reference to deeply held religious dogma and how it relates to the fact that Todd sometimes wears a kilt. It was just the photo. I don't know what it means, except that I know I love that photo. I love looking at it. I love thinking about it. I love that her lanky legs are sort of twiggy, like the branch she's holding. And I love that others are looking at it as well, and probably putting their own history to it. And that Todd is hanging out in the back, sipping a beer and enjoying the spectacle, thinking 'it's just a girl with a branch.'

This image is for my exhibit at the Minden Opera House, March 2 - April 15.

What does this image mean? In a nutshell, the fractured textures of the branches represent the frailty of ...well ... um, actually, I just like the way the yellow leaves float on the dark blue water.

What does your art mean to you?