No Midas Touch

The phrase has been haunting me for over a year now. This is the second time circumstances have risen that challenges me to push my art to the limits. Painting, drawing, teaching, commissions—how does an artist who is on fire keep the coals warm? The saying “a person has either time or money, but seldom both at once” can’t be further from the truth. Time to paint, no cash for supplies; cash for supplies, no time to use them.

And now, after the first, hard face-plant into the Oregon mud, the phoenix has flown through another blissful state of employment and perches above another puddle. The lesson? Who knows, but I still haven’t given up, and that has got to count for something. Employment gave me the opportunity to paint alongside amazing painters, travel to inspiring landscapes, and stand before models whose beauty begged a tear. I drifted in and out of Art Academies, real and virtual, and poured over books, magazines and internet sites, all the while filling the pockets of the middle men between here and the gallery walls.

I suppose the time for study is over. Now is the time to put out the work, like a mad person racing from the growling beast lying in ambush ahead. I am listening to the voices in my head. Paint small, paint large, put your money in prints, there is no money in prints, increase your prices, cut your prices, but my favorite advice, coming from my current mentor: “Paint tuff!”

Follow along. The paint is still wet.
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The Language of Light

Skull Study II, Charcoal

Sara completed her second painting. In amongst the learning was a powerful area of the painting reserved for masters. Simple. Reflected light on a shoulder. Still, the subtle play of light that nested there, took my breath away. I had felt this stir of emotion before when I came face to face with the 1606 original St. Cecelia by Guido Reni at the Getty in 2008. Beauty. Sensitivity. Reverence. The power of light.

I am no different than most when it comes to my reaction to light. If the source comes from above, it inspires me, and if the model is looking in that general direction, all the better. After all, every day of my life, I have witnessed the world being lit from above. It just seems natural to assume that all life comes from that direction. Perhaps my ancestors passed along the sun worship gene to me, backed by the belief that all good things come from above.

The more I study light, the more improved my work becomes. Although oftentimes there is need to work from a photograph, I much prefer working from life. It is the language of light that is missing in a photograph. The life force of the subject has taken a sabbatical. This life force, created purely from the addition of light, is the most powerful, diverse, and least expensive tool I have at my disposal.

I am already overwhelmed by the nuances of light. Add a model to the mix and I go into sensory overload. Every face, no matter how average, in that moment becomes the most beautiful expression on the planet. The way light wraps around and bounces from one curve to the next becomes the most enthralling dance performance I have seen. I become so entranced that I loose all knowledge of learning and become a slave to the beauty in front of me. After that happens, I become worthless as an artist. If it weren’t for still life setups I would be incapable of learning a thing. Form and light have become my formula for sane artistry.

Follow along. Stand in the light.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

The Case for Beauty

Crystal Child
Charcoal

What I really set out to do was to send an email to an artist I have worked with to express to him the depth of my feelings for his art, his wisdom, his foresight, his motivation, his determination, his compassion, and how it has touched my heart just knowing I am not alone in my quest to make the world a more beautiful place, on all levels–through art. It is unspeakably exalting to be in the presence of someone who feels like a part of your very essence of being. After making a connection to someone so much a part of who you are and what you hold as truth, it is impossible to not want to share that experience with them. But alas. If this person does not feel the same connection or does not acknowledge it, for whatever reason, the point is still not lost. If art is a sentient being, with a soul of its own, then we are both a part of its makeup and belong so connected, like flesh and blood, preserving its creation and honoring its purpose, despite our distances.

I grew up in an art world that had been littered with meaningless, sensationalist and shocking works that not only discredited beauty, but the pure essence of life and living. I wonder, if during that period of time when I had abandoned the production of art, if I were not merely laying in wait for the day when I could become a part of this new sentient being, who was yet to be born—if not by contributing to its voice, but by at least singing its praises. Hence, these words.

There is a new voice that has been heard praising this new-born child. This voice is crying “Novorealism.” I answer this cry and join in with my own tears of joy. My heart has been realized. This is the clay that has molded my entire purpose for living. It is the most compelling and endearing cry I have heard, and one that I cannot ignore. It is part of, and belongs to, me. Its calling card simply reads, “Beauty.” Love and Beauty are the sweethearts of this life, and they will rise from the ashes like the Phoenix. On their wings ride those artists who breathe the same air as I. This is why I strive to be the best I can be, despite the odds. Novorealism has become my curtain call.

Follow along. The journey is underway.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Blood, Sweat and Tears

“Great art has dreadful manners. The greatest paintings grab you in a headlock, rough up your composure, and then proceed in short order to re-arrange your reality.” –Simon Schama

I believe this to the depths of my soul. I know it to be true because not only have I felt this when I look at great art, but I experience it while in the process of attempting to create it. If an artist can make me feel that way when I look at a painting, I know their psyche has been re-arranged in the process of creating it.

Although I find exalted joy while I am painting, most of the process is blasphemous torture. I had been fooled into thinking that to paint was to have ones psyche magically transformed into some ether world of angels singing and being at one with the creator. Let me be the first to burst the bubble. While a truly great painter may reach this exaltation at some point in his life, I will bet he had to climb the steps of hell to get there.

Having spent a number of years in this dimension, my experiences have sculpted me into who I am and what I believe to be true. I have hung on to these ideals like precious jewels. In the process of learning to paint, the robbers came, made off with the jewels, and left me with only a ghost of myself. I have gone to the brink of insanity and have thankfully returned with all my appendages. When I wanted to rip my drawing off the wall and run from the room screaming, something reminded me that I chose this path. I asked for it. The universe delivered. And, there I shall remain, in this moment, pushing on.

Follow along. Let’s re-arrange some reality.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Time and Space

TRIBUTE TO WILLIAM GAMBINI.

By W. Gambini (1918-2010)

Brushes still remain at attention in the old coffee can. Paint has dried on the floor. Tracks of color no longer make their way to the dining room table. I couldn’t image a world without a horizon line. Not until the passing of William Gambini. Just short of his 92nd birthday, he laid down his brushes and vessel for the last time. He left a legacy of paintings behind (at least 1,000)—one of the last Abstract Expressionists. Through the hospitality and generous spirit of both he and his wife (a woman to be admired for her unwavering support of her husband’s passion to paint), I discovered what it means to devote ones life to art. Without exception, whenever I came to visit, William Gambini was in the process of painting.

Now, as time never rests, I am preparing to return to my mountain studio. Before I pack it away, I will line up the work I have done this winter, and take note… Coffee in hand, I ask, “What do I know now that I didn’t know before? Has that information helped me to become a better painter?”

I learned some new tricks this winter, and even some rules, but to see progress, I need to apply what I’ve learned. Sometimes, not meaning to, I may break the rules. Sometimes I might get them right. And, when the rules bend, I will have to change my perspective. I find that the more I learn, the less I know. Once in a while I catch a hint of progress and I imagine those small breakthroughs are what will carry me.

Follow along.  Bravo, Mr. Gambini. And thank you.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Raising the Bar

Left Over Paint

Left Over Paint
Color Study in Oil

ACADEMY PAINTING SESSIONS
WITH JOSEPH TODOROVITCH

I received another injection of the art drug last night. Woven in amongst a room full of easels, stools, solvents and paint palettes, I felt the effects of the drug as it began to course through my veins. Overhead were the voices of large figurative oils, demanding to be heard. The loudest was the voice of “Antiques,” the recent Draper Grand Prize winner. My inner voices of scrutiny were there, alongside my cheerleader, each arguing with the other about the purpose of my being there.

I felt good at the gate. I was given a new way to tone my canvas. I liked the color. It was new to me, and it looked good. I was excited to be there. I was anxious to begin this new journey. Here I was, sharing space with some great artists and it made my heart race.

Two hours into the 3-hour pose, I had been reduced to a 3 inch square within my 16×20 canvas. I was overwhelmed by all the unknowns that were out beyond my reach. Once into the work, there is never enough time. If I could just perfect that one small section of my painting… .

The inner voices were debating again. “You’ll never make it.” “Yes, I will. I must. It is too important to stop!” And, through the crowd noise in my head, I did manage to learn much in those few short hours. I made some important connections that linked my drawing to my painting, and some of the problems I was having. I listened carefully to catch as much information as my little art brain was able to process with its limited understanding. I took notes. My brain was on fire.

It hurts to be a beginner. In the world of street dancing, I had to learn the steps before I could dance with the truly great dancers. There was plenty of bruising encountered along the way, but when the day came and I could step into the spotlight, what a glorious experience it was! Now I am learning to dance with color. If I learn the steps, one day I will dance on the gallery walls alongside those painters whose work has allowed me to keep raising my bar.

Follow along.  Keep dancing.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Entering the World of Tony Pro

Oil in progress

I have wondered. Could I become a great painter just by getting to know a great painter? For example… if I wanted to paint like Degas and I were to study everything I could find about his life and his work, would some of that greatness be magically transferred to me? When financial resources are too thin to rub elbows with the greats, alternate methods are needed to attain painting goals. My latest experiment is to vicariously walk in the shoes of a painter whose work I admire to see if this might be possible.

I first discovered the work of Tony Pro through workshops offered at the Scottsdale Art School. As is the case with any painter with whom I am not familiar, I visited his website to see if his style of painting appealed to me. He had me the moment the music reached my ears—a beautiful and highly professional presentation worthy of my discerning eye for good graphic design. Here is a man who is not only an accomplished painter, but a person who appears fully engaged in life—making every moment count—on and off the canvas. An added bonus is that he lives less than 2,000 miles from me.

He has always responded promptly to my email inquiries, illustrating his level of professionalism. He teaches on-going classes at the California Art Institute, which leads me to believe he has an academic style of teaching. AND, he paints alla prima portraits—which is my personal painting goal. So far, he is batting a thousand.

First, I needed to prepare myself for instruction, so last week, I ordered all the colors he recommended—for both the limited and extended palettes. I ordered the brushes and even a couple of linen canvases. (My inner cheerleader says, “Pretend you are already there!”) I watched the movie he recommended, and pre-ordered his new demonstration video to be released the end of January. I have studied his paintings and his words. Soon I will be walking up to my easel wearing my new shoes. I admit they are a bit big for me right now, but I hope to grow into them. Meanwhile, I have gotten to work with my old colors, psyching myself for my next journey.

Follow along.  Cigar anyone?

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Exodus Odyssey

Window Painter

Photo of Margie

A handful of fabricated boxes dropped in the middle of the desert. Sleeping giants and dragons fixed to the desert floor, delivering ruddy rumors from the Rocky Mountains to Mexico. Winds drive the endless sun from horizon to horizon, casting ever-changing shadows in their wake. Winter gypsies, outlaws, and seasonal entrepreneurs gather to escape harsher winters and exchange stories of all sizes, which are both unbelievable and true. This is the Arizona I know and love.

I had my heart set on painting oceans and eucalyptus trees this winter, but determined not to swim upstream, I have chosen to focus instead on my true hearts desire—the figure. Now, not being the kind of person to choose anything simple, I am convinced I have chosen well. Figures are the most difficult subject of all. There can be no mistakes in representational figure painting. If I were to reposition a branch on a tree, no one would be the wiser, but try doing that with an eye or nose. It just doesn’t fly. And, how do you present a portrait in such a way as to make it appealing enough to be a suitable edition to the home of a stranger?

I like working with formal instruction. It is the only area of my life where I like to be told what to do. And, it is difficult finding a good portrait instructor, especially in a desolate desert town with a population of maybe 20.

I had made my weekly trip into “town” (population of maybe 100) and waiting in front of the bank, a woman walked up with a caddy of paints and brushes and began to paint the window in front of me. “Oh, another window painter,” I thought to myself. She amazed me enough to approach her after she was done. “Tell me you normally paint with oil. Tell me you paint portraits, and tell me you give classes.” She answered yes to each question. After “the holidays” I will take her up on it and see how it goes.

My gift to myself this year was new oil paints, a Heilman Pastel Box, and the promise to myself to put them to good use.

Follow along. May your holidays be filled with color.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Learning Curve

Photo reference, Scottsdale Artist's School Open Studio

Graphite sketch of the week
Collins of Scottsdale

Everything in life has been a box of treasures. It never mattered where I was, or what I was doing. Right in front of me was a treasure box to be explored. Some of the objects have been sharp, and some have been smooth. Some of the jewels have brought fortune, while others were just too heavy to carry and left behind. My current box of treasures is filled with art—all kinds of it.

When I was beginning to awaken back into this life,
I came upon a pastel painting of Shasta Mountain, done by Roni Marsh. I signed up for classes and pulled soft pastels from my dusty treasure box. What a joy is was to put down that first bright band of color! I had never worked in color before. She taught me to see colors that I swore were only seen by crazy people. Those colors are continually being added to the treasure box—slowly, I might add, along with paper of every structure and color.

Near the end of my first year, I decided to add oils to my treasure box. And brushes. And knifes…you get the idea, and by the end of my second year I had added charcoal to the mix. At this point, I cannot see the bottom of my treasure box for all the art inside. It is filled with more mediums, tools, references, and supplies than I can name. And like shoes, you can never have enough of them. And, therein lies the challenge.

With every new medium or surface, I create a new learning curve. Despite all that intoxicating color, I need to put it down correctly. I tell myself I should limit my expression to ONE surface, ONE medium, but I am a spoiled child. I want it ALL and I don’t believe in limits. So, I accept the challenge and keep pushing forward, making it as hard for myself as possible. There will be mistakes. That has been my way. Ask anyone.

Follow along.  Take the road less traveled.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com

Heart of a Gypsy

Merci

Pastel of the week

Looking out winter’s borrowed window, the wind is currently pushing around the Greasewood branches, as the desert tries it’s best to produce some rain under a gray cover of clouds. I have been working on a painting for the past four hours to the point of exhaustion and disgust. It is one of those days.  Daydreaming has become my solace.

My memory recounts familiar far-off places—the statues of Paris, warm oceans of the Caribbean, the slow pace of remote Mexican villages, and the endless miles of blacktop connecting my beloved mountains of the Pacific Northwest. Every day of my journey is magical. The best part of it is sitting in a new location, devouring all the beauty that lies in front of me, and trying to describe that emotion with pigment. How can I get across what I am feeling at this very moment?

Painting has been a journey of resourcefulness. When my studio is the size and color of a cardboard box, my imagination must be that of a gypsy—full of life, light, laughter, music, and exuberant dance. I cannot stop spinning from the anticipation that my next painting could be the “one.” I become transformed.

The wind is still blowing and the view from the window has not changed much except for the slight shift of light across the desert floor. My mind, however,  has crossed the Atlantic. The next journey will take me back to my easel, where I will go another round.

Follow along.  Live what is in your heart.

This blog is sponsored by:  cmagellen.com