As I began my new series of paintings, with flowers as the subject, I did some research about how other artists, including poets and other writers, have used flowers. What I found were varied responses to nature's blooms - from romantic and sensual to downright hateful! I was curious because, even though I think flowers are beautiful, they don't evoke a strong emotion. I was looking for emotion as I head into this series.

Then it occurred to me that my strongest feelings for flowers come from their association with people in my life. For example, I can't look at a rose without thinking of my grandmother who always had a well tended rose garden. When I visited her, she would let me help her with the roses - watering, dead-heading, cutting, and picking off Japanese beetles. One year when I went for a visit, we bought some art supplies and I painted a rose, which she framed and hung in her bedroom.

Gardenias remind me of my mother, who, in the last weeks of her life, would pick gardenias as I wheeled her around the garden of her nursing home. Though I whispered, "Mom, I don't think you're supposed to pick the flowers," she did it anyway, taking the fragrant bloom to her room to pick up and smell throughout the day. I admired her boldness, her insistence on being surrounded by any pleasure she was still able to have in her sterile cell of a room.

I have other personal connections with hydrandeas, snapdragons, and tiger lilies. All I have to do is see them and I'm back in a time and place with special people. Just like those loved ones who have passed on, the flowers fade and die, but their seed produces more next season. That promise of the continuing life cycle is comforting, especially now in the cold, dreary winter. 

Because of the stories and feelings the flowers revive in me, my loved ones are alive and bloom again in my mind's eye.

Now, can I capture that emotion in paint? We'll see.

 

Some artists I know get glassy-eyed when I mention the word "planning." It seems far too left-brained. But I consider it one of the most creative things I do. It's almost like writing a novel or play in which I'm the leading character. What's this story about? What are the conflicts that make it interesting? How do I want it to end? How will I get the main character (me) from chapter 1 to the end? I'll share some of my own vision thinking and planning in hopes that you may find it helpful or inspiring.

 

I'm envisioning 2012 as a pivotal year when many of the puzzle pieces fall into place and the picture of my future is revealed. When I plan for the coming year, I first think about how I want it to end. That causes me to think about 2012 as a stepping stone to where I want to be in 2013.

 

"It's December 2012 and I've earned my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree with a straight-A average. I selected my courses and mentors carefully this year so that I could maximize my last semesters and develop my painting skills and style so that I'm prepared for the next part of my art career. In 2013 I will begin teaching week-long workshops, most likely focusing on experimental and mixed media painting. In 2012, I've continued my exploration of various media and mixed media. I've narrowed my subject matter to flowers and landscapes, looking for a personal meaning and language for abstracting what I see to express what I feel about the subject. By continuing to teach my watercolor classes, I've begun to develop some instructional tools and curriculum that can be adapted for future workshops....I feel much more confident about my ability to teach and I'm excited to share and inspire others to find joy in creativity. I'm also excited to continue improving my painting as I leave school assignments behind and transition to full-time in my studio."

 

Note that my vision not only expresses facts about what I expect to accomplish, but also feelings (confidence, excitement). Only when I have those things in mind do I step back and think about the strategies I will implement to get to my 2012-year-end vision. My strategies fall roughly into these categories:

 

1. Target school courses/mentoring to painting/teaching goals

2. Experiment with media/styles leading to evolution of signature style

3. Research/develop curricula for week-long workshops

 

Under each of those strategies, I can develop specific action steps. For example:

 

2. Experiment with media/styles leading to evolution of signature style

a. Identify and study 3-5 artists of flowers/landscapes whose styles appeal to me.

b. Buy flowers weekly during winter months and experiment with media, composition/perspective, etc.

c. Paint en plein air in spring/summer/fall, carrying life studies into studio for abstracted experimentation

d. Identify instructors/workshops that I might take to supplement my individual experimentation

 

The key to making this plan work is the translation of these strategies and action steps to my monthly-weekly-daily calendar. At times in my life I've been highly disciplined (some would say "anal") about reviewing my plan weekly and calendaring those action steps that will move me forward. In recent years I've sacrificed a bit of that personal discipline for the discipline required to successfully complete my college classes and maintain my A average.  Ideally, this year, school and personal goals/planning will intersect in a way that I can satisfy my personal creative vision as well as professors' requirements.

 

For a disciplined approach, I will anticipate what I need to accomplish month by month. This is like developing the chapter by chapter plan of a novel. Then, each month, I'll plug the action steps I need to take into my calendar and juggle other responsibilities to make sure I'm being realistic about my time commitments. This becomes a way of thinking, rather than just another time consuming administrative task.

 

I'm fortunate to be at a time in life when I have few other responsibilities to juggle – retirement and empty nests have their advantages. I have great empathy for those who juggle careers, child rearing, and a creative life. Even against great time challenges and constraints, some visioning and planning for the creative side of life will make you feel empowered and more in control of your time and energy.

 

Happy visioning and best wishes for creative success in 2012!

 

 

 

Ah, the sweet feeling of not having a school project due next week! I have almost a month off before spring semester starts, and I plan to relax my way through every bit of it.

 

That doesn't mean I won't create some new art. In fact, I have a group show to prepare for in January, and a competition to enter in early March. So I'll enjoy a productive vacation but without quite so much stress. 

 

And, it's that time of year when I look ahead at what I want to accomplish in 2012 and look back and what I did in 2011. That tension between where I am and where I want to be in 12 months is highly motivating.

 

Here's a recently completed painting in my "Mementos" series. This one combines all the iconography of the other paintings in a style somewhat inspired by Kandisky.

I suspect I'm not the only reader of this newsletter who turned to (or returned to) art after raising kids and/or having a career. Unlike our younger artist friends who have a whole lifetime to develop their skills and establish themselves in the art world, we may only have a few decades - if we're lucky. But that doesn't mean that we can't dream and plan for what we'd like to accomplish.

 

Inspired by that wonderful 2007 movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, I've developed my own bucket list of things I want to do before I leave this world. There's a growing section of the list devoted to things I'd like to accomplish as an artist. This list keeps me motivated to continue learning and evolving. For example, I want to:

 

- Achieve signature status in the American Watercolor Society or equivalent oil painting organization

- Teach workshops nationally and internationally

- Sell paintings to corporate and museum collections

 

I think you can see that inherent in all of these goals is the need to continue improving the quality of my work so that I can be up there with the best of the best. And this won't happen if I don't work continuously. 

 

Of course there are many interim milestones on the way to these goals, and I can celebrate each one as it helps me maintain focus and momentum. For example, last week I sold a painting to my city's permanent art collection. It will hang in city hall and, eventually, in the city's planned arts center. This gives me hope and confidence that some day one or more of the prestigious art museums in my state may add one of my paintings to their collections. And from there...well, dare I dream of MOMA?

 

Of course I dare! And so can you. And while you're dreaming, find out exactly what it will take to reach your goals. For example, as I contemplate selling to another institution/museum, I'll need to find out how purchase decisions are made. What has the museum/institution purchased most recently? What is their purchase budget? 

 

At times, I allow my natural humility (a.k.a. fear) to yell discouraging messages in my head. Then, when I'm just about convinced there's no way I'll ever sell beyond my little co-op gallery, I remind myself that without higher aspirations, I'll never reach my full potential. I don't even know what my "full potential" is. But I believe God gave me a collection of gifts - kind of like a beginner art kit - and if I don't try to get the most I can get out of these gifts, I will have wasted them. 

 

Dream on, friends. Let's not waste our last decades and add to a list of regrets rather than accomplishments.

In an earlier blog, I said that I would spend this semester in my advanced painting class working on two tracks - one using oils, the other using acrylics, trying to match the same loose style, to end up with a cohesive body of work. Well, it didn't take me long to abandon the acrylics to concentrate on the oils. And I'm very happy with my decision. I don't think I would have made the discoveries and the progress I've made if I had divided my time and attention between the two mediums. 

 

My exploration of oil painting processes and styles has included doing drippy, turpentine underpaintings; using a palette knife for texture; drawing with oil sticks; and using Jasper Johns-inspired hatch marks. Some paintings may be more successful than others, but it's all good. I'm expanding my competency and my options for working with oil. I'm reassured when my instructor encourages experimentation, rather than settling into one "style." Though my assignment this semester is to complete a "cohesive" body of work, I've been able to connect the varied paintings/styles by a single focus on settings and color palette - summertime at the beach and the bright colors that go with resort attire and architecture. The works are also tied by the underlying theme of "mementos," those things we collect that help us recall stories and layer stories from one generation to the next. 

 

This is the third series I've done using my family as subjects. It's helped me grieve losses, but also to tell my stories in ways that have universal meaning. I'd like to say I'm done with the family-inspired paintings, but, who knows...I may discover new ways to reflect on our experiences and relationships. And as long as I'm doing figurative work, what could be more central to our human condition than family and relationships?

 

I can hardly wait to start the next series of paintings and see where my exploration takes me.

In the advanced painting class I'm taking at the University of Utah, I'm supposed to be creating a cohesive body of work - at least six paintings for the semester. No problem, I thought. I had a solid concept - paintings about the way we layer stories from generation to generation, and the way we use mementos (collectibles, photos, etc.) to recall them. But there's more to "cohesive" than concept. It also means that the paintings should share other things in common so that they look like they belong together, all painted by the same artist, when they one day hang together in an exhibit. Therein lies the challenge.

 

I confessed to my professor this week, "I don't know what kind of artist I want to be when I grow up." To stick with the same exact style from the first to last painting seems constricting to me. I'm still exploring, trying new things, and discovering what style best expresses my vision. Such a confession might earn me a C or worse. Thankfully, the professor quickly responded, "So why grow up?"

 

Of course, part of the irony in all this is that I'm not a 20-something student, but one who is about to celebrate her 65th birthday! I like to think the challenge of exploration and the willingness to change keeps me young. So "why grow up" indeed!

 

Here's my latest exploration - a work in progress. If you compare it with the painting on my home page, you'll see my slight digression from the first painting in the series. Your comments about my work, or stories about your own challenges, are always welcome.

Some artists will say they paint only for themselves. It's something they have to do. They say they don't need validation from critics or others. Others of us, if we're honest with ourselves, will admit that we need varying degrees of validation, whether it's an "atta girl," from friends or family, acceptance in competititve shows, awards, or sales. It's important to occasionally have a good heart-to-heart with yourself and consider what kind of validation you need. It makes a difference to all kinds of creative choices we make as artists.

 

This is a complicated question and I may make some gross generalizations that will annoy some readers, but bear with me, please, because it's another way of scratching that itchy question about why we create.

 

Let's say that you truly need only self-validation. You couldn't care less whether you get into a gallery, win an award, sell a painting or ever hear "great job" from friends. You just want to paint what you like, and sufficient satisfaction comes from your creative process and the results you produce. You may be satisfied to have your paintings in a closet or hanging on your walls in your house. Getting your work out in front of an audience just isn't important. Others who happen to see your work may think it's spectacular or may just not get it. Doesn't matter. Your life as an artist is pure and simple. Create when you want, what you want, how much you want, and simply enjoy it.

 

Now let's say you want others to see and appreciate your work. That means you must haul it out of the closet when friends come over or hang it on your walls. That's one decision: where and how to display your work for the people whose appreciation matters to you. Another decision is, perhaps, to paint what will please them. Have friends told you your floral paintings are amazing? Perhaps you'll decide to paint more florals. You may be pleasing yourself as well, but it's important to acknowledge that you want to paint what pleases others.

 

Now, perhaps, you've reached the point that simply pleasing others and eliciting an "atta boy" isn't enough. You want the validation that comes with selling your work. Perhaps it's even more than validation; you want to make a living from art sales. Your decisions just got much more complicated. What and how will you paint to generate sales? What subjects, styles, sizes, and colors seem to be popular? How will you bring your work to market? How will you promote your work? How many paintings will you need to produce and sell to meet your goals?

 

It's tempting to think of these types of validation on a continuum, from self-validation on one end and making a a living through external validation and sales on the oher end. But that would be too simple. The artists who are also entreprenneurs, trying to please a marketplace and be "successful," as defined by income, may also want to please themselves and their own artistic integrity. They're not satisfied to crank out the market-pleasing paintings like a factory production line. They want it ALL – the self-satisfaction as well as the validation of income at whatever level is required.

 

This is where it may get really complicated. What if the work that most interests me, the subjects and styles that feed some inner craving for expression, are unlikely to sell at sufficient pricies or quantities to produce the income I need. Must I "compromise" my artistic integrity for the marketplace? To what extent am I willing to do that? Will I create on parallel tracks - that which pleases me and that which sells? How can I, over time, bring my market to where I want to be rather than simply following market trends?

 

If you expected me to give you the answers, I'm so sorry to disappoint. These are questions that must be answered by each of us. What's true for me may not be for you. Furthermore, we'd do well to ask ourselves these questions not just once but periodically over time - when first starting as an artist, when we get in a rut, at the first hints of success (however each of us defines it), and when we're about to have a "significant" birthday and need to take stock of what we still want to accomplish in our lifetime.

 

 

 

I just wrote an article about artist John Erickson whose new exhibition opens next week at Phillips Gallery in Salt Lake City. From the interview on this particular body of work, and from classes I've taken from John at the University of Utah, one of the greatest lessons learned is not to let your painting become too precious too soon.

 

John's work is characterized by the "exquisite tension" of construction and deconstruction. He will lay in a beautiful drawing and underpainting only to lose large pieces of it through an aggressive application of latex paint and collage. He later finds the details again with a classical application of oil paint to the nose, eye, or mouth of his figure.

 

That willingness to take a chance on wrecking something you're starting to like a lot, with the hope, but no guarantee, that there's a greater reward at the end is something to which every artist could aspire. Even those whose work is realistic and detailed might benefit from a creative period of wild abandon in which you release the ego and let some primal instinct take over the paintbrush. All too often, we tighten up as our inner critic says, "That's about right...now, don't screw it up!" 

 

If this sounds way  too scary to you, try it on a "failed" painting, one that's destined for the shredder or bonfire. You've got nothing to lose, right? Ask "what if...?" and go to work. Select a larger brush than usual; pick up a palette knife; add some collage and texture; just do it! You've got nothing to lose, right? Keep telling yourself that.

 

Once you've gone way past the point of no return, take a break. Come back after a long walk or a cup of coffee, or after several weeks, and see the mess you've made with fresh eyes. Find your subject again. Resurrect it with loving attention, making use of the energy of deconstruction, to create a final piece with exquisite tension. To see how this works for John Erickson, see the article and pictures in 15 Bytes.

Like the railroads that built from the west and from the east hoping to meet and form one contiguous rail line, I'm coming at my painting goals from two different directions hoping they'll meet in a cohesive body of work in a few months. From one direction I'll work with oils, and from the other direction I'll work with acrylics and mixed water media. When they meet in the middle, I'll celebrate if they look like they were painted by the same artist. 

 

Such is the challenge I've set for myself (with the professor's blessing) in my advanced painting class. It may seem like an inability to make a decision about which medium to use - oils or acrylics. But I think it's more a matter of age. I'm no longer a spring chick with a seemingly infinite amount of time to dabble and decide what kind of painter I want to be when I grow up. I'm on the fast track, moving at a now-or-never pace, exploring oils and acrylics simultaneously, hoping to make them both speak my language. 

 

However, a cohesive body of work is not just a matter of the paints and other media used, but also subject matter, shapes, symbols, colors, and other tools that will help me create a sense of unity. My theme - Archeology of Memories - is expressed through the layering of stories and artifacts that help us recall memories. The things we collect, the pictures we take, are momentos, reminders of the past.

 

I took care of my father when he had Parkinson's Disease and dementia. He had a hard time remembering his own name, let alone the names of friends or even family members. But, he enjoyed looking at pictures in an album and recalling the stories associated with the occasions or people in the pictures. These visual cues helped him access his failing memory bank.

 

In this series of paintings, I'm creating my own language of symbols and shapes that will help tie the series together. If I'm successful, you'll all get an invitation to my Golden Spike ceremony in December!

A piece of advice I often hear from art professionals is "paint in a series." This means working on a collection of paintings with a similar theme, style, or other common characteristics. The benefits, they will tell you, are many: You will end up with a more cohesive body of work; it may be easier to interest a gallery in a exhibition; and, perhaps most importantly for you, the creative process can be deeper and richer as your mind and intuition explore variations on  your theme.

 

I once had a dynomite theme that came straight from the heart, resulted in a solo show, and was a financial success. It was a series of mixed media paintings based on stories we told about my mother after she died of cancer in 2007. They were whimsical, colorful, and suggested universal stories about the sometimes unexpected legacies left by our family and friends. As I said, it was a great successs, but the well ran dry after about 14 paintings. I was ready to move on. But what would I do for an encore?

 

What I soon discovered is that those kinds of deep-from-the-heart concepts don't come along every day, at least not for me. It didn't stop me from painting, but most of what I did subsequently didn't quite hang together in the same way. So here we are in 2011, more than two years after that successful exhibition, and I finally have the start of what I think will be the next big series. Once again, my mother, bless her sweet soul, is my inspiration. The concept took form as my family came together this summer on Sanibel Island, FL, to scatter the ashes of my mother, father, and brother. Sanibel was my parents' favorite vacation destination, but my sister and I had never been there. It was a clean slate on which to project our imagined visions of Mom and Dad. "Oh, I'll bet this is where Mom collected all those shells she used to make wreaths and lamps." "I'll bet this is the shop where Mom bought her carved birds." They were not there with us, but they were everywhere we looked.

 

So, against the backdrop of this island paradise, with all its colorful architecture and luxurient foliage, I am exploring my next series of paintings. Here's the first: "She Loved Sea Shells."