My review of the Gifford exhibit

My review of the exhibit "Charles Henry Gifford: 1837-1904: An Artist's Journey," the current show at the New Bedford Art Museum, appeared in today's edition of the New Bedford Standard-Times. Read it here.

If you are in the Southcoast Massachusetts area, I highly recommend a visit to this wonderful show, which is on display until August 31. For more information, go to the museum's web site.

The low-tech printmaker

I had a lot of luck and enjoyment yesterday, working with squirt bottles of fluid acrylic, large sheets of paper, and a brayer. I made marks on one sheet, laid a fresh page over it, ran the brayer over the back, pulled them apart, and then went on from there. I also added some marks with soft pastels once the paint had dried. This gives a nice contrast of "dry lines" mixed with the soft runny paint lines. (An example of one page I made is shown above.)

This process has all the unexpectedness and intuitiveness of printmaking, without any of the uptight preparatory steps. It has the spontaneity of making monoprints without the need for cleaning plates (the pages themselves act as the plates).

I know making art is hard work. But also it's such fun, it feels like playing.

The ground beneath my feet

At some point when I was in my 20s, I realized that high heels were not for me. I had spent years hobbling around on my spikes like any aspiring fashionista in the early '80s, pretending my feet didn't hurt, and pretending I wasn't frustrated that I couldn't walk as fast as I wanted to.

But finally, I had had enough. I realized that, although high heels looked great, they just weren't me. It meant more to me to be able to stride in comfort. (Luckily, I soon discovered Dr. Martens, and my feet breathed a sigh of relief.) These days, when I see other women wearing beautiful high-heeled shoes, I still let out a sigh. But I know that style is not for me, and that I'd be miserable wearing them.

I've just decided that atmospheric painted surfaces are like high-heeled shoes for me -- they look great for other people, but they're just not me.

I've spent a lot of paint and canvas coming to this conclusion. I'm constantly poring over "how to paint" books showing lush, atmospheric surfaces that seem to go on for miles, because I love that look.

But I have to be honest. Whenever I start painting like that, I get frustrated. I have to get real: what I want is a painting with two flat tones, one dark and one light, feeding in and out of one another in a distinct, graphic style. Even middle tones frustrate me; I want dark and light to co-exist, without mediation.

So I think all my containers of gel medium and interference paints are going to go the way of my high heels. I love looking at them in other people's paintings, but they just don't work for me.

My painting "Web," shown at the top of this entry, is the way I like to work. An intricate pattern, but the result of two tones of lines weaving together, not an implication of deep space. I can get lost in this image, but I still feel I know where I am at all times.

It was beautiful, I swear

Have you ever had this experience in the studio? (If you work in acrylic, I bet you have.)

A painting is still wet, but you KNOW, as you lift the brush one last time from the surface, that you have CHANGED ART HISTORY. You know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the most gorgeous painting that has ever been made.

You leave your masterpiece to dry and exit the studio with a light heart, convinced that your place in the annals of art history is assured. One look at this work, and the curator at the Whitney will rearrange their schedule so that you can be granted a solo show next month. Critics will swoon, too dazzled to verbalize their admiration. Celebrity collectors will fight over who will get to buy it first.

BUT when you return to the studio and the work has dried, THE JIG IS UP. Without that glistening translucent surface, the magic is GONE. The painting just looks like a piece of canvas stretched over four wooden bars with some paint dragged over it.

Sigh. This happened to me today. The muddy splotch at the top of this blog entry was GORGEOUS when it was wet! It was a deep sea of golden lines swirling among soft pools of maroon. It glowed. It demanded to be admired for its elegant colors and undulating marks.

I know, I know. Just keep going. Add more layers of gel medium to reactivate the surface. Blah, blah, blah, I know all the technical tricks to revive a painting. But I want it back the way it was, when it was glowing and fresh and alive!

I relate this story, not to inspire your pity or seem self-effacing. It's just a good reminder that we can never take "successful" work for granted. We have to keep pressing on and trying new things in the studio. Whenever our work becomes formulaic, we must abandon the technique that got us there, or at least alter it so that the path becomes unknown and challenging again.

I THOUGHT the making of this painting was too easy, and it was. This piece has more in store for me to learn, and I have to follow it and see where it takes me.

Studio Sweet Studio

I just received an email from the Mass. Cultural Council with extensive listings on upcoming open studios and live-in loft opportunities. At the risk of sounding like a hermit and a curmudgeon, I would like to weigh in on the issue of where to live/work, obviously a major one for artists.

I know it's supposed to be every artist's dream to live and work in a loft studio. It’s romantic, just like in “Rent.” You have room to express yourself, make big art and, if you're in a building with other artists, you get to participate in open studios every year, where you can talk about and sell your work to an adoring public. That is the theory, but it has never been my experience.

In the past I have rented studios in mill buildings that were indeed luxurious in their spaciousness and beautiful light. However, I found them too loud to concentrate in, even when I used headphones or ear plugs. A lot of times, other artists want to blast music (or worse, NPR, which I personally can't stand) while they work, and asking them to turn down is futile. A live-in loft would only compound the noise issue, making it a potential problem round the clock.

Also, in a "public" studio, you are at the mercy of people (artists or not) who want to stop by and chat, rather than make art. Whether they're simply being friendly or hoping to avoid working themselves, they're taking time away from your precious moments in the studio. For a person like me who has a terrible time saying no to others, it can be a very difficult thing to say, even in a nice way, "Please go away, you're bothering me!" Sometimes your request goes unheeded, even after repeated attempts, when the other person just doesn’t want to hear what you’re saying. And even if they just drop by to say hello and leave as soon as they realize you're busy, your concentration has been broken.

As to the issue of open studios, the majority of artists I know who participate in them tell me confidentially that they spent many uncredited volunteer hours helping to put them on, only to find that they don’t sell a single piece, and they confess to me that they wonder why they keep participating year after year. Open studios hold that lure for artists that maybe this year will be different, maybe more people will come, maybe it will lead to something, maybe it's worth the time and effort after all.

It is true that open studios provide an excuse to organize your space and a chance to meet the other artists in your building. But with a little more discipline and planning, you could do that anyway. Surely art consultants, gallery shows and self-promotion from a web site are more lucrative investments of an artist's time.

What HAS worked for me is living in a secluded location with enough space for my studio and for art storage. You can make art whenever you feel like it, undisturbed, without even having to change out of your jammies, never mind drive anywhere. (Granted, I am one of those people who wakes up at 2 AM and HAS to make art.)

You can deduct many household expenses from your taxes. You can work in peace and quiet. You can have large quantities of heavy art supplies delivered directly to your home, rather than having to wait around for the Fed Ex man at your studio, or transport the supplies yourself from home to studio. When galleries and consultants arrange to pick up your work, they can come straight to your house without your having to meet them at the studio.

There are numerous ways to meet other artists without having them be neighbors at open studios. I’ve met many more artists from my career as a writer about art and from attending openings than I ever met in the studio buildings I’ve rented in. (And I didn't have to lick envelopes, pour pretzels into bowls, or sit around for an entire weekend to do so.)

So while a live-in loft is supposed to be every artist’s goal, there are other (and, to me, better) options.

How quickly they forget

I had a funny experience in the studio yesterday. I suddenly had an idea for a new collage technique. It seemed like a great idea that would highlight all the good things about the materials and methods I use, while working around the things that didn't usually go so well. I knew it would look great!

So I spent most of the day preparing to try out my idea -- stretching canvases of various sizes and priming them, as well as creating sheets of marks on fabric to use for the collage. This took a long time, as it was so humid yesterday that everything was slow to dry, even with a fan trained directly on it.

While waiting for everything to dry, I wondered why I hadn't thought of this great idea before. It seemed so obvious now, such a perfect solution.

Finally I was able to start collaging. And as I cut the first strips of fabric and started to glue them on the canvas, I remembered: I HAD tried this technique before, this exact same thing, and it had totally BOMBED! Oh-oh! I went ahead and finished anyway (results above), and it isn't as bad as I remembered it from the previous try, but it certainly isn't a satisfying result to me.

So ... back to the old electronic brain (as Marvin the Martian would say).

Latest In The Studio profile

Here's my latest artist profile for The New Bedford Standard-Times. This one's on the awesome paper sculptor, Joyce Utting Schutter.