Problem solved

I’ve been collaging blithely away, then I hit a snag.

After six or so groovy paintings, I made the one above. Not working. Too disparate.

I hung this work on the wall and contemplated in confusion. In the past, I’ve joined small similar pieces like this and the parts added up to an interesting, intricate whole. Here, they just make a big mess.

And size isn't the problem, either. This painting that doesn’t work is 30 inches square. I’ve used the “small pieces” technique on canvases up to 48 inches, and it’s worked beautifully. This time … no.

As I kept looking, though, I realized what a nice impact a small grouping of them made – say, nine squares together, as in the image below.

So I’ve ordered some 10 inch canvases and cradled boards, and I’m going to try smaller collages of just nine joined squares, and we’ll see how that turns out.

My profile of textile artist Elin Noble

Here is my profile of the awesome textile artist Elin Noble, which appears today in the New Bedford Standard-Times: "Cloth is her canvas: When Elin Noble puts fabric and dye together, remarkable things happen."

The photos that accompany this story are particularly well-done; not surprisingly they were shot by Peter Pereira, a most talented photographer whom the paper is fortunate to have on staff.

Elin's web site is here.

Filling the time available

I have discovered a new twist to Parkinson’s Law.

Cyril Northcote Parkinson, a British economist, first published his theory in 1955: "Work expands to fill the time available."

But in my experience, time can expand to accommodate the work necessary, if the desire is there.

Last August, I looked ahead to my busy fall schedule and realized it would probably be Christmas before I got any serious painting done again. I was teaching four classes, one a subject I’d never taught before, and one at a school I’d never taught at before and which involved a long commute. I also anticipated writing one artist profile a month for the newspaper, which requires a full day of driving, interviewing and viewing, then at least another full day of writing. With this in mind, I cleaned up my studio and put everything away neatly on the shelves, figuring I wouldn’t be back again until December.

But Parkinson's Law had a lesson in store for me. As it turns out, even though I’ve worked like a dog this fall at my teaching and writing, I’ve still managed to paint at least a few days a week. During this time, I’ve stumbled upon a new series that I truly enjoy, while simultaneously continuing to develop the imagery and techniques I started with my “web series” last winter.

How did this happen? I had less time than usual, but I got more than usual done.

Painter David Lloyd has the answer. It’s not that an artist is ultra-disciplined, as Mr. Lloyd points out in his interview in the wonderful book “Creating A Life Worth Living”: “It’s more of an obsessive quality where you want to see what happens with something. You just keep doing it and everyone says, ‘Oh, gee, you’re so disciplined.’ … But it doesn’t take any discipline to do what you’re interested in. It’s a funny thing. It takes a lot of discipline to do what you don’t want to do.”

Want to know what I don’t want to do? Just check out the dust bunnies under my bed. Housework … now THAT takes discipline.

The image at the head of this entry is called “Red Knots 2” – it’s acrylic on paper, 30” H x 22” W, and was made in September 2007.

What a difference a pro makes

This is why I hire a professional photographer! Most of the other entries on this blog are illustrated with images that I take myself by propping up my painting on a wall and snapping at random with my trusty digital camera. This usually happens when I am excited about a new work and want to get it on my blog fast, or when I have a show coming up that I want to mention on the blog, but the works haven't been properly photographed yet.

But for my web site, obviously I need to do better than that. If you're in the Boston area, I highly recommend Joe Ofria as an art photographer -- he works from the Image Inn in Arlington, Massachusetts.

The image above is one that Joe shot for me. It's named Orange Tangle; it's acrylic and pastel on paper, 30" H x 22" W, and was made over the summer. It's all ready to join a bunch of other new pieces when I have my web site updated.

Ice blue

Here's a detail view of another new painting -- the actual work is 20 inches square.

And here's a closer detail. Maybe I'm anticipating winter with this one?

Career musings

I have to laugh when I recall that I received almost no response to the mailing I sent out back in June to a carefully researched list of curators, gallerists and consultants, BUT I have made a number of successful connections since then with total strangers who happened upon my web site or blog.

My mailing generated two rejection letters, one from a museum curator who said he didn’t have time to give me a critique (I didn’t ask for one) and one from an art consultant who said she didn’t think she could sell my work.

But as far as contacts from people who just happened to find my work on line, I met an art consultant who sold seven of my paintings, another art consultant who also sold a painting, and I was invited to exhibit through the ART In Embassies Program. What is the lesson here? I guess it’s: you just never know.

Above is another new painting from my latest Mosaic Series. This one is 30 inches square. I’m really digging working in this way; it combines collage, printing and painting, giving me a way to work randomly and decisively, carefully and heedlessly, all at the same time.

I’ve just dropped off a bunch of new works to be professionally photographed and am looking forward to getting them on my web site soon. (This is my chance to plug a wonderful photographer, Joe Ofria, and a wonderful web designer, Jeanne Williamson.) My work is to be featured in the January publication of Studio Visit Magazine, so I’m hoping to have the web site in ship shape by then.

Family portraits

We're all familiar with that Picasso quote about it taking a lifetime to learn to draw like a child. That's 'cause kids don't agonize over talent, impressing others, failure, success, or any of the other mental pitfalls that plague adults. They just sit down and paint.

Here are two portraits I made of my parents when I was 4. I distinctly remember deciding I was going to do this, asking them to pose for me (which they kindly consented to), and then just sitting down and drawing. It never occurred to me that the drawings might not turn out well; I never wondered whether I was using the right colors, or whether something looked right or wrong. I just decided to do it, and I sat down and did it. And what fun I had!

Short but sweet

Yesterday I had a few hours to spare, so I nipped down to the studio and put together the piece above. It's made up of paper scraps left over from an earlier bigger painting, but in this small size (16 inches square) with smaller bits, it has a different sensibility from the other one. More intricate, more intimate.

I like the way this work looks; it brightened my bedroom considerably when I hung it on the wall across from the bed so I could lie down and look at it. I'm slowly moving away from the idea that my paintings have to be stunning, or that my work has to be earth-shatteringly brilliant to mean anything. This piece is simple and pretty, and that's enough.

Does this mean I'm mellowing with age? I'm certainly not any less convinced of the things I believe in. I'm just not interested in impressing other people any more, or hammering them over the head about things. It's enough to just create the work and present it. If it pleases others, fine. If not, fine. Yep, sounds like I'm getting older.

Paper Lace

Here's another piece I'm putting in the Danforth Museum School's Holiday Sale. This is called "Lace" -- it's acrylic and graphite on paper on canvas, 16" H x 14" W.

If you looked at this blog entry title and thought "The Night Chicago Died," you get 10 points.