"Autumn Lines" series

Here are 5 paintings from my latest series, "Autumn Lines" (each is acrylic on canvas, 44" H x 30" W). There are 10 paintings in the series. Now that they have been properly photographed, it's time to get them out into the world!

It's not where you start, it's where you end up

I teach art to students of all ages and levels, and they often tell me, at least when I first start to work with them, “My painting stinks,” “I don’t have any talent,” “I’m not creative,” etc. (Yes, even graduate students tell me this.) Whenever I hear this, I threaten to bring my first-ever painting in to class to show them that it isn’t “talent” that’s important, but how you apply yourself to your development as an artist. NO ONE sits down and makes a beautiful painting.

As Twyla Tharp points out in her wonderful book “The Creative Habit,” even Mozart, who had the unique good fortune of hereditary natural ability and early opportunities to compose and perform, didn’t just sit down and write breath-taking music. A major part of what made him a genius was the hours, days, years of constant practicing, listening, comprehending, and allowing himself to create. Tharp says that, by his early 20s, Mozart’s hands were already deformed from having logged in countless hours of playing the keyboard.

So here it is … the first painting I ever made. (It’s in oil.)

It was made during my first semester of painting at the Art Institute of Boston in 1987, an experience that sounds similar to the kind of beginning in art that many of my students describe as having before they get to my class. That is, with 1 or 2 exceptions, the professors gave NO technical information whatsoever, just left me and my classmates on our own to try and figure out how to use the materials and make the image look three-dimensional.

It’s interesting to me, in looking at this painting, to note that the objects are huddled against the background, as if they are terrified. Because that is certainly the way I felt at the time! (The saying goes that all works of art are self-portraits …)

This professor gave no demonstrations or personal advice, but after several sessions with each still-life, she would line all of our paintings up against the wall and tell us which ones were “bad” and which ones were “good.” I guess a general critique of this sort might have been visual training in what worked and what didn’t, but I just remember being frightened and confused the whole time. (I was too young to be indignant that she was being paid for not doing her job!)

I see from this picture that I had some natural inclination of how to suggest value, render objects and use negative space. But I certainly had no idea how to mix colors, record details, or place my objects so as to tell a story. (All things which are relatively easy to learn, with decent instruction.) I didn’t even know how to tell if I was finished or not! Basically, I was lost.

Luckily my love for painting helped me determine to continue beyond this abysmal initial experience. Many students get stuck at this stage and abandon art altogether because they think they aren’t good at it. That isn’t the point: without instruction and practice, one can’t learn how to see and how to use the materials.

Lack of “talent” in drawing or painting is really just lack of experience. Anyone can learn to draw and paint by applying themselves to the task and persistently working at it. This painting, as a harbinger of my current artwork, is proof!

And once you learn the basics, then the real achievement can begin. You can play around with a range of styles and mediums, and finally learn to say what you and you alone can and want to say. What could be more rewarding and enjoyable?

Only when I laugh

Just now I decided that it might be an interesting exercise to make a list of the exhibits I’d been in over the course of my career so far, divide them into the shows that were rewarding experiences and those that weren’t rewarding, and write down why. I thought this might help guide me in choosing where to focus my attention in future endeavors.

This did turn out to be a productive lesson, but it also brought up memories of a few REALLY BIZARRE exhibition experiences, which were so ridiculous that I had never bothered to list them on my resume and frankly had forgotten about them.

But they are funny in retrospect, the kind of “learning experiences” that all artists have when we’re starting out, so I thought I’d mention a few of them on this blog. I’m sure those of you who are reading this have been through similar things. Maybe you’ll get a laugh out of hearing about mine and remembering yours.

One was a “members show” at a Rhode Island art museum. I had attended the opening of a juried show that a friend of mine had gotten into there a few years before, and I had marveled at the opulent mansion that was its location. So when I read that they were having a members show there, I decided to become a member and enter.

As I drove down to attend the opening, I was looking forward to seeing my work in such a beautiful space. Imagine my horror when I found that, not only was my work the only abstract piece in the entire show (the rest of the work was of the lighthouse and Adirondack chair variety), but it was hanging in a dark hallway outside the bathroom! In other words, the museum couldn’t reject the work outright since I had paid for my membership, but they could hide it as far out of sight as possible.

It was then I realized that the earlier show that my friend’s work had been in was juried by a guest judge, whose taste hadn’t reflected the museum’s. I should have been offended, I guess, but frankly, I couldn’t stop laughing! It was an extreme case of “apples and oranges.”

Another wince-inducing experience was when I entered another members show at another lovely museum. Their policy was that, if you entered this group show as a member, you would be considered for their annual “8 Visions” exhibit. I got all charged up, figuring, wouldn’t it be GREAT to get into THAT show? I got so charged up, in fact, that I didn’t bother to do any mathematical calculating when I read over the prospectus; I just brought my painting to the museum office and produced my checkbook.

By the time the smoke cleared, I had spent SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS to become a member and exhibit one painting in their show. And my “vision” was subsequently NOT selected, so my enthusiasm had ended up costing me a big chunk of change for the privilege of sticking one painting in a huge group show. But there was a silver lining: I learned my lesson, and never made this type of mistake again.

Being an artist isn’t all about the ivory tower lifestyle. It’s a wild and weird world out there! But there are a lot of amusing lessons to be learned, which will make excellent anecdotes when we all eventually write our memoirs!!

Above, a photo of the work that cost me $75 to exhibit! (“Silken Web 3,” Acrylic on fabric on canvas, 30” square)

Inspirations old and new

Phew, just finished my 10-piece "Autumn Lines" series, and they're heading to the photographer's next week. It feels like a big project has been completed, and I'll probably take a bit of a rest before I paint that intensely again.

I already know what direction I'll be heading in when I do resume my studio time, though. I saw the wonderful exhibit "Global Patterns: Dress and Textiles in Africa" at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston last week, and I was especially inspired by an indigo-dyed length of fabric that was part of the show. I sat and stared at it for quite some time!

When I returned home, I couldn't find that particular piece on line, but I did find this one that shares its color and a similar type of pattern here:




This exhibit reminded me of a direction I was going in about 10 years ago. I wasn't consciously inspired by African textiles, but there is a definite similarity between those works and what I saw at the MFA last week. For example, here is a painting called "Strike," which I made in 2001 (acrylic and spray paint on canvas, 28" square).



So I'm figuring that I'll start a series with these kinds of shapes, colors and allover pattern on a square. Looking forward to it!

Who was I, who am I, who will I be?

I'm going through old art-career-related photos, and came across these promotional portraits that my husband took of me in 2003. I remember he kept exhorting me to smile during this photo session, but I wanted to seem like a serious (literally) artist.

I'm a month away from turning 49, which means that half-century mark is only a year away, and it seems like the right time to re-examine who I am, both in my mind during quiet moments of contemplation, and in the literal world, by going through physical evidence of who I have been. Hence, my recent photograph and paperwork sorting. I figure that this process will help me figure out where I am now, and where I want to go next.

It's so interesting to me to look back at this 8-year-old old photo and remember the circumstances of my life at that time. I had just moved to a new town, 70 miles from my previous residence of 9 years. I had just left my newspaper editing job of the previous 4 years and had embarked on a new career as a teacher. This photo was taken in the new studio I had just moved into. I was represented by a prestigious gallery in Boston, and was anticipating my second solo show with them in the upcoming months. I felt happy and hopeful. And it was right that I did, because many wonderful things were about to happen to me.

Could that really have been 8 years ago?! It seems like only yesterday, and yet so much has happened in my life, it seems like several decades. The years of my 40s have been rewarding learning experiences. I have far more self-confidence. My ability to communicate, to observe, to understand, to be patient, to be humble, all have grown. I am the best artist and teacher I have ever been. I have found my footing in the world.

So what does the future hold in store? That's what excites me, that I can now take all this additional knowledge and understanding, and carry it forward into new experiences.

Psych Out

Much ink is spilled (or whatever the online equivalent is these days) on the subject of the rejection letter. I’ve addressed it on this blog and countless other artist bloggers have too. (One of my favorite discussions of the subject is this post by Providence artist Kathy Hodge, and here's another good one on Deanna Wood's blog). Somehow, sharing our experiences can help take the sting out of opening that envelope or clicking on that email and reading the dreaded words, “Dear Artist, We regret to inform you that your work was not chosen …”

These communiqués might as well include a P.S. that says, “Please take a hammer and bash yourself over the head with it. And thank you for your interest in our gallery.”

An even weirder experience is when you realize your work has been rejected, but the rejecter hasn’t even had the common courtesy to let you know. Yesterday I noticed that the notification deadline for a show I’d applied for had passed, so I contacted the gallery. They emailed back and said my rejection notice must have been “caught up in a spam filter.” (It was NOT caught up in a spam filter. They messed up. But apparently their ineptitude didn’t extend to their ability to deposit my $30 application fee.)

So today, I decided to try and turn the pain inside out, so to speak. While I have certainly received my share of rejection letters over the years, I have been fortunate to receive many acceptance letters. (A selection of these glorious documents appears at the beginning of this post.) In order to psych myself up for allowing new acceptances into my experience, I have decided to gather my “Congratulations” and “We are pleased to inform you” letters into a binder in sheet protectors. If I read these acceptances over to myself for a few minutes every day, it will remind me that good fortune has come into my career in the past, and give me faith to believe that it will come again.

I’m not one of those strong individuals who can save their rejection letters, joke about them, or even make art out of them, as many others have. (My preferred method of dealing is a prompt visit to the circular file and then pretending that the whole unpleasant experience never happened. As Mark Twain said, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”) But maybe I can blot out the bad memories by recalling the warm fuzzies that come from acceptance letters!

Happy Fourth Anniversary to my blog!

Today is the fourth anniversary of my first blog post! I have had a LOT of fun writing in this blog over the last four years. Some of my favorite posts have included:

How I came to love my basement studio at home, posted on August 18, 2010

My visit to Berkshire Partners to document my artwork on their walls, posted on July 15, 2009

The surprise birthday party my students threw for me, posted on June 13, 2009

The artists' reception given by Meditech Information Technology, posted on December 15, 2008

To faithful readers of my blog, thank you for keeping up with my musings and rantings on my little corner of the art world, and for commenting with your reactions and stories of your own. I am thankful to have this fantastic resource, to sort out my experiences in print and to connect with others who are also involved with the visual arts. Long live blogs! (Sung to the tune of "Long Live Rock.")