Catherine Carter's Art Blog

New video showing recent exhibits

2012-01-22T06:22:00.001-08:00

I've created and uploaded a new video of scenes from recent showings of my artwork (2008-2011). You can view it here. Horray for iMovie!

More blue tendrils

2012-01-22T06:18:00.000-08:00

My latest "Tendrils" painting; this one is 20 x 20 inches.

Blue whorls

2012-01-14T18:44:00.001-08:00

Another 20" square in acrylic on canvas, this time in a range of blues:

A world of green

2012-01-13T00:22:00.000-08:00

The Tendrils Series continues into the New Year. Here I explored a range of greens, pushing them into warm and cool, then anchoring them with a middle-tone, middle-temperature green. As well as playing various temperatures off of one another, I'm doing a Hans Hoffman push-pull with value; the lights and darks in the tendrils imply a range of distances, and the three-dimensional effect is defied by the flat background.

Titled "Forest Tendrils," this work is acrylic on canvas, 40 inches square.

First and last paintings of 2011

2011-12-29T04:44:00.000-08:00

As I wrote in my most recent blog post, 2011 has been a wonderful year for me in the studio. Here's a last look! This was my first painting of the year, completed last January:

And here is my last painting of the year, completed last week:

Happy New Year to All!

A look back at 2011

2011-12-26T01:03:00.001-08:00

With this post, I look back at a productive and joyful 2011. The best thing about this year for me was the progress I made in the studio. I had six weeks to devote exclusively to painting over the summer, and during this time, I was able to learn a lot about color mixing and color combining. I also developed my compositional ideas in a number of directions … including letting go of the idea of composition entirely, and allowing all my lines to float in a nice democratic square. Finally, I expanded the scale of my canvases up to 56 x 50 inches.

I was fortunate to sell a number of my artworks this year: 3 works on paper to the Boston Public Library, and 2 paintings on canvas to Bain Capital, located in the John Hancock Building in Boston. (One of the library pieces, "Seaweave 2," acrylic on paper, 30" H x 22" W, appears above.)

I proposed, co-curated, and participated in a four-person show, “Squiggles and Squares,” at Artworks! in New Bedford from September to November of 2011. The others whom I invited to join me for this show – Adria Arch, Elin Noble, and Jeanne Williamson – are three of my favorite artists … and people.

I certainly did my share of teaching in 2011 … I taught 3 classes to adults: Beginning Drawing, Colored Pencil Drawing, and Botanical Watercolor; 3 classes to high school students: Observational Drawing and Fashion Illustration (2 semesters); 3 workshops: Basic Watercolor Techniques, Basic Acrylic Techniques, and Watercolor Landscape Techniques; and 5 professional development courses to public-school art teachers: Museum to Studio, Art of Fauna, Art of Botanicals, Mixed Media, and Advanced Acrylic Techniques. I also taught an art education course at the college level.

I was able to keep up with my writing, something I always wish I had more time for. I wrote five pieces for the New Bedford Standard-Times during 2011: reviews of the Surface Design Association’s “One Passion, Many Voices” at Artworks!, “Beauty in the Beast” at Gallery X, UMass Dartmouth’s MFA Thesis Show, and Willoughby Elliott’s retrospective at the New Bedford Art Museum (all venues located in New Bedford, MA), as well as an article about the careers of Willoughby Elliott and Severin Haines upon their retirement from UMass Dartmouth.

I was honored to be invited to serve as judge for three exhibits at the Post Road Art Center in Marlborough, MA, this year: their Animal, Mixed Media, and Miniature shows.

I was thrilled to have the opportunity to view many eye-opening exhibitions during 2011. In particular, I was impressed by Alexander McQueen’s retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Willem de Kooning’s retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art, and Mark Bradford’s show at the Boston Institute of Contemporary Art. I was also pleased to visit the newly renovated facilities of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and the Worcester Art Museum. And I was jazzed to see Dedee Shattuck’s glorious new exhibition space located in Westport, MA.

I anticipate 2012 with excitement and hope. I will be turning 50 in June, and I look forward to savoring the confidence and wisdom that’s possible only after having been alive for half a century. Also in this upcoming year, I intend to seek and find more and new opportunities to create, view, write about, and teach art.

Another small painting

2011-12-20T19:31:00.000-08:00

Just finished another in this ongoing series; this piece is acrylic on canvas and 20 inches square.

New green and brown "Tendril"

2011-12-14T14:32:00.001-08:00

Just finished another new painting in the Tendrils series; this one is acrylic on canvas, 20 inches square.

New painting archive site

2011-12-06T23:10:00.000-08:00

I've decided to create a blog that highlights work from the 15 years I've now been painting. Yes, it's been 15 years since I rushed up on the stage at the University of Massachusetts (Dartmouth) and grabbed that diploma from the chancellor's hand. It seems incredible that it's been that long! Since 1997, my life has centered on my painting, and while I've explored a variety of directions during those years, my focus has always been the element of line. Line signifies to me excitement and exploration, and it never ceases to challenge me.

Here's the site: carterpaintingarchive.blogspot.com

I'll eventually link the archive blog on my website, and keep adding to it as the years go by. I'm looking forward to what the next 15 years of studio work will bring! Certainly, more lines.

A time for thanksgiving

2011-11-30T05:48:00.000-08:00

The Thanksgiving season is the perfect time to examine our lives and give thanks for all the gifts we have had the good fortune to receive. This is why I think it's important to wait, at least until the sun goes down on Thanksgiving Day, to start "decking the halls" and diving in to the celebratory hoopla of the winter holiday season.

In taking quiet time for reflection and appreciation, we accept our humanity, acknowledge our humility, and encourage the blessings to continue to flow. Plus, it's just plain fun to feel the smile come over your face, and sense the warmth in your heart, that comes from recalling and reliving pleasant memories.

Last night I decided to make a list of the highlights of my art career. As I was compiling this list, I realized how many people have given to me generously during the 14 years I have been a professional artist. Their generosity is what has brought about all of the experiences on my list. (Out of respect for everyone's privacy, I haven't mentioned names here, but these folks know who they are, and I hope they know how grateful I am.)

These highlights include:

Three of my monotypes were purchased by the Boston Public Library in 2011. I am very grateful to the artist who was kind enough to give me the contact information for the curator there, and allow me to use her name as a personal reference when I contacted the curator.

Ten of my paintings were purchased by Berkshire Partners in the John Hancock Building, and ten paintings were purchased by the Four Seasons Hotel in Boston. I am very grateful to the artist who recommended me to the consultant who made these sales. I am also very grateful to the consultant herself, who has encouraged my work and made so many sales for me over the last five years that we've worked together.

Twice my artwork has been exhibited at U.S. Embassies - namely, those in Oman and Cameroon - through the Art In Embassies Program. I am very grateful to the friend who brought this program to my attention and recommended that I apply.

I am very grateful to the Boston gallerist who showed my work in two solo shows and two three-person shows at her gallery, and who recommended me for the St. Botolph Club Foundation grant, which I was awarded in 2002.

I am very grateful to the independent curators who have invited me to participate in their exhibits.

I am very grateful to the art critic who reviewed my work for the Boston Globe on four separate occasions.

I am very grateful for my many artist friends who have shared with me the good times and the tough times that we all experience in this crazy creative career. From artist friends whom I see on a regular basis, to those I've known since we were together in art school and first starting out, to artists I've only "met" on Facebook but whose commentary and support I enjoy and appreciate -- I have many good folks in my life.

And of course, my entire career wouldn't have been possible without the support of my beloved husband and parents.

This list reveals that I have a LOT of great experiences in my career, and they all happened because of the great people in my life. Here's to many more years, of many more highlights!

Next canvas in new series

2011-11-24T22:00:00.001-08:00

I've completed another new painting in the latest series; this one is also 40 inches square:

Recommended biography of Willem de Kooning

2011-11-22T20:53:00.001-08:00

I saw the Willem de Kooning retrospective at MOMA a few days ago, and I'm finding it enhancing to that experience to read "De Kooning: An American Master" by Mark Stevens and Annalyn Swan.

What a wonderful book! It is thoroughly researched, with well-considered discussion of the artist's major works and career progression. The authors reveal de Kooning the man, but they manage to paint a clear picture of him without turning into armchair analysts. They also present a fair view of the volatile relationships in his life -- his rocky marriage to Elaine de Kooning, for example, and his brotherly friendship with Arshile Gorky, which snapped when Gorky married and found sudden success -- without taking sides or making one person wrong or bad. Best of all, and not to be taken for granted, their sentences are intricately but smoothly constructed.

This is in direct contrast to another biography of de Kooning I read before this one, titled "Elaine and Bill" by Lee Hall. This book is the "People magazine" version of de Kooning's life, filled with gossip and speculation about de Kooning's relationships. It's packed with purple prose (I literally cringed at least once per chapter), and it's poorly organized. The same points come up in chapter after chapter, as if the author forgot that she'd already said the same thing.

Which brings me to a point: I am surprised at the number of poorly written artist biographies I've read (or tried to read) lately. These include the new bios of Joan Mitchell (important events overlooked while minor experiences are detailed to death, filled with unsubstantiated psychological theories) and Lee Krasner (so haphazardly presented that it reads more like a draft than a finished book). These books make me appreciate the achievement of de Kooning biographers Stevens and Swan.

As bad as the Lee Krasner biography was, however, at least it treats Krasner with respect. I am still shocked at "Jackson Pollock: An American Saga" by Steven Naifeh and Gregory Smith (1998), in which the authors present fictional accounts as facts. Specifically, they attribute words and actions to Krasner that were based on a character in a novel that was rumored to have been based on Krasner. And they use these stories to paint a picture of Krasner as a pathetic nymphomaniac, certainly not at all the serious artist that she actually was. In the Krasner bio, author Gail Levin says she interviewed the novelist whom Naifeh/Smith referred to, and he said his character was NOT based on Krasner.

It's scary what authors can get away with in print these days! But having seen the thorough presentation of de Kooning's art and life at the MOMA show, I believe the Stevens/Swan biography rings true. And besides, it's just plain good writing, a pleasure to read.

Just finished

2011-11-20T21:48:00.001-08:00

Next installment in the "Tendrils" series; this one is 40 inches square.

Reflections on gym class

2011-11-17T05:02:00.001-08:00

I have always remembered my gym classes in school with dread.

There were two types of students in gym class: those who were GOOD at sports and those who WEREN’T. It was immediately apparent to both the students and the gym teacher who fell into which category. We were required to perform various activities in order to “try out” for the President’s Physical Fitness All America Team, which included performing (or, in my case, attempting to perform) a series of exercises including sprinting, sit-ups and pull-ups.

I could barely do 5 sit-ups, while many of the students beside me were doing them as fast as they could, seemingly without tiring. I couldn’t even do one pull-up. It was obvious to me, my classmates and my teacher that I was not “presidential” fitness material which, as you can imagine, made me feel ashamed of myself and my body. I was deeply embarrassed.

Now, as a teacher myself, I can’t help noticing that NONE of my gym teachers EVER TAUGHT ME ANYTHING. No one ever said, “Try doing some sit-ups every morning for a week, and then come in and show me how many you can do.” Or, “Take longer strides when you run to help you speed up. Try running from here to the end of the bleachers and back, and we’ll see if that helps you.” They just observed that I couldn’t do what I was asked, made a mark in their little grade book, and moved on to the next student. (If I did this in my classroom, I would have a room full of students who had no idea how to draw.)

Fortunately, when I was about 14, I began taking ballet lessons, and here my body gained strength and coordination. I learned the joys of physical expression and achievement. So my frustration that I couldn’t keep up with others in the area of fitness wasn’t a permanent experience. But those years of embarrassment in gym class left permanent doubts in my mind about my overall capabilities as an athlete.

About a month or so ago (at age 49), I decided to deal with a recurring backache by taking on a 30-minute yoga and stretching routine every morning. At first I was very stiff, barely able to touch my toes or extend my legs. But after a very short time, I have found that my body has developed markedly improved flexibility and that I can hold poses and stretches for much longer than I could even last week. I am getting excited thinking of how much I can improve over the coming months as I continue to work at it. And my back feels simultaneously strong and relaxed: much, MUCH better.

Looking back on my miserable experiences in gym class, I’ve realized an important lesson about the human body: with gentle persistence, anything is possible. A consistent routine can work wonders.

I've also realized that some bodies aren’t strong and other bodies weak; all bodies can become stronger and healthier, slowly but surely. The inability to perform a certain exercise doesn’t mean you “can’t” do it; it means you have the opportunity to start from where you are and keep working at it until you can see improvement. Then you can savor a sense of pride in accomplishment as you enjoy your newfound physical abilities. Just as in life!

Review of Elliott retrospective

2011-11-12T21:52:00.000-08:00

Here is my review of Willoughby Elliott's retrospective at the New Bedford Art Museum, which appeared in today's New Bedford Standard-Times:

"Exhibit gives glimpse into 'ever-unfolding discovery'"

Ode to a staple gun

2011-11-12T14:11:00.000-08:00

I just bought myself a fantastic present: a brand new Power Shot staple gun!

It’s luxurious to use. You barely have to press the handle to make the staples come out, and the staples shoot in all the way, so you don’t have to hammer them in the rest of the way, like I did with my old Arrow staple gun. Much easier on the hand muscles, much easier to stretch a nice tight canvas, and much faster going as well.

But this does not mean I will be disposing of my old Arrow staple gun. Believe it or not, the old gun has great sentimental value. Because it was the first present my husband (then my boy friend) bought for me, and it proved to me that he loved me.

At the time he bought it (1989), I had dropped out of art school and wasn’t painting at all. I was working at a variety of secretarial jobs, exhausted by boredom and long unfulfilled hours of sitting at a desk, frustrated that I was giving my precious time away for a paycheck that barely covered the bills from my not-at-all-extravagant lifestyle. (City living will do that to you; rent alone eats up most of your income.)

Kevin had first met me when I was taking art classes, and he saw the difference in my demeanor, my spirit, when I was engaged in creating art vs. when I was not creating art. He realized, even when I was denying it to myself, that I needed to live a creative lifestyle in order to be wholly human, to be who I was, to fulfill my destiny.

But Kevin is a gentle, non-pushy person. Even when he saw I was floundering and he knew why, he was too kind to confront me directly with the big mistake I was making. But he did want to help me. So he bought me a staple gun.

And as soon as I saw it, I realized he loved me. With this gift, he was giving me permission to be myself. In a gentle, quiet way. It wasn’t a big push; it was a kind invitation.

Up until then, I had used store-bought canvases, which meant I was limited to the store’s pre-made sizes. (There were far fewer sizes available in those days; now you can buy pre-made canvases in almost any size.) Sure, I had tried removing the staples and restretching store-bought canvases, but it was beastly hard. With my new staple gun, I could buy stretcher bars in any size I wanted. It really gave me freedom to work small, large, and in any dimension. It was a big opportunity in a small package.

The rest is history! With my staple gun in hand, I went back to school, got two degrees, and began to show and sell my paintings. That staple gun was the first step; it represented freedom for me. It was this gift, this gentle nudge from the man who loved me, that allowed me to become an artist.

So no matter how much easier and faster the new staple gun works, I will always keep the old one in my studio to remind me of how I got where I am today.

More tendrils

2011-11-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

Continuing on with the Tendrils series, trying in a larger size. This one is 40 inches square, just completed this afternoon. Now to test different color combinations.

Lots of dots

2011-10-24T22:05:00.000-07:00

My living room is filled with paintings, about to be delivered for a new presentation. These three are the "Blue Spheres" series; each is 40 inches square, acrylic on fabric collage on canvas. Fingers crossed that they soon find a permanent destination!

The Importance of Being Thankful

2011-10-21T22:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve written in a previous blog post about the importance of saying THANK YOU, but I feel the need to address the subject again.

I have donated 10 paintings to The Art Connection since 2006, when I first learned of this worthy cause, and the reactions (and non-reactions) to my donations from the non-profit organizations that have selected my work have been varied and revealing.

The Art Connection recommends to these recipient organizations, in writing, that they send a thank-you note to the artists whose work they’ve selected. Here are the various responses I have received from the 9 agencies that have received my artwork over the years:

5 of the organizations never contacted me at all
1 organization asked me for a(nother) donation for a fund-raising event (!!)
2 organizations sent me hand-written thank-you notes (way to go, Ronald McDonald House and Harbour House Family Center!)

And the winner of the Mother Raised You Right Award goes to the Mattapan Community Health Center, which not only sent me a lovely thank-you letter but also held a party for all of the artists who had donated work to their facility!

Now I’m not expecting anything fancy, like a box of chocolates or a bouquet of flowers. And I know people are very, very busy; I’m sure most of the folks at these non-profit organizations are overworked and underpaid, or they may even be volunteers. BUT a simple two-sentence note, even in an email – “Thank you so much for your donation. We really appreciate your generosity” – goes a long way in the good will, good karma department. And after all, isn’t that what a human service organization is supposed to be about?

Image shown above: "Sunset Web," a new artwork I've just donated to the Art Connection.

ETA: Upon reading this blog entry, Sarah Berry, the Art Connection's Program Manager, updated me with the following information:

"As you noted we do alert agencies that sending a thank you note is a critical step in the process. In fact, we do so three separate times:

1) At their preliminary site visit
2) In their confirmation packet

And starting in July (when I came on as full time program manager), I added it to the agency Six Month Report, a third reminder. We mention an agency art reception all those times as well, though I suspect many of our agencies don’t have it in their budget."

Series continues

2011-10-18T21:50:00.000-07:00

Here's another new painting in my latest series - variation on the blues of the last time. This one is 20 inches square.

The fun thing about working on these is, when you're up close and painting the details, you really can't see what's going on; the surface looks like a bunch of amorphic, unrelated shapes. The piece doesn't resolve visually until you're pretty much done. So it's like unwrapping a present, to finish up!

A change of pace

2011-10-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

This year has been an interesting reshuffling of my usual way of working in the studio. Typically I teach all year and paint all year and somehow, in the past, these two activities have meshed perfectly. But for the summer of 2011, several classes didn't run and I unexpectedly found myself with six weeks completely free.

Ordinarily this would have scared me, six weeks with no income. But luckily, about a month before I realized I wouldn't have my usual summer teaching load and paycheck, my mother had kindly given me a financial advice book called "How to Get What You Want In Life With the Money You Already Have" by Carol Keeffe. This book showed me how to prioritize my desires, plan my finances accordingly, and then forge ahead with confidence. So with my new financial plan in place, I was able to take advantage of this sudden "free" time and use every minute of it to devote to my studio practice.

Many wonderful paintings resulted. But by mid-August, I was DONE with painting and needed a break! At that time, I taught two intensive-level classes Monday through Friday 9 to 5, and from then until a week ago, I had NO desire to pick up a brush! I really needed a complete rest from painting. So rather than living a two-part life of painting while teaching, I did just one, and then just the other.

Interestingly, when the urge to paint returned last week, I started right back where I left off in early August, when I had completed the painting below:

And here is my most recent painting, completed a few days ago, inspired by the composition and techniques of the earlier piece, but using more varied colorations and a cool palette.

The next step will be to expand this painting to a larger scale (I just stretched a 40 inch square canvas this morning) and see how that turns out.

I found having my summers available just for painting to be such a productive arrangement that I have determined to save enough money during the fall, winter and spring semesters so that I can devote six weeks every summer entirely to my studio.

Squiggles talk and tour

2011-10-08T14:35:00.001-07:00

Join me on Thursday, October 13, during New Bedford's October AHA Night, for a talk and tour of the exhibit "Squiggles and Squares" at Artworks! We'll begin at 7 p.m.

Artworks is located at 384 Acushnet Avenue in Downtown New Bedford. For more information, call 508-984-1588 or visit www.artworksforyou.org.

For details on all the activities planned around the city for AHA Night, please visit the AHA website: www.ahanewbedford.org/calendar.html

Views of "Squiggles and Squares"

2011-09-25T15:47:00.001-07:00

Here are views of "Squiggles and Squares," the four-person show I've co-curated at Artworks Gallery in New Bedford, MA. (Photographs are taken by my husband Kevin.) The show is on exhibit until November 2; for more information, please visit www.artworksforyou.org.

Today was our opening reception, and here's the lineup of participating artists (left to right): Elin Noble, me, Adria Arch, and Jeanne Williamson.

Here's the entrance to the charming Artworks Gallery, facing a quaint cobble-stoned street:

This wall holds four pieces from my "Autumn Lines" series:

A view of "Constellation 1," a work on paper by Adria Arch:

Three wall sculptures by Adria Arch, "Soft Serve 2," "Creamsicle," and "Soft Serve 1":

Two pieces from Elin Noble's "Vox Stellarum" series:

Two pieces from Elin Noble's "Lake at Night" series:

Left wall, "The Fence As Lace #1" by Jeanne Williamson / center wall, "The Fence As Lace #2" by Jeanne Williamson / "Blue Glyph Column" by Adria Arch:

Left, "Seasonal Fences - Winter #1" through "#4" by Jeanne Williamson / center, "Blue Glyph Column" by Adria Arch / right, "Strawberry Frost, "Vanilla Frost," and "Lemon Frost" by Catherine Carter:

When rejection comes to town

2011-09-20T05:45:00.000-07:00

I’ve written a number of blog entries about the subject of rejection, an issue that artists confront all the time.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but I am coming to view rejection in a more circumspect way than ever before. True, it can hurt your feelings when you’re rejected. It’s only human to look at the folks who were accepted for an opportunity and think, “What have they got that I ain’t got?” (Other typical reactions include beating the table with your fist or digging a spoon deep into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.)

Last week I was rejected from an exhibition opportunity. Or rather, I experienced the newest version of rejection: “We only contact those who are accepted.” So on notification day, I clicked on my email inbox and heard the crickets chirp. I admit, in my fantasies, I was hoping the juror would take one look at the artwork I had entered, gasp with awe, clutch his throat, and instantly assign me the most visible wall in the gallery. But that didn’t happen.

Surprisingly, though, a realization presented itself to me as I stared at the “Your inbox is empty” message. It occurred to me that REJECTION IS AN OPPORTUNITY. It isn’t meant to hurt you. It is meant to serve as a roadmap for you to follow.

You see, I truly believe that every artist who is sincere about creating work that is an honest reflection of her experience, and who works with reasonable diligence to get this work out into the world, WILL find the right opportunities. The key is to find the RIGHT venues, based on your individual goals as an artist, and where your work fits in naturally and best.

So if you are making human-sized catnip mice out of felt as a statement about animal abuse, there is no sense in applying to show at the gallery inside the frame shop down the street. The frame shop owner might be a devoted cat-lover, and a sincere admirer of your work, but it doesn’t fit into his shop, literally or conceptually, and your application will be “rejected.”

If you are painting watercolors of the roses in your summer garden, there is no sense in applying to the stadium-sized avant-garde exhibition space in town. Not that your work isn’t wonderful -- there are many viewers who would be charmed by it – but your small studies would be lost in that giant space, and would not fit in with that particular gallery’s aesthetic.

I am starting to be truly honest with myself about where my work fits and where it doesn’t fit. And that doesn’t mean it’s bad or wrong for not fitting in to certain venues, it just means that it doesn’t fit, and it’s time to devote my energy to figuring out where it DOES fit. Because when it does fit, there is a beautiful synergy. The work complements the space; the space complements the work; and the administration, the audience, and the artist have a satisfying experience.

My job is to look at my work honestly, do my research thoroughly, and not get hung up on victim-oriented thoughts along the lines of, “He got in, why didn’t I? She shows there, why don’t I?” With these practical actions, and a little faith and luck thrown in, the key in your hand WILL open the right door.

ETA: A friend who also entered the juried show I referred to in this post told me that there were 1,200 entrants!

Early-autumn art jaunt

2011-09-10T03:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a chance to visit my dear friend and fellow painter Alma Cummings, so we could take in some art exhibits in Southcoast Massachusetts. Thankfully the pouring rain of the past few days had blown away, and sparkling sunshine lit our drive to Dedee Shattuck's glorious new (eponymous) gallery in Westport. What a wonderful space! The building and opening of this beautiful gallery is a dream come true for Dedee. It's also a dream come true for the viewer, as she is currently showing a stunning new series by Anne Leone. It's always a magical experience to view Anne's paintings of life-sized swimmers viewed from underwater, but her work finds its perfect display space here. Not only has Dedee hung them slightly above traditional height on the walls, so the swimmers truly appear to be floating in the water, but the brilliant sunshine streaming through the gallery windows highlights the sense of light from above the water's surface. What an exciting experience, to see this particular artwork in this particular space!

After a delicious burrito at No Problemo, Alma and I also visited a group show at the inviting Judith Klein Art Gallery in downtown New Bedford. Here were many wonderful artworks by artist couples who are also Southcoast residents. A wide variety of styles to savor.

A satisfying way to spend a beautiful early-fall day, seeing new art with an old friend. I'll be back to the area next week to hang artwork of my own in an upcoming four-person show at Artworks, also in downtown New Bedford.

What's the opposite of a hoarder?

2011-09-05T10:17:00.000-07:00

One way to prove that you're a serious artist is to have a lot of art books. That means you know all about these Way Important People in the Art World who are the subjects of the many books stacked on your shelves. This point was brought home to me when I was flipping through a fall fashion magazine recently and found the following Macy's ad. Now THIS is what a smart art person's wall looks like, right?

Well, I'm going to have to buck the trend. I have always been one of those "less is more" people when it comes to Stuff. Hoarding is supposedly a mental illness; whatever its cause, I am the exact opposite. Whenever I sense that I have too many things, I feel stuck mentally, like my brain is clouded and I can't think or plan any more. But as soon as I take a pile of clothes to Goodwill or a few books to the library's donation room, I feel much freer and able to see how to move forward in my life in general.

So, as opposed to the ad in the picture, I have managed to winnow my books down to the two bookcases pictured below. And frankly, most of these books I don't even look at; either they are books I had when I was a child or they were given to me by someone I love, so I keep them for sentimental reasons. There are a few things I read on a regular basis: biographies or autobiographies of Jack Kerouac, Phil Ochs, Suzanne Farrell and Allegra Kent. I also re-read "Sister Carrie" by Theodore Dreiser and "Maggie, Girl of the Streets" by Stephen Crane. But that's about it. My theory is, I can always look something up on line, or check a book out of the library.

I have to admit, though, my favorite blog is called Yard Sale Bloodbath. I guess I get a vicarious thrill ...

New page showing corporate collections

2011-09-04T04:55:00.001-07:00

I just designed this new page of images showing my work in corporate settings, to include in contact applications to art consultants. Pretty spiffy, if I do say so myself! Let's hope it helps net continued success.

The lineup

2011-09-02T11:26:00.001-07:00

I’m using my dining room to start lining up all the work I’m intending to take to an upcoming show, and it’s interesting to note that all of the works I’ve made for the past year seem to go so well together. I have developed certain techniques and the use of certain colors as the time has gone by, but my direction has remained the same over this course of time.

New painting inventory site

2011-08-01T04:13:00.000-07:00

I have finally solved an ongoing conundrum. I want to present my work to galleries in a way that shows my latest series and reflects a cohesive and thoroughly explored artistic direction. Art consultants, however, don't particularly care how recent or cohesive the work is, just so long as it presents an attractive picture in the space their client wants filled. But my goal as an artist is to both exhibit my work through gallerists and curators AS WELL AS sell it through art consultants.

Further complicating this distinction is the fact that I have a wide variety of series from over the years that, taken as a whole, might seem unfocused. And while I don't want to stick images of everything but the kitchen sink onto my website, that means that my older paintings could end up languishing in storage if they're not seen on line.

Then I got the idea to create a site specifically for art consultants, and since their projects often involve placing artwork in an already decorated room with an established color scheme, I decided to arrange the works by color.

So here's my new inventory site: http://catherinecarterpaintinginventory.blogspot.com/

Now, to get the word out, to the consultants I already work with as well as new contacts ...

Emerging

2011-07-28T09:30:00.001-07:00

Today I finished these three paintings (56" high), after working on them and some similar smaller ones for the past 6 weeks. I have just brought them up from the room that, in a "normal" house, is supposed to be the basement, but in my house is a studio. And they are now on display in the room that, in a "normal" house, is supposed to be the dining room, but in my house is a showroom (for when gallerists, consultants or curators come to call) and also a photography area.

It's great to get a new perspective on them, see them together without all the flotsam and jetsam of the studio nearby ... plus get some pictures of them so I can send them on their next trip ... out into the world.

McQueen the Master

2011-07-24T06:50:00.000-07:00

Saw the exhibit "Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty" at the Metropolitan Museum of Art yesterday, and I was awestruck. It was a display of genius: genius of vision and genius of ability.

The wait to get into the show was one hour, even after we'd bought tickets on line (we were told "two hours" at the entry to the museum), but I was with a wonderful companion so it seemed more like a few minutes.

The line snaked through various galleries in the museum, causing us to pass many great paintings and be able to stand in front of them for 10 minutes at a time without having to move aside so someone else could see, like you would in a usual viewing situation. I was particularly fascinated by Jules Bastien-Lepage's "Joan of Arc" (below). Joan is life-sized in this painting, so you can imagine it as a real scene before your eyes. Later, I couldn't help thinking that Joan of Arc would have made a perfect subject of inspiration for Alexander McQueen; her life had all the drama, otherworldliness, transformation, and reference to visual and literal texture (chain mail, silk, fringe, linen, rope, blood, fire) that appear in his work.

We also were lucky enough to see, among a rush of other masterpieces, Richard Serra's magnificent drawing show and a room filled with paintings by Lucien Freud. Quite enough to make your heart beat and your imagination soar!

I did have to laugh, though. When I asked for directions upon arrival at the museum, I almost asked about "Steve McQueen"! (When I confessed my near-mistake to the security guard, she smiled and said everyone does that.)

ETA: My co-traveler has written a post about our experience on her blog, here.

Square turns to triptych

2011-07-21T04:21:00.000-07:00

I liked the square painting that I finished on Monday, so I decided to turn it into yet another triptych. Each one is 20 inches square.

I'm finding these small works to be a nice shift from the larger pieces I made earlier this month. Despite the soaring temperatures outside, I can sit in my studio and peacefully paint the fine details into these easy-to-reach little canvases. And I sit right in front of a fan, listening to Christopher Timothy read James Herriott's "All Creatures Great and Small." An idyllic way to ride out a summer heat wave!

New square

2011-07-18T16:17:00.000-07:00

Another new painting, completed this afternoon. I've used some of the techniques I've developed in my recent "striped" pieces to make this "overall pattern" type of composition (20 inches square).

Here's a detail:

New triptych

2011-07-17T03:33:00.001-07:00

Completed the third piece of this triptych this morning (each one is 20" H x 14" W):

Should I stay or should I go?

2011-07-14T06:54:00.001-07:00

One of the hardest things about painting is deciding how to proceed when things aren’t going swimmingly. At that stage, you have to choose between two distinct directions: either you keep working (and risk wasting time and supplies on a dead end) or you chuck it (allowing yourself to move on to something new armed with the knowledge you’ve just gained).

You don’t want to give up too soon, before the image reveals itself. But you also don’t want to “beat a dead horse,” so to speak.

I’ve made both decisions over the past week, with two different paintings, and I feel satisfied that I made the right choice in each case. But the fact that they came right on the heels of one another reminded me of what a dramatic (and quite personal) part of the creative process they represent.

I had a large painting going over the weekend and it just STUNK. Unfortunately I had worked on the most crucial part in my process, laying down the colored stripes, at a time when I was very emotionally upset about something. I was so freaked out about this personal matter that it clouded my decision-making process, and once those colors had been laid down, it was hard to change them completely.

So I tried painting over the painting with a solid color, figuring I’d start again. But it took two coats to cover all of the dark-valued tones on the surface, and by the time those two layers had been applied, the surface was completely smooth. There was no longer any way for me to play with the canvas texture, which is an important part of the “look” I am trying to achieve with this series.

This was an easy decision to make, since the painting had three strikes against it: mottled starting ground, surface too smooth for interesting marks, ugly second try. I grabbed my scissors and felt immense relief as I removed the offending canvas from its stretcher bars.

And you know what? This decision led to another large canvas that turned out WONDERFULLY. I had learned many things from that last flame-out, and was thrilled with the result of this new one.

Then the opposite happened yesterday. I had been working on 56” H x 50” W canvases, and I decided to try some small examples of this series as well. (Always good to keep those compositional muscles in fighting trim.) So I stretched three 20” H x 14” W canvases and jumped in.

The first canvas got to an ugly stage. Muddy colors, no interesting distance relationships, blobs where I had wanted lines. I tried a number of remedies, none of which worked. Then I started to feel sleepy, so I stopped to take a nap. While I was napping, I thought of a whole new direction I might want to go in, so I returned to the studio, planning to grab the scissors and start again on a fresh strip of cloth.

But when I saw the current painting hanging on the wall, there were a few things about it that I really liked and that I knew I couldn’t ever duplicate exactly. So I added a second layer of color to one section and completely recolored another section, thus managing to reshape some of the lines. MUCH BETTER. I’m really glad I continued working on this one. (Shown below.) Whereas the previous one was just going nowhere and would have been nothing but a waste of time to continue pushing.

Another of the wonderful things about being a painter. You are constantly traveling down the pathway of discovery and being faced with that crucial question: should I change directions or is it just a matter of continuing on until I find what I’m looking for? An ongoing adventure, that’s what it feels like to me.

Identity

2011-07-11T04:14:00.001-07:00

As you know if you read my blog with any regularity, I am currently in my 49th year, and the anticipation of turning 50 in 11 months is causing me to do a lot of soul-searching.

It interests me to recollect that while my identity today and for the last 17 years has been totally involved in my art, this was not so for a long time during my life. When I was growing up, I loved to draw. But somewhere along the line, I lost my identity as an artist. I took art classes here and there throughout my 20s, but life's responsibilities (particularly financial ones) pushed my creativity to the fringes of my existence, where it languished.

Things got particularly bleak by 1991, when I was 29. I was working full time as a secretary and hadn't done any drawing in years. I had totally lost myself and felt confused and depressed. Then one morning in 1993, the sun came up, the light shone on my path, and suddenly everything made sense. One step at a time, I strode toward my destiny as an artist. I earned a bachelor's degree, I earned a master's degree, I set up a studio and an art-making schedule, and I began to show and sell my work. It was like that gap between being a little girl and playing with my art supplies every day, and being a professional artist working in my studio, had never happened.

But it did happen, and in a way, I'm glad. It was painful to feel so lost for so long, but that fallow period made me more compassionate toward my students, especially my female students. I teach young women in high school or college who know deep down that they want to become artists, but they are afraid to commit to such an unstable career and are tempted to follow their families' urgings to major in something they don't care as much about but that promises a solid living. I teach busy mothers who are frustrated that their art-making has had to take a back seat to family commitments (and often, full-time jobs in addition). And I teach retired women who look back with pride on their lives devoted to their families, communities, and workplaces, but who wonder how to find their inner artist selves which have been denied over the decades of giving to others.

I understand the soul-searching that all of these age groups are going through. But I know that if I can figure it out, so can they.

I've come across a number of portraits that my husband has taken of me over the years, which reveal how literally wrapped up in painting my life has been since I found myself in 1993.

Me at age 5 (taken by my Grandpa, the other portrait photographer in my life):

Me at age 35, finally an artist again after 30 years:

Me at age 42, 7 years later:

Me at age 49, 7 years later (taken last week):

It's in the cards

2011-07-08T23:54:00.001-07:00

Life’s lessons can show up anywhere, in places where you least expect them.

My mother-in-law used to like to play a card game called Skip-Bo, and my husband and I used to play it with her when we would visit her in Virginia. Lately Kevin and I have taken to playing a few rounds together most evenings. I like this game because it doesn’t require any brilliant strategizing; winning is the result of getting the right cards at the right time.

While waiting for my husband to take his turn during a recent game, it occurred to me that the rules of Skip-Bo are also very applicable to the unpredictability of life in general, and my lifestyle in particular.

As someone whose paychecks come from part-time, come-what-may teaching gigs and painting sales, there is a good deal of uncertainty in my life from one month to the next and even one week to the next. My way of dealing with this has been to be a super-organized over-planner, with charts and lists running all the time. I guess it makes me feel like I have some measure of control. In particular, I have always kept calendars with the upcoming six months visible all at once posted on the wall beside my desk. This way, I always know what’s coming up tomorrow, next week, next month, and several months down the road.

I realized as I was playing Skip-Bo the other night that, not only does this hyper-vigilance about my schedule and what’s coming up make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t actually prepare me for whatever ultimately comes (which isn’t always what I’ve written on the calendar).

At first when playing Skip-Bo, I started out constantly scanning my cards and anticipating the various scenarios that might come up, depending on what cards my husband played and what cards I might pick up when my turn came. But after playing the game for a while, I realized that this was a waste of time, as I couldn’t predict what would actually be in front of me, on the table and in my hands, when it came time to play my cards. So I stopped this advance problem-solving, and started enjoying chatting with my husband and listening to the fun music we play in the background while we’re playing cards.

As soon as I thought of this, I removed my pages and pages of calendars from the wall, and I instantly felt better. I no longer looked at it all the time and felt like a failure if it was too empty, or concerned about how I’d get everything done if it was too full.

Since that calendar came down, I am much more relaxed about life in general. I’m not constantly “running my motor” mentally, trying to figure out what might happen if a certain chain of events occurs. I have a much more “come what may” attitude about my life, and I seem to be better able to enjoy each day on its own merits rather than concerning myself with how that day’s events might affect some future experience.

Maybe I’m just generally getting older and wiser. Maybe I've lived long enough to know that it's OK to let go, at least a little bit. I figure it’s a sign that there are lessons to be learned even from a little pack of cards.

Sprucing up

2011-07-07T00:02:00.001-07:00

A little updating: a new homepage on my website, pictured below, thanks to Jeanne at Thread Media Inc., and a new portrait for my website's About page, thanks to my husband Kevin's talent with a camera. It's funny how the "look" of your website can seem attached to your sense of identity! I feel like I just got a new haircut or bought a new coat.

Petey Motherwell

2011-07-04T11:25:00.000-07:00

See any similarities?

Last year at this time

2011-07-03T04:43:00.001-07:00

Exactly one year ago, I spent the July 4th weekend finishing up a three-piece series in what was then a whole new style for me (shown below). I called this grouping the "Desert Series" for color and compositional reasons: the warm earthy palette, the strong horizontal direction of the bars of lines, and the open spaces between them seemed to refer to the desert landscape. (Confession: I have never been farther west than Illinois or farther south than Mississippi, but this is basically what deserts look like in picture books and Roadrunner cartoons.)

Contrary to my usual Gemini predilection for jumping from one artistic impulse to another, it's impressive that I've managed to stick with this particular color scheme and format. One year later, it has culminated in the "Autumn Lines Series" (3 of the 10 paintings in this series shown below). There must be something about working this way that is true to me, that I really mean to say, since it has sustained my interest and energy for a year (despite a few detours with silver spray-paint last January). I'm pleased to note that, during that time period, my use of color has become more subtle and individualized, and my compositions have become more carefully considered, yet I have maintained my signature line quality. Perseverance does pay off!

The right tool for the job

2011-06-28T03:49:00.000-07:00

Under the category of "I wish someone had told me this, but no one did, so I'm telling you": When wrapping and/or shipping artwork, use BROWN CELLOPHANE TAPE to secure the bubble wrap around the painting. It holds the bubble wrap firmly in place, but peels off easily so you can reuse the bubble wrap. Masking tape, clear cellophane tape, and certainly duct tape stick so stickily to the bubble wrap that they only rip it up when you try to remove them. This is what professional art movers use.

Article on professors' retirement

2011-06-27T17:58:00.001-07:00

Here's an article I wrote for The New Bedford Standard-Times on the retirement of two painting professors from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, which appeared in the paper on June 25.

Bill Elliott, one of the retirees interviewed for the article, was my adviser when I was a graduate student at the university from 1995-97. I have always felt that it was because of him that I got where I am today, as it was his agreeing to work with me that allowed me to attend graduate school. I remember when I first received the letter saying I had been accepted to the school, and I called him up to arrange a meeting. I was nervous: it was a big step to go from full-time secretary in Boston to full-time painting student in New Bedford. But when Bill picked up the phone and I heard that warm, rumbling voice on the other end of the line, I heaved a huge sigh of relief and knew I was doing the right thing. As my adviser, he was unfailingly encouraging and trustworthy, just a pleasure to chat with. It was a nurturing start to my career as a professional painter.

Pictured is the building at 1213 Purchase Street, where graduate fine art studios were located when I attended. The school has since moved to the renovated Star Store building at 715 Purchase Street.

Looming large

2011-06-24T02:52:00.000-07:00

Still a few finishing touches to go, but I've mostly completed the first in a group of 56" high by 50" wide paintings. As I've mentioned in earlier blog posts, I've felt an undeniable urge lately to expand the size of my canvases, the result of increased confidence as an artist and the desire to say what I mean more clearly and boldly. I also feel as though the bigger scale will avail opportunities for display in more serious exhibition spaces. We'll see ... meanwhile, off to an exciting start!

ETA: It's interesting to note, for any of you color theorists, that the yellow-white inside the bottom row of loops and along the top of the canvas is THE SAME COLOR. I don't know yet if it's the lighting setup or an optical illusion created by the colors nearby, but they appear to be very different. The one at the top looks almost like an orangey-cream, and the one inside the loops looks like pure white.

Trek to Chelsea

2011-06-18T15:10:00.001-07:00

Had a wonderful visit to Manhattan yesterday with three artist friends. After the bus deposited us near Madison Square Garden, we treked over to Chelsea to visit galleries, and our walk included a number of blocks over the newly completed section of the High Line. Such a lovely view of nature in the city, with fine views of the surrounding buildings made possible by the elevated location of the pathway. (Below, a photo of us on our walk, taken by my fellow traveler Laraine Armenti.)

Both Laraine (on her blog, here) and another of our companions, Jeanne Williamson (on her blog, here) have detailed our journey, Laraine with photographs and Jeanne with a complete listing of the galleries and shows we visited.

All in all a fun and stimulating adventure! As I wrote in the blog entry on my last trip to NYC, I now return to my studio inspired by the artwork I saw on display as well as the general energy of that vibrant city. Can't wait to get back to the series of large canvases I started last week. I even dreamed of some new painting ideas during the bus ride home!

Wonderful news

2011-06-07T14:01:00.000-07:00

The Boston Public Library has purchased three of my works on paper! Details here.

Morning has broken

2011-06-06T04:03:00.000-07:00

A peaceful morning begins in my studio. The sun is gently rising over the open, green backyard. The birds are stirring, but not much else. I've just applied the first layers on a new canvas.

I'm starting a new series on larger-than-usual canvases; the one on my table is 56" high x 40" wide. I usually work on smaller surfaces, like 40" x 30", but I realize that size is too restrictive for me right now. With that realization, even the 56x40 seems small! In fact, I've applied for a grant that would cover the purchase of 72" x 60" canvases. We'll see what comes!

But right now, there is just ... right now. Me, this painting, and a new day.

Wrapping up, moving on

2011-06-05T07:04:00.001-07:00

I’m very pleased: the proposal for a four-person show that I submitted to a local non-profit exhibition space has been accepted, and we have been offered a slot this fall. It is a lovely space, and I know our work together there is going to look GREAT.

As this opportunity has come through, I am wrapping up a number of exhibit and grant applications that include my latest “Autumn” series, pictured in the last blog entry.

I’m completing the final steps: printing out the application letters and artist statements that I have worked so hard on, and printing out images of the paintings I have worked so hard on. It occurs to me now that the labor has been finished; now there’s only one more ingredient that’s needed in the process, and that’s for the decision-makers to like my work.

And that is the one thing that you can’t MAKE happen. You can paint the best paintings you know how (in my opinion, this means the most honestly reflective of your experience and what you mean to say). You can have the work photographed as well as possible. You can write about the work as succinctly as possible. You can follow the application guidelines as carefully as possible. But at some point, you have to let your efforts go, send them out into the world, and allow the process to continue in someone else’s hands.

It’s a relief, in a way, to know that you’ve done all you can, and the rest is up to … whatever you want to call it: God, Fate, or good old-fashioned Luck.

We’ll have to wait and see! As for now I’ll be turning my attention to the new blank canvases waiting for me in the studio. I have a summer full of painting planned, and I’m very excited about that too.

"Autumn Lines" series

2011-05-27T16:34:00.001-07:00

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

2011-05-25T01:38:00.001-07:00

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

2011-05-22T20:16:00.001-07:00

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 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

2011-05-22T03:06:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-05-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-13T14:15:00.001-07:00

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!

2011-05-02T07:08:00.001-07:00

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.")

Anticipation, Anticipa-a-tion

2011-04-28T06:26:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure he was referring to his love life and not the details of an art career when he sang "the waiting is the hardest part," but Tom Petty certainly was voicing how I'm feeling these days.

Maybe because it's spring, with all that energy and anticipation in the air. But I feel like I've been doing nothing but wait, wait, wait, all winter long and right into the warm weather! I have the possibility of sales to 2 major collections, but I've been waiting to hear about their decisions for many months. And I have a possible sale and a possible reproduction arrangement pending with 2 art consultants, which I've been waiting to hear about for a month.

I know, calm down, calm down. Patience is a virtue. Waiting is part of being an artist. I keep telling myself that. I've tried to distract and redirect my attention and efforts by focusing on making a series of new paintings I'm excited about (latest one, see above). I have even entered 2 juried shows, even though I had vowed to stop doing that (hangs head in embarrassment).

And I'm preparing to send out a series of applications, 1 for an artist-in-residence program, 1 for a publication opportunity, and 3 separate grants, with 2 more possible grants to investigate.

Still, I feel like, come ON! Let's get this show on the road!! Waiting is indeed the hardest part, as Tom says ...

Next one in series

2011-04-23T03:27:00.000-07:00

Latest series continues (acrylic on canvas, 44" H x 30" W), finished last night:

After creating 7 of these, I'm planning 3 more, with the same limited palette (1 yellow, 1 orange, 1 brown) to see where it will take me color-wise, then I plan to re-evaluate where I'm at. I might either try a similarly composed series using 3 cool colors, or continue with these colors on a larger format (56" H x 40" W are the stretcher bar sizes I have on hand).

BTW, this is why I could/would never be a photographer, and why I admire photographers so much. I noticed this wonderful view in my house, a grouping of clip lights and the shadows they cast, and thought, "Doesn't that look interesting!" So I took a photo ... and it's a big YAWN. Maybe the camera flattens out the image somehow, or the lighting comes out differently in a photo from the way it looks in real life ...

Anyway, my hat is off to anyone who can take great (even barely decent) pictures!

The positive power of negativity

2011-04-21T02:59:00.001-07:00

I grew up with parents who were extremely kind and encouraging to me. So it came as somewhat of a shock when I left home at 18 and realized that the rest of the world wasn’t quite so warm and fuzzy. As a young woman living in the city (Boston), some of the verbal zingers I was hit with – at school, at work, or just out in public in general – stunned me. Sometimes a hurtful remark, either directed toward me personally or simply at me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, would take me days to get over.

Yet as I look back on my younger years, certain negative remarks or experiences actually produced a positive change, providing me with an insight that provoked a productive action in response. (Besides my learning to give a Bronx cheer or flip the bird.)

There was the co-worker who told me she didn’t want to hang around with me any more because I was so negative (which caused me to re-examine and finally cease what was then my constant gossiping, and that made me a far more contented person and sought-after companion). There was the professor who told me I would never get into graduate school (who steeled my resolve, and ultimately I earned an M.F.A. with a 3.88 G.P.A.). There was the boss who was so critical and rude that I decided to leave what was otherwise a wonderful job (which caused me to discover an entirely new and ultimately far more satisfying career in teaching).

Being criticized has even helped me with my self-confidence, if you can believe that. I have always been uncomfortable about my appearance. Even though I love clothes, I’ve often felt shy about standing out, and so I’ve tended to wear muted or dark colors and simple, body-covering styles.

All that changed when I got up the nerve to buy a hot-pink skirt about a year ago. The color just called to me, and I couldn’t resist. I was so excited to wear it! But when I did, one of my co-workers made a negative remark about how the color was too bright.

At first I thought, “She’s right, maybe it’s a little too garish.” And I contemplated taking the skirt to the Goodwill bin.

But over the course of several days, it dawned on me. The person who said this to me had no sense of style. She was NOT someone I want to look like. Why would I want to take her fashion advice? And furthermore, why would I want to assign her any credibility at all?

Since then, I’ve made it my business to find as many bright colors and mix as many prints and patterns as I can. And I’m loving it! Every day is an adventure, as I open my closet door and try to figure out what new and unexpected combinations I can come up with.

Case in point, I found this wonderful blouse (below) at a thrift store yesterday. I tried it on, and I felt like a wild bird. The brilliant colors and snazzy trimmed hem brought a smile to my face. I would never have had the nerve to wear something like this before my shrew co-worker made that ignorant remark. Now, I can’t wait to wear it! Not only because I think it’s beautiful and I want to bring beauty into the world, but also because it’s like an “f--- you” to that co-worker and any other critical, joyless people lurking out there.

I wish every lesson I learned could be like my childhood, the good old days, when my parents would tell me how well I was doing and only if absolutely necessary make gentle corrections to my behavior. But even if the world doesn’t always work like that, it’s instructive to me to realize that there are lessons even in adverse situations.

My review of the MFA Thesis Show 2011 at UMass Dartmouth

2011-04-16T05:36:00.000-07:00

My review of the MFA Thesis Show 2011 at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth appears in today's edition of the New Bedford Standard-Times:

Please click here to read.

Rolling along

2011-04-15T01:21:00.000-07:00

Hitting my stride with this ongoing series. You can see the origins of these particular canvases here, in this post from a few weeks ago. So happy with these three, and the three in the series that preceded them, that I'm going to go on with more in this size with these colors. Let's keep exploring how much further we can go in this direction!

Bridging two worlds

2011-04-09T06:23:00.001-07:00

Somewhere along the line, in my development as an artist, I got the idea that precision was wrong.

I always had a facility for drawing tight details, which I developed throughout high school with carefully rendered fashion illustrations. I continued to work this way as I went on to earn a diploma in fashion design, creating drawings like the one below, with each fleck of the tweed a tap of the marker tip on the page. These drawings took hours and hours, even days, and I loved making them.

Perhaps the trouble started when I decided I wanted to study fine art. I still remember the horrified look on the admissions counselor’s face at the Art Institute of Boston when she saw my fashion drawings. (That was what I included in the application for my interview, since I had just graduated from fashion school and had worked very hard on my portfolio.) I think she thought I was drawing in that style because I didn’t know how to draw realistic figures, rather than the truth, which was that I had been intentionally aiming for a stylized “fashion figure.”

“You won’t be able to transfer any credits,” she said gravely as she continued to flip through my portfolio and shake her head.

Being young and impressionable, I absorbed her opinion that there must be something non-artistic, not valid about these drawings. Rather than question her, I decided that this program was just what I needed, and threw myself into my fine art studies.

As I went through art school, I tried very hard never to work tightly and with detail in my artwork. I figured that had to be “wrong.” What was “right” was working loosely, intuitively, with flowing gestures and generalized shapes. And since working this way seemed to come as naturally to me as working in tight detail had, I just went with it.

I was further steered in the “fine art and illustration don’t mix” direction when I had this interview after graduate school.

But I had an epiphany when I was making a demonstration painting a few weeks ago for one of my watercolor classes. I had been teaching watercolor for years, and always approached it with my art school “loose is good” training. I got frustrated when doing demonstrations for my students because my watercolors always lacked finesse; in fact, they just looked like a mess. I figured I just wasn’t a good watercolorist.

For this recent class, though, I wanted my students to learn to follow intricate nooks and crannies, so I had each of them paint a closeup of a spinach leaf. Since it was a new project idea and I didn’t have an example to show the students, I worked on the project along with them during class.

I instinctively grabbed a tiny pointed brush -- the kind I would have avoided like the plague in art school -- and proceeded to go back in time to reconnect with that ability to describe fine detail that had been my forte since high school. And I came up with this wonderful painting, the best watercolor I’d ever done.

I am happy to say that this acceptance of detail has spilled over into my “real” painting in my studio. I have been able to combine the loose, flowing quality I’ve been working with since graduate school, with the tiny brush details I’ve recently rediscovered. The contrast of loose and tight has made for a new and exciting direction for me, as evidenced in my newest artworks (like the one below, just completed).

I have to say, growing older is turning out to be a wonderful experience for me. As each day and month and year passes, I throw away more and more of the assumptions of my youth, the misconceptions I gleaned from others, either their wrong-thinking or my misinterpretation of what they meant. Either way, it’s very freeing, and is revealing the true me, what I honestly believe and what I am capable of.

Professional shots of Frosty Series

2011-04-06T03:11:00.001-07:00

Some lovely finished shots of my Frosty series, fresh from the photographer's. These works are acrylic and spray paint on canvas, 30" H x 20" W. Top to bottom, "Lemon Frost," "Mint Frost," "Strawberry Frost."

A sublime moment in the studio

2011-04-03T07:21:00.001-07:00

I admit; sometimes, I get fed up with a life devoted to making art.

My friends’ kids right out of college make twice as much money a year as I do, and they get a pension and health insurance.

I save every penny I earn to buy art supplies. Things that others buy because they want them or because they need them -- a car, a couch, a washing machine, a trip -- are off my list, since that's the only way I can afford the materials to make my art.

I don’t even tell new people I meet – at a party or when I go to the dentist – that I’m a painter, because they either think I mean that I paint houses, or else they think I make landscape paintings to sell at gift shops. Instead I tell them I teach art, even though that’s what I do for a living, but it’s not my “real” career.

Sometimes I get frustrated and wish I was a plumber or an accountant. Something normal and average and easy to define.

But then I have moments in the studio, like I did just now, and I thank God that I am an artist.

I just had a sublime couple of hours of painting. Yes, I had to check the clock to see how long I’d actually been in the studio, because time had ceased to exist.

It was just me and the paint and the canvas. I knew generally what I wanted to say, and of course my years of training and practice came into play for technical issues such as how to mix certain colors or how thickly to apply the paint. But the painting itself was telling me clearly how to deviate from what I already knew, telling me exactly what to do, and I followed.

Reach for a bigger brush. More of this color here. Blend here. OK, now stop. Touch up the bottom edge. Now that section is dry; go back over it with this color.

It was a magical experience that no amount of money, adulation, or anything else of this earth could touch.

When I was finished, I knew I had made something Important and Valuable (at least, to me). It was a painting that only I could have made, that only someone with my exact experience and ability could have assembled. My own personal muse was with me, and it all came together.

It’s nice to have a cool-looking piece of canvas wrapped around four wooden stretcher bars as something tangible to show that I had this experience. But what really matters is that in my mind and heart, I know I had the experience. I felt it.

It’s times like these that make every minute of sacrifice in the rest of my life worthwhile. My lifestyle, while perhaps weird or Spartan to the rest of the world, makes it possible for me to have these gifts of creativity in the studio.

A good start

2011-04-02T03:21:00.000-07:00

Had a productive evening in the studio last night. These are the first stages of making 3 additional paintings in my Desert Series (three of the older paintings in the series, made in July 2010, appear in the background).

Here's a full shot of one of the older paintings; each one is acrylic on canvas, 44" H x 30" W:

Don't give it away!

2011-03-30T05:00:00.001-07:00

We've all been through this as artists. Someone asks you to speak to their group, review their show, critique their work, etc. And they don't mention payment in their request.

Maybe they honestly mean to pay you, and they just haven't included the topic in the initial conversation. Maybe they are cheap and hope they won't have to pay you at all. Maybe they are ignorant and think artists perform these types of services gratis. How do you politely handle this situation without 1. giving up what might good opportunity over a misunderstanding, 2. agreeing to something and finding yourself scrambling over the subject of money afterward, or 3. losing your temper and yelling, "You ignorant slob!"?

My friend Wendy offers this ideal solution.

Reply politely that you will get back to them on it as soon as possible. Then contact them with a professional and upbeat email message, listing your hourly rate and saying that it would be a pleasure to work with them.

If they decline in their response or don't respond at all, you will know that they were not willing to hire you at these rates, and so you have saved everyone time and trouble and perhaps even educated them that artists are professionals and deserve to be paid as such.

But perhaps they will agree to pay what you ask, which will give you the pleasure of being paid fairly for what you do best.

From making illustrations for no payment when I was fresh out of design school, to being asked to speak to a college class for free, to being asked to write a review for free, to spending more than a year insisting on being paid an honorarium that I had been promised ... I've definitely seen what NOT to do, so I very much appreciate Wendy's solution.

Back in gear

2011-03-25T22:55:00.000-07:00

There are a number of hopeful signs that my art career has resumed its forward motion: a couple of consultants have clients interested in my work, so I'll be doing some dropping off next week. I'm also taking 5 pieces from my recent silver series to the photographer's next week (here they are, all lined up and ready to hit the road, below):

Studio happenings in March

2011-03-19T00:40:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned in this earlier blog post, my art career stuff has slowed down, and therefore I am using this as an opportunity to plunge in to a bunch of new series, ONLY with a care toward what I feel like doing rather than what I am obligated to do.

Interestingly enough, now that my mind is clear and not bogged down with any specific exhibition or application deadlines or expectations, definite creative steps are presenting themselves to me. I have four series going at once, all quite different, but they are all an important part of what I want to say right now.

First, I have just had a taste of the creme de la creme of spray paints, and now I can never go back! (It's like eating your first piece of Godiva chocolate, when you're used to M&Ms.) I usually use Krylon, but they have recently redesigned their caps so that it's hard to get any specific sized marks. Enter Montana Gold!! This brand of spray paint goes on much more smoothly and solidly, it's far more comfortable to work with (i.e. the nozzle depresses more easily, so I don't have to tape my fingers to avoid blisters), and it comes with a series of caps that produce lines in different widths. (Plus it's not as smelly.) Heavenly!

I bought one can in "Mustard" color, and started to try it out, as shown below, in a 20" square collage. But I like the possibilities of this painting so much that instead I am going to cover more fabric with spray paint lines and collage the cut pieces onto a 40" square canvas. Tomorrow, the garage becomes a spray paint booth again! :-)

Next, I've finished 6 paintings in the Tapestry series (example of one of them, below), and I wanted to created 6 more in a cool color version. I tried making the painting below but wasn't satisfied with the colors. So I worked out a better color scheme on paper, and am going to test that out on an actual canvas this weekend.

I've finished 5 in the Frosty series (example below), so now I have Lemon, Vanilla, Raspberry, Strawberry and Pistachio. Since they have a very reflective silver surface, they are going to need to head to the professional photographer's. They are all wrapped in their little plastic raincoats, ready for the trip.

I also have plans to expand the shoe drawings I've done so far into a more specific series of illustrations with a more conceptual twist. More on that to come.

I have to admit, it feels strange to be doing all this for no specific purpose. I think this is the first time since graduate school (1997!) that I have worked so diligently without any definite end purpose for the work, such as a planned show, sales opportunity, or invitation to apply for something. It's like taking steps in the dark, guided only by my creative muse. But creating with this kind of intensity is what I live for ... it's what I work at my day jobs for, it's what I have simplified my life for. I can't not do it, illogical as that may sound.

My review of "Beauty in the Beast" at Gallery X

2011-03-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

Here is my review of "Beauty in the Beast," currently on view at Gallery X in New Bedford. It appeared in today's edition of Coastin' in the New Bedford Standard-Times:

"Beauty in the Beast" review

My little pretties

2011-03-14T01:38:00.001-07:00

I am not generally one of those artists who finds it hard to part with a painting once it's sold. I feel as though my experience with the painting happens while I'm in the process of making it. Once it's finished, the relationship is finished. I'm just as glad to part with it and move on to the next visual experience. (And I am certainly glad of the income because then I can buy more art supplies.)

That said, however, there are some paintings that I love so much that I would never part with them. Looking at them as a group, I'm not sure exactly why I want to keep these particular works, while the other perfectly nice paintings could go at any time as far as I'm concerned. Somehow, I said what I wanted to say with them, thoroughly, and I feel satisfied with them as finished products, as representative of what I am about as an artist and a person.

Do you have trouble parting with your paintings? Aside from the conventional wisdom that an artist should hold onto a certain number of her best works, are there some that you would keep just because you love them, no matter how much someone offered to pay for them? Do you know WHY you love those particular paintings over others, or is it some unidentifiable quality about them that you love?

Below: "Web," Acrylic and spray paint on fabric on canvas, 28" square, 2003.

Below: "Weave," Acrylic and spray paint on fabric on canvas, 20" square, 2003.

Below: "Seaweed," Acrylic on fabric on canvas, 20" H x 28" W, 2008.

Below: "Wet Web," Acrylic on canvas, 10" H x 8" W, 2008.

Below: "Niche," Acrylic on fabric on canvas, 60" H x 38" W, 1997.

Budget strategies at tax time

2011-03-09T06:20:00.001-08:00

Just now I went through the annual process of itemizing my art-related deductions in preparation for sending tax materials off to the accountant.

I usually do this in haste in April, and because I’m rushing against a deadline, I don’t have time to really pay attention to what that pile of receipts is trying to tell me. But this year, as I’m a little earlier than usual, I had more time to think about each expenditure as I entered it onto my list.

Here are some of my conclusions:

The advent of digital has certainly meant good things for my wallet. I used to spend almost $500 a year in postage, mailing packets to apply for grant and exhibition opportunities. Between my digital camera, my computer and various types of software, I can send jpgs on line, in a flash, for free. It’s a whole new world! (And I’m not even talking about all the money that had to be laid out for film and developing, folders and envelopes, gas and time to drive to the post office, hours spent sticking labels on slides, etc.) ETA: Check out painter Kathy Hodge's blog post on this topic, if you want to appreciate how much improved things are!

My $30 investment last year of Flick!, an art inventory software, was worth every penny. SO much easier to keep track of what I have, SO much faster to update this information.

Remember to save ALL receipts. Sometimes I go to a general store like K-Mart to buy toiletries or household stuff, but I also buy art-related items like tape, brushes or rolls of plastic.

I’m very good at writing down mileage, as my friend Jeanne gave me the idea of keeping a notebook in my car, specifically for this purpose. That way, every time you start your engine, you remember to consider if anything on your upcoming route is art-related so you can quickly jot it down.

Here are some ideas I’ve decided on to help save myself money in the future (i.e. starting NOW), after going through all of my receipts:

Stop entering juried shows. I make this resolution on an annual basis, but I always fall for at least one show a year. This year I only succumbed to the urge once, but that meant a $30 application fee. I could have bought a gallon of gel medium with that $30! My new motto is: “If there’s a fee, it’s not for me.” I’m perfectly happy to split the profits 50/50 with a gallerist or consultant, but I will not pay to have my work considered for exhibition. At this stage in my career, it’s not necessary, as I already have a strong resume built up.

Cancel magazine subscriptions. I let Art News go a few years ago, and Art In America more recently once I realized they had stopped their annual Gallery Guide issue. Just now I let Art New England run out. I believe I can find all this information on line or at the library, which obviously is free, certainly better than spending $30 a year for a subscription.

Update blogs rather than website. In the past, I’ve gotten so excited whenever I have a new series ready (every three months or so) that I rush to get it on my website. And when I think of my website, it’s like having a room redecorated. I don’t just want to add a few new things, I want to redo everything!! But I need to start economizing and update my website once a year. My wonderful web mistress has kindly put links on my website to my Flickr account, this blog, and my career blog. As these are three sites I can update myself for free, it’s not like my online profile won’t stay up to date.

Bring snacks from home rather than eat out. I’ve noticed that, in the last year, whenever I run an art-related errand like drop off artwork, I’ll stop to eat out on the way home. If I have someone along with me to help, I buy a meal for them as well. This can add up, especially since I can only deduct 50% of the cost of the meal(s). I think I’ll start planning ahead and bringing a snack (like bottled water and a granola bar, especially if it’s just for me).

These are just a few possibilities to help me economize. In fact, I was so inspired by these realizations that, instead of going to the grocery store this morning as I had planned, I whipped up a casserole from some rice and lentils I already had at home … my thrifty New England ancestors would be proud of me!!

Tapestry series continues

2011-03-08T21:09:00.000-08:00

My latest series, titled "Tapestry," continues ... here are the newest 4. I have 3 others completed and a final one finishing up. All of them are acrylic on canvas, 30 inches square.

I'm thinking of making a similar group in cool colors, since I'm enjoying this particular process so much.

Exhibit reviewed in The Gatepost

2011-03-05T18:55:00.001-08:00

Framingham State University's student newspaper "The Gatepost" published a wonderful review of the studio art faculty exhibit I was in at the university's Mazmanian Gallery last month.

Written with perception and imagination by Tom O'Brien, the article included the following words about the works I had on view. (The piece he mentions, "Cyclone," is similar to "Slate," pictured above, 20" square, acrylic on paper.)

Link to the full review here. Thank you, Tom!

" ... the simplest process may have been exemplified by three paintings in the back of the gallery.

One of these acrylic paintings, entitled 'Cyclone,' was the first of three pieces constructed by Professor Catherine Carter.

The background of the three paintings is a woven texture by slowly dragging a brush across the entire surface, while a thick paste of acrylic was squeezed like a crazy straw on top.

The texture of these paintings is particularly visually engaging, and apparently, Carter achieved the “noodle” by squeezing white acrylic paint through a ketchup bottle. It seemed that the more she used this technique, the more she enjoyed it, resulting in three successively more busy paintings, a true process.

Said Carter of her artistic process, 'There are definite decisions being made as I’m working, but they are entirely related to what’s happening on the canvas before me and not on any preconceived intention.'

Acrylic through a ketchup bottle – just another part of the improvisational artistic process.

'I find that planned ideas don’t need to pan out once I’m in the midst of working. So I start with a general color or texture idea, but it is soon directed by the painting itself,' Carter said."

Flamenco footwear

2011-03-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

The shoe series continues: here's my latest. Kind of a flamenco vibe here ...

My review of Surface Design Association show at Artworks

2011-03-03T03:56:00.000-08:00

Here is my review of the Surface Design Association exhibit "One Passion, Many Voices" at Artworks! in New Bedford. The review appeared in the March 3 edition of Coastin' in the New Bedford Standard-Times:

Review of "One Passion, Many Voices"

A fallow time, a freeing time

2011-02-27T15:03:00.000-08:00

I decided to devote my life to art in 1994, and everything I have done since then, including earning a bachelor's degree and a master's degree, taking on "day jobs" as a teacher, and pinching pennies so that I can continue to buy expensive art supplies, has been in support of my studio work as a painter.

I've had continuous exhibits and sales over the years, some of them quite prestigious and lucrative. This has been partly through good luck, but mostly due to my diligence, bordering on obsession, in developing my career. For nearly 15 years, I have always maintained a fat "pending" file, filled with applications sent, leads to follow, and ideas for possible avenues for the future. I would spend hours and hours each week combing lists of calls for entry, or researching national museums and galleries. I left no stone unturned, as the saying goes.

As 2011 unfolds, for the first time since I finished grad school in 1997, I find myself with NO commitments as an artist. I do not have any gallery affiliations. I do not have any exhibits scheduled for the future. And I do not have any leads as to what to do next.

This state of things should be upsetting to an artist who has worked as long and as hard at exhibiting and marketing her artwork as I have. And yet ...

Somehow it feels freeing! I can, and have been, making whatever the heck I feel like making in my studio, ranging from paintings with thick layers of bright orange acrylic to paintings of silver spray paint. Lately I find I can relax and enjoy the art exhibits I see, rather than spend my visit scheming as to whether I should apply to this gallery or that show, the way I used to.

Maybe I'm getting older, feeling more self-assured and less restless. Maybe I've had enough experience to give me faith that eventually things will pick up again and fresh opportunities will present themselves. But for now, I am content to just enjoy being an artist, continuing to make paintings that I love. And that is enough!

Origins: Part 5, My first gallery experience

2011-02-22T23:35:00.001-08:00

This is the fifth part in an ongoing series, in which I show my earlier works and trace how I found my voice as an artist.

For two years after I finished graduate school in 1997, I diligently sent out applications to Boston-area art galleries, hoping for ongoing representation, with no luck. Then, in 1999, I was fortunate enough to have my work selected as part of the Fuller Craft Museum’s (then known as the Fuller Museum of Art) prestigious Triennial series, an ongoing showcase of New England artists. The year I participated, the show was curated by Carl Belz, director of the Rose Art Museum at Brandeis University. As Mr. Belz’s particular interest and area of expertise was abstraction, all of the pieces in the exhibit were abstract works, and many of them were listed as being exhibited courtesy of the Genovese/Sullivan Gallery.

Realizing that this gallery might be a good fit for me, I sent them my slides and soon received an invitation to bring my work to the gallery. I met the directors, Camellia Genovese and David Sullivan, who looked carefully at the paintings I had brought and asked me to contact them again in six months to show what I had then. So I contacted them six months later, they visited my studio to view my newest paintings (which included "Winter," acrylic and spray-paint on fabric on canvas, 48" H x 28" W, below), and then they offered to represent my work as well as a part in an upcoming three-person exhibit.

This first exhibit at Genovese/Sullivan was a very exciting experience for me, for many reasons, but in particular because one of my paintings (“Ravel,” shown below, acrylic and spray-paint on fabric on canvas, 48 inches square) sold during the opening reception to a Boston gallerist. It was the first time I had ever sold a painting!

A two-person show, another three-person show, and finally a solo show followed over the next five years. Here is the invitation for my solo show (ca. 2003):

I was so excited about this show, my first solo in Boston! This one was reviewed in the Boston Globe. I can still remember driving to the local drugstore at the crack of dawn to buy the newspaper and read the review. I got the paper, rushed back to the car, and spread open the pages over the front seat. I couldn’t even wait to get home! I smiled at the headline (“Painter pitches curves at Genovese/Sullivan”) and was gratified to read the words of reviewer Cate McQuaid, who really “got” what I was trying to say.

I was also thrilled to hear that a well-known Boston collector had come into the gallery and purchased one of my paintings because he had liked the image of it on the invitation card (“Cross,” shown below, acrylic and spray-paint on canvas, 20 inches square).

Sadly, after decades of outstanding shows in Boston (with an artist roster that included such talents as Pat Keck, Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe, Robert Hooper, and Mary Boochever), Camellia and David made the decision to close their gallery. I miss working with them, as well as viewing their exhibits, very much. I have been fortunate enough to find other champions of my work since our paths diverged, but I’ll always remember how honored I felt that they chose my paintings for representation by their gallery.

Below, me with "Pucker," one of my works on exhibit at Genovese/Sullivan (ca. 2002):

New series continues

2011-02-18T11:14:00.000-08:00

While I'm working on the new silver series, I'm also working on a yellow/orange series. These are acrylic on canvas, each 30" square.

I purchased the color I'm using for the middle ground, Quinacridone Burnt Orange (Golden fluid acrylic), on a whim during my last art supply order. I am now totally addicted!!

Taking care of business

2011-02-16T07:05:00.000-08:00

A tedious but important part of being an artist is being one's own registrar / preparator.

Today I am finally getting to a task I had been trying to put off: trimming, labeling, wrapping and storing my latest series of works on paper. My goal is that, as soon as I get a call from one of my art consultants saying that they're looking for new work, I can just reach into the shelf and pull out my paintings, all ready to present. I hate having to label, wrap, etc., at the last minute!

Here I'm mending a few borders that tore unevenly when I was removing tape from the edges. After this, I will label the images on the back with their top, title, copyright symbol and my signature.

Then I make little "envelopes" for each work with glassine paper:

Finally I slide the works into my makeshift flat file (yes, I know I should invest in a real one, and I will eventually), divided into series with heavy pieces of cardboard:

I also have a number of new paintings that need to be labeled and wrapped in plastic today, while I'm at it.

Eventually I'm looking forward to getting back to the fun part: creating new work!

Icy blast

2011-02-14T07:48:00.000-08:00

My silvery spray-paint series is coming along. I have decided to combine the silver with colors of various ice cream / sherbert flavors. So far I have lemon, vanilla and raspberry, and waiting in the wings are mint and strawberry.

Here are two views. Each painting is 30" H x 20" W.

Considering all the snow we've had this year, perhaps I'm inspired by memories of hot summer days cooled off with a dripping ice cream cone ... I am also a huge HoJo's fan; miss those orange angled roofs along the highway!

Stick out your can

2011-02-05T12:40:00.000-08:00

Back to spray-painting!

A few new pieces finished today in what is now called my Ribbon series. Information on how I made the first one, here.

Here's one that's 30" H x 40" W:

And another that's 30" H x 20" W (below). This is a silver canvas with white lines, which means I toned the canvas with white paint and applied silver spray-paint over two stencils. Obviously a metallic surface is hard to photograph, but this snapshot gives you the idea. It's super shiny, but the white is matte, so there's an interesting contrast.

(Title of this post, courtesy of the late Lux Interior.)

I did all I could

2011-02-04T04:12:00.001-08:00

One of the hardest things about being an artist is that much of your experience is in the hands of someone else.

The gallerist decides whether or not to represent your work. The reviewer decides whether or not to write about your work. The curator decides whether or not to include your work. The committee decides whether or not to award a grant based on your work. The collector decides whether or not to purchase your work.

Earlier this week I got back in the mail all of the hard-copy materials I had sent to apply for a grant that I was not awarded. As I plucked out from the page protectors all of the items I had sent, in direct response to the grant organization’s specifications, my heart ached, as I remembered how I had felt when I was first assembling my application.

I felt so hopeful that I might receive the grant! I felt so proud of the accomplishments I was documenting in my application! I worked so hard to write a clear and honest request for funds. I considered so carefully which of my paintings to include.

Frankly, I felt like crying. What had I done wrong? Why wasn’t my application accepted?

Then something clicked in my brain, and I slowly looked back over my application. I reread my statement. I looked at the thumbnails of my work that I had printed out. I looked at the folder in which I had assembled the materials. I looked at my resume, with its list of hard-won accomplishments from the past.

I realized: THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE I COULD HAVE DONE. I hadn't done anything wrong. I had submitted the best possible application I could have submitted.

And somehow I felt a wave of relief. I knew I had done my part, and the next step was for the jurors to realize the quality of my work and the worth of my application. I had done as well as I could to present them, and that was all I could have done.

My next feeling was a steely determination to try again … and keep on trying, for as long as it takes.

Origins: Part 4, New discoveries and opportunities

2011-02-02T10:00:00.001-08:00

This is the fourth part in an ongoing series, in which I show my earlier works and trace how I found my voice as an artist.

With my giant studio space and my wonderful day job in place (as described in this earlier post), I could relax into this supportive arrangement and make it work for my career as an artist.

I began to expand on the paintings I had made just out of graduate school, experimenting with strong colors that were new to me, on large (50 and 60 inch) canvases. (Below, “Arbor" and “Pulp,” both 1998).

I had a technical breakthrough when I noticed that a studio neighbor of mine was using spray-paint in his paintings. I liked the soft edges and impression of casual freedom that spray-paint gave to an artwork. I wanted my work to have a feeling of elegance roughened with the “street spirit” that spray-paint marks could provide. (I had done extensive research on graffiti as part of my undergraduate thesis, so my interest went back a number of years.)

One of my early spray-paint pieces is “Dialogue 1,” shown below (36” H x 42” W, 1998). Not only did these new works give the mood I wanted, but I realized I could create what my husband called “modular” paintings: multiple pieces joined to make one larger image.

As I worked in my studio, refining these new technical discoveries, I had the opportunity to exhibit my work in a number of prestigious venues. One of my paintings was accepted into an exhibit at the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, Virginia, juried by Carolina Ponce de Leon, then curator of El Museo del Barrio.

I also had the piece below (“Chorus 1,” 28” H x 68” W, 1998) accepted into the 1999 Ninth Triennial at the Fuller Craft Museum (then the Fuller Museum of Art) in Brockton, MA, at the time an ongoing series of exhibits that showcased established Boston-area artists. This particular exhibit was juried by Carl Belz, then director of the Rose Art Museum at Brandeis University, and the show included many artists who were my heroes. So I was deeply honored to have been included.

I also was honored to have my exhibit proposal for “Inviting the Unknown,” a six-artist show accepted for display at the New Bedford Art Museum in 1999. I co-curated this show with dear friends and grad-schoolmates Alma Cummings and Domenic Cimino; all three of us were also participating artists. Here is a view of my work at the show:

Then I made “The Spring Series,” a group of 10 paintings inspired by the colors, markings and moods of wintertime fading into spring. This was the first time I had fully explored a single theme through a cohesive body of work, and the achievement felt very satisfying to me. I showed it during a two-person show at the Bromfield Gallery in Boston during July 1999. Below is one of these works, “Spring Series # 5” (acrylic, ink, spray-paint, oil-stick and fabric collage on canvas, 1998), which was later purchased by a collector in Auckland, New Zealand.

All of these experiences were exciting, and they led to my being invited to join one of Boston’s best-known galleries, to be described in the next installment …

Fine art needs time to ripen

2011-02-01T04:40:00.000-08:00

I like the new painting I made last Saturday so much (shown left), that I've spent a lot of time just sitting and looking at it since then. (Which is a good sign, that a painting continues to interest you and inform you as time goes on.)

This piece encompasses exactly what I want to say as an artist, and it solves a lot of interpretive and technical problems that I've been dealing with since last year. (Such as, how to combine color and value in a way that allows various under-layers to show through in certain random spots? What is the best format for suggesting that the space moves on and that the lines are in constant motion and reconfiguration, tangling and untangling? Etc.)

As I was looking at it yesterday, a memory of an older painting popped into my head. I made "Snarl" (below) in 2005, using acrylic and spray paint on canvas. I realized when I thought of it yesterday that it shares its size (30 inches square), format, color scheme, basic composition and thematic references with Saturday's painting.

Much as I like "Snarl," though, I think the new work represents an advancement. The colors are more refined, the lines are freer and more expressive, and there is greater evidence of a personal voice. I see by comparing the two how many hours I've spent learning to use color, learning to apply and layer paint, and learning how to make my work say what I want to say. It's taken every minute I've spent in the studio over those six years to accomplish this.

As someone who is VERY impatient and wants everything NOW (I can barely stand to wait for my quick-drying acrylics to dry!), I'm recognizing as I'm getting older how long it takes to really learn how to paint, to really come to terms with what you want to say as an artist and to figure out how to say it. Like fine wine, a painter's technical ability and her understanding of herself must slowly develop over time. Years, decades, of work.

It's taken me 48 years to understand that time passing is a good thing. Our culture teaches us that youth is king, that aging is something to be feared, concealed and denied. But I'm discovering that getting older is a privilege. With age comes wisdom and understanding. One's age represents all the experiences it's taken to get you where you are.

And I admit, I can't help thinking, "If I've come this far in six years, think where I'll be in six more years!!"

Thirty inch square series continues

2011-01-29T06:03:00.000-08:00

Just finished another painting in my latest 30x30 series. Very happy with it.

Here is a detail.

As I teacher, I've been learning

2011-01-28T10:52:00.001-08:00

Teaching art is interesting, in that you learn as much as (probably more than) you teach. There is a remarkable interplay between what you assign your students in the classroom and what you are doing in your own studio.

In my watercolor class this morning, the assignment was to paint four copies of Edward Weston's photograph of a"Pepper" -- one in a light value color, one in a dark value color, one using warm colors, and one using cool colors.

Since I didn't have an example to show the students of how to paint the warm color version, I decided to make one while they were working on the one-color interpretations. So I made this painting:

I thought it was interesting to realize that I had such ease in painting this example because I've been working with warm colors in my own paintings lately (latest work, shown below). Even though the subject matter and styles are different between the assignment and my latest series, the colors are the same, and the methods of creating three-dimensional illusions are the same!!

Spray on

2011-01-23T17:27:00.001-08:00

Switching gears from the bright works on paper of Friday night, I turned my garage into a spray booth today, and made the spray-painted painting, below (acrylic and spray paint on canvas, 30" H x 20" W".

I haven't used spray-paint in my paintings in a while, years in fact, because the fumes are so noxious in my studio, even wearing a respirator, running two box fans, and with the door to the outside opened. But I can't get these terrific flat patterns any other way!

So today I opened the two garage windows, backed the car into the driveway, and started spraying! It seems to work out fine, fume-wise. Obviously the whole process would be easier if I could just wait until a sunny spring day and work outdoors, but I'm way too impatient to wait three months for that.

Also I spray-painted designs onto sheer white fabric today, and my next step is to cut them up and collage them onto canvas.

Starting tomorrow I'll be teaching five days a week for the next 14 weeks, so I probably won't be able to continue to be this prolific. I think it was anticipation of this new schedule that I was so determined to get a lot done this weekend!

First paintings of 2011!

2011-01-22T06:53:00.001-08:00

My first efforts of the New Year are starting to emerge!

Here's a piece I finished yesterday (acrylic on canvas, 30 by 30 inches):

I also made this painting at the same time. I'm not as happy with it, and yet it has something going on that intrigues me ...

When I make a painting, I draw lines on the canvas with paint extruded through plastic bottles, then lay down a sheet of paper and roll over it with a brayer, so that the lines of wet paint spread out. This leaves me with, not only my canvas, but also a white sheet of paper covered with white lines, the perfect surface on which to play with color! I had collected a pile of these pages, so last night I decided to try painting on them, and this is what resulted. Each one is acrylic on paper, 30" H x 22" W.

2011 is off to a rockin' start!

Grabbing the brush in 2011

2011-01-12T17:24:00.000-08:00

I am excited about my studio plans for the New Year. There are five distinct directions I would like to explore, each represented by an older painting that I loved when I first made it, but didn't have a chance to develop into a series. Here are each of the directions, with an example of the painting that inspired it:

Series 1: The first direction I'd like to pursue is exemplified by the painting below, "Twist." I made this painting in 2002, by spray-painting lines on sheer white cloth, then cutting out shapes and gluing them onto a white canvas. Because both the cloth and the canvas are white, the color in the sprayed lines pops out and the lines seem to float.

The work below, "Shard," also from 2002, is one of the best paintings I've ever made. It was made with the same process, only this time the cloth and the canvas were brown, and the marks were made with white spray-paint. For some reason (which I hope I can remember, so I can duplicate the effect!), the lines cracked as they dried, making an interesting pattern. I also used smaller circles than in "Twist," so the individual lines didn't show as much.

I have new cans of spray paint, and yards of cheap curtain fabric from Savers, all ready to go.

Series 2: I loved the following painting, "Undersea 1," when I first made it in Fall 2009. I was very happy when it sold very quickly in February, but it meant I didn't really have a chance to develop a series like this. So I'd like to revisit the idea of a dark background with two layers of white lines and some washy layers applied on top, creating a sense of deep space, on a square format.

This time, rather than use blues, I'm going to use a series of yellows, oranges, and warm browns, as in "Desert 3," below, which I made last summer. I really love the color scheme here.

Series 3: I also loved the "Wintergreen" series of 3 paintings I made last year ("Wintergreen 2" is pictured below). This idea of horizontal bands of lines/stripes in contrasting colors and sharp edges really appeals to me, so I'll be making more like this but exploring different color schemes.

Series 4: I made the work below, "Waterways," for an invitational exhibit at the New Bedford Art Museum in 2006. Artists were asked to create a work inspired by an assigned artifact, which gave us a chance to try something different. I loved the result, but haven't had a chance to work it into a variety of directions: different colors, maybe four lines on a square format ... we'll see.

Series 5: And finally, I loved this painting I made for a benefit exhibit at the New Art Center in Newton last month, titled "Wine Lines." I like the format, the combination of materials, and the variation of dark on light and light on dark. I'd like to play more with this, using different colors.

So I'm looking forward to seeing where these ideas lead! If there's one thing I've learned about being an artist, it's that your work never turns out the way you expect it to ...

A visit to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts

2011-01-10T22:20:00.001-08:00

My husband and I visit Richmond every year in January, to celebrate a late Christmas with family members. Fortunately they are art enthusiasts who enjoy taking us to view various exhibits during our trips. We haven’t been able to visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts for some time, partly because their facilities have been closed for renovation and, sadly, because family illnesses and transitions have required our attention during our visits in recent years.

But this year, all systems were GO for our trip to the museum, and I was looking forward to seeing the new building. I was not prepared, however, for one of the most impressive and rewarding museum visits I can ever remember having.

The building itself is tremendous (see above). The architecture is sleek and elegant, designed in a way that complements the 19th century structures nearby. The interiors are spacious and inviting, with warm-toned marble walls and carefully spaced courtyards and lobbies. The gallery layouts are well-considered too; in the 20th-century-art rooms, for example, the various creative movements are distinctly separated but arranged with care, so that the viewer has a sense of how the periods are both unique and interrelated. The well-written wall documentation provides facts that inform but do not overwhelm the viewer.

I was especially impressed by the show of Sally Mann’s photographs in the Special Exhibition gallery. This exhibit included examples from all of Mann’s series since the 1970s, but was hung in a non-chronological way that revealed the various turns and connections her ideas have made over the years. Here again, the wall blurbs were informative and stimulating without overwhelming the visual experience. (I’ve noticed at the MFA in Boston, for example, that I read their ceiling-to-floor wall documentation and start to feel a little bit like “get on with the art, already.”)

I was also very excited by the galleries showing 21st-century art. It seems clear that 21st-century artists are individuals who are “doing their own thing,” taking notice of the past but not in a way that boxes them into a “movement,” as in the 20th century. I left feeling inspired as an artist and, as a viewer, very excited about the art world in the present, and certainly for the future.

Of course I needed to visit old favorites and take a few touristy shots. I posed in front of a Franz Kline (below) and my husband posed in front of a James Rosenquist. (Yes, we did receive weird looks from the security guards. But as the museum’s stated policy is to allow non-flash shots, we went ahead and said, “Hi, Mom!” to the camera.)

One work in particular that stood out to me was “Fast Track Home” (below), a piece made in 1999 by an artist I had never heard of before, Willie Cole. Cole created the pattern on the canvas by scorching the surface with a hot iron. Different heat settings or lengths of time held against the canvas created a range of browns. Once you know the technique, it is easy to discern the triangular shape of the iron’s base. But the intricate pattern Cole created, and the artwork’s references to female identity and history, among other things, take the work far beyond technical considerations.

I was walking on air when we left (which we did only because the museum was closing, not because we were ready to leave!), and am excited to make the museum a planned part of our annual Virginia visits.

All photos in this post taken by my husband, Kevin Seward.

Deborah Bohnert's Art/Life Project

2011-01-03T11:37:00.001-08:00

Just when I thought Deborah Bohnert couldn't get any cooler ...

Deborah Bohnert is a Boston-area artist whom I have long admired, and whose work I have long enjoyed. Imagine my pleasure when, in September 2009, she asked me to participate in her "Art/Life Project." All I had to do to participate was to accept a wonderful artwork of hers, any one that I chose, for free. I answered YES without a moment's hesitation!

That was cool enough. Then, about a year ago, Deb asked if I would write a statement for the Art/Life Project. Again, easy as pie for me to do, since I love her work.

And finally, today, when I opened my mailbox just now, things got EVEN COOLER. Deb has collected the statements from all the fortunate recipients of her artwork through the Art/Life Project and compiled them, along with images of the artworks each of us selected, into a book! She sent me a copy, and I was thrilled to receive it.

Thank you, Deb, so much for including me in your project! Like all of your artwork, this one has a concept that's original, inspiring, and that hints at many wonderful things beyond its physical materials (including the gift of giving and the measureless worth of visual beauty).

Here's the cover of her book, illustrated by the artwork chosen by one of the project recipients, Carl Belz:

And here is the back cover:

Here is the statement I contributed, and the painting I chose:

And here is the painting hanging on the wall in my bedroom, which I presented in a blog post in November:

What an inspiring way to start the New Year! I feel like one lucky art-lover.

Looking back, looking forward

2011-01-02T01:40:00.001-08:00

Good-bye, 2010!

As one of those people who tends to forge ahead and forget to look back and appreciate what I’ve accomplished, I want to make sure and take note of what a wonderful year 2010 was.

The most important thing about 2010 was that I painted and painted and painted. I learned a lot technically and gained more range of expression, particularly through exploration of color and format. I also came to a greater understanding of what it means to develop a strong statement through a cohesive body of work.

I am proud and grateful to have sold six paintings this year.

I am also thrilled to have exhibited my work in four shows during 2010. In particular, three of my works were chosen for exhibit at the U.S. Embassy in Oman. Also, I was in a two-person show at the Narrows Center for the Arts in Fall River, MA (image above is from this event); a six-person show at Bristol Community College in Fall River; and a five-person show at Jules Place in Boston.

I had a chance for self-reflection this year after some not-so-rewarding events of 2010. I thought I had been hired for a three-painting commission project, then found out that the collectors had changed their minds. This made me question my interest in doing commissions at all, which turned out to be a learning experience in what I am and am not willing to do as an artist.

I also was turned down for a number of the grants and shows I applied for. After 14 years as a professional artist, those rejection letters still sting! But as artist friends are quick to remind me, you have to “get back on the horse” and keep applying for these opportunities, or you’ll never secure them.

As far as my “day job,” teaching, I believe that I accomplished a lot this year. I taught 5 graduate-level professional development courses for art teachers, 3 adult education courses, 5 courses to high-school students, and 3 college courses. All of these classes gave me the opportunity to share the knowledge I’ve gleaned in my many years of painting, as well as allowed me to pay the bills! I am truly thankful to have a job I love, one that grows with me as I grow. After many years of hating what I did for a living (mostly secretarial work), I don’t take this gift lightly.

Now I can charge ahead! I have quite a number of “irons in the fire” for possible shows and sales in 2011. I am excited at the prospect of seeing them come to fruition.

This seems like a good time to thank the readers of my blog! I have received so many supportive comments, this year and in the nearly 4 years I have been blogging, from those who take the time to read my writing. I truly appreciate your attention and feedback. I also thank the folks who link my blog on their blog or website. It certainly brings me more readers, and that’s a good thing!

Here’s wishing you a very HAPPY 2011! May it bring all you are hoping for.

New in 2011!

2010-12-31T12:17:00.001-08:00

Great way to start the New Year: my website has just been updated!

www.CatherineCarterArt.com

Origins: Part 3, My Career Begins

2010-12-28T01:08:00.001-08:00

Here’s the third part of an ongoing series, in which I show my earlier works and trace how I found my voice as an artist.

It was luck more than design, but once I had graduated with my master’s degree, I was determined to continue the momentum I had established during grad school. This meant finding a STUDIO, and here I soon struck gold.

I found a giant and very affordable studio in Fall River, Massachusetts. The building had formerly been a textile mill, circa nineteenth century, but now it housed a number of small businesses and artist studios.

When the realtor first showed me this giant space and told me the monthly rent was $150, I thought she had made an error and quickly signed the lease so as to lock in what I was sure was a mistaken amount. It wasn’t! This shot shows HALF of my giant studio:

The space gave my paintings room to GROW, and they soon did. I continued to work with acrylic paint and large shapes of fabric collaged onto stretched canvas. I often embellished the image with gestural lines made in oil stick (lines which later began to figure even more prominently in my work). Here’s a picture of me beside a work in progress in 1997 (taken by my husband, Kevin):

It wasn’t long before I received a studio visit from Joan Briand, who ran a lovely gallery in the same building as my studio and was known for championing local artists. Joan looked at my work and offered me a solo show on the spot. I was very excited!

So my exhibit “Collage Paintings” was presented at Facets Gallery during September 1997, only months after I had graduated from UMass Dartmouth. Here are some views from the show:

Another important thing that happened to me soon after college graduation was that I was hired at The New Bedford Standard-Times as a copy editor. This was total luck! I had no experience in journalism whatsoever. But I noticed, in my jobless state, that the newspaper company was housed in a large modern building (see below) within walking distance of my apartment, and I thought they might be hiring. I had worked as a secretary before, and wondered if they might need someone to answer their telephones.

Lo and behold, I was offered an interview and, soon afterward, a job as a copy editor. Frankly I didn’t even know what a copy editor was, but I accepted the job and soon realized that I was one of those nit-picky readers who could detect even the slightest error in the densest text.

I also struck gold with this job, in that: 1. I found myself working with the nicest group of people in that newsroom that I have ever known in my entire life (many of whom are still friends, 12 years later), and 2. I now had a secure financial situation that allowed me to paint during the day and work during the afternoon and evening. It was ideal!

Next installment: My professional painting career takes off …

Review of "George Segal: Fragments and Pastels"

2010-12-23T02:55:00.000-08:00

My review of the exhibit "George Segal: Fragments and Pastels" appears in today's New Bedford Standard-Times. To read, please click here. (Please note that you have to "subscribe" to read the article, but it is free to register as a subscriber.)

Highlights of 2009-2010

2010-12-20T22:11:00.000-08:00

As a preliminary step to moving my older work off of my website and putting my newest series on there instead, I have put images of my works from the past 2 years on Flickr.

It's like a diary of all I've been up to since 2009.

Feel free to take a look, by clicking here.

Looking and understanding

2010-12-18T23:04:00.000-08:00

It has been a big week of art viewing for me. I admit that I am a homebody and I almost never travel. I get so overwhelmed by life and its many details and commitments that it's all I can do to deal with what's right in front of my nose.

But last week I finally had the time, energy and determination to look at art. Not just any art, GREAT ART. Wednesday I saw the tremendous exhibit of George Segal's work at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth Art Gallery, curated by David B. Boyce, who was a personal friend of and model for the late Mr. Segal. And Friday I went to visit galleries in the Chelsea district of New York City, where I saw much that was great, including exhibits by Anselm Kiefer (Gagosian Gallery) and Brice Marden (Matthew Marks Gallery).

These experiences have truly changed my perspective, not just realizations about adaptations I want to make in my daily life and yearly goals, but also deep-rooted discoveries about who I am, what I want to make of my life and how I might go about doing so. Such is the power of art!!

And returning to my studio and looking at my latest works with these recent art-viewing experience fresh in my mind has given me direct insight into what I'm currently making and where it has the potential to go artistically.

Among many other things, I realize that I have been far more focused on resume-building than on art-creating. I don't mean time-wise, because I certainly paint many hours a week, especially for someone who teaches as much as I do. But as far as vision, as far as long-term focus, I realize I haven't been letting my art come from as deep a place as it could, or say as much as it could. I've been settling for short-term considerations, for work that's not bad but not fully developed.

I've been too afraid of what might happen, of ending up like someone I don't want to be like, instead of spreading my wings and seeing how far I can fly.

Time will tell how this new consciousness manifests itself, but I feel greatly changed inside. A wonderful way to end what has been a year of great progress!

Image shown above is a number of pieces from my new series of works on paper.

A present from Jack Frost

2010-12-16T04:56:00.001-08:00

When I was little, my grandmother always used to call me to the window in wintertime. "See what Jack Frost has left us!" she would say, and we would admire the pretty patterns that Jack had painted on the glass.

This morning I had a whole window of icy lace to admire! I'm thankful to have this little message from Grandma, to remember to admire the beauty in the everyday, as she did.

Trials, tribulations, and finally success!

2010-12-10T06:55:00.001-08:00

I've spent the last few days wrangling with a painting. I tried a reddish brown surface. Not too bad, but not good enough. I tried adding more color. UGH. Start again: painted it over with white paint.

I tried a watery black surface. It looked great on a smaller painting I'd made earlier. But not this time. UGH. I tried getting a bit darker. UGH. Too dark. Start again: another coat of white paint.

I tried a green/black combination. It had also worked on a smaller version. UGH. I tried adding a layer of black and gel medium. UGH. I tried adding a layer of green. UGH. Start again: another coat of white paint.

So I got up this morning and was faced with that white surface again. I'd run dry of ideas. Randomly, my hand reached for a nearby tube of orange/brown paint, and I just squirted it all over the surface and rubbed it in with a brush.

Excellent!! Done!!

I know many other artists make preparatory drawings, sketchbook studies, color swatches, gridded compositions, and many other practices to plan out their intentions for a painting. I CAN'T! Ironically, I am an extremely organized person in all other areas of my life. But when it comes to painting, I have to be spontaneous, or nothing works out.

Painter Rebecca Crowell describes her artistic process, which shares a lot in common with mine, in today's post on her blog. I recommend reading her thoughts, especially if you're one of us "listen to the painting" types.

Profile on Danforth Museum School

2010-12-09T03:52:00.001-08:00

Here's a recent profile on the wonderful Danforth Museum School, where I have had the good fortune to teach (to teens, adults, and art teachers) for the past 7 years:

Going green with Fruit of the Loom

2010-12-05T05:49:00.000-08:00

For reasons of pride (and, as my grandmother always said, "What if there was a fire and the firemen had to carry you out?"), I guess we all have regular purges of our old well-worn underpants.

I just bought a raft of new undies at Target and, in the spirit of "going green," decided I could use the old ones as painting rags. It makes you feel like you're really doing something for the environment! Since, let's face it, that's one contribution of "old clothes" that the Salvation Army isn't going to thank you for.

Series of works on paper continues

2010-12-03T21:19:00.001-08:00

Continuing to make these works on paper, in acrylic, 20 inches square. Very happy with the results. Waiting in the wings, variations in blue and in yellow/gold: