Frustration

When I went to bed last night after time spent in my studio, I left two almost-finished, awesome-looking paintings on my work table. As I was kicking off my slippers and climbing between the sheets, I thought, I have just one more layer, and I'm done! Then I can relish my two new creations.

Well, it didn't quite turn out that way. When I added the final layer just now, UGH. Yuck. Too much. No problem, I thought, it's acrylic, so I'll just rinse off the top layer and I'll be back to the wonderful surfaces I created last night.

No, not happening. Because it had only been about 5 hours since the original layers were created, the water began taking off everything. No problem, I thought. I'll just "go with it," and remove some color and have a soft muted surface.

Not in the cards. The sponge I applied smeared everything, leaving a blurred mess that showed no sign of last night's promise. Gone, bye, unsalvageable. And I have no more canvas, so I'd have to drive out to the store to buy more, and I really don't have enough money in my budget right now for new art supplies.

Sigh. Such is the creative process! Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I should take comfort in the fact that I HAD two cool paintings that, with effort, time and money, I will be able to duplicate to some degree.

As I was cleaning up my studio in frustration after this experience, I remembered other times in the past when I have been frustrated like this. Well, truth to tell, there are too many to possibly remember them all. That's part of being an artist!

But I remembered two paintings in particular that I really like, and that were a direct result of feeling so angry, desperate, and ready to SCREAM because nothing was turning out that I started slapping stuff on the canvas ... and these spontaneous emotional responses turned out to be much more visually rich than any kind of intentional application.

One of them is the painting "Hook," shown below. I had removed and reworked these large fabric pieces countless times, and still I hated the composition. I finally got so mad that I just pulled them all off the canvas and threw them on the studio floor. Then I had one last impulse to act; not an idea for a solution, mind you, but an undirected burst of energy. I grabbed them off the floor and just stuck them onto the canvas, letting them land anywhere they happened to land. And then I stepped back in amazement. Somehow, this worked better than any of the careful arranging I had just spent hours doing! My initial instincts for color and shape had been fine; I had just been "trying too hard." This remains one of my favorite paintings.

"Hook," acrylic and oil stick on fabric on canvas, 64" H x 44" W, 1998

A similar thing happened with another favorite, "Scribble 1." I was trying to create a collage, again arranging carefully, with torn pieces of paper. Nothing was working. After I tried and tried and tried, I felt frustrated that all of this work was amounting to a big zero. I didn't feel like spending all this time in my studio with nothing to show for it. I happened to have a blank stretched canvas nearby, and I grabbed it and started flinging the collage pieces onto it haphazardly, just gluing them down beside one another, wherever they happened to land.

And you know what? This cool painting resulted!

"Scribble 1," acrylic on paper on canvas, 48" H x 28" W, 2009

I guess there's something to be said for simply letting the painting paint itself. (Jackson Pollock's most famous quote deals with just this issue, and who am I to argue with The Big Guy?) But it's hard to do that! We want a good-looking finished piece to show for all this time spent, dammit! We don't want to have to start all over again from scratch.

Sometimes, however, frustration can lead to spontaneity, and that might be just the "breath of fresh air" that the painting needs.

A season of stories

If you know me at all, you know that I am an avid reader. I visit the library at least once a week, and usually come staggering out the door with a swaying stack of books. My favorites to read are autobiographies. I never stop wondering what makes other people tick, and reading about them is the best way to find out without having to leave the comfort of my pillow-propped, blanket-wrapped spot on the living-room couch.

Despite a busy fall season of teaching, painting, and helping my family, I've managed to squeeze in a lot of reading, including autobiographies and biographies of/by (in no particular order): Rita Moreno, Hettie Jones, Joyce Johnson, Carolyn Cassady, Jack Kerouac, Edna O'Brien, Lyndon Johnson, Maria von Trapp, Pete Townshend, and Jim Henson.

My current selection is "Bad Boy," the autobiography of '80s art star Eric Fischl. I didn't become well-versed in contemporary art until the 1990s, so I wasn't entirely aware of Fishl's work when his career was at its height in the dazzling days when his paintings fetched a cool million dollars per canvas. But I remember reading with great interest a long article in Art In America about his latest series when I was in graduate school around 1996, and being excited by the "hiding in plain sight" nature of the narratives behind his imagery.

Now that I am a painter, I find much to admire in Fischl. In his book, he tells of his humble beginnings as an artist, first signing up for an introductory art class at a community college in Phoenix ("because, after all, who flunks art?") and eventually earning a degree from CalArts on a full merit scholarship. He reveals his attempts to focus on story-telling with his work even though it flew in the face of current art-world preferences for cool, enigmatic abstraction. Devastated by his mother's lifelong battle with alcoholism and finally her suicide, Fischl struggled in his studio for many years, both artistically and personally. He sought an honest, personal content and worked hard to overcome what he admits were his shaky technical skills. Then, with the advent of the '80s and the guiding hand of Mary Boone, his career skyrocketed.

I haven't yet gotten to the parts of the book in which Fischl tells of his excesses of partying, drugging, and other responses to being put on a pedestal. But no matter how much debauchery he describes, I am inspired by his ongoing determination to be truthful in his paintings, to make his art an experience for the viewer. He was constantly pushing himself, even as an undergraduate, to make progress and dig deeper. We can all take inspiration from that.

Visions of shoes dancing in my head

Yesterday I helped my mother do some sorting in her house, which included the discovery of a pile of books I had as a child. In poking through images I hadn't seen in 40 years, I realized how long and hard I had stared at so many of the pictures in these books! It was like I was intent on memorizing the colors, shapes and designs I saw there.

Case in point: here's an old fairy tale book of mine. My favorite story was "The Twelve Dancing Princesses," not so much because I liked that story but because I LOVED looking at the illustrations of the shoes that accompanied it. I even colored in the black and white drawings with crayon! I knew I wasn't supposed to write in my books, never mind color them in, but I couldn't help myself.

Page from "The Red Fairy Book"

Coming across this page is striking, because it reminds me of the shoe drawings I've made in recent years:

And the black ribbon on the shoe drawing on the page in the fairy tale book ...

... reminds me of the black line paintings I've done this year.

"Scrawl 2," acrylic on canvas, 30 inches square, 2013

 So it seems the visual inspirations experienced during childhood settle in our unconscious minds, and remain with us throughout our lives!

Final weeks of summer

Hard to believe that summer is winding down! Last I remember, May was rolling into June and the hot summer sun was just beginning to shine.

Part of the reason for the seeming speed of this summer for me is that ALL 7 of the classes I offered have run! It's kept me humming, that's for sure. In addition, my 13-year-old car died suddenly in early July, and even though I knew exactly what I wanted to replace it with (a new version of the same thing), it took much time and effort to price cars, test drive, and ultimately close the sale. (Online price quotes are THE way to go, folks. You have so much more control over the negotiation process than when you're standing in the showroom.)

Last week wrapped up one of my professional development classes, offered at the Danforth Museum School in Framingham, MA, for public school art teachers. The course, titled "Inspired by Women Artists," focused on the artwork of 4 female artists: Kathe Kollwitz, Miriam Schapiro, Alma Thomas, and Kara Walker. We studied their biographies, practiced their techniques, and created works inspired by their styles, in a variety of media from acrylic paint to charcoal drawing to fabric collage to silhouettes cut from black paper. The students seem to have been indeed inspired, and now have many new ideas and projects to take back to their art classrooms in the fall.

I hung a group of their paintings (inspired by Alma Thomas) in the school hallway:

Student artworks from my "Inspired by Women Artists" class

I did have a moment's break to take an art-related road trip last weekend, when my old and dear friend John Borowicz opened his solo show at the Dedee Shattuck Gallery in Westport, MA. It was wonderful to have the chance to see what John as been up to lately, plus the exhibit included a selection of past works from over the years to give those who don't know him as well a chance to see how he's arrived at this point.

It was such a pleasure to chat with John and his family (hi, Wen!), and to reconnect with so many good people from the Southcoast Massachusetts area that I haven't seen in a while. There is a warm and welcoming art community there, one that I've very much missed being a part of since we moved to the Metrowest area 10 years ago.

With John Borowicz in front of "Gabrielle d'Estrees and One of Her Sisters," 2013, oil on canvas, 60" square

Some fun things on the horizon for fall: a three-person show at the Mazmanian Gallery at Framingham State University, a curatorial proposal for a four-person show that I have high hopes for, and as usual, lots of hours of teaching. There's no evidence yet of an autumn nip in the air, but it will be here before we know it.

Painting within my means

"Wing," spray-paint on canvas, 2001

Last June, I hit the half-century mark! It proved to be a fine opportunity to look back over the past 50 years and be thankful for my good fortune.

But one of the things I realized when I examined my life was the far less heart-warming fact that I had amassed more than $9,000 in debt on a charge card. I had nearly maxed out the card about five years prior and had managed to pay my balance down to 0. But like the dieter who hasn’t learned how to revise her eating patterns and regains the lost weight, I had savored the joys of freedom from debt for only a few months before I began repeating my old spending habits and found myself in the red again. Turning 50 woke me up. I realized I had better look carefully at my finances and figure out how to climb out of the hole I was in. PERMANENTLY.

One thing that was soon apparent was that I was spending far more money than I had to spare on my art career, both in the studio and in promoting my work. It wasn’t that I was going insane over art expenses, but I was definitely going beyond my means. I began to examine ways to curb these expenditures using a balanced approach, so that I was continuing to paint and to promote my work, but in a sensible and effective way.

Here are some of the methods I’ve found to do this, which I thought I would share on my blog in the spirit that few of us working artists have trust funds and likely could use some tips on how to keep art-related spending under control, without giving up entirely.

1. MANAGE YOUR WEB PRESENCE YOURSELF. One thing I did was to create my own free website, which I can maintain myself. I never really could afford to have a professionally created and maintained website in the first place, but I didn’t want to admit that to myself. So back in 2006, I hired a wonderful web designer to custom-create a site for me and then kept hiring her to completely revamp every page whenever I had a new series ready (which, because I was so prolific, was every few months). So while my website looked awesome, I was paying out far more money than I had available.

Then about a month ago, I saw that my Facebook friend, artist Alison Wells, had created her own website on Weebly.com. I thought it looked fantastic, and I decided to create my own using the same site. Weebly’s tutorial video said that a person, group or company could make their own site in a few hours, but because I’m an artist and had lots of images to upload, mine took about 6 hours to create. But I had such a blast doing it that it seemed more like 6 minutes!

Now I am NO computer expert, by any means. But I’m quite proud of the way the site looks, and I love the fact that I can maintain it myself and make changes easily and immediately, at any time of day, free of charge.

Also, please note that many blog sites are free to create and maintain, such as blogspot and wordpress. Blogs, while seeming to decline in popularity these days, are still a viable way to increase exposure to your artwork.

2. FIND FREE (BUT IMPRESSIVE) VENUES FOR EXHIBITING YOUR ARTWORK. Back when I was in denial about money, I used to apply to exhibits constantly, shelling out $50+ each month for entry fees. This process resulted in some fine opportunities for me – most notably, exhibits at the Marin County Museum of Contemporary Art in Novato, CA, and the beautifully appointed Peninsula Fine Arts Center in Newport News, VA. But again, that didn’t mean that I had the income to cover my habit.

So I began to look for opportunities to show my work that were free to apply to and participate in. I searched and found a number of locations that were soliciting calls for curatorial proposals, and this process revealed a way for me to turn my love of art writing and looking at other people’s art into free opportunities to show my own work as well. Most of these curatorial openings could be applied to on line, thus eliminating not only entry fees but also the exorbitant cost of office supplies such as CDs and covers, mailing materials, printer ink, and postage. My most recent experience with this type of venue was a four-person show I curated at Mount Ida College in Newton, MA. The gallery director and her staff of student interns hung the entire show exactly to my specifications, and the college printed a full-color catalog and provided a lavish opening reception for this exhibit. Some galleries also provide honorariums for public talks or cover other related expenses for artists or curators. So not only do you save money, you can also earn some.

3. INCREASE YOUR TECHNICAL KNOWLEDGE. I used to grab my charge card and shop online heedlessly whenever I ran out of paint. And sad to say, my tastes ran toward Golden Paints, the most expensive brand out there. Their colors are breathtakingly beautiful, but cost more than $50 per bottle. I was spending upwards of $500 per month on art supplies, and my income simply could not support that.

In addition to being an artist, I am a painting instructor and, ironically, one of the things I teach my students is how to start with primary colors and mix the myriad of possible combinations themselves, rather than buying secondary colors (available from mixing primaries) or earth tones (available by mixing complements). When I looked over my budget, I realized that I should be taking my own advice. Now I buy basic paint colors in less expensive brands and mix my own colors. It’s a far less opulent approach than buying whatever I want from Golden’s luxurious range, but it’s far more affordable.

I also used to spend approximately $300 (gasp) every few months on rolls of cotton canvas from the art supply store. Again, too expensive for my budget. But I’ve found a $4.99-per-yard unbleached cotton from the local fabric store. Last time I went there to buy some, the store employee unrolled the bolt of fabric to cut a length for me and I noticed a continuous stain running length-wise down the cloth. She offered me 75% off, so I ended up paying less than $1 a yard. Since I'm just going to gesso over the surface, the stain will never show.

4. EDUCATE YOURSELF ABOUT MONEY. I have read countless money advice books (checked out of the library, of course) in the past year, mostly ones that were published or updated since the recession, since so much has changed since 2008. Most art career books don’t discuss budgeting or finances specifically, and most financial advice books are written for people who know exactly when/where their next paycheck is coming from (something artists often can’t say for sure). I have found these two to be the most helpful, as they include chapters geared specifically for "consultants" with irregular incomes (a.k.a. artists): “Seven Money Rules for Life: How to Take Control of Your Financial Future” by Mary Hunt and “The Debt-Free Spending Plan: An Amazingly Simple Way to Take Control of Your Finances Once and For All” by JoAnneh Nagler.

These are just a few of the many ways for a cash-strapped artist to keep painting while staying in the black.

Although I am still paying off my debt, it is now more than halfway gone, and I plan to continue paying it off while maintaining a serious art practice. Every last penny owed will be paid by December 1, according to my calculations. And when that day dawns, armed with the many new solutions and techniques I have learned, I am confident that I will never find myself in debt again.

EDITED TO ADD: As of November 7, my debt is completely paid off! :-)

Reflections on gym class

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!

The Importance of Being Thankful

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."

What's the opposite of a hoarder?

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 ...

It's in the cards

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.

Petey Motherwell

See any similarities?

Don't give it away!

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.

My little pretties

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.

A present from Jack Frost

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.

Going green with Fruit of the Loom

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.

Art in my house

It's the time of year to be especially thankful, and as I look around my house, I appreciate the works of art by artist friends who have gifted me with their work or traded it to me in exchange for a piece of mine. Seeing their creations every day brightens my world, and inspires me in my own studio.

This painting is by Deborah Bohnert, one of my favorite artists, who lives and works in Marblehead, Massachusetts. She creates assemblages and installations of unexpected materials and brilliant colors. But her work isn't just about making a wild visual statement; there is a tender respect for humanity underlying each piece. I have hung her painting in my bedroom; it is clearly visible once you reach the top of the stairs. I love the vibrant red peeking out from the fading purple, and I want to make sure it can't be missed!




This work is by Lynda Ray, who currently resides and works in Richmond, Virginia. Lynda creates mostly with encaustic, but this particular piece was from an exhibit she was in at the Akin Gallery in Boston in 1991. It is made from strips of wood joined in an exquisite pattern and colored a deep alizarin. It is a quiet, contemplative piece, so I have tucked it into a sunny but private corner of my bedroom. I think of it like a Russian icon, meant to be meditated upon in peaceful moments of pause.




This painting is a glowing beach landscape by Wendy Soneson, a master watercolorist. We have been close friends for many years, having met each other as students at Lesley University back in 1993. Wendy told me, when she gave me this piece as a Christmas gift, that the figures on the beach reminded her of us, on one of our many long contemplative walks together. It is placed in my yellow-striped upstairs bathroom.




Here is our mantlepiece in the living room, the focal point of the first floor, which holds works by Lasse Antonsen and Robert Collins. Lasse is a professor and the gallery curator at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, where I met him when I was a graduate student there in the mid-90s. He is also an artist, and his witty and thought-provoking assemblages often contain historical references and actual artifacts framed in curio cabinets or, as in this piece, deep shadow boxes.

The square painting on the right is by Robert Collins. Bob and I have been teaching together at the Danforth Museum School in Framingham for many years. He is a most devoted instructor, and a warm and generous colleague. Even though he teaches 3 classes a day, 6 days a week (!), he still manages to create with diligence in his studio.



I consider myself most fortunate to know these wonderful people and talented artists, and I am pleased to share my home with their creations.

So you think YOUR job sucks?

This photograph has a place in one of my family's photo albums, and I think it's a fascinating window into the past, one that gives us both historical information and reasons to be thankful for the relatively luxurious workplaces of the present day.

The picture shows my great-grandmother, Louise Parrott, who is the second person from the left, laboring at (according to the wording on the back, in my grandfather's hand-writing) the Strout and Stritter Shoe Company on Willow Street in Lynn, Massachusetts, in 1917. What her task is, exactly, is unclear, as her hands do not show in the picture, but it must have involved some step in the shoe-making process.

I observe that these folks are working standing up, with nowhere to rest their feet or legs, on a hard wooden floor. The lighting doesn't look great; at least they are near windows, but I see only one bulb of electric light and it isn't lighting anyone's work station directly. The "Boss" (as he is identified in the photograph) is stationed nearby, where he can keep a close eye and ear on his employees. (Hopefully he was a nice guy, but if he wasn't and he didn't like the way you were doing your job, he would likely make that clear.)

There don't seem to be any fans or ventilation, and I can see whirring belts on a machine in the foreground, so likely it was noisy as well as stuffy in there.

The large rack behind my great-grandmother, which is not the only one in this workroom, reveals the kind of pace these workers were expected to keep: lots of shoes on there for such a small staff to be making.

So whenever you think your job sucks, remember this picture. It could be worse!

A difference in perception

Back in January, I was in a group show called "Opening Lines," in which purposeful use of line was the theme. We artists were scheduled to give a talk to the gallery guests, explaining our individual artistic approaches to line. I knew in advance exactly what I would say: that I am chiefly inspired by the lines I observe in Nature -- branches, vines, roots, ripples on water, etc.

The first artist to speak was a wonderful sculptor whose "lines" were strips of wood that twisted and configured in unexpected ways. As he discussed his interests to the audience, I was shocked to hear these words falling from his lips: "After all, there ARE no lines in Nature," as if it was an absolute fact that every child knows.

Uh-oh! So much for my brilliant premise! I was to speak next, so I identified my ideas honestly, anyway, hoping no one would notice that I had just outright contradicted this fellow. But beyond the talk, I just couldn't understand HOW someone, especially an artist who was clearly as sensitive and observant as this sculptor, could say there are no lines in Nature.

Later, after the talk was over, I realized what was going on. It was a difference of perception and of vocabulary.

One day I was looking at a complex grouping of bare tree branches, and I thought, "OK, those are LINES, don't tell me they aren't LINES!"

And then I realized that a sculptor wouldn't see the branches as lines; s/he would see them as slender rounded three-dimensional forms. But with my particular preferences, background and natural inclinations, I see everything as a series of flat patterns.

I think he might have meant there are no CONTOUR lines in Nature, which of course is true. Honestly, I felt relieved to have that figured out!

Spell-binding tales

I am reading a fascinating book titled "The Forger's Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century."

I love Sherlock Holmes, scientific experiments, human psychology, and of course art, and they're all wrapped up in these pages.

Among the interesting anecdotes:

One art forger borrowed a Durer self-portrait, painted on a wood panel, from a museum with permission to make a copy. He sawed it in half (parallel to the picture plane, like slicing a loaf of bread), then on the half that had the museum's seals on the back, he painted a copy. He "returned" his forgery to the museum, then sold the original Durer for a small fortune to an unsuspecting collector.

Another forger, the one highlighted in the book's title, whose grand-scale hoax is the focus of the book, spent a small sum on an old painting from a thrift shop in its original stretcher bars and nails. He sanded off the paint and repainted on the old canvas with paint he'd created from PLASTIC, baked it in an oven to create a cracked finish, and passed it off as a "long lost" Vermeer, which he sold in a frantic bidding war that earned him millions. He did this FIVE more times, earning millions more from each forgery. Unsure of what to do with his fortune, he bought house after house in Amsterdam and stashed giant bundles of paper money under the staircases. Among his "best" customers were Hitler and Goering. When questioned, he claimed to have won the French lottery ... twice.

And finally ... a literary take on forgery ... in the late '70s, as an experiment, a "prankster" (I would say performance artist) typed up copies of the manuscript of an award-winning, best-selling novel and mailed them out to fifteen publishers. All 15 rejected them, including the publishing house that had originally printed the book!

Let's face it ... truth is stranger than fiction!

A Walter Mitty moment

The weather forecast for my area of the country is for an impending blizzard, up to a foot of snow, starting around noontime today, so like everyone else around, I hastened to the grocery store early this morning and chucked a loaf of bread and some milk (in my case, soy milk) into a shopping cart.

Back on the road, I had one of those Walter Mitty moments. Suddenly I was the woman with the white gauze dress in Botticelli's "Primavera," frolicking through the woods and picking wildflowers. Ahhhh. Sigh.

Now I love snow, and I love Christmas, and the salesclerks and my fellow shoppers today were polite and friendly. But I couldn't help having a little daydream ... that the sun is beaming down, and there's a warm breeze in my hair, and the fragrance of roses wafts through the air ... Ahhhh. There I go again!

You can forget about my vote

It is 9:30 AM (including time change) on a Sunday morning. I usually work on Sundays; I happen to have today off. And this will be my only day off until next Tuesday, November 11, the Veterans Day holiday.

The peaceful atmosphere of my living room was just shattered by the jangling of the telephone. It was a call from the office of a candidate for Senate whom I was already prepared to vote for, urging me not only to vote for her but to cast my vote a certain way on one of the referendum questions slated to appear on the Massachusetts ballot on Tuesday.

Since this call was a recording, I was not able to answer the telephone and yell my rage at this invasion into the receiver. An online search was not able to turn up any sort of a website for this candidate, so I couldn't email her office either. Hence, my blog entry.

Madam, I don't care if you are a Democrat or a Republican. If you think it is acceptable behavior to telephone a constituent at home, early on a Sunday morning, and push them not only to vote for you but to vote a certain way on a particular referendum question, you clearly do not have my best interests at heart, nor do you give my intelligence, my sense of reason, or my right to freedom the slightest amount of credit or consideration.

Not only do I now intend NOT to vote for you, I plan to vote for your opponent. Have a nice day.