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Well, everyone, here I go. This is my first blog on my brand new, not-completely-loaded website, and I’m nervous. Excited. A little appalled at what I’m attempting. And unwilling to procrastinate any longer. So here goes:
After yet another missed competition deadline, I stepped back a few weeks ago and said, “Hey. What’s going on? What am I doing wrong?” I was unsatisfied with my life because I’d barely been painting, yet I still had marketing/bookkeeping chores out the yingyang, my husband needed more attention, the yard needed more work, the puppy needed surgery, and…. Well, it’s a really long list. The important thing is that I stopped and asked myself what was wrong. It took me a while to figure it out, but I did.
Life in uproar for two years has had a negative effect on my art making process. I was so unsettled that I went into Get It Done Overdrive. Everything focused into getting through whatever was going on and getting it over with. All vacations had a specific Get It Done Purpose. In fact, every minute had a GIDP. It made for days, then weeks, then months of long hours, constant work, and a feeling of getting nowhere. Painting became just another thing to be prioritized and done in tightly scheduled bits. So, of course, paintings did not get done. Nor did much of anything else.
So I stopped. Everything. My husband and I piled in the car with Piper and went on a much needed Fun Trip to Colonial Williamsburg and the Jamestown Colony in Virginia. No family visits, no pressurized house-hunting, no moving hysteria, no timelines, no work. Just the two (and a half) of us doing something together that we’ve always wanted to do. A blast was had. Fun facts were learned. We laughed together like loons and got to know each other again.
The work was still there when we got back, lots of it. The difference is that the days are not too short anymore. David and I laugh together more, Piper has had his surgery (removal of torn cartilage in one shoulder; he’s healing nicely, for you Piper enthusiasts), the work backlog is being reduced one item at a time, and I Am Painting Again. Thank God.
And the moral of the story is: Take time for yourself. Art doesn’t march to the beat of slave drums on one of those old Roman ships. Go on those artist’s dates. Do those Morning Pages (“The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron). Visit with old friends. Sit on an evening hillside and watch the sun go down. Your artist self will thank you every day.
Hugs and good Christmas shopping wishes,
Kate
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Last Friday, while a friend and I were trying to find some time in our busy schedules to get together and talk art, we commiserated about how hard it is to pull painting time away from family and friends and responsibilities. Is there anyone out there who can’t relate to that?
It doesn’t matter whether you snatch an hour to paint on Saturdays or create art to make your living, there is never enough time. If the laundry doesn’t need doing, a grandchild is graduating out-of-state (airport, here you come). If the website doesn’t need to be updated, a class description with supply list needs to be composed, and the taxes need to be done. And then there is the husband/wife/sweetheart who expects (and rightfully so) at least part of your weekend time.
That isn’t ever going to change, nor do I want it to. Life would be darned hard without the people we love, and we will need to eat and sleep and clean up after ourselves as long as we live. How do we cope with that?
Years ago, my sister told me the secret: she said that the things that get in the way of creating art are the very things that enrich it. Oh yeah, right, you say?
Consider: When I spend all my time with artists and doing art -- which I was lucky enough to do for a couple of years in my unmarried thirties -- my work is good, but after a while it becomes predictable. I move forward in my development, but only in certain ways. When I have to squeeze art in sideways for a husband and a day job and non-art volunteer obligations, my development still continues in a fuller, rounder way.
Yes, you read that right. At first glance, it doesn’t seem possible, but I’ve come up with a theory. Art is very right-brain. Your left and your right brains are equally important, though. If they weren’t, one half would be smaller than the other. That’s how nature works.
On top of that, they are meant to work together; neither one is ever turned off. In order to learn and grow and just get around in the world, they constantly talk back and forth to each other, each one contributing what is needed for rich, full, human thought and development. And that means better art. Richer art. More “A-hahs!”
So don’t long for the time when you can do nothing but art every day. Find a balance. Make one. Take classes. Carve out one sacred hour each week to let your mind drift and two more hours to create. You need both types of art time.
Carve out more if you can. Squeezing it in sideways is too tight. Take classes or a workshop. Paint plein aire with friends or alone. Form a painting group. Hey, form a critique group, too. Mix and match until it works for you.
And always remember: both sides of the brain work better when they both have to work. Everything you do helps your art.
Hugs and happy painting,
K
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After Jeannie McGuire. While I haven’t worked myself up to using a lot of titanium white, the way she started with intense color and deep darks grabbed me by the throat and shook me. Wow, I thought, and plunged into my own painting after her demo.
The first stroke on “The Committee” (three men above right) would never have happened if I hadn’t been so fired up. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. The painting just flew out of my brush, though, and I was so happy with the results that I’m slapping in darks with great abandon.
I’ve made a few mistakes and taken things too far too fast a couple of times, but see how my work has grown. “Supper at Carine’s” earned my first Best in Show!
So try it. Or try something else that fires you up. And remember: No guts, no glory!
Hugs,
K
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I really do. Taking them and giving them. Workshops with good teachers are a sure-fire cure for the creative humdrums.
That means the year has started out beautifully, because I had the opportunity to give a floral workshop in Reno, Nevada -- my old stomping grounds -- during the second weekend of January. It was a wonderful experience.
I don’t know exactly why, but artists are, as a whole, great people. This class was no exception. In fact, it was one of the best workshop groups I’ve had the privilege to teach. I cannot thank them all enough.
One of the joys of teaching is that in some ways I learn as much as my students do. This time I learned never to use industrial spotlights to light floral still lifes, even if that’s all that is available. They burn so hot that they shrivel the flowers within a couple of hours.
What happened next, though, was really exciting. I gave my demo arrangement to the painters whose setup had died, and ran out during lunch to buy some more lilies. The only stargazers they had were white. I bought them.
And painted them as though they were the pink stargazers everyone else was working on. I pointed out what I was looking at on a pink setup, then transferred the pinks and yellows and oranges onto the white lily shape on my paper. As I painted, I used the new white lily for basic value and shape information, melding it all together onto the paper.
As a result, the painting itself started making suggestions that I wouldn’t have thought of otherwise, and I took risks that I normally wouldn’t take in front of students.
Did everything work perfectly? No.
Right there in front of God and everybody, I had to “fix” things that weren’t going to work “on the fly” and think about my painting intuitively, while explaining what I was doing and why. The result was fourteen very excited students with a teacher to match. We all learned a lot.
I love workshops!
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A couple of years ago, my friend Charlie came back from his first Charles Reid workshop flying high. He told us Reid puts in his darkest dark first, then went from there to build the painting. He was intrigued and excited by the process, and his enthusiasm was catching. Hmm, I thought, I’m going to try that on one of my paintings.
Of course, I didn’t. Life kept moving and classes needed teaching, and intended exploration got put way back behind the mayonnaise. I guess I wasn’t quite ready for it.
Enter Jeannie McGuire. While I haven’t worked myself up to using a lot of titanium white, the way she started with intense color and deep darks grabbed me by the throat and shook me. Wow, I thought, and plunged into my own painting after her demo.
“Uncertain” was one of the pieces I started during that workshop. The very first stroke I put in was that dark viridian/quinacridone rose at the small of the model’s back. After that, the painting just flowed. At the end of the day, it only lacked the strand of hair and finishing wash in the top left corner that brings her shoulder into view.
Since then, I’ve been approaching my paintings this way, and am so excited with the results.
So give it a shot. It’s worth the risk.
Hugs,
K
