Mysterious Unfolding: an artist statement

"I am also aware that there is something mysterious unfolding within myself, something imbued with incredible passion and emotion, which longs to be expressed."

--from my artist statement for my show,

The Unfolding Rose

Here's a two-minute video tour of my show.  I hope that it will entice you to come to my opening reception!

Music by "Crowfoot."

 

You can see a virtual gallery of my show here, which includes the links to the items available on my online shop.

And just in case you missed it, I wrote a blog post on April 13th which includes some deeper, personal thoughts about my show, and its connection with Roethke's poetry.

I'm so excited, nervous, and elated about my show.  The opening reception is tomorrow night, Thursday, May 12, from 7-9 pm, at 3rd & Ferry Fish Market!  I hope to see you there!!!

When We Dead Awaken

"When we dead awaken, we find that we have never lived."

--Henrik Ibsen

A close-up of "I Am Beautiful," a Rodin sculpture

Almost a month ago, I went to the Rodin Museum in Phildadelphia with my sister and my husband.  The morning opened up for us with the clarity of early spring, which arises from that special combination of wind and bright sunlight on the bare, naked tree branches, quivering with unopened buds, barely able to restrain the life within them...

"I think, therefore I am."  --Descartes

We entered the museum through a garden, and rested beside the serene, rectangular pond.

All around us were sculptures.

Sisters in Rodin's garden...

From this bench, we could contemplate Eve's shame.

Inside the museum, I was struck by this sculpture, "The Crouching Woman."  Apparently, it was a pose Rodin's model took when she was resting, in between her "real" poses, and it inspired him.  Perhaps she was stretching?

Rodin liked to make Assemblages,  which were like sculptural collages.  For example, he combined "Crouching Woman" with "Falling Man" from "The Gates of Hell."  Can you find "Falling Man"?

The Gates of Hell: they were not made to open...

Here is the resulting Assemblage:

"I Am Beautiful"

Rodin entitled this assemblage, "I Am Beautiful," after a poem by Baudelaire.  When I learned this, of course I went home and stayed up all night reading Baudelaire poems.  I found many translations of "I Am Beautiful," or "Beauty," and here is my favorite:

Beauty

 

I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone, 
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.

On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx, 
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans; 
I hate movement for it displaces lines, 
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my grandiose poses, 
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues, 
Will consume their lives in austere study;

For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!

— poem by Baudelaire, translated by William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

 

A bust of Camille Claudel

Rodin had a young student with whom he had a long and passionate affair.  (There is a great movie about her, Camille Claudel, which tells the story of her tragic life.)  She herself was a sculptor of great talent, but did not achieve the fame of her teacher, probably because she was a woman.  Much of her work had been, until recently, mistakenly attributed to her teacher, Rodin.  For example, "Head of a Slave," and "Laughing Boy."

"Head of a Slave" and "Laughing Boy" by Camille Claudel

Our tour guide mentioned that Henrik Ibsen had written a play--his final play--based on the characters of Rodin and Claudel.  So the next day I requested it from the library and read it.  I didn't really love it.  In fact, it left me feeling empty and wanting more.  But I did get goosebumps from one line in particular, spoken by the Claudel-inspired character.

 

"When we dead awaken, we find that we have never lived."

 

 

Everything Is Relative

"Trying to control value introduces us to a phenomenon we experience constantly in painting: Everything is relative."

--quotation from my plein air workshop hand-out

"Bridge Over the Lehigh River" oil on gessoboard, 9x12'' 

I had the pleasure of taking another Plein Air Painting Workshop this past weekend.  (I wrote about my first workshop, back in October, in this blog post: Taking Notes.)  

It was such a treat for my senses, spending two days by the river, in the warm sunshine, just painting...  

Me, doing my favorite thing in the world.

On Friday, we met at Scott Park, in Easton, PA.  Our teacher, Adriano Farinella, went over some of the general concepts, which included his own insights, as well as those of John Carlson (Carlson's Guide to Landscape Painting) and Mitchell Albala, all plein air painters.  Some of my favorite nuggets of wisdom:

  • Trying to control value introduces us to a phenomenon we experience constantly in painting: Everything is relative.
  • Ultimately, judging values is not a matching exercise between subject and painting.  It is a comparative exercise among the values within the painting itself.
  • If something disappears when you squint, it is probably not worth including.
  • A good picture is a series of good corrections, a striking of balance, so do not expect too much from the mere 'lay-in.' 

I wonder if Life is a series of good corrections, too?  So many parallels...

Adriano, giving me some guidance on my value study.

My personal goal for taking this workshop was to improve my understanding and perception of Value.  When I explained this to Adriano on Saturday, he suggested I start with some value studies, using gray-scale paint tip markers.  Afterwards, I was to attempt the same study, using oil paints: just French Ultramarine and Burnt Umber, white, and gamsol.  No medium.  Here's the result:

A scene with a tree on the other side of the river.

Bridge over the Lehigh River.

Some notes I took:

  • Be more conscious of edges, where things start and end.
  • Put the different values next to each other.
  • Juggle the values: keep them in balance.
  • Seriously blur your eyes.  Try to establish dark and light patterns.
  • Pay attention to Line and Value, but don't get swept up by either of them.  

(That's definitely something I do...get swept up in things...)

Adriano helps Charles, another student.

Adriano helps Charles, another student.

Kathy, another student, at her easel, doing some great work.

Adriano helps Kathy with her painting.  On the right is Brian, another student, and a really wonderful person.  He seems so joyful about painting, and so young-at-heart.  I wish I had a better picture of him!

Adriano, painting.

On Sunday, I used my value studies as a jumping board to start a painting that was all about Value.  (You can see the finished painting at the top of this blog post: "Bridge Over the Lehigh River.")  I used a limited palette (see my older blog post, Limitations and Freedom in Art and Life), a "Zorn" type of palette, which included French Ultramarine, Burnt Umber, white, and, towards the end, some yellow ochre.  (If I were to continue this painting, or others in the future, I would eventually add in some cadmium red.)

"Everything is relative."

So, in conclusion, it was a successful weekend!  I do feel as if I learned a lot, and managed not to get too overwhelmed by the challenges.  This paragraph from the workshop pamphlet, written by Adriano, certainly helped to keep my demons at bay, so I'll share it with you: a happy ending.

The Unfolding Rose

"She wakes the ends of life."

--Theodore Roethke

"Unfolding Rose" oil on wood panel, 4x7''

I am busy preparing for my solo show at Third and Ferry Fish Market.  The opening reception will be Thursday, May 12, 2016, from 7-9 pm.  I have decided to call my show "The Unfolding Rose," for two reasons.  For one thing, I feel like an unfolding rose, myself.  I feel like I've been this tight bud of potential for so long, just waiting for the right season, and finally, the sun has warmed me, and I can't do anything except slowly unfold, artistically.  

"Virtue" oil on wood panel, 5x7''

Another reason for my title is that it comes from a poem, "Words for the Wind," by Theodore Roethke.  I just can't get enough of Roethke's poetry these days.  It touches me to the core of my body and soul.  My favorite poems are: "The Dream," "She," "I Knew a Woman," and "Words for the Wind."  

Theodore Roethke

 

When I was researching Roethke's biography for this blog post, I found that he had been an English professor at Lafayette College, in Easton, PA, just a short walk from my house!  Possibly due to his bouts of mental illness, he was expelled from his position, and soon afterwards had a passionate affair with the poet, Louise Bogan.  I had never heard of her before; her stunning poetry has drifted into the forgotten past, it seems.  This may be due to her gender, perhaps, as well as the fact that she defended formal, lyrical poetry, which was out of vogue during her lifetime.  But, thanks to my infatuation with Roethke, I have stumbled upon her, and I can't wait to read more.  

Louise Bogan

I couldn't fit all of "Words for the Wind," or even just "part 4," onto my show invitation postcard, but I can share it here.  If you want to read the whole poem, you had better get your own book of Roethke poetry, because I can't be parted from mine.

 

"Words for the Wind" Part 4

 

The breath of a long root,

The shy perimeter

Of the unfolding rose,

The green, the altered leaf,

The oyster's weeping foot,

And the incipient star--

Are part of what she is.

She wakes the ends of life.

 

Being myself, I sing

The soul's immediate joy.

Light, light, where's my repose?

A wind wreathes round a tree.

A thing is done: a thing

Body and spirit know

When I do what she does:

Creaturely creature, she!--

 

I kiss her moving mouth, 

Her swart hilarious skin;

She breaks my breath in half;

She frolicks like a beast;

And I dance round and round,

A fond and foolish man,

And see and suffer myself

In another being, at last.

 

"Free Spirit" oil on wood panel, 8x10''

Additional News:

  • Last night I put the names (of the people who commented on last week's blog post) into a hat, and pulled out the name of the winner:  It's Adriano.  Congratulations!  I'll contact you and arrange to give you your prize: a free print of any painting on my website.  
  • All the models for my rose paintings were provided by Bloomies in Easton, PA.  Thanks Terry!
  • Below is the front and back of my postcard invitation for my upcoming show, in case you don't get a real one.  But let me know if you want one, and send me your mailing address, and if I have enough, I'll mail you one!
unfolding rose postcard front SINGLE.jpg

Oysters

Eat my oysters, and lie near her,
She'll be fruitful, never fear her.

--Jonathan Swift

"So sweet is their flesh," oil on wood board, 8x10"

Over the last two weeks, I've been busy painting fresh, raw oysters.  This is mostly in preparation for my upcoming solo show at 3rd & Ferry Fish Market, which will be on May 12th, from 7-9 pm.  Becca and Mike, the owners of that great restaurant, kindly provided me with some beautiful oysters.  I've included some poetry to accompany the paintings, much in the same way I might enhance a plate of oysters with some lemon juice, or a glass of champagne.  Bon Appétit!

"The Oyster's Weeping Foot" oil on board, 8x10''  

An oyster poem by Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

Charming oysters I cry:
My masters, come buy,
So plump and so fresh,
So sweet is their flesh,
No Colchester oyster
Is sweeter and moister:
Your stomach they settle,
And rouse up your mettle:
They'll make you a dad
Of a lass or a lad;
And madam your wife
They'll please to the life;
Be she barren, be she old,
Be she slut, or be she scold,
Eat my oysters, and lie near her,
She'll be fruitful, never fear her.

"Raw" oil on wood panel, 3.75x4.5"  (Currently available for sale for $50, without a frame.  Contact me privately, or visit my Shop.)

And, "for dessert," an excerpt from a poem by Roethke:

 

The breath of a long root,

The shy perimeter

Of the unfolding rose,

The green, the altered leaf,

The oyster's weeping foot,

Are part of what she is.

She wakes the ends of life.

Limitations and Freedom in Art and Life

"Freedom is something you have to be very careful about.  Whatever you do you find yourself in chains.  The freedom not to do something means that you're absolutely bound to do something else.  And there are your chains."

 --Pablo Picasso

Nostalgic about my old house...er....tent....

Lately I've been working with a limited palette, in order to develop my understanding of Value and Drawing.  

A limited palette suggested by Stephen Early, from bottom left, going clockwise:  black, burnt umber, cadmium red, cadmium yellow, and titanium white

Having limitations, or boundaries, can force you to develop your skills in a deeper way.  It's difficult to juggle all of the complications of Color, Composition, Value, and Drawing, and so it comes as a relief to simplify your color options.

This idea applies to Life as well as Art.  When we make choices that "tie us down," like choosing to buy a house, get married, get a job, have children, or even adopt a pet, we undeniably create boundaries for ourselves, but at the same time, we tap into an intense source of Creativity, Love, and Learning.  This can be appreciated by the fact that a room jam-packed with toys can overwhelm a child, while a simple cardboard box provides a whole day's worth of fun!

Anyway, the whole idea of Freedom, as something external, is a myth.   As Picasso said, "Whatever you do you find yourself in chains."  If I choose not to have a steady job or house, and instead live in a tent in the forest (as I have done in the past, I'm happy to say), it's certainly a valid and rewarding choice, but it's not a choice to be more free.  The chains are just different: financial stress, for example, or the inability to receive mail or take hot showers.

But I would take Picasso's statement a step further: with "chains" comes an invitation to experience an internal and enduring freedom, perhaps the only true freedom that there really is.  And this invitation waits for everyone.

Housewife On Fire

“Suddenly a veil was torn away, my destiny as a painter opened up to me.” 

-- Monet

 

I became aware that I was a serious painter during the cathartic summer of 2014.  Almost overnight, I changed from being a completely contented and devoted housewife and mother into a passionate, restless, insatiable maniac, utterly obsessed with Painting.  Now, not quite two years later, the inner flame has not abated, but at least I feel grounded enough to go back through my diary entries (italicized) from that pivotal time.  Here is a real, raw glimpse into my soul; may it empower you.

 

June 23.  “Lately, I’m feeling more and more drawn towards painting.  Compelled.  Today I called a man who might make a good teacher.  But it would be expensive.  I don’t know.  I feel so good about it.  I feel myself chafing a little at being a mother and a wife, not that there is anything wrong with those roles.  But it might be that there is something else I need to do, to branch out in this other way, to develop greater skills…  What does it mean to be an artist?”

 

 

July 11.  “What a joyful, golden summer it is!  And now, so many good things are happening.  I feel like a flower breaking into blossom!  I’m so excited that sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, my blood buzzing with excitement in my veins, unable to sleep.  Art!  Painting!  This is what has shaken me!

 I ran into an old friend from high school, Graham Preston, who is now a successful artist in New York, and he is going to give me free painting lessons!

.I feel such a swelling of potential in me… a waking-up, like some part of me has been asleep all of these years.

"One Plum" oil on canvas, 11x14''  My first painting homework assignment from Graham.

Graham gave me free lessons for a couple of weeks in his studio, which, at the time, was then conveniently located near my parents' house. in New Hope, PA  During this time, I felt as if I had been struck by lightning.  I was on fire; the fire burned just beneath the thin layer of my skin, barely keeping itself contained.  Nothing would satisfy me, except to pursue painting for the rest of my life.  Graham gave me a great starting point, and lots of encouragement, and hours of lessons and guidance in his studio.  I'll be forever grateful to him!

  "It's good to be fearless," he told me.  "Be generous with your paints."

"Mad as Softness" by Graham Preston, acrylic, 52x96''

Graham is an amazing artist, and it was difficult to pick only one of his paintings for this blog post.  I finally chose "Mad as Softness" because I'm especially drawn to his figurative work, and I'm intrigued by the implied narrative, the sense of mystery, as well as an onslaught of emotions: longing, nostalgia, discontent...  Anyway, that's how it is for me.  Please visit Graham's website and take a look at his work for yourself!

"A Cavalcade of Sea Legends" oil on canvas, 18x24''  This is another painting I made in Graham's studio.  He gave me plenty of advice and help, but not too much, so that I was still able to fumble around and make my own mistakes, and learn to trust myself.

July 12th...Awake again at 2 am.  I tossed and turned until 3, then went downstairs to research artists online.  Graham gave me so many artists to look up.  (I really love Holly Coulis and Lisa Sanditz and Robin F. Williams!)  Then I read an art book, and did an inventory of my old box of oil paints.  I was so awake and happy and full of energy!

July 27...Kind of unhappy and restless… Mostly happy and inspired.  Painting a lot.  In transition.

July 31  So tired.  When can I paint?  I’m too tired now.  It’s really difficult.  I have ideas.  I just can’t carve out space in the day.  I feel like I don’t have the strength to do what I am called to do.  And yet, at other times, I don’t have to do anything.  It feels as though the Universe is supporting me.  It’s exciting and exhausting.

August 12...My attempts to paint are frustrated by my household, motherly, and wifely duties.  It seems too difficult.  I do a lot of “painting” in my mind and in my dreams.

August 15...I don’t really know what to do or how to proceed.  I’m having trouble being a patient, attentive mother.  (Ian says it is because I’m tired, from waking up at 2 am every morning.)  I try to play dollhouse and trains with the kids, and find myself disliking every moment.  I’m withdrawing from them emotionally.  My thoughts are on painting.  And all things related.  The household and its needs seem so irrelevant.  I seem to have no energy to wash the dishes and prepare the food. 

I want time to paint, but I can’t get it until late at night.  It’s a vicious cycle of restlessness.

What happened to my old energy, my old enthusiasm for creating a happy household, with crafts, songs, and homemade meals?  I’ve got to figure out a way to be more balanced.

August. 18th..All afternoon, Ian played with the kids while I painted, working on my still life, “A Cavalcade of Sea Legends.”  The more I work on it, the more complex it gets.  I’m really feeling my learning, that is, I am solving a lot of problems and learning a lot about paint, just by working on this still life.

 

World –flower,

You keep opening your petals for me,

and I, a dizzy bee,

am finding you so sweet!.

 

Detail from "A Cavalcade of Sea Legends"

I have a good, strong feeling that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing, and what I need to be doing, in order to become a good painter.  It’s hard work but it’s also fun and invigorating.

The more I paint, the more I want to paint.

I wish I could just paint and paint and paint!

My maternal and wifely feelings seem to have evaporated, but not completely.  I’ve been feeling badly about that, but then I think, maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.  It could just be some Cosmic Balancing.  For over seven years, I’ve devoted myself to my family and keeping house, and let my Artist Self vanish beneath everyone else’s needs.  So perhaps this bout of “selfishness” is just what needs to happen in order to bring everything into balance.

 

Epilogue:  It has been about a year and a half since that fateful July.  I'd like to say that I have achieved a good balance of Family and Art in my life, but actually, I'm still struggling with that.  I continue to wake up restlessly at 3 am to paint, and my obsession with art has only strengthened with time.  Luckily, my family is resilient.  My husband and two kids have survived, and in addition, they even provide me with inspiration for paintings!  And so, I have a lot for which I am grateful.

"Nell Reading" a portrait of my daughter that I did in November, 2014, when she stayed home from school sick one day

"Morgan" my son, completed in October 2015, under the guidance of my teacher, Frank Arcuri

Work-in-progress:  "The Artist's Husband"  I started this last week.





Divine Passion: Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun

"The passion for painting was innate in me.  This passion has never failed, perhaps because it has always increased with time; even today, I experience all its charm, and I hope that this divine passion ends only with my life."

--Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, Souvenirs, tome 1, lettre 1

Self Portrait in a Straw Hat, 1782

Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun's words ignite my soul; I'm completely fascinated by her.  She was a wife, a mother, and a successful eighteenth-century painter, long before feminism became a word.  During her long life (she lived to be 87 !) she painted 660 portraits and 200 landscapes.  I am in the middle of reading her memoirs, called Souvenirs, from which I have obtained all of the italicized quotations in this post.  

another self portrait of herself, at her easel

Her paintings are now on display in a special exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art:  "Vigée Le Brun:  Woman Artist in Revolutionary France."  It opened last week, on Monday, February 15th, and it will hang through May 15th.  I'm so excited to go and see some of her paintings in person!  Inspired by this anticipation, I have decided to write about her this week, because I wish more people knew about her!

Vigée Le Brun was born in France in 1755.  Her father, Louis Vigée, was a fan painter, and he was his daughter's first art teacher, as well as her staunch supporter.  When she was about seven or eight, she made a drawing of a man.

"When my father saw it he went into transports of joy, exclaiming, 'You will be a painter, child, if ever there was one!'"

Head of a Young Girl, charcoal on paper

Head of a Young Girl, charcoal on paper

Vigée Le Brun's mother also encouraged her, and exposed her to the art of the Old Masters when she was a young girl.  They went to the Luxembourg Palace to see the work of Rubens, then in a gallery there, and to various private collections of pictures. 

"As soon as I entered one of these galleries, I immediately became just like a bee, so eagerly did I gather in knowledge that would be of use to me in my art, and so intoxicated with bliss was I in studying these works of the great painters."

When Vigée Le Brun was twenty, she married Jean-Baptiste-Pierre Le Brun, a mediocre painter and art dealer.  Although he was not a cruel man, he had a terrible weakness for gambling.  Legally, his wife's income was at his disposal, and he took full advantage of this.  

"...in 1789, when I quitted France, I had not an income of twenty francs, although I had earned more than a million.  He had squandered it all."

Despite her marital disappointment, Vigée Le Brun found a great deal of joy in motherhood.  In 1780, she gave birth to her only child, a little girl named Julie.

A self portrait with her daughter, Julie.

 "I will not attempt to describe the transports I felt when I heard the first cry of my child.  Every mother knows what those feelings are."

Madame Vigée Le Brun and her daughter, Jeanne Lucie Louise, 1789

Her career blossomed.  She became a member of the Académie de Saint Luc, although many artists did not want to admit her because she was a woman.  She worked constantly, painting portraits of the nobility of France.  Her skill made her popular in the highest social circles, and she attended endless balls and banquets.  Eventually she became the court painter for Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette in a Muslin Dress, 1783

During the French Revolution, Vigée Le Brun and her five-year-old daughter fled France in the middle of the night, in disguise as commoners.  They barely escaped with their lives.  Vigée Le Brun's husband also survived, even though he stayed behind, having somehow befriended the Revolutionaries.  But sadly, many of their good friends were killed in the Terror of the Revolution, including Vigée Le Brun's patroness and friend, the Queen. 

Marie Antoinette and Her Children, 1787

Exiled from their beloved France, mother and daughter traveled around Europe: Italy, Austria, Russia, England, and Switzerland.  Everywhere they went, the famous artist received portrait commissions.  Some of her subjects included Napoleon I, Lord Byron, and Catherine the Great's granddaughters.  

Alexandra and Elena Pavlovna, Catherine the Great's Granddaughters

Eventually, Vigée Le Brun was able to return to France, although she never really reunited with her husband.  She spent her final years in Paris, where she died in 1842, shortly before her 88th birthday, after a long, productive, and art-filled life.

Her tombstone states "Ici, enfin, je repose…"

(Here, at last, I rest…)

 


Kat and Picasso

"I see sculpture and I feel like I'm looking at a Being,  It's not just a picture of something.  It is something."

--Kat Good-schiff

Figure.  1931.  Iron and iron wire.

"I love the shadows.  That looks like it was fun to make!"  -- Kat

This Saturday, I went into New York City to see the Picasso Sculpture Exhibit, at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA).  I planned to meet up with my good friend, Kat.  She lives in Easthampton, Massachusetts, and we try to meet up in New York about once a year to look at art together.  She is a poet at heart, and maintains a wonderful poetry blog called "Dragon's Meow."

I helpfully texted Kat my location:  

"I'm near Walgreens and a violinist and someone selling flowers."  

Violin.  by Picasso.  Charcoal, collage, oil, and cardboard.  (Not part of the sculpture exhibit.)

Violin.  by Picasso.  Charcoal, collage, oil, and cardboard.  (Not part of the sculpture exhibit.)

She did end up finding me, in Penn Station, and we had lunch together.  As we dined, we talked about our creative endeavors.  Kat confided that she hasn't been writing poetry much lately.  "I'm in a 'fallow field' stage," she admitted.  She seemed to be at peace with this, cultivating patience with herself and her life circumstances, and trusting that things will change. 

"I'm not trying to control the process," she explained.  "My reasons for writing are changing.  It's going to have to come from within me."

My beautiful friend looks at Picasso's art with intense concentration.  She reminds me of an elegant classical sculpture.

We talked for awhile about the similarities between poetry and painting, and how creative work requires sensitivity and awareness, and can't necessarily be forced.

"I think creative people go through this all the time," Kat explained to me.  "You need to 're-fill the Well.'  In a normal situation, you could do that on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis.  But I think I had a leak in my Well for a long time, and I didn't notice.  An earthquake happened, and my well got cracked."

For some reason, I had taken a dislike to Picasso, and also, strangely, to sculpture in general, but nevertheless, I allowed myself to be swept into the museum, riding on Kat's enthusiasm.  She had been looking forward to this exhibit for weeks!  I decided to try my best to see the museum through her eyes, and leave my prejudice outside the door.

Kat really loves sculptures.  She has written two poems about sculptures.  My favorite is The Garden Man.

"I feel like I could speak for them or to them," she said.

The Jester Paris 1905.  Bronze.

"I love his face, his expression.  He's snickering, maybe thinking about something funny!" --Kat

"I see sculpture and I feel like I'm looking at a Being," Kat said.  "It's not just a picture of something.  It is something."

A guard came over and chided Kat for being too close to The Jester.

"Put that in your post," Kat laughed.  "I always get in trouble in museums for getting too close to art!"

Guitar.  Paris, 1024.  Painted sheet metal, painted tin box, and iron wire.

Many of the sculptures resembled musical instruments....sort of.

"I love abstraction," Kat said.  "It's like poetry; you get little hints, but you don't get the whole picture.  You have to fill in the gaps."

"What kind of music would this guitar play?" I asked.

"Spanish," she said.  "Flamenco."

Obviously.

In the next room we found one of Kat's favorite sculptures: Woman in the Garden.  

Woman in the Garden.  Paris, 1929-30.  Iron, sheet metal, springs, and metal colanders; all painted.

Even though it was kind of crude, with harsh lines and metal bits, it had an organic, natural feeling, which Kat admired.  

"I like that you can tell what it is, but it's still abstracted.  I like the gestures a lot.  Her hair...it's blowing in the wind, it seems fanciful.  That leaf shape...I think it's her.  I think she has become part of the garden."

Woman in the Garden, another angle.

"It's totally different from different angles.  It seems more complex the more I look at it...Maybe I can see myself in her a little bit.  I like to be outside with flowers. "

We came to a room filled with plaster and cement sculptures, evocative of the classical statues from ancient Greece.  Everything was rounded and smooth.

Head of a Woman. Boisgeloup, 1931-32.  Plaster.

"I like how asymmetrical you are, my dear," Kat told Head of a Woman.

Head of a Woman said nothing, only returned her gazed, knowingly. 

Crane.  Vallauris, 1951-52.

This sculpture of a crane caught Kat's attention.

"It looks like it's made of repurposed materials.  It's cool to take something so un-crane-like, so industrial, and make it so natural.  It's a crane!  A metamorphosis: one thing becomes something else."

 

We found this small sculpture of a woman, lying on her stomach, engrossed in a book; we both loved her!

Woman Reading.  Vallauris, 1951-53.  Painted bronze.

"Delicate and beautiful," mused Kat.  "Her face...her hair...She's having a private moment.  She's not nude.  I think it makes it stand out.  It's notable."

I agreed.  It was refreshing to see this sculpture, after so many sexual nudes.  I personally found it a little irritating to see Picasso, again and again, sculpturally reducing women into overblown caricatures, like walking breasts, wombs, and vulvas.

Woman with a Baby Carriage.  Vallauris, 1950-54.  Bronze.

"Um, excuse me... my eyes are up here!"

You can imagine.

In general, it was a pretty macho exhibit.

Man.  Cannes, 1958.  Wood and nails.

The last sculpture we looked at was Sylvette, a two-headed woman painted on sheet metal. We spent a long time looking at her.  On one side, her eyes were opened.  On the other, her eyes were closed. 

Sylvette.  Vallauris, 1954..  Painted sheet metal.

We talked a little about what this sculpture meant to us.  Could it represent me?  Do I have two faces, one that I present to the world, and one that I keep hidden?  I often struggle with a feeling of being divided, or a desire to divide myself, to separate the woman with responsibilities from the woman with passions.

Kat was fascinated by the way Picasso continually messed with "reality."

"It's like he could see things that aren't there," she said.  "Or he saw them differently."

The other side of Sylvette.

Completely exhausted, we took refuge in the museum cafe.  

"Did you like the sculptures?" I asked Kat, taking a sip of my cappuccino.

Debriefing afterwards over cappuccinos in the museum cafe.

"I don't know if I liked a lot his sculptures," she said.  "I thought they were really interesting.  I think Cubism makes me think and look at things differently, and to wonder... I don't take things for granted so much.  It's an example of seeing things differently.  He has a unique vision that calls things into question.  If someone can look at a woman and make a sculpture of her, with all her features in the wrong place...then how could I see things differently?  How could I not see things in the normal way?  I don't think I could see things that way, so it's fascinating to see things through his eyes."

We sighed, exhausted and satiated from a day filled with art.  Soon, we would part, by bus and by train, but for now we had this moment, utterly filled to the brim.

Our food came, and we ate dessert first.

Travel Sketchbook: a young artist's adventure

"The end of the path is there, waiting, and you will find it, when the time is right.  But it is not the reason for your travels.  The reason is simply to travel.  To find the hidden delights..."

--my travel diary, on the train coming home from my adventure, November, 2003

I stand at the top of a mountain, contemplating the possibilities of life.  This is one of only a very few photographs from my trip.  I didn't take a camera or a phone, only a sketchbook and some paints.

Seeking Solitude

When I was 22, just after college, I went traveling alone for three months.  I didn't have much of a predetermined plan, only a growing desire to see Frida Kahlo's house in Mexico City, and a yearning to be independent before my wedding, which I had planned for the following June.  I traveled light, with everything fitting into a backpack, and I mostly stayed with friends or in youth hostels.   What follows is a narrative of my adventures, including excerpts from my diary (those are italicized), and paintings and drawings from my sketchbook.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

I started my trip in New Hope, Pennsylvania, where I grew up.  My mom drove me to the Doylestown train station, and I took a train to Philadelphia, and then to Chicago, and finally Santa Fe.  I think I was on the train for three days total, sleeping in my seat, and eating bread and Nutella for every meal.

Sept. 11, 2003  "Naked Hula-hooping in Santa Fe"  This was a view from Cecily's back yard.

"I am staying with my good friend Cecily.  My first night here, Cecily and I walked around Santa Fe and went into a restaurant where her romantic interest works and sat outside on the patio, even though it was starting to rain.  We drank two bottles of wine...and danced together outside in the thunderstorm..."

"Yesterday I climbed up a hill where the Cross of the Martyrs stands... I could see the mountains, valleys, trees, and houses for 360 degrees all around.  I spent a few hours there, eating lunch, reading, and painting a watercolor of the landscape, including those breast-like mounds: Monte Luna y Monte Sol."  

Sept. 12, 2003 "Monte Sol y Monte Luna in Santa Fe, NM"

 "...an entire landscape within the confines of your skin..." --Georgia O'Keeffe

"In the evening, I went to some museums, including the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum.  I am in love with the COLORS of her oil paintings and the FREEDOM of her watercolors."

"The next day, I found a trail that led up into the mountains.  The trail led up and down and switch-backed around, in between evergreens.  There were two kinds of trees: juniper with frosty-blue berries and soft, fern-like needles, and piñon trees, which were a warmer green, with sharp needles.  The juniper trees grew like crazy, curving dancers' limbs, all twisted and wild.  At every moment, I was presented with a spectacular view.  I painted a spirited watercolor of some prickly pears."

Sept. 13, 2003 "Prickly Pear Cactus"

"Yesterday I hiked to the top of Mount Atalaya.  I saw a hummingbird drinking out of a small, red trumpet-shaped flower, so I got very close to the flower and sat very still for a long time, and soon the hummingbird came very close to me to taste his beloved nectar."

Sept. 16, 2003 "A view from the top of Atalaya Mountain"

"Yesterday morning Cecily and I woke up before dawn to watch the sunrise.  We climbed to the top of the Cross of the Martyrs hill and gazed, blinking, at the blinding white radiance that was the sun.  I did a painting of it, but there was no way I could capture its effect."

Sept. 17th, 2003 "Sunrise" 

The Grand Canyon, Arizona

I took a Greyhound bus from Santa Fe to the Grand Canyon Youth Hostel.  In the morning, I took a shuttle to the Grand Canyon.

"I went walking towards the rim with my small green day pack full of necessities like food, water, my pennywhistle, and art supplies.  I hiked down and I found myself alone in the canyon for many miles.  Oh, the silence!  Not a sound... Occasionally, the call of a blackbird...  The beating of the afternoon sun, the monstrous, exquisite reality of the canyon, the caking of red dust on my shoes and pant legs...  After several hours of hiking, I reached the bottom, where the Colorado River flows."

"So, at the bottom of the Canyon, I wandered around a little bit, watching the stream flow, the golden evening light covered the various geometric faces of the Canyon, as the sun moved downwards.  I tried to paint one such moment, but without much hope.  No artist could ever paint this.  Better to paint emotions, or theories, or abstract colors."

Sept. 19th, 2003 "Looking up from the bottom of the Canyon"

I slept that night at the bottom of the Canyon in a hostel.  The next morning, I joined a couple of people who were hiking up together, including one 81-year-old man, Sam.  Despite his age, Sam was in good physical condition.  He set a slow, steady pace, much like Aesop's "Tortoise."  It was his sixth time hiking the Grand Canyon.  "And probably my last," he told me. 

Phoenix, Arizona

After hiking the Grand Canyon, I took a bus to Phoenix, Arizona, where I was welcomed by Paulette and Walter, the parents of my good friend, Kat.  They showed me many wonderful things: sunsets, museums, restaurants, and my first saguaro cactus!  

Sept. 30, 2003, "Saguaro Cactus"

Sept. 30, 2003, "Saguaro Cactus"

Tuscon, Arizona

After Phoenix, I went to Tuscon, and visited a family of kind, wonderful people.  They lived outside of town, in the beautiful Sonoran Desert.  I remember being surprised that a desert could be so filled with LIFE!  I stayed with them for a while, sleeping in a hammock outside their house under the stars.  One morning, I was awakened by javelina sniffing around me: wild desert pigs!

Mexico

San Miguel de Allende

After Tuscon, I got on an airplane to León, Mexico.  I took a long taxi ride to San Miguel de Allende, where I stayed a night or two with some acquaintances.  Then I got settled into a youth hostel downtown, the Hostal Alcatraz.  I stayed there for about a week, and I got very homesick.

 I also had an awkward and unpleasant experience that involved a nude modeling job for an expatriate artist, who turned out to be a gross, lecherous old man.  Although I escaped physically unscathed, I was shaken and disgusted by the whole thing.  I found refuge in the Botanical Gardens, on a hill high above the town.  I painted a picture of myself as a tiny naked fairy in the flowers growing there.  

Oct. 5, 2003 "El Charco del Ingenio"

"I'm standing outside the tiny little balcony connected to our hostel dormitory, overlooking a lovely little courtyard full of pink flowers, ivy crawling up the wall, square maroon tiles, and pretty little tables.  This courtyard is a haven separating us from the busy Calle Reloj.  There are two slender lemon trees growing here, and quite a few hummingbirds, industriously gathering nutrients from them.  Across the way, I can see the rooftops of many buildings.  And also the majestic, ancient dome of one of the churches..."

Oct. 7, 2003  "Capilla de la Tercera Orden y Templo de San Francisco"

Querétaro

I was ready to leave San Miguel.  I had joined a peace organization for travelers called Servas, which connected me with families that were happy to host me for a day or two for free.  I looked at my map of Mexico, and at my book of Servas addresses, and then I went to a pay phone and I called a family in Querétaro.  Could I visit them?  My Spanish was very broken, but they understood.  Yes, I could.

Oct. 9, 2003 "La Fuente en Calle Vergara Sur"

"This morning, I awoke in a room of my very own.  I went downstairs and enjoyed breakfast with the family -- coffee, sweet bread, melon... Afterwards, I walked a mile or so into the center of town, wandered the various streets, admiring items in shops.  I bought a postcard of the aqueduct "Los Arcos."  Later, I found a beautiful fountain with a sculpture of a naked woman playing the harp.  Water streamed down the harp to look like thin harp strings.  I did a watercolor painting of it, and many people stopped to admire it.  Painting is a great conversation starter when traveling to other countries.  A good way to meet people!"

Guanajuato

After a few days in Querétaro, I took a bus to Guanajuato.  There, I painted the Callejón de Besos.

"The Callejón de Besos is an alley so narrow that the upper balconies almost touch.  A legend went along with this famous alley.  The story goes that a beautiful rich Spanish girl lived in one house, and she was in love with a common miner named Carlos.  Since the girl's father had forbidden the romance, Carlos secretly rented the room across from his beloved, where, standing on their respective balconies, they could exchange many kisses.  I had fun painting it and a lot of people came to watch me and talk to me, especially little kids."

Oct. 14, 2003 "Callejón de Besos"  (Alley of Kisses)

"I had some fun this morning walking to the Mercado Hidalgo, and buying guavas, tangerinas, fresh bread and jam, bell peppers, and bananas.  Then I went to the Casa de Diego Rivera where many of his paintings and sketches were displayed.  I especially liked his pencil drawing of Frida Kahlo nude... I mailed Ian a letter..."

The letter I sent to Ian, my fiancé, from Guanajuato...

Mexico City and Teotihuacán

After several days in Guanajuato, I took a bus to Mexico City, where I stayed with a wonderful woman named Dolores and her 22-year-old nephew, Lalo.  I wandered around Mexico City for hours.  I went to the Frida Kahlo museum (her famous blue house!) in Coyoacán, a district within the huge city.  

I reconnected with one of the girls that I had known back in Querétaro, from the host family there, and three of her friends from the University, including a 28-year-old architect major named Arturo.   Arturo offered to take me to Teotihuacán, where his parents lived, about 40 minutes east.  He told me I would be able to see the sun rise over the pyramids.

Oct. 21, 2003 "Teotihuacán"  

"In his mother's car last night, after midnight, we went for a drive around the outskirts of the pyramids.  Templo del Sol y Luna looked rather ominous in the dark, filling me with a delicious terror of the unknown...   We waited and watched the sun rise over the Aztec ruins, and when the sun was up, we climbed the Templo del Sol."

"When we were walking around one of the upper levels which was a walkway encircling the pyramid, the wind blowing like crazy, cold and fierce, the clouds billowing up over every horizon...He took me by the shoulders and gently guided my back to the wall of the pyramid, and we kissed."

When Dolores came to pick me up that afternoon, I said goodbye to Arturo, feeling quite guilty and bewildered by the whole encounter.  But Dolores took me back to Mexico City and taught me how to drink tequila by sucking on a lime and then slapping my wrist and making the salt fly up into my mouth, and I soon let my Teotihuacán adventure fade into a good memory.

After a few days, I was ready to move on.  I had planned to meet up with an old high school friend in the city of Puebla, so I hopped on a bus and went.

Puebla

"Puebla is a city of wide, spacious streets, tall buildings in warm colors of goldenrod, ripe melon, and faded gray, covered in thousands of hand-painted tiles with intricate designs in cobalt blue.  The city is filled with domes, towers, crosses, pidgeons, sculptures, beggars, men whistling, sunlight, and fountains, shops and gutters, colorful restaurants, and heaps of trash..."

Oct. 23, 2003 "Azulejos," the beautiful hand-painted tiles covering the buildings of Puebla.

I met up with my best friend from high school, Faye.

"We walked around, had ice cream, fancy coffee, and went to a bar to hear music: a man singing love songs on his guitar...I'm happy Faye is with me-- we are sharing a bed and a room in the Hotel Victoria, for only 60 pesos each.  Today we wandered all around the city, to the Mercado and into churches and jardines... We walked up a distant hill for a lovely sunset view over the city."

Palenque

Faye and I took an overnight bus to Palenque, where we checked into a hostel for only 50 pesos apiece.  

"Faye and I have a good sunny room with bright yellow and turquoise walls, two large beds with thin sheets, and a wide sunny window...It's very hot here--a jungle!  Extremely humid."  

"We arrived at the Palenque Ruins very early, after riding in a combi.  The door wouldn't close, and I thought I might fall out when the driver went around the curves of the dark jungle roads.  But Faye held onto me.  The ruins didn't open until 8 am, so we sat outside in the dark as the sun rose, listening to the monkeys scream, the zaraguatos with huge, echoing throats.  Slowly, the vendors began to arrive, climbing off the backs of pickup trucks, and what looked sort of like hay carts.  Dogs, chickens, tourists, and the sun."

Oct. 26, 2003 "Templo del Sol"  (Not the same one in Teotihuacán.)

"The ruins were so amazing: lush, sweaty, hot, green...Life curling up and around, twining around crumbling grey bones of an ancient empire...We came to a place where falling water crashed into flat water, the waterfalls fanning out over the protruding, globular boulders.  Las cascades.  El Baño de La Reína.  The Bath of the Queen.  We walked on a thin stone pathway to the other side, where the water flowed swiftly, level plunging upon level, a staircase of dark and cool life, the life of the jungle."

Oaxaca

Faye and I had a few more adventures in the jungle, before we headed to Oaxaca, just in time for El Día de los Muertos.

Oct. 30, 2003  "Ellos venden flores para los Muertos"

"We are in Oaxaca...verandas, cafés, entertainment...We bought fruit and special traditional sweet bread with a wax face stuck into it, representing a dead person.  I painted a picture of people selling the beautiful, fragrant yellow and orange marigolds and other magenta flowers, in the plaza outside the indoor market... All the people came and stood around me, watching me paint.  It was funny when one lady walked over and discovered that SHE was in my painting.  She cracked up!"

Mexico City, Again

 

We went back to Mexico City and spent another day with Dolores, who was happy to see me again.  El Día de Los Muertos was still happening, in the Zócalo, the center of the city.  

"There were skeletons singing, skeletons on stilts, children dressed up like skeletons, laughter, music.  All through the street there were offerings to the dead spirits, fake graves decorated with pretty Bread of Death, sugar, and chocolate skulls, white sugar skulls, tangerines, guavas, and burning candles.  So beautiful and colorful....I am falling in love with Mexico."

Faye left soon afterwards to return to the U.S., but I lingered on for three more days in Mexico City.  I went to a few museums, including the Museo de Arte Moderno, where I took a liking to the paintings by Remedios Varo Uranga.  

At the Museo Nacional de Antropología, I found a lot of interesting ancient sculptures to sketch.

"I am overwhelmed by the evidence of rich culture...art, sculpture, textiles, information.  What does it mean to be human?  Why do we create beautiful things?  Where do we come from and does it matter?"

"When I got back to Dolores's house, Lalo let me in and he played for me the most beautiful, romantic songs on the guitar: serenados... I closed my eyes and let my stress drift away on the sweet, gentle notes he played.  Songs of love, soft and lovely.  It made me miss Ian."

Return to the U.S.A.

San Francisco and the Redwood Forest

I took a bus to Salamanca, and stayed there for one week, having many more adventures and learning how to cook amazing salsa.  Then I flew back to America, stopping "on the way home" in San Francisco, to visit my friend Terre.  I spent the final week of my journey with her.  Most memorable was a camping trip we took in Humboldt Redwood State Park.  

"Big, old, majestic, wise trees, the bodies of the giants...I've never seen anything like it.  In the pouring rain, we danced and rubbed noses in the moist lichen... Under our fingernails: deep, fertile soil.  We lay on the soft damp, leaf-covered ground, and watched each clear raindrop fall slowly down from the infinitely high canopy, onto our faces... We waded across the icy stream in the rain, naked, cold, laughing, feeling small and beautiful."

"We slept in the forest.  At one point, I had a vision, looking up at the vast trees, disappearing into the sky.  It was more like a painting in my mind's eye, a picture of Jesus ascending, up into the redwoods.  Perhaps the ancient redwood trees reminded me of a holy cathedral..."

November 7, 2003 "Jesus Ascending in the Redwood Forest"

I opened up my travel sketchbook and saw there was one page left.  I quickly painted my vision.  It was indeed Jesus, ascending.  But where His wounds had been, flowers grew...

 

I lay my travel sketchbook out to dry on the mossy roots of a tree and heaved a deep sigh.

I was ready to go home.

 

 

Eve

"Blessed be the time/ That apple taken was,/ Therefore we moun singen./ Deo gratias!"

--Adam Lay ybounden, 15th century Middle-English text, 

possibly belonging to a wandering minstrel

"Eve" oil on canvas, 11x14''

"Eve" oil on canvas, 11x14''

For much of this month, I have been working on a painting of "Eve," a well-known character from the Bible.  It is also a portrait commission.  You can read more about that in an earlier blog post, "Poems About Painting: Part 4." 

Rather than using Genesis as my poetic inspiration, I have been referring to "Adam Lay Ybounden," a 15th-century Middle English text (and song).  It tells about a concept from medieval theology, called limbus patrum.  According to limbus patrum, Adam was supposed to have been kept in bonds for thousands of years after his death, waiting for Christ.  The idea gave me the shivers, much like imagining a vampire, waiting in his coffin.  I felt there was material for a creative project, a fantasy-novel perhaps, or (most definitely) an oil painting.

Here's my art studio.  It may just look like the corner of a small room, but it's something.  Art really happens here.

Surrounded by illustrations of pomegranates...

The original music for "Adam lay ybounden" was lost.  However, since then, many people have created new music for it, and you can listen to some beautiful versions on you-tube.  One of my favorite versions is performed by the band, "Faun."  

Another great version is the movement "Deo Gratias" from Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols.  Incidentally, the model for my painting, Heather Petrie, is a professional opera singer, and at the time of the painting, she was in the Etherea Vocal Ensemble, singing this same version by Benjamin Britten.  You can hear their performance here. 

"A Ceremony of Carols"
Etherea Vocal Ensemble & Grace Cloutier

The gist of the song is that Adam lay all bound-up, all because of the apple he took.  But, the song insists, Eve's fault was actually a blessing, because, if the apple hadn't been taken, then "Our Ladie" (Mary) would never have been heaven's queen.  So, all's well that ends well.

In addition to the concept of felix culpa (blessed fault), this painting is about Choice.  My thought is that Eve made her choice willingly, knowing full well what was at stake.  We see her in my painting, meeting our gaze, satisfied and almost smirking.  She is without shame: alluring, not shy.  She has made her choice, intellectually, and she is pleased with it.  Now she is offering it to you, the viewer.

"Temptation" oil on canvas, 5x7''  This small painting was a study I did in preparation for my "Eve" painting.

 

 Below is the text from Adam lay ybounden, converted from Middle-English into something a bit more legible for the modern reader:

 

Adam lay ybounden,

Bounden in a bond;

Four thousand winter,

Thought he not too long.

 

And all was for an apple,

An apple that he took.

As clerkes finden,

Written in their book.

 

Ne had the apple taken been,

The apple taken been,

Ne had never our ladie,

Abeen heav'ne queen.

 

Blessed be the time

That apple taken was,

Therefore we moun singen.

Deo gratias!

A progression of Eve's:

The Spiritual Quality of Beauty

 

"Perceiving beauty, we become beautiful."

--Polly Berrien Berends

Author's Note:  This essay was originally published in December, 2011, in the online magazine: Rhythm of the Home.  Sadly, the magazine ceased its quarterly publications a few years ago, but you can still visit the page and read the articles.  I wrote this essay, The Spiritual Quality of Beauty: Reflections of an Artist-Mom, when I had very small children (my daughter was five, my son, about a year and a half) and in many ways, it no longer feels relevant to me.  (Mainly, I am now able to paint every day with wild abandon, when the kids are in school.)  But, although my life is different now, it is my sincere hope that this essay will provide inspiration and encouragement to other parents of young children.  This essay is especially dedicated to those people who struggle with the overwhelming nature of new parenting, while mourning the loss of time to create art.

The Spiritual Quality of Beauty: Reflections of an Artist-Mom

 

Winter brings stillness.  The earth sleeps, the birch trees stand bare, the garden lies empty, waiting for spring.  Animals are hibernating, and I too am hibernating, wrapped in warm blankets in my cozy chair, sipping hot tea.  An inner stillness arises in resonance with nature’s own stillness, inviting me to reflect, to go within.  It is a relief to just be, for a moment quite separate from the outside pressures of holiday consumerism.  For an artist, it is especially crucial to allow time for quiet introspection.

 

As an artist, my attention is drawn again and again to Beauty.  Not the superficial beauty glamorized by the media, but rather Beauty, a spiritual quality in its own right.  Before becoming a mother, I was an artist.  I spent hours painting, making collages, and creating intricate crafts.  Back then, there were many things I could do that I haven’t done in a long time, now that I am fully engaged with two small children.  I could paint all day in front of my easel, and forget all about lunch or dinner.  I could sit for hours contemplating a river flowing, or snow falling, or the steam drifting up out of my coffee mug.  I could paint whatever I wanted to paint, whenever I wanted to paint it. 

Then I became a mother, and my life was completely transformed.  It was a wonderful transformation, but also difficult.  At first I resisted the apparent constraints of my new life.  It seemed so much smaller and more rigid.  I couldn’t paint—at least, not alone.  I couldn’t labor over a collage—little hands wanted to hold the scissors, to tear the paper.  And yet, once I fully embraced my life as a new mother, I found a different sort of creative freedom, with even more ideas and inspiration than before.  It was a joy to share this with my little ones, the Beauty that I found in creating art, and in everyday life.  But first, my preconceptions of art and Beauty had to change. 

 

Is Beauty something that can only be created during special alone-time, in the studio or within the boundaries of an art class?  Is art something accessible only to adults and professionals?  I questioned my old assumptions and rejected them gently.  When I allowed my views of art and Beauty to broaden, a tremendous sense of guilt was lifted from my heart.  I could release this feeling of not being good enough, of not keeping up my artistic output and my identity as an artist.

 

You may feel that, as a mother, you have lost the opportunity to be artistic, but if you look more closely, you will see that motherhood is rich with possibilities to experience and express Beauty.  Although it’s rarely possible for an artistic person to maintain anything remotely resembling the creative time she once had before becoming a mother, it’s not necessarily a problem.  A whole new realm of opportunities presents itself to the mind that is flexible and open.  

Beauty can come into your life, and the lives of your loved ones, simply by increased awareness and appreciation of what already exists.  Perhaps you have a mug that you love to drink out of in the morning.  Start by noticing the mug while you drink.  Enjoy the grace of its curves, the loveliness of its color, the ephemeral beauty of steam rising.  Or, when the tree branches glitter with ice like diamonds, look up!  And share it with your children!  Even if there are snow boots and mittens all over the floor, the dishes are dirty and piling up on the counter, and you feel overwhelmed, it is good to stop, breathe, and really see the incredible Beauty in your life.  At the very least, you can gaze upon your sleeping children in the evening—it’s hard to imagine anything more Beautiful!

There are many ways to incorporate Beauty into your life, without any extra effort or expense.  Here are a few practical real-life ideas to get you on to this way of thinking.  Remember, you don’t have to do all these things.  You don’t do or make  beauty.  You appreciate it.  You see it.  You reveal it to those around you.  But sometimes a physical action can encourage a spiritual quality to blossom.  These small ideas have helped me to make the concept of Beauty more concrete in my own life, so I’ll share them with you.

 

 

*  Enjoy Dressing Beautifully.  Take a little time to be a beautiful parent.  You don’t have to spend hours preening.  But do take some care to brush your hair, to wash your face, to smile.  It doesn’t take any more time to put on a t-shirt that is a fetching color and cut, than it does to put on some old baggy thing with stains.  See how it feels.  Do you feel you are a beautiful parent?  How does that feeling permeate your day?  How does that feeling affect your children and your spouse?

 

*  Appreciate the Spiritual Quality of the Family Table.  A jar with some flowers, even a few sprigs from a holly bush, adds beauty.  Cloth napkins are quite cheap to make or find at yard sales.  Avoid purchasing any table settings that you personally think are ugly, just because you need them.  In my experience, the things you need are readily available at thrift stores, so just be discerning in what you buy.  This goes for any household item.  It’s really just as easy to buy an elegant pitcher as it is to buy something that is merely utilitarian and does nothing to please your eye.  How does it feel to sit down for a meal at your table?

*  See the Grocery Store as your Inspiration and your Palette.  Notice which fruit you are picking up.  You don’t have to go digging through the whole bin, looking for perfect fruit.  Just bring awareness to the task of selecting fruit, as if you were selecting fruit to paint a still life.  I find great joy in looking at the fruit and vegetables I select, and imagining the painting I would paint.  Sometimes when I get home, I arrange the still life on the table, there to be appreciated by all, and eventually eaten.  You can keep Beauty in the back of your mind when doing all of your grocery shopping, whether it is produce, or tomato sauce, or cleaning supplies.   You may wish to consider the wider influences of Beauty, beyond the reaches of your own home.  Is your purchase helping or harming the Beauty of the earth and the ocean?  Does it affect the Beauty surrounding other people, perhaps far away in some distant country?  

*Fold Laundry with Gratitude.  Fold each item with appreciation, recognizing the qualities that appeal to you.  The color, the texture, the print, or even the memories associated with each shirt and pillowcase, can give a deeper meaning to the task of folding.   You can be a model for your children, demonstrating a wonderful new way to do the laundry, with grace and awareness.  Perhaps some little hands are helping you, and that’s fine.  It’s all about the process, not the product.  The laundry is beautiful.  You are beautiful.  The smile on your little one’s face is beautiful.

* Clean the House with Love.  When you clean, you are making the house beautiful for your family.  You are helping to create a safe, happy, lovely living space.  There is no other reason to clean.  Clean with love, or not at all.  If you’re feeling bitter, it’s perfectly acceptable to take a break and live with some chaos for awhile until Love can return.  Have a nice cup of tea while you’re waiting.  You want your little children to see that cleaning is a good, loving task, not merely something to be endured.

*Express your Creativity By Cooking Colorful Meals.  Cooking is an easy, fun way to create Beauty.  Use a bright variety of ingredients: crimson peppers, rich green kale, gorgeous glossy purple eggplants, fragrant spices.  Garnish with fresh parsley from your window-garden.  Arrange the apple slices in the shape of a flower, with a little grape in the center.  Make a heart-shape of raisins on a slice of peanut butter toast.  These tiny details can make such a wonderful difference!  Of course a meal can taste great and look awful, but I think we can agree, it’s better if it looks great too, especially if you have any little picky eaters.

Now that I have children, I am still an artist.  Or rather, art still happens, within the framework of motherhood.  It’s possible to feed your artist soul by cultivating an awareness of Beauty.  It requires no more effort than a gentle and enjoyable shift in attention.  Even in the most chaotic moment, Beauty exists.  As a spiritual quality, Beauty can invite a sense of serenity, grace, and calmness into your home, and lead to a general feeling of well-being.  If you yourself are peaceful, your family will reflect this peace back to you. 

 

Lauren Kindle is a stay-at-home mom who finds Beauty in the every day.  She creates art for her greeting card business, Kindle Arts & Cards.  (www.kindlearts.com)  

(Author's Note:  My greeting card business is still in operation, but the website needs to be updated.)

 

Photography by Ian Kindle

 

This essay is dedicated to Polly Berrien Berends, author of Whole Child/ Whole Parent, from which book I continue to find incredible wisdom, especially her chapter on “Beauty.”

 

Vanished Splendors by Balthus: a book review

"Painting means returning daily to the source, and drawing its water, its light."

--Balthus

"Girl at the Window"

"The gentle, secret, and intuitive relationship with the canvas is the best and fundamental part of my life.  The striving toward what is invisible.  A painter's required labor."

Earlier this year I read Vanished Splendors: a Memoir by Balthus, as told to Verlain Vircondelet, his admirer.  This book consists of biographical information and also fragments of conversations between Vircondelet and the old artist, who was near the end of his life.  (Balthus died at age 92, in 2001.)  

Vanished Splendors is filled with a kind of "painter's wisdom," almost in the form of poetry, and it is a pleasure to read, even though Balthus isn't exactly my favorite artist.  I find many of his paintings to be creepy, inappropriately erotic, and altogether unsettling.  I don't believe him for an instant when he insists, again and again throughout his memoir, that there aren't any sinister sexual undertones in his paintings.  Perhaps he believed that, in his old age, as his mind lost its edge, or maybe he wanted to believe that.  Who knows?  

"The Game of Patience"

On the other hand, I absolutely love some of his paintings, which I have put here in this blog post for your benefit.  And Balthus does have some meaningful things to say; the memoir is worth reading.  The most fascinating part, to me, was reading about his mother, Baladine Klossowska.  She had a relationship for many years with the poet Rilke, one of my favorite poets of all time.   She also knew and took painting classes from Bonnard, one of my very favorite painters.  

However, if you don't have time read this book, don't worry.  I have written down the very best parts, all quotations of Balthus, and here they are.  Enjoy!

"Girl at Window"

 

"Painting is a means of acceding to God's mystery, of extracting some radiance from His Kingdom, of making it possible to capture a shared light."  

 

"I often insist on the necessity of prayer.  To paint as one prays.  By doing so, to accede to silence and what is invisible in the world...To join with what is invisible in the world...To join with what is essential in this sacred world through a humble, modest availability that is also presented as an offering."  

 

"I always begin a painting with a prayer, a ritual act that gives me a means to get across, to transcend myself.  I firmly believe that painting is a way of prayer, a means of access to God." 

"The bouquet of roses on the window"


"It is better to seek solitude and silence, to be surrounded by past masters, to reinvent the world, not be cradled by false sirens, cash, galleries, fashionable games, etc."


"All these creative connections belong to the same earthly song, from the ancient source of the world that I know nothing about, but which sends me a few messages by lashes of sun--or starlight.  The artist constantly seeks to rediscover the illuminating fire, the hearth where sparks are made."


"To my mind, God made the world and couldn't have made it ugly or illegible, so He left us an immense field of beauties that must be available to every painter.  With such riches, why make ugliness?"

"Painter and his Model"


"I've always sought to understand something about light, to retain its energy, to inquire how it nourishes everything, and how we can keep it alive.  For one must paint invisible, vibrant air that structures everything; that's what must be grasped in order for a painting to exist.  Everywhere, light and air have their invisible weight...A painting consists of reverberations of light and air that becomes its main subjects."

"The Moth"

 

"Today's painters must be told that everything plays out 'in the studio, in the fullness of time.'" 

 

 

 

Mother-Daughter Trip to the Met

"I have a small daughter called Cleis, who is like a golden flower

I wouldn't take all Croesus' kingdom with love thrown in, for her."

--Sappho

Nell was intrigued by this marble statue of the poet, "Sappho," by Comte Prosper D'Epinay.  (1895)

On Saturday, I took my daughter Nell to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  This trip was in honor of our birthdays.  (Nell turned 9 on Monday, and I turned 35 yesterday, so we are birthday-buddies.)  Back in April, I asked Nell if she would rather have a party, or go on a trip to New York City, and visit the Met.  And she chose the art museum!

We walked to the bus station in Easton, and had a pleasant ride into the city.  Nell could hardly sit still, she was so excited!

It was my first time figuring out how to use the subway system on my own, but it wasn't so hard.  We took the S-train from Port Authority to Grand Central Station.  Then we caught the 6 train uptown to 86th street.  I got us to the Met in one piece!  

We can't wait to go inside!

We went in, and were happily overwhelmed by the vast grandeur, the holy spaciousness of all the art.  It was Nell's first time, and she flew around the museum like a little bird, perching here and there to look at a painting or a sculpture and then flying off again.  It wasn't my first time.  I could remember going on a high school field trip.  I wanted to show Nell a painting I remembered from that field trip:  Joan of Arc.

Here we are, standing in front of "Joan of Arc," a huge painting by Jules Bastien-Lepage (1879).  Nell really liked it.  

I remember how I felt the first time I saw this painting, when I was about sixteen.  I remember looking at her face, burning with the intensity of her inner voices, and I felt  my heart pounding in my chest.  My breath caught in my throat, and my imagination became entangled in the branches of the primordial forest all around her.  I didn't even notice, at that time, the translucent figures of the saints floating behind her, whispering to her.

When I saw this painting on Saturday, almost twenty years (!) later, I was disappointed that I didn't have that same intense reaction.  I admired the painting, of course, but more than that, I was mourning the emotions of my youth, which had passed away.  

The artist Fay Ku writes about having a similar experience in her essay about this painting, found on a really great blog, "Painters on Painting."  It's worth reading!

Nell took this picture of me looking at one of my favorite sculptures, "Cupid and Psyche" by Rodin.  The myth of Cupid and Psyche has been my favorite ever since I first read it as a young girl.  The God of Love falls for a human woman, brings her back from the dead, and transforms her into the Goddess of the Soul.  They have a child, a little girl, whom they call Joy.

Another sculpture of Cupid and Psyche, by Antonio Canova.

Another sculpture of Cupid and Psyche, by Antonio Canova.

My sister Karen, her husband Carl, and their new little baby Natalie met us in the museum!  Carl took a picture of Nell and me in front of this painting.  I forgot to write down the title or the artist. You can see Nell is starting to look a little tired after a few hours in the Met! 

Nell was very tired, so we started to leave, but we still had to walk down many hallways.  All at once, Nell veered off into another room; a certain painting had caught her eye.

It was one of Monet's water lily paintings!  She looked at it for a long time!

Eventually, we did manage to exit, after quite a lengthy detour in the gift shop.

Uncle Carl took a picture of Nell, Aunt Karen, cousin Natalie, and me.  We are happily tired after a long day looking at art and walking a lot.  Or, just being carried a lot, in baby Natalie's case.

Uncle Carl treated us to hot chocolate and coffee after our museum adventure.

On the bus ride home we cuddled, read a book, and drew pictures in my notebook.  We were exhausted and happy.  I had such a wonderful day with my daughter.  I feel so lucky to be her mom, and I hope we can enjoy many more happy adventures together.

Sleep, darling

I have a small

daughter called

Cleis, who is

like a golden

flower

I wouldn't

take all Croesus' 

kingdom with love

thrown in, for her

 

Sappho

A Vision of the Ephemeral

"He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost."

--Alexander Eliot, on Monet

Rouen Cathedral, West Façade, Sunlight 1892 Washington, D.C., USA

Rouen Cathedral, West Façade, Sunlight 1892 Washington, D.C., USA

Recently, I stumbled upon Sight and Insight, a book about art by Alexander Eliot.  I was looking for a completely different book, but for reasons unknown, the reference librarian went and dug this one out of storage for me.  I voraciously devoured it and came upon this evocative paragraph:

"Monet, poring over the light on Rouen Cathedral, saw not an edifice of eternal hope, but rather a vision of the ephemeral.  "This stone facade, his paintings seem to say, "is rosy as flesh, delicate as hair, and fading fast with the fading light, crumbling into shadow."  At his easel Monet was a frenzied athlete holding back the dusk.  He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost.  Not that he lacked faith in the morning: he knew the sun would rise again--and set again-- but not for every man, not forever for any man, not very long for anyone."

Rouen Cathedral: Full Sunlight 1894 Louvre, Paris

Monet painted more than thirty canvases depicted the Rouen Cathedral, during the years 1892 and 1893.  Although it is the same physical cathedral in each painting, it is also a different one.  So much has changed: the light, the time of day, the atmosphere, even Monet's own inner emotions.  Fluid, elusive, ephemeral...

Rouen Cathedral, Facade (sunset), harmonie in gold and blue Musée Marmottan Monet Paris, France  1892-1894

Looking at these paintings, I wonder: am I as inconstant as the Rouen Cathedral?  Certainly, I am not the same person as that 9-year-old girl, making up imaginary worlds in the woods behind her house, or that 19-year-old, sleeping in a hammock high up in the trees, needing nothing at all, it seems, but water, love, and starlight.  I don't even feel like I am that same 29-year-old mother, with a baby and a toddler, happily overwhelmed with nursing, changing diapers, baking bread, and keeping house.

These memories of myself float away like dreams.

La cathédrale de Rouen, le portail, temps gris (Rouen Cathedral, the West Portal, Dull Weather) Musee d'Orsay, Paris, painted 1892

Perhaps, like Monet's cathedral, I myself change as rapidly as the sunlight changes on the side of a building.  From hour to hour, I go through a complete metamorphosis, from dawn, to full sunlight, to the mysterious shadows of coming darkness... 

I keep busy to forget my mortality.  Each mundane task takes on importance; each little drama crowds out the blank emptiness of eternity.  But in a hundred, a thousand, or even ten thousand years, perhaps, all of my paintings will turn to dust.  And even the paintings of those great artists whom I admire, they too, will be gone.

 "This stone facade, [Monet's] paintings seem to say, "is rosy as flesh, delicate as hair, and fading fast with the fading light, crumbling into shadow."

Rouen Cathedral, Facade and the Tour d'Albane. Grey Weather, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen, 1894

The most beautiful, the most precious, the most poignant of all human experiences, are those that are ephemeral: lilacs blooming in the spring, the world glittering under newly-fallen snow, a color-drenched sunset... And of course childhood, especially that of one's own children.  How did they suddenly grow up so fast? 

It is one of the responsibilities of our brief, miraculous existence, to appreciate the beauty of the ephemeral, and not only to appreciate it ourselves, but to share it with everyone around us.  It is our responsibility, and also, our deepest joy.  And for this, we have Art.

'Rouen Cathedral in the Fog' 1894

"He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost.  Not that he lacked faith in the morning: he knew the sun would rise again--and set again-- but not for every man, not forever for any man, not very long for anyone."

Poems About Paintings: Part 4

"She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
   Yet almost in her heart would hold it back."

--Dante Rossetti, "Venus Verticordia"

"Venus Verticordia" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1868

She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
   Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
   She muses, with her eyes upon the track
Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
Haply, ‘Behold, he is at peace,’ saith she;
   ‘Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart
   That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,—
The wandering of his feet perpetually!’

A little space her glance is still and coy;
   But if she give the fruit that works her spell, 
Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
   Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe foretell,
   And her far seas moan as a single shell,
And through her dark grove strike the light of Troy.

 

This poem is by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a poet as well as a painter, and he wrote it to accompany his painting.  Both the poem and the painting are entitled, "Venus Verticordia."  For further reading, you can check out a great essay about these particular creative works, and the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, called "The Goddess of Love and Beauty."  However, it is not the intent of this blog post to delve into the fathoms of art history, or any serious literary analysis.  I'm really here to show you some provocative women.

More precisely:  provocative women offering fruit.

"Pomegranate" by Lauren Kindle, oil on canvas, 5x7''

Next week, a woman is coming to my studio to sit for her portrait.  I'm very excited about it, because my client requested to be painted in a Biblical or Mythological manner, holding a piece of fruit, such as the pomegranate I recently painted, above.  This is something new, that I haven't tried before, and I'm eager to give it a whirl!

So, in anticipation of this portrait-sitting, I have been preparing myself by looking at old paintings which feature this motif in a way that intrigues me.  I looked at as many paintings of provocative women (and men) offering fruit as I could possibly stand.  I'll share my favorites with you.

I started out by looking at all of the Eves I could find.  I like this one by Lucas Cranach the Elder, because of the thoughtful expression upon her face.  For this commission, I'm not looking for an image of shame or regret, but something else.  A sense of female power, perhaps?

"Eve" by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1528

Rossetti's "Proserpine" at once caught my eye, because the sultry, glowering Goddess is actually holding a pomegranate, precisely what my client has ordered.

"Prosperpine" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1874

"Prosperpine" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1874

And here is this guy again.  (You may recognize him from an older blog post, Men: Beautiful Objects of Humans with Feelings?)  I know he's not a woman...but... it's my blog.  I'm putting him in, so there!  SIgh...

"Bacchus" by Caravaggio, 1595

"Bacchus" by Caravaggio, 1595

Finally, here is another painting that my client asked me to consider for inspiration, in part due to the model's direct gaze, looking straight at the viewer.  This is Courbet's "Nude With a Flowering Branch."  Not exactly fruit, but, close enough.  After all, there can be no fruit without flowers.

"Nude With Flowering Branch" by Courbet.  Sorry, I couldn't find a better image.

I would like to appeal to my readers for some input.  Which paintings were your favorite?  Or maybe you didn't care for any of them?  Why, or why not?  If you have any ideas or suggestions as I prepare for this upcoming portrait commission, please share them. 

Please understand, the paintings I have shared in this post are by no means the end of the story.  Despite my admiration for Rossetti, Cranach, Caravaggio, and Courbet, I have my own agenda, my own ideas and feelings about about beauty, sexuality, power, temptation, and womanhood, which I can't quite disclose at this early, brain-storming stage.  We shall see how things evolve as this project unfolds...

Fear and Vulnerability

"If you're afraid, what you paint will look like fear."

---Frank Arcuri, my painting teacher

"Regret" oil on canvas, 12x16'' This oil sketch fell so short of the vision in my head, and I'm embarrassed to share it. But it does illustrate my feelings of vulnerability.

Lately, a lot of insecurities have taken residency in my head.  Yesterday, I spent a few hours working on a still life commission of a jar of olive oil and a hunk of bread.  In a fit of loathing, I wiped out everything I painted.  

Now my canvas looks better.  That's how bad it was.

Some days I feel so unworthy and horrible, and doubly so, because now I'm on The Internet in this public way, and I'm revealing all of my paintings to the world, not just "the good paintings."  

There are no good paintings. 

I'm at a stage (hopefully it's a stage) where almost every painting is flawed in my eyes.  My brain is riddled with fears and doubts.  I found this list in my journal from this past May:

Some Fears:

You are not that good.

What are you thinking?

Why are you drawing so much attention to yourself?

You should hide in a cave.

What is the point?

a drawing from my sketchbook

I have to smile when I read this, because, deep down, I know the point  The point is, I just have to push through these days, and do the work.  I clock into my studio and I paint for three hours each morning, regardless of whatever emotions are besieging me.  I just do the work, and sometimes it's good, and sometimes it's bad.  Then I put it out there, into the universe, a.k.a. the internet.

There is nothing special about me having fears and feeling vulnerable; everyone struggles with these demons.  I have to trust that there is some benefit to sharing the steps of my journey, however faltering.  If I withheld my flaws, there would be no website.  In fact, in my lifetime, it's possible I may never reach that level of competency towards which I strive.  I still have to paint, and not worry about all that.

With this one life I have, I can find sustenance in the work itself, rather than the dictates of my fragile ego, and I can trust that I am on the right path.  I feel so much gratitude for each day, each new chance to follow my passion.

Just doing the work, and not worrying about silly fears...

 

Please leave a comment below, sharing your own method for dealing with fears and vulnerable feelings.  I will pick a name at random from the comment-leavers, and the winner will receive a free 8x10'' print of any artwork on my website.  Contest ends at 9 pm on Tuesday, December 8th.

 

Additional Note:  I will be part of a group show (Nelli Rae's Community Art Show Extravaganza) at  Nelli Rae's Kitchen, 8826 Easton Road, Revere, PA, 18953. The opening reception is this Friday, December 4, from 6-9 pm.  Everyone is invited!

 

 

Interview With Kate Brandes

"There's a simplicity in nature, that, if you bring that to your artwork, it's what makes it sing."

--Kate Brandes

"Winter Trees" watercolor by Kate Brandes

I pour steaming hot tea from a red teapot, and pass the mug across the table to Kate Brandes.  The morning sunlight shines brightly into the peaceful house.  We sip our tea, and I smooth out a blank notebook page, ready for my first "Artist Interview."  I smile at Kate.  She is a slender, dark-haired woman with large blue eyes and a quiet, dignified demeanor.  She smiles back at me, shyly.  I turn on my recording devise, and we begin the interview.

Kate Brandes has worked as a geologist and environmental scientist for twenty years.  She works for the Lehigh Gap Nature Center, where she is currently focused on improving local ecology using native plants in small public and residential gardens.  Over the last seven years, she's developed skills in fiction writing and painting.

I have transcribed most of the interview below, but if you wish to hear it in its entirety (about 18 minutes), you may:

Interview with Kate Brandes
Lauren Kindle

 

LAUREN KINDLE:  This is october 5, 2015.  "Tea with Kate Brandes."  My very first artist interview.  So Kate, just to tell people a little about yourself, just say a little bit about who you are.  Where do you live, where is your studio, what makes up your day to day world?  Pets, kids, friends, partners?  That kind of thing.

KATE BRANDES:  Ok, I live in Riegelsville.  and I live with my husband David and my two sons Owen and Sam.  And I paint in a room in my house that operates as my office for my work, my paid work, and my writing space, where I'm working on two novels at the moment.  And then also my painting studio, so it's kind of a chaotic--

LK:  All in the same room?

KB:  All in the same room. yup!

"Winterberries" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK:  And what would you say an average studio day is like?  or if your days are varied, what is an average week like for you?  How do you divide your creative time and your responsibilities?

KB:  Mmhmm... It changes week to week.  I would like to have a schedule, and I try to have a schedule, but it's always in flux.  and it's in flux because my work changes.  I have a very busy spring and a very busy fall.  The creative time is just crammed into the spaces that are available.  And sometimes there's more space and sometimes there's less.  And if I can try to get a schedule going, which is a little easier right at this point in my life, right at this season, then I do.  

LK:  What are you working on now, artistically?  What are you most excited about?  Confounded by?  Obsessed with?

KB:  I'm most excited about our project.  

LK:  Yeah, me too!

Kate's watercolor painting of "Audy" from our Intersections project.

Kate's watercolor painting of "Audy" from our Intersections project.

KB:  I really feel super energized by it, and I'm so excited to be working with you, another artist.  I think, this is...I've never done that before!  And I feel like it's pushing me to do things that I wouldn't otherwise do and I just feel that I think about it a lot, so I love it.  I've also just had more time for my writing world recently, and I have a new idea for my old novel that I'm excited about, and new ideas for a new novel that I'm excited about, so I feel like, right now my creative life is sort of brimming.  And i'm excited.

LK:  I love that.  "Right now, my creative life is brimming."

KB:  Yeah.  I would just love to do it all the time, but of course, there are all these other things that are important too.

LK:  There are these seasons, you know.

KB: Yeah, exactly.

"Murmuration" watercolor by Kate Brandes

 

LK:  What are some creative projects or topics that have excited you in the past, and, do you see any connection, path, or story connecting these different interests, leading to where you are today, and additionally, can you see it going into the future in any direction?  Or imagine it?

KB:  Well there are certain topics I am drawn to, like I'm very drawn to, I don't know, I always describe it as "Charlie Brown Christmas tree people" I guess, you know?  I'm drawn to the concept of abandonment and the concept of imperfections...I think the idea of vulnerability is really important.  That's where I feel like I could use the most work, like being more vulnerable in my artwork, whether it's painting or writing.  I think if I could do that, I would improve a lot, in both areas.

LK:  Well, we're doing that

KB:  We are!  But it's good.  I need to be pushed in that direction.  So that's really important, I think.  Yeah for me, it's like, for anyone, it's all about trying to face your fear.  Right?  Your fear of not doing it right, or not doing it well enough.  

 

"Abandoned Fruit Stand on Old National Road" watercolor by Kate Brandes

 

LK:  Do you feel like through your life, you've been facing different fears?

KB:  My whole life I haven't really identified myself as an artist at all.  It's only the last year, even, I would say, and I've been writing for much longer than I've been painting, but I've always been like, "oh, this is a hobby." I still say that.  And it is sort of a hobby, but it's also something that I feel like I'm not really a whole person unless I'm doing.  I feel like I'm a much happier being.  

LK:  What kind of things do you do when things aren't going right, or if you're having a fallow period, in making or in thinking?  Do you have things to help you deal with that?

KB:  I walk.  I walk for really long ways.  I've always done that  And I keep cards in my back pocket, or my phone, and I take notes on my phone, just talking into it.  But that is the best thing for me to unloosen whatever's stuck.  And mostly that's true with stories.  With writing.  With painting, I haven't been stuck yet.  I sort of flail around and find something, but once I find it, then I don't have trouble working on it at all.

LK:  Like us driving around the West Ward in circles!

KB:  Exactly.  I know what I like when I see it.  I have to trust that more, because it's true.

LK  I think I had a whole entire novel come to me on a walk once.  I ran home, I was like, "Oh my God!"  I had to write it down.  It was crazy.

KB:  Yup.  I have solved so many problems in that way.  And not only novel writing, but even thinking creatively about my job, you know, there's some issue, or problem I can't solve.  I've thought about getting a treadmill at my desk, because that action, you know?

LK:  Right.  I wonder if that would be the same as going out into the world?

KB:  Somehow I don't think so.

LK:  It seems doubtful.... 

"5th and Ferry" watercolor by Kate Brandes

 

LK:  How do you sustain yourself so that you can be creative?  What sort of things do you need to make time for in order to be an artist or a writer?

KB:  I'd say the most sustaining thing is time, allowing enough time, because it takes time to...like if I feel like I get too crunched, it's really hard to---

LK:  So with a job and two children and a husband, how do you make that happen?

KB:  Well, my kids are in school, so that helps.  And my job is busy sometimes, and less busy other times.  so it's all about cramming it in.  But there's also enough time to have coffee on the porch in the morning, in my life right now, and that hasn't always been true, and that's really important for me.  Or to go on walks.  Because those quiet times are essential for creativity.  I think for anyone, really.

"Barn Door" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK:  What advice would you give to an artist just starting out?

KB:  Yeah I mean, I would just say, "Go for it!"  That's what I would really say.  People talk to me a lot about how they wish they would do things or they feel like they could write something or they feel like they could produce something like artwork, or they were interested in that when they were young, but they don't have time.  And I just heard somebody say something along the lines of like...."You feel like you're busy, and you're really just afraid."  And I think that is so true.  It's been true in my life.  And I think again it comes back to, you can do whatever you want.  You're not too busy.  Maybe you are, but then, you have to change things, in order to honor that.

LK:  "Where there's a will there's a way."

KB:  Right. and it requires sacrifice, I guess on some level, but...

LK:  No, I hear you.  I think that's true.  I mean, when I had babies, I really did feel like I was too busy...

KB:  When I had babies, I was too busy!

LK:  But eventually as the kids got older, I think that became an excuse.  Really, I was just afraid.

KB:  Yeah.  It's true for anyone.  It's true for me still.  You know, like, on some level.  We're all just trying to do the best we can.  Face our fears the best we can.

 

"Lucky Three on Sitgreaves" watercolor by Kate Brandes

 

LK  On your website you say "There are parallels between nature, painting, and writing."  Can you elaborate on these parallels?"

KB:  Well, I think there are so many parallels between the arts just in general....I know a lot more about writing than I do about painting, just because I've been doing it longer, but you know, white space on a page, lights and darks and those concepts, are so true, in writing, as well as they are in painting...  In character, in theme...a one dimensional character is really boring, and not realistic and not interesting to read at all.  Just like a one dimensional painting would be the same way.  That balance of light and dark.  And sometimes it's more dark, two thirds dark, and one third light...or vice versa.  People are like that too.  It's just about being truthful on the page no matter what you're doing.

LK:  Right, and how about nature?

KB:  Nature is the same in so many ways.  There's a simplicity in nature, that, if you bring that to your artwork, it's what makes it sing.  There are certain...in some ways, I think of it as landscapes...  Because that's what I think about a lot.  I think about repetition in landscapes.  That's what holds a landscape together to the human eye.  The same thing is true in our work.  The same thing is true in writing.  You need to repeat a certain theme, in order for the writing to hold together.  ...

"House and Sun" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK:   It seems like this is a rich area we could explore further.  Let's keep it on the back burner.  My final question is about your medium...what is it about watercolor that appeals to you?  And how does it help you to say what you want to say?

KB:  ....I feel really challenged by watercolors.  I feel like I could just study them for the rest of--and maybe I'll change my mind in a year, but I feel like I could study them for the next twelve years and not understand them fully... I feel really satisfied and happy with them, right now.  I don't feel like I'm wanting something else.  I love that you can layer them, I love that you can, that there's a transparency to them, that the light shines through them.  I think I'm really attracted to light.  I've always loved, been star-struck by the light in the sky at any given moment.  So I love that that's true with the watercolors, that you can do interesting things that way...  

LK:  Well, thank you for this wonderful interview.  Let's go outside and paint!

KB:  Sounds good, sounds good.

Myself and Kate Brandes, outside painting in the West Ward, in Easton, PA.

Confession:  I have borrowed many of the interview questions from the blog of one of my favorite artists, Angela Fraleigh.  On her blog, Angela often interviews artists, and I LOVE reading those interviews.  Her interview with Ann Toebbe is one of my favorites. 

My Son

"And then you sing to me a sweet, unbidden song." 

--excerpt from "My Son," a poem I wrote yesterday

"Morgan" oil on canvas, 10x13''

 

My Son

 

You wouldn't smile if I asked,

but you would if I didn't.

Spirit blazing with your little spark of defiance,

or else all wide-eyed innocence,

spilling your long stories to me

along with milk off your spoon,

while your cereal gets soggy.

Round, pink cheeks and soft curls,

part cherub, part imp;

Every day I bathe in your sorrow, your fury,

and your love...

Sometimes, when you find me,

amidst piles of laundry,

eagerly clamoring to help sort socks,

I get a glimpse of the man you will be,

And then you sing to me

a sweet, unbidden song.