Dreaming of Italy

"I am particularly interested in art.  Mi interessa sopratutto d'arte."

--Barron's Italian Visual Language Guide

I'm dreaming of a painting trip to Italy next summer!  

For the past few weeks, I've been trying to learn Italian using some CDs from the library. 

I already know how to say two things:

  1. "Io non capisco l'italiano. "  ("I don't know Italian.")
  2. "Mi interessa sopratutto d'arte."  ("I am particularly interested in art.")

Actually, "particularly interested" isn't quite accurate.  How do you say "ravenously obsessed?"

A cartoon from an Italian language book I found at Barnes and Noble.

I've never been to Italy, or Europe, and I don't know what to expect, but you can be sure that my imagination is working overtime.  I'm basing a lot of my fantasies on the movie Roman Holiday.  

(Except that, in my fantasies, I'm painting "the whole day long," not goofing off like this silly princess.) 

I bet painting in Italy will feel as amazing as eating gelato with Gregory Peck.  (Here's one of my favorite clips from Roman Holiday.)

I'm hoping to go next year, July 2017, for three weeks.  It would be part of a painting program that I learned about from this Savvy Painter podcast: JSS in Civita.  My understanding is that it would be like an independent study, but I would be surrounded by (and living and painting with) lots of other serious artists, and I would go on field trips to museums and beautiful cities, and basically be in Italy.

A landscape-in-progress in Civita, Italy.  I assume this is Antrese Wood's painting.  I found this photograph on her Savvy Painter webiste, relating to the JSS in Civita podcast.

My plans hinge upon winning a merit-based scholarship.  The application is due in April.  I don't know how competitive it is (probably very), or if I have much of a chance, or even the tiniest chance in the world, but regardless, I'm forcing myself to be optimistic.  I already have childcare for those three weeks lined up, just in case!  (Thanks family and friends!)  I just have to raise money for airfare and food. 

I'm soooooooooo excited about this potential opportunity.  I know it might not happen, and that's ok.  I know I can still have a good time painting in Pennsylvania, and maybe postpone this Italy thing a few years or decades.  But for now, I'm just enjoying the wonderful feeling of possibility bubbling up inside of me.  I feel exactly like I'm a glass of champagne!

 

Painting the Sunset

"Her heart was made of liquid sunsets."

--Virginia Woolf

On Saturday evening, I had a date with the sunset.  My friend Rachel picked me up at my house, and we drove north to the rolling farm hills of Bangor, Pennsylvania.  We couldn't stop smiling, giddy with mutual anticipation.  When we arrived at the quiet horse farm, the sun was still pretty high in the sky, saturating the vista with that golden, fading, achingly beautiful light. 

Rachel and I enjoyed a leisurely picnic: fruit, hummus, bread and cheese from the Easton Public Market.  We talked about the things that weighed upon our hearts: our hopes, our ideas, and our desires.  

And slowly, the sky began to change.  

I could easily imagine the sunset was a person, perhaps a lover, who had long been waiting for me to paint him.

I set up my French easel.

When I am painting, I feel like I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.  It's such a strong, powerful feeling, I'm not even sure how to express it.  It's just this feeling of absolutely blooming, fully opening, like a flower planted in just the right spot, or a bird being allowed to fly at the perfect moment, or the sun setting, just at the right time, just the way it's meant to, in all its radiant glory, its billows of glorious colors...

"Sunset and a White Horse" oil on board, 5x7"

While I painted, Rachel was also working on an art project: "A Dance for Paper Dolls."  This project is so fascinating, that I promise to devote a whole blog post to it soon.  I'm so happy and grateful to have made this new friend, someone with whom I can share moments of creativity, delicious food, and trysts with sunsets.  

Rachel, working on her dance for paper dolls.  (She has a blog called 30 in PA which I love.  She wrote about our sunset adventure in her recent post: Dance for I Want You to Hold My Baby.) 

Once the sun started setting, the sky changed drastically, and rapidly, moment to moment.  When I looked behind me, I saw this vision of magenta and violet.

When I looked in front of me, I saw such a blaze of glory, impossible to paint, and yet so irresistible.  I could not imagine anything more wonderful!  I didn't really care how my painting turned out.  Just the experience of being here, and painting, and living in this sunset-moment, it was almost more blissful than I could bear.

Even as we drove home, the sunset just kept happening.  We couldn't help pulling the car over to the side of the road to take more pictures.  I'm sorry I'm not a better photographer, because the sky was just unbelievable!

Just when I thought it couldn't possibly be more majestic, the sky would completely astound me, unfolding into some new, divine form.

And finally, it was over, and all that remained was the familiar darkness of the night.

The Flame Dancing

"Everything moves, everything flows."

--Heraclitus

"Sunset, Reflected" oil painting by Maurice Sapiro

"Everything moves, everything flows, said Heraclitus.  

The body of the mourning cloak is like a river.  You can't step in the same river twice.  

The world we live in is a flame; we burn in it, we are burning all the time.  The mourning cloak burns like the tongues of the Paraclete, anointing the seasons.  The rocks burn with a slow, steady flame.  

If we could see the flame dancing on the bush, as Moses saw, if we could see every bush, every tree, burning all the time, every twig tipped with flame, the wind, the river, the constant flow of atoms,

we would wonder that anything endures."

 

--The Soul of the Night by Chet Raymo

(one of my very favorite books)

 

a sunset painting by Maurice Sapiro

The Artist: a Tale from Old China

"Life is short, art is long."

--Isabelle C. Chang, Tales from Old China

A painting of Guan Daosheng *

There was once a king who loved the graceful curves of the rooster.  He asked the court artist to paint a picture of a rooster for him.  For one year he waited and still this order was not fulfilled.  In a rage, he stomped into the studio and demanded to see the artist.

Quickly the artist brought out paper, paint, and brush.  In five minutes a perfect picture of a rooster emerged from her skillful brush.  The king turned purple with anger, saying, "If you can paint a perfect picture of a rooster in five minutes, why did you keep me waiting for over a year?"

Lu Ji


Pomegranates, Autumn Mallows, Chrysanthemums, Blue Magpies and Rooster (last quarter 15th century)

"Come with me," begged the artist.  She led the king to her storage room.  Paper was piled from the floor to the ceiling.  On every sheet was a painting of a rooster.

"Your Majesty," explained the artist,

"it took me more than one year to learn how to paint a perfect rooster in five minutes."

 

Life is short, art is long.

Guan Daosheng. View (Bamboo Grove in Mist 3). Scroll detail. Ink. 15 x 26 cm. Attributed.

(Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT)

I found this story in a book in the Easton Area Public Library.  The title is Tales from Old China by Isabelle C. Chang.

I admit that I changed the gender of the artist in the story.  I wanted her to be a woman.

*Guan Daosheng (管道升) was a Chinese poet and painter who was active during the Yuan Dynasty.  She was the wife of Zhao Mengfu, also an artist.  She was talented in calligraphy and painting with delicate and elegant strokes. The calligraphy of herself, her husband and her son Zhao Yong were collected in a scroll by Emperor Ren, who commented that it was a rare thing for a husband, wife and son to all be talented.

My Son Is Mad At Me Again

"I like you just the way you are."

--Mr. Rogers

"My Son Is Mad At Me Again," oil on board, 4x5"

Morgan, my 6-year-old son, gets mad at me a lot, especially when I want to paint and he wants my attention.  

Last year, I wrote in my diary:

"Nana told me that Morgan told her that he hates preschool, and he thinks I don't love him anymore.  And that I love painting more than I love him.  I'm severely depressed that he feels this way.  In general, I am feeling pretty low, and torn about my desire to paint, and the validity of it...Being a mom is hard."

"My Son Is Mad At Me" oil on canvas, 11x14"

When he started kindergarten last September, Morgan had a very hard time adjusting to the long days in school.  For weeks, he cried on the school bus, in class, and at recess.  He drew this picture of me plein-air painting a bridge scene, while he looks sadly out of the window of his elementary school, on the hill above me.

He's so sad in this picture.  When I saw it, I felt so guilty!!

As the weeks went on, Morgan did finally adjust to school, and even grew to enjoy the friendships and activities there.  And yet, I continued to torture myself with guilty feelings.  I couldn't reconcile my desire to be an artist with my ideal of a "good mother."  I wrote in my diary in January:

"I'm so unhappy with myself.  I'm so unhappy.  I was horrible with my family.  I can't stand being the person I am.  I can't do art the way I want.  Life keeps getting in the way, so many obligations...I'm so miserable.  Today was so hard...I'm being a terrible mom.  I'm not present with my kids.  I'm not really with them.  I'm thinking about Art.  I'm fantasizing about Art.  I want to read my new art book.  I'm thinking about the art class I'm going to take....I'm so unhappy and miserable...I don't think I'll be able to paint tomorrow."

Luckily, I started watching old Mr. Rogers episodes with my son, and that helped me snap out of it.  The reality is that emotions within a family are constantly changing, and it's okay.  Sometimes my son is mad, other times affectionate, or sad, or jealous, or whatever.  He is allowed to have feelings!  I don't need to obsess over them, or judge them.  And in all honesty, my son isn't always mad at me.  Often, he is delighted that I'm painting.  He'll offer to pose for me, or ask if he can paint next to me.

He even designed me this Robot.  (It's a Studio-Assistant-Robot!)

On the left, the robot makes frames.  (Frames also come out of his head.)  He has different paint colors inside his body, and a palette below.  On the one arm he has two containers of gamsol, and on the other arm is a jar of liquin.  (Those are things I use a lot for oil painting.)  The robot also has a big, cheerful smile.  I love this Robot!  And I love my son!  And, he obviously loves me.  (I mean, take a look at this robot!)  

Love triumphs over guilt any day.

It's going to be okay.

 

How do you deal with your own feelings of guilt?  Leave a comment with your thoughts, ideas, or experiences, and you will be entered into a raffle to win a FREE PRINT of any painting on my website.  

Deadline: 9 pm, Tuesday June 14th.

Finding Balance

"The life you wish for is the very life you now hold in your hands,

if you are willing to shape it with the same care and attention that you bring to your art-making."

--Margaret Peot

The Successful Artist's Career Guide

Finding the perfect balance between Art and Family has been a recurring theme for me, threading itself in and out of my blog posts since I began this journey in September.  Now, with the school year drawing to a close, I have mixed feelings.  Of course, I look forward to long, golden summer days with my kids, playing and enjoying the sunshine.  But, on the other hand, I've been very anxious about losing my quiet personal time, when I had a regular routine of painting alone in my studio.  In the back of my mind, I've been worrying:

Will I have to put my art-making on hold until next September?

Over the long Memorial Day weekend, I decided to do a "trial summer experiment."  First, I spent two or three hours each morning painting, while they amused themselves (fighting, television, legos, crafts...) which worked out pretty well.  They complained about being bored at first, but eventually they would come up with something creative. 

One afternoon, after a morning of painting, I took them to the mouth of the Bushkill Creek, just a short walk from my house.  Here, the creek runs into the Delaware River, and there is a nice view of Getter's Island.  I brought some snacks and art supplies, and told the kids they could play in the creek while I worked.  And it was very successful!  They had a great time squirting each other with water, walking upstream and tubing down the creek over and over again, and just swimming around in the deeper places.

I did a value study using Prismacolor "paint-tip" markers that I bought at Blick last week.

After that, I did a limited palette value study of the same scene, using two colors: burnt sienna and prussian blue.  I used watercolors instead of oils because it was simpler to deal with, but nevertheless, I think I learned a lot!

At the end of the afternoon, the kids and I were happy and exhausted.  I felt like I had been a good mom and a dedicated artist!  This experience gave me hope that the coming summer will be a good one!

Words of Wisdom from Krista Steinke

 

"Not every piece needs to be a home run.  

Sometimes the small, quiet pauses can be an important part of the conversation.

---Krista Steinke

"Cloud Study" by Krista Steinke

I had a discouraging week.  Although I worked hard in my studio, putting in a lot of time and energy, the results were bad.  This felt frustrating and depressing, as you can imagine.

I took comfort in my sketchbook, where I re-discovered some words of wisdom glued into the pages.  These are words of encouragement from the artist Krista Steinke, from an interview called "5 Questions with Krista Steinke."  which I found on Angela Fraleigh's Blog, one of my all-time favorite blogs to read.  I love this blog so much that I often print parts of it out and glue those parts into my sketchbook, for times of great need.

"The Forest" by Krista Steinke

Krista Steinke's Mantras

 

  • Failure is critical to success (we hear this a lot these days--but so true).

 

  • Embrace constructive criticism.  It's ok to disagree, but be able to articulate why.

 

  • We live in a fast-paced environment.  Ours is a culture of the immediate or instantaneous.  Sometimes it's hard to remember that good art takes time.  Be patient and work hard.

 

  • When building a body of work, not every piece needs to be a home run.  Sometimes the small, quiet pauses can be an important part of the conversation.

 

  • Everyone gets rejected...acknowledge that it's part of the routine and keep moving forward.

 

  • Progress involves taking risks, both small and large.

 

  • Don't be afraid to go down the rabbit hole...go way, way down to the point of getting lost.

 

Thanks for reading!  I hope you found Krista Steinke's words as encouraging as I did!  And I can't resist this little SPOILER ALERT:  I conducted an interview with Angela Fraleigh back in March.  I'm hoping to publish it soon, in the next week or two.  So, you can start getting excited about that!

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

"Molly" by Stephen Early (oil)

Lately I've been working with a limited palette, in order to develop my understanding of Value and Drawing.  This is a pretty common practice, and it's not just for beginners, either.  For example, Stephen Early, a masterful and professional painter whom I admire greatly, creates stunning figurative paintings using a very limited palette.

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!

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

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…)

 


Dancing in the Studio

"We move like cagey tigers, we couldn't get closer than this!"

--"Love Cats" by the Cure

I had such a busy week that I didn't have time to write a blog post.  So instead I'm offering you a SECRET PEEK BEHIND THE SCENES... What does Lauren really do in her studio?  What happens when  "Love Cats" starts playing on Spotify?

And here's what I painted.  

"Helena's Teapot" oil on canvas, 8x10''

Have a great week!  May it be filled with good music.

 

PS.  Comments are still not working properly.  E-mail me if you want: info@kindlearts.com, and I'll post your comments as soon as the situation is resolved.

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. 

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: