Glazing Over

I've been spending much time reading about what others think these days so I thought I'd put in a few cents of my own. Actually, the time I've spent on others thoughts has been scattered in short increments, because for the last couple of months, I've been in intensive study of portraiture. Whew! What a process! It's been a struggle both personal and creatively, learning new techniques but mostly banishing old bad habits. ("Out, out damned spots!," she cried as the nasty bad habits clung to the hem of her psyche.) Currently though, things are going good, connections are being made and old memories of knowledge being mixed with new understanding.

We are dealing with glazes now as we add color to the layers of grisaille. It is magic. I was lost for a while watching the magic, then I remembered a painting class I had back in college, back in the day as they say... The teacher was Frank Hobbes, a local painter and he was only there for a semester or a year, I believe. Too bad they didn't keep him because I would have taken any class I could have gotten from him and learned perhaps a bit more of what I am now learning years later. He had me paint a copy of a Rembrandt, a self-portrait (one among many). With that portrait I learned about...glazing! And with that memory comes back the knowledge that I can apply today. It's a case of adding a glaze of color to push back the painting into the shadow, and then adding more light, then when that's dry doing it again, and again, till it becomes clear and full of layers of light and color. It never ceases to amaze me how it works, pushing it back, then pulling it back out again into the light.

Pondering this miracle, I was thinking it's not unlike the process we go through in life. We have these moments where the light gets in, then times when it is pushed back down, then we must look for the light again and pull it out of the shadows. This happens in layers upon layers all our lives. It's so easy to stay in the shadows, feeling our way but never coming clear. So difficult to know where to look for the light, to pull it out of the murky darkness. But there it is, and when the light is revealed we become more three dimensional, more whole.

Some of those things that were in the shadows can remain. They don't need illumination, and actually lend to the beauty of the light. They have their own colors that will be reflected in the light to give it life. Without those shadows, there would be no light, only flat color. So now, as I paint my glazes, or perhaps in quiet moments of reflection such as this, I am observing the shadows, their colors, how sometimes I was in the deep shadow but reached for the light, no matter how feeble. I can feel my skin vibrate with the interplay of the two and their own nuances as I watch the portrait of my life develop and become whole. When it is done it will look just like me.

P.S. Thank you, Frank Hobbes, for believing in me. You once said I had the guts to be an artist and those are words I still cherish.

Courage

Ok! I started this entry this morning and, thanks to my usual computer karma, am just now getting back to the keyboard. Yes, I am one of THOSE, technologically challenged. As soon as I get near a computer, poltergeists from far and wide rush to the aid of our normal house poltergeist (the one who misplaces important papers) and cause havoc never before seen on our system. Luckily, I have a patient husband who is not challenged and can unravel the damage done. And it's not just our computer. I once went to buy train tickets and ALL the computers in the ticket office SHUT DOWN. Watches also tend to stop working when worn by my sensitive electrode-producing skin. I once worked as a cashier also on a computer-operated cash register. When first learning the workings of the machine, it broke down. This is apparently normal with newbie cashiers. What was not normal was that it took ALL the managers to fix it, each one commenting that they had NEVER seen such a problem before. Coincidence? I think not. Nonetheless, I brave the odds and continue to post here and elsewhere. I should really be wearing a juju.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I wanted to touch on the subject of courage. Normally, one might think of that word for feats of strength, endurance, emotional and physical. What I'm looking for is the courage it takes to face EVERY DAY. Ok, that's easy, you say, first get out of bed... Yeah, yeah, when you have a "real" job to go to. (Not that I'm sayin' that's easy either, but you kinda hafta go or lose your job and get a new one.)

I'm talkin' 'bout the entrepreneur, farmer, painter, the one who is her/his own boss. Even when you're a farmer you have someone depending on you to show up, plants or animals. But what if all you have is a canvas, empty or begun, to face? I'm tellin' ya, it's like looking into your face for hours and examining who you are in minute detail. There's all those voices in the background, the ones that say it's not good enough, that you're wasting your time, that you should go out and get that coveted "real" job. (Why not? In America, when I told people I was an artist, the response was always, "and what do you do for a living?") Granted, I am one of the lucky ones. I don't have to live, for the moment, off of what I create. But I do have that as a goal, albeit secondary to making really, really beautiful art. (Those that do have to make money have that extra pressure of making it saleable. )

That's where art is like religion. You just have to BELIEVE. Believe it is worth it to make more beauty or make something that reaches out to others and makes them think and/or feel and believe that you, yes you, are the one that can do it. Some days, it ain't so easy folks. Days when it is grey and rainy (pretty frequent here in the Lower Countries) or you're just a little tired, or your feet hurt from standing on cement all day (the floor in my studio). Some days you just have to go. The pay off is that once I'm there, all that stuff becomes a blur as I paint or draw, create. So, I guess what I'm sayin' is yeah, I'm lucky to be an artist, lucky that I can do that all day, but it takes COURAGE. Worth it though, definitely worth it.

Dressed for Success

This weekend I began the big chore of getting rid of things before the move. Starting with my closet. Most people who see me today would think I only own a few jeans and paint spattered sweatshirt, t-shirts and a few dress clothes. Wrong. In college I began an addiction to buying clothes second hand. Lots of these clothes have come with me and also ones that I have been given. Mostly, in the last, I don't know, twenty years I haven't spent much on clothes.

So where do they all come from? Well, Mom was a great seamstress and decided to make me a bunch of skirts before I went off to college. I still have those, plus a skirt she made me when I was sixteen. I'm pleased to say I still fit in all of them, but would I wear them? Well, first the skirt from sixteen is going. I will never wear orange paisley, let's face it. Then there's a print skirt I took from Mom's closet when she died. Most of her clothing wasn't salvageable because she was a major smoker, but this was. Thought I would wear it. That was, what, five years, six ago? Haven't worn it, it's going. Then there's a myriad of clothes I got second hand with a kind of wistful nostalgia for the faded, which has now also faded. Then there's the belts Ron gave me before he died, which I said I would wear. Didn't, out they go. And the list grows.

I still need to be tougher with myself. I read that it's a good idea to cluster groups of clothes that go together. That's the next step. I'll put together a few outfits that I think I really will wear. What is truly at issue here is a question of identity. Just who do I think I am? Well, most of the time I'm a painter so most of these clothes are just silly. Still, when shopping or going out with "normal" people, a few less paint streaks might come in handy. I mention the shopping because I went to get some hair accessories from Claire's boutique one day. There were two prices on the package, one more than the other because it was a transfer from pounds. Anyway, the cashier pointed out to me the higher price was the right one and then waited...as if I couldn't afford it and I would put it back. Fooled her though, I bought them. Afterwards, I saw myself in a mirror and realized I was dressed for the studio. Not that I care about how much money people think I have. I actually found that fun.

Then there's the fifties-style dresses that I got second hand, or handed down. Those are the tough ones. I love that fitted bodice and bigger skirt. Still, I haven't worn one of those since living in DC! Basically, I'm looking for comfortable but not too sloppy in neutrals though sometimes with a little flash of color. That kind of knocks out many of the skirts mom made me. They're more for business. Maybe one or two of the best would be enough to "suit" me.

Finally, once I get it all pared down, there will be nothing else left to do but...go shopping! (This, folks, is very tongue in cheek as I haven't been much in the last years, as I mentioned, and basically go into cardiac arrest when I see the prices, promise myself to become a better seamstress, and run home.) But, for now, I'm off to the studio, so...on go the paint-stained jeans, holey t-shirt, and frayed sweater...aaah, now that's who I really am. Fashion mogul I'm not, but ready to do art, yes!

Distractions

This summer has had a lot going on so I'm hoping Fall will give me the time to reflect and get back to what is primary to my existence, which is making good art. I forget that sometimes, life throws me these curve balls and I follow their direction till, before you know it, I'm way out in left field. June and July were full of personal issues and then in August we went on vacation. I got that painting done which you see posted, but little else art wise. Well, that's not true really...I thought, read, and took photos for painting reference. But not real production. That brings up the question of whether constant production is the only way to improve. Many serious artists say yes. I think so too, though time is needed to feed the creativity machine. Not too much though.

Now it's September and we're in the process of obtaining a new place to live, though in the same city. Whew! This, one week after getting back to the Lower Countries. My head is spinning! Kinda like channel surfing but not having the remote all the time. Time to get back to the center. The place where I can see clearly. Lately I've had this feeling of awareness of being yet one small dot in the whole universe, not a feeling of insignificance, but one of being part of a greater whole. This really helps to put things in perspective. All those little worries and distractions seem so much less significant. I'm going to share here a sort of poem I have kept for many years on my bulletin board. I found it while going through some papers though I'm not sure where it came from. It helps me when I lose track of what is really important.

Eskimo Song

And I think over again
My small adventures
When with the shore wind
I drifted out in my kayak
And I thought I was in danger
My fears
Those small ones
That I thought so big,
For all the vital thinks
I had to get and reach.

And yet, there is only
One great thing,
The only thing:
To live to see in huts and on journeys
The great day that dawns
And the light that fills the world.

There, I feel better already. Don't you? Ciao, Kim

Secret Garden

Good Morning all. I'm back from a five week vacation and up with the birds again. Sky is blue with some clouds, no rain...yet, but then, I'm in Holland so that is soon to come. A stark contrast to the sun that drove us to afternoon siestas in Provence. The drive in the van was a huge success. I got all my art supplies in and guess what, used about one third of them. But I had it all with me, just in case. What I took: stretched canvas, drawing paper, watercolor paper, pencils, a few conte crayons, erasers, my new French easel, paints, rags, small watercolor kit, brushes, Liquin and a small bottle of turps, plus a couple of small extra jars and my two old camera bags for carrying stuff, digital camera and even some acrylic paints to try out. What I used: One pencil, eraser, sketch book, digital camera, one canvas, oil paints, brushes, rags, jars, camera bag and easel. Oh, and I forgot my stool and sun hat. That probably isn't even one third. Next time I go lighter, but you have to understand...I had a van! I could have four times all that stuff. But it's a drag loading and unloading, so I won't. Next time.

Once in Provence, Apt to be specific, I wandered around for a few days looking for spots. I stuck near the house at first, but soon strayed. The farthest I walked was over a hill/mountain, about an hour. I discovered a nice garden with a very friendly dog. We got to be pals as I sketched some ideas out. He almost followed me back home so I was obliged to discourage him. Definitely a message from Leon as this dog had the same character. Leon once followed a hiker to the top of Le Revard to get rewarded by chocolate (big no-no for doggies). But I digress...

Finally I decided to drive out and up to Caseneuve to check things out. This is a quiet village with a castle as its central point. Wandered around there a bit and was just ready to give up and try another spot when I found this charming garden in a sort of alleyway. Then I remembered, yes, that is what I like about these villages, the small personal gardens people make for themselves in little niches. Their little corner of the world. This little corner became my corner for two weeks. Actually, my first intention on vacation was to do small quick studies, but we all know about intentions. I found a great spot for my easel, protected from too much sun and wind in a corner of two walls. I could also get up on a step an look down at it from a distance. What I didn't forsee was direct sun on the canvas and the shadow of the phone pole, both of which got me into a sort of dance as time went on trying to evade them to see my canvas and paints.

I wonder, is there any such thing as the perfect spot? Probably not. What made this spot even more perfect were the nice neighbors. They stopped regularly by to see what I was up to. And it wasn't on the main tourist roads so, though I got a few tourists wandering through, traffic wasn't too heavy. Nicest of all were the neighbors who were right next to me. From the beginning they were very encouraging, even putting off their trimming of the hedge so I could work in peace. One cold morning, yes it got cold a couple of days, with the Mistral, they lent me clothing to keep warm as I was painting. I guess the sight of a shivering painter was too pitiful. Later, we had tea and they even let me take pictures of their kitchen, with all it's French country charm. (I'm taking a series of photos for study of various kitchens.) In the end they bought the painting! Who could ask for more?

Artspeak

Art is a language. From now on when I tell people what language I speak, I will respond "Artspeak". Thinking about Gombrich's point about how each of us has images that words conjure up. I can say chair and you might see a different chair from me. When I teach and when I paint, I attempt to turn off that part of the brain that names. It gets in the way. If I say chair, I am no longer looking at the chair in front of me, but "chairness" as I know it. But if I forget the word, or rather put it aside, I can see the object in front of me, the shapes, the lines, for what it is. The Egyptians wrote in images and that is what art is, a return to our ancestry. Not necessarily Egyptian, mind you, but something much more primitive.

Words are wonderful and beautiful in what they can express, but they are limited. Limited in a way that my paint colors are limited to describe the colors and values in the visual world. If I show you something though, then I am showing you show much more than what one word can describe. I'm showing you the world as I see it, as I want you to see it, and you see it as you interpret the world around you according to who you are, the schema inside your head and the emotions you attach to the objects you see. So much more information is implied there. When I create a painting I think about, not just the objects, but what I am saying with the objects, what is my story. In fact, I see myself not as a painter, but as a visual storyteller. The story is mine, but it is also yours.

Coming from America, my current painting, that I'm referring to "Chilli" for the moment, has different connotations than perhaps in another country, Mexico for example, though that is perhaps not so different given our rich mix of Mexican community. I grew up with Mexicans in California so I don't start thinking right away of Texas chili, so there is the local interpretation also. Point is, there are multiple layers in what I'm saying, it's not just about the chili, the food, but what it means to you, what it reminds you of, the smells and emotions you connect with it. That's one of the reasons I'm doing this series on food/cooking. First, because it has a connection in my life, I love to cook.

Food is a big part of my life, not less so for having married a Frenchman. Living in France made me realize even more the connections we make with food, and with one another through food. It is yet another creative process and in a way I'm attempting to marry the two, painting and cooking. In fact, I've become a better cook since I became a painter. Something about the process of intuition and putting things together. Before, I was completely ruled by my recipe books. Little by little, I changed recipes and now I just look at stuff, and think about how it will taste together and the colors mix.

Cooking with a Moroccan friend, I learned a different way of combining tastes and that influences my food. Now cinnamon, nutmeg, and curry play together in my chicken dishes, as well as others. Her language has become mixed up in my language of food. Maybe that's where we've gone wrong, in trying to understand each other, different cultures, different beliefs, we've all defined it into words that, instead of being diplomatic, become weapons. Perhaps we've identified the wrong tools of mass destruction. But then, tools are weapons only depending on the wielder of them. I can use a hammer to hit a nail or I can use it to destroy an object. Images are the same. Will we ever understand one another? I suppose nothing is simple for us humans. In the meantime I go on speaking a language that I am also learning, hoping that I am telling you something, a secret, a feeling, a taste, a place. Let's meet on the canvas in the world without words.

First Light

Here I am, bright and early! It's 5 am, first light is bringing out the grey outlines of red brick buildings, making them a grey-blue brown. This is a special moment for me always, when nature begins to waken while many are still toasty in their beds. Gives me a feeling of new beginnings, peace, hope and a sense of wonder.

Early morning memory: I'm six. Picture wide-eyed golden blond-turning brown and sun-kissed. Ok, my eyes aren't so wide at this moment because it's early... and I'm wearing a heavy cotton night gown. Probably one of the red, green, and white ones that we got every Christmas, only it's Spring. I'm in this magical farm house that has a stairway to nowhere if you open the closet door. Looking out the window, everything is covered in dew, the grass is a grey-green, the barn in front that same grey-blue brown, only a bit more reddish, I think. There is the goat house on my left, light-grey in this light because it's white. Definitely I'm not quite awake, and a bit afraid because I've woken up in a strange place after being in my own bed the nite before. My stomach does a few flip flops. I must hurry because the day has begun for my uncle who has begun his chores, which we will accompany him in today. But just for a few seconds, I have this moment, while my sister is not quite awake in bed, looking out the window at a new beginning, the unknown, and the experience is thrilling in calm way, like a slow gathering hummmm....

This is the moment I like to begin painting in. I wake early in the morning and rush to the studio, just to keep this feeling. The world is a bit more awake by the time I get there, but not yet in its full speed. I think of moms packing lunches in brown bags and kids sleepily forcing their limbs to dress, brush teeth and grab school bags. Actually, this is just background music. Things are still fairly quiet and I don't yet have to plug in my music box. I can spend a few moments contemplating the previous days work, seeing what needs improving, what needs developing, feeling my space take me in, recognize me and envelope my spirit. It's been waiting and it enlarges me. The first stroke, no, the idea of the first stroke, is intimidating. Once there though, time is erased and there is only seeing and unfolding what I see on the canvas. This is why I come to the studio. This is why I get up early. This is why I breathe, breathe in this moment, as morning light spills out touching everything, bringing color, definition, life, a resurrection of all that was lost in slumber in the night. Begin.

Free Admission

Good morning! So nice to have this way to wake up. Not a coffee drinker, or tea for that matter, so a little grapefruit juice and I begin to verbalize, slowly... Yet another rainy day here in the Lower Countries, but it's ok for grisaille. Actually, that's one of the reasons I'm working this way. You only really need good sunlight when you add the color! Of course it is good to have light to check out the values.

It has occurred to me to explain to you all a bit of what I'm doing. About a year and a half ago I began learning painting with a friend. If you read the archives here you can see a bit of history there. I'd done a bit of oil painting in college with a good teacher, but didn't pursue it as I got into textiles. I did enjoy it but I think the truth is that I didn't want to work that hard! I was putting myself through school with a full time job and just barely making it. No regrets though, because the textiles took me on a wonderful journey and in the end I was working hard because I loved it anyway.

When I got here to the Netherlands, I started drawing more and more. Mostly it was to improve my textiles but it took on a life of its own. But there came a certain point where I knew I needed help and had to set aside ego and go get it. I've been a self-educator for a long time and still believe strongly in that and continue to read like mad to learn, but sometimes it is just better to see what someone else can show you and cut a few roads to the main one you want to go down.

Long story, but I decided oil painting was a good idea. Part of it was also because I could see that it was more marketable than textiles. But that is something I've let go of now. Money should never be mixed with the idea making good art. If you have to live on it, ok, that's another kettle of fish and you should think of the best way to do it well and be prosperous, but if you can, don't think about the money while you're making it. Think about beauty, think about fun, think about making art, but think about the money and marketing after. Well, it's my mantra, it doesn't have to be yours.

Back to the story. So I began learning the basics all over again. I've been teaching art for a while so I figured I had that down, but no. Realist painting really won't forgive anything halfway. Sure I knew one point and two point perspective on an elementary level, but that wasn't, isn't, enough. I'm still wrapping my head around that. And value and hue and chroma...all of it. It's quite a challenge. The biggest difficulty for me though was to let go of this tendency to get involved in detail. My friend calls it "looking only partly". I get so fascinated by the small intricacies of each object that I forget to look at the whole picture. This, I think, is finally starting to sink in. It took so long because, well, I'm stubborn. I have my ways and, I suppose because I'm older, am a bit stuck in them. Not that I wasn't always so. It's ironic because I see myself as very open, and yet when it comes to changing habits, it is a struggle.

The best part of learning painting is how it has helped me to view life. One, not looking partly. Looking at the whole picture. I know of a few, more than a few, politicians who could benefit from learning this one rule. Also, that you just can't force life. Creativity, life, has it's own speed, it's own path, and jumping ahead only means you have to eventually backtrack or lose your way. (Though sometimes losing your way is one way to find it.) Best of all about painting is that I'm always learning and know I will keep on learning with this medium for the rest of my life. What a wonderful challenge, exercise, meditation. Painting is a key and I'm using it to unlock all the doors and secret chambers that lie hidden in my mind and in my world. I'm planning on leaving them unlocked, so feel free to drop in for a visit. Admission is free.