Some Come Easy and Then There's the Rest

Time is counting down on my sabbatical and each moment spent painting during daylight hours feels precious—especially those in my Rochester studio. It has become my retreat, my personal cathedral, a place where inner reflections rumble and tumble about and gradually take form.

And sometimes they don't.

I never know what to expect.

I enter with a vague image of atmosphere, light, or readings. With a latte in hand, dogs at my feet, I turn up my playlist and browse through photos I've taken and items I've collected. What emerges from my brushes and oils seem by magic of some sort.

Some paintings come easy—exciting me from the very first broad brushes of underpainting—wet and wild. Others don't—the paint being wiped and scraped off, new drawings produced, more paint applied, layers created. These canvases need time apart, consideration, and then rearranging in my head or even on the computer before I can capture what is stirring my soul.

"Where Have You Been" stage 1

"Where Have You Been" stage 2

"Where Have You Been" stage 3

"Where Have You Been" stage 4

This past week was very productive and I hated to leave. Three paintings! The first large painting (48"x36") came hard. The other (36" by 48") came easy. These canvases I held in my head a while. The third is a very tiny, very precious small canvas only 6 inches by 6 inches. It was pure delight.

"Where Have You Been" final

"Where Have You Been" detail

"Where Have You Been" detail

Inspired by Jim and my drives through Vermont, across Lake Champlain, down the Adirondacks and west across the New York State Thruway, this poem has also been in my head:

Learn to Live in Loneliness 
—Carl Sandburg  

 A man must get away 

now and then
to experience loneliness.  

Only those who learn how to live
in loneliness 

can come to know themselves 

and life.  

I go out there and walk 

and look at the trees and sky.

I listen to the sounds of loneliness.

I sit on a rock or stump
and say to myself,  

"Who are you, Sandburg?

Where have you been, 

and where are you going?"

"There is No Rush" stage 1

"There is No Rush" stage 2

"There is No Rush" final

When painting "There Is No Rush" I was virtually walking my Vermont forests. They strike me continually with their ever changing beauty. But upon its completion this quote came back to me and became its title:

There Is No Rush 
—Wayne Muller 
"The theology of progress forces us to act before we are ready. We speak before we know what to say. We respond before we feel the truth of what we know. In the process, we inadvertently create suffering, heaping imprecision upon inaccuracy, until we are all buried under a mountain of misperception." 

"But Sabbath says, Be still. Stop. There is no rush to get to the end, because we are never finished. Take time to rest, and eat, and drink, and be refreshed. And in the gentle rhythm of that refreshment, listen to the sound the heart makes as it speaks the quiet truth of what is needed." 

Finally this little painting was inspired by the 6X6 invitational hosted by the gallery below my studio. On a whim I purchased the small canvas and marveled at how preciously small it felt. I have a photo found in my parents' home of this little dove that I've been wanting to bring it to life. This was my chance. I've been thinking about how war-torn we are as a species. How peace is not the large treaties and negotiations. Instead it is built up of what we think and do daily in even the smallest of interactions with each other. We are responsible for peace.

"Dear God where did we leave the gifts?"

 Source: Sabbath, Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest http://www.waynemuller.com/

Be Bold

Spent yesterday in Buffalo museum hopping with one of my best friends Cathy Reda-Cheplowitz. We toured the Albright-Knox and then the Burchfield Penney Art Center.   One of the things that I love about seeing master works in person is that you can actually see how the artists painted, printed or sculpted the work. Recently I'd been to the Albight-Knox with Jim and when we visited, rediscovering its collection was amazing. Among the works are classics from Picasso, Van Gogh, Marin, Burchfield, Steiglitz, Matisse and more. Poignant at the museum is an exhibition that is "series of Kodachrome photographs pulled from the Library of Congress' Farm Security Administration collection that document the ravages of the Great Depression." (http://www.buffalonews.com/entertainment/gusto/art/art-previews/article557765.ece) The museum is a gem.

I had never been to the Burchfield Penney. Directly across the street from the Albright-Knox, its collection and curatorial style is a wonderful complement. Less focused on big manes, this museum seems to focus on high quality at both past and present. Currently it has an exhibit "Art in Craft Media 2011," with a range of thought provoking pieces in metals, glass, and wood.

However I was particularly excited about visiting the Burchfield Penney because it houses the work of one of my current favorite watercolorists Charles Burchfield (1893-1967).  Burchfield was an artist who painted in the Buffalo region and in his time was one of the best known American painters. I've been drawn to his work because he renders nature, atmosphere, and townscapes infusing the work with a profound passion of place.

Driving back from the galleries, the grey sky and the dark silhouetted trees had a new beauty. Were the trees always like that? Or did Cathy and I see trees with Burchfield's eyes?  Perhaps that is what art allows us—new vision and understanding.

Back in the studio today was a rougher start than I had imagined. I could not find this and that and then I could not find the feather I was using as a model. I tore apart the studio, searching through every bag and box, pulling up the floor tarp and going through the garbage. Finally I decided it was a lost cause. One of the dogs must have stolen it. And then I painted.

Charles Burchfield wrote "You are dead—devoid of any emotional attitude toward nature—wake up—be bold, make bold caricatures & conventionalizations."

So "The Wind Resounds—Leaving Addison" is now complete.

Gleaning 

"Winnowing fear,
restless, feral winds

surge in my mind,
shifting directions,
gathering force.
I mistake it all 
for chaff —
husks of failure
and deprecation. 

But this wind resounds
from the ancient world
and release has always
been gleaned
from grains of doubt."
—Nancy Compton Williams

Winnowing

Painting is a bit like playing chess. The opponent however is not another person but the vision the painter is striving to express. When a student I was taught to back away from my work and even turn the painting upside down or or on its side to see clearly the composition and color relations. With my home studio, I am able to return to the canvas at any time to adjust or simply just to observe and think. Like the chess player I can determine my next move. 

Seeing from another angle.

With this blog—the combination of the camera, computer, and writing has been a digital stepping away from the canvas. It is another way of seeing with fresh eyes. I can see what needs improving but also the past and what I've lost and must recover. 

With my studio in Rochester, I am not able to return at any time to reflect on my canvas yet until complete the painting never leaves my mind. I am pondering my next move. Lately I've been extending the camera and computer. In the evening, away from the studio, I play with color, light and form on a photo of the day's work in Photoshop .

Blurring the lines: applying new values and hues in Photoshop.

Photoshop has many tools and filters that can quickly transform an image. Layers and Control Z give multiple options. However Photoshop is about pixels and back light and pre-engineered options. In the case of my oil paintings I use it only for quickly visualizing options. Oil paint is its own medium—pigment and pixels reflect light differently. An oil brush transfers color but also texture, consistency, and structure. As well paint can be wiped away, scratched into, spattered, and poured. It has a physicality.

When I returned to the studio this morning I had a clearer vision of my next moves. But the challenge of uncovering the painting's essence—beyond my original references and the Photoshop "sketches"—remained. Much needed to be winnowed. Other elements needed strengthening or definition. 

At a particular moment this morning, I saw gold needed turquoise to be gold and clouds needed to be foreboding in order in order for joy to come alive. And I realized that the first thing to confront as a painter is fear, let go the easy or commonplace. Push beyond timidity and reach. Queen must take rook.

Detail

Feather painted over, sketched in, yet to be completed.

Almost there, but not yet.

Shifting Directions, Gathering Force

Day two the painting begins to come into its own. I spent much of my commute examining the clouds, noticing how their form is defined, how they layer up and reveal, obscuring and merging with the sky and the earth.

What I'm seeking to express is a moment, a breath, the suspension of time juxtaposed against the continual motion of our lives.

Gleaning

Back in Rochester, back to my studio. Seven hours of travel brings me back to my painting studio. It is a gift of my sabbatical—a new home, a new place to create.

Compared to my home or office it is completely different as if belonging to another person. No luxuries, sparse, concentrated, no large monitors, or ringing phones, a space for one.

Looking out one of my studio windows.

From Rochester's prime days—they just don't design backs of buildings the way the used to.

My favorite view.

It is located far from my beloved forest and mountains in the heart of a mid-western city not quite to its Rennaissance. Sitting above an art gallery and lying in the shadow of an old cathedral, it should not be surprising that it is where my heart soars and my soul becomes paint. Here my deepest spirit rises above my daily concerns and sings "home".

The completed painting from my last visit. I need 4 more small canvases for the next in this series.

The painting I'm working on today is not what I was planning. I was about to start a new "pixelated" tree portrait only to discover I'd left many of my small canvasses in Rochester. Off to the art supply store I must go but time is precious.

Other images dance in my head—the beauty of my drives to and fro. Last night driving in and then again this morning, the light of the setting and rising sun, the moon, and of Jupiter were magical. The sky had an unnatural cast of cerulean blue and the earth ablaze in gold. This morning a gift on the gritty side walk—a single feather and in my bag, this poem:

This morning's gift.

Gleaning

"Winnowing fear,

restless, feral winds

surge in my mind,
shifting directions,

gathering force.

I mistake it all 
for chaff —
husks of failure
and deprecation. 

But this wind resounds

from the ancient world
and release has always
been gleaned
from grains of doubt."

—Nancy Compton Williams 

New start "The Wind Resounds—Leaving Addison".

Like a spring garden, the under-painting always brings me joy.

Cosmic Dance

Finally I am back in the studio. Life got the best of me and obligations of the day to day took power over the brush.

Today could have gone the same except Jim promised me a cup of Dunkin Donuts latte if I got in my car and drove into the studio. It was this tiny reward that made me realize I could carve out a morning to paint. The bigger reward of course was painting itself.

Prepping this painting took longer this morning than the actual laying down of paint so far. It is another of my paintings composed of multiple canvases. In this case 12 12"x12" canvases. I like the format of multiple canvases, to me it is a reflection of our pixelated lives—lives bound by multiple lenses, the fracturing and re-blending of ourselves and our concept of community and the larger world.

This painting is inspired by my very many walks in the Vermont forest. The forest has many stories. Their is a story in each tree, in each stump, in each pile of rocks and earth. I think their story reflects our own. How often do we stop to see and embrace our stories?

Lastly I'd like to share this reflection from Thomas Merton that has been embracing my soul the last few weeks as my parents and I are working to bring together the support they need at this time in their lives. We all need support for our different stages—whether becoming a new parent, learning to drive, entering adulthood or mid-life or any change of our health. Knowing when and where to turn and what to enjoy at each stage is where the heart is discovered.

The Cosmic Dance

—Thomas Merton

When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash--at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the 'newness,' the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

Butterflies and Other Things in a Grateful Heart

This past week in Rochester has gone very quickly—astonishingly so! A week I guess is shorter still when you add in a holiday.

What gave in my planning was time to paint. I had it all lined up in my mind. Imagery solid, supplies all ready to go. However there was the matter of a feast and family and then presentations and interruptions from work. Still I played and thought and imagined what I will create next—visualizing and problem-solving in my mind.

That is one misnomer about the word Sabbatical. Many think it means vacation but instead it really means concentrating on important work that one was unable to concentrate on before. This week it included on the "official" side of the fence:

• the upcoming NEASC panel (my intro presentation is now on SlideShare!),
• this week's brainstorming at the Emergent Media Center on creating a "Makers' space",
• a PACE board call—an IEEE Computer Society endeavor to collaborate across communities to share efforts with the aims of advocating for young people to enter computer careers.

Family was more poignant and far more lovely. I spent a full Thanksgiving with many of my siblings and their wonderful children, a visual feast of a day at the Albright Knox Museum in Buffalo (an artist's must see) and viewing the wondrously magical Hugo with Jim, a marvelous two days with my daughter Tegan, to include a girls' half day with her and my niece Margo, and precious time with my parents battling resources for long-term care and simply enjoying just being.

But in the realm of play, perhaps what linked my work and my life was a few days with my brother Dave, his wife Patti and their lovely flutterbies! They returned me to my youth and through them I once again was a child of exploration and creativity. Together we flew between time and space.

For all of this I am deeply grateful.