Hoping, hearing, hanging

I have an idea for a big painting, but first I will prepare a panel. This foamcore panel measures 48" square and I hope that it will be stable enough without a stabilizing brace on the back. So far, it has two coats of gesso on it (and I have some very nice gesso lines across my sweatshirt where I leaned in to reach the middle!). Tomorrow I'll add two more coats and then begin with an acrylic under painting. I am hoping that with this painting I will climb over the artistic hump I am stuck in.

It is mating season at the Refuge! The birds are pulling out the stops to sing the most beautiful songs they can in order to get the best partner this Spring. This Yellow-headed Blackbird had a lovely song, at least the first part of it was beautiful. The second part was not working so well and I tried to tell him to just repeat the first part and leave that last part out. He was still alone when I left, so I guess he kept the second part in.

You can see my painting "Over-Under-Over" this month while it hangs with the new eight+ show at O'Connor's Restaurant in Multnomah Village. The shows are always a feast for the eyes and varied in style and subject as each artist chooses something new for the new show. Come and see work by Carrie Holst, Carolyn Rondthaler, Kitty Wallis, Celeste Bergin, David McBride, Mary Luzinski, Eileen Nelson, and Katherine van Schoonhoven.

What are you hoping, hearing, and hanging? I'm all ears!

Alliteration: Shakespeare, sensuality

24 x 30, pastel on recycled Wallis

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

William Shakespeare, The Tempest, 1610

Alliteration: Rothko, recycling

"... art, like philosophy, is of its own age. for the partial truths of each age differ from those of other ages, and the artist, like the philosopher, must constantly adjust eternity, as it were, to all the specifications of the moment."  Mark Rothko in "The Artist's Reality: Philosophies of Art"

Every January, I sort through my paintings and decide which I will save and frame and which I will recycle. Many go into the recycle pile. It's always interesting to use a recycled panel or piece of paper. The old image remains, sometimes as a ghost, sometimes like a vibrant abstract underpainting. The new painting is influenced by the old painting. It is one way that I "adjust eternity."

Above you see my charcoal drawing for the new painting over the top of a recycled painting. The old painting, a group of roses in front of a brick wall. The new painting, a portrait of my 87 year old father in law.

Lines of demarcation ... water and land

On a beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest, there is nothing better than being on the water.

In my sketch above, I was especially interested in the places where water and land meet. The distance land forms seem to have firmer lines of demarcation than the near land where I watched the tide pull little waves and the seals splash in the shallow surf.

Plein air from the swim step

The best reward for a long day is to set up my easel and paint en plein air from the swim step of the boat. As I painted, the wavelets thumped an irregular rhythm underneath my feet like timpani. Life is good!

Oasis palm

Oasis Palm, 18 x 24, pastel and pigment dispersion on recycled Wallis

Meditation

 

22 x 30, watercolor on Arches Cold Press 140#

A quiet meditation on victory, love, promises, and halleluia. How strange to note that all of those words sound old-fashioned and so it must be that I am old-fashioned for thinking them and pondering their meaning. Today. On Easter Sunday.

Floating about

Sitting on the transom step, just above the words "Made in the USA," I sketched this marina scene. This was a chores kind of trip and we only left the dock to move the boat to its new slip space, which was fine with me because the wind was up and handling lines and fenders was a challenge.

 Sometimes the boat and I have a stare down. It towers above me like a two-story building. I don't back down. Only my laughter will break the spell of a good staring contest.

Before I get too frustrated with the boat, I take a walk, and listen to the sound of the loon. He is alone, fishing near the boat ramp, and calling out his lonely song. I whisper that I understand. And I do.

over-under-over

Woven, 18 x 24, pastel and pigment on prepared panel

Have you ever been intrigued by a basket? Many strands, each important to the integrity of the whole. Whether done tightly to hold water, or loosely to hold goods, baskets are crucial to native life. Over and under, around and back.

I think there's a metaphor in here someplace.

Crushed

Crushed, 22 x 30, watercolor and pastel on Arches Cold Press

While in the desert, I tried to understand the artifacts of the people who lived there before it was divided into movie star lanes, fountains, and golf courses (not to mention the strip malls). I wanted to understand the baskets, the jars, the stone tools of the hard life there. Mortar and pestle to crush what is hard to release the sweet fragrance of sustenance within. 

I almost get it.