Here's a glimpse with how I'm settling in:
NEWS: My artwork has a new home! On August 1, I moved into a great studio in the Sandpaper Factory, which was converted in 2017 to provide creative space to local artists and makers. It's bright and comfortable and I couldn't be happier with the space. I'm so excited to meet other artists and have a dedicated space to focus time and energy on painting.
Here's a glimpse with how I'm settling in:
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Some paintings happen without much thought, while others require a little more planning. In the beginning, I heard all the advice about thumbnails and sketchbooks and color studies, but applying that practice to my work felt stifling. I thought, wrongly, that my work needed to be spontaneous and instantaneous. Now I know so much better! I don't use a sketchbook nearly as much as I could, but I find myself turning to it more frequently to plan out a painting I have simmering in my head. It's especially useful for landscapes, where small edits to the composition can have a big impact on the finished piece. I've come a long way to learning that the planning doesn't squash spontaneous creativity; just the opposite! When I've worked out composition and value issues ahead of time, I'm freer to make palette decisions in the moment, freer to respond to the piece as it’s developing.
I love feeling connected to the past. For a while I've wanted to paint the horses from the Paragon Carousel. They're beautifully carved, and well-maintained as a treasure of the beach town they inhabit. It's a nice touchpoint not only to local history but to my childhood, summer memories of riding the Flying Horses on Martha's Vineyard. After finishing a number of commissions for the holidays, I decided to dive in.
I'm working very slowly and deliberately, careful to watch values and form. Where first the block-in was pretty loose, color and shapes, now I'm in the more tedious stage of developing detailed forms and highlights to capture the smooth glossy finish of the horse. I hadn't set out to do such a representational rendering but it seems important to honor the craftsmanship and skill that went into creating these horses. This one's going to be a longer work in progress. I have to shelve it soon to start another piece that I need finished in a few weeks, and I see it taking a long time to bring all the different areas to completion. An exercise in patience! 2017 was a bang-up year for me artistically. I painted like mad and gained some much needed confidence. I made some real effort to promote and sell my artwork. I did my first live demo, a risk which paid off tremendously. Furthermore, I feel an incredible readiness to try new things.
One of the successes I had was with painting smaller, quick pieces. All landscapes, which provide a nice break from animal portraits. I used the same paper and technique for many of these landscapes: UArt 500 grit with a wet underpainting of harder pastels (Rembrandts and NuPastels) and alcohol. There's a bit of freedom, looseness, that nicely balances the detail and tightness that are a hallmark of my animal portraits. I don't have to adhere to a likeness with a landscape. Ehhh, it's just a scrap of paper. I am still very much driven by the pressure to make every painting frame-worthy even though I know that the learning experience is far more valuable. if the idea is to keep myself painting, to keep practicing this skill, then these mini-scapes do the job. One of my favorite things about my weekly painting group is how collaborative and open we are. Sharing tips, new tricks and techniques, life wisdom, plus our work -- and a lot of laughs -- is woven into the creative dynamic of this group of amazing women.
Last week during our critique session Leslie shared the thumbnails she had done as a warmup exercise in preparation for a larger piece. She mentioned that dashing off these thumbnails kept her loose, and kept her work from taking on an uptight tension. Simple, effective and brilliant. I've had this pad of Canson Mi-Tientes since I started using pastels. Once I discovered sanded papers and boards I never so much as gave the Mi-Tientes a second glance, but I know now that it's perfect for the same type of thumbnails that Leslie used so successfully. I went home and cut up the larger pieces of paper into great little 6x9 scraps that will be so handy when I want to try a new palette or work out a composition. I am fully aware as to how much my dog MacGregor has influenced my artwork. Sounds bonkers, but really, he's all over this website, all over my portfolio. Everywhere but here.
In late February we learned that MacGregor had cancer. We tried to make the most of the last few weeks, knowing our time together was limited. Walks in the woods, steak and cheese subs, you name it. The cancer was aggressive, and it wasn't long before we were faced with a tough decision. Not a day passes that I don't think about him or feel the ache in my heart of missing him. My grief was overwhelming. This dog had been by my side through the hardest times of my life. Lost as I felt, I knew there was only one thing left to do. Morbid title, I know. But it seemed appropriate for talking about pastels. Crumbly little buggers, some of them. The nice part is that when a stick breaks -- butterfingers! -- it's not a total loss. I've learned over the years how to re-constitute pastel dust into a usable form. Of course, I'll never reach the craftsmanship of the pastel makers over at Terry Ludwig Pastels or Unison Pastels, but I can make something out of the dust from my easel or the scraps of a broken stick. Last week I was sorting my vintage Senneliers. The brand's full-size sticks are notorious for two things: having labels that are nearly impossible to remove and the ease with which the sticks break. Let's just say that there's a long history of this in their products. My vintage pastels were true to form, probably even more crumbly due to age. Fret not! With a few common household tools I was able to mash up the scraps, mix up the dust into a paste and reshape it into a more ergonomic stick. Here are some photos: And here's what you would need to do the same:
-- mortar and pestle -- distilled water -- eye dropper -- putty or icing knife The process is simple: mash up the scraps you have into a fine dust. Transfer to a flat surface. Using the dropper and icing knife, incorporate distilled water until you have reached a paste-like consistency. Use knife to form into desired shape. Leave to dry 24-48 hours or as needed. Done! If you haven't ever tried doing it, I encourage you to. There's something gratifying about mixing dust from previous works into interesting neutrals, or saving a favorite color that didn't survive a fall. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It's well established that I can't paint as often as I'd like. Today, for instance. I'm stuck at home instead of heading to my weekly painting group because of a couple small jobs we're having done at our house. Unfortunately one of those jobs involves my basement corner that I use as a studio, so today is decidedly NOT a painting day.
I nonetheless feel the need to use my hands in a creative manner. Over the summer, when all of my pastels were packed away, I came to the practice of brush lettering as a way of learning something new and keeping the creative part of my brain alive and active. And so today that's what I'm doing. The Tombow brush markers that I bought last year are amazing. Lucky for me, there are an abundance of free lettering tutorials and practices sheets from the likes of Tombow, Pieces Calligraphy, Papel & Co. and Dawn Nicole Designs. I like the idea of varying what I do creatively. Animal portraits are definitely my forte, but painting and drawing other subject matters, as well as learning pen and brushwork, keep my mind and eyes fresh. I get to stretch and flex other creative muscles, which is invigorating and stimulating.
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aboutI have been pastel painting since 2012. You can read more about my background and my work here. archives
August 2019
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