Start your hygge?

 Autumn has hit hard here in New England.  It seems as if just the other day it was in the 70s and sunny with roses still blooming in the garden -- and then wham!  Cold, cold, cold.  2020 strikes again, I suppose.

So what to do to maintain a positive outlook?  To keep plugging along when almost everything in the news wears you down?  Well, I'm adopting -- or at least will try -- to take the Danish approach of "hygge"!  

Earlier this summer I stumbled on Helen Russell's wonderfully funny yet informative book.  It was truly fascinating how this little country has the highest rating for happiness, although Russell was quite frank about the "negative" aspects of living Danishly, as well. 

But I'm trying to embrace the idea of hygge -- to enjoy the simple, comforting aspects of winter.  And with the pandemic flipping into high gear once again, maybe this is the best approach for the coming months.  So, I'll be looking to cook more, read more, wrap myself in wooly socks and throws, whip out those knitting needles and crochet hooks to help sustain some type of positivity.  How about you?  Any plans for survival?  

In the meantime, I spent some hours sifting through artwork and such, posting to my Red Bubble store and thought I'd share some shots with you, several of which are colorful and summery in feel.  

Cape Cod Marshes (pastel on paper)

A throw pillow to break up the dreary winter months!

 

Melon Freefall (acrylic on paper)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A new journal for 2021?

Sail along the Coast (watercolor on paper)

Time to get a new apron?

 

Nothing like a bit of color and fun to lighten the mood, right?   As far as I'm concerned, anything to help get through the coming weeks and months.  So, stay warm and keep smiling (even if it is behind your mask).   I've always loved this quote.  It seems to capture that hygge attitude almost three hundred years earlier --

Barn's burnt down -- now I can see the moon.

               Mizuta Masahide, Samurai (1657 - 1723)

Ode to Barbara Rae

Oh, this craving for color is driving me wild! We are inundated with about 2 feet of snow and ice here in New England, with two more storms coming through later this week. 

Ugh. And ugh, again. 

Last weekend I was poking through my baskets of quilt fabrics -- way too many for my health, I think -- and nothing seemed to strike me. I have piles of UFOs (unfinished objects) and WIPs (works in progress), but have not put all these random pieces together into something whole and complete. 

Another round of 'ughs,' please! 

And then just as I was about to abandon my workroom/studio for an afternoon by the fireplace, I looked over at my painting area and spotted this book about the Scottish artist, Barbara Rae, which I've had on my bookshelves for several years.

  
Every time I open it, I am astounded at the range of colors, textures and patterns she creates through the monoprint and stenciling processes she utilizes in her work. If you ever have a chance to buy or borrow this book, do so! 

I stood for a few minutes flipping through the pages, half my mind still on the waiting fireplace upstairs, when I opened to the two pages displaying "Carrowteige-Yellow Field."

"Carrowteige - Yellow Field" by Barbara Rae

I stopped and sighed. The rich purples and blacks, the striations and that powerful vivid red/pink rectangle made my skin tingle [this image I found on Google does not do the work justice, sadly]. I carried the book back over to my sewing table still filled with scraps and started to sort through, pulling colors and patterns that I thought would evoke Rae's own. 

I found myself selecting colors I might not normally choose -- dark, brooding, heavy except for the vibrancy of the red/pink shape. So this is what I created in the next hour -- my humble ode to Barbara Rae's 'Carrowteige-Yellow Field.'

Color Study I (hand-stitched, machine stitched, cotton batiks)

I think of this 8"x8" work as a color study for a future art quilt, possibly incorporating the other half of her work. But for now I plan to stitch this to a large piece of heavy watercolor paper and frame it.  I want to hang it in the living room by the fireplace so that I can rest my winter-weary eyes on it whenever I feel the need. Perhaps this will get me through February and March, nourishing my spirit? 

All I know is that just when I was about to give up and walk away, a vibrant piece of artwork shook me up and inspired me. 

A random moment, yet ever so welcome.

Winter Solstice Eve

winter pond

snow fields

New England Barn

snow rose

North Canton Horse Farm

winter passion

Blessings on this eve

of Winter Solstice

Into August already . . . hard to believe. Evening shadows come a bit too quickly. A chill lingers in the air most mornings. And yet the sunsets continue to amaze and inspire . . .

Setting Sun [watercolor on paper]

 

 

 

 

Still trying to keep my hand on the brush, the brush to paper -- anything to ensure that I don't lose the thread of creativity. Sometimes it is difficult, but then the eye is drawn to a distant light, a spot on the horizon that shimmers, that infuses one with hope . . .

Drawn to a Distant Point [oil on paper]

. . . and hope is the thing with wings that perches forever in the mind. One only has to allow it to spread wing and take flight.

Summer Flight [watercolor on paper]

Still reeling after Irene

Holding Back the Chaos

acrylic on yupo

 It's been more than a week since hurricane Irene struck New England and we are still recovering. Odd to think that New England, particularly Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont, as well as the shorelines, took the brunt of Irene.

The community where I work is still without power in many areas and people are grappling with downed trees, wires, transformers and such. This is a fairly rural area and pumps and well water are out of commission, schools delayed, etc.

But what everyone is muttering about is the sense of disorientation, of having daily rhythms and routines disrupted, of being confused at to what day it is. It's as if summer never existed, just a faint memory as the rains continue and the temperatures drop. Whipped and destroyed trees are shedding leaves and roads are filled with downed leaves.  It looks more like November than early September.

Chinese traditional medicine pays great heed to the junctures of changing seasons, of when forces disrupt and anxieties rise. It is a tumultuous time.  This entire year, weather-wise, has been chaotic, heightened, strained -- a winter that never seemed to quit, tornadoes, an earthquake in the northeast followed quickly by a hurricane that slipped up the coast, missing where expected, landing where unexpected.

This is a painting I did last winter amid the weekly snowstorms that hammered New England -- and it still captures how I feel about these past days, these past months -- unsettled, wary, waiting for that other shoe to drop . . . 

not a good place . . .

A Borrowed Density

acrylic on paper

9" x 12"

It's been a bit since I posted last -- busy in the garden, then my son's 21st birthday arrived and family matters took over! Hard to believe the baby of the family is a grown man. Where does time go?

Funny that when you're focusing on other things -- family, weather, gardening -- suddenly odd things start to happen with your art. First, notice that the gallery was closing (not a good thing); then, a corporate sale of five pieces that the gallery negotiated before the closing (a very good thing); then an email from an overseas acquaintance who is producing a book of poetry and would like to use my works on paper throughout the book (a very amazing thing) . . .

And where was I during all this? Rummaging around under the roses, yanking out weeds and dragging 20 lbs. bags of mulch from car to perennial beds, trying to corral family members for a big dinner out of the 21st.  Just goes to show -- what, I'm not sure.  That when we're not trying to force a situation or on bended knee praying for that sale, good things happen?

Reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe's imp of the perverse -- that quirk of nature that, when we do not look directly at something, when we do not focus on a problem, we suddenly "see" that slight shift in our peripheral vision and spy the thing in question, suddenly find the answer we were seeking, that eluded us no matter how hard we concentrated. 

So, this summer I think I'll spend more time under the roses and trying to enjoy my painting for the pleasure it gives me, perhaps take a workshop and learn something I already had learned but forgotten.  What about you?  What will you do this summer?  I hope you take the time to smell the honeysuckle, stroll on the beach, maybe play with finger paints like when we were young . . .

"Life is what happens when we're planning for it."

                                                            John Lennon

A Lighter Touch for Spring

Untitled: acrylic on paper, 11" x 14"

The season demands a lighter touch,

to sweep brush on paper,

to let colors swim and play, to caress,

then slide away.

Keep the white --

a reminder

of things to come, of what has been left behind,

of spaces for breathing,

for dreaming --

Time for Art-Making

Virginia Woolf's seminal work, A Room of One's Own, described three elements necessary for a woman to succeed in this world:   her own space, her own money and her own time. These days I believe that time is the most elusive, that our lives are being whittled down, byte by byte, despite all the gadgets that are supposed to save us time.

So it was such a pleasure this past week to take a vacation with nowhere in particular to go except to work in the garden, begin a quilt for my brother's new baby, walk, swim, read and mentally just wander about -- no required destinations, no agendas beyond watching the weather.

Obviously between digging in the dirt and other things, I made time to simply play about with paints and papers, not trying to create something for the gallery necessarily but rather to explore and enjoy whatever evolved. It was also my idea to use up as many materials on hand as possible rather then drive around buying more stuff -- the old "use up what's in the refrigerator first" concept -- and if I could recycle any old scribbles by priming over and beginning again, that was just fine with me. 

First Blossom

9" x 12"

acrylic on Nujabi paper
$175

or Matted Print

The Earth Forgets Nothing

12" x 16"

acrylic on Nujabi paper
$175

or Matted Print

An Oblong Day

12" x 16"

acrylic on Nujabi paper
$175

Zephyr

12" x 16"

acrylic on paper
$175

"Eloquence is spoken through the labor of hands . . . " 

Terry Tempest Williams, 

Finding Beauty in a Broken World

Spring Thaw

acylic on paper

9" x 12"

Available as a Matted Print (click here) 

Well, we thought we were out of the woods with winter behind us -- but yesterday another snowfall. Ugh. But luckily the sun slowly made its way through the clouds and all had melted by the afternoon!

Spring Thaw is the mate to the painting below, which I did last fall.  I painted it on heavy 200 lbs. acrylic paper by Strathmore, which holds up well under multiple layers of water and paint, scratching and rubbing. I may continue with this series, hopefully creating a sense of seasons, of nature's rhythms; also exploring the sensibilities of colors -- what conveys a sense of a season, its feel, its weight or its lightness . . .

Late Autumn

acrylic on paper

9" x 12"

Available as a Matted Print (click here)

I don't usually work in series but rather randomly hop from one thing to another.  But now I feel I need a bit more structure, more discipline to the act of painting.  Perhaps because time is so compressed for me -- essentially only having the weekend to paint -- I tend to skip about the creative arena.  Two series -- this one and the ink sketches of the human body.  I should be able to handle that, you would think?  We'll see how it progresses, depending upon the gardening season and the weather.

No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time.

There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,

a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. 

Martha Graham
American Choreographer

Encaustic Explorations

Sometimes it works, sometimes it's a drudge.  But one can't give up as there are so many terrains to explore in the hope of finding a medium that "works" for you, that helps express the inexpressible --

Today was a "teach myself something new" day, something I haven't been able to do for some time.  Putting the gardens in order, work, the holiday, then trekking up to some awesome Open Studios in the Amhert/Northampton area in Massachusetts have all kept me on the go.

Detail of Solar (6" x 18" cradled panel)

But today was for finally girding up my courage and tackling the intricacies of encaustics.  So, armed with the encaustic medium, heating pans and heat gun, I ventured forth and was amazed at the process and with the encaustic medium as a creative tool.

There's so much to learn, to try, to experiment with that I lost track of time, then ran out of the medium.  The sun was going down but my spirits were soaring.

Vernal  (5" x 5" cradled panel)

What did I find out?  One, that encaustic and oils seem to love one another, that now I can work with oils in layers almost immediately.  Thank the art gods on that one, I say!  Two, that it truly does buff up to a brilliant surface once cool.  I stuck some of the smaller ones in the refrigerator to speed up the process, I was so pumped.

And three, I now have a way to incorporate my shibori silk, dupioni and organza scraps from my days of dyeing scarves. These fabrics are so beautiful, even the "mistakes," and I've been hoping to come up with some way to integrate these with other mediums.  I feel that the encaustic method will be ideal for this.

Terrain (8"x8" cradled panel with hand-dyed silk organza fragment)

Another aspect that I want to experiment with is using wood plaques with the encaustic, especially circular ones. Over the years, mainly due to my own inability to follow through on finishing a project, I've kept my quilting projects in embroidery hoops and hung them around the house. I have one in the living room by the fireplace and find the abstract patterns of the batiks couched within the circle very meditative. Perhaps the same for encaustic paintings? Always something to try . . .

The only rule in art is what works.

Lee Fleming

Liar, liar . . .

All right, I lied.  I said I was going to take a break for awhile, the impact of autumn, loss of light and more got to me.  I apologize! 

Last week was frantic, hectic with emotions running high here on the home front.  There was no peace to be had and the weekend was eaten up by running errands, food shopping, laundry, bills, what-have-you.

No art, no peace -- all was in abeyance.  By the time I got to work on Monday, I was exhausted.  Easier to be at work than at home sometimes (ha!).

But this weekend proved to be quieter.  I put all menial tasks aside yesterday and today.  My one "duty" will be to hand out candy to the little ones for Halloween tonight.

These paintings are the result of time to create, to experiment.  Listening to Mary Ann at Blue Sky Dreaming and to Eva Macie, I tried working with Yupo and acrylics, learning how this paper keeps the artist hopping!

Turmoil

As you can see, turmoil was on my mind, and I think this illustrates how I was feeling last week.  Incredible the number of textures you can capture so quickly on this paper!  I did several more and plan to use them in my collaging, although I have so much to learn with Yupo.

The Weight of Winter

"Weight of Winter" is acrylic on bristol vellum, using a brayer to capture texture, as well as a bamboo pen.  As November creeps over the threshold, I feel that the year is coming full circle, but that the weight of impending darkness threatens my inner balance.

However, as Emily Dickenson wrote: "Hope is the thing with feathers . . . " and "Summer River" brings out the deep warmth of a sunset on the Connecticut River, when colors deepen into that exquisite jewel-like quality.

Summer River

Well, the light is leaving shortly so I'm off for my walk before the trick-or-treaters start their nocturnal treks through the neighborhood.  Next weekend we turn the clocks back, so we gain an hour -- and that's good!

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words . . .

Emily Dickinson

Prelude to Summer

Oceanic
6" x 8"

thoughts of warm waters . . . glinting shards of bright light . . . pools of aqua blue eddy round my feet, caressing my toes . . . bits of sand and shell sweep back and forth and sounds of gulls careen overhead . . .

Harbor View
5" x 7"

looking across the bay, boats bob in the harbor, their masts spike the pale blue sky like minarets. The smell of tar and wet rope reaches me where I stand in a state of mesmer . . .

Sand & Shore
8" x 10"

as the sun sets, I walk back across the sands, leaving behind dreams and sighs, the sound of waves lapping the shore . . . I carry with me the taste of salt on my lips . . .

I will return.

Go to the Mat!

How many times have we heard about the benefits of cropping and using an L-frame to find compositions? Lots and lots, but do we practice what we know?

This is a "short" weekend for me. I have an annual conference to drive to on Sunday, plus all the preparations of laundry, packing and such. So today is my only "free" day but too short to really begin anything meaningful -- i.e. messy!

Because I have made my plans for an Open Studio in the fall, I decided to begin sifting and sorting through piles of paintings, mostly on paper, to see what I have on hand and what needs to be matted and framed in the coming months. I have watercolors, aqua media, mixed media, collages and monotypes to sort through. But believe me, not all of these are what might be termed winners. Many are 3/4 of the way painted before I lost interest and put aside with the intention of returning . . . good intentions but often forgotten because I'm on to a new project.

So what does one do? Go to the mat! as my son used to say in his wrestling days. Absolutely. Let's see what I did with this one painting that truly was a playful exercise in moving colors around on the paper purely because I wanted to see the flow of colors, the slow crawling across paper, the effect of 2 or 3 colors merging --

Long Climb
5" x 7" acrylic washes on Fabriano watercolor paper

Summer Pond
5" x 7" acrylic washes on Fabriano watercolor paper

Approaching Storm
5" x 7" acrylic washes on Fabriano watercolor paper

The larger piece was about 12 x 16 and, in its entirety, too busy and overpowering. These three are smaller and the mat I used was an 8 x 10 with a 5 x 7 opening. I moved the mat around the surface of the larger work until I found compositions that intrigued me. I then cut them up and will simply leave as matted and ready for framing.

I also have mats, custom ordered from Documounts (wonderful work and great prices), that are 5 x 7 with a 2.5 x 3.25 opening, and these I plan for a series of "mini-works."

Every spring I travel up to the Paradise City ArtFest in Northampton, Massachusetts. Paradise City also travels to the Boston area, Philadelphia and Miami, and is just one step below the Smithsonian Craft Show . The artists and artisans that are featured in P.C. are amazing, and one leaves at the end of the day almost breathless. But I noted that many artists and photographers offer smaller works, often matted only, that are affordable and just as beautiful as their larger works. So that's my plan for the fall -- part of it, anyway.

Again I cannot emphasize how helpful a mat is when contending with artwork that is just not coming out as you originally envisioned. Let it go, come back to it -- but armed with the mat! Similarly, my aim to paint abstractly is often stymied, and I'll return to representational landscapes and such. But if I move a mat over the landscape, suddenly I'm finding smaller, abstract images embedded within. Oh, what joy!

Try it. It's like a kind of artistic Where's Waldo? :-) ))

Hey, if we can't laugh and enjoy our art, well . . . ho, hum.

Serendipitous Emphasis

Sometimes, when least expected, odd things happen. You're tripping along, doing this, doing that -- and then wham! Now this could be a good wham or it can be a bad wham. Today, it was a good one.

I was working on a new digital image and, after two hours' work, I decided to take a break. I needed to just play for awhile, poking at some old flower images I had stored on the computer. Here is the original photo, nothing special except for the beauty of the blossom itself --


I then shifted it into its negative state and played with the hues until I reached this point --


Now I was intrigued. I opened an image of water in a glass vase I had taken this summer, overlaid the blossom and began to fiddle some more. After a few minutes of experimentation, this is the final result --

"Abstract Rhodie"

I feel like the photographic nature is almost gone except for the shape of the blossom, while the painterly aspects of the manipulation have evoked another image altogether, filled with energetic brushstrokes, highlights and a palette of colors I would not have thought of on my own.

Like I said -- wham!

"It is only by selection, by elimination,
by emphasis that we get at the real meaning of things."

Georgia O'Keefe

Invisible landscape conditions the visible one . . .

I think I've entered a brown period in my artistic endeavors. These past weeks mostly everything I touch, whether a painting or a photograph has been tinged by brown, by sepia, sienas and umbers.

Does the season influence one's palette? It must.

I know that by late winter I am hungry for exotic tropical colors. And sounds change, too, the melodies change and gavottes and rondels, maypole dances and young girls skipping double-dutch pervade the air and continue through the warm summer days alongside colors of kiwis, persimmons, mangos, flip-flops and bubble-gum.

But now the pace slows. The rhythms are more pensive as if leading us to that lullaby time of deep winter, a time for adagios and nocturnes, of lullabies and bittersweet love songs. So, too, the colors of November -- subdued tones and hues, the splash and cacaphony of summer have now mellowed to the eye and ear.

This painting marks a departure for me. I usually paint landscape; this is more a land(es)cape.
After weeks of walks in our local woods and along footpaths, of browsing quiet lakesides and beaches, the play of light and shadow seemed to insist itself upon me. And so, Shadowplay evolved.

Shadowplay
acrylic, pastel & oil pastel on canvas
2" gallery edge

I liked working with the layers of acrylics, of daubing and stroking in small skidmarks of color with pastels and oil pastels, of scraping back to a layer beneath, uncovering more patches of light. This is also much larger than I'm used to working with, 24 x 36, with a 2" gallery edge.

I am terribly fond of the Pre-Raphaelites, of their deep umber passages of foliage entwining the edges, of the voluptuous folds of shawls and gowns; also of Julia Margaret Cameron's 19th c. photography. It's interesting when we stop to consider how much we are influenced by other mediums and textures.

So, another brown creation -- Renaissance -- a digital image of a clematis vine that wraps and entwines itself throughout part of my garden:

Renaissance
digital photograph with textured layers

Using various techniques for texturing the original photograph, I tried to bring a certain mood to this image, one of a waning blossom with the tiny promise of a new life nestled beside it.

For within deep autumn is always the promise of a spring yet to come . . .