Saturday, June 24, 2017

Weather Reports, My Way

We artists are a quirky sort. While going through some old sketchbooks this week, looking for some Alice in Wonderland references, I came across these "weather reports" that I used to do on a daily basis. I have no idea why I did them; perhaps a type of warm-up exercise, a little doodle, before getting down to the serious stuff like rabbits with cabbage leaf umbrellas. Or maybe I just wanted to put my work day off for a little while.

Anyways, I thought you might get a laugh out of seeing some of them.








Sunday, June 18, 2017

Portals


Artists seem to be drawn to certain subjects and will spend months, even years dissecting and exploring every aspect. For an artist to produce something worthy, he or she much study her subject and become intimate with it in order to interpret it for others to understand. This takes time and lots of observation, letting your subject speak to you on its terms.

One of my favorite artists, Sarah Adams, paints the North Cornwall coast, mostly sea caves. They remind me of my current obsession - portals. You can peek through her stone cathedrals and catch a slim glimpse of the outside world. Our lives actually parallel each other's in numerous ways. Her caves are my portals.

My definition of a portal is a place in the natural world where energy is manifested to a point where it's palpable. It is a gateway, an entrance, an invitation to peek into a new realm. While wandering through the refuge at Alligator River, portals will appear and beckon me to stop and sketch. They will remain for a day or so then disappear soon after, never to reopen in the same place again. Whether these portals are at the mercy of fluctuating water levels and the shifting of wet earth, I don't know. Perhaps a benevolent elemental such as a fairy or elf has decided to allow me a glimpse behind the veil. I tend to think this could indeed be the case since I swear I am being watched at times while sketching along the creeks.

A few years ago, a close friend and I experienced our first portal. I was mesmerized. Secret things appeared that aren't usually seen like a bobcat strolling towards us and funnels of wings in a vortex just above the dirt road. We could look straight through this watery opening to an area that should have been just field. I have never yearned more for a kayak than I did at that very moment. Returning a couple of days later, it had closed, and I have never located it since.

These portals offer me lost secrets, and unexplained opportunities are presented. I am taking advantage of them for however long they continue to appear to me. They appeal to that part of my brain that questions what reality really is or might be if I just open up to what might lie beyond. What new experience will I find next time? I capture these gateways as a reminder that there was a time I truly believed in enchanted woods and winged beings. And now I am being offered once more a peek inside those memories and the promise of more to come.


Sunday, June 11, 2017

Hands

This morning I was looking through my old sketchbooks at the images from years past, memories preserved between paper pages. Every year I would trace my boys' hands in my sketchbooks, marveling at the changes in their size as the years went by. I also saw one I had done of my own hand not that long ago. Thought I'd share it with you.

And here's a drawing of my close friend's hand; one that held mine through the worst and best times of my life. Please, never let go Eve.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Beach Time

January
I stopped wearing a watch along with pantyhose the day I moved to my island almost 22 years ago. I haven't missed either one. I also got rid of my umbrella since our winds turn them inside out anyways. I still manage to get everywhere I need to be on time. I eat when I'm hungry, not because it's 6 o'clock, and I go to bed when I'm tired, waking up when I'm ready.

We live on Beach Time here on my island. People take their time, enjoying each day, setting their priorities. If the ocean offers up good waves, everything is put on hold to go surf, and if the fish are biting, the shops might open a bit later than advertised or close a bit earlier. It's not a life for everyone. I've seen lots of people come and leave, never able to adjust to the rhythm of the island. And I'll admit, it took me a while to get used to it myself. But now, I could never return to the life I came from.

February
I live by the seasons; telling time by nature. I know when the whales will be passing by the pier in the winter, and I hurry to see the bears before they settle in for the winter because the fields are barren of leftover corn. I listen to the return of the Snow Geese, sometimes honking in the dark of night as they pass over my rooftop signaling the approach of cooler weather. And the first, pink blush when sap begins to flood the tree branches reminds me that spring is nearby, waiting to make a grand entrance. July is the perfect month to see the Purple Martins come in to roost under the old Mann's Harbor Bridge making for a spectacular viewing from a boat with a vortex of birds swirling above you.

So for this post, I've selected a sketchbook page for each month of the year. I'm glad I took the time to do them since some of these places have drastically changed. These pages allow me the chance to revisit summer in the cold of winter and to recall a cool, fall afternoon on a humid day. It's a nice way to live; in the moment on Mother Nature's time.

March


April

May

June

July

August

September

October

Novemebr

December

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Bigger is Better?????????????

Since I began showing my new landscape paintings, I have constantly been asked if I do larger pieces. Most people know I favor small, intimate paintings, always have. I like small; I drive a small car, live in a small house, will choose a cupcake over a large slice of cake, and I do not not lead an extravagant lifestyle. This is not a judgment, it is a preference.

And working on Yupo, I can become so frustrated with a small painting I couldn't imagine working larger. But recently I decided to give it a go. I had done a quick study while passing through Alligator River Refuge, and it demanded a larger format. It would have lost that "something" that drew me to it in the first place if I had painted it in a diminutive size. Now keep in mind, large for me is 16 by 20 or 18 by 24 inches. This was to be 9 by 17 inches. (I have always been drawn to a panoramic format.)

When it was finished, I must admit it had a certain power befitting the subject. I liked it. Surprisingly I enjoyed the process of working larger, leading to a real sense of accomplishment. Next up was an 18 by 24 inch painting of a favorite snag at the creek's edge. I had sketched it a few times in the past thank goodness since these snags tend to fall in a good storm which are common here.

I expect these larger paintings will sell if I can bear to part with them, mainly to people with the bigger homes on the northern beaches. I will admit it is a bit draining to me, tackling a larger piece. But I think I'm hooked and will occasionally make room for the bigger picture,


However, when I look at my 5 by 7 inch painting of a shipworm casing on a blue sponge, I am still enchanted with its small size and its big impact.