Late B(l)oomer

Simply Delicious

2012-01-28T08:39:00.001-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

Summer tomatoes are the stuff of dreams only these days, which could be part of the reason I decided to do another online challenge. I painted this bowl of vine-ripened tomatoes for Paint and Draw Together. Apart from the summery subject matter, I liked the dramatic lighting of the original photograph. My favorite part of my interpretation is the color and modeling on the tomatoes; my least favorite part is the hard edges between the tomatoes and the dark background, and the foliage on the right. The leaves disappear into the shadows, but I had trouble with the transition from light to dark. Still, I like my painting, which looks more appealing in person than this scan shows.

One of the things I like best about occasionally painting for an online challenge is the opportunity it affords to see how other artists approach the source photo. I'm looking forward to studying some of the other resulting paintings.

For this and other art challenges, see the sidebar of this blog.

Challenged Again - Virtual Paintout, Summit County, CO

2012-01-21T16:13:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on watercolor paper

Breckenridge, Colorado

It has been ages since I've participated in an online painting challenge. One of my favorites is Bill Guffy's Virtual Paintout, which chooses a different location around the world each month and challenges people to use Google Street View to select a scene and then paint it. He includes the paintings on his site and on Facebook. I wanted to give this one a try for a couple reasons. First, we finally are buried in snow after a balmy start to winter in southern Wisconsin, and I thought I should paint a snowy scene. Next, we've actually vacationed in Breckenridge a couple times in the summer, have driven around the whole area, hiked the streets, everything except skied.

It takes a while to do these challenges, even in a small format. I virtually drove all over Breckenridge, up in the mountains, over at Keystone and the whole area searching for a scene that grabbed me. Then planning and actually painting took several hours. Finally there are rules for submitting these challenges, including resizing the image to fit Guffy's requirements, something I never remember how to do from time to time. I think I did it correctly, but I'll have to wait to see if it shows up with the other submissions.

Snowy Day Hearts

2012-01-19T12:24:00.000-06:00

Instead of venturing out to visit my art group, or having lunch with the Art League, I decided to stay inside today. It's eight degrees, snowy, and I am in semi-hibernation mode. My idea of fun when it's cold outside is to do indoors things, like ferreting out family history from New England, reading, watching movies, or working in the studio. It's not very hearty of me, especially when friends are posting on Facebook about skiing and sledding, but there you are.

These little pieces are 5x7 inches, collaged bits of old paper and stamps. Then I drew in the heart, and painted in the solid part with tinted gesso. I have hopes that someone will buy them for Valentines Day, but if not, they were a fun experiment. I have quite a few old stamps saved for projects like this, and wish I had more of the Love stamps.

There is a big snow storm predicted for tomorrow, so I may do more of the same.

I Need to Stop This

2012-01-12T17:55:00.001-06:00

6x6 inch monotype, with watercolor pencil, gouache, and acrylic ink

So, today was interesting in a not-so-fun way. After a gloriously snow free winter so far, it snowed starting at about breakfast, and it's still snowing. I wouldn't care, retired geezer that I am, except I had promised to demonstrate my method of doing monotypes to the small artist group that meets each Thursday at a senior center in Milton, a town about eight miles away. I had already packed a container with all the materials, samples, typed up directions to take along, so I decided that the small amount of snow that had fallen by 9:30 was not going to stop me, a former farm girl who knows how to drive in snow, from showing up.

Thing is, it stopped all the other people, except one intrepid soul. We had a good time, and we both made it home in one piece, but it was no fun driving when there was no assurance that the car was going to stop at signs and traffic lights. The roads were very slippery, and I don't see me going out for a while. Time to hunker down with some tea, a novel, and the cat on my lap.

Another Featured Creature in Monotype

2012-01-10T16:09:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, monotype, acrylic ink and watercolor on masa paper

Here's one more small monotype, this time from a photo I took on a bicycle ride years ago. I've tried more than one to capture this pig the way I remember him (her?) - and this isn't too bad. I wish the tint I added to the snout was more orange. I may try to adjust it later, but for now I am going to let it rest.

More Monotype Experimentation

2012-01-02T15:09:00.001-06:00

5x7 inches, monotype printed on a page from a cheese factory ledger, with acrylic ink and gouache

I've had a black and white photo of my father holding two kittens that I've meant to paint. Today instead of actually painting from the image I decided to see if my montoype technique would work on a different sort of paper. A friend gave me several old cheese factory ledgers from about 1917, so I used a sheet for this project. I wasn't sure how the slightly glossy and old paper would accept the paint, or how it would dry. The paint transferred fairly well, and the paper dried relatively flat, which surprised me. The paper has printing and handwriting on it, which I thought would be interesting, though I didn't plan for "crops growing" to be emblazoned in the middle of his sweater. I also regret not being more careful to lay the plate on the ledger paper so it was straight. Next time I'll do better.

Gator Monotype, Step by Step

2012-01-01T18:30:00.000-06:00

Since I'm not keen on watching television football, I took advantage of the windy gray day to work on another monotype. Years ago when we visited the Audubon zoo in New Orleans I snapped a photo of a pair of alligators. Between working on a print of turtles earlier in the week and writing about Swamplandia! yesterday, I just had to dig out the 'gators from my files. You can see a 5x7 inch black and white copy of the photo at the top of the photo. I drew their outlines on a sheet of Yupo with a black Sharpie, then lay down a thin layer of monotype base, and black monotype paint over that, then worked by using brushes and a sharpened twig to lift out the light areas. Then I left to allow the paint to air dry.

When the plate was dry, I put a piece of masa rice paper in the sink to soak, then let some of the water drip off, and then placed the damp paper over the prepared plate. Then I used an old wooden doorknob to apply pressure to the two layers, causing the paint to release onto the paper. You could rub either side, but I rubbed the Yupo side, since it is sturdier.

It's easy to gently separate the layers to check and see if the paint is transferring. When you are satisfied, pull the paper sheet from the Yupo layer. The Yupo can be washed with soap and water and used again. The damp print goes between sheets of clean kraft paper or paper towels, with some weight on top so it dries flat. Sometimes I just wait, and sometimes I cheat and speed the drying by gently ironing the damp print between clean paper towels until it is dry and flat.

This is what the Yupo plate with the Sharpie design and the freshly pulled print looked like this afternoon.

This is what the print looked like after I went back into it with some watercolor pencils for subtle color, diluted black acrylic ink to deepen some dark areas, and white gauche to lighten other areas. I tinker with the prints until I am satisfied with the shapes and contrasts, but I do not strive for details, since part of the charm of these prints is their rather unpredictable irregularities. Irregularities seem just right for creatures like alligators. I may still go back and adjust the back of the bottom 'gator.

Happy New Year to all of you. I wish us all healthy, energy, and courage to keep working and not fear failure.

Favorite Books of 2011

2011-12-31T18:51:00.000-06:00

It’s January 31st, and time to finally make my list of favorite books read for 2011. This year I read twenty fewer books than last year, and I imagine I can chalk it up to more time spent watching movies, more time painting, and yes, more time spent playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook.

Many of the books I read in 2011 were art related, and I eliminated them from this list, since books on the qualities of watercolor paint, or the history of the Fauves probably aren’t very interesting to most of my other reader friends. I also eliminated books I read for a second or third time, even though both Ann Michaels’ Fugitive Pieces and Johanna’s Spyri’s Heidi gave me hours of delight. Ditto with the excellent Travels of Jaimie McPheeters.

All book lists are personal, and I will resist the urge justify my choices. These were simply books those rose like cream to the top of my annual list of books completed, titles that I thought about after I closed the covers of the book, or popped the last disc out of the CD player in the car. These were titles I found myself talking about to my husband, recommending to friends, and going to the internet to learn more about.

In alphabetical order, there are my top ten favorites for this year.

1. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie. Fiction. I found this book in the young adult section of the library, and while the main character is a high school freshman, I found the story to be funny, touching, and altogether enjoyable. The main character is Junior, a want-to-be cartoonist, who leaves the Spokane reservation to attend mostly white high school. I loved his determination to make something of himself.

2. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman. Fiction. I discovered Gaiman through listening to Coraline in audio format, and the going on and also listening to Anansi Boys and Stardust. I read and adored his young adult novel The Graveyard book last year. This year was the 10th anniversary of the publication of American Gods so I dove in. It’s hard to write a short summary, the the idea for it is, what if gods from all sorts of religions around the world came to the New World with immigrants, and had to do battle with the things people worship today - like commerce? A young man, Shadow, gets out of prison, and soon after his wife is killed. Then strange people come and Shadow is involved in an epic battle between old gods and new. There is a great scene set at my all-time weird favorite local roadside attraction, the House on the Rock.

3. Hideous Kinky, by Esther Freud. Fiction. Hideous Kinky is an awful title for a charming and interesting book, The story follows two young English girls and their rather Hippie-like mother on her travels through Morocco. The author is the daughter of artist Lucian Freud, and the story is a fictionalized version of events that happened to her and her sister. We rented the movie afterward, and liked that too.

4. Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. Fiction. While I have mostly dropped out of organized book groups, I read this title with a discussion group that meets at our library. This luminous book is about the intertwined lives of a Nigerian refugee and an English magazine editor. The title character differs hideous cruelty in her homeland, but her determination and optimism shine. The ending was the only thing I disliked, but it was probably realistic.

5. My Reading Life, by Pat Conroy. Nonfiction. I listened to Conroy read his memoir about growing up in the deep South, and of the people and books who shaped him as a reader and as a writer. I found myself driving around, sitting in parking lots with the CD running, just so I could listen to that man talk. I even ended up reading a whole book of challenging poetry by James Dickey as a result of having spent time with this memoir.

6. Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. Fiction. My husband had started and abandoned this novel, and it does start slowly. It takes a long time to come to understand that the young people in the English boarding school are being raised to be organ donors in a future time. They will gradually sacrifice their lives so that others may live. In a time when people do donate organs, and genetic research does make cloning possible, Ishiguro creates a story that is haunting, about everyone’s need to be loved and to feel important, and about the implications of certain lines of scientific inquiry. I’m glad I read it before I watched the film version. It was also interesting to read just before I read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, a book that also looks at scientific ethics, though it is nonfiction, and was less compelling for me.

7. Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific, by J. Maarten Troost. Nonfiction. I actually listened to two of Troost’s autobiographical travel stories on CD. Both were informative, sometimes a bit shocking, and always very very funny. Troost went to Tarawa , a South Pacific island with his girlfriend and later wife. He reports on the tremendous heat, some horrific critters, incompetent government officials and all sorts of colorful locals. Remind me not to book a cruise to this place.

8. The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick deWitt. Fiction. I find myself being attracted to Westerns in my dotage, something I would never have predicted as a younger woman. Maybe it’s all the family history work I’ve been doing, or maybe its just having enjoyed the Deadwood series. I don’t know. This story of Eli and Charlie Sisters, two guns for hire, has everything I like, interesting characters, entertaining dialog, action, history, and humor.

9. Swamplandia! by Karen Russell. Fiction. I read this one after hearing it recommended on an NPR podcast (I listen to these items while I play games online). This is another book with with unusual characters, entertaining dialog, and a little magical realism. It probably isn’t for every reader. The story centers on a family in Florida who run a roadside attraction, an alligator wrestling place, and who are losing the enterprise to a bigger amusement park - World of Darkness. I couldn’t help thinking of Noahs Ark, at the Wisconsin Dells. Anyway, this one kept me happily turning pages and sometimes scratching my head, right up to the end.

10. The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood. Fiction. This was another library book discussion title that I ended up liking. Apparently it is the second book in a trilogy, with the third book still to come. Oryx and Crake is the first title in the trilogy, though I have not read it. Atwood is back writing literary quality speculative fiction, this time imagining that most of the world has been killed off by a waterless flood, some sort of virus. The world is run by giant multinational corporations. The survivors of the “flood”, young women Ren and Toby, must use their survival skills to get along in a very frightening imagined future. I loved the way Atwood played with language in this book, and the way she takes current trends in science, pop culture and even music and spins them out into what they could some day become. I also enjoyed the dystopian future novel The Hunger Games, but it could not compare to this book in scope or quality of writing.

Painted Turtles Monotype

2011-12-30T16:44:00.000-06:00

4x6 inches, monotype with added watercolor

Yesterday I turned 61, and it turned out to be an excellent day. We went to Madison Wednesday evening, went out to hear some music, stayed at a nice hotel, and Thursday ate out some more, saw a movie in a theater - something we rarely do any more - and saw the Harlem Globetrotters. I had fun, but I kept thinking about how I wanted to get into the studio.

Today I did get into the studio, and ended up not painting this pair of painted turtles the way I thought I would. I had an urge to get out my Createx paints and try a monoprint. I usually put the base coat and paint on a plate made from a piece of plexiglass, but I couldn't find it anywhere. So I improvised and used a ratty piece of Yupo that I saved after I washed off an an unsuccessful watercolor. Yupo is just a smooth piece of plastic, and it ended up working really well for the plate. I just drew on the Yupo with a Sharpie so I would have the basic design, added a base coat and a layer of black monotype paint and manipulated that until I was satisfied. After that dried I took a wet sheet of rice paper and lay it on the plate, turned the two sheets over and rubbed the back of the Yupo with an old wooden doorknob I use as a bale, and voila! After the paper dried I went back in with some watercolor and a bit of white gouache.

I'd like to try more prints of this pair, perhaps adding some collage elements, and also painting them more traditionally. I'm not sure why I have always been attracted to painted turtles, but I find myself looking at them, photographing them, and now painting them. Maybe it was that chapter in Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, the one where the turtle struggles to get across a road, is flipped over on its back, but keeps struggling until it rights itself, and carries on to the other side. Or maybe it was those tiny painted turtles Mom bought from the dime store for us kids as pets, who lived in a little plastic swimming pool, until they finally expired. Anyway, I like them.

The Old Team

2011-12-26T12:51:00.001-06:00

farm horses - between 1925 - 1935?

My husband and I drove to my brother's house for Christmas Eve. Our family doesn't get together often, but since Mother died a few years ago we've agreed to meet on that day. This year I gave my brother a CD copy of the extended family tree, a project I've been working on about five years. It has photographs, stories, and a cast of several thousand characters going back to pre Revolution days. Brother wanted to know who all these people were, and that, of course, is what I have been trying to discover since I started the project. Who are these people, and how do their lives inform us who we are today? Why bother with events and people long past and often forgotten?

Sometimes there are clues, as with these photos that Mother had kept from our paternal grandparents. There are others of farm animals, horses, and many of chickens and geese. I suspect my grandmother was the photographer, since she is rarely in the photographs, and she was the one who kept hens for their eggs. I recognize the corn crib in the background, so I know this picture was taken on our farm. Perhaps the sleigh was stored in the center, the place where Dad kept a tractor when I was small. But there is much I don't know. When did Grandpa finally stop using horses? Did he keep them out of affection until they finally died, or did he sell them out of economic necessity? There is nobody to ask any more, so I find myself inventing stories, which is what I sometimes do for people who are distantly related on the family tree. I gather clues were I can, and make up stories for myself when that is the only thing I can do.

Inventing a Horse
By Meghan O'Rourke

Inventing a horse is not easy.
One must not only think of the horse.
One must dig fence posts around him.
One must include a place where horses like to live;

or do when they live with humans like you.
Slowly, you must walk him in the cold;
feed him bran mash, apples;
accustom him to the harness;

holding in mind even when you are tired
harnesses and tack cloths and saddle oil
to keep the saddle clean as a face in the sun;
one must imagine teaching him to run

among the knuckles of tree roots,
not to be skittish at first sight of timber wolves,
and not to grow thin in the city,
where at some point you will have to live;

and one must imagine the absence of money.
Most of all, though: the living weight,
the sound of his feet on the needles,
and, since he is heavy, and real,

and sometimes tired after a run
down the river with a light whip at his side,
one must imagine love
in the mind that does not know love,

an animal mind, a love that does not depend
on your image of it,
your understanding of it;
indifferent to all that it lacks:

a muzzle and two black eyes
looking the day away, a field empty
of everything but witchgrass, fluent trees,
and some piles of hay.

The Longest Night, and Lights

2011-12-22T20:01:00.000-06:00

Winter Solstice Chant
By Annie Finch

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
now you are uncurled and cover our eyes
with the edge of winter sky
leaning over us in icy stars.
Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
come with your seasons, your fullness, your end.

Bucky Cat

2011-12-21T15:19:00.001-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

I've been thinking about painting our cat, Bucky. She is a charming black and white female, rescued from the Humane Society about five years ago, and better than an electric blanket in the winter. I love

her sweet nature, plush fur, and the two freckles on her pink nose. The challenge here was to choose colors that are interesting, not just black, white and gray.

Yupo Pose

2011-12-18T11:23:00.000-06:00

11x14 inches, watercolor on Yupo synthetic paper

I had to laugh this week when a friend at our weekly art play date shared his reservations about painting on Yupo, which is a slick synthetic "paper" made of plastic. He compared it to pushing around snot. I guess you like non-absorbent surfaces, or you don't! Certainly working on a surface that puddles if you are used to having paint soak in, can be disconcerting. I like the challenge and the aspects of working this way that Yupo allows. It automatically demands that you work a little looser, and it makes lifting out highlights wonderfully easy.

I wish I could say I painted this from direct observation at the figure studio, but I worked from a reference photo our mode let me take last summer. She always poses in yoga outfits, and obviously enjoys working with artists. This makes for a very relaxed painting session, and I have lots of sketches of her done directly. But these days I'm not going out on winter roads in the evening very much, so the pictures I took in July are coming in handy. I also would never try to work on Yupo in the figure studio because I need to let layers dry as I alternately add darker passages and lift out whites. This process works best for me at home.

I'm not unhappy with the results here, but I think I may use a clear acrylic spray to fig the image the way it is, and then go back and play with adding some acrylic glazes, just to see how it works.

Another Snow Scene

2011-12-14T14:07:00.000-06:00

10x10 inches, acrylic on paper

I've been wanting to paint a series of acrylic landscapes that were fairly loose and bordering on abstract, and then I just kept adding details. Still, I did something I had been wanting to try. I liked a reference photo I took of a road in the Palouse of eastern Washington, so I dug it out. I took the picture in May, so the hills were a brilliant emerald, but here I decided to see if I could imagine the setting in winter. I heard from a distant cousin there last week that there hasn't been much snow, but that didn't stop me. I spent way longer on it than I planned this morning, but I'm glad I gave the scene a try at last. Scenes like this are what I remember from growing up on my family farm - lots of brilliant sky morning and evening.

My plan is to mount the painting on a cradled board that I've painted a dark charcoal color. After it dried, I'll varnish the whole thing, and wire it.

Snow, and Lack Of

2011-12-12T11:24:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

The other night I sat with a large group of retired friends for Friday night fish fry, listening to the hardiest of the group bemoan our lack of snow so far this year. I had to bite my tongue, having already declared my lack of enthusiasm for football, about my similar lack of enthusiasm for snow. I didn't want to be ejected from the table. Despite my northern European genetic background, and despite having lived almost sixty-one years in Wisconsin, I don't like snow. I don't like being stiff and cold, don't enjoy being afraid to drive on icy country roads or nervous that I may slip and break one a bone. When one long-time friend and happy grandmother said she was thinking of organizing a sledding party - once snow actually falls - I just chewed my potato pancake and smiled. For me, sledding is only a memory. As a child I dragged my little sled up the small hills on the farm, and once, wanting more of a thrill, hauled an aluminum saucer onto the roof of the chicken coop and slip off the snowy incline onto a pile of plowed snow near the driveway, but that was when I was more resilient. I also slid down hills at UW Whitewater on fiberglass trays from the cafeteria, but that was when I was dumber.

Anyway, I decided to attempt a painting based on a small 1935 black and white photo I found of my mother and her older sister. They are standing outside in a dim and snowy landscape, bits of snow falling past the camera lens. It was interesting, mostly fun, and frustrating. The little girl in red is my mother, and the painting actually resembles her. The older girl is OK in a general way, maybe a little old looking, but she in no way resembles my dear aunt. I wish I could have tweaked her features more, but I feared overworking the painting even more than I had already. At least the girls call to mind a time a place, and painting them gave me time to imagine their life between the two world wars, on a cold day in Wisconsin.

The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Small Landscape, and Some Good Advice

2011-12-06T21:22:00.001-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

I took a photo of our family farm across some late summer fields back in about 1998, and have tried several times to paint the scene. This little landscape is loose and imprecise. I concentrated more on having strong contrast at the focal point and good color choices than I did on reproducing reality. Oddly, it has more of the feel of the place than paintings I worked much harder on.

I've been working through an anthology of poems assembled and introduced by Caroline Kennedy entitled She Walks in Beauty: A Woman's Journey Through Poems. This one called From a Letter to His Daughter, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, gave me some things to consider about the sensibility of looking forward, rather than backward. Of course his daughter was much younger than I am.

Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities
no doubt have crept in;
forget them as soon as you can.
Tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely
and with too high a spirit
to be cumbered with
your old nonsense.

This day is all that is
good and fair:
It is too dear
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on yesterdays.

The Red Steps - Another Miniature Acrylic Painting

2011-12-04T14:33:00.000-06:00

5x5 inches, acrylic on paper

I seem to be back in a miniature mode. I've had a small vintage black and white photograph that I got from our local consignment place, and it has been calling out to me lately. I liked the child with his or her jaunty cap and casual posture. I also like the way the siding, railing and steps all led the eye right to the figure. This little painting has more intense color than some of my other miniatures painted from vintage photos. It occurred to me that just because we cannot see bright color in these images, that doesn't mean it wasn't there. I also liked the bright sun that makes the child squint. In the original picture the parent's shadow is clearly visible, but I eliminated that as a distraction here. That shadow is there often in old photos, because the cameras people had at home for snapshots typically did not have flash attachments. They needed the sun to get a good clear shot, and they often ended up as a shadowy part of the photo.

Ed's Grandfather

2011-11-28T08:47:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

This little painting, done very simply, is of my brother-in-law's grandfather, a man I never met, though I have certainly heard stories about him. The original snapshot was dark, and cluttered. There was part of a chair in the foreground, and flowery wallpaper that sagged. So my challenge was to find a way to insert a little visual interest, and I decided to do a complimentary under painting and let a bit of that color peek through. The painting looks a little flat, so I still may add some more shadows to suggest roundness.

It has been a while since I included a poem, so today here is one to go with the painting.

Candles

by Carl Dennis

If on your grandmother's birthday you burn a candle

To honor her memory, you might think of burning an extra

To honor the memory of someone who never met her,

A man who may have come to the town she lived in

Looking for work and never found it.

Picture him taking a stroll one morning,

After a month of grief with the want ads,

To refresh himself in the park before moving on.

Suppose he notices on the gravel path the shards

Of a green glass bottle that your grandmother,

Then still a girl, will be destined to step on

When she wanders barefoot away from her school picnic

If he doesn't stoop down and scoop the mess up

With the want-ad section and carry it to a trash can.

For you to burn a candle for him

You needn't suppose the cut would be a deep one,

Just deep enough to keep her at home

The night of the hay ride when she meets Helen,

Who is soon to become her dearest friend,

Whose brother George, thirty years later,

Helps your grandfather with a loan so his shoe store

Doesn't go under in the Great Depression

And his son, your father, is able to stay in school

Where his love of learning is fanned into flames,

A love he labors, later, to kindle in you.

How grateful you are for your father's efforts

Is shown by the candles you've burned for him.

But today, for a change, why not a candle

For the man whose name is unknown to you?

Take a moment to wonder whether he died at home

With friends and family or alone on the road,

On the look-out for no one to sit at his bedside

And hold his hand, the very hand

It's time for you to imagine holding.

Not Forgotten

2011-11-25T14:37:00.001-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic

I like old signs, and this was one that caught my eye day and night. It was a big scaffold with neon letters and a neon lit diamond, and it advertised a local jewelry store for decades. In fact my parents bought their wedding rings there. Unfortunately, the sign was damaged in a wind storm a few years ago. The letters were saved, but the diamond was ruined. I asked the owner for a photo from which to work, and while it isn't photo realistic my little painting reminds me of the sign I used to like so much.

Little Monster

2011-11-23T08:48:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on paper

My niece posted a photo of her daughter Gabby online, and I decided that her pose was irresistible, and that I had to try a portrait. I cropped the original image, and simplified the background. It occurred to me afterward that if it were night there would not be so much light on her face, but I still like the effect.

And Now For Something Different - Crafty Birds

2011-11-17T13:09:00.000-06:00

8x10 inches, cut paper

Let me get this off my chest first. I am not so much of a Christmas person.

Actually I like some of the aspects of the season (that's what it is, because it certainly isn't a single day any more). I like bright twinkly lights at night. I like cookies and eggnog. I enjoy hearing from friends and family. All good.

What I don't enjoy is mainly the economic push at this time of year, the emphasis on buying stuff, supporting the local economy by opening the wallet. I know the economy is in rough shape, but let me think about what I am thankful for for a minute, eh? So I try to celebrate without becoming a raging consumer.

Anyway, I decided to try my hand at designing a card for this year, and my inspiration came from an article in an older Somerset Studio magazine that I found at the library. The idea was to design birds using mostly circles cut from paper. I decided to see what I could do, since I have bags and bags of various papers I've squirreled away, including an old book of wallpaper samples. Did you know that paint stores will sometimes give the books away for free when they are about to be out of date? The only things I purchased for this effort were some tiny metallic brads, which are used for the bird's eye, and some snowflakes stickers. The results appealed to my husband, which is good. I still have to see if this size will work for cards when copied and duplicated, and I still need a greeting of some sort.

We shall see.

Monday Night Figure Study

2011-11-15T18:55:00.000-06:00

Monday night was a happy one for many Wisconsinites because the Packers won big. I am not a sports fan, so rather than spoil my husband's fun, I decided to drive to Whitewater for Monday night figure study. I don't usually like to go out during the regular school year, since I don't like going both ways on rural roads in the dark. But I hadn't really drawn from direct observation much since the end of summer session, and felt the urge to go.

I approach the evening sessions a little different than most of the other participants. I often use several media, including paint, while most of them use dry media exclusively. I also do my work in two large bound notebooks (one for watercolor and acrylic, one for dry media) , and I keep all my sketches bound together, while most of the others work on loose sheets. Finally, I really do not worry much about the results, and try to interest myself in the process, and trying to see improvement over time. Maybe I'm just rationalizing because so many of the others are so very accomplished.

I was a little sad when I realized that my favorite notebook that I use for dry media is getting filled up. So, I experimented. I have a couple of large pieces of kraft paper that came when I ordered some Japanese rice papers. I cut the sheets up and used spray adhesive to mount them over pages that had smeared charcoal or pastel, or drawing I really wanted to forget. I wasn't all that careful about making the brown paper absolutely square, and I didn't worry too much about wrinkles in the paper, though I didn't aim for texture. These two little sketches were about five minutes each. I just used the brown as a midtone and added black, white and brown conte crayons. I like the effect very much.

I think this was a twenty minute pose. When I showed the pages to some of the others, one woman said that spray adhesive is toxic and that she would never compromise her brain cells by using it. She uses her won homemade wheat paste. That sounds grand, and I agree that spray adhesive is nasty stuff, but I like how well it works, with a minimum of extra moisture on thin sketchbook paper. As for my brain cells, I'm sure I have compromised them already, though I do try to use spray products with adequate ventilation. I liked the way the added kraft paper provides some variety in the sketchbook, and it stiffens some of the pages as well.

This was a thirty minute pose. I added some sanguine conte crayon here to warm up his skim tones some. I think that if I analyzed this closely I'd see some problems with proportions, but I was still pleased with how the materials worked out, and plan to glue in some more sheets of kraft paper, and try again, maybe the next time the Packers play on Monday evening.

Collaged Ornament

2011-11-13T16:54:00.000-06:00

6x6 inches, paper collage on canvas

This is an experiment. I had a little six by six canvas that had two previous paintings on it that didn't thrill me, and I was feeling a little guilty that I had nothing to put into either the art league Holiday Show nor the holiday open house at the gallery that shows my art. I foolishly thought I could put together a little collage of a Christmas ornament quickly, but it took me two evenings to plan and assemble. It has all the paper things that fascinate me, maps, stamps, sheet music, oriental papers of several sorts. But I consistently forget that with collage, smaller doesn't necessarily mean quicker, because the pieces are so small. But I don't mind the result, and plan to try a couple n a 9x9 cradled board. That might be less picky.

Family Service Members

2011-11-11T13:39:00.000-06:00

Herman Heinrich Adams (1839-1922), Civil War Veteran

It is Veterans Day, a day that the television, newspapers, social media all remind us to honor. To be honest, I didn't think that much about it when I was younger, probably because my father was never in the armed service, and the other two men I knew who served, my Grandpa Tess and my Uncle Gene, never spoke of their time in service. The only way I persuaded Uncle Gene to say anything about his time in Korea was when I begged for some photos of himself in uniform. It has only been since I've been looking into family history that I have come to realize how many family members were veterans. I'm posting this so that other family members can think about the contributions made by our relatives.

Take, for example, Grandma Tess's paternal grandfather, H.H. Adams. A German immigrant, he was a veteran of the Civil War, a Union soldier, wounded in action and honorably discharged. I was surprised when I visited the cemetery near Spokane, Washington, to see that he had two headstone, a family stone and one from the government.

Henry Leaver Pierce (1890-1972), World War I Veteran

Grandpa Pierce's brother, Leaver, served in World War I. I was delighted not long ago get get a copy of his journal that he kept most of his life, and part of it describes his time in France. During World War II he and his wife Jo taught radio code to soldiers in the army and navy.

Adolph K. (Bard) Pierce (1892-1995), World War I Veteran

Grandpa Pierce's youngest brother, Uncle Bard, volunteered for World War I, but ended up serving in an office position because his eyes were bad. This is him standing in front of the farmhouse where he, and later me and my siblings, grew up. One of my goals is to find a way to mark his grave so that people remember that he was a service member.

Howard Funk Tess (1896-1970), World War I Veteran

It's hard to think about my gentle and quiet Grandpa Tess as serving in the army, but he volunteered and served in France as a Military Policeman. He never spoke of the war to me, except to say that the trip by ship made him violently seasick. I know too that he thought about marching a a parade in East Troy after he was married, but when the old uniform was taken out, it was riddled with moth holes.

James B. Pierce (1916-1942) on his father's lap, World War II Veteran, Killed in Action

Grandpa Pierce's oldest brother John, lost his younger son James in World War II. This is the note John received about his son's death:

July 17, 1942, Dear Mr. Pierce; I just received your letter of July 9th. Of course you are interested in the answers to the questions you asked; I`m sorry I did not anticipate and answer them in my first letter. The facts will probably be uncoordinated but I`ll try to answer them all. James volunteered to fly a patrol to protect our base and gather information while we were getting settled. In other words we had just arrived and needed an air-alert to cover the natural confusion of arriving at a new base; he was to fly an area covering all points within ten miles of our base and investigate and report on any aircraft, boat, or submarine within the area. He was flying a (censored) and had another pilot (Lt. G.W. Brown) flying on his wing. Lt. Brown will write to you soon. The weather was perfectly clear. James and Lt. Brown were flying at 8,000 feet when James dived down at the water to investigate something he saw there. Lt. Brown followed him down. When he got within a hundred feet of the water he saw that what he observed was only driftwood. Just as he was pulling out if this dive his motor began to miss, for black smoke poured out of his exhaust. He never got any higher than fifty feet after this so he was too low to jump. HE never mentioned any trouble via his radio, but a pilot has his mind and hands pretty busy when his motor misses at that altitude. Lt. Brown actually saw the plane hit the water before James got out, so did Lt. Carter who was third man in the flight and he also saw the plane hit. Neither pilot could later see James. Lt. Brown flew home and reported to me. I grabbed a transport plane and pilot and went to the scene over which Lt. Carter was still searching. We found the belly tank and at first thought it was James. We dropped a life raft before we realized it was only the belly tank of his plane; this tank being externally fastened had ripped off. We circled the spot until two Coast Guard boats arrived. They picked up the raft and tank but could find no trace of James. All of his personal belongings are being shipped to you. I will be glad to answer any other questions you may have. The accident is a pure case of motor trouble at low altitude, a man has very little chance of leaving a (censored) after it hits the water. There was no chance of recovering the pilot or plane due to lack of facilities and the depth of the sea. Yours sincerely, Bill Litton, Capt. A.C.

Peter Hadley Pierce (1924-1910)left, and Richard Leaver Pierce (1922-1910), World War II Veterans

I knew my dad's cousins, sons of Leaver and Jo Pierce, as congenial men from occasional family occasions. Both passed away recently, and I learned more about them. Dick served in the navy in both World War II and Korea. Peter was commissioned an ensign at Columbia University, serving during WWII on the LST 779. His was the first ship to land on the beach at Iwo Jima and supplied the flag seen in the famous photo of the flag raising.

L.D. Smith (1883-1954) left, and son James DuRell Smith (1915-1982), served in War War II

Dr. Lemuel Durrell Smith was an orthopedic surgeon, and was Grandma Tess's stepfather. His son, James DuRell was Grandma's younger, and only, brother. Dr. Smith was a lieutenant colonel in the medical division of the Wisconsin national guard for many years, retiring in 1942. Uncle DuRell was also a member of the Wisconsin National Guard, a served three years during World War II in Alaska.

Gene Earl Pierce (1926-2009), Korean War Veteran

Dad's older brother, Gene Pierce, went to Korea and served several years. I tried once to engage him in a conversation about his time, whether he ever considered going back, and he just said that it was no place he wanted to revisit or remember.

Joe Hyers Ellestad, Afghanistan Veteran, with his mother Hulda Pierce Eleestad

Joe Ellestad is Peter Pierce's grandson. This is a photo of him and his mother when he returned from Afghanistan in 2008. The happiness shown in this photograph says everything that needs to be said about love and gratitude.

Autumn Vintage Photos

2011-11-06T09:40:00.004-06:00

Yesterday my husband and I spent the day in Madison with friends who have come to be known as the Badger Buddies - Two other couples we met when we first married, living in adjacent local apartments. We started dressing in red and white and attending one UW Badger football game a year together, and have managed an unbroken string since 1976, except that the past two years we sat in bars and watched the game in warmth and relative comfort. Part of the problem is just finding six tickets together when none of us is a season ticket holder. I remember some very cold and sometimes rainy Saturdays, often sitting in the raucous student section, or in obstructed view seats, where huddling in the stadium bathroom was the one of the best parts of the day, at least for me. Still the UW band music, the friendship, the brats and beer, all are great fun. College football, an autumn tradition.

Since I seem to not be getting a whole lot of artwork done this week (I'm blaming it on sniffles and a cough caught on the plane ride home from our cruise), I thought I'd share some autumnal vintage photos from my family archive.

Hunting is a fall tradition in Wisconsin, though I read in the newspapers that fewer and fewer young people are taking it up. My grandfather, George Earl Pierce, was an avid hunter as a young man. That's him, standing on the far left. I know he collected bird eggs as well, because the framed collection was in his cellar for years when I was a child, and is now safe in the Walworth County historical museum in Elkhorn, part of a collection of taxidermy preserved birds from local hunter Howard Cook. Anyway, I think these men look handsome with their vest, guns and decoys. I'm guessing the studio portrait was taken about 1910.

My dad, Ralph Pierce, also hunted, though he seemed to prefer the fall deer hunt. Every November he and his buddies would take a road trip to the Rhinelander area for a week of hunting. He brought home a few trophies, though certainly not every year. I'm not sure he hunted very seriously. He mostly liked taking a few days off to spend time with his high school friends, be outside, drink some beer, and play some cards. I took this photo about 1960.

Fall on the farm and harvest go together. To tell the truth, I'm not sure who the man is in this photo, though the picture belonged to Grandpa Pierce. From the iron wheels I'm guessing this photo is from the 1920s or early 1930s, and that the man was a neighbor who was part of a crew who came in to work. This wouldn't be a corn harvester; I'm guessing it had something to do with oats. Even in the 1950s when I was a girl individual farmers did not own all their own equipment. Neighbors went in together, sharing equipment, working in crews to harvest crops. I especially remember summer haying crews, and my mother making huge noon meals to feed the hungry and thirsty crews of farmers working in our fields.

My grandfather raised and sold hybrid seed corn for a local family. Here we see him and Sicy Simons, owner of Simons Seed, standing outside with harvested corn, stored in bins made from snow fencing. We also grew field corn that was chopped and blown into the silo for winter feed for cattle, and some was dried and ground into feed. The photo is probably from the 1930s.

This last photo is of me, taken about 1954. It might be the last time I smiled raking leaves. Actually, we didn't rake much on the farm. I imagine that Mother probably handed me a rake to get me outside, hoping I'd get some exercise and maybe make a leaf pile for me and my sister Patty to jump into. These days my husband rakes the maple leaves that fall into our little back yard, and I manage to stay away from rakes most of the time.

Across the Aegean

2011-10-31T14:19:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I commented that back in 1998 I painted a still life that included two art books that my painting instructor owned, and I wrote about Venice Sketchbook. The other title, which I eventually bought for myself, was Across the Aegean: Am Artist's Journey from Athens to Istanbul. This latter title also is a series of travel sketches done in watercolor, with some personal reflections about the places the writer/artist visited. While I had visited Athens in 2003, until this month I had never visited Turkey, so much of the book didn't mean a whole lot to me until now. Marlene McLoughlin's sketches in pen and paint are smaller than Hank Scarrey's, more personal in their subject matter, and more pastel in their use of color.

McLoughlin's sketches are often of her impressions of sunsets, hillsides, farm animals, and sun washed buildings and architectural details. She doesn't include people very often. But because I remembered her sketches I found myself looking at little things, food carts, pigeons, chairs, and olive leaves. Here are a few of my photos that I think might have caught the eye of the author of this charming travel sketchbook.

This little potted orange tree sat near the entrance to a Greek winery on the Peloponnese peninsula. I failed to get a good picture of the peacocks that wandered under the trees there.

These donkeys are for hire to carry tourists 800 feet up a twisting and steep path from the dock to the village of Thira, on Santorini.

The waters at the Strait of Bosphorus are filled with traffic. Here you can see a tugboat and a water taxi. In the background is the Bosphorus Bridge, over 4,000 feet long, linking Europe and Asia. At night it it lit with red and white lights, creating a dramatic zigzag in the dark.

The spires of Hagia Sophia make the skyline dramatic in Istanbul. To the left in the trees is Topkapi palace, and to the right, cut out of the photo is the Blue Mosque. There was a sort of haze over the city both days we were there, and I suspect it is smog from the heavy car and bus traffic.

These are windows from the harem at Topkapi palace. The place was beautiful, ornately decorated with frescoes, tiles, calligraphy, and stained glass like you see here.

While we didn't get to see the ruins or sculptures at Athens because of dock and transportation workers strikes, we did see the wonderful ruins at Ephesus. The library and terrace houses were particularly impressive to me.

I find myself very much attracted to cypress trees that are found all over the Mediterranean, in Italy, Greece, and here at Ephesus.

While McLaughlin includes watercolor sketches of dogs, of which we saw plenty, but she doesn't include any cats. Because my husband and I have a spoiled pet cat, and missed her the two weeks we were gone, I found myself noticing the many cats that roam all over Greece and Turkey, almost of of whom were friendly, vocal, and very much at their ease. This one rested outside the museum of antiquities removed from the Ephesus site.

I still have not sat down to do any painting, and am finding it hard to leave my photos quite yet. Soon, I hope, I can get back into a regular schedule here at home.

Considering Venice

2011-10-30T17:44:00.001-06:00

I have been to Venice three times. In 1972 I traveled by train with my high school girl friend Rosemary, and we visited Venice for four hours on a hot July afternoon. I was not impressed. The crowds were horrible, and the water filled with floating garbage. I have no pictures.

Last year we visited by bus in chilly March with a group from UW Whitewater, and we found scant crowds, and it was cold. But the beauty of the city disarmed me, the bridges, water, elegant facades, even the ladies dripping in furs who commanded the street in front of the Venice opera house, all took my breath away. I still dream of a little restaurant in a back street where we paid inordinate sums of cash and were fed the best fresh seafood of my life. I took scads of photos and was beginning to fall in love.

Then we took a Mediterranean cruise this month, flying into Marco Polo airport and then boarding a huge Holland America ship. It began and ended in Venice, and the city captured my heart forever.

Backing up a bit, specifically to 1998. I had lost my best friend, a fine artist and teacher, to cancer, and had decided to start painting again. It was clear to me that a long life was not a sure thing, and that there was no point in waiting until I retired to restart my art. So I took a summer watercolor class with Amy Arntson, a fine painter, at Whitewater. The big final class project was a still life, and I used one that included two art books in the painting, both of which belonged to the instructor. One was Venice Sketchbook, by Huck Scarrey. Two years ago I bought a copy of this slim volume of watercolor and pen and ink sketches for myself, and I revisited it before our trip to Venice this month.

Scarrey has clearly lived in Venice, seen its tourist attractions, but also its back streets and islands. He has been there all times of year, all weather. I love his sketches, the quick and the complete, and reading the book before we arrived helped me decide what to look for, and reading it afterward reminds me of what I've already seen myself, and makes me want to return to see more.

I have real difficulty in drawing and sketching en plein air, especially when time is short, and there are other people's schedules to consider. But I take my camera with me everywhere, and I was interested to see that my photos conform to Scarrey's divisions in his book. Perhaps I can use my personal photos to create a sketchbook of my own, although created at home and after the fact.

Here are some of Scarrey's chapter headings, and my photos that fit each category.

CANALS: Canals are the streets for vehicles (boats) in Venice, and the Grand Canal is the main street. The canals are busy with all manner of boats - water taxis, vaporettos, fishing boats, cruise ships, all use the canals. But the areas where people walk are free of traditional vehicles, which contributes to a sort of quiet that I like very much.

BRIDGES: There are hundreds, including the famous Bridge of Sighs, which is still swaddled in plastic for renovation. This photo is of the famous Rialto Bridge.

FACADES: The old buildings of Venice are build in the water, not just next to it, a fact that always amazes me. The warm Mediterranean colors, the Moorish windows, the extravagant chimney pots, all are worth considering.

SAINT MARK'S SQUARE: This is what everyone comes to see, the Basilica di San Marco, with it's fantastic pillars and domes, tiles and mosaics. It is the heart of Venice, and these days while there are still legions of pigeons, there are even more people. Still, I catch my breath a little every time I see it and the famous bell tower across the plaza. I took this photo through the glass of the observation lounge of the Niew Amsterdam, our cruise ship. It gave me a very different perspective than I had from standing at ground level.

MASKS: When we visited in March last year it was just after carnival, and I found myself taking photo after photo of masks in shop windows. This time I didn't as much, so the photograph is from last year's trip. I sometimes dream about having a gorgeous mask, and a heavy hooded cloak to wear to Halloween events in chilly Wisconsin. Not this year, though.

ISLANDS: As we flew into Marco Polo airport this year I could see that Venice has many many islands, many connected by canals. But there are large islands that can only be reached by boat. Last year we visited two of them, Murano, where famous glass factories still operate, and Burano, a fishing village that also is the home of world-famous lace makers. I love Burano best for the brightly colored houses, many with laundry hanging out the windows to dry.

Scarrey also has other chapters about the seasons in Venice, and of the many docks and boats of the area, though I don't have many pictures that correspond to those areas. I know that nearly everyone who paints eventually paints scenes like these I've posted here, because they are beautiful. I will paint them as well, though probably for my private sketchbooks, more as a way of reliving the experience than with any though of offering the results for anything public.

High Horizontal

2011-10-11T11:27:00.002-05:00

5x7 inches, torn and cut altered papers

This week I am relearning what I knew for years. One of the best ways to understand something is to explain it for someone else.

I am part of a small group of artists who meet at a local senior center (that sounds bad, but isn't), who meet once a week for a couple hours to make art and talk together. Most paint or draw, though one other woman has been experimenting with collage work. Officially it is called Open Art Studio, but I have come to think of it as Art Play Date.

Anyway, I agreed to demonstrate how I have been using altered papers in collage work. I plan to demonstrate how to create the papers with CitraSolv and National Geographic magazine photographs. It occurred to me that making the papers doesn't really give people much of a start unless I also demonstrate some examples of how I have used the papers. Which led me to the idea that I should make a small series of abstracts with just the altered papers, perhaps also demonstrate some sample compositions. That's why I made this one. I used cut and torn papers horizontally toward the top of the image, perhaps suggesting some sort of landscape - or not. My dear husband says the squares destroy the suggestion of landscape, though I disagree. I plan to make another with horizontal elements toward the bottom of the paper as well, and one with vertical elements, radial composition, and so on.

I like this little abstract as it is, but I find myself constantly wondering, "What if?" What if I use a spray adhesive instead of a glue stick or gel medium? What if I varnished the piece with an acrylic top coat? What if I stenciled something over the image, or added some texture, like corrugated cardboard? How about sprayed on webbing or a bit of gold leaf? What if I tried duplicating the colors, textures in paint in a much larger format?

Probably the only way to learn the answers is to make a series of similar pieces and try out the ideas, which multiply like wire hangers in a dark closet once I get going. But for now, I think I had better just make the demonstration pieces and let my fellow art playmates come up with some ideas of their own.

Found Art Mask; Why I Carry a Camera

2011-10-10T15:21:00.000-05:00

I try to carry my camera most days, because I never know when I fill find something wonderful. My husband doesn't take pictures, doesn't think a person can really see the world through the lens of a camera, but he knows he cannot change my long-held habits, so has stopped trying. Honestly, I have never regretted lugging along a camera, but I have regretted leaving it behind. Once, on a trip to London, it was the last day and I was tired and we were just going to McDonalds for some breakfast. It turned out it was the opening of Parliament, and the Queen rode by in the back of her limo, and I had no camera.

I digress.

This face, or mask, was a bit of found art on a utility pole outside the old cemetery, established in 1847 after a devastating hurricane, in Key West. I went looking for wandering chickens, unusual headstone inscriptions (I told you I was sick), and the historical marker for soldiers killed when the battleship Maine was blown up. We found all those things, plus this I found this image on a utility pole just outside the gates. I'm not sure what it represents, but I found it to be compelling, and I had my camera with me.

We Wear the Mask

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

For Indian Summer

2011-10-09T10:48:00.000-05:00

Autumn
By Grace Paley

1

What is sometimes called a
   tongue of flame
or an arm extended burning
   is only the long
red and orange branch of
   a green maple
in early September   reaching
   into the greenest field
out of the green woods   at the
   edge of which the birch trees
appear a little tattered   tired
   of sustaining delicacy
all through the hot summer   re-
   minding everyone (in
our family) of a Russian
   song   a story
by Chekhov   or my father

2

What is sometimes called a
   tongue of flame
or an arm extended   burning
   is only the long
red and orange branch of
   a green maple
in early September   reaching
   into the greenest field
out of the green woods   at the
   edge of which the birch trees
appear a little tattered   tired
   of sustaining delicacy
all through the hot summer   re-
   minding everyone (in
our family) of a Russian
   song   a story by
Chekhov or my father on
   his own lawn   standing
beside his own wood in
   the United States of
America   saying (in Russian)
   this birch is a lovely
tree   but among the others
   somehow superficial

Bringing it Home

2011-10-08T16:59:00.000-05:00

I've been home a week from my Robert Burridge workshop, a little miffed that the weather at Lac du Flambeau was so crummy, but happy that Indian Summer has arrived in southern Wisconsin.

It always takes me a while to process what I've seen at workshops, and the first couple days were mostly spent unpacking and rearranging my studio. About seven years ago I converted a narrow spare bedroom, large enough for only a twin bed and an easy chair, into my studio. It's charming in some ways, cozy, paneled with old pine, with sloping ceilings. It also is rather dark, with only two small dormer windows. After I took down and stored the bed I brought a florescent shop light up from the basement, added a full spectrum light, and I use what I have. I have one of those collapsible work tables that people use for church potlucks and rummage sales, and that is where I do my artwork. Bob Burridge said something that should have been obvious to me for the past years. If you are right handed, put your paints, pencil sharpener, brushes and so on on the right side of the table.

Well, duh. Why couldn't I figure that out?

I decided to reorganize. A small set of shelves cluttered with miscellaneous supplies, papers, watercolor palettes were moved off the table. Then I moved the container of pens, pencils, scissors and other tools I use on a daily basis to the right side of the work table. A small crookneck lamp and electric pencil sharpeners moved to the right as well. I covered the dark brown table with white shelf paper long ago for more reflected light, and I took Burridge's suggestion and covered the space with 4 mil. sheet plastic. I use this surface as my acrylic palette, and occasionally peel up dried paint for little play pieces like the birds you can see in the first picture. It allows me to feel like a little kid again in some ways; I don't worry too much about being messy.

5x5 inches, acrylic

I painted the bird, but I copied the idea from Bob Burridge. He does a demonstration series in his workshops to show a way to use the dried acrylic paint from the plastic sheeting. He also demonstrates negative painting with these birds. They're fun, playful, spontaneous, colorful. He calls his "circus birds" because the colors remind him of circus costumes, and for him that's appropriate. He once worked in a circus. I never did.

Which brings me to a concern I have about attending art workshops. How does a person learn attitudes and techniques from teachers without losing a little bit of personal style in the process? Perhaps painting like the last workshop instructor is just a temporary affliction, a way to practice concepts. I learned a bit about color choices, about use of materials, about working in series with a playful attitude, a good signing pen (Sharpie paint pen). I know he doesn't care if we do an entire flock of paint blob birds, since everyone necessarily brings a bit of themselves, even to copies. But I struggle to decide how to apply other people's good ideas about painting to subjects that are close to my own heart and experience. It drives me a little crazy to recognize when a painter has just worked with a popular teacher by the style of the painting. Hey, did you just take a workshop with (fill in the blank)? I imagine I'll be painting vases of flowers, drippy trees and "ethereal landscapes" for a while, but I hope that it isn't too long before they look like they belong to me.

A Week in Lac du Flambeau

2011-10-01T19:33:00.001-05:00

My husband and I just returned home to an extremely welcoming cat last night after a week spent four hours north in Vilas County. Back in March when I was dreaming about which art workshop I might take this year, I discovered that Dillmans Resort was hosting acrylic painter Robert Burridge at the end of September. I had taken a watercolor workshop there back in 1997, right after my best friend died of a brain tumor at the age of forty-seven. She had been a good painter and a fine potter, and I decided after her death that I would not wait until I retired to start making my own art. So, I signed up for a week long class, and went on my own. While the instructor was compassionate and skillful, the facilities wonderful, I was lonely and overwhelmed by everything I didn't know. I cried alone in my cabin at night in frustration at my lack of painting skill and grief at the loss of my friend, but knew that some day I wanted to come back.

This time was different. I have more painting skills, know what to pack and what to leave home, know that my best work will come after the workshop, not during it. This time my husband came along. I convinced him that the colors would be at their peak, that he could bicycle all day while I was in class, that we could go out on Sand Lake, listen to loons, watch for eagles, and eat out at the "up north" supper clubs at night. And I was excited about learning more about painting with acrylics from Robert Burridge. I can't remember how I discovered his web site about three years ago, but I had been reading his newsletter, taking notes, and I liked his energy and style.

We rarely had the opportunity to gravel north during peak colors when I was teaching. Usually we couldn't get away until late October, and by then the leaves had fallen from the trees. This time the colors were good at the beginning of the week and magnificent by the time we left on Friday. The area is pretty quiet now that the weather is cooler and children are in school. Most of the week was cool and there was some rain every day but one, but we could still hear the loons calling in the morning and at dusk, and my husband still rode his bike part of each day.

A couple of times we made coffee early, and went down to one of the piers for some quiet time.

We could hear the loons, and saw them a couple times. I took this photo when the painting group went out for a pontoon ride on the Sand Lake.

Wednesday was the clearest day, so we made a point of watching the sunset over the lake just outside our lodging.

But of course the point of the week for me was to learn from a painter I admire, to acquire and polish my painting skills, to be energized and inspired, and to have a good time. That last point is important, and is one reason I chose to spend my time and cash on this particular instructor. More than once I have regretted setting aside time and money to take a class from a person whose work I did not end up admiring, or whose planned activities were not what I had expected based on the class description. Once or twice I have taken workshops from instructors who had obvious disdain for the students, who appeared bored themselves, or who spent the entire time painting art that was not so much a demonstration as simply time spent to produce a painting the artist hoped to sell to someone in class. There needs to be a balance between lecture/observation, and student work time and critique. From what I had read on his website and newsletter over time, from what I had seen on YouTube, and from the recommendations of other art bloggers whose opinions I respect, I thought Burridge's Loosen Up With Aquamedia class would be worth my investment.

In Bob Burridge's August Artsy Fartsy newsletter he has a checklist of things people who teach and mentor young people should strive for in their instruction, and I'm borrowing from that newsletter here, because these are the things that I look for in a teacher for myself.

Discard everything that is unnecessary.

Aim to be simple.

Relax, abandon yourself. Fear nothing.

Compress time. Aim at succeeding, don't waste an instant.

Don't take yourself seriously.

Don't hurry, don't rest.

Use self-humor.

Don't be afraid to be a little foolish.

Have endless patience.

If faced with overwhelming odds, occupy time with something else.

Have endless capacity to improvise.

Bring abstract ideas to concrete form.

Assume that students enjoy learning.

Believe that children (any learners - my word choice) are perfect, and we're just building on their strengths.

Support everything with a visual aid.

Insure no possible way to fail.

A teacher must be upbeat and positive.

If the goal is only to learn facts, then we lose the chance to know that learning is very exciting.

Bob Burridge is certainly an entertainer and self-promoter, but under jokes and a light approach, he has real skill and passion as a painter, and a temperament that allows for and embraces a wide variety of personalities and skill levels in his workshop participants. He is organized, patient, and comes with many examples of painting approaches and printed handouts for students to take home and read after the class has finished.

All that, and he plays good music too.

I hope I can internalize some of his philosophy, move ahead with my artwork, and take another class from him in the future.

I would love to hear from other people who take art workshops. Who are some instructors who have made a powerful positive impression on you? What qualities do you look for in an art teacher for yourself?

The Start of Autumn 2011

2011-09-23T14:06:00.001-05:00

It's here, the autumn equinox, the official nail in the coffin of summer. When I was teaching I rarely had the opportunity to enjoy beautiful autumn days outside, something that drove me a little wild. Now that we are both retired, fall is a great time to take off on short trips and enjoy this pleasant time of year. Our getaway coming up starting Sunday at Dillmans promises fine weather. I am not sure, but I imagine that the colors will be starting further north. The weatherman says we can expect days in the 70s and nights in the 40s, which sounds just about perfect to me.

Tonight is the Wisconsin Regional Artists Association's annual Evening With the Arts in Madison on the University of Wisconsin campus, and tomorrow is the state level awards presentations and the last day of a month long exhibit of artworks chosen from regional shows over the course of the year. Both events promise to be fun, a chance to see some terrific art, to reconnect with other Wisconsin artists, and to do a bit of snacking. My entry in the Tiny Treasures exhibit and sale this year is getting an award, and will be featured in the WRAA calendar for 2012. All the Tiny Treasures entries are 2.5 x 3.5 inches, the size of Artist Trading Cards, created in a variety of media and the sale will help support the WRAA.

Speaking of nice recognition, I was surprised and pleased to learn that my Late B(l)oomer web log is being featured as a "Best of the Web" blog on a site called Pocketchange. I understand it will be there a week, and there are others interesting blogs as well, including one about small houses, one about craft beers, and a couple others about arts and crafts. You can see the site here: Pocketchange

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Limping Out of Summer

2011-09-21T16:33:00.002-05:00

8x10 inches, mixed media collage

It's almost the equinox, almost autumn, and summer is running, or in my case, limping, out. I'm limping because I did what I swore I would never do again. I stubbed my pinkie toe and probably broke it a week ago. I did this once before and for years remembered to wear shoes in the house, because the truth is I am a semi-blind klutz. I run into things. Shoes protect my tender toes. I was busy ordering something I probably didn't need online, and I couldn't make out the security code, which is tiny and wearing off the plastic credit card because of constant use. So I ran, barefoot, for magnifying glass, and crashed into the wooden leg of the couch. So, I have been not-so-graciously dealing with a foot that has been swelling and turning more colors than autumn leaves. It will eventually heal, but in the meantime I am morbidly fascinated with examining the bruises.

What I should be doing more of is assembling materials and beginning to pack for an upcoming workshop at Dillman's Resort, five hours north, with acrylic artist and teacher Robert Burridge. I went to Dillman's when I first returned to painting in 1997, but alone. Besides being frustrated at my lack of skill compared to everyone else in class, I was lonely. This time my dear husband is coming along so the loneliness issue is covered. As for skill, I am more philosophical about workshops than I was when I started out, and more experienced. I go to classes be inspired, to experiment, to have a real good time, but I don't go expecting to either create a masterpiece or compete with other artists. I'm hoping to see eagles and trees turning colors, which brings me to today's project.

I learned about altering National Geographic pages with Citra Solv from Burridge's Artsy Fartsy Newsletter a couple years ago. The process in short is to get a National Geographic magazine from the last ten years or so (it has to do with the ink they use), then paint the pages with Citra Solv cleaner. The cleaner smells like oranges, and it cleans just about anything, just in case you buy some and don't want to make funky collage papers. After a half hour or so you put on rubber gloves, tear out the damp pages and lay them on plastic or newspapers to dry. The images dissolve and make beautiful textured colors that work in collage.

I did something different here. I chose some pages, or parts of pages, for the colors they featured, then I adhered the National Geographic pages to a sturdy canvas board with acrylic gel medium. When that was dry I painted the mounted papers with Citra Solve, and covered the whole thing with crinkled plastic wrap. After it dried the textures and colors were rich and lovely and organic, and looked nothing like the original photography. To keep the inks stable I coated the altered surface with a coat of gel medium. Then I deepened the golds and turquoise areas with a sheer wash of liquid acrylic paint. I let that dry, then added birch trunk, which are actually just strips of text from NG pages with no photos. When I was playing around with arranging the trunks I decided the ones further back should be darker, so I added a wash of a charcoal color before I glued then down with more gel medium.

I'm not sure if it's completely finished. I'm toying with adding more suggestions of branches, but I'm going to wait to decide. When I decide it is done, I'll give the whole piece a coat of gloss gel medium to unify the surface and intensify the colors. It's my first celebration of autumn.

Into Each Life - Rainy Weekend and Some Longfellow

2011-09-19T14:32:00.002-05:00

Lee Jones begins her street painting in the lower courthouse park

This part weekend was Janesville's Art Infusion event. There were art demonstrations of various sorts, live musical performances, and street chalk painting. Over at the fairgrounds the Rock River Valley Carvers were showing and selling their creations, and there were all sorts of other late summer events going on, fund raising walks, farmers markets, and fall festivals. All had one good day - Saturday. Friday and Sunday it just rained and rained and rained.

Jones, a bit further along on Saturday

Another street painter at work on Saturday

I clumped around downtown on my sore foot, taking pictures, watching people of all ages chalk the sidewalks, listening to music, and munching Kettle Corn at the farmers market until my tootsies couldn't endure another minute and I went home to crash.

Then it was Sunday, and the rain just pounded. When it let up a bit at about 11 in the morning I went to see how the pro was doing, and found her at work finishing up her scene of Rotary Gardens in a borrowed tent. A couple of nice paintings across the street were covered with plastic, and all the kids' colorful creations were gradually washing away. There was almost nobody else in sight downtown.

Sometimes the process has to be reward enough. I hope it was.

The Rainy Day

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Street Painting Workshop - Lee Jones

2011-09-16T13:16:00.014-05:00

When I was little I didn't know a thing about chalk art, street painting, except when my friends and I took some of our schoolroom chalk outside to put down hopscotch squares. Never saw it. Of course I lived on a farm where there wasn't much concrete except in the barn, and that wasn't any place I wanted to get down on my knees. Living here in Janesville, I see children's chalk drawings on the sidewalks occasionally, but the only professional street painting I've seen has been on the internet.

So - when I learned that Rock County's United Arts Alliance, partnered with the Janesville Convention and Visitors Bureau were hosting an arts festival dubbed the Art Infusion, and they were bringing Wisconsin native street painter Lee Jones to demonstrate and give a free workshop I was excited.

The workshop, held last night at the local PAC, interesting and fun. Jones is a congenial woman, patient with the uninitiated, and well prepared. She had spent the work day giving workshops to elementary and high school classes, and now was talking to a small but enthusiastic group of adults. Good note taker that I am after years of being both a student and a teacher, I came prepared with a notebook, but was pleased when she handed out notes on the history of street painting , as well as a list of suggested supplies and tips for creating a successful street painting. She had lots of personal stories, comments about street painting festivals, and names of other well-known street painters.

The very short version of what she told us is that street painting is an old art, begun in the 1500's in Italy by itinerant artists who were too poor for paint and paper, but would use chalk (pastels) and paint in front of businesses, hoping for painting commissions. Most of these early street paintings featured biblical scenes with the Madonna (Virgin Mary), hence the group term for the painters - Madonnaro.
These street paintings are not permanent, they wear and wash away eventually, and only recently have been photographed extensively to make a record.

Of course street art isn't all religious, especially in contemporary times. Jones told us that artist Kathy Koury from Santa Barbara saw a big street art festival in Grazie Di Curatone, a city in northern Italy, and was so impressed she started a festival in California. Street paintings appeal has been steadily growing here in the United States, and now we're even trying it here in Rock County.

After her presentation Lee took the group outside to the sidewalk and demonstrated the process, then we had a half hour or so to experiment before it got chilly and the light began to fade.

Jones begins by selecting an image, something rather simple and bold. Here she used a photo of a friend's child. which she enlarged and drew on a large sheet of paper. Then she uses a transfer wheel, the sort of thing I used to used to transfer a pattern to fabric, making little perforations around the outlines of the drawing. Then she takes the sheet down on the sidewalk, and shakes talcum power over the whole thing.

After "pouncing," tapping, the paper, the power goes through to the pavement below, and the paper can be carefully pulled away, revealing the outlines.

Her next step is to use her pastels to get the outlines down, and from there she adds thing layers of chalk to build up the image, adding highlights and shadows. She uses things like foam brushes and chalkboard erasers to blend the first layer into the pavement, and after that uses a gloved finger. It's hard work - hours on her knees, bent over, rubbing. It's as hard as scrubbing a floor, which is one reason I will be an observer this weekend instead of a participant. That, plus I don't have anything of the performance artist in me. I love creating art, but am happiest in my studio.

I hope that lots of artists who have better knees and backs come out to create street art though. This is something that is great fun.

Interested in seeing more street paintings? Check out these links:

Julie Kirk

Genna Panzarella

Melanie Stimmell

Kurt Wenner

A Couple Reflections

2011-09-15T13:27:00.001-05:00

The reflective surface of a downtown bank mirrors Milwaukee Street

The same building, this time reflecting Main Street

I took these two photos last weekend as I was walking home from my walk to the local farmers market, and was struck by how interesting it was to see the street scene doubled in the mirrored surface of the bank. The vanishing point pulls your attention into the center of the picture and makes you look to see which is reality, which a mirror image.

That sent me looking for a poem that featured reflections, and this is the one I found. It doesn't have a thing to do with downtown bank buildings, but rather with how an artist, Vincent Van Gogh, used color to reflect the natural world in late summer and autumn, both in sunshine and in shadow.

Vincent, Homesick for the Land of Pictures

By Peter Gizzi

Is this what you intended, Vincent
that we take our rest at the end of the grove
nestled into our portion beneath the bird’s migration
saying, who and how am I made better through struggle.
Or why am I I inside this empty arboretum
this inward spiral of whoop ass and vision
the leafy vine twisting and choking the tree.
O, dear heaven, if you are indeed that
or if you can indeed hear what I might say
heal me and grant me laughter’s bounty
of eyes and smiles, of eyes and affection.

To not be naive and think of silly answers only
not to imagine answers would be the only destination
nor is questioning color even useful now
now that the white ray in the distant tree beacons.
That the sun can do this to us, every one of us
that the sun can do this to everything inside
the broken light refracted through leaves.
What the ancients called peace, no clearer example
what our fathers called the good, what better celebration.
Leaves shine in the body and in the head alike
the sun touches deeper than thought.

O to be useful, of use, to the actual seen thing
to be in some way related by one’s actions in the world.
There might be nothing greater than this
nothing truer to the good feelings that vibrate within
like in the middle of the flower I call your name.
To correspond, to be in equanimity with organic stuff
to toil and to reflect and to home and to paint
father, and further, the migration of things.
The homing action of geese and wood mice.
The ample evidence of the sun inside all life
inside all life seen and felt and all the atomic pieces too.

But felt things exist in shadow, let us reflect.
The darkness bears a shine as yet unpunished by clarity
but perhaps a depth that outshines clarity and is true.
The dark is close to doubt and therefore close to the sun
at least what the old books called science or bowed down to.
The dark is not evil for it has indigo and cobalt inside
and let us never forget indigo and the warmth of that
the warmth of the mind reflected in a dark time
in the time of pictures and refracted light.
Ah, the sun is here too in the polar region of night
the animal proximity of another and of nigh.

To step into it as into a large surf in late August
to go out underneath it all above and sparkling.
To wonder and to dream and to look up at it
wondrous and strange companion to all our days
and the toil and worry and animal fear always with us.
The night sky, the deep sense of space, actual bodies of light
the gemstone brushstrokes in rays and shimmers
to be held tight, wound tighter in the act of seeing.
The sheer vertical act of feeling caught up in it
the sky, the moon, the many heavenly forms
these starry nights alone and connected alive at the edge.

Now to think of the silver and the almost blue in pewter.
To feel these hues down deep, feel color wax and wane
and yellow, yellows are the tonality of work and bread.
The deep abiding sun touching down and making its impression
making so much more of itself here than where it signals
the great burning orb installed at the center of each and every thing.
Isn’t it comforting this notion of each and every thing
thought nothing might be the final and actual expression of it
that nothing at the center of something alive and burning
green then mint, blue then shale, gray and gray into violet
into luminous dusk into dust then scattered now gone.

But what is the use now of this narrow ray, this door ajar
the narrow path canopied in dense wood calling
what of the striated purposelessness in lapidary shading and line.
To move on, to push forward, to take the next step, to die.
The circles grow large and ripple in the hatch-marked forever
the circle on the horizon rolling over and over into paint
into the not near, the now far, the distant long-off line of daylight.
That light was my enemy and one great source of agony
one great solace in paint and brotherhood the sky and grass.
The fragrant hills spoke in flowering tones I could hear
the gnarled cut stumps tearing the sky, eating the sun.

The gnarled cut stumps tearing the sky, eating the sun
the fragrant hills spoke in flowering tones I could hear
one great solace in paint and brotherhood the sky and grass.
That light was my enemy and one great source of agony
into the not near, the now far, the distant long-off line of daylight
the circle on the horizon rolling over and over into paint.
The circles grow large and ripple in the hatch-marked forever.
To move on, to push forward, to take the next step, to die.
What of the striated purposelessness in lapidary shading and line
the narrow path canopied in dense wood calling
but what is the use now of this narrow ray, this door ajar.

Into luminous dusk into dust then scattered now gone
green then mint, blue then shale, gray and gray into violet
that nothing at the center of something alive and burning
through nothing might be the final and actual expression of it.
Isn’t it comforting this notion of each and every thing
the great burning orb installed at the center of each and every thing
making so much more of itself here than where it signals.
The deep abiding sun touching down and making its impression
and yellow, yellows are the tonality of work and bread.
To feel these hues down deep, feel color wax and wane
now to think of the silver and the almost blue in pewter.

These starry nights alone and connected alive at the edge
the sky, the moon, the many heavenly forms
the sheer vertical act of feeling caught up in it.
To be held tight, wound tighter in the act of seeing
the gemstone brushstrokes in rays and shimmers.
The night sky, the deep sense of space, actual bodies of light
and the toil and worry and animal fear always with us
wondrous and strange companion to all our days.
To wonder and to dream and to look up at it
to go out underneath it all above and sparkling
to step into it as into a large surf in late August.

The animal proximity of another and of nigh.
Ah, the sun is here too in the polar region of night
in the time of pictures and refracted light
the warmth of the mind reflected in a dark time
and let us never forget indigo and the warmth of that.
The dark is not evil for it has indigo and cobalt inside
at least what the old books called science or bowed down to.
The dark is close to doubt and therefore close to the sun
but perhaps a depth that outshines clarity and is true.
The darkness bears a shine as yet unpunished by clarity
but felt things exist in shadow, let us reflect.

Inside all life seen and felt and all the atomic pieces too
the ample evidence of the sun inside all life
the homing action of geese and wood mice
father, and further, the migration of things.
To toil and to reflect and to home and to paint
to correspond, to be in equanimity with organic stuff
like in the middle of the flower I call your name.
Nothing truer to the good feelings that vibrate within
there might be nothing greater than this
to be in some way related by one’s actions in the world.
O to be useful, of use, to the actual seen thing.

The sun touches deeper than thought
leaves shine in the body and in the head alike
what our fathers called the good, what better celebration.
What the ancients called peace, no clearer example
the broken light refracted through leaves.
That the sun can do this to everything inside
that the sun can do this to us, every one of us
now that the white ray in the distant tree beacons.
Nor is questioning color even useful now
nor to imagine answers would be the only destination
to not be naive and think of silly answers only.

Of eyes and smiles, of eyes and affection
heal me and grant me laughter’s bounty.
Or if you can indeed hear what I might say
O, dear heaven, if you are indeed that
the leafy vine twisting and choking the tree
this inward spiral of whoop ass and vision.
Or why am I inside this empty arboretum
saying, who and how am I made better through struggle
nestled into our portion beneath the bird’s migration
that we take our rest at the end of the grove
is this what you intended, Vincent.

Great River Road Trip

2011-09-10T15:57:00.000-05:00

The past couple days we took off on a spur-of-the-moment trip along the Great River Road of the upper Mississippi River. We usually drive some on both the Wisconsin and the Minnesota side; both are beautiful. The weather here has been sunny and dry, and comfortable for doing almost anything. We've been taking similar trips most of our marriage, often staying in bed and breakfast places or small inns. I keep trying to capture the beauty of the area, and I never come close. These shots were taken from Buena Vista Park, far above Alma. We'd never visited this park before and were well pleased by the scene below us, the town, railroad track with endless freight trains, and lock and dam. In winter I've heard the town is a great place to watch bald eagles.

We stayed further north in Maiden Rock, in a restored school house, now turned bed and breakfast, called the Maiden Rock Inn. It's off the main high a block or so, a little farther from the railroad tracks that run along the whole highway than we usually stay. The owners saved the old brick school from demolition in the 1990s, and were happy to take us on a tour of the large building. Our room was beautiful with high ceilings, tall windows like the ones in the two room country school I attended as a child, but with comfortable air conditioning and a jacuzzi. This picture was taken in the hallway outside our room. In the evening we shared wine with the owner before we headed off to the Harbor View Cafe in Pepin (a favorite place for supper). In the morning we were treated to a late breakfast of organic chicken paprika and spaetzle. It was all very decadent.

Nearby on the River Road is the little town of Stockholm. We always stop here for something cold to drink, and a wander through the galleries and antique shops. These mannikin heads caught my eye this time. There's an art tour coming up in October and I am tempted to go back and tour around all the galleries and pottery places.

We drove home slowly, stopping at scenic overlooks whenever we felt like a stretch. We took a little side trip at Cochrane to revisit a favorite folk art site called Prairie Moon. Its several acres of cement sculptures created in the late 1950's and 1960's by a farmer and fiddler named Herman Rusch. There's a building that apparently has photographs and more information, but we have never found it open, and in fact have never seen anyone else at the site, though it is nicely mowed and planted with flowers.

There are all sorts of constructions here - planters, a 250 foot arched fence, life sized sculptures, painted or decorated with bits of broken glass or seashells. I like this tableau of a Norwegian pioneer battling with a brown bear. There's a life size polar bear too, and a huge snake. All of it is kept by local volunteers and by the Kohler Foundation.

I didn't take any photo of the historic Trempealeau Hotel, when we stopped for a late lunch, but that is another favorite place for us, nothing fancy, but always with friendly service and excellent food along the Mississippi River. We sat and watched a grain barge while we ate.

Our last stop was at Peck's farm market outside of Spring Green. I wanted some early Macintosh apples for eating and baking, and I am a sucker for the animals they have for the kids. The lady who checked us out modeled her new weiner hat for us, and I am sharing the photo with her permission. Too fun!

We're back home again, and while it was very pleasant to revisit the river, it's good to be back.

Then and Now - Rock River Thresheree

2011-09-04T17:41:00.001-05:00

Vintage tractor at the 2011 thresheree

Earl Pierce on his Farmall tractor, 1920's

I've lived in Rock County since I started teaching in 1973, but I had never gotten myself out to the Rock River Thresheree. Part of the problem is that I am always more compelled to go to the Walworth County Fair, which is held at the same time, and is much more familiar. But this year my dear husband expressed a wish to see all the old tractors and farm equipment so we decided that Saturday was the day. Although showers were forecast for the afternoon, our thought was that we'd browse around a couple hours, get some brats for lunch and then head home before rain turned the place into a giant mud volleyball pit.

God laughs at our plans.

We drove out at around 9 AM, parked easily in a big field of cut alfalfa, rode the tractor powered shuttle wagon to the grounds and were enchanted by the rows and rows of old tractors. I had rolled my eyes before at mature men fascinated by vintage equipment, but was unprepared for the visceral reaction I had when I saw a perfectly restored little 1950 Ford tractor, gray, with red trim. This piece of equipment was more evocative of my childhood than either old Barbies or the smell of baked bread. I was transported by the shifting lever, the foot pedals, the metal seat. I could just imagine my father, me standing next to him, hanging on the fenders. I experienced some serious nostalgia, so much so that some elderly farmer came up to chat. That little Ford was the first vehicle I ever drove by myself. My reaction to the midsize red International Harvester was similar, though for some reason the John Deere tractors I saw while the skies were still clear didn't move me as much. We see more of them around, perhaps. Dick was feeling it too; he made a point of showing me the tractor his dad owned when they lived in Greenfield, with a similar look on his face.

Dad, plowing out our quarter mile driveway, about 1951

The event features lots more than tractors. There's all sorts of old equipment, much of it steam powered. There are old mills of various sorts, pile drivers, threshing equipment. There is a Civil War Encampment. People demonstrate all sorts of things, woodcarving, blacksmithing. Not that we saw all of it, because a half hour after we arrived, it started to sprinkle. We shrugged our shoulders and looked inside the log cabin, the saw mill, the pole barns with giant generators. The rain increased. We still thought it would let up, so we lit into a couple Johnsonville brats with a helping of kraut. Still the gray skies wept. We rode the narrow gage railroad around the park, stalling for time. More rain.

Grandpa, with some sort of harvesting equipment in the 1920's

So I dragged my dear husband to the place where volunteers were grinding corn and buckwheat, since I had a yen for buckwheat pancakes. The inside of the barn was plastered with old seed company signs - from the days when there were many local hybrid seed companies. Our farm raised hybrid seed for Simons for years, though the small family business was swallowed up years ago. It continued to rain.

Grandpa Pierce with Sicy Simons, maybe 1930.

So we decided to get back to our car and get out while we still could. Trouble was, we waited too long. Neither of us wore raincoats or carried an umbrella, so soon we were soaked through to the skin. The temperature started dropping and I was getting pretty darned cold, but the worst was still ahead.

I should have known we were in for trouble when the smaller tractors quit shuttling people out to the field because they were getting stuck. After twenty or so minutes of rocking, spinning up mud, and trying to push our car up rises slick with wet mud and clay we admitted defeat and caught another shuttle back to the park where we threw ourselves on the mercy of a friend parked in a better place. We left our car where it was, rode home with our friend, and worried about it all evening.

Today was dry, breezy and sunny, the perfect thing for drying out mud. The organizers of the thresheree started a shuttle from Milton High School, so we took that back to the park today, and drove out with no problems.

I'll have to check out the Parade of Power and flea market some other year, preferably a nice dry day.

Back to the Fair

2011-09-02T13:14:00.000-05:00

The Walworth County Fair is back in full swing. I took myself on Wednesday, before it was too terribly hot, as it turned out to be on Thursday. Almost none of the original reasons I loved the fair as a child have any relevance to my adult self. As a kid I loved going to the fair because there were crowds of people, and I knew most of them. I could wander through any barn and find several 4-H friends, or kids I knew from school. I could mooch a quarter off my grandfather, who reigned over one busy corner in a seed-corn tent with sample stalks tied up along one wall. I could ride the Ferris wheel, Tilt-a-Whirl, or swings until vertigo compelled me to flop on a bench. I always had 4-H projects to watch during judging (the small cash premiums were nice) , or at least once a style show in which to participate. I ate a fair amount of Malone's salt water taffy in my day too.

But times change, and the fair has come to mean something different. It looks pretty much the same, with old white clapboard buildings housing the fair office, the cream puff stand and the Methodist dining hall. Some of the old wooden building are gone, replaced by metal pole buildings. The old wooden horse barns burned years ago, as did the grandstand, though the latter was rebuilt in a probably safer way. The smell is the same too, a bit of fried food, some grilled sweetcorn and barbequed pork, a bit of dust (or some years mud), of cattle and swine, of sweaty people. But I seldom see anyone I know. Maybe they are there, but I just don't recognize them, disguised as well all have become, by years. I like walking through midway, watching the excited kids lined up for rides, the bored looking carnies slumped at controls or double checking harnesses. I don't ride any more; I just take photos, hoping to some day use them as a reference for painting. Carnies don't like being photographed. Any time I ask they turn me down, so sometimes I just snap quickly and hope to capture them leaning amongst their giant stuffed toys and bowls filled with goldfish. The man who ran the camel ride concession confided to me that some of the carnies have run afoul of the law and don't want their pictured published anywhere. They're safe with me - no one will ever recognize them from my paintings.

This year I bought my fresh cream puff from the nice men wearing paper hats and aprons at the Knights of Columbus stand, and did a reasonable job of eating it without getting powered sugar all over myself. I snapped pictures of the camels, the little racing piggies, kids on rides, and wary chickens in the small animal barn. Then I was hot, footsore, and maybe a little lonesome for my grandfather, long dead, and my old friends, unseen, so I walked back downtown to my parked car and headed back home.

Medley of Music and Art

2011-08-28T22:17:00.002-05:00

16x20 inches, acrylic with elements of collage

The Janesville Art League is very lucky to have gallery space available at the Janesville Performing Art Center. Members hang their work there for several weeks, and it can be seen by audiences of a number of performing groups who use the facility. The Art League recently decided to make each exhibit have a theme, and the first one, which will be hung on Monday, is Medley of Music and Art.

That's pretty broad, but I realized that I had nothing new to put in the show that fit into the theme's requirement. I did a watercolor of a fiddler for a Joe Fettingis workshop three years ago, but that painting has been shown several times, and I donated it to a silent auction fundraiser last week. So, I decided to work on a version of a photo I took at the Madison Farmers Market last fall. I always carry my camera, and there was a group of ladies all decked out in dresses, fancy flowered hats, and anti-war buttons. One of the rather large group held a picket sign that read "War is a Racket," and they were singing their hearts out.

I decided to give this subject, singing war protesters, a go. This is pretty large for me, a 16x20 inch canvas. I started by ripping up some pages of an old paperback of front pages of New York Times with coverage of several wars. Then I layered over bright colors that I imagined would be the complements of the main colors I intended to use. Then came a sketch with charcoal pencil, more acrylic, more layering of prepared collage papers - this time sheet music as well as news coverage. Then I decided to add some flowers from a calendar for the ladies' hats. I didn't add their picket sign, but I did include the peace sign necklace that one singer sported that day to suggest the nature of their songs.

The results are bright and decorative. Not all the figures turned out as well as I hoped, but a couple of the women had the feel I was trying for. I am rather fond of the two figures in red hats because I enjoy their expressions. The poor dear on the far left caused me no end of grief, so I minimized her as best I could.

I'm looking forward to seeing what other people came up with for this show.

Post Script

On Monday I delivered and hung the painting with the others at JPAC. Another artist looked at the image, and said, "Oh, those are the Raging Grannies." She had also seen them at the Madison farmers market, but told me that the group is international, that there are chapters all over the US and Canada. They dress up in stereotypical "granny" hats and dresses, then sing about a variety of social justice issues. I did a Google search and enjoyed reading about their activities highlighting peace and environmental issues around the country.

Just Ducky

2011-08-27T12:42:00.000-05:00

The days recently have been glorious here in southern Wisconsin, pleasantly warm, sunny, and not too humid. So yesterday we took off for a day trip to the Wollersheim Wintery, rode the Merrimac ferry, and saw a wonderfully entertaining flick (8 MM) at Budget Cinema in Madison. I took lots of pretty pictures of the vineyard and the Wisconsin River, but this was the most surprising and fun sight of the day. Parked at a strip mall on Odana Road I was this older Toyota, covered all over, fore and aft, with rubber ducks. I convinced my husband to slow down and cruise by so I could capture this duck-mobile. Someday I will have my camera with me when I see the car here in town covered with livestock. One never knows what shape creativity will take!

Go Figure

2011-08-21T14:26:00.000-05:00

I returned to figure drawing studio after taking a couple weeks off for travel, and recovery from travel. Getting over to Whitewater takes about a five hour commitment by the time I pack up, drive there, clean up and drive home again. Still, I always have a good time, and I am getting fond of the quick draws in particular, I find that the longer I labor over a drawing the less I enjoy it, and that shows inthe results. This is an initial five minute pose, done with conte crayon.

I arrived late, so found myself off to the side, with lots of foreshortened views. Still, I like the challenge.

Our model Linda always poses in yoga outfits, and I find that drawing a clothed model is just as interesting as an undraped one, and perhaps the atmosphere in the room is a bit more relaxed as well.

I spent a little longer on this, though it really doesn't look it, except for the addition of watercolor to the conte crayon.

I asked and got permission to photograph some of her poses. I figure next winter when I am too chicken to drive over I will have some of a favorite model to use.

An Unkindness of Ravens

2011-08-20T15:30:00.000-05:00

My raven painting/collage is almost done, which is a good thing since it is larger than our dining room table. The process has been interesting and fun, and I keep trying to not fall in love with various layers as the images progress, so that I can proceed without guilt. More than once I thought I liked what I had well enough, but then forged ahead with another layer of acrylic color, or tissue paper, or bits of doily or vintage papers or maps. Each new layer makes the previous layers recede and become less visible, which sometimes was exciting, and sometimes was distressing. At this point the papers I am adding are black, dark blue or charcoal gray, pages from clothing catalogs or old black and white National Geographic pages, just to suggest texture. I want the piece to make an impact from a distance, but also be rewarding for anyone who gets up close to really look.

I wonder why the collective term for a group of ravens is an unkindness?

Book Review: The Way West, by A.B. Guthrie, Jr.

2011-08-17T16:22:00.003-05:00

In the few years since I retired from teaching I've gotten deeply involved in researching family history, tracing the movements of an extended set of families as they moved westward from North Carolina to Ohio, Indiana, Iowa and Missouri, to Oregon, Washington and California. At the same time my husband and I traveled to Washington and Oregon as tourists, and I took time to locate some of the living people from my family tree, and got some sense of where they lived and what their stories involved. All that made reading this good book, The Way West, even better. I would have read the book anyway, since I already liked historical fiction, and have enjoyed most of the Pulitzer prize winners I have tried. But knowing that some of my ancestors came west over pretty much the same route that Guthrie describes here made me all the more interested.

This well-researched novel tells the story of the On-To-Oregon wagon train that left Independence, Missouri in 1845, headed for the head of the Willamette River, the Oregon Territory, where there was free land for homesteading. There are many characters, so many in fact that if I had it to do over I'd start a list to keep as a book mark. Some of the major characters in Dick Summers, a former mountain man who is hired to guide the group on their way west. There's Tadlock, an officious and difficult man who is the group's first leader, though he doesn't last - his place is taken by steady Lije Evans. There's Curtis Mack, whose wife is fearful of having a child along the long and difficult journey. There is a family who choose to leave their Midwestern home because they want a healthier place to raise their young son who is prone to the fevers common in Missouri. There is a preacher - handy for funerals and weddings. Some folks are strong, some weak, some honest and forthright, others not. I found the shifting relationships among the leaders and followers to be fascinating, and I was caught up in the groups day-to-day struggles along the trail. This is neither a cowboy and Indian shoot-em-up novel nor a history text. Instead it is a heartfelt look at how real people might have acted and felt during the epic journey along the Oregon Trail. I also appreciated how much time was devoted to and credit given to the women characters.

I wish I had found this Oregon Trail website before I started reading, because the maps, explanations, and photos would have helped me to visualize the group's journey more clearly. You can see the site here: The Oregon Trail

I think I saw that a Kindle version of the book, with this website included is available for 99 cents.

Looks like now I need to check out the DVD of How the West Was Won, the Hollywood version of the 1949 book. The last time I saw it I was a child at the movies.

New Old Photo Finds

2011-08-08T15:00:00.000-05:00

I spent last week in Door County, bumming around, staying with my aunt and my brother and sister-in-law, visiting galleries. Since I've gotten home I haven't accomplished much except reading and working on family history. But I did find some good things at my local consignment shop.

These two photos are are people I do not know. They were photographic postal cards that I found in the big drawer filled with mixed cards. Sometimes I buy old photos of strangers just because I like their expressions or their clothing. I store them mixed in with my other photo reference pictures in a file box, and perhaps they'll make their way into a painting. My first preference is family related imagery, since I get twice the enjoyment; I can think about the people and I can use their attitude and costume in my painting. But sometimes I find photos like these that speak to me on another level. The young brothers wear clothing that seems very strange and formal, and their expressions are so serious. The men appealed to me because they seemed to be enjoying something together, something amusing, and I like their similar postures. Two very different representations of men I only know through old postcards, bought for next to nothing.

Work More (or less) in Progress

2011-07-29T11:08:00.000-05:00

My friend Alicia gave me a 2x4 foot canvas last month and asked me to paint something for her newly relocated framing and art gallery, a placed called Raven's Wish. Even though an idea appeared in my brain almost instantly, getting the show on the road has been slow going. The list of reasons/excuses includes these:

First, I just have never worked this big before. My studio is a long narrow space under the eaves of our 1939 Cape Cod, furnished with a "rummage sale" style folding table that has shelving, lights, and miscellaneous jars of brushes taking up part of the real estate. This canvas does not fit on that work surface, so instead the canvas currently resides on the dining room table downstairs, where the light is better and it is cooler. Usually. Right now the AC is out.

Also, I tend to prepare too much. I collected reference photos of ravens. I read entire books about ravens. I drew zillions of ravens trying to figure them out visually. I made 12x12 inch raven drawings and arranged them on the gessoed canvas, then rearranged them.

Right now I am at the point where I am nervous about how to continue. Should I add more collage material? What color (or colors) should the background squares be? I'm working in acrylic paint, so I can redo what I don't like, but I don't want to totally wipe out the text and maps bits I have already added to the image. I rather like what's there and don't want to make it worse. But I feel compelled to continue.

So - I guess I will run off the image on paper and play with different colored backgrounds in that safe format. Enough procrastinating.

Day Tripping, to the Everglades of the North

2011-07-14T15:21:00.001-05:00

Yesterday the heat and humidity broke and Mr. Bike Man and I decided to travel north and take in a boat tour of the Horicon Marsh. I had taken a similar trip with my dad when I was in college, but Dick and I had only driven around the edges of the huge cattail marsh. A few weeks back we saw an item about Horicon Marsh Boat Tours at Blue Heron Landing on the local television news, and decided to go see for ourselves. This photo is of Marc Zuelsdorf, son of the man who founded the operation. Marc has been giving tours since he was eleven, and knows the marsh and its birds backward and forward. We were impressed not only by his knowledge of the history of the marsh, but his ability to spot birds from very far away, and identify them by their calls. There were a couple hard-core birders with the group, and none of their detailed questions threw the man in any way.

I always think of the marsh in terms of it being the source of the Rock River, a river that begins here, runs south west through towns like Watertown, Fort Atkinson, and Janesville, then eventually empties into the Mississippi at Rock Island. But the marsh is the largest fresh water cattail marsh in the United states, and an internationally important wildlife refuge. The city of Horicon, which has a population just under 4,000 people, is home to a John Deere manufacturing plant, seen here from our vantage point on the Rock River.

These boat houses are for for hunters and fishermen to store their boats. Some are new, some a hundred years old.

The marsh is huge, and shallow in most parts. Fishing isn't very good, unless you're out for bullheads or carp.

Out in the marsh what you see in the middle of a summer day is a whole lotta water. Off in the distance our guide spotted some white pelicans, and we saw other birds like great blue and green herons, kingfishers, cedar waxwings, red-wing blackbirds, several varieties of swallows and swifts. We also saw quite a few painted turtles sunning their little cold-blooded selves on logs in the shallow water. What we didn't see much of, although there were hundreds of thousands of them nesting in the cattails, was ducks. The marsh is divided into a portion controlled by the Wisconsin DNR and part run by the federal government. The Wisconsin controlled part has a hunting season, but hunting is never allowed, and access is strictly controlled in the federal wildlife reserve. Guess where there are more ducks and geese.

Over three hundred varieties of birds have been documented in the marsh, but the great blue heron is one of the most common ones to see outside of spring and fall when the land and sky are black with ducks and geese. It's hard to resist trying to get a knockout photo of these large birds, but this was the best I could manage.

Maybe I can talk Mr. Bike Man into a spring or fall trip, and see what sort of bird pictures I can snap then. He certainly seems to enjoy a summer day out on the marsh.

Red

2011-07-10T12:45:00.001-05:00

It has been too warm lately for me to want to work upstairs in my little studio. I'm feeling too lazy to do anything much, except maybe take some photos, so yesterday I went looking for red things around here. I like red. It's hard to use in the house, even though it's is sometimes thought to be good luck, because it's so strong. My favorite coffee cup is red, just like the one Greg House has on the television show. I have red flowers, bee balm, impatiens, geraniums, planted to attract hummingbirds to the yard. My favorite fountain pen is red, and we have an older red Cavalier convertible that we use in the summer. My front door is painted a sort of raspberry red, though the sun fades it so much that it turns lavender pink, and I have to give it a fresh coat. In summer I have my toenails painted red, though I give it up in colder months when shoes and wooly socks make red toes irrelevant. I like using red when I paint, though I tend to warmer reds, earthy reds like Indian red or vermillion. I love the scent of rose madder genuine, but like the roses from which it is made, the pigment fades, so I rarely use it. There is an interesting website about pigments which discusses the symbolism of red here.

A Sunday poem, featuring a red-breasted robin -

Morning Talk
By Roberta Hill Whiteman

        —for Melissa L. Whiteman

“Hi, guy,” said I to a robin
perched on a pole in the middle
of the garden. Pink and yellow
firecracker zinnias, rough green
leaves of broccoli,
and deep red tomatoes on dying stems
frame his still presence.

“I’ve heard you’re not
THE REAL ROBIN. Bird watchers have
agreed,” I said.”THE REAL ROBIN
lives in England. They claim
your are misnamed and that we ought
to call you ‘a red-breasted thrush’
because you are
indigenous.”

He fluffed up. “Am I not
Jis ko ko?” he cried, “that persistent
warrior who carries warmth
northward every spring?”
He seemed so young, his red belly
a bit light and his wings, still
faded brown. He watched me
untangling the hose to water squash.

“Look who’s talking!” he chirruped.
“Your people didn’t come
from Europe or even India.
The turtles say you’re a relative
to red clay on this great island.”
Drops of crystal water
sparkled on the squash.

“Indigenous!” he teased
as he flew by.

Saturday Night Mussels and Turchese

2011-07-09T18:49:00.002-05:00

My dear husband, Mr. Bike Man, made a great meal this evening. He steamed a couple pounds of fresh mussels in garlic that had been sauteed in butter and olive oil, chicken broth and white wine for six minutes. We lucked out; every single mussel opened. The pretty concoction in the cherry bowl is turchese. We first tasted this a moules frites night at the late great Le Chardonnay in Madison. Lately the chef has been doing occasional moules frites evenings at the Icon, and we took the time to search out a recipe so we could eat the heavenly stuff at home. We had no french fries, but substituted a deli salad, along with a bottle of white wine.

Turchese

3 large carrots
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 tsp. cumin
1 tablespoon tahini
1/2 teaspoon salt
pinch of cayenne
a dash of fresh lemon juice

Cut the carrots into big chunks, coat with a little olive oil, wrap in aluminum foil and either roast on the grill or bake at 375 degrees in the oven about 30 minutes, or until tender. Mash the carrots with a fork, then add the rest of the ingredients, adjusting to taste. Garnish with chopped parsley. Serve on good French or Italian bread.

Friend Honored

2011-07-08T08:45:00.004-05:00

Our friend Tom Kautz is a nice guy. My husband and I know him and his wife Rosemary as good friends with whom we occasionally share a meal and tell stories. We've gotten to know Tom as a man who likes woodcarving, hiking, fishing, hunting and generally being outdoors. He helped me catch and clean my first bluegill. But he is also a man who has spent much of his life in public service.

Recently we were happy to see a notice in the Janesville Gazette that Tom was being honored by having a boardwalk and nature trail at Beckman Mill Park near Beloit named for him. We headed over to the park yesterday to find the pavilion filled with friends and well-wishers, and also some regional television reporters.

This reporter was busy interviewing Tom. We checked out the Rockford station that night at 6 p.m., but although they mentioned the event, we never saw the actual interview. We did see, much to my chagrin, a shot of two people, from the back, walking on the boardwalk. Their faces didn't show, but it was us. Gotta say, my backside isn't my best feature; I would have rather heard what Tom had to say.

Here he is. Tom retired in 2004 after spending thirty years as Rock County Parks Director. During his tenure in that position he managed to almost double the amount of parkland in Rock County, and was instrumental in acquiring grant money to help restore the Beckman Mill. So it's a darned good thing that he was recognized in this way. Hard work and dedication may be their own reward, but a nod from other people is a fine thing as well.

Summertime, Summertime

2011-07-06T09:49:00.001-05:00

It was a cool and wet spring, but summer is turning out to be nice so far. The other day my friend Lyn, visiting from Florida, emailed to say she is visiting her mother in town and to ask if we could meet for coffee. Of course! I drove us to nearby Milton, where an old church and former daycare has been transformed into a coffee shop and garden center. I couldn't resist sharing some pictures.

This is Lyn, partially hidden behind a summery display of plants and garden art. Everything is on sale, but, alas, my plantings all require shade, and my hostas have pretty much taken over the yard. So, I enjoyed just looking and taking some photos.

The garden center is called Patty's Plants, and one of the things I enjoy is how nicely she displays her flowers and veggies. I like the way she uses wheelbarrows, garden seating, and rusty tools in creative and artistic ways. Inspiration abounds!

Feeling the Years

2011-07-05T15:25:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was the 4th of July, warm, very warm, and sunny. A beautiful day for a bicycle ride, I thought. My husband loves his bicycle, and has logged over a thousand miles this season; I have ridden a handful of times, to breakfast (maybe two miles), with friends (six miles) around town (who knows?). Anyway, I clearly am not in shape for the Tour de Janesville or anywhere else. But I suggested we ride from Verona to Mt. Horeb and back, twelve miles each way. It sounded like something I could do, even though Mr. Bike Man told me the first leg of the trip was all up hill. How hard could it be? It's a railroad conversion, no more than a 2% grade. I could do it.

It was hard. I was soaked with perspiration, winded, with sore legs and a sore sitter. I got off the bike to look at scenery. I got off to get drinks of water. I got off to whine. I got off the bike to take pictures of wildlife (see turtle below). I finally said, "Just go on ahead; I'll catch up," and to his credit Mr. Bike Man refused to abandon me.

We finally made it to Mt. Horeb, a charming Norwegian community along the Military Ridge Trail. Our destination was a brew pub called The Grumpy Troll, a name that by that time could pretty much describe me.

The place was packed, but we were seated and when the waitress saw my red face and dripping hair she sprinted to get me ice water. After about forty-five minutes of cooling down and eating a really really delicious Italian Wrap sandwich, I was ready to face the trip home. Here's the thing. If you ride uphill for twelve miles, the return trip is much easier.

Thank goodness.

Spaniel Collage Finished

2011-06-27T17:03:00.002-05:00

11x14 inches, paper collage on fiberboard

The paper collage of a friend's Brittany spaniel is finally finished. I wanted to capture the animal's expression, but also to use materials that make the viewer want to stop and look closely. There are all sorts of vintage papers here, old receipts, pages from a vintage dictionary, cancelled stamps, a Wisconsin map, Japanese rice paper, even bits from a local telephone book. Click on the image to see details more clearly.

I tried something new for my collage work. Instead of using 140 watercolor paper and doing a complementary under painting, I did a quick painting in local colors on medium density fiberboard, then used gel medium to add papers over the painting. I like the effect and the way I could keep adding torn and cut papers without buckling the support.

Now I can move on to another project.

Great Day for Berries, and a Poem

2011-06-25T11:06:00.001-05:00

This morning we hiked downtown for the local farmers market. Saturdays so far this season have been cloudy, cool, rainy, or all three, but not today. Today is clear and sunny, and promises to be warmer than the week was.

Our market is a relative newcomer, smaller than the one in neighboring city Beloit, and certainly not in the league of the venerable Madison markets. But this one has the charm of being close enough to walk to, and I like seeing people I know, and getting tips on what's good. Today a retired teacher friend sang the praises of a vender's organic beef, and early season cauliflower.

We were in search of fresh strawberries, cheese curds, fresh bread, and Kettle Corn. I wanted some strong coffee too, since ours at home tends to be on the weak side. How did I get through my life so far without kettle corn? The combination of salty and sweet is irresistible to me, and apparently to lots of others as well, based on how many bags I saw being carried around.

There were several vendors with strawberries, but we tend to favor the folks at Skelly's Market. Today one of the ladies was there to show off a huge and weirdly shaped berry. She took time to explain to a disappointed buyer that their berry pies from the farm are flying off the shelves so quickly that they didn't have enough to send to the downtown market. We took home a pint of warm strawberries, and could smell the scent of all the way back to our house.

I found this poem on my Poetry Foundation app last night, and liked it well enough to share here. There is as much truth as poetry in these lines. You betcha.

Ode to the Midwest
By Kevin Young

The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
—Bob Dylan

I want to be doused
in cheese

& fried. I want
to wander

the aisles, my heart's
supermarket stocked high

as cholesterol. I want to die
wearing a sweatsuit—

I want to live
forever in a Christmas sweater,

a teddy bear nursing
off the front. I want to write

a check in the express lane.
I want to scrape

my driveway clean

myself, early, before
anyone's awake—

that'll put em to shame—
I want to see what the sun

sees before it tells
the snow to go. I want to be

the only black person I know.

I want to throw
out my back & not

complain about it.
I wanta drive

two blocks. Why walk—

I want love, n stuff—

I want to cut
my sutures myself.

I want to jog
down to the river

& make it my bed—

I want to walk
its muddy banks

& make me a withdrawal.

I tried jumping in,
found it frozen—

I'll go home, I guess,
to my rooms where the moon

changes & shines
like television.

Collage Work in Progress

2011-06-24T10:41:00.002-05:00

Unfinished projects - don't like 'em. I started this collage version of a friend's pet dog over a month ago, and it sat on top of the DVD player in my little studio making me feel guilty. This week I decided to push the pup further toward completion, although I still have a large painting to finish for a local gallery. I've shown this work in progress to a couple people, with a lukewarm response. I don't know - the vintage papers, and bright colors appeal to me. He's not finished. His right eye is only painted; no paper has been applied yet, and I want to fine tune the straight lines on his forehead. He needs a suggestion of whiskers as well. I hope he gets a warmer response when he's finished.

Monday Evening Figure Drawing

2011-06-21T15:39:00.000-05:00

Monday evening's figure drawing model

Three years ago I started seeking out figure drawing studio sessions so that I could improve my ability to draw and paint from direct observation. The first year I drove 40 miles to Madison, and took a class at the university. It was good, a nice group, helpful instructor. My problem was the timing - 7-10:00 PM. With an hour drive each way, I found myself being very tired driving home, which sometimes was downright frightening. So, I asked around and discovered the group I have been working with at UW Whitewater on Monday evenings.

The Whitewater studio group meets earlier - 5:30 - 8:30 PM in the summer, which works better for me. It's also a shorter drive than to Madison. This group has a small core of people who have been drawing together for a long some, some of them since the 1970s. Some are local, while others drive in from area towns, and occasionally a university student or staff member joins us. People are very welcoming, and everyone has his or her own way of working. Some use draw media, graphite, pastels, charcoal, while others paint.

Some sit to work, other stand. There are easels, and there are a couple tables. The university has a studio with a raised platform and theatrical lights, though recently several of the lights are out of order. There never seems to be anyone else around to ask for help in the summer, though it is a bit easier during the academic year.

During the session we play music, and the atmosphere is relaxed. We have both male and female models, some clothed, many not. But there is always a feeling of camaraderie, a refreshing lack of competition among the people who show up to work. The cost is very reasonable, $5.00 per session.

If anyone in the area want to join in, let me know and I will get more details to you.

Virtual Paintout: New Zealand

2011-06-19T17:13:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic on paper

I took a break from ravens this afternoon to participate in this month's Virtual Paintout. I realized once I virtually "drove" all over the southern island, that (1) lots of the country is very rural, (2) most of the coastal areas get lots of rain, clouds, and fog while the interior is sunnier, and (3) there are vast areas that are much flatter than I ever imagined. I had some sort of Hobbit-land in my mind when I went searching for something to paint.

I was interested in this month's paintout in particular because I know a little about a fellow reader who lives in Christchurch, where she and her husband have suffered through months of earthquakes, seemingly every week. I pay attention to the news from there now, which is one good way the internet is bringing people of the world closer together.

Last Raven Study for a While

2011-06-15T18:18:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic and collage

This is really fun. I've been reading about ravens in an interesting nonfiction book by Bernd Heinrich called The Mind of the Raven: Investigations and Adventures With Wolf-Birds. I've been looking at smart and talkative ravens on YouTube, and I've been painting the big black birds on scraps of mat board.

These little mixed media studies are designed to help me decide what to do with a 2x4 foot canvas the owner of Raven's Wish Framing and Gallery gave me. This canvas is a radical departure. I have a small studio, and a small house, so I tend to work small. I was tickled today when I took her this last study to learn that someone had already bought the other two. She has recently reopened at her new location in downtown Janesville, and is still unpacking and arranging her store. I look forward to getting going on the large work for her new showroom.

Another Raven and a Poem

2011-06-13T09:40:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic and collage on mat board

The weather here has finally decided to play nice. The sun is shining, the sky is blue with only a few clouds, the breeze is comfortable. No fierce winds, no pounding rain, no sauna-like heat and humidity. I have a high school friend coming to visit, and a figure drawing studio this evening. The world looks a little better today.

I've been reading a book of poetry by Linda Pastan called Traveling Light. I got it from out library, but may need a copy for myself. She speaks to me in the same way that Mary Oliver does, about nature, family, thoughts of mortality. I thought I'd save one before I return the volume.

After a Month of Rain
by Linda Pastan

Everything I thought I wanted
is right here,
particularly when the sun
is making such a comeback,

and the lilac engorged
with purple has recovered
from its severe pruning,
and you will be back soon

to dispel whatever it is
that overtakes me like leaf blight,
even on a day like this. I can still
hear the remnants of rain

in the swollen stream
beyond the house, in the faint
dripping under the eves,
persistent as memory.

And all the things I didn't think
I wanted, cut like the lilac back
to the root, push up again
from underground.

Life Lessons: Humbled

2011-06-12T10:21:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic and collage on mat board

In mythology Raven is often seen as either a Creator figure, or a Trickster

Sometimes the universe sends you a message. Get over yourself.

I work pretty steadily on my art, but try to balance the time and psychic energy I spend on it with time and energy spent on my family and friends, my health, and upkeep of our house. OK, so the housework has suffered. And I occasionally think that just because I participate in a show, occasionally am recognized for my work, I will get my ego fed every time. It ain't so.

Much of the winter I worked away at painting a series of miniatures based on vintage family photos, and I liked the results. After I was invited to put them in a Door County gallery I decided to drive 200 miles north to attend the opening of the show (and visit relatives). First I couldn't find my little paintings, then I realized that the gallery owner had placed them in the entryway facing in, so the only time they can be seen is when customers are headed out the door. In addition on the day of the reception she stood in the entry greetings people and having friendly conversations with people she already knew. That wasn't me. I introduced myself, but had the distinct impression that an impression hadn't been made.

This spring I decided I wanted to improve me skills in direct observation, and also wanted to lose some of my fear of people coming up to me to talk when I work outside in public. So, I bought a second hand French easel for working outside. Practiced with it. Upgraded my collection of acrylic paints and brushes, and went to work at painting en plein air. I cleared my obligations for the week of the plein air event in Beloit, paid the entry fee, and drove there and back about eight times. The weather was challenging windy and hot, but I persevered and came up with two paintings done is a simple and bright style that I thought was eye-catching, had them framed, and entered them in the show. I was told the show's sponsors wanted to meet the artists, to come early. I did. I never figured out who the sponsors were, so I didn't introduce myself to any of them. When I saw the obviously professional quality of many of the other paintings I knew my goose was cooked. It was. Well done. When the judges got up to explain their choices I didn't disagree that mine were not among the best. They weren't. But I couldn't see why some other paintings, some drop-dead gorgeous, were ignored. So, not only my artistic skill, but my judgement was called into real question. I did enjoy a glass of wine and some tasty appetizers, and I did sit and chat with some other artist friends. Looking for the silver lining here.

To be clear, I paint because it challenges me. I paint because I enjoy painting. I paint because it keeps my mind and heart engaged in the pursuit of interesting and beautiful things. I paint because it is fun. But sometimes I just feel like a retired lady who paints as a hobby, and that isn't so fun. In my heart my art is more than a hobby. I don't have to win a prize every time, or sell every painting. But I'd sort of like to be able to pay for my materials, and sort of like to be valued as a creative person.

It's a nice day. Maybe I'll grab a paint brush and work on staining the deck.

Edge of the Rock Plein Air Entries

2011-06-10T15:03:00.000-05:00

11x14 inches, acrylic on canvas

Later today I am headed back to Beloit for an artists' reception for the plein air event that is wrapping up today. We get to meet the sponsors, vote for a "people's choice" award, and hear who won the purchase award prizes. After that the paintings will be displayed for sale for a month, with a commission on any sales going to the Friends of Riverfront, who organizes the event.

It was an interesting week. Thee weather presented real challenges. The day I painted this tree it was sunny and nice enough, but the wind buffeted my easel, the palette, my hat. The acrylic paint I brought dried almost immediately, event though I misted it over and over. Still, I was happy enough with my "Fauve" tree. The shape was simplified, the colors exaggerated.

11x14 inches, acrylic

Later in the week I decided to try another view of the park, this time featuring more trees and a bit of downtown Beloit in the distance. Once more I went for simplified shapes and intense color choices. Most of the colors were straight from the tube, or mixed with only a couple colors. The day I painted this was actually pretty nice, though it was the start of very hot weather that continued until yesterday. Monday through Wednesday it was in the 90s, and very humid. I tried painting Wednesday morning, but gave up at noon and returned home to my air conditioning with little completed. I turned in both completed framed paintings yesterday.

Whether or not the paintings win awards or sell, I did gain some confidence in painting outdoors. I have better equipment than before, and a better sense of what I need and what I can get along without. I also have lost some of my initial fear of people casually coming up to chat while I work. I also enjoyed reading about the Fauve painters, and had fun trying out my interpretation of their painting style, so I count the experience as a success.

Community Mosaic Project Submission

2011-06-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

6x6 inches, acrylic on canvas

When I stopped at the Hardy Gallery in Ephraim over Memorial Day weekend, I picked up a little canvas for their 4th annual Community Mosaic Project. The gallery gives out 300 little canvases to whomever wants to participate, then when the finished miniature paintings are returned, they are assembled into a huge mosaic. Viewers purchase a number, and at the end receive the painting with the corresponding number. The trick is that each painting's number is hidden, so that the purchaser doesn't know which painting he or she will receive. The event is a fundraiser for the popular non-profit gallery. I plan got get mine in the mail today.

The old car in the painting was doe from a photo I took of a rusted out automobile that sits in the grass behind the Edgewood Orchard Gallery. I took some pictures last summer, thought about painting from them, but then never did. The small format of this project seemed like a good way to give painting the car a try, and I like how it turned out. I wanted a subject that might be a little different from barns, flowers, and lighthouses. I hope someone likes it.

Northern Rambles

2011-05-31T10:36:00.000-05:00

For years I have been going up north to Algoma to see my aunt, my mother's only sister. Algoma is in Kewaunee County, right on Lake Michigan, and is always cool and damp, including through most of the summer. This trip we caught up on family stories, went out for fish in one of the country bars, and took flowers to a local cemetery. I have always liked the harbor there, with its red light and fog horn. When I was a girl the waterfront was filled with fishing shacks and commercial fishing boats, but now there are more condominiums and private boats. I had to do some serious cropping to make this shot look a bit like the harbor used to look.

My grandparents used to drive north for my aunt's early May birthday, and often the cherry trees would be in bloom. I have never before this made it there in time to catch the blossoms. This time all the cherries, apples, wild plum were at their best, and I couldn't resist taking way too many pictures of the orchards. This one is right outside of Fish Creek.

Although I make it my first priority to visit relatives, and my second to visit favorite art galleries like the Edgewood Orchard Gallery, the Hardy, and the Fine Line, this time I wanted to see where my cousins' grandmother's family came from. When I asked my aunt she just said the Grandma and Grandpa H. were from Belgium, WI, and that their cemetery was near there. I hadn't visited their farm since about 1960, so I had to get out my county map. Grandma H.'s family was Belgian, and I grew up with a taste for a local pastry called Belgian Pie. But I didn't know much about the immigrants from the area. That family is buried in the White Star Spiritualist Church near Namur, so I went searching for that.

The church goes back to the 1880s when a group of parishioners from the local Catholic church broke off and formed the spiritualist group. We found the church, which has occasional services, and now draws psychics from places like Kewaunee and DePere. I hadn't expected to find anyone there mid afternoon, but a group was standing outside talking, and after inviting us to come to a service any time, told my sister-in-law and I where to find the cemetery with the graves I wanted to visit. Researching family history can sometimes be really interesting!

I stayed a couple days with my husband's sister and her husband, both avid birders and naturalists who volunteer at a beautiful spot called the Ridges Sanctuary. Whenever I can I take walks there, looking for interesting plants and wildlife. This day was cool and a bit foggy, and the dripping confers and ferns reminded me a little of walks I have taken in the Pacific Northwest. The unique environment at the Ridges hosts many rare plants and animals, and I always try to spend at least a little time there.

There are a couple ways to get from where I live in southern Wisconsin to Door County, a faster interstate route, and smaller state highways. On Memorial Day weekend I wanted to take the smaller roads and avoid the heavy traffic and aggressive drivers from the major highways. My favorite route skirts Lake Michigan for forty miles, then veers off through rolling farmland toward Lake Winnebago. I had packed a picnic lunch and pulled over to eat it at a scenic overlook a bit north of Fond du Lac, at Brothertown. This scene, with the steep hill, farms, and the lake that blends with the sky, is a favorite of mine. I shared the view with a motorcyclist, and the two of us just stared for a while before heading back to our separate homes.

Inspired by Get Low

2011-05-25T17:34:00.000-05:00

about 8x10 inches, watercolor from the film, Get Low

My husband and I watch lots of movies on DVD, usually over a hundred a year. Lately I have been struck by how beautiful the lighting is in many of the films we watch. The filmmakers seem to take real care in framing each shot so that it has interesting patterns of light and dark. In Get Low I noticed that the older characters were shot often in interior shots, or with strong directional light that emphasized the character in their faces.

After we watched the movie, the next day I went through it again, looking for shots I especially liked, and then pausing and doing quick draws. There were a few that were too lovely to just sketch, so I took a picture of the TV screen as a reference. This small painting in a notebook is from one of the reference photos. I didn't intend to work in so many layers, and lift so much, but I am pleased with the part of the character's face that was highlighted. I used colors suggested in Charles Reid's book, The Natural Way to Paint - cadmium red, raw sienna, cobalt blue. Then I also added some burnt sienna on his forehead, and some Paynes gray for the darkest darks, and a touch of burnt umber also. I like how he turned out.

Blue as Water and Sky

2011-05-19T19:50:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic on paper, in a sketchbook

On Sunday I went on a photo safari, and bagged a photo of a man fishing below the Monterey Dam here in town. I did a couple little watercolors of similar scenes, and then this brilliantly colored one, then asked my husband which he preferred, and he liked this one best. In reality the rocks are pale limestone, the water mostly a muddy green, but I wanted to make the picture more lively, more cheerful, more fun so I ditched reality.

Sometimes ditching reality is fine.

Yellow as a School Bus

2011-05-17T21:46:00.000-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic in my visual journal

All spring I have been taking inventory of my watercolor and acrylic tube paints, reconsidering my watercolor palette, and generally reading about color theory. This week I have feasting my eyes on a glorious book about a short-lived art movement in France called Fauvism. The book is The Fauve Landscape, and I have been spending lots of time looking at the paintings with their simplified shapes and straight-from-the-tube colors. I'm thinking I'm going to have to try to shake things up a little and try some landscapes with in your face colors - if for no other reason that around here once the leaves return to the trees, the color I see most is green. Sometimes, trying to paint in parks or summer fields I call it "death by greenery." Maybe some non-local color is what is needed.

Fauve Landscape

Anyway, I've been outside photographing reference photos, inspired by landscapes that feature rivers. On Sunday I was out with my camera when I was captured by all the yellow school buses at the local bus company, rows of them. So they, and not a river scene went in my visual journal. Normally I'd use watercolor, but lately I crave more intensity, so I used acrylic and I like it very much.

A Marge Piercy poem about colors fits today's theme.

Colors passing through us
By Marge Piercy

Purple as tulips in May, mauve
into lush velvet, purple
as the stain blackberries leave
on the lips, on the hands,
the purple of ripe grapes
sunlit and warm as flesh.

Every day I will give you a color,
like a new flower in a bud vase
on your desk. Every day
I will paint you, as women
color each other with henna
on hands and on feet.

Red as henna, as cinnamon,
as coals after the fire is banked,
the cardinal in the feeder,
the roses tumbling on the arbor
their weight bending the wood
the red of the syrup I make from petals.

Orange as the perfumed fruit
hanging their globes on the glossy tree,
orange as pumpkins in the field,
orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs
who come to eat it, orange as my
cat running lithe through the high grass.

Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes,
yellow as a hill of daffodils,
yellow as dandelions by the highway,
yellow as butter and egg yolks,
yellow as a school bus stopping you,
yellow as a slicker in a downpour.

Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make
me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.

Green as mint jelly, green
as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
the green of cos lettuce upright
about to bolt into opulent towers,
green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear
glass, green as wine bottles.

Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,
bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,
blue as Saga. Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring
azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.

Cobalt as the midnight sky
when day has gone without a trace
and we lie in each other’s arms
eyes shut and fingers open
and all the colors of the world
pass through our bodies like strings of fire.

Women Grads, Elkhorn High School, 1947

2011-05-15T10:38:00.005-05:00

Patricia Smith, Carol Tess, Patricia Enright, 1947

I recently into the basement to look for a three-ring binder to house some magazine articles I wanted to save, and found one more of my mother's scrapbooks. The entire collection was dedicated to her high school graduation in 1947. There were formal photographs like the ones here, candid shots of her and her friends, the program for graduation, newspaper clippings of the event, and even a program from their senior class play. I love these photos, so carefully preserved, the subjects all young and healthy. I occurs to me that graduation was very formal. You can see all the girls with their hair fixed, makeup, rather serious expressions on their faces. In this picture Mom is in the center, and her two best friends are on either side. Patricia Smith went on to earn a doctorate in psychology and to teach and write textbooks in California and Oregon. Patty Enright married and raised a family in Menasha, and was good about keeping in touch right up until Mom's death a few years ago.

When I taught high school here in Janesville the classes averaged around four hundred students, a number that always seemed large to me, since my graduating class had 128 students. This photo from 1947 shows all the women graduates in my mother's Elkhorn High School class. These women remain friends to this day, though many of them have passed away. They continue to have reunions every few years, and to keep in touch with one another through telephone calls and letters. It seems almost quaint. I read last night somewhere online that people keeping in touch through social media is taking a toll on class reunions. Why bother to get together with high school buddies when you already have seen each other's photos and know what is happening in each others lives online? I'm not sure why one would replace the other, unless people are getting too busy to make the effort, or just are losing the taste for face to face friendships.

Here they are again in their caps and gowns, all dressed in high heels. I imagine they wore dresses beneath those gowns, and felt very grown up. No decorating of the mortarboards in 1947, no Silly String, or anything that didn't suggest the seriousness of purpose that the occasion signified. Which isn't to say these women didn't know how to have fun - but that is another post.

Reading about local collage and university graduations in the newspaper got me thinking about how traditions change, which is probably fine. A nicely printed program is a good thing, though this mimeographed program from my parents' graduation, they were in the same high school class, has its charm. Girls dressed formally suggests dignity that perhaps they didn't all feel on that June day in 1947, but girls graduating today with shorts and flip flops beneath their caps and gowns have big challenges facing them and are just as excited to get on with their lives as Mother and her friends were. Formal or not, this is a time of year that marks milestones, and I enjoyed sharing Mom's via her scrapbook. I hope other young people take the time to preserve the day for their children, though perhaps that is gong out of style as well.

Willow Tree

2011-05-14T15:24:00.000-05:00

11x14 inches, acrylic on canvas board (on top of the other river scene)

I've been playing around with painting along the Rock River, doing some outdoor sketching, some photography, and painting from both. I want to paint outside, but I'm also a wimp. I don't like to paint when it is windy or cold or raining, and it has been all of those things lately. So, this was the result of a sketch and a photo reference I took at Riverside Park in Beloit. I swear, I was going to simplify forms more, and use more imaginative color, but I got all caught up in layers of color and, well, it is what it is. The painting does suggest what I like best about early spring, which is the effect of the first yellow green leaves and grass in an otherwise brown landscape.

I painted this tree in 2008, then last year there was a fuss about the tree when the parks department trimmed off the picturesque low-hanging limb. Supposedly the limb was dangerous to park users, but I suspect somebody got a new chainsaw and wanted to try it out. Maybe that's unfair. Anyway, I closed on the twisted branches overhanging the river, and ignored the areas of amputation. I may try painting this again in a different style.

Friends in My Garden

2011-05-12T10:48:00.000-05:00

Spring is the nicest time in my shady backyard. I love the yellow green of the new ferns, and the way the hostas and lily of the valley quickly grow, maybe as fast as corn in July. These hardy plants grow where grass refuses to grow under the dry shade of the maple trees, which further endears them to me. But perhaps more than their hardiness and willingness to thrive despite lack of sunshine, I love them because my friend Kathy gave them to me, oh, maybe in 1992 or 1993, not long after we bought this house and decided to make a woodland garden where the thin grass used to be.

Kathy was an art teacher who lived up the block, and who used to join our little group for Friday morning breakfasts. Little by little we got to know and like each other better, and part of that was because she had many hostas, ferns, beds of aggressive but fragrant lily of the valley, and was willing to share them with me. We soon learned that digging in the soil was just one thing we enjoyed in common, and a friendship was born.

She and her husband Dave had a rustic cabin near Rhinelander, a simple A-frame place with no running water, an outhouse, a fire ring, set in the woods by a lake. Heaven. One spring she surprised me with a plastic pail of trillium taken from her property. One or two still survive in my garden, hidden in the leaves of bluebells, but blooming to remind me of her friendship, even though she is no longer with us.

Another neighborhood friend, Marcia, heard that I was looking for flowers that I could add to my shady beds, and she generously let me dig out a few bluebells. Now, a couple decade later, I have drifts of the spring ephemerals, so many that I yank out fists full of volunteer plants that sneak into the grassy area where they are not welcome. In a month they'll die back, and the area will only show Ehglish ivy and hostas, but in May the sea of blue never fails to remind me of the generosity of my neighboor friends.

All these plants are native, so they thrive despite punishing winter cold, summer heat and drought, and general neglect on my part. Plants that aren't tough simply die out and are not replaced. Because of their hardiness, I love to share them with other people looking for cost effective ways to landscape. My school friends and ladies I've met since retiring have hauled away buckets of hostas, ferns, bleeding heart, buttercups, and yucca, and it makes me happy to be able to pas along the bounty. Perhaps when they see their plants blooming they think of me, as I think of the women who have shared their bounty for my garden.

Thin little leaves of wood fern, ribbed and toothed
By Frederick Goddard Tuckerman 1821–1873
from Sonnets, Third Series
IV

Thin little leaves of wood fern, ribbed and toothed,
Long curved sail needles of the green pitch pine,
With common sandgrass, skirt the horizon line,
And over these the incorruptible blue!
Here let me gently lie and softly view
All world asperities, lightly touched and smoothed
As by his gracious hand, the great Bestower.
What though the year be late? some colors run
Yet through the dry, some links of melody.
Still let me be, by such, assuaged and soothed
And happier made, as when, our schoolday done,
We hunted on from flower to frosty flower,
Tattered and dim, the last red butterfly,
Or the old grasshopper molasses-mouthed.

Fishing

2011-05-09T12:43:00.000-05:00

Two guys fishing last Thursday in Beloit

Fishing, His Birthday
By Michael Sowder Michael Sowder

With adams, caddis, tricos, light cahills,
blue-wing olives, royal coachmen, chartreuse trudes,
green drakes, blue duns, black gnats, Nancy quills,
Joe’s hoppers, yellow humpies, purple chutes,
prince nymphs, pheasant tails, Eileen’s hare’s ears,
telicos, flashbacks, Jennifer’s muddlers,
Frank bugs, sow bugs, zug bugs, autumn splendors,
woolly worms, black buggers, Kay’s gold zuddlers,
clippers, tippet, floatant, spools of leader,
tin shot, lead shot, hemostats, needle nose,
rod, reel, vest, net, boots, cap, shades and waders,
gortex shell and one bent Macanudo—
I wade in a swirl of May-colored water,
cast a fine gray quill, the last tie of my father.

Step by Step

2011-05-08T14:21:00.000-05:00

11x14 acrylic on canvas panel

Look quick, because I am about to gesso over this little painting exercise. This isn't really my composition; it's an exercise from a "how-to" book about acrylic painting. I have it in my head that acrylic will be better for the plein air event I plan to enter in June. The scenery for that event is similar to ours here in Janesville, parkland along the Rock River, lots of trees, some buildings. This little exercise had some of the same features, so I thought it might be useful.

The result of my efforts are not especially wonderful. The mill on the left looks flat, and the blue on the roof of the mill and church looks too bright. Also the river doesn't look flat - a real problem! That's supposed to be duck weed on the left (something we have plenty of when the weather warms), but it doesn't read duck weed. It looks more like an odd patch of lawn near the bank.

That said, I was interested in the colors the author used in the under painting, and I liked the way the sloping bank on the left and the distant trees on the right turned out. I also figured out how to use a little hard rubber tool for scraping out tree trunks. I'd had it for ages and never used it before, so that was good. I also rather like the pale yellow of the overcast sky - that's a choice I might not have thought of. So, even though I am about to cover this painting over, I'm glad I took the time to work through it.

This is the library book I used for the exercise. There is another example in the book of an old willow that I may give a go as well, since old twisted willows are a common feature along the river here and in Beloit. I doubt that my own style will change any, but I may be able to solve some problems, and increase my confidence when I am out on my own.

Update on the wet camera in the painting bag with the water bottle. Even though it eventually dried out, after a day it simply expired. Luckily for me I found an identical one for a reasonable price on eBay. It works just fine, and will never share space with a water bottle. I learned a lesson there, too.

A Beautiful Morning

2011-05-06T15:15:00.001-05:00

Spring has finally arrived in southern Wisconsin, with trees beginning to bloom, grass (and weeds) springing up, and people shedding their heavy coats. I decided to head to Beloit, ten miles south, to scout out places to paint next month. The Rock River is high, but behaving itself pretty well so far, not like in 2008 when it flooded and caused millions of dollars in damage.

Redbud, crab apples, pear trees, all are in bloom, just in time for Mothers Day this weekend.

The Canada geese are apparently guarding their nests, because they were in a testy mood as I walked along Riverfront Park. They hissed and assumed threatening postures, but never really caused me any trouble.

This old tree was the subject of a minor uproar last fall when it was trimmed back by the parks department. I may paint it again, just not from an angle that shows the amputated low overhanging limbs.

Nobody was out in the paddle boats yet, but the water was so blue against the yellow plastic boats that I had to stop for a photo.

Yes, it was a nice morning, for a walk, or for getting out a fishing pole and spending time with a buddy.

Suffering Withdrawal

2011-05-04T17:30:00.003-05:00

This week the folks who run a local consignment shop downtown are in France visiting their daughter, so the shop isn't open. I stop in several times a week to catch up on news, chat with the regulars and see what treasures are there to be seen. The owner also is generous with cups of free coffee, so I support my caffeine habit there as well. I'm missing my hangout while it is closed this week, though I'm happy they are taking a rare vacation.

One of the things I enjoy is just looking at the constantly changing collections of odds and ends, books, housewares, glass, dolls, china plates, post cards, all sorts of things. Individually few are really impressive, but collected and massed on shelves, I love to look at them. These oriental dolls and figurines appealed to me.

I have never wanted to collect miniature horses, but collected together on the shelf, I thought perhaps I'd paint them at some point. Or maybe not.

If anyone who reads this has the urge to use these pictures as a photo reference for sketching or painting, please feel free. I'd love to see what you do.

Crowds of Daffodils

2011-05-01T13:32:00.000-05:00

Cool weather has made lots of our spring flowers a little late, but it has also kept my front garden colorful for two weeks already. This is just a small patch of my daffodils. They cheer me up every time I see them, and I planted about a decade ago so that I can cut with no hesitation. This little garden has also been infested the last couple years with some purple flowers on stalks, and creeping charlie, but I'll worry about the invasives once the daffodils are done. For now I want to just enjoy the exuberance of bloom.

BTW, these were taken with the camera that got wet on my last outdoor painting excursion. Apparently it still works, though it doesn't make the "click" noise when I take the shot. I guess I can live with that.

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,     5
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:    10
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:—
A poet could not but be gay    15
In such a jocund company!
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,    20
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

                                       --William Wordsworth

That Which Does Not Kill You...

2011-04-30T14:09:00.001-05:00

5x7 inches, acrylic on gessoed mat board, painted en plein air at Riverside Park

I decided early this spring that this would be the year the I would give plein air painting another good solid try. There is a plein air painting event each June in Beloit, called Edge of the Rock. I tried it with watercolors in 2008, and while I produced a couple of reasonable landscapes, both of which sold, I was frustrated every day by wind, rain, and curiosity seekers. I didn't have any sort of easel, so I had watercolor paper clipped to boards on my lap, and it wasn't the easiest situation. My butcher tray palette flew away in the wind, and I had no real way of controlling the moisture level of my paper.

So, I decided that this time I would try acrylics, since I have been painting with them quite a lot this winter. Yesterday was the first warm and sunny day we have had in ages and ages, and I decided to go out and give it a try, but things didn't go very smoothly. I have been thinking about this for a while, and about a month ago bought a french easel on eBay, what I thought was quite a good deal on some quality used equipment. It didn't arrive and didn't arrive. Finally I got an email from the seller saying he was sorry, but he lived in Alabama and his house had a tree fall on it in a tornado! Of course I said he should attend to his life first, that I could wait. So, yesterday no easel. I went looking for my trusty old camp stool, even engaged my husband in the search, but failed to find it - so I trudged to K-Mart and bought a collapsing chair that had been marked down a couple times. The chair actually was fine, though I was disconcerted to come home later in the afternoon to discover my spouse had unearthed the camp stool from from a dark corner of the cellar. I have plenty of places to sit now.

I had all sorts of lists from articles I had saved that had suggestions on what to take along when painting outside. I have a nice big plastic zippered bag with strong straps for carrying equipment. I found a big old plastic jar, the sort that might once have held condiments for a school cafeteria, complete with a screw on lid. I had paper towels, brushes, paint, prepared small mat boards that I had prepared. I had a little plastic palette with a cover, and my acrylic paints. I had a sketchbook and a pencil, I had a little viewfinder that I made from scrap cardboard and and old clear plastic transparency. I felt I had what I needed. Then I made my mistake. I added a little flimsy bottle of water for drinking, and on a whim, threw my trusty Canon Powershot camera in the bag.

The plan was to head out the the Janesville Schools Outdoor Lab, a nice rolling park-like area with a stream running through it. But as I stood in the parking lot, then hiked part way into the woods, I could hear what sounded like a large group of elementary students, so I decided to visit Riverside Park instead. Riverside is a lovely old park right on the Rock River, and I found an interesting tree to make my focal point. So I set up the new chair, and went to unpack my tote bag. Oops. The small water battle had leaked all over the bottom of the bag! My canvas hat was dripping, my roll of paper towels was wet on one end, and then I remembered the camera. My heart sinking, I pulled the camera out of the bottom of the bag, and saw that the viewfinder had all sorts of moisture behind the screen. So, I took out the batteries and memory card, and locked the camera in the car, along with the useless wet hat.

After that, besides my fumbling around, and struggling some with paint that wanted to dry out on the palette because of the steady breeze, it didn't go too badly. It has been such a damp cool spring that there isn't much color yet. Across the river the willows are a pretty pale yellow green, almost like a green mist, but most of the leaves have not emerged. I had a hard time trying to make the tree in the foreground interesting, and also suggest the woods across the river. Then there is the issue of painting water. I think I have my work cut out for me.

There is good news. The poor fellow in Alabama wrote today to say he had shipped the easel, and my camera apparently is still working. A night in a bowl of rice, and half a day on a sunny windowsill apparently dried out the moisture problem. I successfully took a picture of our cat, so at least I don't need to buy a new camera.

Update: This photo of the old willow was taken later, with a camera that was not soaked!

Dreaming of Sun

2011-04-27T15:11:00.000-05:00

The weather all around the country has been very unseasonable, around here cool, overcast, drizzly. I had planned to start getting outside to paint, but circumstances have conspired against me. There's the weather of course. But also I decided to economize on a french easel by buying one on eBay. I won the auction, then waited and waited. Finally I got an email from the seller saying his house had been hit by a tornado, that the easel was OK (like I cared at after he told me a tree was in his living room), and that when his car was fixed he'd mail the easel. Sigh. Bad luck for him, but I find myself hoping he can find a way to get to the post office so I can get practicing for an upcoming plein air event.

In the meantime I have been doing a little watercolor work. I was reading a couple how-to books by Charles Reid, trying out his approach to painting people. I don't think I'll ever come close to the way he paints, but I did have a good time with this. I am afraid I borrowed the source photo from someone on Flickr, then didn't keep the link, so this sun worshiping lady will have to stay in my practice notebook, since I don't know who to ask for permission. I liked how her arms framed her face, and the strong shadows and highlights.

Working in Watercolor

2011-04-21T17:40:00.000-05:00

watercolor study from a photo by Edward Curtis

Around here the main topic of conversation is how tired we are of wintery weather. Granted, we haven't had the big storms that hit further north, or the tornadoes that have wreaked terror in the South, but spring just refuses to comes. The daffodils are finally blooming, as is the forsythia, but it's cold and overcast, and twice I've gone out in the morning and shook snow off the flowers. I am tired of my sweatshirts and sweaters and down comforter.

The upside of this is that I have been inside painting. I went to the figure drawing studio in Whitewater Monday night, one of three artists there, and tried my best to work only in pencil and watercolor. I wouldn't show anyone the results, though I enjoyed the time I spent there.

I've been working my way through exercises in several Charles Reid books, even watching a VCR tape I ordered from another library. I sure don't paint like Reid does, though I try to remember what he says about using color, creating lost and found edges, and figures in general. This portrait is something I did today, a second try, actually, at painting from a black and white photo of a Native American woman taken by Edward Curtis. I know I overworked it, but I still like the way it turned out. I wonder if I'll ever make confident strokes and not go back over my light and dark areas.

LIfe Drawing Painting and Spring Studio Cleaning

2011-04-08T09:44:00.000-05:00

8x10 inches, 20 minute watercolor

I drove to UW Whitewater Monday evening for their life drawing studio, and to everyone's disappointment the model did not show up. This is a small but devoted group who all had scheduled their lives and hauled their materials to the university, and rather than turning around and going back home, we decided to be our own models, 20 minutes each - clothed. It turned out to be lots of fun, and sitting stock still for twenty minutes turned out to be devilishly difficult. I sat in a chair with arms, but still found my eyes crossing and my fingers falling asleep. We took to calling the experience "model appreciation night," because each of us discovered how challenging it is to hold a pose for twenty minutes.

I have been wanting to use watercolors for my medium in the Monday studio night, and to that end put together a travel palette with pigments I thought would be useful for doing figures. In addition to tube paints, I took along a few watercolor pencils, and they have turned out to be the most useful. I can quickly sketch, and also do loose washes by dragging my brush over the "lead." This was my favorite quick study from the evening. I loved the woman's comfortable attitude, her thick hair and flowing outfit, and it showed in what I produced.

Most of the week has been spent in organizing, weeding, and adding to my collections of watercolor pigments, brushes, papers, and also my acrylic supplies. Why did I buy four different brands of phthalo blue watercolor, anyway? And why did I pop for three 1" flat wash brushes? Do I need to keep craft-quality brushes that have loose ferrules or are stiffened with acrylic gel medium? The answer is clearly no. Just handling these materials made me want to paint, so I have been doing that too, and it has felt pretty darned good.

Virtual Paintout: Japan

2011-04-04T11:50:00.000-05:00

5.5x7 inches, ink and watercolor wash

Most of the week I have been taking inventory of my watercolor pigments, getting the caps, which have mostly dried on, unstuck, and weeding out the ones that I either never use, or have a poor record for reliability. I scraped the old Winsor Newton alizarin crimson out of my ratty plastic palette, and tried a new cool deep red called perylene maroon. It comes out of the tube looking for all the world like blood, but I like the richness of the color. I spent time recording the pigment numbers of all my tube paints, and discovered I have four tubes of phthalo blue, which is far more than I will use in this lifetime. I wish pigment manufacturers would abandon cute names and just label their paints simply and clearly.

Anyway, since I was playing with watercolors I decided to give the most recent Virtual Paintout a whirl. I thought at first I'd try a larger painting, but I ended up with a small one in a Canson watercolor notebook. The scene is taken from Google Street View, in midtown Tokyo. When I do these virtual tours of places, I look for scenes that have some good value contrasts, and I like to include something alive, an animal or a person. I liked this slim woman walking in the shadows into the light. I struggle with trying to simplify scenes, suggesting building details without slaving over them. I was pleased with the way I managed the bicycles, omitting spokes and even handle bars. They still read as bikes, and I didn't go wild rendering them. I wish I had saved even more white out in the sunlit areas, but that part still reads as sunlit.

Yupo and Watercolor Workshop

2011-03-29T20:05:00.002-06:00

I have played with Yupo and watercolors before, with checkered success. More than once I have happily marched a failed painting to the sink and washed my efforts down the drain. I have been known to call Yupo the Etch-a-Sketch of watercolor painting. But for the past month I have been doing miniatures in acrylic, so I thought that working larger in watercolor might be good. So I signed up for a two day workshop at L'Atelier, a local art studio. The presenter was a fine local painter and teacher named Barbara Mathews. I've admired her work for several years, and despite the fact she offers ongoing classes had never worked with her before.

The workshop had everything I like: a knowledgeable and personable instructor, well-written handouts, many examples, a combination of demonstration and personal working time, and constructive feedback. Mathews spent the first day discussing the qualities of Yupo synthetic paper, how to prepare it for painting, and how she likes to apply pigment. She squeezes paint directly onto the Yupo, then moves it around with a damp brush. This was painful for me, since tend be miserly with my watercolor paint. I know in my heart this leads to all sorts of problems, so I took a deep breath and did as she demonstrated.

This first day was devoted to abstract designs. She talked a little about some simple compositional formats, then launched into examples of how to remove paint to create white spaces. The straight edges here were done by laying down masking tape, then using damp paper towels to lift the watercolor back to the white surface. She used a variety of stencils, some purchased, some made from everyday objects like cut mats, or jar lids. She created texture with a combination of found objects like plastic mesh, sequin tape, or plastic wrap, and purchased stamps. Basically she lifted away about half the paint, then added back whatever made a pleasing design. One hint she gave us was to limit the colors we used in these abstracts to two, that way the colors won't get muddy.

After the abstracts are dry, she likes to use a gloss spray fixative to ensure the watercolor doesn't lift. She warned us not to store Yupo paintings in plastic bags, because the paint adheres to the plastic and lifts away from the surface.

The second day was devoted to more realistic imagery. She began these paintings much the same way as the abstracts, by covering the surface of the Yupo with an intense layer of watercolor pigment, then allowing it to air dry well before proceeding (a hair dryer will push the paint around too much). When the background was dry she used graphite paper to transfer a simple drawing. Then she carefully removed all the paint around the shapes in the painting. Here she is working on a painting of horsemen and a tree.

This was my effort - not so bad in design, though the color choices were unfortunate. I wish I had chosen mostly dark pigments, with a small warm area to suggest the sunlight coming through the doorway. As it is, there isn't enough contrast, and the colors look like an ode to the Green Bay Packers or maybe John Deere. Still, I understood the idea. Next time I'll do better.

This is an example that Barb painted. While it looks complicated, the process is fairly simple. I like the way the green and gold works here much better than in mine.

Her final demonstration was of a Costa Rican tree frog. This time she drew the frog on the Yupo, then painted directly. The frog isn't done yet in this photo. She cleaned up edges, added light glazes, and added details that made him look alive. One great thing about working on this surface is the brilliantly intense colors that can be achieved.

I did a very small version in colors closer to the source photo, but then added black acrylic ink in the background when I got home. Mine never achieved the loose and glossy look that hers had, so I'll need to work on a series to develop my skills.

I had fun in this workshop, loosened up some, was more generous than usual with pigment, and generally felt my weekend was well spent.

About buying Yupo. I have never found the material at local arts and crafts stores like Hobby Lobby or Michaels, but you can order sheets or pads of the synthetic paper through Jerry's Artarama, Cheap Joes, or Dick Blick.

Car Date

2011-03-25T08:11:00.001-06:00

414 inches, acrylic on mat board

It occurs to me that while I am thoroughly enjoying painting these miniature pictures, I don't know what I will do with them. Save them in hopes that the gallery that specializes in small format art will sell them? Frame them? Stash them in the old art drawer? The challenge of painting minis is intriguing, how to recompose and simplify old snapshots, what colors to choose. Often the photos are overexposed, or blurry, so I look long and hard to decide what is is I am seeing in them. The end results are something like magic to me, a re-envisioning of people long gone, times past. The initial drawing is useful for deciding on composition, but rarely allows me to appreciate what color will do for the image. Little by little the shapes become rounded, the figures take on personality, and the scene comes to life.

I know that the woman is my husband's mother, Lorraine. I'm not sure if the man is Walter, his father, or not. They look to be teenagers here, and I only knew them when they were in their late fifties and sixties. None of us at sixty look much like the teenagers we once were. Whoever he is, I particularly liked his obvious attraction to her, the confidence that comes through his body language, and those snappy shoes. I wish she was alive, for lots of reasons, but today I'd like to find out about the day this scene was captured in a snapshot.

Further Adventures in Minis

2011-03-23T06:00:00.000-06:00

4x4 inches, acrylic on mat board

I was all set on Monday to head over to UW Whitewater for their evening figure drawing class, when I got an email from one of the longtime participants saying since it was spring break class was canceled. Too bad, because I have been enjoying painting people from reference photos, and looked forward to painting from life. It's funny how I used to look forward so much to spring break, and now I have no idea when it even is. The teachers and students here in town aren't haven't good weather at all - lots of rain, hail, and maybe today, snow.

I meant to start something new, but find that I am still enjoying doing these miniature paintings. The reference for this one is a black and white photo of Grandpa Pierce, probably in the 1930s, taking a rest on the kitchen porch of our farm house. There was a wooden porch and a little cement walk that led to a hand pump. I remember Dad doing the same thing after hours working in the barn or the fields, coming up to the house, pumping water and washing his hands and face, and resting for a while. This scene was morning, because of the way the strong eastern light lit his overalls and washing out the edge of the floor.

4x4 inches, acrylic on mat board

I finished this one yesterday. The original was badly blurred, but it made a fine reference anyway for this style. The boy is my second cousin, Jim. The oldest of six children, Jim eventually grew up to become a dentist, and a fine singer. I always liked the snapshot because of the way he is trying to balance in the water, and his little toy boat. Water has always been difficult for me to paint, but I like the way this turned out.

Last Miniature for a While, And a Poem

2011-03-18T12:24:00.001-06:00

3x3 inches, acrylic

I finished the last miniature destined to be shipped up to the Paint Box Gallery in Door County for their miniature show. This one has a very different feel to it, in subject matter and execution. I tried to simplify the image, but ended up fussing over it longer than I intended. The original inspiration was a black and white snapshot of my brother-in-law's grandmother in her farmhouse kitchen. I've been in the house, seen the beautiful refurbished wood stove. The house was actually a log cabin, small, with a low porch. The family has fixed it up and uses it as a bed and breakfast; Door County is a quite a resort area. When guests check in they are treated to a warm loaf of bread and a little jar of homemade jam. Grandma Miller would have appreciated that, I think.

Writing this made me think of a poem I like by Gwendolyn Brooks:

When you Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story

-And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes
on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday -
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I'm-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come -
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went into Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front-room floor to the
ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies -
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other-
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
They you may tell,
They I may believe
You have forgotten me well.

Betty and Bernice

2011-03-16T16:24:00.000-06:00

4x4 inches, acrylic on Tyvek

I completed another miniature today, this time based upon a snapshot of my grandmother and her best friend. They must have been in their twenties at the time, and I imagine that one of their husbands took the picture. I could not fit both figures in the 3x3 format that I have been using, so this one is 4x4 inches. I knew Betty, and she had dark hair, but I couldn't resist making her a redhead to fit her personality as I remember it. I have lots of photos of the two couples. They took vacations together; the men worked at the same factory, and I remember them playing poker every weekend when I was little. None of that matters to the little piece, but I enjoyed thinking about them as I painted this afternoon. I'm going to need to stop this soon and pop these in the mail.

More Tiny Paintings

2011-03-15T10:34:00.001-06:00

3x3 inches, acrylic on Tyvek

This week I had a relapse of the cold I caught in Mexico last month, but I have felt well enough to work on this series of miniature paintings. This one shows my grandfather with his new car, visiting my parents on the farm. He loved his cars, and we have several of him posing with them. This must be the late 1940s or early 1950s. The figure here is my least favorite of all the paintings so far, just because it is so tiny and was hard to make convincing.

3x3 inches, acrylic on Tyvek

This one, featuring my brother-in-law's grandfather, ice fishing in Door County in the 1940s, is more successful, I think. Even though the face is vague, the figure is better. It is hard making out all the details of old black and white snapshots. I find myself having to just make some things up, and omitting lots of extraneous small items to improve the composition. I laughed at the original picture. You can just make out words on the box on the right side, that says "Eat Your Salt."

New Series - Thinking Small

2011-03-10T15:41:00.003-06:00

3x3 inches acrylic on Tyvek synthetic paper

As much as I have been enjoying working with collage, I am setting that aside for a couple weeks to work on a series of small paintings for a show of miniature art in Door County. None of the paintings, drawings, or wee prints will be more than 25 square inches. I had requested information about the annual show last year, hadn't heard anything for months and months, then got a nicely organized packet of material at the beginning of March. So, I found myself painting on 4x4 inch scraps of Tyvek, and using techniques I usually save for larger paintings. This first try was painted from a photo I clipped from a source I no longer remember. I liked the girls' body language, and their simple shapes, important when working so small. I didn't even try to add details on their suits, or even details of their faces.

3x3 inches, acrylic on Tyvek

This one was adapted from a black and white snapshot I had of my mother and aunt, probably taken about 1940. Again, I avoided trying to create an actual portrait, instead concentrating on making simple shapes, suggesting autumn with my color choices. I also worked to have the girls be the obvious center of interest, their faces framed by the ropes of the swing, the strongest colors reserved for them.

3x3 inches, acrylic on Tyvek

This is the painting I finished today. The girl was cropped from a photo I took on a trip to Punta Cana. It is becoming very clear to me that the simpler the shapes, the better these little paintings are. I took the trouble to make a little value study first, concentrating on getting a good range of values. Once I transfer the sketch to the Tyvek, which I coat with gesso first, then I do a an under painting of complementary colors - very gaudy. After that I go back and put in the local color, leaving bits of the complementary colors peeking through for added punch.

I'm excited by this project of miniature paintings, having fun choosing reference material from my trip photos and family stash. I may do one of my brother-in-law's uncles ice fishing, but I'm not sure I can leave these sunny scenes for a day on a frozen lake - even in paint.

Another Textured background

2011-03-06T11:35:00.001-06:00

8x10 inches, mixed media

One of my personal goals is to find a way to create art that is unique to me, or at least it doesn't look like a reflection of the most recent painting workshop I attended. In 2008 I had a solo show at the local library, and while the comments in the book provided by the library was positive, I had the uneasy feeling that my painting said more about the influence of my various workshop instructors than it did about the way I approach making art. That show, based on the variety of approaches, media, framing, sizes, everything, looked like it had been created by a committee instead of one person. Live and learn.

I still resist settling into a single medium or approach, but little by little I see myself gravitating toward either straight collage, or a combination of collage with painting and drawing. This little piece started out as a recycled quarter sheet of Tyvek. I didn't like the portrait I had created on a full sheet of the synthetic "paper", so I cut up the sheet and decided to see how else I could it. I glued down pages from an old telephone directory using soft acrylic gel medium, then went over the results with a mixture of gesso and acrylic paint, to unify the page. I like using the gesso/paint combination because it has some tooth, and I can draw and erase on it easily. The image of the woman came from a photo I took of a garden statue. I liked the simple shape, and the strong areas of sunlight and shadow, perfect for this technique. I used white gesso for the highlighted areas, then added black acrylic ink to the white create grays. Gradually I transitioned to all diluted ink. The results were OK, but improved when I went over the dark areas with a warm gray colored pencil, and the white areas with a white pencil. I wasn't thrilled with the somewhat neutral background, so I went over part of that with a marigold colored pencil, and then buffed the background to smooth out and brighten the color.

I'd like to try this technique on figures done in a figure drawing studio - but of course I need to start hauling myself back to that on upcoming Monday evenings. The days are getting a little longer, so that will probably start happening soon.

New Painting and Poems

2011-02-28T17:09:00.002-06:00

8x10, mixed media

completed for Wilderness Art Challenge

I guess I am getting old, because I looked forward to the memorial service yesterday of a friend who passed away a couple weeks ago. This woman was a good person, a teacher, a poet, an avid reader, and an activist; the world will be poorer with her gone. I was pleased to have a chance to hug members of her extended family, her husband, daughter, sisters, nieces and nephews, all of whom I have known for more than twenty years. Tucked in between the tributes, songs and prayers were a couple of lovely poems, and I thought I would share them here, along with a short quote I found today.

Everyone once, once only. Just once and no more.
And we also once. Never again. But this having been
once, although only once, to have been of the earth,
seems irrevocable.

Rilke, Duino Elegies

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the
moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?

Mary Oliver, Some Questions You Might Ask

Guests of my life,
You came in the early dawn,
And you came in the night.
Your name was uttered by the spring flowers
And the showers of rain.
You brought the harp into my life,
And you brought the lamp.
After you had taken your leave
I found God's footprints on the floor.
Now I am at the end of my pilgrimage,
I leave in the evening flowers of worship,
My salutations to you all.

Rabindranath Tagore, Guests of My Life

A New Look at Recycled Foam Tiles

2011-02-27T10:50:00.000-06:00

Over the past year or two I have been taking foam meat trays, cutting them into four inches squares, then distressing the surface with acetone. The textured tiles then get abstract paint treatments, and sometime I collage on skeletonized leaves or other natural materials. The finished tiles are preserved with acrylic varnish, then mounted with a floating mat. The finished pieces are 11x11 inches, and are unique and eye-catching - though hard to capture well in a photo.

I have recently been taking the tiles in a new direction. I recently complete a series of six, and instead of distressing the surface of the foam tiles, I have been painting each square with black gesso, then adding collaged elements in a limited palette of black, buff, red and sometimes gold. The simple compositions looked oriental to me, so I asked a friend in San Francisco to mail me a Chinese newspaper, and I have been using some text for added interest. I do not know what any of it says, but I'm not too concerned about anyone translating the little snippets. I suspect they are advertisements. Anyway, these tile use colored bits of paper doilies, cardboard, some stamping, some home textured tissue papers, and bits of salvaged wallpaper. I like the idea that all the materials are recycled from materials that might otherwise be tossed in the trash.

Each tile will be mounted on a brushed gold back board, with a black mat floating around the completed tile. I'm excited about the new direction this sort of work is taking.