Quiet Gray Winter Afternoon

Moseyed into my studio on a quiet gray afternoon last week and enjoyed the weatherlessness of starting another card for my pink collage postcard series.

Fun:

• tearing pieces of handpainted pink collage paper;
• tearing and cutting pieces of handpainted black collage paper;
• cutting a piece of black and gray collage (the vertical strip left of center) from a Shutterfly calendar I made using images of paintings from a Jane Davies class I took in 2016;
• arranging and rearranging all the bits and pieces into a composition;
• spreading glue;
• pressing all the bits in place; and

Funny:

• discovering, once done, that instead of covering the printed side of the piece of card stock I'd garnered from a recent solicitation from my son's alma mater, I had covered the blank side, leaving myself no place to write a message on my postcard!

This piece has been under refrigeration for a few days. It could stand as is (once I paint over the message side of the card!), but I'm going to take one more look tomorrow, after it's been online overnight, and consider some possible tweaks before making a final decision.

work in progress

oops!

Watering and Currying

Slowed down to a four-beat walking gait and headed back to the stable for water and grooming.

Great ride.

The First Time This Happened, I Was Twenty-Eight Years Old
12x12"; acrylic, latex, India ink, and water-based and oil pastels on canvas
abstract
2018

Still in Giddy-Up Mode

Climbed back up on my Virgina weekend horse and gave it free rein again.

Romped over hills, ducked under branches, felt wind whipping my hair back.

weekend canvas, work in progress

Off to the Races

Oh my gosh, did I ever have fun stepping out of my same-old-same-old over the weekend. No solitude in this studio! No indecision or precious grasping here!

While in Virginia, 8-year-old granddaughter Emmy asked, Gma, do you want to paint?

Next thing I knew she had a plastic cloth spread over the kitchen table; canvases set up for herself, me, and Caroline; paints and brushes out; three palettes in place; and a cup of water at hand for rinsing brushes.

Then we were off and galloping, no one holding any reins that I could see.

You want paint? Squeeze a whole bunch out of a tube.

You want a different color? Mix wildly.

Brush not doing what you want? Use your fingers.

Blueberry Trees
by Emmy
12x16"; acrylic on canvas board
abstract
2018

None of Your Beeswax
by Caroline
8x10"; acrylic on canvas
abstract
2018

work in progress
by Gma
12x12"; acrylic on canvas
abstract
2018

Postscript to Invitation

p.s.

I forgot yesterday to include a photo of the piece over which I painted to create It's Hard to Pinpoint an Exact Moment. 

In September of 2015 I completed an exercise that was posted as a challenge at dailypaintworks.com in which contributors were invited to paint an odd-shaped shadow. One of my responses to the challenge was to paint the shadows cast onto our driveway by giant dahlias that were in bloom in Dave's garden. I captured the dark gray shadows on the lighter gray driveway and included a few bright red petals that had fallen.

Driveway Dahlias
2015

It's Hard to Pinpoint an Exact Moment
2018

Invitation

Which universe to enter?

And, once there, will I be able to retrace my steps? Will I be able to return to the drawing board, so to speak, and explore another? 

Does it matter?

It's Hard to Pinpoint an Exact Moment
6x6", acrylic, collage, ink, and oil pastel on gessobord
abstract
2018

enlarged detail / one universe

Catch-as-Catch-Can

I use the idiom catch-as-catch-can often but I never thought to look it up till today:

A phrase that describes a situation in which people must improvise or do what they can with limited means: “We don't have enough textbooks for all of the students, so it'll be catch-as-catch-can.”

What is most limited in my art life is long stretches of uninterrupted time in which to create, so I improvise with a few minutes grabbed here or snagged there. Way back when my kids were little, I crocheted a delicate cotton lace bedspread for my mom in moments stolen over the course of ten years, 32 square feet crocheted one 6-inch square motif at a time—in a doctor's waiting room, in a theater waiting for a show to begin, in my family room with Olympics on TV …

Today's few minutes:

grid composition #2
work in progress

French Knots and Appliqué

It feels as though I go to an actual physical place when I step outside my thinking brain into wherever it is I find myself when I paint.

Using paint splatters, collage, stencils, texture sheets, oil pastels, and a plastic tool whose name I don't know, I added 'embroidery' today to the painted 9-square quilt patch I pieced together before I went to Virginia.

grid composition #2
work in progress

Another 'Quilt'

What I was not doing while I started another patchwork 'quilt' grid composition painting:

• wrapping birthday gifts for Caroline and Emmy,
• figuring out what I'll pack to wear in Virginia,
• folding the dark load of clean laundry,
• responding to business email correspondence,
• making a deposit at the bank,
• emptying overflowing wastebaskets …

grid composition #2
6x6" gessobord
work in progress 

Wholehearted

Pink postcard series, huge new painting, free canvas #2, and free canvas #3 be damned! Gotta paint hearts on Valentine's Day, which is just exactly what I did!

Lucky me: Instagram artist friend Kathy @digikat2 introduced me to artist Amanda @amanda_evanston who posted a video about painting hearts, with an open invitation to 'copy' her process. So 'copy' I did!

Every aspect of this painting experience put me in a happy place, including the fact that Kathy and I have decided to #PaintOutWinter by painting over one old painting at a time with the goal of shortening winter at the rate of one day per painting.

shadow painting exercise from 2015,
charcoal pencil grid added

painting the grid

adding collage

inking in heart outlines,
adding oil pastel

Unafraid and Able to Experience Small Joys
6x6"; acrylic, India ink, collage, and oil pastel on canvas board
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Don't Fence Me In

You know how I can fuss for surprising amounts of time with twenty square inches of postcard real estate?

Today's studio adventure, a Valentine to myself, so to speak:

• one thousand seven hundred twenty-eight square inches (equivalent to 86 postcards),

• twelve minutes, and

• a large dose of happy-go-lucky-devil-may-care.

layer #1, work in progress
2.5x4 feet, with a 4x5" postcard for perspective

Popping Out Postcards

A painting exercise I did two years ago using cruciform composition caught my eye today. A cut-up holiday card sat on the same dresser-top. One thing led to another.

A Whole New Generation of Time Researchers Has Evolved
4x5"; acrylic, latex, fabric and India ink, pastels, and collage on card stock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Pretty Darned Good

I'm pretty darned good at making accurate time estimates in my day-to-day living.

But in my art-making?

I Thought We Said the End of the Month
4x5"; latex, acrylic, ink, pastels, and collage on card stock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Lickety-Split

With my friend Simone as a role model, I keep setting out to make a quick collage postcard. My plan is always to pop into my studio, grab some already-painted paper, tear off a few pieces, glue them to cardstock in a simple composition, and add a dash of finishing touches with crayons/pencil/pastels.

In and done, lickety-split.

My dream is that I will whip out a collection of postcards in no time.

I keep noticing that it has yet to happen that way.

Oh, well.

Today I picked up a card I'd started last week (no lickety-split with this undertaking), and parked myself with some supplies while I listened to an interview posted online. The interview seemed to claim my left brain, making space for my right brain—which held the ink pens and pastels—to wander freely without interference from thoughts. Perfect.

A postcard.

In and done, as slow as molasses in January.

The Second Thing Happened Only Three Days After the First
4x5"; latex, acrylic, India ink, collage, and water-soluble pastels on cardstock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

Foolin' Around

Remember when I played with free canvas #2, propped it in a snowbank, snapped a photograph?

Well, it's been sitting since then on a gallery shelf in the study where I tutor, and the canvas has been buggin' me. Too contrived, too tight, not enough value contrast, not generating any sparks of joy.

Plus, I've about had it with winter and wind and dry skin and heavy layers of clothing.

So today, in response to an interview between artists Alice Sheridan and Nicholas Wilton (thank you, Alice, thank you, Nicholas), I suddenly found myself in my studio impulsively bringing action to the idea of starting a painting with a good 20 minutes of 'thought-less' free play.

SO refreshing.

I mentally stripped away the title I'd given this piece and considered it a brand new canvas again—only better because it had so many layers on it, not one of which was I attached to! I worked in rapid-fire fashion and intuitively, indulging whatever caught my whimsy—Krink ink, a paint marker, a grease pencil, a makeup sponge, fabric ink, acrylics, ruler-straight lines, freehand orbs, passages of color blended directly on the canvas.

Took a process shot with our honey-colored pine kitchen floor as a backdrop, and snagged a few detail shots.

Feeling quite content at the moment.

free canvas #2
8x10"
work in progress

detail

detail

Now, and Now

My posts from Monday and Tuesday bring me to today's reflections.

I remember in body and mind what it felt like to photograph a backyard tree at Sylvia's house in Illinois during my inaugural painting weekend in May 2014, to use brush and paint on canvas board with that tree as my reference. I remember the feeling of a clumsy, self-conscious, awkward pas de deux of hand and eye as I strove to replicate what I saw in front of me. I remember the uplift of trying my hand at something new—at painting!

For the bookmark, I used no external reference from which to paint. Instead, I tapped into whatever 'treeness' resides in me. And where does it reside? In my veins like sap? Couldn't tell ya. I referred only to what showed up in front of me as I created, layer by layer, moment by moment—and I called on nearly four years of showing up in my studio day after day to paint. I felt such excitement and gladness for my accumulated empirical knowledge.

Watching that bookmark come to life, like magic, was pure fun. The bookmark itself was fun. Being aware of the increased inner resources I now have available to tap was fun.

All of it: fun.

Also fun, a nugget of aha awareness: with each painting—both Leaning into Lessons and On a Hot Summer Day, I expressed who I was in the now of the living moments of acutally painting. With each piece, I gave life to something that neither I nor anyone else had ever painted before, something that will never be painted again.

Every time I paint, that will be the case.

Every time!

Skinny Little Big Magic

Today is my friend Martha's birthday*. We met fifty a number of years ago at the American School in London when we each moved from our respective Stateside homes to live in London for our last year of high school.

Because Martha is an active tree-loving member of—and top-drawer volunteer for—Friends of Trees in tree-loving Portland OR where she lives, I sent her a nifty book about trees to celebrate her birthday.

Because I am a painter who loves to paint bookmarks that coordinate with books, I also wanted to paint a bookmark to pair with her tree book.

So, the 'problem' needing a solution in my studio became how to paint a tree on a skinny little strip of heavy weight card stock.

My hubby Dave had recently brought home a now-outdated 2017 horticultural calendar, thinking I might like to add it to my art supplies. I had recently been been undertaking some serious household decluttering and thought, Add to the paper in our home? Have I not been trying to reduce and recycle? But I accepted his thoughtful pass-along.

And good thing I did, because it triggered such a fun creative adventure.

I pulled this unlikely page from the calendar, with its photo of a ground plant looking like no tree I know of in Portland (though what do I know about trees in Portland? not much):

I tore pieces from the calendar page and completely collaged my bookmark substrate, thinking to use negative space painting to … do something, though heck if I knew what.

This was one of those pieces, though, that then magically propelled itself forward. I showed up, and the universe and I collaborated.

So. Much. Fun.

Instead of painting negative space, I added loose, intuitive, India ink mark-making on top of the glued collage. 

Then pops of blue oil pastel to create depth. 

Next, more collage, this time tiny bits to create foreground. 

After that, hmm, needed some gentle differentiations in visual texture, wanted to maybe add some text collage, but the text I had was all printed on white paper—too jarring, what to do? 

Oh! 

The calendar—the calendar! the one I considered refusing!—offered up print on green paper. Awesome. 

I kept coming in close, stepping back, coming in close, stepping back. 

The bookmark eventually nudged me and said: Yo! We need a little contrast here. 

OK, OK. I grabbed a metal skewer thingy I have, poked it into the mouth of a tube of burnt sienna acrylic, thinking, complementary color …  or close enough. Dabbed bits of burnt sienna onto the bookmark with the skewer.

Stepped back.

Oh my gosh! 

I was in a tree.

This is one of my favorites ever—loved the process, love the product, love that it celebrates Martha.

Happy birthday, cherished friend : )

On a Hot Summer Day, You Turn down Our Street and Feel like You're Entering a Cool, Green Tunnel
1.5x6.25"; acrylic, India ink, oil pastel, and collage on heavy card stock
abstract
2018
[gifted]

detail

* Martha will want me to point out that even though we are now the 'same age' as each other, she is, in fact, nine months younger than I. Duly noted.

Memoir Monday

I'm jumping into time travel today to share a story from Memorial Day weekend 2014 via a piece written at the time, which appeared on the blog of artist/mentor Ann Hart Marquis (be sure to follow the link to Ann's magnificent art).

---

What’s in a Name?   

Dotty Seiter

“What are you going to name it?” Ann said.

“Oh.” I paused. “I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about that.”

I looked at my painting. A title bubbled up, and I started laughing so hard I couldn’t speak. Every time I tried to tell Ann and Sylvia my thought, a fresh wave of hysteria swept over me in paroxysms—I hadn’t had that cathartic a laugh in a good while!

I’d never named a painting before. In fact, I’d never painted a painting before. I was coming to the end of a total immersion weekend with painter/teacher Ann and long-time close friend Sylvia.

As it turns out, I took the title idea that suffused me with hilarity—Tree at the Edge of the World—and discovered its deeper truth. My revised title became Leaning into Lessons at the Edge of the World.  

Leaning into Lessons at the Edge of the World
11x14"; acrylic on canvas board
landscape
2014

The title captures elements reflected visually on my canvas—a tree listing to one side, true to the one outdoors that inspired me, and the seeming absence of much in the way of background, which is what sparked my gasping for air and sent tears of hilarity streaming down my face.  

What the title identifies further, however, is the internal essence of my adventure. Over the course of an all-in weekend of painting, I had put myself at an edge of my experiential world; I’d picked up a paintbrush for the first time and let myself lean into mixing colors and putting acrylics on canvas to see what I might learn—about painting and about myself. 

I liked the lessons!

Repartée

Another day with a few minutes in my studio and further interaction with free canvas #3.

I set the canvas in front of me.

Give it time to speak to me in some way.

Several pockets of neutral make a little noise that catches my attention. Develop them a bit and, once I set paint and palette knife in motion, the conversation picks up for a short, rapid, playful back-and-forth that includes bright pops of oil pastels and bold marks from a black paint marker.

The canvas now sits on the landing at the top of the stairs near my studio. We exchange greetings in passing. Intermittentlythroughout the day I take in its color, composition, linework, and layers.

Will continue to do so till sometime next week.

free canvas #3
work in progress

Inspiration

Along with moseying back into painting and blogging this week, I've begun to mosey back into Instagram.

While scrolling through my IG feed, I took inspiration from artist Maz Hawes.

Literally.

I inhaled and then before I even had time to exhale, I took that inspiration, squeezed some white paint on free canvas #3, and spread it around with a palette knife.

Then I let my breath out.

Love that all-action-no-mind kind of painting—thank you, Maz!

free canvas #3
work in progress

detail

detail