Processing Plant

I am not a fan of processed food.

But the process of creating art? Can't get enough of it.

Love to watch process unfolding live as others paint, love videos of process, love seeing process photos, love the many stages of process in my own work.

Well, mostly I love the process in my own work.

My current salt marsh painting has involved a gosh-darned long but nonetheless engaging process, with multiple practical and artistic dilemmas needing resolution en route once I got clear about where it was heading.

Here's where things stand at the moment in the processing plant that I call my studio. I'm hoping to frame and display what has become two paintings. This will be an at-home job, using simple store-bought frames. The dilemma at this stage is the buckling and warping that resulted from my painting and collaging process.

The buckling and warping do not read as compelling captivating texture. They read as … buckling and warping.

Exhibit below, as seen from the back where it turns out, to my delight, that I can see archaelogical treasures from when this painting was a field of wildflowers.

But I digress.

buckled warped paper, backside of painting

The buckling and warping were front and center when I did a trial run of framing. Further, the mat board didn't lie flat against the paintings, thereby causing gaps and casting undesired shadows.

My first line of defense was to tap artist friend Jen Jovan for ideas. And so it was that I applied gesso to the backs of the paintings a few days ago, let them dry completely, and set up a press under which they continue to sit, in hopes that they will lie flat when released.

You know how some people feel agitated by light touch, preferring instead the weight and comfort of deep even pressure against their skin, a big solid bear hug? I hope my paintings are just like that.

paintings under makeshift paper press

Crawling Around

I invite you to keep crawling around in creativity with me—

last week: blank paper > journaling

yesterday: scribbling

today: collaging with tissue paper and instruction manual pages >
making marks with pastel pencil >
brushing matte medium over mark-making

detail

This Wild Summons

I didn't at all expect Lyanda Lynn Haupt's Mozart's Starling—a book characterized by Goodreads as "part natural history, part story, [that] will delight readers as they learn about language, music, and the secret world of starlings,"—to tap into my creative life the way it has.

But here Haupt is again, cheerleading me as I paint:

And what is this wild summons? What art is asked of us? The gift offered is different for each but all are equal in grandeur. To paint, draw, dance, compose. To write songs, poems, letters, diaries, prayers. To set a violet on the sill; stitch a quilt; bake bread; plant marigolds, beans, apple trees. To follow the track of the forest elk, the neighborhood coyote, the cupboard mouse. To open the windows, air the beds, sweep clean the corners. To hold the child's hand, listen to the vagrant's story, paint the elder friend's fingernails a delightful shade of pink while wrapped in a blanket she knit with the deft young fingers of her past. To wander paths, nibble purslane, notice spiders. To be rained upon. To listen with changed ears and sing back what we hear.

And here I am again, listening with changed ears and singing back what I hear.

newest patch

new patch in the big picture
work in progress
working title: Core Values

Did I?

You may remember my crying "Uncle!" a few weeks ago when I was feeling overwhelmed and knew I needed to adjust my painting practice. I needed to create some kind of workable fit with the abundance of competing demands clamoring stridently from every direction.

For several weeks now, I've painted in little snippets, grabbing a few minutes here and a few minutes there catch-as-catch-can.

Today I didn't paint.

Or did I …

I certainly 'painted' internally, by which I mean I participated nourishingly in facets of the creative process. Using a metaphorical backhoe, I cleared just enough space for two of my sisters and their husbands to sleep at our house on wedding weekend (we'll be in absentia ourselves, at a hotel in Boston!), a task that offered chances to interact with completed paintings, piles of collage paper, boxes of pastels, a bin of high-flow paints, a tissue-paper storage box, yogurt containers with water and brushes in them, and a pile of canvases I scored at a September neighborhood give-away. All part of painting, all part of my creative adventure, all feeding what will soon flow from my brush in one form or another.

Artist friend Jen said much the same thing back in the summer:

Organizing is … something I can do when I can't paint.  If I'm too tired, unmotivated, cranky or whatever to actually make art, I can still get things in tip-top shape for when I am ready once more.  Sometimes I will just gesso boards and leave them out to dry, where they will whisper to me on another day.  Other times I will purge old drawings and cut them into bits and pieces for collage materials.  On a really bad day, I'll scrape paint off the floor.  But to me, it all counts as part of the process.  It keeps me in the studio, putting in my time, waiting for the muse to stomp in and demand attention.  

And now I am off to paint.  Or maybe alphabetize my art books.

Here's what I 'painted' today, along with photos of earlier stages of these masterpieces:

work in progress, Green Room

completed diptych 'painting,'
Green Room Perks Up #1

completed 'painting,'
Green Room Perks Up #2

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work in progress, Lemon Drop Room

completed 'painting,'
Lemon Drop Room Brightens