Plus and Minus

I set out a few weeks ago to practice addition and subtraction while painting.

And that is precisely what I've been doing of late.

In the process I've discovered with new awareness that visual subtraction often takes place, ironically, by means of addition. Though much may be obscured from view, nothing actually gets taken away. Though I repeatedly have to let go, nothing is ever truly lost.

A bit of the history of this piece:

Look Behind, Underneath, In the Corners, Off the Page

4.75 x 5.5"; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on paper

abstract

2022

Capturing Work in Progress

Three weeks ago on Hallowe'en, I started marking up a sheet of white canvas paper with black line work. Got attached, couldn't move forward in the moment, set the page aside.

A week or so later I made some additions. Pressed paused again.

    

Then, over the weekend, I felt a surge of creative energy, taped the page into rough quadrants, and got rolling again.

work in progress

Some artists post reels in which they use time-lapse high-speed photography, giving you the chance to witness their painting process in seconds. I, on the other hand, have never made a reel in my life. Not only that, but also my blog posts turn out to offer you s l o w - m o t i o n still photography, sometimes at the rate of one frame per several weeks, demonstrating my process in real time, not reel time! Thanks for coming along for the ride stroll.

Something that Grew

Yesterday's something continued to unfold today.

My favorite parts during the unfolding:

• the see-saw process of making marks, painting over them, making marks, painting over them, making marks, painting over them, and
• painting mostly with my fingers.


What I like about what ended up unfolding:

• the delicacy, unfussiness, and scribbliness of the lines.


My current wonderings:

• done? or
• maybe needing some bold lines for contrast?

newest patch;
done?

newest patch, in the big picture;
working title: Core Values

-----

newest patch, with a test piece of acrylic skin resting on the surface …

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

By the Sea

This week I've parked myself directly beside the sea, on a little harbor off the Bay of Fundy. Each morning I paint in my makeshift studio on the front porch en plein mer.

makeshift studio en plein mer

Sometimes I feel at sea, getting a noseful of water, thrashing wildly.

Sometimes I feel buoyant, held up by the great grand mystery of the world as surely as I might float on a body of water—with all its attendant great grand mystery.

Today: buoyant.

work in progress

work in progress, working title: Pocologan Line & Collage

Layer 20/100

So now it's the day after my salon appointment.

I've washed my hair.

Will I finger comb it? Blow it dry with a styling brush? Use product?

Layer 20.

layer 20

Layer 9/100

Next time I meet someone new who asks what I do, I might just say I'm an explorer.

What do I look for?

Where do I explore?

The inquiry is inside.

I watched a video clip at Nicholas Wilton's blog recently, and those words jumped out. They are still reverberating. No matter how many paintings I look at online, how often I admire one artist's colors and another artist's linework, how often I take note of contrast or brush strokes, how often I study composition and quiet space and detail—and, believe me, I spend hours doing so!—when I paint, the inquiry is inside.

Today I added asemic writing and some line work with broad-tipped acrylic paint markers. That's the part I can give words to.

The internal inquiry? That was wordless.

Layer 9.

layer 9/100

Paint All Over Creation

OK, I started this piece—the second in a possible series—wanting to play with paint, mark-making, and pastels. Pretty quickly I felt the call to tap into some uninhibited, childlike free-play. Then after a bit, the painting wanted structure and refinement so I responded accordingly.

I reached a point where the painting felt complete.

I gave it a title.

I perched it on a shelf in my study (where I tutor) which gave me the chance to glance up and see it from a few feet of distance off and on for the rest of the day and into the next.

Oh.

Not done.

Wasn't sure where to go. Felt familiar constriction—fear of 'wrecking' what I liked in the piece. Gave myself a quick talking-to: So, do you want an incomplete, unsatisfying painting that sits in a drawer because you don't want to display it? What'll happen if you go back in and start playing with it? Seems to me that you either won't like it or you will. If you don't, status quo. If you do, good to go!

This piece feels crazy-quilt busy but I like it.

It has asked respectfully that I title it and post it for sale but if it hasn't sold in four weeks to please cut it into quadrants, play with the resulting volunteer compositions, make them into postcards, and send them out into the world.

Deal.

All Over Creation

9x12"; acrylic, ink, pencil, collage, and chalk and oil pastels on watercolor paper

abstract

2017

detail

detail

detail

detail

Feel Gratitude

My friend Bo sent me some cool info recently. Turns out UCLA neuroscience researcher Alex Korb has some insights that can create an upward spiral of happiness in your life. One finding: the most important question to ask yourself is, What am I grateful for?

Feeling grateful activates the brain stem region that produces dopamine, a chemical released during pleasurable situations. 

Feeling grateful can boost serotonin production in the anterior cingulate cortex. Serotonin is a chemical responsible for maintaining mood balance.

Awesome.

I am grateful for the fun of spreading some acrylic paint, making a bunch of marks, making another bunch of marks, affixing collage, making a few more marks, and playing with chalk and oil pastels. Oh, and paint pens, too.

pmmp-2 with ; work in progress

Go Way Inside

I started this current series with the idea of playing with the interaction of paint, mark-making, and pastels to see if a more specific idea for exploration might arise.

What calls out to me again and again when I look at the art of others are the paintings that feel the most free, the most uninhibited, the most childlike.

I want to go way inside to that deep place of spontaneous creativity within me.

I carry that awareness into today's studio time, continuing with pmmp-2.

Work in progress:

pmmp-2 with India ink linework, work in progress

pmmp-2 with pencil and pen lines, circles, scribbles, and tracings,
work in progress

detail

detail

Layer 9/100 explorer

Next time I meet someone new who asks what I do, I just might answer that I'm an explorer.

What do I look for?

Where do I explore?

The inquiry is inside.

I watched a brief video clip at Nicholas Wilton's blog recently, and those words jumped out at me: The inquiry is inside.

Indeed.

No matter how much I look at, and wonder about, and exclaim over, and want to emulate, and try to learn from the paintings done by other folks—and believe me, I spend countless hours doing so—when I paint, the inquiry is inside.

Today, some teeny black circles, a few dabs using a white paint pen, asemic writing, and connecting marks made with a black paint marker.

Layer 9.

layer 9/100