As the name implies, this painting is about balance. I challenged myself to combine some realism within an abstract design, and am pleased with the results. I am going to enter this one into a few shows and see what happens.

I find myself wavering between abstract design and realism - and as is my nature, try to strike a balance between the two. In this piece, I knew I wanted to paint waxwings - the top bird is a bohemian waxwing, the bottom one is a cedar. In researching the birds, I found that they often intermingle in flocks. The background design is purposefully left very graphic. When I first started the painting, I painted in the lines to get a feel for how the eye would travel around the painting... but I liked the stark contrast to the birds, so I left the lines visible, and even accentuated them. I also purposefully left the two circular elements rather ambiguous - is that bright orb the sun or the moon? Is the shape on the right a bush or a planet? Does it really matter?

Lately I have been challenging myself to not overwork pieces - to leave some areas unfinished. Not everything in life has to be sewn up tight - in reality, nothing really is set in stone. We exist in a constantly changing and evolving universe - and that is what I want my paintings to embrace. The ebb and flow of life.

One of the reasons I love where I live is the incredible views we have from our deck. On a lazy summer afternoon, clouds building silently in the azure sky, a soft breeze whispering through the trees and fields, a meadowlark singing in the distance...all is well with the world!

I am involved in two plein air events this summer, so thought I'd better practice my "on location" painting skills. One of the pitfalls of painting from life is that you are painting a constantly moving target. Oh sure, the lay of the land stays the same, the trees don't (usually!) jump up and move off...but the clouds move, the shadows move, the colors shift as the day progresses...and, of course, if you are painting animals in the scene, they DO move!

One of the biggest challenges in plein air painting is to rough in the "design" of the painting: where are the shadows and sunlight? What "story" are you trying to tell about the scene you are painting? I pretty much have to get everything down in about a half hour, and then force myself not to look at the scene again, except to define rock formations, trees, mountains - in other words, to refine the drawing part but NOT the colors and values. Those I refine only by what is working/not working as I tell my story.

For instance, in this painting, the focus in on that beautiful golden yellow field glowing in the afternoon sun. Everything else in the painting has to support that. As I was painting, the shadows shifted, the clouds built up and actually muted the yellow field. At one point the clouds were quite dynamic - and I almost "lost my head" and started painting them - but as I did so, I realized that I was taking the emphasis away from the field and putting it in the sky. So I had to refocus and remember not to change my story mid-painting!

For me, painting  is like meditating. As I practice mindfulness, I find my mind starts to wander. Instead of just "being," I am making mental lists, thinking ahead to something I have to do later. When I find myself doing that, I gently refocus on my breathing, which brings me back into the present. When painting outdoors, the "present" is the painting itself, the emotion and mood I wish to evoke. Everything else is distraction - the things that change outside of the painting have to be let go, as I breath in the experience of being outdoors in nature: the warmth of the sun, the buzz of insects, the stillness...or perhaps the rush of the wind, the dance of trees, the swirl of clouds...and breath out, reaching further.

If you are interested in purchasing this painting, click here.

I recently returned from a short visit with my daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. They live in a tiny town in a tiny county (population: 7,000) whose claim to fame is that they have no traffic lights. Or big box stores. Or fast food franchises.

Shannon and Dave bought an old house, built in 1910, which they are in the process of renovating. The house is about three blocks from town. Arek and Aimee, (10 and 8) can ride their bikes anywhere in town: to the little grocery store, to the fishing pond, to school, to the bakery, to their friend’s houses.

One weekend they went to a neighboring ranch to help with branding. Other weekends find them snowmobiling in the national forest, or up skiing/snowboarding at the small volunteer run ski slope, or camping, or hunting for morels.

The economy in their small town is what we would consider bad. It’s never been a great economy there – no industry to speak of. The largest employers are the forest service (my son-in-law is a wild land fire fighter), the school system and the hospital.

But, and here is my reason for rambling on…entrepreneurship is alive and well in Wallowa County (northeastern corner of Oregon if you are curious). Most of Shannon and Dave’s friends, if not employed by the forest service or hospital, own their own businesses. The restaurants are family owned and run. The hardware store is family owned and run. The coffee shop (Gypsy Java – if you are ever in Enterprise, you must stop in!) is owned by two friends. There’s a micro-brewery/restaurant called Terminal Gravity that serves up delicious brews and delectable gourmet meals.

At TG’s, regulars have their own beer glasses – all made by local glass artists. No plastic cups – regulars purchase their glasses and the brewery washes them and puts them on the shelf for next time.

Which leads me to my next point. Because of the lack of big box stores and fast food franchises, artists, crafters, restaurateurs and other small businesses thrive. You need soap? You want to give a gift? You don’t run into Walmart. You wander into BeeCrowBee in Joseph (an up and coming arts destination one town away from Enterprise) and purchase some lovely locally made soap or lotion. Or you saunter through To Zion and find one-of-a-kind locally created jewelry. 

Such is life in a tiny town in a tiny county, 90 minutes away from the nearest Starbuck’s. And life is good.

As I revisited, reviewed, reworked and renewed this painting, which started out its life as “In a Blaze of Glory” in 2005, I tried to keep aware of the things I liked about it: the dramatic sky, the grasses, the purple barn, and the things that I felt distracted from the overall composition: the silo, the tree, the “out of the tube” viridian green.

In revisiting the painting, I felt it lacked focus. I needed to follow my mantra: Simplify, simplify, simplify. So, with only a brief hesitation, I jumped in and painted out the silo and the tree. Immediately, the painting was better. Those two elements were detracting from the barn, and eliminating them opened up the space in front of the barn, letting it breathe.

The sky seemed wishy-washy – and worse yet, competed with the barn for attention. I needed the sky to support the barn, not overshadow it. After more revisiting and reviewing, I suddenly saw a drawing problem with the barn. Wrong angles/proportions on the roof, which I redrew and corrected. It is funny how you can look at something for years and the “suddenly” see something. The veil lifts and reveals. Once the drawing was right, then I noticed that the doors and windows on the barn were too symmetrical. That is actually how the barn was “in reality” but hey, I’m an artist and I don’t have to accept reality! At first I just removed a door and added another window, then added some of the sky color into the windows. But then it seemed too busy, so I eliminated all the windows and added a wide door. Much better!

The barn color seemed a little dull, but was it the color of the barn that was off or the straight-out of-the-tube viridian green that dominated the grasses? I guessed the green, and spent quite a bit of time varying the shades of green, adding in strokes of blue, purple, yellow, orange and red. While I was painting the grasses, I was listening to Gypsy Caravan, a compilation CD of gypsy music from around the world. I can’t help but dance when I hear gypsy music, so I danced with my paintbrush and the meadow came alive with birds and grasses and flowers.

A stroke of bright cadmium green landed directly in front of the “man door” of the barn. A mistake, I wondered? I decided to wait and see – would that mark help tell the story or detract from it? I sat on my thinking couch and thought. There was something about the tension between the mark and the doorway that seemed to resonate with me. The more I looked, the more the mark became a figure, stopped along its journey, staring across the expanse of grass at the barn, the open door, the light beyond. I felt there was a yearning, a desire to enter the barn, but also a sense of fear and uncertainty – not knowing exactly how to get there without a clear path.

Once I started thinking about paths, I saw all the paths in the meadow, and started thinking about the journey through life, and how there are as many paths as there are people. And how for some people, choosing the “right” path is simple: They see one path and they stick to it. Others see many paths and have trouble choosing which one to take. And some start down one path, wander off the path, get lost, end up on a different path…

Once I got the concept of many paths and the standing figure, I decided the man-door needed a little more light coming through, so I brushed on a little yellow/white mix, which was a little too thin, so I wiped it with my rag and then – another figure, this one more defined, more developed (although seriously, just a paint smudge). And it dawned on me that the figure in the door was the same person as the figure in the grass. And they were manifestations of myself, the viewer, the figure walking into the scene, looking up the hill at the barn and the light beyond. Searching for my right path. Stuck without clear direction.

That figure in the grass had to go. It was causing the eye to stop there for too long; the tension was unbearable. So I painted it out. The figure in the doorway beckoned. The tension was released. But still the painting seemed to need one more element to heighten the drama without overwhelming the barn. Light! Rising or Setting, the sun brings hope and peace to the world.

And so, renamed, Sunrise, Sunset is finished in this incarnation.

 

 

In my dream I am standing on a narrow path through a forest. It is winter time – no, it is the time when autumn still glows like the dying embers of a campfire. A time of letting go, winding down, entering the realm of darkness and dreams. A fresh blanket of snow covers the ground and I notice how it glistens in the moonlight. 

The woods are silent as I drink in the scent of the coming season. I am aware of the cold as I look up through the trees at the night sky; deep ocean blue gradating into a glowing turquoise. Stars dance against the backdrop of infinity.

As I start to walk, I realize I am headed north. I begin to be aware of the eyes of those who watch, hidden, from beyond the path I travel. And I understand without question that these are my guides, and that they mean me no harm. And so I walk, my guides – unseen – and me – a dream. Cresting a hill, a clearing appears before me, and I slow my pace.

A magnificent Elk steps out from the brambles, silent as the snow. Time suspends, my breathing all but stops. He regards me fearlessly, his eyes bore into mine for what seems an eternity. Slowly, like a yoga master, he stretches his head back, and I notice his swirling antlers, glowing like ancient antennas. And then he opens his mouth and releases the most hauntingly beautiful sound…a song unlike anything I have ever heard. Wild, primal, melancholy, visceral; the words to describe the sound do not exist in my vocabulary.

I know in the core of my being that I am listening to the anthem of the earth, the song of Nature, the Voice of the Universe. The sound resonates through my body, and I feel enveloped by an energy which comes simultaneously from within and from outside of me. I suddenly know the fundamental Truth; the connection of all things, seen and unseen.

As soon as I become aware, Elk lowers his head and steps silently back into the brush, disappearing into a shroud of mist. It was then that I notice snow-capped mountains rising from beyond the edge of the clearing. The sparkle of a gold talisman wrapped on a branch where Elk had stood catches my eye. When I look back at the mountains I see they are not mountains at all, but tipis, their painted outer walls glowing. I smell burning cedar and sage.  I turn around and begin the walk back home.

 

Proceeds from this painting will go to the Wildlife Rehabilitation & Nature Preservation Society, Inc.

The other day I forced myself to look at the images coming out of the Gulf of Mexico. The dead dolphins, sea turtles, brown pelicans and other sea birds, all coated in oily brown muck. I saw the orange sheen of oil on the surface of the water, the balls of tar on the beaches, the desperation of people whose way of life is forever changed, the compassion of people working tirelessly to save what wildlife they can. With no real solution to stop the millions of gallons of toxic chemicals and oil erupting from the broken pipe each day, I wonder how long before even compassionate people burn out? What happens when hope dies?

That night I dreamed I was on a boat in an ocean of oil. All around me, dead fish and sea mammals floated in the brown sludge. I became aware of movement on the side of the boat, and saw a turtle, a dolphin, a wading bird and a seagull – all coated in oily brown. They seemed to try to communicate with me, imploring me with their eyes to help. Suddenly, from between them, a brilliant white bird flew up out of the water and into the sky. I knew that this bird, which somehow had not gotten coated in the oil, was a gift from the earth; a symbol of hope. I woke up from the dream with tears in my eyes and I knew I had to try to paint what I had seen.

“Hope Takes Flight” is based on that dream. This is not a "pretty" picture - my dream was not a "pretty" dream. It was full of despair, ugliness and feelings of hopelessness. But when the bird emerged from the water, I knew that there is hope, and I knew I had to help spread the word. Yes, there will be hard times ahead, for we have unleashed something like we have never seen before. But we must believe in the power of hope, and attach our energy to that hope. And believe that the dove will return with the olive branch.

To find out about purchasing this painting, click here.

As I sit here typing, I hear the beautiful song of a Meadowlark. It fills my soul with joy and peace. My life gets so hectic sometimes, it seems I even forget to breathe. But this morning, I am soaking in the quiet music of the fields; a symphonic blend of crickets and songbirds, woven together with the soft rustle of tall grasses, occasionally punctuated by the lowing of cattle and the bray of a neighboring donkey.

I just returned last evening from a trip out to San Diego to attend the Women Artists of the West show, which was held at the Olaf Wieghorst Museum in El Cajon. The opening reception took place last Friday night – the museum and community really made us feel welcome and the show was well attended. Although I didn’t win an award, I felt honored just to be in the company of such talented women artists. The show is incredible – take a look!

The other reason for my trip was to visit with my family…and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to visit with my niece who was in San Diego (sadly, for a funeral) for a few days. Laurel was in Ukraine for two years with the Peace Corps and then was accepted into the master’s program at George Washington University. This summer she is working in Senegal, Africa, with the 10,000 Girls program. Although we tend to hear more about the next generation being disconnected and self-absorbed, my niece and the many of young adults like her, are proof that the caring, giving side of human nature is alive and growing. There is hope for the world!

Although my trip was short – slightly less than a week, I was able to relax a bit. I stayed with my parents, who are in their 80’s. Much of their days consist of un-rushed routine. My father raises the flag each morning, then feeds the birds and reads the newspaper while sipping a cup of coffee and listening to classical music. My mother prepares breakfast for them. Most of the day is spent reading and watching the birds that come to their feeder. Sparrows, doves, finches – sometimes unusual birds (for San Diego!) like Baltimore orioles and downy woodpeckers. And last week, a green parakeet! Most entertaining is the Crow family. My parents put out table scraps for the crows, who arrive each morning in a family unit: mother, father and two “babies” (who are as big as the parents!) The babies still want to be fed though, and carry on like spoiled brats when Mom doesn’t feed them fast enough. And they are picky, too! The pieces of bread have to be dunked in the birdbath first before Mom shoves them into their open mouths.

The sparrows flock in, filling the branches of the trees and oleander bushes in the backyard. Then they take turns, in batches of six or seven, landing on the bird feeder or on the ground below, pecking and scratching until, as one, they fly back to the safety of the bushes and another batch swoops in. It is like watching a ballet, so choreographed and seemingly effortless.

Sometimes there are skirmishes: the little hummingbirds get feisty when they want to drink sugar water and find another hummer at the feeder. The ring-necked doves and the crows squabble over table scraps. But mostly it is peaceful co-existence among variations of birds. We humans could learn a thing or two about taking what you need and leaving the rest for someone else. Settling arguments with a show of feathers and some squawking, then going about your business without thoughts of revenge.

Sitting on my parents’ back porch, watching the birds, feeling the heat of the day, sketching, reading, enjoying just being – no place to go, nothing to do, no pressure, no deadlines, no stress – reminded me of the summers of my childhood, spent watching the birds at our feeder, the clouds passing by overhead, listening to the buzz of cicadas, learning the songs of different birds, reading library books, taking a walk with my sisters, drawing, creating forts and trails in the woods. Each minute lived in the present.

 

 

 

 

Commissioned by the Ritz Carlton Residences in Vail, CO. Golden Eagle is one of four paintings I have been commissioned to paint for this project. They were looking for wildlife and birds indigenous to the Rocky Mountains. I immediately thought of Golden Eagles. Even though I am privileged to see many Bald Eagles where I live on the plains of north east Colorado, the only time I've seen Golden Eagles is when I've been up in the mountains and foothills.

Although the Bald Eagle gets all the glory, there is something quite noble and beautiful about the Golden  - less flashy, but perhaps more intense. The Bald Eagle is larger than the Golden, but can't fly as high, nor is it as graceful as it's plainer counterpart. Bald Eagles, according to Ted Andrews in Animal Speak, are associated with feminine power, Goldens are associated with masculine energy.  It seems this Golden Eagle is definitely masculine.

Getting this commission has been pretty exciting - and a lesson in patience. I was first contacted by the Art Consultant nearly a year ago; finally got the go-ahead about three weeks ago. Painting for commission is in many ways a whole different ballgame than painting to put in a gallery or post on a website. In the first place, with a commissioned piece, there is the pressure of "expectation." Will the pieces meet with the expectations of the consultant? Since this is the first time I've worked with this firm, there are a lot of unknowns. With any new "relationship" there is the dance of learning the ropes. I do have a certain "color palette" to work within - I've got fabric samples from the rooms in which the paintings will hang. The good news is, the consultant chose me for the commission because my color palette fits in with their color scheme.

The other little mind game that plays out with a commission is that I've already been paid - when you send a painting to the gallery, it hangs there until someone comes in and decides to purchase it. With a commission it is already purchased, so instead of painting for yourself and letting the right buyer find the painting, you are painting for someone else.  Again, the saving grace is remembering that I was chosen because of my painting style. So I have to put aside the pressure and just do what I do.

I thought I'd post pictures of the painting in progress - I always find it interesting to see how a painting was painted -what decisions were made to get to the point when the artist steps back and says, "I'm done."



This was the initial sketch and lay in of color.


I added in the suggestion of feathers and added a wash to the wing.


Worked more on the wing, adjusting values. At this point I need to make sure everything supports the "star" of the painting, the eye of the Eagle.


Finished painting.

The process of painting, for me, is one of discovery and intuition. I start out with a basic concept, find photo or shoot photo reference if needed, choose a canvas and set out my palette and brushes. I usually set up my full palette each time – one of the joys of oil painting is that, if you cover the palette when not using it, the blobs of paint stay wet. Sometimes a skin will form over the top, but that can be removed, and the paint underneath used. At any rate, I thought I’d show my latest painting from initial reference photo (courtesy of Donna Nayduch of W.O.L.F.) to the finished painting.

The story of this painting begins last year, when I met Donna through my job at Fine Print. She needed art copy for a painting that an artist did for the upcoming W.O.L.F. benefit, “Waltzing with Wolves.” Because I believe in what W.O.L.F. is doing, I told her I’d be interested in donating a painting the next year. Early this Spring, Donna gave me reference photos of Shaman, a full Artic Wolf who had lived at the sanctuary for many years, and was one of the best ambassadors they have ever had.

 

(reference photo courtesy:  Donna Nayduch)

After some consideration, I decided on the photo that shows Shaman howling. One of the reasons is that a howling wolf is an iconic image, one which stirs emotion. I wanted the viewer to connect with the wild side of Shaman, the part that is intrinsically tied to nature. The other reason is I had done a small study of this image as one of my daily paintings, and I wanted to see if I could capture the essence of that smaller painting in a large one.

 

Study: Shaman, 4x4"

And so I started the painting by sketching in paint directly onto the 20x20”canvas. I don’t often do preliminary drawings – although sometimes I’ll do a couple of quick thumbnail sketches to figure out my lights and darks. In this case, I had both the photo and the study for reference. 

I felt connected to Shaman from the get go. He is a very powerful presence, and had strong feelings about how he wanted to be painted. I suppose I should explain that a bit. There are some paintings that seem to want to paint themselves. I am just along for the ride, so to speak. This was one of them. I did get hung up on his nose and mouth, and had to wipe out that entire area. I redrew and quit for the night. 

When I returned to paint the next night, I was able to connect again almost immediately. I felt the colors were a bit more grayed out than I was comfortable with – as you know, I love bright, clear colors. But I decided to stay with the more grayed out palette for awhile – mostly because Shaman was pretty insistent and the toned down color did let me concentrate on values.

 

Sometimes when painting I let my mind wander – its not the same as not paying attention to what I’m doing, rather it is like reverse doodling. I just let my mind go where it wants to, this time imagining conversations with Shaman. It’s the reason many artists (including me) listen to music when painting. By engaging the analytical part of your brain in listening (or in thinking about something else) the intuitive part of the brain takes over, and makes choices based on what it knows, rather than what the analytical side thinks it knows. 

The next night, painting was a struggle. I couldn’t seem to get into the groove, very left brain heavy! This is a dangerous time to paint – because if I’m not careful, I can completely ruin a painting by over-thinking and overworking. Half the battle on this is recognizing what is happening – paying attention to my posture, my breathing and my self talk. Once I consciously relax, breath, turn off my critical chatter, then I can paint.

One of the hardest parts of painting is knowing when you are finished. Accepting that the painting is not perfect, but nonetheless, done. I am at that stage now: I feel the painting is working as a whole and so I will set it aside to dry a bit, then look at it again with fresh eyes in a few days. Maybe make a few minor adjustments then, maybe just sign it.

Click here to learn more about Shaman.

This piece will be auctioned on Saturday, June 19, 2010, during the annual Waltz for Wolves dinner/dance/auction. Click here for more info.

I have donated this painting to a fundraiser for "Memories in the Making" -  a unique art program which enables people with Alzheimer's disease to express themselves creatively.

Even after people with dementia have lost the ability to use words, they are able to paint their thoughts, emotions and memories in a manner that is expressive and often beautiful. The experience provides professional caregivers and families an avenue to learn more about the person with dementia. The essence of who they are and what they care about shines through their artwork. Art from the Memories in the Making Art Program is donated by the families for an annual art auction.

Beautiful artwork is created by those with memory impairment in 18 Memories in the Making art classes held weekly throughout Northern Colorado. A jury of professional artists selects the artwork for the auction and it is then professionally framed for display at the annual Memories in the Making Art Show and Auction.

This year over 1,600 pieces were submitted, and 53 chosen by the jury to be in the auction. Of these, ten pieces are "paired" with the work of a professional artist. The artist chooses the piece with which to pair. Then they create a piece that is similar in color, composition, subject matter, style - or in some other way ties into the artwork created by the MIM artist.

When I was invited to participate in this project, I jumped at the chance. Just having recently learned that my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, I wanted to do something that would not only allow me to explore my feelings about the disease but would also help raise awareness - and give me the sense of being able to DO something.

The picture below is the piece of art I chose to pair with. The auction will be held on May 20, 2010, at Drake Centre in Fort Collins. For more info, http://www.alz.org/co/in_my_community_10051.asp