Weepers

Weepers 8" x 10" watercolor on paper

Weepers howl and sway
No leaves anymore - no leaves
Upturned soil, hard rains

Year-end Reflections

As the year passes
We speak with snowflakes, not words.
There are no words left.

"At First Glance #7", 5" x 7" ink and watercolor

***

Remembering Now,
Imagining seasons -
Images whisper.

 "Rituals" 8" x 6" watercolor

***

At each gathering,
A misty rain of color
That sometimes we see.
 

"The Gathering" 4" x 6" ink and watercolor

***

Now and then we park
And see passages beyond
The concrete and wire.

Parking Garage, 6" x 6" ink and watercolor

From Darkness to Light

Here's a small painting of a lamp, that started out sedate and ordinary, and ended up like this.  Like a writer's character, sometimes the objects in a painting take over.

6" x 6" acrylic on board

As you know, there is so much to see everywhere and in everything.  Lately I've been snapping pictures with my phone at any place that these wonderful scenes emerge.  When I was a boy, I used a camera to snap pictures of trees and the sky and stuff.  Once, I remember, I put a drinking glass over the lens and snapped a shot.  I was told then by the adults around me that I should use the camera to take pictures of posed people instead.  That's when I laid the camera down.

I realize that I haven't changed much despite their best efforts.  Here is my contribution for Shadow Shot Sunday.

Taken during a morning jog

I've been restless with watercolors lately.  But some interesting things have come of it.  Like this:

8" x 10" watercolor on Daler Rowney NOT paper

I've also been discovering some interesting art blogs and podcasts on artists and the art scene.  Often they add fuel to the fire that consumes me.   Maybe you'll enjoy them too and like me, be educated, entertained, bemused, and confounded.  So check them out (but not before leaving a comment here, of course.)

I've been listening to the Modern Art Notes podcast for more than a year I think.  It is excellent.  http://manpodcast.com

A wonderful blog that has links to ever-changing art articles and criticism is Painter's Table at http://painters-table.com

From Painter's Table, I found about the podcast "ahtcast" which is far less polished than Modern Art Notes, but has artist interviews and is fun and interesting.  It is at http://www.ahtcast.com

A wonderful blog called "In the Make" features studio visits with west coast artists at http://inthemake.com

And from "ahtcast" I learned about a blog with videos of artists in their studios called "Gorky's Granddaughter" at http://www.gorkysgranddaughter.com

From there I learned that artists are a quirky bunch.  But you knew that already, didn't you?

After All These Years

Watercolor on 14" x 11-3/4" Daler-Rowney Langton Prestige NOT paper
"Life As a River"  (Click to enlarge)

Here's a tale:  Burger Chef was a chain that pre-dated the biggies, Burger King and McDonalds.  At our local Burger Chef, on A-1-A in the city of Satellite Beach on the Space Coast of Florida, the manager Bill M. didn't really know how to control the place.  The assistant manager would be running to the grocery store once or twice a week to buy something he forgot to order, like hamburger buns or meat, for example.  And the place wasn't doing well.

When McDonald's finally came to our small town, it stood only a block away from Burger Chef.  That was when Bill M. decided that it would be a good idea to buy the Burger Chef and turn it into his own place.  Now if Burger Chef wasn't doing well then, let me tell you, Bill's Big Burger wasn't going to do any better.  It failed within months.

But while Burger Chef and then Bill's Big Burger existed, my best friend Jeff and I worked there in high school.  Great fun.  We were good kids, but had our moments.  Once we showed up together drunk and sang "Cheeseburger in Paradise" throughout our shift.  Everyone stayed out of our way.  Another time we were closing the place together and started randomly throwing cleaning fluids into the mop water.  When a white poison gas wafted out of the bucket we fled the place in stitches.  Then there was the time that Jeff and I challenged two ladies that worked there to a tennis match.  We were good, but not at tennis, and we bought them their steak dinner.

I have a terrible memory.  Big chunks of my childhood, and of my life through high school and beyond is absent from my mind. So if you measure the days that I remember from my life then I am really 19 years old.

Yeah.

But I remember this:  Jeff and I hung out together, listened to music together, did side jobs together, went to each other's houses constantly, yearned for the company of the Scorpionettes (the objects of desire of all healthy young male citizens of Satellite High School), worshipped the Muppet Movie, and spent hours talking about life and everything else.  And so much more.

We grew to respect one another, and I knew him as a soul with a heart of gold.

So what happened?  What often happens.  We grew apart.  He went his way, I went mine.  Life got in the way.  It's only natural.

So it was a surprise when Jeff contacted me and said that he had been following my blog.  He said that he liked the two abstract pieces that I had done, which you can see here and here.  The first, "Organic/Inorganic" was my response to the news that a close family member had cancer.  It dealt with invasion, injustice, and vulnerability.  The second, "Mortality" was my response to the death of my employer of eleven years.  It portrayed the passage of life.

I considered them a series of two.

Now there is a third.

Jeff asked me to continue the series with a piece that would portray the "fragility of friendship,"

This was different for me, and quite difficult.  Whereas the others had sprung unbidden (one was actually from a dream), I had never attempted to intentionally portray a concept abstractly before.

This is a semi-abstract piece, I suppose, as I've used the analogy of a river for the lifeline.  This is consistent with the nature references in the other pieces, and it has the flowing and directional qualities of the others as well.

Each tributary represents the encounter with a new person (they with their own lifelines as well), and each adds a pattern which the main lifeline carries with it.  So by the time this life reaches a ripe old age, the pattern is very complex.  The person carries the vestige of all of the experiences and encounters he or she has had to some degree or the other.  The person is far more sophisticated by reason of these encounters than at the beginning.  These encounters have impacted the person.

I like the analogy of the river (and I toyed with many visual concepts), although it is not the most original, because it so easily illustrates this concept but also because I could visually represent by the land between, that the individual's environment (whether physical or through major life stages events) changes over time as well.

So thank you Jeff, for stretching your old friend just a little bit further after all these years.

Improv

East Meets West, 10" x 8", 140 ' Daler-Rowney Langton Prestige NOT paper

Improv.  Hey Man, that's where it's at.

Yeah.

I've had many interests - music, art and writing among them.  But an aspect common to all that I have admired is improv.

Bluegrass and jazz, even classical, for example.  They have this in common.  They start with a theme, then the touch of the individual musicians are brought to bear.  The theme is squeezed and stretched and twisted and turned.

I painted this watercolor in just that way.  I perched in front of a building that, by the way, looks nothing like this, and outlined a few of its parts.  Then I began to improvise.  I drew lines that just felt right [yeah] in that they were visually pleasing to me geometrically.  And then I started to paint.  Aside from the awnings that really were pink (I think), everything else was improv.

So this painting is semi-abstract.

Take it away Allen, your stroll is different than mine, but oh so beautifully described..

[Note:  This is not read by Allen Ginsberg.  It is read by a gentleman named Tom O'Bedlam, who goes by the handle "spoken verse" on You Tube.  You can find other readings by this fellow, who probably comes from the North Midlands of England, here.]

Seeing Red

watercolor on 10" x 8" Daler-Rowney Langton Prestige NOT paper

I changed radio stations and heard what could only be described as Calypso-Mexican music.  Something came over me.  I decided that I had to paint green clouds in a red sky, and that nothing in the picture would be its true color.

As I got deeper into the painting, it seemed to me that the surroundings may have been reflecting an inner turmoil inside the house.  It felt slightly frightening.

Or maybe it wasn't that at all.


Per my favorite critic, I could have been envisioning a colony on Mars.  If so, you saw it here first.  It's something to talk about, if only anyone would listen.

Sketch from life in small moleskine

It is probably better, though, that you read a good book.  (Do you think her child will go to Mars?)

Sketch from life in small moleskine

It's all Good, and other Illusions

It's January 6th and I'm beginning to experience the joy and possibilities of the New Year.

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

2012 was a trying year in many ways.  Artistically, it was all good - the year that is. 

Still there were moments.   As a result of my last post in which I described a kind of art identity crisis, you all came to my rescue - my internet artist friends rallied to my aid.  It was a gathering.  It was therapy.  It was an intervention! 

If you haven't done so already, read the post for the context, so that you can read all of the wonderful comments - they are the longest, most comprehensive, well-considered comment-essays I have ever received in response to a post since the inception of this blog.

To those that commented, thank you.  I owe you more than I can say.  Now, as a result of your help, I am only slightly unbalanced.

I do not blame the Miami artists.  I think they unintentionally laid bare my own underlying dissatisfaction with the state (or stage?) of my own work.  It takes time to develop, I know.  I am under no illusions.  Or at least my illusions are few.  Or less than many.  Well, let's put it this way, I have less illusions than a kid at an American Idol try out.  And that will have to do.  So you can expect more experimentation in 2013.  And more desperate efforts to develop my skills.  (Did I say desperate?)

4" x 6" ink and watercolor on Fabriano Artistico rough paper

There were some marvelous silver linings in the dark cloud of 2012 - examples of dreams fulfilled that help define the possibilities of 2013.

At the Miami Book Fair International, the shining moment for me was seeing Anne Lamott speak.  I sketched her (above) as she shared her wit, wisdom and humor to a full auditorium.  (Anne:  I just colored the drawing yesterday.  This is the reason why your blouse is rose, rather than blue or green or whatever.)  (Dear reader:  Of course she is going to read this!)  [Editors note:  See the above paragraph about illusions.]

Anne Lamott is an author whose road was harder than many.  She is a recovered alcoholic-turned-successful author and she is an inspiration - a fun inspiration. Bird by Bird is the book by her that I have read, (why on earth have I read only one? Another new year's resolution..) and it is by far my favorite book on how to write, and I have read many.  [Editor's note:  For the definition of "many", see the above paragraph about illusions].   In that book, for example, she gives the following advice which can easily be applied to art or to any creative endeavor:

"Your day's work might turn out to have been a mess.  So what?  Vonnegut said, 'When I write, I feel like an armless legless man with a crayon in his mouth.'  So go ahead and make big scrawls and mistakes.  Use up lots of paper.  Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist's true friend.  What people somehow (inadvertently, I'm sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here -- and, by extension, what we're supposed to be writing."

I am inspired.  I have a laundry list of resolutions for 2013.  When I shared the concept of a resolution with my autistic son Matthew, he thought I said "revolutions".  That's a much better name for it, don't you think?  So I now have revolutions.  If I fail, it's a circle, and I can try to succeed the next time - during the entire new year.

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

Two more South Florida dreams fulfilled:

George Sukeji Morikami, the only remaining settler in a Japanese colony from the turn of the 20th century, dreamed of gardens that bridge the distance between his two homelands.  A successful farmer and fruit and vegetable wholesaler, he ultimately donated his land.  So now the the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens exist in Boca Raton, Florida.   When I visited the gardens I sketched and painted the waterfalls above with a water brush on site ( I haven't done that in a long time).

And at what has got to be one of the most beautiful man-created spaces on earth, the expansive Fairchild Tropical Gardens in Miami is also the fulfillment of a dream. David Fairchild and Robert Montgomery shared a passion for plant collecting that has become an 83-acre botanical garden containing plants and trees from all over the world.  It is a joy to experience.  On December 31st, when I last visited the gardens, I sketched and painted in the rain forest section.


There you are.  Three examples of visions fulfilled.  It can happen.  It really can.  So follow your dreams in 2013..

Happy New Year!

A Day in the City

"A Day in the City", 10" x 8" watercolor on 140' Daler-Rowney cold-pressed paper

A dangerous thing happened recently.  I got out of the house.

I have been in contact with artists all over the United States and the world by reason of this blog and my life has been enriched beyond measure, as I have said many times before.  And as I reflect at the end of this year and the start of the next, I am forever grateful.

But I decided that it was time to meet local artists as well.

An art museum just 5 minutes from my house provided the opportunity.  The Museum of Contemporary Art (MoCA) in North Miami, began an artists' round-table recently.  Artists meet, talk about their work, share their thoughts, and provide critique.  There have been two in the last two months, and I have attended both.  An excellent moderator, Lark Keeler, provides provocative questions to encourage lively conversation.

After the second session, I left with more questions than answers.

It is apparent that most of the artists are deeply influenced by Art Basel and its satellite art fairs that have been held in Miami for the past several years.  Most are also art-school educated.  I am not.

I have attended Art Basel each and every year as well, though this is the first year I have attended any of the satellite fairs.  At Art Basel, there is, to me, a stark dichotomy between the works that I have been excited to see each year and the cutting-edge contemporary works that encompass much of the fair.  While I am motivated and recharged each year and love seeing what is being done by artists today, I am often totally blown away by the original work of "classic" artists I have seen such as Modigliani, Neel, Freud, Mitchell, Calder, Diebenkorn, Thiebaud, and Hopper.

Although I am sure they feel a part of a continuum of art history, the majority of the artists in the discussion group appear to be wholly fascinated by the contemporary artists - the more cutting edge the better.

I, on the other hand - I can't help it - am suspicious of gimmicks and wary of trends.

Some of the talk surrounded how an artist communicates with his or her audience, whether a back-story of the artist or the artist's intended message enhances or hinders the perception of the art.  Without such a back-story is the audience lost?

I know two people who do not know one another, that attended Art Basel separately that were so unable to comprehend the messages of contemporary artists, that have found the artwork to be at best incomprehensible and at worst ludicrous, that they have said they will not return.

Maybe they are not the intended audience anyway, as they do not have millions to spend.  (I'm being cynical again).  But should art be accessible to only an elite that have an art education?


I find value in and am inspired by enough of the contemporary art that I keep returning.  I am self-taught in art and art history - there are huge gaps, I am the first to admit - I admire skilled works, can often discern what the artist is trying to do, and am broad-minded enough to understand the exploration of and attraction to new mediums.  But I am left mystified and bemused by others.

I brought this up at the talk and after the responses have decided that I am going to make a concerted effort to raise my level of understanding of contemporary art.  Maybe you can call this a new year's resolution, I don't know.  I think it is just part of the process of exploration.  I have the will to learn.  A wary part of me wonders - am I trying to be part of the elite?


When my turn came, I showed them the picture "Around the Corner" in my post found here and I frankly had trouble understanding the reaction. I believe that overall they thought it was well-done in every part, but lacked significance, a clear message, a unique visual statement. The moderator kept showing how the picture would look cropped in various ways, the message being, perhaps, that there was too much to see and that I needed more focus. Maybe that was the idea - I'm not sure I understood completely.

Do not misunderstand me, I believe that all that was said was in the spirit of helping me to grow and explore, and the feeling in the room was excitement from the sharing and observations.  I share that feeling.

I just can't help but feel that if I were in Portland, for example, what would be valued would be completely different.  There is a vibrant art community there, and does the fact that Art Basel, showing the top galleries of the world, sees it differently, diminish that art?  I tend to doubt it.

In any event, I liked the idea to focus on each element of my picture.  I also liked the encouragement to be more creative in my representation.  I have felt this urge myself.  If I wanted to be a photographer, I'd be carrying a camera instead of paints.

So I returned to the same location in South Miami and sketched the distant building that first attracted me to the scene - but I tried to grab only the key parts, and then the mere suggestion of selected other parts.  I decided to do a more abstract piece, using the scene only as a starting point.  And "A Day in the City" is the result.

I would be very interested in your ideas on anything that I have said.  I think it will be some time until my thoughts are unmuddled.  But this is part of growth, I think.  (I hope.)

Oh, and one other thing.  I am thinking that maybe this small piece will be better as a diptych than as a single work.  There is a different feel about each side.  What do you think?  Here it is, "virtually" divided in two, with an inch off the bottom, so that it will be two 5" x 7" works (approximately, as I had left a small margin around the edges of the full picture - don't know if it would screw up the framing process to do this).  So, what do you think?

Thanks!  And a Very Happy New Year to you and yours..

Do Not Enter

"Do Not Enter", 8" x 8" watercolor on Fabriano Artistico extra white hot press paper

I was driving before work, looking for something to paint.  There were some beautiful buildings straight ahead that I had my eye on.  But then I glanced to the left and saw a parking garage.  It was much more interesting.  So I parked across the street, and began drawing in the hour before my workday was to begin. 

Every morning that I could, I parked across the street from that garage in the hour before work.  As I painted I watched the security guards in their shifts, walking out of their little room, locking the door, making their rounds and then returning again. I began to wonder whether they would ever notice me and my keen interest in their building.

It was probably the fifth morning that a young security guard finally made the trek across the street towards my car.

"Well it's about time!" I called to him.  "I wondered when you'd come."

So I showed him what I was doing.   He said with a smile that it was pretty good and returned to his station.

About ten minutes later, a white-haired security guard approached my car.  Man, I thought, first they don't see me at all and now in one day everyone notices me!

"I hear you've been painting my picture," he said.

I laughed.  "Well, I made you a bit younger," I said, showing him the picture.  "I made your hair brown."

"That's not me!" he said.  "He's just foolin' with me!"  Abruptly he returned to the garage.

Well you can't please everyone.

Here are some process pictures taken from my phone (unfortunately the first few are out of focus - sorry about that):

An Experiment

12" x 16" watercolor on Arches hot press paper

Step into ze lab.  Carefully now.  

You did vash yur hands?  Und you are completely sterilized?  Gut.

Today ve are going to perform an experiment.  As vith all experiments, ve must approach ze matter szientifically, yes?

Obzerve:

Purpose:  To paint a cityscape in a loose manner [vithout detail, yes?].

Hypothesis:  That I can make a picture using a new way [to me], namely upright and wet-on-wet in parts and wet-on-dry in parts to form a scene.

Procedure:  To paint in watercolor on a 12" x 16" watercolor block [I bought ze block at a sidevalk sale for a song (It vas Edelweiss), und I had never used a vatercolor block before vhich vas fun] and to stand the block upright on my easel allowing the paint to drip with impunity. To paint some parts wet and leave other parts dry, and to build up color and value through layering.  [I'd been inshpired by un artist (now forgotten) zat I saw on a Youtube veedeo zat vould vet parts and leave other parts very dry, und combine zeese in a creative manner.]


Results:  Above.  [Vell, everything got kinda vet.  I found myself over-enthoosed und painting fast und recklessly und vith abandon - voo!hoo! - und utimately found zat leaving dry spots in ze middle of ze painting, like ze artist I had seen, didn't vork vith tall buildings.  Und I had to lay ze block flat to paint ze cars.] 

Conclusion:  Next time I try this, I need to plan a bit better and slow down some, but I am pleased with the free dripping effect.  The simplification lessons learned from Frank Eber, here, and Terry Miura, here, helped. [So ze buildings are a bit vonky, the cars vonky, everything vonky, but somehow it vorked.]

Gut, then, ve are done for the day.  Don't step on ze cat on ze vay out.

The Tree Post

7" x 5" ink and watercolor on Tyvek

On the radio the other day, I heard the following ad for a program on a great local radio show called "Topical Currents":

Trees are deaf, so the idea that music can help them grow is a myth.
But they can smell.
And they can sense when their neighbor is being eaten by a ravenous bug.

And they can speak.  I know this.

I found the above group of young trees in a park.  And they spoke to me.

I loved how they were spaced and their varying heights.  I decided to paint them on Tyvek, which I had been meaning to do for some time as its virtues had been extolled again and again by Myrna Wacknov at her blog, Creative Journey.

Tyvek is synthetic; it is made by DuPont.  (Interestingly, my son worked with Tyvek at the DuPont plant in Virginia as a part of his internship in chemical engineering - so Tyvek would have had a special place in my heart, even if I had never used it before.)

I don't even think that DuPont even calls it a paper - it is simply, Tyvek.  Its uses include providing protection against moisture intrusion in construction, as covers for cars, as medical and industrial packaging, and for envelopes.  There are many more uses, I gather.  I believe that Myrna got her Tyvek from a hardware store but I've looked more than once and have not found it at ours.  So I took a Tyvek envelope and cut it up.

This paper is thin, but cannot be ripped, and it has a varied pattern to it.  So I laid out the general structure of the trees in pen and then laid brush to paper.

And then..

I don't know what I expected , but I didn't expect it to bead up.  What an effect!  It was like watching the world through a windshield in a light rain.  And then, just as I finished painting the trees it began raining!  And looking through my windshield, I saw that the painting was true.

 watercolor on 4" x 5" Fabriano Artistica cold press paper

So let's see..trees can smell, they can sense bugs, they can speak, and, by the way, trees can dance!  How do I know this?  From Jennifer Edwards, that's who!  At her Drawn2Life blog,  In case you missed it, she wrote this poem (used here by permission):

I chanced to see
the trees dancing
in the breeze.

Said I to the trees
could we dance
together please?

And I curtsied
to the boughs
of the trees.

watercolor on 8" x 8"Fabriano Artistica cold press paper

Here in South Florida the trees, for the most part, stay green for the entire year.  But green, in fact, should be plural like fish or buffalo, because there are warm greens and cool greens and bright greens and dull.  There is an endless variety of green to enjoy and many, many shapes of the leaves and trees, of course.

Honestly, I'm embarrassed to say it, but I don't know one tree from the other.  I can see their differences and I can paint them, but I don't know what most trees are called.  But I know this, they share many gifts, including their gems, the birds.





 Years ago I spent a fair amount of time birding.  I never grew particularly good at it, but walking in the woods and listening and looking for birds remains the most freeing and relaxing thing that I have done.

Once at an Audubon walk, I spotted a bird in the distance.  I signaled to the grey-haired experienced birder who was leading the group.  He asked where it was.  Signalling towards the copse of trees in the distance, I enthusiastically said, "It's there - in the green tree!"  He looked at me.  I'm sure he was impressed.

ink field sketch of painted bunting in sketchbook

There are always surprises.  On October 1, 1996 (I cannot believe it is that long ago), I decided to go into the field and sketch what I see.  Usually I would just enjoy the birds with my binoculars, and write down their names.

At a park called A.D. Barnes, there is a wonderful nature trail.  But my surprise wasn't there.  It was in some bushes along some railroad tracks behind a ball field.  And that day I peered into those bushes, and there was a painted bunting.  A painter designed that bird - it has to be - it is hard to believe it is real, because it had a red breast, yellow and green wings, grey tail, and a violet-blue head.  And the true miracle was that the bird remained in place long enough for me to make this field sketch on the right, complete with lines to denote the colors.

So it's about time that I paint the bird - don't you think?



Nora MacPhail, a wonderfully free and loose watercolorist, spent the last week at her blog here making a variety of Artist Trading Cards (ATC's or ACEO's).  I offered a trade, and she graciously said yes.  So here is the card I will be sending her, painted today, the Painted Bunting that I saw so many years ago.

ink and watercolor on 2-1/2" x 3-1/2" Fabriano Artistica cold press paper

So trees smell and sense and speak and dance.  And they share.  It is just as Alice Walker's character said in The Color Purple, "Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved.  You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?"

It's so true.

Breaking the Rules

5" x 7" watercolor on 140 lb. Fabriano Artistica hot press paper

I parked near a Metromover station in downtown Miami and sketched what I saw.  Carefully.  Meticulously.  I expected I would be back soon to paint on site, but that never happened.

So yesterday I found myself wanting to color the picture.  I decided to use the colors I felt like using.  To throw caution to the wind.

Careful?  Meticulous?  What were those?!  Hah!  I was free!! 

I began applying reds and golds thickly, in a quite un-watercolor-like manner.  I was not in polite company, after all.  I was alone.

I felt raw and not at all polite.

I liked it.

I used more gentile washes in other parts, but then ran wild again in the street.


And this is the result.  And I am pleased.  There are more vivid hues on this watercolor than any I recall doing; there are broader value contrasts.  All because I broke the rules.

It reminds me of a quote I read the other day, by Francis Ford Coppola:  "An essential element of any art is risk. If you don’t take a risk then how are you going to make something really beautiful, that hasn’t been seen before? I always like to say that cinema without risk is like having no sex and expecting to have a baby. You have to take a risk."

So is that what it's all about - learning the rules and then breaking them?  Is that what needs to be done?

We shall see..

The Bare (sic) Facts

5" x 7" watercolor on 140 lb Fabriano Artistico hot press paper

For several mornings at approximately the same time, I parked my car at the same place at the edge of a park. There was a large tree that intrigued me and I wanted to try to capture it on paper. I also liked the way it framed everything beyond.

So I painted the tree and when I was about halfway through, with the tree complete, I showed it to a friend. I had tried to portray all of the many shades and textures I saw on the tree, including a large knot.

She looked at it, and then squinted and leaned closer.  "What's that?" she said, "Is that a bear?"

I looked at the picture again. And then I saw it.

There it was where the knot should have been - a bear.  I'd had no idea the bear was there.

If you didn't see a bear the first time you looked at the picture, then look again, and there it will be. And once you see the bear, you cannot unsee it.

Now with a few dabs of water or paint and some subtle changes I could have banished the bear from my tree, and I considered doing so.  But I kind of liked the old fella - he had a friendly smile - so there he stays.

So now it's my bear tree.

I had fun with the scene beyond.  There was a house off to my right just beyond the far side of the park and I decided that for my composition it would look good on the left, so I put it there.  And now the bear guards that house, I suppose.

And those are the bear facts, as I see them.

At the end of each of my sessions, I'd snap a shot of the picture, to evaluate my progress and consider what to do next.

And here is a slide show of those shots:

Two for the Road

5" x 9-1/2" watercolor on 140 lb. paper

Deadlines, Deadlines. The other day, Terry Miura asked at his blog, "Are you waiting till the last minute so as to set yourself up for failure and cushion your fall with the excuse, 'I just ran out of time...'?"

No! I answered.  Absolutely not!  I knew that I finally needed to complete his Cityscape Challenge.

His challenge is posted here - to paint and simplify a scene using a random street in San Francisco as a reference - and from the moment I saw the photo I was intrigued by it.  One reason for this is because Frank Eber does this kind of scene all of the time in watercolor (see his New York streets here), and his goal and Terry Miura's goal is the same:  SIMPLIFY!  And both are very successful at it.  If you visit their blogs, you too will be the beneficiary of their generously-shared knowledge.  And witness to their great art.

Of course knowing is not the same as doing and the most successful parts of this picture were where I actually paid attention and tried to follow their learned advice.  In the least successful parts I would not only forget to simplify, but would also forget what medium I was using - I was practically scrubbing the paper in parts, with watercolor!  Don't know what came over me, really.

2-5/8" x 9" (lol)

It might be that I've been working in acrylic lately (I can't wait to show you.)  Might be that I shouldn't start painting after hours of yard work.

Excuses, I know.  But I can't help myself.

I set up my paper to draw a big swath of buildings on the side, and decided, for the composition, and to humanize the picture, to place a man crossing the street on the page.  With the buildings, though, I really lost it - simplicity out the window (er, out all of the windows.)  So I sat staring at the completed piece, not really satisfied, and suddenly I saw two much better pictures were I to simply to cut the page vertically, just so.  And that's what I did. On the right is the other picture, cut from the left.  So that the first picture that you saw on the left, was on the right, and the second picture that you see on the right was on the left, capisce?

So that's about it.  No poetry, no witticisms, nothing particularly clever to say  today.  Sorry about that.  This picture left me high and dry.  And I had to meet that deadline.  If 99% is simply showing up, at least I did that.  And I left having learned a thing or two. 

'Till next time..

It's Not Easy Being Green

5" x 7" watercolor on 140 lb Fabriano Artistico rough paper

South Florida.

A quiet walk outside is disturbed by a tumult of squawking.  A company of parrots traverses the sky.

Three lanes of traffic on US-1 come to a halt as a peacock casually crosses the road.

A car dealership on Bird Road (I kid you not), first thing in the morning before it is open is sprinkled with pepper - hundreds of nondescript black birds called grackles. They loudly perch in groups on every car, every surrounding wire, and along the rims of bordering buildings.  Every day I suppose the employees must rewash the cars if they are ever to hope to sell them.

In Miami, a white ibis, with its orange decurved bill, visits our home so often that my wife has named it.  When he appears we call for our son Matthew and stand together at the window, watching, as the ibis strides across our yard.  He is "Commander", his bearing so proud that it must be so.  Sometimes he brings his army - ten or twenty other birds.

After dropping my son off at a weekly Saturday activity, I'd drive to a spot  in downtown Davie, Florida, where the branch of a tree would extend along the shoreline of a canal.  There every week, without fail, a white ibis would stand.  I like to think it was the same bird week after week.  I sketched him and painted the surrounding trees and the leaves on the branch.

The next week, when I returned, the branch had been cut. The ibis was gone, the beauty of the spot diminished.

This also is South Florida.

This little page had a few incarnations.  A few months ago I sat in the backyard of my sister-in-law's house in central Florida, and sketched the stylized sun that was hanging on her fence.  I then attempted to paint the fence, in yellow ochre, and was not at all happy with the result.  I tucked the paper away.  Then, when I saw the ibis, I decided to put him on the same sheet.  I paint the trunks of the trees and then the leaves in the middle of the page and the leaves were so tedious that I quit.  I put off doing anything more with the page - again for weeks (if not months), not wanting to deal with the leaves.

But then I saw master watercolorist David Lobenberg, at his blog here, and his loose treatment of leaves, and I thought - voila! (because that is how artists express excitement - voila!) - and pulled out the page again.  I had done this before - why not here?  Not all of the leaves had to be so exacting.  I began covering the page with a wash and then the impression of the leaves and grasses from memory.  I was surprised at the richness of color and the depth.  It was enhanced by the yellow ochre underneath I think.

So there you are:  a Florida story. 

6" x 3" watercolor on 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico extra white hot press paper

A few days ago, from a distance, I spotted some more Florida wildlife.  Retirees.  In their native habitat.  A lucky find, I think.  Ah, South Florida, with so much to offer.

My Most Valuable Critic has complained that my last three pictures (the two in this post, and the one in the last) look too similar. 

"They are so green", she said.

"But they are outside", I replied.

"But they are so green," she said.

"Then you can consider this to be my Green Period!" I replied, brandishing my beret, then tilting it smartly on my head. 

And what, I ask you, could she say to that?

A Watercolor and Haiku

watercolor on 3-1/2" x 7" 140 lb Fabriano Artistico hot press

Along the path
Pigeons gather to be fed--
The house empty.

Waiting

Ink and watercolor in large moleskine

You know what to expect when you enter a doctor's waiting room, right? You will see patients sitting in chairs, sometimes with their spouses. Many of the patients will be thumbing through magazines. If the room is not too crowded, the patients will have discreetly left empty chairs between them.

Only couples will sit together. Sometimes the couples will whisper, but mostly they will remain silent, thumbing through their magazines. Patients will never speak to one another though, and for that reason it is very quiet.

You will walk to the window which is closed and sign the sheet on the clipboard on the shelf with the attached pen. You will then turn to the magazine rack and select a magazine that is of little more than vague interest to you. You will look for a chair that is at least a seat away from everyone else. Finally you will sit and quietly thumb through your magazine. You will not even whisper unless you are with your spouse, and even then, only occasionally.

Unless you are in Miami.  I have a wonderful old-time Cuban doctor. When I walk into his waiting room for the occasional checkup it is like stepping into Cheers, although nobody knows my name. When I enter everyone looks up, and says the Spanish version of "Hey!" It is as though they have been waiting for me all morning. I sit with my magazine, but don't read it. I am too busy watching complete strangers bouncing from chair to chair, conversing enthusiastically. One gentleman comes to me and starts gesticulating. When I shrug he asks cheerfully, "What,you don't speak Spanish?!" So he talks to me in English for a few sentences, but I'm not nearly as interesting as those ebullient Hispanics that fill the rest of the room, and soon I am left to watch, my eyes wide.

Did I ever tell you that I love Miami?

I have lived in Miami for 26 years. Yeah, yeah, I should have learned Spanish by now, but I haven't. But I kind of like being the outsider looking in.

The other day I was at Balado Tire, getting my brakes fixed. I sat to wait. The cheerful round-faced manager behind the counter conversed with everyone. Folks - strangers - bounced from chair to chair conversing. They would find their talking partner and strike up a conversation. One man came to me, and then walked away when he got no response. No matter. I am an artist. I love being separate. Another man hung out at the counter. Why? I don't know. Every now and then he would talk to the round-faced man, but mostly he was just waiting. When the round-faced tire guy wasn't cheerfully offering everyone cafe' con leche, I was sketching the man at the counter, and that is my sketch above.

We were in an open waiting area next to the bays, all facing a parking lot.  While I was there, an old bent Cuban man walked by, pulling a wagon piled high with mangos.  He yelled something to the group of us, which I suppose was, "Hey guys, any of you wanna buy some mangos?"  He got no takers.  But as he walked by the second bay, one of the workers threw down a tire, pulled out a wad of bills and bought a bunch of the fruit.  I guess that old man knew what he was doing.

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

My wife and I both wear glasses.  That is a good thing.  The waiting room at the ophthalmologist's office is of the boring dismal type and too small for me to discreetly draw anyone.  So every year my wife and I will set our appointments together, and she will go in first.  I will stay in the car and look for something to sketch or paint.  I was extra lucky this year, because parked on the street was this tractor, waiting.  Waiting for a driver, I suppose.  But also waiting for me to draw her.  While I was waiting for my appointment.

Watercolor, 2-1/2" x 3-1/2"

I am in the middle of a still life. Some watercolor painters paint thin washes and - voila - they are done. That has never been the case for me. I have always layered or mixed or glazed or who knows what, even from the beginning when I knew even less about what I was doing than I know now. I am waiting for the still life to finish, because it is taking a good long time. Not that the process isn't wonderful, mind you, like reading a good book that you don't want to end.

Sometimes I watch (listen) to documentaries when I paint, and while carefully painting this still life I saw a film about a painter who is wonderfully, skillfully sloppy. He would sometimes paint outlines of faces on seemingly random swaths of color. I was absorbing this information when I glanced at the scrap of watercolor paper that I was using to test colors before laying them on the still life. I ran and got a scissors and cut out the most promising section, ACEO size, and painted the face in the span of a minute or two, and voila! (See, I can voila too.)  But mostly I have to wait.

Prior Incantato

Watercolor in moleskine, approx. 5" x 7"

I introduced my new possession with a slight trace of embarrassment and an abundance of barely suppressed pride.  "It's my only frivolous purchase," I said.

This is almost true. I rarely give in to buying whims. Even though I  had bought  it a week before, I  had no regrets, and I have no regrets now.  I am still thrilled with the purchase.

"What is it?" my friend asked.

I gestured with flourish to the spot on my shelf where the object has been displayed like a museum piece.

"A chopstick?" my friend asked.

I was horrified.

"Of course not," I said. "It's a wand!" A thin foot-long slightly tapered charcoal-colored wand, with intricate runes carved on the sides. Certainly not a chopstick; if anything, a fine baton.

I bought it at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando. It is Sirius Black's wand which means it is a symbol of loyalty and sacrifice for all that is good.  But mostly, for me, it represents imagination, master storytelling, and unbridled creativity.  And magic, of course.

My friend doesn't have to understand.

I am lucky. I create a little magic every day. And each day it takes a new form.  I begin with a blank sheet of paper.

Sometimes I am amazed at what a sheet of paper or canvas can display.  Other times not so much.  To have the ability to wield a pen or a brush and create an image that wasn't there before:  that, I could tell my friend,  is magic.  I don't need a wand.  But it is nice to have the reminder on my shelf of so much that I admire, and of so much that inspires me.

The truth, of course, is that no wave of a wand will do. To imagine effectively we must exercise the mind. To create we must exercise the hand.

I have been nearly obsessed lately with the Helga watercolors by Andrew Wyeth.  Andrew Wyeth employed drybrush in many of his pictures, in which most of the moisture is squeezed out of the brush, to create his emotion-laden images.  I have read forums online in which watercolorists have been both baffled and amazed by his results.  [Wyeth's wand:  Stupefy! (You can see a list of Harry Potter spells here.)] 

At least a year ago I found an article about his technique which you can read here.  I revisited it recently.  According to the article, part of how Andrew Wyeth described his process was this: "You weave the layers of dry brush over and within the broad washes of watercolor."

I hadn't caught it the first few times I read the article, but it made sense - he employed both washes and drybrush.  So as a study in my moleskine above, I started the face of the woman above as a wash, almost as I always would.  Only then did I employ the drybrush technique.  For me it was a very slow process - a gradual build up of transparent layers, almost like sculpting, and I was amazed at how the areas in the face began to acquire depth.  This was very different than using the other watercolor methods.

I reached a point where I felt the entire face needed more color, and again thought of the above quote.  Andrew Wyeth did not simply lay a wash and then apply drybrush, but employed a weaving of the two.  So I laid a wash over what I had done, unsure whether that would unsettle everything.  And it worked!  And then resumed the drybrush.  So this was a successful experiment I think.

I don't know that I have done anything like what Andrew Wyeth has done in technique in that I have never been able to examine an original Wyeth piece (I am a mere fledgling artist, self-taught/self-teaching, and even were I to stumble somewhere close, I am nowhere approaching the quality of his work, of course.) One great thing about Andrew Wyeth was that he did not feel limited by any one watercolor technique and felt that he could use several in one piece.  So I tried to do the same.

Except for some initial trials, I used the watercolor medium, gum arabic, for the first time in this picture - and only in the hair.  The description on the bottle says gum arabic "increases brilliance, glosses and transparency of water colours.  Controls spread of wet on wet.  Reduces staining."  I bought the gum arabic because I have not always been satisfied with the vibrancy of the colors.  I do not see that the colors are especially more vibrant than elsewhere on the page.  The texture of the paint did seem to change, and I did note that if water was placed on the hair after it dried, then the hair would vanish [Evanesco!], so staining was definitely reduced. 

It is interesting that in drawing any person, problems can result, sometimes in the most surprising places.  In this one I had a problem with the shape of the shoulders of all things - I mean who ever thinks about the shoulders?  (Except perhaps Henry Raleigh whom you can see in this post of the excellent "Illustration Art" blog, and whose work so impressed me that I could not draw for two days).  It just shows that you can't ignore any part of the body, and must learn - eventually - to control each and every part.  [Imperio!]

There is no substitute for practice. Only then will I learn.

So join me, won't you? Pick up your brush, your pencil, your pen, or whatever it is that you use, and repeat after me:  Wingardium Leviosa! (Make sure your emphasis is on the "o".)  And may all of your creative efforts hereafter rise to new heights.

Playfully Incomplete

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

A lunch at Scotty's Landing, a cafe' by the water in Coconut Grove, Florida. My son, Ian, visiting from college. So there we were, my wife, my son and I. It was the first time any of us were ever there. There was an awning above us with fans and water mist spray to keep the patrons cool. A bar behind us, and in front of us the view - the ever-changing water, the boaters sailing by, and a soft breeze blowing our way. And of course I was exciting company - this was a view I could not ignore - so I took out my pen and drew what I saw. I snapped a shot with my cell phone, but that didn't come out too well. I would figure out how to paint it later.

Then, unexpectedly, I was returning a few weeks later, this time with my in-laws, and my sister-in-law, and my wife. And my wife told me before we went: "You can paint the page when you go!" "Wouldn't that be rude?" I asked. "Of course not," she said, "we're all family". I wasn't so sure. But excitement trumped manners, and they didn't seem to care. They were a bit amused by it, I think.

This time it was the weekend. This time again, good company, soft breezes, relaxing view. This time a guitarist playing tunes by Crosby Stills and Nash, James Taylor, Jimmy Buffet, and the like. Art and Good Music and Food at a dockside cafe'. And a chance to paint the scene on site. I was in paradise.

This page is not complete, but a few folks have told me they like it this way, so I decided to share it like this - playfully incomplete. Eventually I plan on filling in the faces though. I was observing (coincidentally) a bald man with his back to a plate glass window the other day. He had a penumbra of light at the edges of a face that was a bit darkened by the light backdrop. I want to paint that.

I have trouble leaving parts of pictures incomplete. And need to work on doing that, creatively. But at this stage the background is emphasized beyond the people, and the people are important to me.

Graphite in sketchbook, approx. 7-3/4" x 6"

The other day I saw a wonderful half-hour film at the website, Art Babble. The film is called "Conan O'Brien as seen by artist John Kascht." You can find it here. If you have limited time, at least watch the first two minutes twenty-five seconds. In those minutes, a beautiful portion of the film, John Kascht, mirrors my feelings on sketching from life. He says, for example: "I know from experience that most of the freshness of a drawing comes from the accidents. Drawing isn't exactly planned - it emerges as a kind of artifact of the struggle between what I intended, and what I did not intend." But watch the rest of the film and be prepared to be launched from pure enjoyment to total amazement!

During the first two minutes (and 25 seconds), Mr. Kascht sketches a woman, and for a short time, the video shows his model as the artist sees her. Well, that was enough for me. I had to pause the film and draw her myself in my sketchbook. I drew this fairly quickly. I could make slight adjustments to my final drawing to get a better likeness - to the nose, and to the chin, but have decided to let it go. I have portrayed a mood and don't want to destroy it. I note that John Kascht's caricature changes the shape of the nose as well - his nose bows in, while hers is flat with an ever-so-slight bump, so although her nose is more pointy than my drawing shows, I am not alone in letting some things pass, it seems. Watch the whole film and I am sure you will agree that John Kascht is brilliant. So if he can do it, why not me, right?

This is only my second post this month, so I want to catch you up a bit on my activities. I've been engaging in some research and development of late. If you've been reading my blog, you know that I want to improve my drawing of hands. So I've given myself a minimum daily quota on hands to draw. My hope is that I will one day be able to sketch hands just as I do faces and bodies at a public place, despite the shifting and movement. It is quite a challenge.

ink and watercolor in moleskine

One day I was restless. So I began randomly putting paint on a page in my moleskine. I smeared, I blotted, I swished and swirled. When I was done, I sat back and decided to find objects in the shapes, and this is the result. I am not really satisfied with the page, but parts have possibilities to me. Exciting possibilities for future works, I think, beyond washes over large areas. (You can enlarge the image by double-clicking, and perhaps you will see what I mean). One person told me it reminded him of Chagall. I'll take that.

3-1/2" x 6-1/2", watercolor

I took a watercolor class at the Bass Museum of Art this weekend. I have never painted in a group before with other artists. I have never taken a watercolor class. The class was for "emerging artists age 13 to adult". Thirteen-year-olds are truly emerging, I think. It was for "all skill levels", and was only $15 at a time when I was able to go. So even were I to be surrounded by seventh graders, I figured it'd be fun. As it was, there were all adults, except one, who was the child of one of the students. And it was great fun.

One exercise was to cover the paper with water and and let the watercolor spread. This is a basic exercise. We were also invited to play a little afterwards, which I did with the brush handle and in other ways. But what a reminder of the vividness and delightful unpredictability of watercolor! When I got home, I examined the page, and split it into two parts, and think the semi-random marks of this exercise are awfully fun to look at.

7-1/2" x 1-1/2", watercolor

I even named them. The tall one is "Sunspot", and the square one, "Amoeba Love." Why not?

But the most exciting part of the class was the large paper the instructor provided, 15" x 22". He said we should figure out what to draw. I had no clue, so I grabbed my moleskine and pretty successfully laid in color on a very large quick sketch of a man originally pocketsized! I had never painted in watercolor so large!


Then there is my sketchbook. Somehow in my moleskine I have restricted myself to these little ink and watercolor representational sketches. I find that my idle sketches on post-it notes and cheap paper are much more creative and free. So I've bought a sketchbook I take with me now, just to scribble, play with shapes or ideas, warm-up, or experiment. No self-imposed pressure to make a great picture. Like this sketch on the left - would make an interesting painting, don't you think? And it is more playful with line than when I stalk an image.

So there you go. This is my State of the Artist address. I see possibilities everywhere, and different directions to go. So much to learn. Much to experience. It is good to be restless, to be playfully incomplete.  I strongly recommend it.