Best Laid Plans

Best Laid Plans, acrylic on canvas, 14" x 18"

With the posting of this painting, my first impulse is to say, like William Kentridge ,  "My job is to make art - not sense."

But that wouldn't be quite true.  I almost always find meaning in my abstracts.  All I pay attention to as I paint them is the marks and colors and textures and shapes - yet meaning appears.  They make sense to me.

Go figure.

I'd say more, but I've decided not to.

What do you see?

And if you can't quite beam to wherever I'm at, never fear, I have some representational paintings in the works right now.

2,760 Miles

"The Friendly Wolf" 10" x 10" acrylic on canvas [Click on the image to enlarge.]

Okay, I hate to brag, but the average wolf does not migrate.  He might trek as far as 70 miles, following migratory prey, before he settles down again to join a pack, or establish his own new territory.

But this wolf has traveled 2,760 miles from Miami to a city north of Los Angeles.  He arrives today at his new home, hopefully in one piece.  He certainly should.  The bubble wrap is so thick that I could have used the wrapped canvas as a pillow and still not damaged it. 

Ah, the anxiety of shipment.

This was a commission, and a joy to do.  There is a lot of layering in this piece, and many colors.  In fact, the wolf had so many colors that at one point I had to put the canvas aside to decide what to do.  It was too much.  Eventually I knew what I needed, a transparent brown.  And lo and behold Winsor & Newton came out with a new color called, appropriately, Transparent Brown.  Voila!  It worked as advertised, to great effect.  And, like a few of my other paintings, I made liberal use of the rubber spatula tool towards the end.  So far, for me, it is much better than a palette knife.


One personal joy in painting this wolf was the knowledge that it is going to hang in the room of an autistic young man.  I hope that it brings him great pleasure.  I'm partial to the unique plight of autistic individuals because, as you may remember, my son is autistic.

And for the record, my son didn't show any interest at all in the wolf.  In fact he has never paid any attention to any of my art.  That is, until recently.   When he did, it was quite a surprise.  He walked to the dinner table carrying an illustration I'd done, saying, "Look! Look!" with a big smile on his face.  This is what he was carrying: 

10" x 13" Ink and watercolor

Sigh. 

Dark Ladder

"Dark Ladder" acrylic on 8" x 10" canvas

In the fading light I examine my walls, scraped bare,
Some, but not all, of their guts exposed -
A stew of colors, a few palatable, others putrid;
Glues from coverings best forgotten;
Telltale signs of holes and gaps and vulnerabilities.

Yet the scattering, the dissonance, is attractive to me.
It is perfection that is disturbing.
I think of this as I scale the ladder in the dark
And apply my first coat of
Smooth, aromatic white
Paint.

* * *

PAINTER'S NOTES:  Mari of Colour Blob who, by the way, is doing beautiful work of cold - very cold - winter days, commented and asked how I got the texture in the painting, whether it was dry brush, so I thought I'd add my response here because the result was a surprise to me, and the process of painting was a bit of an adventure:

The painting began with an exact, almost photo-realist painting of the ladder. I am impressed with but not a big fan of photo-realism. It was properly done, but uninteresting, and I did not like the colors or the composition. So I stuck it in a drawer where it stayed for months. 

The other day I pulled it out, felt wild and wooly, and decided to start painting over it in a very free manner. Some was wet and some was dry. I was all over the place. I believe I was mostly wet first, and then went dry on top. Not sure. I thought I was going to ruin it frankly, and I didn't care because I didn't like the first "draft" and could always use the canvas again. Maybe that is when you do the best, I don't know. 

Then I pulled out the tool that I have truly begun to relish in my acrylics (which worked very well for me in another painting - not quite finished - that I haven't posted yet) - a rubber sculpting tool that looks to all of the world like a spatula. It could be viewed, I guess, as a soft painting knife. I love what it does. That may be some of what you see. 

Thanks Mari!

My Love Letter to Art on the Occasion of Our Anniversary

14" x 14" acrylic on canvas

My Love Letter to Art on the Occasion of Our Anniversary:

My Beloved,

It's our anniversary.  It's hard to believe that it's been 3 whole years.


You and I flirted on and off, of course, before we finally became serious on March 15, 2009.


As a child I drew all of the time. Doodles were in all of my margins at school, and cartoons of aliens were everywhere. I knew my true love then. I forgot later, I know. But you forgave me.


At age 7 I won my newspaper's weekly children's art contest! Then in 1973, the Watergate trials were on tv. We had only a rudimentary idea what was going on but loved to draw all of those nefarious faces, didn't we?


One year in junior high school, they had a "patch and motto" contest. My design for the patch won first place in the school. But they sent the second place winner on to the county contest. That student's idea was better than mine, they said, although my art was the best. I was crushed.


I drew in pastel. I played with calligraphy. I loved pen and ink. I did a mighty impressive pastel of my brother, and some pretty good drawings on scratchboard. I was 14 or 15. 

A pastel of  my younger brother done when I was 15?

If only we'd stayed together. But I was young - I was confused, and looked away from you. In college at times I forgot you altogether.  I thought I was too old for you.


After I graduated we had a tentative liaison and I dabbled in oils, and then acrylics. But I didn't do much and knew even less, and had a marriage and then a family to tend to.   I didn't take you seriously.


But you were always whispering in my ear even if sometimes I forgot to listen.


Finally, in 2009 we caressed. But would it last? It had never lasted before.


Friends we have never met saved our relationship; I am sure of this. Our first acquaintance was Janey of Janey's Journey, a very special artist to me. You can read in this blog's very first post about what she did for me, if you'd like - about her innocent question. That was the beginning. By my second post, I'd met Raena. [Check out my joint blog with Raena, 2'nFro].  And soon thereafter, the Everyday Matters Group and artists all over the web.

A mildewed scratchboard drawing I did at about age 15

I discovered that there are no folks in the world that are more generous than artists. They share their knowledge, their techniques, their struggles. I have learned so much from them - am learning so much every day - that I am now almost as good as I was at fifteen.


I must confess, that my wife knows of our affair of the heart. She says all I think about is art, art, art. And it's true, I am smitten. But we could never be, you and I, without the artists I feel so blessed to have met and am still meeting every day. They care about us, you know. This blog has just passed 200 followers!


To properly summon tears for the occasions, and since I am a guy and of course do not cry, I have painted onions. This is only the second time that a painting on actual canvas has appeared on this blog, but it won't be the last. I love impasto, and have missed it with watercolor. And I love the immediate rich colors.


I am newly reacquainted with acrylics. I believe that this painting was able to happen only because of what I have learned from my online friends. [I will now never believe that watching the Cooking Channel can't help you to learn to cook!] I was visiting my mother, and she and I painted together. We found two onions in the refrigerator - one had been there a very long time!  It was a delightful afternoon that you shared with us.


So here we are, beginning year four, and our relationship is renewed again. I am working on another painting in acrylics that is far more complex than this one - and so far so good (fingers crossed). I am truly excited about it, and hope I can get it to the end without ruining it. But even if I do [ruin it], I know you will be there for me, and this time I won't leave you.


I won't ever leave you.


Now pardon me, while I have a good cry.


Yours forever,
Dan

Decrepit, Despondent, and Drained, but Hopeful

There was an empty chair at the Coconut Grove Art Festival back in February, so all I had to do was sit and sketch the scene. This week I colored the drawing in spare time increments (which, unfortunately, is how I always seem to do things these days). That last session I was tired when I started, and not at all pleased when I finished. I half-heartedly scanned it and couldn't think of one good thing to say about it. I could barely write a word. I was exhausted.

On her blog, Katharine Cartwright (my art philosophy guru) has just started discussing a book that I highly recommend, Art & Fear: Observations on the perils (and rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland. I love this book, and truly believe that reading it was one of the reasons that I picked up a brush again after decades. It's also a book that I read from time to time whenever I need a boost.

One thing that Kathy mentions from the book, is that artists are very concerned with process. The viewer of the art is not at all - the viewer of the art only cares about the end result. In this way there is a disconnect between artist and viewer.

And, oh, about this picture I could think of so many things I did that I shouldn't have done, and, oh, what I could have done if I'd only done like I should've, and man, why didn't I have a better grasp of watercolors after all this time, and shoot, why didn't I keep my eye on the ball - where the light was coming from, and blasted, why didn't that color lift and why hadn't I tested the staining qualities of my pigments like I'd been meaning to do, and so on. Process.

And then I showed the picture to my wife, who is always an honest arbiter of my work, a fierce critic both for and against. I don't always agree, but she's handy to have around. (I think I'll keep her.) And she liked it. She didn't have a bad thing to say about it which I chalked up to her lack of hard knowledge of the craft. So decrepit, despondent, and drained, I went to sleep.

The next afternoon, the sun was shining, and I ventured another look inside my Moleskine. And, you know? I kind of liked it. Not as good as it could be, maybe, but better than I'd thought. Maybe I was the viewer now.

And what is the hope anyway? That in a year I'd open the book again and smile at my efforts and think of how far I've come, and of the journey yet ahead.

The idea, I think, is to open the book and draw and paint, and then close it..and move on.

Celeste Bergin, a marvelous painter, once commented on one of my posts that painters know that there's PAIN in the word PAINTING. But she said, "Painters have to be willing to fail over and over." That, I suppose, is because they do.

Say..I'm a painter!!

About Face

At her unique and wonderful blog, Artists Paint Themselves, Deborah Ross states: "Artists spend a lot of time painting other people and places, but what happens when an artist paints him/herself? I thought it would be fun to invite other artists to post their own self portraits."

What a great idea. The blog is wonderful, the paintings are varied and creative. Links are included so you can see other works of artists you like. I'd strongly recommend a visit.

I am especially grateful to Deb for posting my self-portrait today on her blog. I am honored that my effort is included with so many beautiful paintings, and among works by artists far more experienced than myself.

Just so you know, my mother says that I am better looking than my self-portrait shows. Thanks, mom. My brother-in-law takes this a bit further. He says that in the painting I look like a serial killer. That, I suppose, is an apt description of the intense gaze of a guy trying to paint himself in the mirror. Next time, I'll just have to paint my lighter side..

In a Hotel - EDM Challenge #56 Self Portrait

11" x 13-1/4" watercolor on 140 lb. cold press paper.

Holed up in a Virginia hotel for three-plus hours. Watercolors in hand. I look around. Nothing interesting to paint. But, wait - there's a table in front of a mirror, there's a lamp to one side, and when I look straight ahead ..

Three-plus hours later, and I have completed my first Everyday Matters challenge, number 56, a self-portrait. Life is good.