- Published on
"Only I Will Remain" - acrylic and charcoal on gallery wrapped canvas, 16 x 20 x 1.5. Ready to hang.. Available here and at Artfinder
Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear's path. Where the feat has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
- DUNE, Frank Herbert
Just a little progress is freedom from fear.
- Bhagavad Gita
Let's talk about fear.
It can literally freeze you in your tracks. Once, long ago, in a dark U-Haul parking lot late at night, a man pointed a rifle at a handful of college kids who were changing a flat tire. All the kids ran except me. My feet would not move. My body would not respond. I felt paralyzed by fear. I stood there, the man and the rifle behind me, and did not move.
Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear's path. Where the feat has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
- DUNE, Frank Herbert
Just a little progress is freedom from fear.
- Bhagavad Gita
Let's talk about fear.
It can literally freeze you in your tracks. Once, long ago, in a dark U-Haul parking lot late at night, a man pointed a rifle at a handful of college kids who were changing a flat tire. All the kids ran except me. My feet would not move. My body would not respond. I felt paralyzed by fear. I stood there, the man and the rifle behind me, and did not move.
Only I Will Remain
This is an extreme example, but still...
In smaller ways, fear freezes us in place, unable to take risks, feel feelings, try new things, set boundaries, change things that so need changing. It is no different in art, where the fear of taking creative risks keeps us stuck in a rut and reformulating the thing we already can do. Fear is the mind killer.
But a little progress, like taking one step when the feet really don't want to move, is freedom from fear. That first step is everything you need to take the next one. Ready? Set? GO!
In smaller ways, fear freezes us in place, unable to take risks, feel feelings, try new things, set boundaries, change things that so need changing. It is no different in art, where the fear of taking creative risks keeps us stuck in a rut and reformulating the thing we already can do. Fear is the mind killer.
But a little progress, like taking one step when the feet really don't want to move, is freedom from fear. That first step is everything you need to take the next one. Ready? Set? GO!
About the art: using a reference photo notan in a four value study, creating a rough sketch with charcoal and dark paint on canvas. Building layers of titanium white and titan buff. mixed with the charcoal and/or dark paint, adding slight color with the addition of some blue and raw umber. Resisting the temptation to overly define, paying more attention to the movement and texture of the paint and the layering of shadows. Liberal use of water sprayer and rubber wedge.
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Rain, Sun and Their Wanting
I didn't notice it until recently, but I am in countdown mode.
Feeling the next birthday (still 6 months away) because it is a big one. Though inside I feel more vibrant than ever, the narrative I associate with being a sixty year-old woman is untrue and unfair, but there it is, weighty and angst-filled. I have six months to change that narrative.
Hirschfield's words are a guide. I want to be inhabited by my living - by sun and rain, by mountains and oceans and paint. To be inhabited by the smell of loam, the taste of feta cheese and the sounds of a softly-strummed guitar. Inhabited by a morning snuggle and awakening crows. Mmmmm.
Feeling the next birthday (still 6 months away) because it is a big one. Though inside I feel more vibrant than ever, the narrative I associate with being a sixty year-old woman is untrue and unfair, but there it is, weighty and angst-filled. I have six months to change that narrative.
Hirschfield's words are a guide. I want to be inhabited by my living - by sun and rain, by mountains and oceans and paint. To be inhabited by the smell of loam, the taste of feta cheese and the sounds of a softly-strummed guitar. Inhabited by a morning snuggle and awakening crows. Mmmmm.
About the art: beginning with a rough charcoal sketch (photo right), then adding liberal amounts of water and titanium white to move the charcoal into various values. Adding thin layers of color and resisting the urge to complete all the edges...letting them remain in process. Focus on the eyes and mouth, the darks and lights. Adding geometric blocks of color and allowing paint to run and create texture.
After a couple of weeks with this woman, I feel like we k now each other. She requires nothing more to feel complete.
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I'm still undone, not quite young
But I, I still try
Cross my heart, now I hope to die
Was the way we were
Just like you'd say, we'd turn?
Everything 'round us, big burn
- ORVILLE PECK
But I, I still try
Cross my heart, now I hope to die
Was the way we were
Just like you'd say, we'd turn?
Everything 'round us, big burn
- ORVILLE PECK
A new year in the studio and WOWEE, is there a lot of wild creativity happening or WHAT? (say YES! There IS!)
Beginning with this piece, inspired by a recent hike through an ice covered burn forest in the gorge, where the blackened trunks against white snow and ice were dramatic and so beautiful, but also a bit frightening as the weakened, laden branches crashed and fell under weight and wind.
Beginning with this piece, inspired by a recent hike through an ice covered burn forest in the gorge, where the blackened trunks against white snow and ice were dramatic and so beautiful, but also a bit frightening as the weakened, laden branches crashed and fell under weight and wind.
Everything 'Round Us Big Burn
Add to a half-dozen paintings in process the two new members of our family, both guitars. Sounds of Johnny Cash and Donovan float throughout the house, along with my new favorite, Orville Peck. Peck's video artistry, voice and music are boundary-pushing and yet timeless (see video left).
It's been decades since a guitar sat nestled in my arms, not quite young, but I, I still try. With gratitude to my partner for encouraging me down this path, which finds me skipping merrily. :)
It's been decades since a guitar sat nestled in my arms, not quite young, but I, I still try. With gratitude to my partner for encouraging me down this path, which finds me skipping merrily. :)
- Published on
"Bad Jon" - acrylic and charcoal on 300 lb Arches watercolor paper. NFS.
I thought my instincts were better than that
- BAD JON
- BAD JON
Holiday traditions are sparse around here.
I mean, we had the usual sorts of things in the past- gifts and stockings and gatherings and whatnot. But the kids are grown and out of the house and there are no little ones to drive what used to be a wild six weeks of preparation, celebration and exhaustion. And I am sooooo loving this super chill, relaxed vibe and the opportunity to create new traditions that better suit the current state of things.
So this past Thanksgiving, my son and I began a new tradition - a portrait day. He sat for me in the studio while we chatted and caught up on everything, I painted and sought to capture this young man and his wildly creative energy.
I mean, we had the usual sorts of things in the past- gifts and stockings and gatherings and whatnot. But the kids are grown and out of the house and there are no little ones to drive what used to be a wild six weeks of preparation, celebration and exhaustion. And I am sooooo loving this super chill, relaxed vibe and the opportunity to create new traditions that better suit the current state of things.
So this past Thanksgiving, my son and I began a new tradition - a portrait day. He sat for me in the studio while we chatted and caught up on everything, I painted and sought to capture this young man and his wildly creative energy.
Bad Jon
He's a force of songwriting, singing and performing in Seattle right now, and you can check out his growing discography on Spotify. (thanks for allowing the proud mama moment right there!).
It's hard to believe this kid was once wandering around in footie pajamas on Christmas morning.
It's hard to believe this kid was once wandering around in footie pajamas on Christmas morning.
About the art: beginning with chunky charcoal and a watery brush, roughing in the shadows and dark sections from live model and a notanized photo for value guidance, then coming in with titanium white to spread the charcoal. Jon chose a limited color palette for this piece, and it made the rest of the painting easy and instinctive. Using a water bottle and rubber wedge to keep the paint moving, and leaving sections for the viewer's eye to complete.
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How to Stroll Through the Fields - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 11 x 14 x .75 Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
—Mary Oliver
There are four roses gardens near our home. They are small, community-maintained and a bit scraggly most of the time (which is how I prefer rose gardens - a little wild). We walk the dogs through one or more of these gardens each morning. Lately, they are squishy boggy mud pits. Lilly strolls through it like a wheat field in summer. Wonder Mike skirts the edges, seeking mulch and higher ground. The humans have boots.
How to Stroll Through the Fields
I've been photographing the roses as they wither, brown and fall to the ground. And I almost always see faces in the flowers. (face paraedolila)
Using a black and white studio filter brings out these little faces beautifully (example left). This one, to me, is a bonneted puppy. And given it was discovered with our mud-covered dogs, well, I had to paint it.
Using a black and white studio filter brings out these little faces beautifully (example left). This one, to me, is a bonneted puppy. And given it was discovered with our mud-covered dogs, well, I had to paint it.
About the art: beginning with a professional photographic print and mounting it to a wood cradle, then sealing the photograph well. Choosing a limited palette of soft hues and allowing the photo to be both Notan and sketch, painted with a wet brush and acrylic paint mixed with matte medium.
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Water In Its Clear Softness
"Water In Its Clear Softness" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 9 x 1 2 x .75. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
Water in its clear softness fills whatever hole it finds. It is not skeptical or distrusting. It does not say this gully is too deep or that field is too open. Like water, the miracle of love is that it covers whatever it touches, making the touched thing grow while leaving no trace of its touch. - MARK NEPO
Water in its clear softness fills whatever hole it finds. It is not skeptical or distrusting. It does not say this gully is too deep or that field is too open. Like water, the miracle of love is that it covers whatever it touches, making the touched thing grow while leaving no trace of its touch. - MARK NEPO
Abstract-scapes are in my head daily.
Swimming through my thoughts, cascading into dreams. Big skies, tiny horizons, weighty foregrounds. Water.
We've spent a lot of time near the ocean recently. The weather, unexpectedly, has been stunning - clouds, sun, shimmering mist and hazes, soft glows, reflecting sand, patterns. Sometimes I catch my breath, thinking "oh oh oh - how can this be?" because it is so damn beautiful. I weep there often, heart overflowing and senses overwhelmed in the best of ways.
Swimming through my thoughts, cascading into dreams. Big skies, tiny horizons, weighty foregrounds. Water.
We've spent a lot of time near the ocean recently. The weather, unexpectedly, has been stunning - clouds, sun, shimmering mist and hazes, soft glows, reflecting sand, patterns. Sometimes I catch my breath, thinking "oh oh oh - how can this be?" because it is so damn beautiful. I weep there often, heart overflowing and senses overwhelmed in the best of ways.
It's impossible (for me) to stand at the edge of the continent without feeling very aware of the fleetingness of life, the preciousness of the moment, the smallness of the minutes each of us exist. And so I breathe. In and out. Grateful.
About the art: a rough charcoal drawing of big shapes, followed by loose brush painting with large arm gestures. Rubber wedge, paper towels, fingers. Think layers and thick. A palette knife here and there. Keeping the palette of colors narrow-is and resisting the cadmium red that I long to splatter on everything. :)
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"Swimming is What Makes You Truly Vulnerable" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 11 x 14 x .75. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
It is the difference between bragging about swimming in the river and actually getting wet. You can never drown standing on the shore. You risk nothing. Wading into the river, embracing the current, immersing yourself in the possibilities is where courage is found. Swimming is what makes you truly vulnerable. Everything else is meaningless bravado.
- MARK NEPO
On a recent beach hike, we visited a shipwreck. A behemoth of steel, stuck deep in the sand for over a hundred years. The sun and waves danced and played all around it as the wreck posed and shimmered for our cameras.
As wrecks are likely to do, this one sent my mind pondering all the "dangerous things" (as my father called them) that lead to disasters and wrecks of one sort or another. The things that cause fear, hesitation and perhaps, as Nepo wrote, standing on the shore.
As wrecks are likely to do, this one sent my mind pondering all the "dangerous things" (as my father called them) that lead to disasters and wrecks of one sort or another. The things that cause fear, hesitation and perhaps, as Nepo wrote, standing on the shore.
Swimming is What Makes You Truly Vulnerable
I used to stand on the shore in my own life. Some days, I still want to. Swimming in the river of this life is both exhilarating and heart pounding - there are moments where I want to pull the covers over my head and stop being vulnerable. And yet...the more I swim, the better I am at swimming. The more I swim, the more confident I become in my own courage. And the more I swim, the less I think about all the things on the shore that once kept me from going in the water. One day, I will become the water. And then I'll be afraid no more.
About the art: inspired by the shape and color of the rusty steel wreck, but lightly abstracted. Using the requisite 80 million layers of paint, a rubber wedge and a variety of brushes, keeping the paint wet with a spray bottle and allowing it to move. Liberal use of fingers and paper towels.
- Published on
Gillian and the Dragon
Gillian and the Dragon - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 20 x 20 x 1.5. Ready to hang. Available in December at Artistic Souls Gallery.
I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.~Mark Twain
I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.~Mark Twain
So the studio is in varmint mode. And many of you dear readers have been kind enough to share your favorite kind of varmint, one of which was rabbits.
But rabbits look so sweet and cuddly and non-troublemaking! Unless, of course, they are dragons. You saw where this was going, right? You knew it had to happen? The varmint invasion has begun to morph a little. You might want to send help. :)
But rabbits look so sweet and cuddly and non-troublemaking! Unless, of course, they are dragons. You saw where this was going, right? You knew it had to happen? The varmint invasion has begun to morph a little. You might want to send help. :)
I've been contemplating the experience of existence. And how very much of that experience is controlled by my thoughts about it. And my pre-worries and disaster-labeling of things. These are struggles we all have, I imagine. But what I'd rather be imagining is a much calmer, more joy-filled existence.
Which I actually have.
So when the Mark Twain quote appeared in my day, I thought WHOA. A great many of my troubles have never happened. Remember the time the water heater surely was kaput and the replacement cost was out of reach? Um, oh yes, that never happened. The water heater had a blip, and then it was fine for years and years. Remember when I thought I had completely failed at motherhood and ruined my kids forever? Um, that didn't happen, either. The kids are now outstanding and successful adult humans with big hearts that make me smile.
And so I find myself wondering..could I, maybe possibly, catch those rascally thought-rabbits before I turn them into dragons? Hmmmmmm.
(many thanks to reader, poet and friend Mary C. for suggesting the name of the whimsical girl in this piece. I believe her namesake is an actual dragon-slayer in the modern world.)
Which I actually have.
So when the Mark Twain quote appeared in my day, I thought WHOA. A great many of my troubles have never happened. Remember the time the water heater surely was kaput and the replacement cost was out of reach? Um, oh yes, that never happened. The water heater had a blip, and then it was fine for years and years. Remember when I thought I had completely failed at motherhood and ruined my kids forever? Um, that didn't happen, either. The kids are now outstanding and successful adult humans with big hearts that make me smile.
And so I find myself wondering..could I, maybe possibly, catch those rascally thought-rabbits before I turn them into dragons? Hmmmmmm.
(many thanks to reader, poet and friend Mary C. for suggesting the name of the whimsical girl in this piece. I believe her namesake is an actual dragon-slayer in the modern world.)
- Published on
The Heart is Your Altar
The Heart is Your Altar - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 10 x 8 x 1.5. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
The Heart is your altar. It doesn't need anger or defense.
SARAH BLONDIN
And so, in the midst of a whiteout of whimsy, there was an abstract-scape (or moodscape, as my friend calls these).
All the hikes - the cliffs, the mist, the dark forest, the towers of basalt and hills of stone rubble - form these shapes in my mind. Sometimes they emerge in paint. This one, painted with a palette knife and a paper towel, was inspired by vertical stone patterns in cliff faces in the Columbia Rover Gorge. The patterns can be seen from across the river, miles away. Monoliths of line.
SARAH BLONDIN
And so, in the midst of a whiteout of whimsy, there was an abstract-scape (or moodscape, as my friend calls these).
All the hikes - the cliffs, the mist, the dark forest, the towers of basalt and hills of stone rubble - form these shapes in my mind. Sometimes they emerge in paint. This one, painted with a palette knife and a paper towel, was inspired by vertical stone patterns in cliff faces in the Columbia Rover Gorge. The patterns can be seen from across the river, miles away. Monoliths of line.
As the days shorten and the skies become gray and wet, I become a bit introspective. Poking at things, examining their edges and gently, tenderly deciding if those things (thoughts, feelings, beliefs) are treasures to cherish, wounds to heal or heavy stones to set down somewhere. And so each one gets placed on the altar of my heart, to be covered in love and then released.
I learned recently of CO2 recapture technology that injects carbon emissions into basalt rock, where it is safely held. I wonder if I can leave all the heavy stones found in my internal meanderings at the base of the basalt towers we climb on hikes?. Hmmmmmm. It's against the rules of the wilderness to leave things behind...
I learned recently of CO2 recapture technology that injects carbon emissions into basalt rock, where it is safely held. I wonder if I can leave all the heavy stones found in my internal meanderings at the base of the basalt towers we climb on hikes?. Hmmmmmm. It's against the rules of the wilderness to leave things behind...
- Published on
"Nay, Nay Aye Aye!" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 20 x 20. Ready to hang. Coming in December to Fusion Gallery.
Never have varmints. Only grandvarmints. - GORE VIDAL
Malarkey Central is overrun with varmints.
They are climbing across canvases, tasting the paints, leaving paw prints on the ceiling and generally causing a ruckus. There may never be another serious painting emerging from this studio ever again.
Naw. But for now, it is truly a malarkey-filled wonderland.
Varmints, it seems, are like weeds. The perfect thing, just in the wrong place. When you put them in a whimsical wonderland, varmints are pretty darn irresistible.
But many of us have tales of real varmints causing actual mayhem in our realms, so we will leave them safely trapped in paintings. For now. :)
Malarkey Central is overrun with varmints.
They are climbing across canvases, tasting the paints, leaving paw prints on the ceiling and generally causing a ruckus. There may never be another serious painting emerging from this studio ever again.
Naw. But for now, it is truly a malarkey-filled wonderland.
Varmints, it seems, are like weeds. The perfect thing, just in the wrong place. When you put them in a whimsical wonderland, varmints are pretty darn irresistible.
But many of us have tales of real varmints causing actual mayhem in our realms, so we will leave them safely trapped in paintings. For now. :)
Nay, Nay Aye Aye!
Congratulations, Erika W! Your name was selected at random by Wonder Mike, and "Interrupted Raw Places" will be flying home to you! Thank you for participating in the favorite varmint challenge. :)
