giving back to the birds..

Sava, Maddison (our new roommate) and I had so much fun yesterday making bird seed pinecones!
We rolled the pinecones in peanut butter and bird seeds and hung them from the trees in the backyard. Sava had fun yelling "come out, come out wherever you are!" to the birdies..... Of course I took a video..

It is so cold out there!

 

 Sava made sure to hang a couple down low for the poor flightless ones.....

 

 no sign of the birds eating on them yet....... 

but here are my two newest bird paintings!

New Solo Show at Augusta Medical Center, Fishersville, VA

FOUR FORMS

STATEMENT

My painting process is an intuitive dialogue with the composition as it develops on the canvas, with most pieces undergoing multiple permutations before acquiring a final form.  Objects emerge, are scratched out and painted over, or are left as fragments and glimpses. The painting becomes a palimpsest with veiled skins obscured below the surface and is successful when it manifests as a tangible object, fleshy and fetishistic.

This current work is an exploration of the four modalities of the human experience: Body, Mind, Heart and Soul. To me, each of these rather diverse pieces reflects a different energy or state of being. One is a staccato of electric emotion, one evokes the weighty heft of a chunk of cliff-face, and still another pulses with an otherworldly dimension, like a message from the spirit world.

 

 

The Antiquarian's Strata (2010) 55.25 x 65.5 inches

 Slow Lip of Fire (2010) 36 x 36 inches

 

Drifting Scribble of Shadows (2007) 48 x 61 inches

 The Happiness That Lives in Your Chest (2010) 36 x 36 inches

tradition making

A strange holiday to spend without family and relatives. Starting our own traditions as a little nuclear family, I suppose. A necessary step into empty space. It is nice but it still feels strange, embarking on a whole future life of such events. Wondering which actions will coalesce into hallowed family tradition. For instance, yesterday morning, Thanksgiving morning, found me over at Nate's house with our hands under the skin of another gorgeous turkey from Polyface farms, rubbing it with a pancetta-sage-butter-garlic rub (the same rub as last year- we couldn't help it- it was the best turkey any of us had ever had), and I laughed and said! "here we are again!" And in the spirit of that continuity, I pulled out the beautiful blue dress that Sava had just barely grown into last year (a present from the ever-lovely Susan Danis) and wore at last year's dinner, and it fit her perfectly, if a little short, and we gathered a group of friends around the same dining table as she excitedly chased Nate's basketball around the wide open wood floors of his loft.
It had been a wonderful morning of cooking: totally quiet house as Sava and Jamba took a nap (he had let me sleep in, oh joy of joys) and I bustled around dreaming up dishes to make. I played no music but just happily puttered in silence surrounded by billowing waves of smells: garlic and onions and burbling cream and roasting beets and chestnuts and almonds. I made a beet salad in an orange dressing sauce, with fresh chard and spinach from the garden. Oh! That was part of the loveliness. The day before, while I was finally getting the garden ready for winter (stealing bags of leaves from the neighbor's curbs to create a layer of mulch on the garden bed, then spreading the entire contents of our haphazard (but remarkably successful) compost pile over the entire thing) I found an unexpected late-fall harvest of beets and... parsnips!! What I thought were overgrown and tasteless celery stalks were actually the heads of two humongous parsnips. I was so happy-- i didn't think any of them had made it. So I made parsnip creme sauce, compliments of the Chop House recipe book (I am not allowed to give out the recipe, but I can report that it was delicious)
So part of the joy of yesterday's cooking was folding in the last fruits of the harvest into the feast. And I think that is what I would like to take into my future Thanksgivings. For me, the important things will  be to be concentrate on the celebration of the harvest of local food (preferably from our own backyard), and secondly to make sure that the turkey we are getting is from a sustainable, humane farm. I noted how joyful it felt, to be preparing a turkey without any of the usual feelings of guilt conmingled with the gratitude. It was an honorable feast.
What are your budding or hallowed traditions?

Fall Gifts

Happiness is....

a fresh palette

an easel in the autumn light. Painting to
songbird calls and shuffling winds.

new abstracts that will turn into birds

walks in the woods with child and dog

shafts of sunlight in a dimming world

new greenhouse boxes brimming with greens

Using the work "shock" as a noun. As in: "I keep
venturing upon these shocks of color in the backyard"

 

                             and out of all that happiness......  new paintings just hung at TYB!

 (here is First Bath)

Yellow Warbler

Varied Tit

The Choice

Slow lip of fire

here is the progression: 36 inches by 36 inches. Painted in the lovely late fall garden, soft and warm, which at the end turned frosty, as snow fell in tiny lazy spots. I have decided to call the finished piece: Slow Lip of Fire, after a song by Joanna Newsome, one of my constant studio companions.....

starts as a calligraphic scrim. I love it like
this but am given feedback that it seems
merely decorative.

beginning....

becomes punctuated by golden light

Playing with the idea of chandeliers dripping with beads

then, dissatisfied with scrim, decide to puncture
into the space w background

Finished! Needed, in the end to remove the beautiful
yellow to bring the painting into balance.
And a bird of hope to balance all the raw, fiery energy.

Two paintings in progress

some of you have shared how much you love seeing a painting develop, so I thought I would share pix of two paintings as they have progressed through time.  This first painting is huge - 5 x7? and has lived in my studio for almost two years now in pretty much the same state as photo #1... and I have been completely baffled as to what to do with it.. But my December show at Rockingham Memorial Hospital is looming, and I promised myself that it would be a show of abstracts, so I am jumping back into the murky waters....

 

For some reason I want to call it "the loveboat"

but there is something plinthy and monolithic

about it. Sandstone cliffs, graffiti............

 

                                           almost finished!!!  Jamba says it reminds him of some of my earliest abstract paintings, when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.  It certainly owes a debt to Richard Diebenkorn, who I have been studying in the vain hopes that his genius will rub off on me somehow. It lacks his gorgeous looseness and his supreme painterly confidence, but I have to admit I find it powerful and striking, even in its unfinished sate.

                                          Finished! I have decided it is the teeming bookshelf
                                          of a rather unorganized philosopher of antiquities.
                                         I finished it as the first drifts of snow floated past my
                                         knuckles....
....................................................................................................................................................................

 Secondly... a painting which started as an exploration of a specific sequences of glazes (see earlier post) that has become a yarn painting of sorts.... inspired by the yarn sculptures of artist Judith Scott

very beginnings. I am so excited by the emerging forms and layers of glazes. but then....

the painting is rotated yet again: the blue is kept in hints and the figure is subsumed by scribbled lines. I love that the strange man figure has become a sense of openness in the center of the painting. I love the painting at this stage but feel it needs more complexity...

Wanting to coalesce those scribbles into a congealed form, so I overlay and overlay, trying to create depth and unity. It has been so beautiful and warm in these late October days I have been grabbing a rare chance to be able to paint outside. Perfect lighting, too- not too bright or hot.

a close up of scribbles: (this is the photo that inspires my final solution for the painting.)

   

The painting is almost done. I decided that I wanted to extend the yarn scribbles across the entire composition.. to have them play completely across the surface so that the painting becomes a chromatic experience of electric energy. For the last few weeks I have been visiting it daily to drop another colored yarn into the perimeters... slowly building up the edges with the same density of tangles as the original center. The painting is really lovely in person and a complete departure for me as a painter.

finished!!! I am really happy with this piece. Our soon-to be new roommate
came over and said it felt like "the happiness that lives in your chest"
and so that is what it is going to be called.

new abstracts: musings

something formless about them. a sense of calm patience. these are larger, more expansive. they are not begging for form but for small playful strokes: an exploration of layering translucents over one another. Perhaps hanging chandeliers, the endless beaded loops: a chance for more of my favorite oval form: but maybe something less identifiable. I do not feel eager with a large brush and broad strokes, or an urgency to cover the canvas and find a direction.

what are my thoughts... that there is something about my new environmental musings in it. what was it? on the road to pick up my mother from the airport, late night, dark and stormy night, pelted by swaths of rain and ambushed by roaring semi trucks, I calmly walked my mind around the surface of my new red canvas and the different colors to play on its surface. The lights reflected from the tailights in wide swaths of brilliant rectangular color.

Perhaps they are simply shadow-catchers. I place them in front of the play of light and capture the scene behind them, in endless layers. sketch form that is immediately dissolved at its edges.

or something about the acceptance of death.

the glazing is an issue... for some reason there are dry spots and wet spots... very distracting. and yet.. another guide (quieting down and following the small tracks in the forests). I paint some bright red in mimicry of the spattered oily spots, and then just try wiping the sheen off with a cloth: and reveal the most beautiful textured pattern: the original dull vermillion revealed like weathering: the surface of marined metal.

paintings in progress

September 29th

After sweltering weeks, it has cooled down with a nice cloudy drizzly three days... Ahhhhh. Garden has already sprung back into green, just in time for my mom's visit (she is coming tomorrow for 10 days!) Only, I went into my studio to paint and it was chilly! What gives?  Do I have to go straight from fans to space heaters? You know, I am not complaining: I love my backyard studio all open to the elements, perched up high amongst the trees. I have decided one of my favorite places on the planet is to sit on my top step, watching the sun and wind play on all that green, while taking a break from painting.

Anyway, my two new abstracts are giving me paroxysms of happiness. Here they are stretched and with their first coats... the red one is going to be an adventure in which I repeat the journey i undertook a few years ago for a commissioned "rothko" color field painting. I found the scribbled map in my stuff and decided to do it again, only with form and play added in. So this is with vermillion, and a light wash of ultramarine blue...

also, the landscape continues to evolve. Maybe in a bad direction (?)

and finally,  finished two of those acrylic abstracts I started last week........ I love this one: it reminds me of a Norwegian folk art called Rosemaling  (rose painting), only, of course, more modern and loose.

abstract caterpillar chugging through space

Books that are shaking me down

I currently have three jobs (mothering, painting, and a night-time gig waitressing) and a million things to do on my list that simply go undone..... ugh. I start to sweat just thinking about it all. But you get the picture...

So: I have had to sacrifice one of my great pleasures in my life, which is reading, because I have an addictive nature when it comes to reading and will stay up all night with a gripping plotline. Such excesses are obviously unsustainable and laughingly self-indulgent and so I have quit, cold turkey, like a recovering alcoholic. 

But...... the other day, at the downtown library with my beloved Sava (we have re-initiated our Wednesday morning storytime ritual), a book called out to me from their Recent Additions shelf. "Eaarth", by Bill Mckibben. "What a strange title," I mused as I picked it up and checked it out on a whim.  Flash forward two weeks, and you find me a slightly shattered, altered person. Which is one of the wonderful things about books: their ability to infiltrate and rearrange the reader. But I digress...

Okay. So I don't know maybe I have been living under a rock the past few years but I had NO IDEA that things had been getting so progressively snowballingly worse for our planet and our climate, even since just 2007. I am embarrassed, because I am supposed to be an environmentalist and all, and I know I have been busy, but I didn't even really register the great debacle which was the Copenhagen convention of 2009, where the leaders of our nations met and failed to come to any type of agreement on how we were to all globally unify to dramatically curtail the warming of the globe.

So.... I read this book, Eaarth, and felt like I was sucker punched in the gut. Alternating waves of nausea, of hopelessness, and utter despair. Because he says, and this seems crazy to repeat, because I am ever the eternal optimist, that we have lost the fight. The planet is irrevocably altered, already. We have so much CO2 in the atmosphere that there is no real way to halt the process, and we look to a future of radical warming, desertification, water loss, famine and pestilence. We have already gone past the point of no return, and now we just have to figure out how to live on a dramatically altered planet. This means, for my daughter, that in her lifetime she will see her (mostly) green, verdant and lovely planet changed beyond recognition.

I cannot accept this. In my cells I cannot accept this. And yet I believe him. I think he is right. I grew up under the shadow of the fear of nuclear war, with a mother who fought for policy change and peace... but this is something different. This is.....

Like, what do you do with this information? What is the point of anything we do? Why go into my studio and paint silly, beautiful works of art that won't affect any type of real change? They are artifacts. If I am honest with myself, in my best moments I create only material goods, to hang on the walls of the privileged few who can afford them. That night I went to work at the restaurant and wove in and out of table in a state of mindless despair and utter exhaustion. All sense of purpose emptied out of my life. What is the point of doing anything if it is not ACTIVE, DIRECT engagement in policy change and technological solutions? But I am not political. And I am not a scientist. I am an artist and I love people and I love creating objects of beauty and I want to live in a soft green world and give that same opportunity to my daughter who I so fiercely love and want to defend.

You know the killing thing for me in all this? It is that I believe that humanity has received most of its good qualities from direct engagement with nature. That we are uplifted by our encounters with butterflies and thrumming honey bees: restored by our wanderings into forests. Our prophets come from the Wild. That our great metaphysical traditions evolved out of our relationships with the Great Beingness which is the interconnected life force of our vital, breathing planet. Okay... so a hurricane wipes out an entire village, and there is great suffering and loss and it is horrible. I am sad.. I grieve for their loss. But I am comforted to know that the natural world still surrounds the pain and will eventually heal those involved. What happens if our planet starts to look more and more like Mars?  Will we, as a people, become more war-like and less humanitarian? I mean, obviously there will be more wars, over the dwindling reserves of our planet... and less money and support to help those victims of local disasters.......but will we start to reflect the pestilence in our own souls even more? I am afraid of this. I believe in the essential goodness of people and I love this soft green planet so fiercely. It seems impossible that it is so very sick right now.

So what do we do? I have the good fortune of knowing a wise and gentle friend who has been battling these same issues for some time now, Justin Van Kleek, (who lent me the book Twelve by Twelve) and he came over to share some tea and talk with me. He is an activist, a vegan and committed localvore, and he doesn't really hold any hope for the future, but we had some relevatory talks that helped me to process it all. I won't go into all the details of our conversation, as this is already an absurdly long post, but I will touch on some salient points. Basically, we returned again and again to certain Buddhist ideas. One is: there is no hope. But, without hope, you commit yourself to working towards the change you wish to see in the world. We kept coming back to verse 29 of the Tao Te Ching:

"Do you think you can take over the universe and improve it?
I do not believe it can be done.
The universe is sacred.
You cannot improve it.
If you try to change it, you will ruin it.
If you try to hold it, you will lose it."

And the bodhisattva vow: which completely distills this essence of hopeless action:
"Sentient beings are numberless, I vow to save them all"

So.... this current world is perfect. My aching, grieving love for this green planet is a form of grasping, and thus I have already lost it. I am meant to understand that the environmental disaster is also perfect, in its own way. We are not meant to save the world... we cannot save something which is perfect. What a strange, holy thought. I feel at the precipice of some great change: to fall into despair or into an altered and more clear state of being.

Justin caught me using the word "should" a lot in our conversation. As in: "I shouldn't be painting: I should be working in politics, fighting for real change", and he told me that for him, once the word "should" enters the mind, it is like a death. That "should" breeds a force of misanthropic do-gooders, civil fighters that burn out during their attempts to save the world, rather than true warriors who are acting from a place of clarity and love, and renewing energy. The antidote to exhaustion is whole-heartedness. The antidote to the horror of hopelessness, is small and loving action. So, Justin implored me, (and I paraphrase)  "Do not give up painting and creating works of beauty. You talk about how buoyed you are by nature.. what makes you think you are not nature? Not a part of that same nature, and that your artwork is not as transcendent or uplifting as a tree?"  (Side note: in his own way,  Jamba is always talking about this. I cherish, say, a dragonfly humming around the garden and chatter excitedly to Sava about it, and a minute later I am smashing flies in the kitchen with a fly swatter. "Your mommy is practicing aesthetics right now," he will croon to her.)

What profound thoughts. How lucky am I, to have such loving friends to help guide me in this life. So, what next. I think I would like to act. I want to try to minimize my impact, and so I vow to reduce my own carbon imprint. I am going to commit even more to a localvore, and organic diet. Continue going to my lovely farmers market. I am going to try to be more successful and profitable in my artwork, so that I have more money to give to organizations that are creating and imagining a new world. I am going to start planting trees, and I am going to use my beautiful network of loving and amazing friends (YOU) to try to help spread the word. I implore you the read the book "Eaarth" if you haven't already, and take some time to digest the information in there. I think we all need time to prepare and adjust ourselves.

Next book on my list: Blessed Unrest, by Paul Hawken. I just read his article "Ecologist" in an anthology called A Passion for this Earth. He is talking about the millions of organizations that have sprung up in response to our humanitarian and environmental crisis, and likens their dispersed, decentralized formation to our own bodies' immune system. It is a fascinating thought, and I want to read more. But here is a quote from his article that I will leave you with; it is by David James Duncan:

"When small things are done with love it's not a flawed you or me who does them: it's love. I have no faith in any political party, left, right, or centrist. I have boundless faith in love. In keeping with this faith, the only spiritually responsible way I know to be a citizen, artist, or activist in these strange times is by giving little or no thought to 'great things' such as saving the planet, acheiveing world peace, or stopping neocon greed. Great things tend to be undoable things. Whereas small things, lovingly done, are always within our reach."

and now, I am going to go paint.

Paintings at The Yellow Button

My show is looking lovely at TYB.... and I am happy, for now, to not be painting any more bird paintings. Amazing how my energy flows back and forth between styles... It took all these months of painting on wood panels to rekindle a thirst for painting on canvas. I feel like I have gotten something out, and done some retraining of hand and eye, with these figurative works, and am now broken open and ready to paint in the wide open realm of abstract again.


Four new big square stretcher frames now sit waiting for canvas to be stretched over them and stapled: I am ready for the voyage. In the meantime, on of those big canvases: a transition piece. A cloudy landscape with lavender fields. There is a fine line demarcating a sky full of storm clouds and a luminous abstract painting, and I am having a good time walking that line in this piece. Not sure if this will lead to more landscapes (those lovely autumn fields and soft warm winds are beckoning). Note: this painting is still in progress....(I am still working on the lavender fields) and was inspired by a local painter.

Also, in getting ready for the abstracts: I was having fun working with acrylic paint with my last few bird pieces... and decided to go out and buy some good quality acrylic paint and have some, just FUN on the last few wood panels I had leftover from my painting workshop. Practicing the gestures of abstract.





I have always had such a hard time with acrylic.. muttering at the dullness of the paint, but I found some beautiful tubes of paint that are blowing me away... quinacradone yellow-gold, for one! Does anyone else fall in passionate love affairs with tubes of paint like I do? Also loving the immediacy of the gesture, and the ability to paint and paint and bury strokes under one another, without the lengthy drying time. So I will close with pictures of these last few abstracts: they are about 24 x 30 inches, and 24 x 24: acrylic on wood.