Yesterday I worked on a pattern & it did not resolve. This morning I worked on it more in the hopes that after sleeping my brain would have come up with the solution. No such luck. Sometimes this happens. My good friend Lydia Makepeace wrote an excellent post last month about how you have to make a lot of ugly art (it doesn't mean you have to share it). But you do have to make it. So I chalk the past 24 hours of pattern struggle up to the learning process and present you with arrow trees, a common motif, but one I have not yet attempted (also not the atrocious pattern I have been working on for the past 24h).
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People often ask, "How would you describe your work?" I say that I am an abstract landscape painter. This is often met with confused looks. I think this painting in tandem with the video clip below adequately encompassses this concept. I employed only at Winsor & Newton Water Colour Marker to do this painting. And while I still prefer my brush it was good to see that enough pigment is dispersed to allow for a salt reaction. Today's palette comes from the extremely talented Jacquelyn Gleisner. Her work is expansive (30ft.), but approachable. The detail & raucous color make it enjoyable to travel the entire surface of the painting. Included below the sketchbook images, which were made with the palette shown above, is a brief Q&A regarding materials. H: What color do you wish wasn't in your palette?
G: Hot pink. I have a problem with neon. H: What is your favorite brush? G: Kolinsky Sable brushes are my absolute fave, especially small liner brushes (size 0 or 2). H: What is your favorite paper/surface to paint on? G: Paper is my favorite surface, but I do enjoy working on canvas treated with Golden absorbent ground or a well-primed panel on occasion. H: What is your favorite color to work with? G: Blue, always blue! I certainly agree with Jacquelyn that blue is the best color to work with! And would encourage you to check out her website for more wonderful art, along with her twitter & instagram. And if you happen to live in the Lancaster, PA area stop by Sunshine Gallery by October 29th, for a real life viewing. I love this poem for its wonderfully illustrative language. It is so very descriptive. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
BY T. S. ELIOT S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question ... Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -- (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -- (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all-- The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all-- Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ... I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”-- If one, settling a pillow by her head Should say: “That is not what I meant at all; That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor-- And this, and so much more?-- It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: “That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.” No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-- Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown. Source: Poetry (June 1915). The thistle is so wild looking & almost menacing. Its form is unusual & the color is rare. Even though it is in a flower arrangement with some of the most gorgeous white rose I have ever seen the thistle still stole focus. Remarkable.
Dr. Ph. Martin's Sap green leaves the most gritty flocked effect when used with kosher salt & water. I am convinced that is what makes this painting look more like algae than the usual waterway paintings. Regardless I am interested to see where this experiment leads. As always this 7"x10" painting is available as are commissions. Feel free to contact me. Peace
Vicki Sawyer says, "If birds can build nests, they can make hats." And paint hats for them she does. Her paintings always bring a smile to my day with their whimsy, detail, and directness. The photo Vicki included of her palette also shows her painting which I take as a bonus. I had never considered a plate palette, but seeing the results certainly makes that method a contender now. It is great to see how people work & use their palettes. You learn a lot that way, along with asking questions. Included here is a brief Q&A: J: What color do you wish wasn't there? V: Sometimes I wish raw umber was not there, but I use it so much. J: What is your favorite brush? V: I love using brights because they can give you a thin, controlled line or a broad stroke. J: What is your favorite paper/surface to paint on? V: Having sewed a lot, I love the texture of painting on canvas, but since I usually paint highly detailed pieces, I prefer a fine textured canvas. J: What is your favorite color to work with? V: My favorite color to work with is diarylide yellow because it provides a great, enhancing undercoat for the more transparent reds and greens. If you are interested in seeing more of Vicki's work head over to her website where she also has information on her latest shows. She also has a fun zazzle shop full of customizable merchandise. The blog is moving to a new format this week: Monday: Photo Tuesday: Poetry or Prose Wednesday: Palette Thursday: Painting Friday: Pattern This will give y'all an idea of what to expect & keep me on track in terms of diversity of content. Peace Let Evening Come
By Jane Kenyon Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come. Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn. Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come. To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it come, as it will, and don’t be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. The social media gurus say you shouldn't post photos of sunsets; you also shouldn't use contractions in formal writing. Here is what I say to that: Why not? The sunrise & sunset are beautiful! And contractions make it more conversational. The world is full of terrible news like life saving medicine being stuck in port containers, people being being smuggled & killed. So I will continue showing photos of the sunrise & the sunset to remind us all that we live on one sphere with one star providing warmth & light. Peace
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