Keep on Truckin'

Famous R.Crumb illustration 

Yesterday, I received what I estimate as my 12^th rejection letter in the past year or so for an exhibition, residency, grant, or other art related thing I applied for. I won’t lie, it sucks. I want all letters to begin with “Congratulations!” instead of “On behalf of the committee...,” but there are a lot of dips that come with the wonderful highs that come with being an artist.

I admittedly ran away from my first foray as an artist because of fear of rejection and/or not being good enough. After working as a graphic artist for a few years, I enrolled in college as an art major. I was an adequate artist—I could pretty much draw what I saw—but felt inadequate next to students who had a natural gift for great draftswoman/manship. At the time I thought that being able to draw and paint photorealistically made you a “real” artist. As a student, I was also writing a lot and found that it came naturally to me, kind of like the draftswoman/manship of my art classmates, so I went the easy route and dropped art to become a writer.

After several events and epiphanies, my desire to create overrode my desire to be perfect and I returned to art. This time though it was with the understanding and pledge to myself that regardless of whether I was the worst student in the class, I would persist. No easy routes.

So my plan for the day is: to persist, to paint, and to work on some more applications. Chin up girl.

Goodbye to the Glass Block Building

Emphemeral art by Damon Thomas 
from the last student exhibition

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. After much soul searching following an art-filled trip to Italy, I went to check out the Glassell School of Art. It was on a weekend so there wasn't much action there as I looked around at the art on the walls and imagined the goings on in the various classrooms. I asked a cute young guy with paint on his shirt for directions, and as he walked away I thought, "wow, I just talked to a real artist!" I hadn't been in an art classroom for more than 20 years. Still, the sights, smells, and the incredible joy I felt, were all very familiar.

A colorful mural by Daniel Anguilu

Almost a decade later, the Glassell School of Art at the Museum of Fine Arts-Houston is planning a big redo. The current building will be demolished and replaced with a new state-of-the-art (literally) facility with much more space for classrooms, studios, galleries, and offices. I have mixed feelings about this of course. I love the old "glass block" building for all of the memories it holds and it's creaky artsyness. However, having taken many classes there and teaching there, I am well aware of its shortcomings—copious water leaks, a freaky air conditioning/heating system that made everyone either too hot or too cold, and general lack of sufficient space for a world-class art school. As sad as I am to see the old building go, I know the decision to replace the building wasn’t taken lightly.

So look for me there on demolition day. I will most likely be crying my eyes out as I think about how the glass block building changed my life.

How'd You Do That? Part Two

A page from Colorscape

Live saving book!

We pick up where we left off last time and now turn to color picking, color mixing, and painting the painting. Color is critical to my work so I spend lots of time deciding on color palettes for my paintings. I love bright, saturated colors but use more muted tones in my work to create a more quiet mood. One of my favorite resources that I use is a book called Colorscape, which groups colors into categories like: Music, Lakes and Rivers, Spring and Summer, Cooking and Seasoning as well as by country. I'll usually have an idea of what color family I want to focus on and then look at this book to find just the right hue.

Obsessive color mixing

Once I find the hue that I want, I get to mixing the paint. As you can see from this picture (right), color mixing involves a lot of trial and error. I first have to find my primary hue and then see how it works as a desaturated tint. Then I make a test color study on gessoed canvas. I don't have the patience to make a smaller practice painting before committing to the final painting so I just cross my fingers and hope for the best!

Painting in progress

I've recently embraced "painting by numbers," meaning that I plan out the colors and assign them each a number. I then write numbers on my blown up sketch and follow it as I paint. It is much easier than looking at my reference photo and trying to figure out if an area is a "4" or a "3." I know that it sounds complicated but it has really simplified things for me.

After countless hours, the painting is complete! Here it is:

Rising, 2015

How'd You Do That? Part One

I am in the throes of working on a new series of paintings based on gangly, gnarly, and craggy trees. It's taken a while to get here, with lots of experimentation. I've started two other series that I still want to pursue at some point, but I feel positive that the trees are what I am meant to work on right now. Oh what a feeling!

Reference Photo

I thought it would be fun to share my process as I make a new painting. I have already shared my "complicated and grueling" process once before for the New American Paintings blog, so instead of going into the technical stuff here I will be sharing more of the "why."

I have looked at the reference for this painting every day for seventeen years. There are three old crepe myrtle trees in front of our house that I have always loved, but have now taken on a new significance to me. These trees, with their twisting limbs resemble hands and fingers reaching to the sky. This is significant because as an artist, my hands are my lifeline and the thought of losing use of them is a scary prospect.

Sketchbook Drawing

With just about all of my paintings, I work from reference photos. I would love to be able to work directly from the source but I live in Houston. It's hot, there are mosquitoes, and did I mention the heat and mosquitoes? I'm tough in many ways but not that tough! I use the reference photos to do my initial drawing and decide on a composition. Next I have the drawing enlarged and then transfer it

Enlarged drawing with "Paint by Numbers"

onto my canvas. (There are a number of complicated sub-steps in between which were covered in the New American Paintings article!) I'm sure that I could simplify the process and make my life easier. What fun would that be though? I did finally stop growing and harvesting the cotton, spinning the yarn, and weaving the fabric into canvas that I stretched on my hand wood-worked frames.

 Next time, I will share the final steps of color picking, color mixing, and painting the painting, and why I continued to make things so complicated.  Stay tuned...

The Joy of Slogging

Fallen, 2015

Sometimes the act of creating is effortless and pure joy and sometimes it's a slog through the mud. It seems to me that those slogs are a necessary part of the process and help you appreciate the moments of flow. The past several months haven't necessarily been a slog but more of a time to experiment and let my art lead me where it needs to go. 

I started a series of industrial paintings based on the corrugated metal buildings near my studio and stopped after the first painting. I also began a series of abstracted rice silo paintings and finished two and a half of them. The reason is that I couldn't get another theme out of my mind: the crepe myrtles in front of my house. When I look at these gnarly trees, I envision fingers and limbs reaching toward the sky, calling out for me to paint them. And once I started, work seemed to be less of a slog.

As I was finishing the painting shown here, I turned it on its side to finish some details and then sat on my couch to rest for a moment. When I looked up, I realized that it was it was finished, thanks to this new orientation.

I will get back to those two other series' in a while!

Studio Music

My Messy Studio Table

Half of the battle of getting to work once I've finally made it to the studio (after getting caught up in distractions like cat feeding, email reading and the vortex of Facebook) is choosing the perfect soundtrack to complement my practice.

This usually involves scrolling through my iPad and not being in the mood for ANY of the 3,989 songs on there. Eventually I will hit on something intriguing that I haven't listened to over and over again, or find something that I have listened to over and over again but can't get enough of and the music and work will finally begin. No more excuses!

My playlist is eclectic. I am a punk rocker from way back but have gotten old and less angry so my musical choices are mellower these days. At the moment I am on an country-ish jag and am listening to the Avett Brothers, Gillian Welch and a couple of songs from the soundtrack of "Nashville," a TV show that is my current guilty pleasure, solely for the music I swear! Also on heavy rotation are: St. Paul and the Broken Bones, Fleet Foxes, Joy Division, Florence + the Machine, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, the Shins, Danger Mouse and Danielle Luppi, and when I need a serious pick me up, Wild Flag and Flogging Molly.

I can't imagine painting without musical accompaniment. Since I'm also a lapsed musician, it's like the best of both worlds. Now if I could also write while painting and singing, my head might explode!

Precise Women

Work in Progress and Electric Substations Behind

I've started a new series of paintings based on industrial scenes. There is an abandoned rice silo next to my studio that is my latest inspiration. A few years back, I did a series of electric substation paintings and I found all the mechanics and wires oddly intriguing, probably because I was looking at them from an artistic rather than a functional standpoint. I'm equally intrigued by industrial sites and rusty warehouses, and have been looking at the work of the "Precisionists" for inspiration. Precisionism was a painting movement in America from about 1915 to 1941. The best known Precisionist was Charles Sheeler, whose work I love, others include Charles Demuth, Ralston Crawford and Joseph Stella. What surprised me was that there were several female Precisionists as well including Elsie Driggs, Virginia Berresford, Imogen Cunningham, and most notably, Georgia O'Keeffe, before she moved on to her more famous organic themes. From what I've read, Elsie Driggs wasn't concerned about the politics of the time or the "masculinity" of her subject matter but rather the stylization and the shapes that could be found in industrial scenes. I can definitely appreciate that.

Why Anyone?

Cool Looking Crepe Myrtles

The time after my first solo show has invoked what I imagine what most bands feel like after they release their first album. They have spent their lifetimes building up to that big break and once they have released the album and it's successful, all they hear is "when is your next album coming out?" and "what are you working on now?" While I didn't spend my lifetime preparing for my show, I was immersed in the series for three years. I went through the during the show publicity and chatting it up period, the post-show exhaustion period, the post-post show giddiness of "that was a really cool experience" period, and now I am in the experimenting, exploring and figuring out what am I going to do next period.

Life and its various curve balls have come at me while I have been working on ideas, sketches and studies. I have begun teaching at the Art League, which I love, and I've been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, which is just bullshit and has me an alternately stoic superwoman who isn't going to let a stupid disease stop me from doing anything to a bawling mess trying to pull it together so I can leave my car to go into the grocery store to buy a dozen eggs.

The good news is that this bullshit disease has been caught early and I'm not dying and it's chronic but treatable and it could be very much worse and I can still paint and draw with minimal pain and I know that I should be very grateful because other people are going through much worse shit than this, but all the rationalizing in the world doesn't stop the fact that I have to process this before I can move on. Don't worry, this will not turn into a "why me" or disease chronicle. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't give up easily or ever, so I'm sure that this will eventually register as just another minor blip on the radar. Right now though, it's fresh and I've gotta get it out so I can get back to painting those pretty pictures!

What's Next?

 The past couple of months have been a whirlwind as I got ready for and had my first solo show. While it was a pretty exhausting, the entire experience from start to finish was absolutely perfect and I am immensely grateful. So many friends came to the opening, the show looked fabulous in the gallery, I met many new people, sold several paintings, and even had my picture in the paper! I am an optimist by nature but even I wasn't expecting that much good stuff.

An A-Mazing Maze

The dust has settled and I am now pondering my next move. I've loved working on the Neighborhood Series but I saw the show as a culmination of that work and I'm ready to move on to new things. It's an exciting place to be and there are so many possibilities. I even have an inkling of an idea and direction...

I was fortunate this weekend to hear a talk by one of my favorite Houston artists who does amazing graphite drawings that involve family narratives. He said that when he started art school, he tried to do abstract expressionist work but it didn't feel right. Then he started mining his personal history and everything fell into place. I could very much relate. The major revelation I had in doing my show is that my work is rooted in my family and childhood experiences. Since I don't paint figures, it's not easy for others to understand this or for me to translate it, especially when I paint buildings and electric substations. Since my inkling of an idea and direction involves buildings once again, my challenge will be to continue to make my paintings feel human without including any signs of life in them. Should be interesting.

To gain some inspiration, I am taking a trip to the Big Apple to see American Modern at the Museum of Modern Art and every other museum and gallery that I can squeeze into two days. I've got my walking shoes and sketchbook ready!

Art, Could You Please Make Yourself?

Part of Giant Untitled Painting, 2013

I haven't been writing in this blog because I have been working nonstop to get ready for my very first solo show that opens August 23rd at Lawndale. I just finished a 4.5' x 15' painting, that is a diptych, i.e. a painting in two parts. I feel very relieved to have that monster done!

Getting ready for an exhibition has a way of taking over your life. You spend many of your waking hours looking at the calendar to see how much time you have left to finish everything and then as you try to fall asleep you worry about all the stuff you still have to do, remember that you should be writing about it in this blog, and then thinking about what you'll work on the next day. When you get to the studio and have been there for what you think is an hour, days and years have actually passed. I'm slightly exaggerating on that last one but I am amazed at how quickly time passes when I'm in the studio and how it seems to stand still when I'm at my day job! (No offense day job, I love and need you.)

When I am not painting, worrying, at the day job, or trying to fall asleep, my husband and I watch a lot of those "survival" type shows on TV. Seeing people who are dropped into the middle of nowhere without food or clothing makes me feel a little less whiny about having to spend all my free time painting. It also gives me great ideas for television programming. My idea is to have a reality show about an artist dropped into the middle of the Amazon jungle by themself, who must make fire, gather food, build a shelter, find water, AND prepare for a solo art show. That would be awesome.

Art and the Introvert

The Window at Big Bend National Park

I am both shy and introverted (apparently they can be mutually exclusive) so giving presentations has never been something I look forward to. I have overcome many fears in my 48 years but this one still nags at me. What is baffling is that I've never had a bad public speaking experience that I can recall--no one has ever heckled me or threw stuff at me. I've even gotten positive comments on occasion. After countless presentations I haven't died, so why does this still bother me so much?

Although I have heard that most people fear public speaking more than death, I don't like to admit that I have this fear because I'm afraid it will just perpetuate and make the situation worse. So why am I admitting it then? I know that I am not the only scaredy cat out there, and dammit, everyone deserves to be heard, even if they are shy!

Last week, I did a "Pecha Kucha" presentation on my art at DiverseWorks. It was a five minute slide show and talk, which is not very daunting, but still I was a little nervous and wanted to enjoy doing it rather than just doing it to get it over with. To get ready, I did something called "tapping" which essentially involves stimulating the body's energy meridians to relieve anxiety and other icky stuff. You can find out about it here. I know, it sounds all New-Agey and such, but I will take the risk of sounding like a flake if it will help others get over this fear. And it's much better than that age old suggestion of picturing your audience naked. Who thought of that one and how is that supposed to relax you?!?!

I am happy to report that my presentation went fine; I felt calm, I remembered most of what I wanted to say, and I didn't die. I call that a success!

What Success Means to Me

"How did it go?" or "how was it?" are a questions I often hear from neighboring artists after a big open studio event. The real question being asked is "did you sell anything?" but this question is rarely asked directly. Many of my non-artist friends though, who I am sure only have my best interests at heart and don't know how hard it is to sell big paintings, cut to the chase with: "did you sell anything?" When I explain that no I didn't sell anything but yes the event went great, I feel like they don't really understand how something that did not result in sales could be "great."

Two Fridays ago, we had our big Spring open studio event at Winter Street Studios. We had a lot of traffic and many visitors. I met lots of new people, caught up with friends and returning visitors, and had meaningful conversations about my art with several people. The event introduced my work to many new viewers who will come to my shows and, who knows, may eventually buy a painting or two. I was thrilled to sell two small paintings, but the event would also have been a success if I had not.

Sure, I need to make money from my artwork. This is not a hobby for me, it is my career. It is also something I would do whether I needed to support myself doing something non-art related for the rest of my life (although I hope that is not the case). I have tried hard to do other things than be an artist but this is all I really want to do and it is something I cannot not do.

Every day I get to make art is a successful day for me. Every time I get to show my art is a successful day. Every time someone enjoys or "gets" my art is a successful day. Every day that I do not give up on doing what I love and was put on earth to do is a successful day.

What We Do Is Secret

I am gearing up for the big ART. - A Spring Artist Exhibition coming up this Friday night at Winter Street and Spring Street Studios where we will open our studios so people can check us out in our natural habitat. I will have a preview of some of my new stuff including Cover Me, which is not nearly as washed out as this picture would have you believe. I have a bit of a like/not like relationship with open studio events. I enjoy meeting people, explaining the intent behind my work, my process, how I get my lines so straight, etc. I also enjoy hearing impressions of what my paintings remind them of and, of course, love the exposure and sales that result from a open studio event.

I am not as inclined though to share the actual physical process of making art.
My workspace is cluttered with reference photos, tracings, color swatches, sketchbooks, notes to myself, and a picture of my mom. The idea of someone looking through my stuff feels like an invasion of privacy. I keep hearing over and over again that people want to see the behind the scenes aspects of how artwork gets made. I certainly understand the curiosity but I think there is some value to keeping things mysterious. If people knew how much boring, repetitive work was involved and what a small role inspiration plays in making art they would be very disappointed! Because of this, I have dual studios, one at home and one at Winter Street.

My studio at Winter Street is like a model showroom, while my tiny home studio, seen here, is the factory where the work gets done. It's noisy (NPR All Songs Considered or Pandora), messy (piles of paper, palettes of wet paint, canvases and cat hair), and my secret refuge. Only me, the cats, and with express written permission, my husband, are allowed in there. At Winter Street everything is tidy and organized, and a welcoming sign says "C'mon In!" If you're in the area, do come in. I promise you, fantasy is much better than reality.

Big Spring Exhibition and Charity Box Show

You will be happy to know that I have been working diligently on my paintings these past few weeks. The stuff of life has thrown me off course here and there but I finished the painting to the right this past week. It is for the Winter Street Studios Big Spring Exhibition and Charity Box Show, April 12th from 6-10 p.m. More than 250 12"x12" works will be available for $100 each, with proceeds benefiting Freedom Place.

Come see me and my studio mate Marsha Glickman in studio #A8. We will have lots art for your viewing enjoyment!

Large and In Charge

While trying to come up with a title for this post, I realized how many sayings there are related to "bigness" including: go big or go home, Mr. Big Stuff, big man on campus, be the bigger person, and my favorite, "No man stands taller than when he reaches down to pet a cat," an awesome quote from my husband that nobody better steal!

I went from doing a very small painting last time to a much larger painting this time around. I had a flash of inspiration and a deadline to meet, which turned out to be the perfect combination. The painting is titled, Privacy Please, and is 48"H x 36"W. I liked working on something that is almost as tall as I am although I had to remember to mix three times as much paint as I thought I needed. Lots of area to cover on this one! I have entered it and two new paintings in the Visual Arts Alliance's Open Exhibition so keep your fingers crossed for me.

Can't I Just Stay Home With My Cats?

I finished painting number three last night. It's a smaller and narrower format than I usually work in but I'm happy with the result. I'm obsessed with tree shadows right now and whenever there is a sunny day, I am out taking lots of reference photos. Many of the trees are still leaf-less and cast the most amazing, limb-like shadows on buildings. Now I have the task of trying to figure out what to do for my next painting - so many ideas! I've got my work cut out for me.

I would love nothing more than to stay at home painting with my cat assistants by my side, but as I move further into the world of being an artist who wants people to see, enjoy and purchase my work, I am realizing that being social is pretty important. Like the old adage offered to shy girls and boys hoping to go on a date: Prince/Princess Charming isn't going knock on your door, you need to get out and meet people. While I do like to socialize and meet people, I am an introvert through and through. Where social occasions are energizing for extroverts, they tend to be draining for introverts. Because of this I am highly selective with my gallivanting.

A case in point--there were two opening receptions tonight that I had planned to attend: a printmaker's show at Avis Frank and Beth Secor's show at Inman Gallery. This morning I felt energetic and raring to go to both. As the day went on, I decided to skip the Avis Frank show, and later, after every shred of extroversion had left my body, I decided to stay home. What I like about receptions is that I usually meet new people, see friends, and meet the artists featured in the show. I also think its important to get out and be part of the art community.

The reality is that making art is a very solitary activity. Because of this, it attracts a lot of introverts who enjoy their studio time immensely and cringe when it's time to get out and be social. While I don't exactly "cringe" at socializing, I really do prefer staying home with my cats. Don't take it personally though, it's not you, it's me.

Ordinary Paintings

I visited the Lawndale Art Center this week to scope out the gallery where I will be having my show in August. I'm a planner (I even have a degree in planning. Unused to this day!) and in order to calm my nerves, I tend to analyze, over analyze and plan every minute detail of any project I undertake. My husband says that I would be great at planning military battles, but I'm just not into that. I'm more into planning vacations and such.

What I love most about Lawndale is that I never know what to expect when I visit. Invariably there is a video on nonstop loop that must annoy the bejesus out of the staff. The other art though is probably not what your grandmother would consider art, meaning that it is challenging and rarely involves traditional paintings. This worries me a bit. While I don't consider my paintings traditional, next to most of shows I have seen at Lawndale, my paintings seem pretty "normal." The last thing I want to present is the most boring show in Lawndale history. At the same time, I did propose a show of paintings. I guess my challenge is to remain true to my original intention but push what I am doing a little further. It's really exciting to think about the possibilities!

Doing Lines and Meeting Deadlines

No, I have not turned to 1970-era, disco drugs to get my artwork done. I've just been painting lines, lots of lines, as I put the finishing touches on my latest painting. This is usually a very Zen-like experience for me but yesterday I ran out of the right color of paint with only a few lines left to do so that was kind of a buzz kill. Alas, I am a fighter and you can't keep this girl down. I went right back to my disposable palette pad, mixed some more paint and charged on. Mission accomplished! Now I need to decide if I still want to add the side building that I'd planned on and whether to do a cool blue, light Diebenkornish "sky" or keep it white. I kind of like the starkness of the white. We shall see...

Thursday night was the opening of my first two-person show, Toward Subsistence: Paintings by Rebecca Hamm and Cary Reeder, at the O'Kane Gallery, UH-Downtown, Houston. First off, the exhibition looks great! What a hidden gem the O'Kane is - such a great space. I'm so pleased with how my paintings mesh with Rebecca's oversized, abstract watercolors based on the natural environment. While the O'Kane Gallery is a bit off the beaten path, I hope you will stop by to see the show. It's definitely worth the trip!

When I Grow Up I Want to Be A Big Painting

After finishing my first painting of the year, I admit that I  slacked off slightly over the weekend. No, artists do not get weekends off! I seem to respond well to deadline pressure so I am sure I will get going full steam ahead soon. I have been making sketches for one part of my show that is still in the germination stage and have done a study for my next painting (left). I like this whole doing a study first thing. It is much less daunting to paint and repaint at 8" x 10" than  30" x 40". Last night I got the yellow of the house mixed and some preliminary shadow colors mixed and tested. Alas, after the paint dried my yellow had a greenish tinge. Grrrr, back to mixing and testing...


I've been thinking a lot about where I am going with my paintings. I have been working on my Neighborhood Series since late 2009. The paintings are based on houses in the Heights. I don't paint them because I am in love with the architecture of bungalows or am interested in portraying charming cottages. I paint them because to me they represent mystery, the unknown and loss. When I see a house that intrigues me, I'm curious about the many lives lived in it, the secrets it holds, and losses it has endured. These houses are much more than simply impersonal structures. That is what continues to compel me to paint them. At the same time, I don't want to become so one dimensional that I'm only known as a "house" painter. It's important to evolve as an artist. I guess that when I feel finished with this series, I will know that it is time to move on to something new. Until then, bungalows reign!

Is It Done Yet And Other Questions Painters Ask Themselves

I made my deadline with 11 hours, 45 minutes to spare! My painting, seen here and as yet untitled, is pretty much finished. There are a few things not shown in this photo that I want to fix. I usually end up changing the ground color, then the sky color, then changing the ground color again to look better with the sky color. Honestly I could go back and forth for days changing these colors ever so slightly until I'm finally satisfied. I've learned though to step away and sit with a painting for a while first because in a rush to finish you can really screw things up! Nonstop painting is also very tiring, so making decisions when you are exhausted generally ends up in disaster. I am also trying something new and novel: making small studies of paintings first to work out the colors and composition. Hopefully this will help me figure things out before spending hours mixing and taping and painting and mixing and painting, etc.

I very happy to be fully back in the painting groove. I am not struggling with distractions as much and have to remind myself to take breaks and go to sleep at a decent hour. It's so good to be back!