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.