Aerial

8" x 10", oil on panel

Woods and Grass

8" x 8" oil on canvas

Self-Portrait 9 2009 #1

photograph

Of great interest to me are passing bits of strong light that make geometric shapes, particularly on walls. The shape of the light here in addition to the inclusion of the door connects to a previous painting, Another Door Opens. Both images are angular and luminous in the center with dark edges. I step into the picture in the photograph like the green in the painting. I typically don't set out with a camera as I think more about painting and drawing, but sometimes an ephemeral image stares me in the face that wouldn't be the same in any other medium but photography. I see myself ghostlike, a flash of life within the long continuum of time. Occasionally I need to "dust the relatives", what I call it when I take the old pictures of my family and my husband's down for a quick brush off. They are compelling; some are people I've never met. In making pictures I think about what I am doing in the flash within the space of the doorway, my frame in the time-line that someone might dust off to consider.

36" x 24", oil on panel, 2008

Spring #11 May Field

oil on panel

6" x 12"

  "I can do whatever I want any old time."

  Post-modernism is a distrust of established canons in art but not limited to art.  It re-evaluates all western values.  The effects of this movement caused a paradigm shift prompting discord with conservatives here and abroad from right-wing Christians to the Taliban.  Examples of artistic deconstruction of traditional artistic practice are the Dada Movement (Duchamp), Fluxus, and Performance Art to name a few.  One act which shocked and then delighted me is when in 1952 Willem DeKooning erased a Robert Rauschenberg drawing.  It seemed like vandalism rebelling against a statement, negating it, pushing a fellow artist off the top of a mound like an alpha male. It was a collaboration, Rauschenberg approached DeKooning who didn't like the idea, reconsidered, and then said he wanted it to be "something he would miss."  It is an example of letting things go.  In drawing one can erase as much as draw, and additive and subtractive method as in sculpture, so this action still has its roots in traditional art.  DeKooning picked a picture with oil paint in it so it took Rauschenberg a month to erase it.  The work elicited a scandal. This interview with Rauschenberg about the event is very interesting.

  My work is fairly traditional as all painting tends to be seen now.  I vacillate in my approach as I don't feel the need to adhere to any rigid definition and can paint as I please.  While I have responsibilities like everyone else, artistically I feel as the Rolling Stones say in I'm Free, "I'm free to do what I want any old time."  It's something one wants to shut.  Even if one's song (one's creative output, oneself) is imperfect, out of time, there is value in it.  Written in the sixties, the song's reference to love reflects the need for acceptance despite social rebellion, the desire to be loved as is.

  On one of his visits to Penn, painter/teacher/critic Andrew Forge asked all of us young painters if we could think of a painter who Pollock [a fun Pollock inspired website lets you move your curser to make Pollock drip patterns] makes us see in a new way.  Also what particular qualities do we see anew?  The questions show how contemporary life can inform how we view history just as history reaches out into the present.  It is impossible to be extricated from one's time.  I said that Pollock changes how we see Vuillard in terms of passion and movement in paint handling as well as pattern.

  Despite artistic freedom, our time leaves its mark.  It is said that Americans have such a rich range of experiences and viewpoints but when an American is in a different country, say a Texan and a Connecticut Yankee, they are unified and easily identified by some quality that is strictly American.  My work shares this phenomenon.  It is American but its hard to say why.  Maybe its the aspect of freedom and the particular places I paint.  While having parameters, a set of "givens" (elements of design, a surface to paint on, etc.) there is choice.  "I'm free to do what I want..."

Winter Landscape #7, Sledding Hill and Beautiful Rochester Gray

24" x 18" and 8" x 10"
oil on panel

I heard someone say while looking at the Vermeer's View of Delft in the expansive exhibition at the National Gallery (11/1995 - 2/1996) artists must want to throw down their brushes when they see the accomplishment of this painting. I say we all have our own song to sing and painter/educator Robert Slutsky told me, "Those times are gone." He didn't mean that it is impossible to achieve excellence anymore, rather that the path to that excellence doesn't lie in a mirroring of past approaches.
I think what makes the View of Delft astonishing is its state of heightened awareness. The vision is hyper-real, conveying an acutely awakened state sensitive to the world. Seeing the real thing forces one's eyes to open widely like after being pinched. It is sad if you glance at the painting and seeing an old Dutch town, continue on, bored and indifferent. Don't do that! I got so worked up when two women walked by a small Rembrandt self-portrait (etching) that I told them to go back to see what they missed.

Notes on my work:

The top is another painting inspired by sledding. It is a clear winter day as opposed to the painting below. It has a deeper space than some of my other work and I got a bit obsessed with it, working the idea with a few watercolors in addition to this oil painting. I like the contrast between the treatment of the cloud and snow; although both white, they each feel like what they are. The loose handling of the trees convey their essence without getting caught in minutia.

Most people groan when talking about the cloudy, gray skies of Rochester, especially the natives. This painting focuses on the beauty of the grays which vary so much in weather conditions and offer endless possibilities. The title frames the idea as do the black edges.

The Wikipedia article on Vermeer says that he continued to use expensive paint through a financial crisis in Holland due to the support of a patron. Artists will have to find ways to continue in our times; here is a great article in Newsweek by Peter Plagen about where the art world has been and where it is now during the recession:


http://www.newsweek.com/id/185786/page/1

Three Winter Watercolors

watercolors in Moleskin watercolor book

pages 16, 17, and 18

5" x 9"

I'll tell you what I enjoy about these (go ahead and call this a vanity blog, but are there any other kind? Besides, this is about artistic independence). I like the sense of scale in the first one with the little strip of land at the bottom. The bright blue rings out clearly, harmonizing with the other colors. The green edges suggest curtains or some kind of vegetation.

I am very interested in expansive space like where I live. The second picture has that openness, with the hint of a window frame or a camera viewfinder, distancing oneself from the cold and the elements. It is reflective of the no-stopping-it-now western quest to contain (and often possess) nature.

The daytime of deep winter has many variations of white and gray. Sometimes bright, sometimes dim, the snow often blindingly contrasts with the sky, forcing me to wear sunglasses while driving even though I'm craving the sun. White-out conditions blows the snow in every direction, blending the differences between up, down, and middle.

The third picture is about the sharp contrast of an overcast day without precipitation as viewed from an interior. The white and black are flat and bold while the gray has soft subtleties in color and paint handling, meeting with the snow in a line meant to convey the two substances.

My brother tells me it is eighty-one degrees in Ft. Lauderdale. He is keeping company with iguanas near the pool. It is enticing, but I would miss the grays. Alright, a few days might be nice...

Homage to Painting

oil on panel
20" x 16"

I saw some of my favorite paintings while walking through the permanent collection at the MOMA. Rothko, Agnes Martin, Lee Krasner; they're all so good. The paintings are made of color and light and create respite. On the edgier side there is DeKooning's Woman I, ferocious and so strong. I love Pollock's Gothic, especially his blue. Whatever is being expressed in an artwork, I respond mostly to art that is intense, like these. I want to see life squeezed into the canvas.
Homage to Painting came out of this museum experience (museums are NOT boring!). I had the impulse to lay flowers in front of the paintings, as I am so appreciative of the life lived, the achievement, the art that is passed on. The pictures are living testimonies to the artists who made them. The light and hope that emanates from them reminds me of the white paper of
Schindler's List that held the names of the people he was trying to save. The paintings save me.

Pink Rectangle Landscape

24" x 18"

oil on panel

You may not think of driving a car when you look at this picture, yet it is influenced by the view I have as a motorist (other influences are the structures of windows and the theatre stage). I spend a lot of time driving through pastoral landscape. The road or highway cuts the the landscape centrally in my line of sight, as in a one-point perspective drawing. While I don't often paint that convergence but rather square it off, the middle remains, flanked by opposing elements. Just as one gets very set in the way one parts one's hair, I find myself drawn to do this repeatedly now; it is cemented in my brain and the picture doesn't look right and is unsatisfying otherwise. It is still too new to be a bad habit in need of breaking (besides, you try to change the way you part your hair). I think it is more a "given" and the experimentation will spring off of it, just as many modern artists used the grid (nifty link, by the way). I am very attracted to the way the central rectangle in this and most of my pictures with this composition can advance or recede. There is something important about the viewing experience of that shift. I think the painting pulses. A warm painting with golden monoliths, it affirms something unnameable but not unknowable.

Late Fall

oil on canvas
36" x 42"

The column filled with gumball-like multi-colored dots gets narrower on top, channeling movement. Optics are a big part of the painting, and I was inspired by an artist once criticized as being a big eye because of his almost scientific approach to color and light. Monet's poplar trees, came to mind to solve the compositional problem of tree trunks amidst leaves. The four vertical streaks of brown/maroon dots add another structural element, in harmony with the three main vertical sections of the painting. Despite the formalities, Monet's paintings aren't cool and unemotional, and neither are mine.

Two black rectangles are like black velvet curtains drawing back to reveal the magical center stage (as close to painting on velvet as I will ever get). They also can be seen as pressing on the center strip, like shorter days in winter and the down turn of the news vs. optimism. I resist letting the dark news be the focal point. I prefer to stay in the frame of mind (I love the at phrase, "frame of mind", like your thoughts fit in a frame, which mine can do, and then there is thinking outside the frame/box...) that Barrack Obama eloquently presented in his acceptance speech as President Elect, "While we breathe we hope." Those dots move as though effervescent, breathing, whimsically bubbling upward. There is blue-sky air, a purple tonality to the bottom, and a golden tonality in the center. The black is not flatly painted but has texture, and colors from underneath richly peak through, signs that it is permeable, vulnerable.

Yellow Sky

oil on panel

20" x 16"

The tropical feel and the red tree remind me of Gauguin. I love his Where do We Come From? What are we? Where are we going? masterpiece at the MFA Boston. He uses rich colors, sometimes bright. I think the sky and the sea in my painting feel somewhat translucent, a luminous blue with orange, the leaves airy, not stiff. Although the geometry is very rectilinear, it breathes. I like the suggestion of leaves on the dark tree on the left. That little triangle has gray marks that hint at what is on the other side, a defining limb curves, echoing the base of the tree. Such subtleties contribute to the impact of the image as a whole, but if a viewer lingers, they are there to be noticed.

Painting provides respite to maker and viewer. The artist is in the unique position of being both. I want to treat myself. I want to see color, space, and light hit my retina. I want to bask in these things.

Fall II

16" x 20"

oil on panel

It seems that I am doing the seasons. Like many, I loved Vivaldi's Four Seasons in high school and was into the Omnimax movie featuring the music while I worked at the Boston Museum of Science. The rhythms in nature, music, and art are energizing but they also have a framework of something that makes sense, truth. Many people say that math is very reassuring to them because there is an objective rightness to it. I think the same could be said for rhythm, echoes of our heart beats, of life around us.

In Fall II there is a rhythm in the brushwork, a fracturing of the space not unlike Cezanne, but more with an eye for an all-over area of color predominating. The simple composition emphasises the space and scale, the vastness of the sky and grass bisected by a distant band of trees. This ability to see far, to take the long view invites relaxed contemplation. It drew my husband and I to make our home in Western New York, where the seasons, weather, and agriculture are an active part of life.

The Green Has It

oil on canvas

24" x 18"

The Green Has It is a funny painting. The stripes are curtain abstractions and the center is a view out a window. It owes much to Pierre Bonnard and one of his many window scenes, complete with striped wallpaper, curtains, light. I think much of my landscape painting has architectural references. They are nature influenced by a domestic view, like Bonnard (the sense of a window). They also often have the symmetry provided by the highway splitting the landscape into left and right when driving. Here there is more on the left than the right and it is a domestic picture, not the open road.

The yellow-green-blue goes through permutations but never bursts into orange or violet. There are a broad range of values, and paint-handling. This is a picture made by painting over another, this time an unresolved portrait. It was the right thing to do, a stronger statement.

Burnt Orange Square

14" x 14"
oil on canvas

I painted over an older painting and the (color of the) frame is now a part of the art work. It is a very physical thing, painting-as-object, in addition to the burnt orange square feeling dense like a Richard Serra paintstick piece or sculpture. It is some kind of hybrid of Serra, O'Keefe adobe houses and Josef Albers. The blue in the gray is complementary to the orange, but it isn't a picture about transparency like the Albers painting in the previous link. It's a tough painting, a Tae-Bo kick painting, not a Celine Dion painting. I don't usually paint this way, but here it is. Perhaps painting over an older piece made me think more about the physicality of the thing, the work as artifact.

Spring Sublimation

18" x 24"

oil on panel



"Measured objectively, what a man can wrest from Truth by passionate striving is utterly infinitesimal. But the striving frees us from the bonds of the self and makes us comrades of those who are the best and the greatest. " - Albert Einstein

I'm always looking for motivators. I mean, I am self-motivated, but even so it is good to get external reinforcement that I'm not wasting my time trying when it sometimes seems futile. It's kind of like looking for the cups of water and orange slices from people when running a marathon.

I painted over another painting to make this one. It is a put-the-past-behind kind of thing which accompanied my spring cleaning and multiple trips to the Volunteers of America. Roberta Smith wrote an article in The New York Times recently about how there seems to be a new trend in painting of working small, as opposed to the large works of the Abstract-Expressionists. She suggests it relates to the economy. It is a kind of simplification, reduction. The short but brilliantly succinct film, The Story of Stuff shows the current state of world affairs better than anything I've come across. My nine-year-old was able to grasp the problems that elude much of society because of its straightforward and appeal graphics. I didn't want to watch it at first, but was glad I did. I think it definitely relates to my art and why I'm making it the way I am.

As far as this particular work, there is a lot of texture visible in this photo of it, but in person the center square seems to hover and seems to be able to go in front as well as behind the green. I'm obsessed with green. Plants are supposed to relax people. The expansive green fields and luminous blue skies of Western New York helped to inspire this picture.