Winter Landscape I, II, & III

18" x 24" each

oil on panel

Even though it is after Easter there is still some snow out here near Rochester. I enjoy the changes in light, air, and temperature (well sometimes the change in temperature) that make for stunning qualities in color. The texture of the landscape seems to change as well, as trees have buds and snow melts and refreezes.

The first winter landscape painting up top seemed to paint itself. It's one of those breakthrough paintings that happen once in a while and can never be made the same way a second time. *@$!# sigh. It totally has to do with frame of mind and maybe even the alignment of the planets. Painters are pluggers just like writers, so the only thing to do is to keep sliding around in the mud until something materializes. Gladly, none of these paintings are mud. The first one captures the coldness of winter and the crystalline air. It also suggests woods on either side and the format of a stage. I have been thinking about how the woods have so much plant and animal life in them that we don't always think about as we get through our "to do lists".

The second painting is involved with the three layers of sky, woods, and snow. The woods are a layered tangle of compression of form and space. The paint handling is rhythmic in its bends; lines travel between the varying density of trees.

The third winter landscape also addresses the problem of sky, woods, and snow. This time the woods are not set in gray, but almost seem encapsulated in blue ice. Obviously staying true to nature is not my priority. I enjoy the different kinds of blue here, the space between the trees, the drawing of the trees (mini-portraits) and the interplay between the layers.

As much as I go on about spring, winter has its moments.

Cream, White Circle, Blue

12" x 18"

oil on panel

This is a fairly straightforward landscape color field type painting. The directness of it comes from its basic composition of a horizontal rectangle halved with a circle in the top part. A friend was recently sick on an airplane with me and it increased my appreciation of the fundamental importance of being able to see the horizon. I think that line of earth meeting sky is hardwired into us and is a good place to start when making a peaceful image. Such a simple line and areas above and below can be quite compelling in real life as well as in art.

I just saw the Courbet show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York where the painting, The Wave, is on view. It is as encompassing as a Rothko and I was thrilled to have Cezanne's words in my mind as I took my turn before it. From the Met website "Cézanne later recalled his impressions of this painting: 'The one in Berlin is marvelous, one of the important creations of the century. ... It hits you right in the stomach. You have to step back. The entire room feels the spray.' " The Wave is a churning subject painted in a way that amplifies that sensation. Courbet's The Desperate Man is a depiction of himself in a state of angst. It is the cover image for the show's brochure and to me it has parallel emotional content to The Wave. The Desperate Man is an amazing painting for its innovative expressivity combined with its technical virtuosity. It captures the topsy-turviness that many people feel in their early twenties (Courbet was twenty-five when he painted it) and it shows that Courbet was an edgy painter, approached painting with a freshness that matched his reputation as a rebel in his time.

No longer painting churning landscape abstractions as I did in my twenties, Cream, White Circle, Blue goes more in the direction of Agnes Martin.

Sky and Snow

12" x 16"
oil on panel

After making this painting I discovered a poem about winter that I like very much. It is called
Twenty Below by Paul Engle. It talks about the hardness of winter wind, loneliness, and the way "cabin fever" can bring about intimacy. It has been very cold and snowy here in Western New York, but my painting doesn't focus on the same things as Engle's poem. Sky and Snow is lyrical despite its lack of Matisse-like arabesques. The blue and the white shimmer radiantly; the air feels crisp. The line of snow meeting sky softly undulates, human, not stark. The space is inviting for all its apparent emptiness, calm and open, no trace of a cabin. It is a friendly place, not unlike an illustration from one of my favorite picture books, Caldecott winner A Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats. His book is described on his website as "sparkling with atmosphere." I remember being enchanted by it as a child, and again as an adult reading to my son. I think my painting has some of that sense of wonder, but the narrative is removed and it is very still.

Light Blue Rectangle, Blue Square

24" x 24"
oil on panel

Don't dismiss it yet. It's not nothing. There is a square and a vertical, smaller rectangle. The latter hangs in space, glowing. It is like a mirror without a reflection. Peaceful, it seems impenetrable at first, but closer inspection reveals fracturing in its facture, hints of atmosphere. Maybe it is a looking glass to pass through. The light blue rectangle has the singularity and scale (hard to tell in a reproduction) of a head; that when the viewer approaches it stands in opposition, ready to greet or be met.

There is a hint of alchemy, of substances, colors mixed, subtly woven into the two opposing blues. Their overall contrast makes me think of the sky-blue atmosphere of earth and the universe beyond. Although we can't see outer space with our naked eyes, it is very real all the same. So the picture is about mystery and human limitations. It is about conception and reality, the flat world and the round, the search for clarity and the frontier. It is also a light blue rectangle and a blue square.

While in the MFA program at the University of Pennsylvania I had the opportunity to study with Robert Slutzky and later be his TA for Drawing I. Bob died in 2005 and I remember him as a caring, extremely intelligent teacher known for his expertise in both architecture and painting. He studied with Joseph Albers at Yale, taught art and architecture at Cooper Union, worked with architects John Hejduk, Peter Eisenman, and Richard Meier. Then he came to Penn and was always a central figure in critiques for architecture, painting, and sculpture students. His geometric paintings are filled with light, color, and transparency; stunning, please click here.

It is funny to see one's own work next to a mentor's. Bob's work dazzles me but the thinking of space, placement, color, makes the work so strong, far beyond eye candy. The work of mine that I am posting is not more about opacity, atmosphere, singularity, something somber. I would so have liked to have had more conversations with Bob because he always made me feel that painting is important and my painting is important.

Boom! Ft. Lauderdale

24" x 18"

oil on panel

I went to Ft. Lauderdale with two friends recently to celebrate my birthday. I visited my very cool brother there and we all went out to Boom! In fact, we went to Boom! two nights in a row and had a great time. A gay dance club and bar, it is very popular and shares a spot in a strip mall with several other gay owned stores including "GayMart", "Bottoms and Tops", and "Georgie's Alibi". The text in the painting, "I like you just the way you are" comes from the Timbaland song, "The Way I Are." It also is a reference to my song with my husband, the oldie-but-goodie, "Just the Way You are" by Billy Joel. The club has an atmosphere where anyone is welcome. I am sure that club-goers have their own list of preferences, and nothing is completely simple, but overall it is a place where anyone can come as they are. My husband couldn't make it but was happily in support of my fun.

The main negative about Boom! and other clubs in Ft. Lauderdale is that smoking is permitted (note the haziness in the painting). Between the smoke machines for the ambiance and the overcrowded room filled with lit cigarettes, I returned home to have the worst asthma episode of my life, lasting over a week and a half. I'll spare you the details except to say that I had the energy of an eighty year old. I didn't drink a thing all weekend, so all the bad feeling was from smoke alone. Sadly, I can't return to Boom!. We did duck out periodically to Georgie's Alibi next door which is non-smoking. We caught our breath to music videos while sitting in the lounge, enjoying the music better than the sometimes too techno Boom!.

There is a great club in Rochester where it is non-smoking (although they do feel the need to use the smoke machine). Tilt is less of a meat market with more eye-candy. It offers straight and gay nights and has a reputation for great drag shows. The fun is not over.

Painting notes:

The figures in the painting are similar to those by artist Marsden Hartley, who incidentally was gay.
Wikipedia entry here.

Butterfly Self-Portrait

24" x 18"

oil on panel

It's a little goofy looking, I know, but that's me. Bright-eyed and smiling, my intense gaze is optimistic. What I am looking at is unseeable to the viewer and perhaps to me as well; I think I am looking towards what lay ahead. Butterflies frame my gaze, fly out of my head, and seem to be with me inside and out.

Butterflies are associated with nervousness and the body - butterflies in the stomach - as well as transformation. The movement they make, all that fluttering and quivering, makes them such a perfect metaphor for tremulous feelings. When I want to do something that is good for me but it involves stepping outside of my comfort zone, I try to make myself do it even if I am afraid. At the same time, I am careful not to take on too much in order to avoid being overwhelmed. In looking for internet sites relating to learning something new everyday, I found some fun things. Learning is related to total wellness and I think the balance of mind, body, and soul is very important for happiness.

Stylistically, Butterfly Self-Portrait, is related to the work of Abstract Expressionist Willem DeKooning. DeKooning's paintings of women took off from the cubist portraits of women Picasso did, but added supreme fluidity, and guts to a planar framework. They are tough and often ugly. Virtuosic, visceral, honest, and a "to hell with what anyone thinks" attitude make them favorites of many. There are also a lot of people who are put off by their aggressiveness. The attitude of stupidity the degree of fragmentation of the women raised the question of misogeny (many of Picasso's portraits of women seem to mock them, like the portrait of Dora Maar, Weeping Woman). I have also heard it said that DeKooning may have been painting about a difficult relationship with his mother.

In my painting, I kept the almost charicaturesque quality of these other paintings (it's a willingness to laugh at myself), but backed it with my sincere positive outlook. The painting is fluid and airy for those butterflies. I am not decked out in fancy clothes (or any for that matter) as it is all about taking a look at myself to see the essence of what makes me go. My fortune cookie this week read, "Accept yourself as you are." I do, but I don't like being bored, so...

Learn something new every day:

SharpBrains.com

Lifehack.org

Braingle.com "Brain Teasers, Riddles, Trivia, Brain Exercises, Games, Forums and more..."

Clouds and Stones

12" x 16"

oil on panel

We have a lot of rocks in our yard. We're not very good gardeners and my husband has become preoccupied with getting the rocks out of the way of the lawn mower and starting a stone wall. He has a particular fascination with ones without mortar. My grandfather, a construction worker, also loved stone walls. He admired the craftsmanship and the combination of natural beauty and the work of the hands. Their is a human scale to such walls, as well as evidence of care, time, and planning, like embroidery.

In this painting, the clouds take the form of a series of rings. Their unity as a line and forms of individual units echo the stones. One reading of the foreground can be water surrounding the rocks, but waves don't lap at their edges. More likely from the information painted they are strung in the air, like weighty party decorations. Clouds and stones are elevated to the celestial, common, belonging, important. The clouds seem like white halos to the stones.

Green and White-Blue

12" x 16"

oil on panel

Imagine you are on a plane. You see rectangular fields of green; the plane tilts and you see clouds, atmosphere, a bit of blue, all framed through the plane window. I am not literally describing this scene in Green and White-Blue, but this kind of experience informed it. I enjoy the intensity of the tangible green, the luminosity of the white, and the appearance of the edge of blue. An odd thing is that it seems taller than its 12". It is both lively and peaceful, expansive, hopeful. Even though it is geometric in design, the edges are all about substances interacting and it is connected to the landscape tradition that celebrates nature as majestic and larger than ourselves. One such nineteeth century American painter is Frederic Church who painted this color centric picture of Niagara Falls.

Here is a painting by Brice Marden, which seems to be a contemporary relative of mine.

I mentioned an article by Mark Bittman from The New York Times last week. He has just begun his own blog through the paper which can be found here. It looks really good; he's posting a daily recipe and there is going to be some discussion of food politics. Don't be scared about the politics; it doesn't seem to cut-throat as one of the recipes up is for fried chicken. Excuse the vegetarian pun; I get it from my husband.

Another note on my last post, my friend, Sharon, recommends the book Food Politics by Marion Nestle, "She has a great discussion about the formation of the Government’s food pyramid and how the dairy and meat industries lobbied heavily to inflate those daily requirement, with little or no medical research to back it up. It’s a fascinating read, if a little dry- if your local library has it I’d recommend picking it up."

Butterfly Lungs (Aztec Skipper)

16" x 12"
oil on panel

I like the symmetry and duality of the butterfly form and the human form. Some oppositions they evoke are: halves and a core, internal and external, fragility and strength, function and beauty. I like the juxtaposition of implied movement: the breathing lungs and the pumping wings. The brown, black, and purple are striking in their richness, but can also seem unpleasant, the way anatomy is simultaneously amazing and repulsive. It ties our bodies to nature, a connection environmentalists are trying to re-establish. I think the main feeling behind this strange image is that of purpose and potential futility. There is no guarantee that all the effort will result in meeting some tangible goal. There is the belief that the striving is important. It is in opposition to apathy.

It is the icon of my daily life, rinsing out jelly jars and putting clothing tags in the paper recycling bin. It is eating Tofurky (very good in a sandwich with cranberry sauce). I was glad to see a recent article* in the New York Times by Mark Bittman address the environmental impact of eating meat. He suggests the federal government's daily recommendation for protein intake is inflated. Gee, could meat lobbyists be involved?! It's not just "Big Tobacco" out there, it's "Big Meat".

A striking analogy from the article is this quote:

"To put the energy-using demand of meat production into easy-to-understand terms, Gidon Eshel, a geophysicist at the Bard Center, and Pamela A. Martin, an assistant professor of geophysics at the University of Chicago, calculated that if Americans were to reduce meat consumption by just 20 percent it would be as if we all switched from a standard sedan — a Camry, say — to the ultra-efficient Prius."

I do drive a Prius, but I confess to the world that I eat bananas. They travel far to reach me and I sympathise with all the carnivores out there, because it is hard to give things up. I eat Tofurky; I don't know if I can give up bananas.

*used with permission

Orange Self-Portrait With Butterflies

12" x 16"

oil on panel

I think the painting is peaceful in mood, created in part by economy of design elements. Atmospheric perspective allows for lines and butterflies to come in and out of focus. The gray-white air moves forward and back, now figure, now space. The orange changes saturation and moves towards pink while a right angle near my shoulder suggests a chair or perhaps a the corner of a painting, maybe one of butterflies. A large butterfly is connected to my head, popping out of my brain, a live thought bubble. Butterflies are creatures of dreams, of hope and potential. My painted self is my real self.

Glass Box, Hand

36" x 24"

oil on panel

The black squares in some of my paintings take on three dimensions in the form of this glass cube. The setting is some kind of existential wasteland, a non-descript place of change, as indicated by the loose brushwork. It seems as if a wind is blowing, the only thing to ground you is the brown bit of horizon. The hand seems ghost-like, as transparent as the box, defined only by a few lines. The glass cube seems to make the hand a bit more substantial. It is an offering, resting on the outstretched hand, a precious bit of color in a vacuous space, water in a desert.

This could be a metaphor for a few different things. It is a picture about strength and vulnerability. It is about gift-giving. A gift has a part of the giver in it, in the thought required to select it and present it. There is the hope that the receiver will receive it well. I did not always know how to accept a gift graciously. It is easy to slip into practical thinking or to be too much of a connoisseur when looking on a new object coming into one's house. It's better to think about the giver instead of the thing or that the thing is a piece of the giver. Britney Spears, whatever her situation, has it right in her new song, Piece of Me. A performer does put a piece of themselves out there, no matter how private they may or may not want to be.

The painting is not only about giving, but is about extending oneself. It is about taking a risk, going into unfamiliar territory, potentially bruising one's ego (the glass box). The path is not fully illuminated but may be worth exploring.

Hand, Butterfly (Ipidecla miadora)

36" x 24", oil on panel

I bet you missed the butterflies. They're not gone; I've got a few fish frying.

There aren't many details in this painting. It makes you focus on the way the sections of the muscles of the hand are similar to the sections in the butterfly's wings. The painting is not mamal vs. insect but rather living thing and living thing. The butterfly is depicted fully, while the human is only represented by the hand and forearm. The butterfly is more of a character, in a way, than the person is, more of an individual; it has a face. Maybe the hand could be the Hand of God with a radiant, holy gold color. It has a monumental feel. The background has a leaf-like shape to it, echoing the form of the butterfly's wings. The subject's large scale, bold color, and focus on nature relates to O'Keefe.

I'm getting more studio time now that the holidays are over. Back to frying fish (no more cookies, thank goodness).

Green Circle, Blue Square

24" x 24", oil on panel

No, your eyes are not deceiving you; the circle in the center of this blue expanse is green, not yellow like the sun. It relates to my previous post in that it has an unexpected twist with nature references present but skewed. The blue subtley shifts and is not painted flatly like a wall or a sign. I like the clarity in the piece, its serenity and confidance. It has a good vibe for the New Year. It is a focal point like the Target logo, but less wired. Enjoy, and if you have holiday returns to make, stay and look a little longer. Happy New Year!

Blue Circle, Thick, Dark Green

24" x 24", oil on panel

This one is definitely lunar, and I don't remember what I did to get that blue. The green is textured, taking the look of grass at night. The odd thing is that it isn't naturalistic despite these references. The blue circle doesn't "read" as a pool of water, nor does the green "read" as sky. It looks as if there is a hole cut out of the lawn and the moon is there, at the end of some earthy telescope. Or maybe the blue moon is full in a sky made of the darkest moss instead of air. It seems still, yet as if something is about to happen, sort of like when you are watching the night sky for a shooting star. It's somewhat surreal.

Whatever it is, I enjoy the opposing shapes, contrast of light and dark, and feel of the whole thing. I bet there are a bunch of Wiccans out there who would appreciate it.

Happy New Year!

Nativity

digital image

Finished in time for Christmas...
[Well, I finished an oil on panel, 24" x 24" version after doing this Inkart piece. I couldn't get a good shot without a glare, so I'm going with posting the digital.]

The square format, attention to geometry, and cobalt blue reflect my admiration for Giotto. The picture is divided into quadrants by a god's eye type of form. The black pupil is the center of the painting. The star in the upper left echos the structure as does the flattened legs of the wooden trough. They stick out at that odd angle as a reference to the crucifixion. The star and the crucifixion are symbols of hope. The figures are eliminated except for the baby Jesus. Joseph and Mary are signified by two interlocking halos, like wedding bands. The lower left corner has three purple/blue cubes symbolizing the gifts from the three magi. The animals are reduced to one big ox or bull, which I have explored as a motif in other paintings. The bull is not a tame animal, so I think its place in the scene is to say that while the night is peaceful, there is danger in the future. God's eye sees all and life is vibrant nonetheless.

White Square, Green

24" x 24"
oil on panel

I'm on a green kick: spring, fresh starts, optimism, positive thinking, hope, renewal, all those things. The white square in the center echoes those ideas, evoking the potential of the blank page. It feels full rather than empty, alive in its organic, wavy edges. It is like a white sheet hanging on the line in May. The different greens are close in value (lightness/darkness) and so shimmer. The paint is applied so that the greens interact but one does not seem to dominate. The pieces feel like the closely-knit greens of moss.
It is rather the opposite of a department store experience, so if you are taking a break from your holiday preparations to check out this blog, soak it up. As for me, my cookies are in the oven, I'm studying for a quiz on HTML, I just packed my son's lunch, did laundry, put paintbrushes into soak, planned a play date, boxed a painting to be shipped to New Orleans, re-arranged carpooling, did the dishes, and let the dogs in and out and in and out. That is why the painting is necessary. It is pointless in helping me with all those things, except that making it and looking at it brings me back to center so I can keep going.
Another place to refresh is The Poetry Foundation; check it out.

Yellow Square, Blue, White

24" x 24", oil on panel

I like this one. I mean, I like my work, but this has an all-is-right-in-the-world feeling about it. Of course, all is not right in the world (I'm feeling a bit like Lemony Snicket, and yes, I've read all the Unfortunate Events), but it is good to have that feeling sometimes. Optimism. Optimism is hard to come by sometimes in the gray, cloudy winters of Western New York, so this is especially for my fellow Rochesterians. There might even be a little of Niagara Falls in this one.

The yellow square is a solid sun, a star that seems as though it will never die. The square shape makes us relate to the sun anew due to its unpredictability. At the same time, it is stable, secure, and very predictable, immovable, unchanging. It contrasts with the wildness of nature it is in and a part of. Surrounded by water, sea foam turns to air and clouds; water turns to sky; the yellow form stands tall on a base of blue sea. It breathes. A vertical piece of white measures against its right, connecting the white behind the square and it front, defining space. The viewer's eye is led in a circular motion and one can imagine the pupil dilating as it adjusts to the mid-day summer sun, soaking up the light.

Photos

digital photos

Colored light and shape are what interest me most in these shots. I think they inform my paintings with the way they are focused on simplicity. The triangle is a singular shape appearing to hang in space, although it is light on a wall. My paintings of circles and squares are the same kind of idea. There is a relationship between positive and negative as well. James Turell is a master of the materiality of light. My photos are sketches compared with his symphonies. The first photo is Self-Portrait with Biscuit depicting my beagle puppy. I like the way my shadow snuck in there. In fact, it is much like the shadow of a head my friend observed in Square-spotted Yellow Mark. It reminds me of the domesticity and colored light of Bonnard as well as Bonnard's dashund.

Two Paintings: Green with Yellow Marks, and Ochre and Brown

Ochre and Brown, 12” x 24”, oil on panel, 2007

Green With Yellow Marks, 12” x 24”, oil on panel, 2007


Ochre and Brown is a strange painting for me because it is both subtle and straightforward. It is earthy and feels like a golden, burnt field of Millet and has the brown of a discolored varnished oil from the nineteenth century. The land and sky have an interesting relationship as pieces of ground seem to lose their density and become clouds. It is strange too for its mixture of modernity and history, organic and synthetic.

Green With Yellow Marks reminds me of a field of buttercups or yellow tulips. I’m not a gardener and I welcome and enjoy the site of dandelions covering my lawn in the spring. The stretched horizontal landscape format works well for this pastoral imagery; the yellow marks twinkle like stars.

Square-Spotted Yellow Mark

24" x 24", oil on panel

This painting is a link between my minimalist pieces with squares and circles and the butterfly work. The butterfly is coming out of the void into the green. It is equivalent to coming out from under a rock, as the saying goes. Light and texture play important roles in this one.

My friend, Andrew, had this observation, "The darker green appears to me as the shadow of someone’s head, an unseen observer watching the butterfly emerge from the square. Just thought I’d share that."

Usually when people say they see "things" in my paintings, it is often because they can't see the picture as an abstraction and are trying to latch onto something they can name, like looking for things in clouds. A face is typically the first thing picked out because it comes from a human need to make sense of another human, finding the eyes, nose, and mouth. In this case, Andrew is right on. It is funny when I haven't lived with a piece long enough to realize what I did. The meaning of this shadowy presence is a whole other thing.

A Butterfly in the Hands, Red-bordered Pixie

36" x 24"

oil on panel

The white hands are ghostly, holding the butterfly as if forming it. It is an allegory for a divine creator. It is also an individual accepting mortality and making some attempt at grasping life anyway.

The picture is simultaneously stark and atmospheric. There is a range of delicate linear elements, short brushstrokes, blurred and loosely painted areas, and bold shapes. It feels eternal and instantaneous, tangible and ephemeral.

Painting is different than music in that it is not linear in time. Painting is not bound by a start and a finish in terms of how it is seen by the viewer. This painting is in tune with its medium and the way time functions in visual art.

The Last Supper

24" x 24"

oil on panel

This was done after Hans Holbein the Younger's Last Supper. Renaissance paintings are so compositionally elegant. They are geometrically solid. I enjoy the three paneled background and simplified the image to focus on the shapes and the light. I removed the figures except for some disembodied hands and feet, not feeling the necessity to have twelve sets as the narrative is now familiar to a large population. The floating body parts remind me of similar pictures that I saw in Italy at the monastery where Fra Angelico lived and painted. As I am interested in golden rings as symbols, the singular halo and its austere significance attracted me. I think it is especially beautiful hovering in the blue sky. Its lightness is in opposition to the compression of forms on earth, represented by the table and floor at the bottom of the picture.

Passing the Butterfly II, White Peacock

16" x 12"
2007
Oil on panel

This painting is addressing the same theme as Passing the Butterfly (Homage to Andrew Forge). The analogous palette is limited to green, yellow-green, yellow, white, black, and gray. I reached a point in painting it where I thought it was done. It looked good close-up, but at a distance it seemed illustrational and tight. Illustration can be Art with a capital “A”. The problem that keeps illustration from being fine art in many cases is that it is in service to getting a clear message across in a very concrete way. That being the goal, it is not often at liberty to pursue the mysterious and push metaphors to the limit. These things add complexity to art and offer the multiplicity of interpretation and rich symbolism that makes art vital and timeless.
So how did my painting get stuck being so literal? Sometimes I like to adhere to a likeness and I was being fairly loyal to the particular butterfly, the White Peacock. Maybe I was feeling cautious. I let it sit several weeks, like putting writing away in a drawer, and then felt ready to dig into it again. It required a bold mindset, as one might imagine Sargent feeling when he painted brushstrokes with bravura. He was never fussy. I made the three forms relate more to each other by bringing colors back and forth amongst them. I like the way the black separation (space) between the fingers of the upper hand visually blends into the body of the butterfly (form), like a crevice. It is a split in half that is echoed in the bottom hand through the yellow vertical line and the division in light and shadow. It isn’t obvious which hand is giving and which is taking. Often the act of giving fills oneself, as the cliché “It is better to give than to receive” extols.

Yellow-rimmed Eighty-eight, Michelle's Colors

36” x 24”
Oil on panel
2007

The palette of violets, blues, reds, and black is one which appeals to my painter-friend, Michelle Albert. We met at Massachusetts College of Art where we were in the same painting section. One of the exciting things about going to art school is the process of learning from ones peers. It is like a laboratory of people experimenting and searching. Observing the process of others is stimulating and contributes to one’s own creativity and learning process. Lasting influences are forged as ideas are embraced or rejected, often unconsciously.
I like the light in this piece, its dim, rich vibrancy, like that of stained glass, reinforced by and the black lines like lead. I want the image to dazzle, as do the Tiffany windows in my church.

Everything I am about to say is already known by others, but I think it is useful in relationship to the painting.

I am doing a series of paintings of hands holding a butterfly. I feel as though I could paint the subject over an over with many variations as it is a strong metaphor to me of the fragility, beauty, and temporariness of life. It is something we can hold only for a little while; it isn't fully in our control. We are in the often difficult situation of being fully invested in life while acknowledging that it is not ours to keep. It has to penetrate our hearts and then fly away. This is true of our own lives as well as our relationships with others. It is a magical, difficult thing to have friends and family who are so loved live far away. Transportation in the modern world allows us to have relationships long distance, which is a luxury, but also presents the problem of hellos and goodbyes. Sometimes the goodbyes are harder because there lurks the shadow of acknowledgement of death. The Greeks thought that the gods were jealous of humans for their mortality because of the preciousness it gives to living. Celebrating the moment is a way to stay in that frame of mind. I write this in an airport, waiting to board a plane to return to my husband and son after a weekend away to visit my brother in Florida. The butterfly in the hands is the way we hold others in our hearts; the beating is stronger for the weight.

Butterfly Release

30 in. x 24 in.

A joyous painting, it depicts butterflies set free from a box. The action is important here, so details are mostly absent and forms overlap, suggesting the chaotic fluttering of a moment. It is impressionistic in that respect. The cream colored butterfly in the upper right is the most in focus; thickly painted outlines also offer tangibility during an emphemeral event. I think that I would like to explore this idea further. Like Van Gogh's sunflowers, yellow carries an uplifting mood easily; high notes on a keyboard.

Butterfly Pinned

36" x 24"

oil on panel

The butterfly appears to be mounted for display, but that was not my conscious intention. The space is suggestive of a box, the white plane behind the butterfly is like a flap. It is not the first time that I have pictured a butterfly as a crucifixion (the symbology is resurrection in Christianity). The grays, black and white allow what color there is (variations on the complements green and red) in the insect to carry more weight. The dynamic, linear veins defining the segments are rhythmic and strong, electrified currents in a clinical atmosphere.

Strangely enough, the thought of a Russian dancer from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker comes to mind. The drama of the dancer's outstreched arms and the struggle of the kicks while squatting, and the boldness of it all seems in sync with this creature. It seems ready to spring to life like one of the toy soldiers coming out of a box in the ballet. The dance is called the Trepak, and I found something similar in Russian Dance Ensemble Barynya's video clip:

http://www.barynya.com/video/nedorostok.mpg

White Circle, Blue, Black

24" x 24"

oil on panel

Despite the reduction, this image recalls Romantic landscapes, which has led me to the word "sublime". A Wikipedia entry regarding the sublime in art has expressed my intentions rather succinctly (I have cut and pasted parts of it below).

An artistic reference to this piece is Arthur Dove, a painter who embraced the sublime.

Wikipedia entry
Victor Hugo touched on aspects of the sublime in both nature and man in many of his poems (Poems of Victor Hugo). In his preface to Cromwell (play) he defined the sublime as a combination of the grotesque and beautiful as opposed to the classical ideal of perfection.

The experience of the sublime involves a self-forgetfulness where personal fear is replaced by a sense of well-being and security when confronted with an object exhibiting superior might, and is similar to the experience of the tragic. The "tragic consciousness" is the capacity to gain an exalted state of consciousness from the realization of the unavoidable suffering destined for all men and that there are oppositions in life that can never be resolved, most notably that of the "forgiving generosity of deity" subsumed to "inexorable fate".[15]

The sublime, as a theme in aesthetics, was the founding move of the Modernist period. Attempting to replace the beautiful with the release of the perceiver from the constraints of the human condition, these ideas were amplified in critical theory through the work of Jean-François Lyotard[16]. For Lyotard, the sublime's significance is in the way it points to an aporia in human reason; it expresses the edge of our conceptual powers and reveals the multiplicity and instability of the postmodern world.

Moving Cloud

24 in. x 24 in.

Drifting clouds are fleeting and paintings are fixed. The cloud is off-center, pushing towards the right. It is framed in a blue rectangle inside a white square, drawing attention to its placement and the artist's awareness that it is artifice and a slice of a larger thing, a moment of sky. Clouds are all about change, while squares are of stasis. Like photographs, the rectangle contains time. It is a window to get distance to look closer, if that paradox makes sense. The painting is monochromatic. The whites offer tranquility and the blue brilliance in motion. The cloud is passionately peaceful in its solitary direction.

September Eleventh

digital image

I have been making art in response to 9/11 since it happened and then a piece or two at each anniversary as a way to personally set aside time to think about it and as a kind of memorial. It is too big for art to fully encompass, and too world changing to ignore. The New York Times asked five artists to draw and write about the event and has their work on-line today: http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2007/09/10/opinion/20070911_OPART_SLIDESHOW_index.html
They artists they chose work in a traditional, representational manner. While I like the work, I think it was a conservative move so as to take no risk of offense.
I think I am going to paint the digital version. The bright blue is the blue sky of that clear day, the black forms are the towers, Pentagon, and plane that crashed in Stonycreek Township (surrounded by green for the field). The black is for negation, voids. The white plane is also cloud-like. The figure is in a crucified position and is representative of all human loss and suffering surrounding that day. The hands and arms are drawn loosely, in order to be more like wings and feathers, echoing the wings of the plane and suggestive of resurrection.

Black Cloud, White Cloud

16" x 20", oil on panel

The diagonal axis in this painting creates momentum. The sky is not placid, but filled with marks in various directions albeit small in scale in order to emphasize the masses of the clouds. It has a narrow color range which is also in service to the main actors, the clouds, in their opposing black and white. The black cloud is in pursuit of the white, and comes close enough to cast its shadow. A clear blue stretches behind them into the distance as the white cloud bumps against the right edge of the panel in flight.

Constable is known for his cloud paintings; here are three:

http://markbarryportfolio.com/works/Assorted/Constable.jpg

http://www.german.leeds.ac.uk/RWI/2001_02project2/ccloud.jpg

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.metmuseum.org/special/KarenBCohenCollection/images/1.L.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.metmuseum.org/special/KarenBCohenCollection/1.L.htm&h=352&w=300&sz=35&hl=en&start=35&sig2=DeE9Q1Yl_Wb9DhStkSuh2g&um=1&tbnid=RAYvRnPRmRuAiM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=102&ei=xlPhRo2MBIaUiwHGqry0DQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dconstable%2Bcloud%2Bpaintings%26start%3D20%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D100%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Dactive%26rls%3Dcom.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox%26rlz%3D1I7GGIC%26sa%3DN

They are really impressive in their intensity, especially the last one. I think clouds' amorphousness gave this 18th/19th century painter the opportunity to use vigourous brushwork with emotional vigor not unlike what the Abstract Expressionists did later.

Butterfly Breathing

oil on panel, 30" x 24"

The air is like cotton candy, but the picture is not saccharine. Figure and butterflies are part of the same environment; the same air fills them. The butterflies are staggered and there is a halting motion to the piece, almost like stuttering, especially in the drawing of the mouth and first butterfly to emerge. The red lines forming the figure and the pink flesh are the colors of blood and life. The butterflies are extraordinary because of their vibrant coloring, freedom, and harmony within this environment. Butterfly breathing is the act of acclimating to the world. It is not always a smooth process, peppered with stops and starts.

Butterfly Box, Below

oil on panel, 28" x 24"

This picture aims at capturing the flutter. The assymetry, open form, atmospheric space with linear moments for definition all aid in the effect. The wings feel like the delicate membranes that they are. Hints at an open box at the bottom give a reference point to create a sense of space as the butterfly lifts upward.

Butterfly Hand (v.2), Pink

36" x24", oil on panel

I just finished reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. It was voted one of the top one hundred books of the century by the New York Public Library, and it is now one of my favorites. In the back of the novel is a quote by Smith, "I came to a clear conclusion, and it is a universal one: to live, to struggle, to be in love with life - in love with all life holds, joyful or sorrowful - is fulfillment. The fullness of life is open to all of us."

In The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion remarks about the way our culture doesn't encourage one to pause very long to mourn. Descendants from hearty pioneers and immigrants who don't look back, we are supposed to dust ourselves off and keep going. This instinct for self-preservation is important, but we can also lose ourselves if we get caught up in a whirlwind of busyness and distractions. There is a reason why religious people often seek solitude.

What I like about Smith's statement is that it is parallels the idea that everything has its time, but it goes further to say that it is better to experience all things than to be numb. It also reminds us that we should expect imperfection and change. We should not feel cheated because our lives do not mirror ads picturing happy people and their new car or trip to the Bahamas.

What does this all have to do with art? Everything. I use my art as a way to contemplate and express life's experiences, not to make mirages that a viewer might find easier to see. People who are engaged in life in a similar way might want to look here at my attempts to grasp what cannot be grasped. It is no wonder that walking into the studio is still daunting.

Cloud

24" x 24", oil on panel

This is a slice of sky, a window in a void, a look into blue sky from outer space. The sky is tranquil, cheerful, yet singular, solitary inside the larger black square.

I think it would be too simplistic to reduce this to a matter of pure optimism versus pessimism. Isolated and out of context, the relationship the cloud has to anything else is unknowable. A transitory part of a weather system, floating over a particular country, we see it here as a Platonic form. Rather than pessimistic, the void may be the unknown, not necessarily anything sinister. Maybe the ideal is unreachable, or maybe the cloud is a snapshot of something at its best. The painting is something about time and the human condition; the present is visible while the future stays persistently out of sight.

Female Loss

24" x 24", oil on panel

I shot this in natural daylight, but there still was a glare; I find this difficult to avoid when photographing thickly painted, dark images. The vigorous texture is visible, though.

Description: a small, pink, central circle is inside a black square, inside a dark brown/plum square. The black is vacuous, but the warmth of the pink and plum relate, creating a spatial tension between depth and surface.

There is something ocular about these circles I am doing. They seem monocular, like the view through a telescope, also planetary despite their apparent flatness. I am fascinated, as are many, with the luminous spheres that hang in space, particularly the moon. It is full of dichotomies, near and far, familiar and mysterious, deceptively simple.