Fall I

16" x 20"

oil on panel

This is as close to Impressionism as I get. Maybe it's too close, I don't know. I like it, it feels like me, and the trees/curtains aren't particularly Impressionistic; they're of a different nature. It is a celebration of color and the color changes of fall. There is the dark of the left vertical, the neutral gray of the right, the horizontal clouds are white, while the rest of the painting is representative of the spectrum, although altered, sometimes subdued. The light is special in autumn, my favorite for taking pictures of my work. Crisp, warm in tone, the light and the air both sparkle.

Landscape in Grays

24" x 18"

oil on panel

This painting follows the basic schema used in Winter Landscape I in which the opposing verticals can be read as trees or curtains (domestic at a window sill or those for a stage). When I explained this reading to my mother-in-law, she had the correct observation that one gets the feeling of the first moment the stage curtains are drawn back to reveal the scenery. That moment is full of freshness, excitement, and anticipation. Perhaps, if I am lucky, I am able to show the long familiar subject of landscape anew. The pictures are unveiled and are about clarity. In Landscape in Grays, the crystalline, pale blue sky is captivating as it encapsulates the gray and stretches over the next layer of gray-green. Painting students learn to see the rainbow in whites and the dingiest institutional gray floors and surroundings. This painting makes use of a limited palette (a pared-down selection of colors), but still achieves luminosity. The proportion of the verticals is different than my other paintings and it gives the feeling of collosal scale like the columns of the Acropolis.

Watercolors!

5" x 8"
Moleskin watercolor book

I am enjoying working in this Moleskin watercolor book. My son didn't go to camp very much this summer and we took a lot of vacations, so the ability to paint as increments of time open up to me is wonderful. The travel watercolor set and book stay close to me, even now that the trips are over. I need to think in color; a single pencil isn't enough for the kind of painting I am working on. Sometimes pencil makes it into the watercolors, though, like in the first three here. It is used to sharpen, delineate form, and add texture.
The first image is about a framed, fluid space. The second is like a landscape of choppy waters or those waters can be read as grass. The horizontal lines also read as two things: delineations of sky or some kind of telephone lines. The third picture is more about atmosphere/gauze and tangibility. The fourth is a singular, light tree in a landscape. The fifth is effervescent landscape dots. If the latter seems too abstract for you, think of sunspots and vision.
Meanwhile, I'm working on publicity for "Nicole Maynard: Images of Optimism" opening at the Bowery Gallery on October 28th. I just updated my website with revised resume, statement, and portfolio - check it out!

Aerial View

oil on panel

Another unsatisfactory painting provided the fodder for this one on top. I always liked the fairytale Rumpelstiltskin and the concept of turning straw into gold; I think most artists do. The painting combines inspiration from plane views. In one flight one often sees farms, fields, the sky coming between us and the world. People's pools, highways, and parking lots of cars near Newark, newly arrived from overseas, also catch my curiosity, but this painting derives from the rural. Geometric but permeable, it has implications for memory, time, experience, the defined and changing self.
A fellow student at Massachusetts College of Art made paintings in this vein. They were abstractions, less about the landscape, but very heavy on layering and rich in color. I forget her name, but I attended her ninetieth birthday party then, in 1991. Even Shrek talks about his inner complexity in terms of layers, "like an onion" the ogre explains. While I enjoy the freshness of a thin wash like Matisse [his studio assistant used to remove the paint from the canvas with turpentine at the end of the day so he could begin again at the start of the next without any accumulation. It was important to have the luminosity from the white of the canvas through the color and to remove texture which would impede the large shapes of colored light he made.] I also can create light through the interaction of color despite density. The painting has history; the texture,like wrinkles, is the hard-won evidence of the journey.

From the West

24" x 20"

oil on panel

Inspired by my trip to New Mexico this summer, this painting has a lot of the Grand Canyon in it. My family did a small amount of hiking there as well as driving throughout New Mexico and a trip to Mesa Verde. It was my third or fourth trip to New Mexico and I am continually fascinated by the ruins of the Anscestral Puebloans, petroglyphs, and land formations/landscape.

From the West is a dialogue with the personal past (painted over another painting) and its thick texture resulted from this layering as well as through the use of chunky oil sticks. It has a compressed space, as if you are against a canyon wall or zooming close with a camera. The oranges change hue and tone, showing light and shade, defining rugged planes. The green square is not solid, so it comes to the surface and then seems to dwell with the rock, like the plants that grow in the dessert. The green substantiates that life can exist in seemingly inhospitable territory.

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.

Butterfly Window

oil on panel
24" x 18"

dry point (for the butterfly book, edition of 10)

The painting came first after a sketch. It is rather Matisse-like, bright, glowing color with black, flatly painted. My friend, the painter, Michelle Albert helped me with the printing technique. She did a bit of work in my studio while visiting me with her husband and daughter. I showed her plexiglass for dry point and basic supplies and she got a little time to herself to putter around. What she came up with surprised me - she spotted Akua-Kolor water based inks on the floor and used them monotype style with the oil based etching ink in the lines. It is always inspiring to see how someone else does something. I couldn't wait to try the technique myself because it is so painterly. To get painterly qualities in my prints I either make monotypes or hand-color etchings later. This was just what I was looking for! Sure enough, the lines were inky black and the areas of color were vibrant but not too flat. Every print I pull is pure joy. They have the feeling of rightness as when a painting comes together.

The black has a transparency to it and the location of the butterfly, either in front of or behind the window, is ambiguous. Maybe it is in the process of bursting through. The butterfly is a tangible, familiar life form, organic in contrast to the stark black and light pink architecture. The painting also has paint applied in washy areas, not completely flat solids, which energize the geometry. The butterflies are like dancers.

Curtains

oil on panel

24" x 18"

Another form of the square or the box in my work is this curtain. It is essentially a rectangle billowing in the breeze, inspired from a curtain hanging in a door of a stage at the Sterling Renaissance Festival in New York State. While waiting for the acrobat, Daniel, the Duke of Danger (GREAT act, by the way) I became instantly mesmerized by the form. That happens with me - sometimes images come in a flash, either imagined or triggered by something in view. I took out my sketchbook and studied the form in the wind, also intrigued by the darkness behind it. In reality the curtain was patterned, but in my painting I wanted to have it be white (it is white with grays made of green and pink). It retains a carnival feel, and I think I managed to capture the pull it had for me, an archetypal form. My first year of graduate school I painted three pictures of my grandmother hanging the laundry; only one was successful enough to keep. The figure held the ends of a sheet, attaching them to a clothesline. This billowing shape isn't new to me. It is interesting to forget about something and have it return. I look forward to seeing what else I've forgotten.

New York City Solo Show Dates

Pink, Green

oil on panel

24" x 24"


"Nicole Maynard: Images of Optimism" runs October 28 - November 22, 2008, at the Bowery Gallery, 530 West 25th Street, 4th floor, NY, NY 10001 646.230.6655. The opening reception will be Saturday, November 1st from 4 - 6 p.m.; the public is invited. A full press release will be posted sometime in September.

I am looking forward to the show. I am still painting towards it and have some ideas which works to put in. I began this blog immediately after my last show, so I have quite a bit of work to choose from. It will mainly be paintings, but I am thinking of showing a folio of small prints (The Butterfly Book) on a pedestal for visitors to handle with gloves like many artists books (check out this on-line collection at Otis College of Art and Design ) are exhibited. I will do the same for a book of watercolors I am working on, if I am happy with it in the end.

I am just glad the show closes after opening night of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince because my husband, son, and I are die-hards. I'm hoping we can see it in IMAX 3D. Taking down isn't as hard as hanging, but it is still quite a job; this will give us something extra to chat about while we spackle.

It Feels Right

16" x 20"

oil on panel

I am a position described by many artists throughout my art education. It is the state of simultaneously not knowing what one is doing and knowing exactly. I can confidently say that I am both sure and unsure. It is annoying, but is supposed to be reflective of the creative process, transition, and discovery. It is a bit different from the attitude needed for sales, for instance.

I have an endless supply of ideas and need to make many pictures to explore them all graphically. I believe in them all as artworks that can stand alone, but I also see them as different ways of getting at the same thing, facets. This thing I am trying to get at is Eternal Truth and it is obvious and elusive all at once, hence the conundrum.
It Feels Right is about this "feeling in the dark" way of painting. Emotion, vision, the mind's eye, visual thought/organization and paint all combine in making an art work. I could add "imagination" and "perception" but "visual thought/organization" is already slightly redundant. It is emblematic, yet unconcerned about being nameable. It is itself; it is not nothing. The figure/ground relationship
is somewhat fluid, a comment on entropy, living things, and nature. The blue on the brown reminds me of the reflections the sky makes on roads.

New Yorker Obama Cartoon

My two cents regarding the Obama cartoon by Barry Blitt on the cover of the recent New Yorker http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7505953.stm is different from my opinion on the Danish cartoon of Muhammad. The right's uses fear and rumor tactics to discredit Obama. Blitt's illustration of these misconceptions (lies) is shocking and horrid because it made the lies visible. It gave them a new form, something that shows them for what they are. There is the risk, however, that anyone ignorant enough to believe these lies in the first place will see the picture as confirmation. The scariest thing about America today is the number of people unable to discern fact and fiction from the media. It seems that many are easily manipulated. It would serve the country well if a course in understanding journalism and images were included with English literature classes in high school (as well as a semester in mediation and keep those art and music classes, by the way).

I don't think Blitt's cartoon was a mistake. I think the outrage shouldn't be that someone made it and published it, but for the situation it reflects.

In contrast, the cartoons published of Muhammad in a Danish newspaper took an image that is holy and satirized it. The sacred should be left sacred and the pictures were unthinking instigation. Obama's integrity shouldn't be slandered, but such high standards aren't reached in U.S. politics, as the New Yorker cartoon makes evident.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jyllands-Posten_Muhammad_cartoons_controversy

Red

24" x 24"

oil on panel

This painting uses a stage-like format again. The curtains double as trees. It is hot, intense; certainly climate crisis is a subtext. There is a sense of movement despite the square nature of the composition. Some relief is offered in the gauzy pale pink up top and the high-light of fresh grass green where the ground meets the red air. In high school I did a pencil drawing of a forest on fire, the only color being red pencil. This is more sophisticated but in the same tone, the blackish foreground feeling of peat, ash, mud. Red and black are always dramatic, but the particular hues chosen and the handling of the paint reference these specifically earthy things. It makes me think of swamps, walking on hot coals, and Greek theatre. It resists complete narrative in favor of a painted experience.

Purple Veil & Ten Years Later

Purple Veil, oil on panel, 20" x 16"

Ten Years Later, oil on canvas, 14" x 14"

I'm painting over some old paintings. No one should ever bother to x-ray them in hopes that there is a hidden masterpiece underneath. I have pretty good judgement about these things and usually don't miss what was. It is an interesting process, a dialogue with a past self. Hindsight lends a hand. I stand by the majority of my older work. I am unable nor desire to repeat the past. The old paintings are springboards for new ideas; either by keeping some of what is there or by having the reaction to negate everything in favor of a new direction. George Lucas has been critizied for wanting re-do parts of the Star Wars trilogy. I understand both the desire to keep tweeking a work and to let it stand, marked by the context of its time of creation. Artist Pierre Bonnard was said to have retouched one of his paintings after it was hanging in a museum. There is always the danger of over-working a piece, to be so compelled to keep going that the piece is taken past freshness. Giacommetti's brother, Diego, often pulled sculptures and paintings away from the artist in an effort to curb this tendency. He was so brilliant, hard-working, and prolific that the compulsion probably served him more than hindered.

Purple Veil is a fresh panel, nothing to paint over, although a few sessions on it has left it pretty bumpy. The light rectangle is like a time dimension, unpenetrable to our gaze. It reminds me of the veil in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix that Sirius falls into when he dies; Harry is unable to follow. This is similar with the pale blue rectangle of Ten Years Later, which, although also a portal, is made of thinner air. The title came from painting over the image underneath, which was done in 1998. I don't have the tendency to overwork things. With Chinese painting and caligraphy in mind, I try to be alert for the moment when the image clicks. The tricky thing is to be open to unusual outcomes, but that is the exciting part.

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.

Foundation

19" x 22"
oil on panel

A stone foundation provides the square framework I enjoy. The landscape can seem like a direct downward view, or a frontal angle with the stone tipped up like a frame to look through. I recently heard a podcast through MOMA NYC, I believe, about Sean Scully (very good article I've linked, by the way). I never gravitate to his work but now I have a new appreciation as he described the rectangles in his paintings as "bricks" and the significance of the brick in history/culture. Now I am all over them.

Foundation is about the architecture AND the landscape, however. There is a sense of mapping through the linear element in the work. The bricks are a bit quirky, beautiful and unique like people. The Williams Visual Arts Building at Lafayette College, where I once taught, is a wonderful building whose bricks were individually hit as they were made to purposefully bend them into irregular shapes. They protrude from the walls and curve in an aesthetically stimulating manner. Back to the painting - the yellows and greens bring new life to the bricks. A new foundation or old, we can not tell; it speaks to the past as well as to the future.

The Loaves and Fishes III

oil on panel
36" x 24"

Soutine still life painting of fish

This is my third painting of the subject, all done in this size. The second I donated in December to St. Luke's Episcopal Church, New Orleans, LA, where there was reconstruction after Katrina, no art, and every member but one lost their home. I received an e-mail last month looking for the insurance value of the work because they had a fire and the painting was destroyed. I don't know any details about the fire. I really liked the painting and to do something a second time (or a third) is to do it differently, so there was a bit of a loss there. I didn't want to sulk too long, so I made this version. The composition of the one lost went something like this digital version. I have a jpeg of it somewhere. In this new painting, the hands are almost juggling the pita bread loaves/suns or they are buoying in an ocean-sky.

The Soutine painting of fish (sorry I couldn't find the title; it is on the cover of the first volume of the catalogue raisonne published in 1993) is one I think of often. I was proud when my son pointed out that the oval plate is like a stomach, the forks are like hands, and the bowl above like a head. The forks are pulling at the stomach edges like surgical tools to reveal what is inside. Soutine suffered from stomach ulcers and his paintings have a characteristically churning rhythm to them. The "hands" reveal psychological as well as physical pain. The eyes of the fish, the central oval of the plate, and the fork-hands were inspirational in planning the composition of my painting. The color in my painting contributes to the feeling of jubilation, while Soutine's dingy palette sets the tone for starvation and poverty, despite the "stomach" full of fish.

Fields

18" x 24"


oil on panel

This is like an agrarian Broadway Boogie Woogie. It is fun, like Mondrian's. As a rule, I'm not so interested in the perfectly square (you should see me trying to mat things), primarily because I like the slightly imperfect. At the same time, the color is orchestrated in perfect pitch. The rectangles aren't static; the color induces ocular somersaults. Radiant, it seems to give off heat.

Anniversary Hands

Happy 13th Wedding Anniversary, Christoph!

June 3, 1995

For You, It's Love!

20" x 16"

oil on panel

If I could distill my childhood into one image it might be this one. My grandmother's favorite flower was lily of the valley. We had them in the backyard and after she died my grandfather would pick them for me, as well as other flowers from the garden. Her name was Lillian and his Mundy, a nickname, as he was born at 11:59 on a Monday night and his twin at 12:01 on a Tuesday. My grandparents called each other "Pest" and I remember him being scolded for tasting tomato sauce on the stove from the cooking spoon. Even though I was six when my grandmother died, her warning to him regarding other women was etched in my brain, "You can look, but don't touch." She died on their anniversary at fifty-five and he missed her ever after.

It is his hand in the painting, a construction worker's hand, so much bigger than mine and so familiar. We lived together and when I was a little girl I held it whenever we went places together, which was often. The hand is painted in a way that shows human suffering; its mass is in contrast to the delicate flower. There were thirteen children in his Italian first-generation family. His younger sister was run over by a trolley in front of their home at the age of five, and his twin brother died of a burst appendix at fifteen. My grandfather always said that his brother was the smarter one and neater, describing the way Bobby parted his hair just so with his comb. A picture of the two of them when they were about five shows them with their arms around each other, my grandfather easy to spot with his tongue sticking out. After those deaths, my grandfather was the youngest. I think he always missed the noise of living in such a full house and maybe tried to make up for it by being so loud himself. As the only grandchild, I was the apple of his eye and I have never heard anyone introduced with more pride than when he introduced me as his "little granddaughter". I can't remember even one time when he wanted me to leave him alone. As a parent, it strikes me as rather remarkable. The painting squeezes all this narration into one image with feeling, part memory, part personal icon. Without the back story, it is an allegory that small acts of tenderness matter.

Rounded Blue

18" x 24"

oil on panel

This strange shape for sky and clouds looks almost like a giant eye and reminds me of the eye sockets of skulls held up to the sky by O'Keefe. Perhaps the white on the sides is also like white curtains being drawn back, theatrical. The shadow in the foreground adds depth as does the reflected light on the hills. The blue seems to press forward as well as to recede. It is one of my more harmonious paintings. The brief commentary this week matches the reduction in the painting.

I went to NYC this week and saw the Whitney Biennial. Painting was barely represented and it was difficult to take in the numerous pieces of art in various media. I wasn't so excited about the work overall, but I did like this piece by Carol Bove.

I especially enjoyed the Guston drawing show at the Morgan Library (I'm off to draw next, very motivating!). Another highlight was the show of Natalie Charkow reliefs and Ruth Miller paintings at the Lohin Geduld Gallery. The reproductions don't do justice to the caring marriage of hand and eye in both these artists' work. They are two women who have made art their lives and have persisted in their own visions regardless of trends.