In the spring of 2001
when my fifth decade was dawning
the arc of the long held dream
of being a full time artist
was picking up speed.
There was at that time
a great settling.
Of home
of heart
of mind.
And the challenge was pitched
in that peace
and against all odds…
“If not now…when”
Looking back from my studio today
some twenty years after jumping off of that ledge
there is an unexpected lump in the throat.
What I am remembering now is not the all too common anxieties and fears of failure
but rather the fiercely brave woman who grabbed those brushes and flew.
After a year of intense painting in the spaces between the part time jobs
and full time traditional woodworking
I had painted a body of work which was ready to be shown,
a place to exhibit them, and a stack of invitations to be mailed out to friends and patrons
who had known and supported me for the last decade as . . . a chairmaker.
I worried that walking into a gallery where the art was on the walls
and not the floor might be confusing at best
and off putting at worst
so I came up with the idea to write short journal notes to accompany each painting.
A sort of breadcrumbs as it were.
Here is a trail
a thread to be picked up and followed
that will help the curious
answer the question
how did this woodworker
whose creations my grandchild
sits in to read Goodnight Moon
come to put down her drawknife
and pick up these brushes.
Why did the spoonmaker
choose to paint teacups.
Where is she taking us
and from whence did this color bloom.
And here the story of this chapter along my creative journey slams into the harsh wall of history
as the Vernissage, the opening for this first solo show, was scheduled for September 2001.
In the aftershock of that 9/11 horror we decided of course to cancel the show.
But it was decided for us, by the many friends and patrons who received invitations,
that we needed to come together as a community.
To reach out
hold on
and look for peace
together in that darkness.
We had a guestbook at the door and reading back through the comments what resonated was
how many people had stopped to read and take in the notes.
So that when in the following months the Muses gifted us
with the great good fortune of being accepted to show in the Granary Gallery,
a dream bigger than I ever could have imagined,
I asked if they would be interested in these “notes” to accompany the paintings.
I can tell you now
that one of many things my naive artist self did not know then
is that this was not done
in the art world
at that time
or any time
ever.
I’ll spare you the colorful criticisms
but words like conceited and amateurish
took a long time to unstick from my craw.
To his credit
and my abiding admiration
Chris Morse, the first gallery owner to take a chance on me,
while probably whispering similar nothings under his breath
agreed to have those first “Painter’s Notes” accompany the first showing of my paintings
albeit discretely tucked into a folder nearby.
Twenty years on
and some 400 plus paintings later
those Painter’s Notes have become
an important part of both my creative process
and a value added layer of content
for both the patrons and supportive followers of my work.
I have tried to stop writing them.
That was not on.
What began as a bridge
has endured as a tapestry.
This winter as I have been upgrading and reworking this website
I have had the chance to review every one of those Painter’s Notes.
It has been an unexpectedly emotional ride.
Taken together they represent a biographical archive
which is at times playful
and heart tugging
but at its core
is I hope authentic
and honest.
So I have given these Painter’s Notes their own upgrade.
The quill which used to be a link to them
appearing at the bottom of each large format image page
is now a proper button.
If you are curious to peek behind the curtain
and read more about the inspiration for a particular painting
pull up a chair
grab a cup of tea
and click on this button at the bottom of each painting’s portfolio page . . .
And,
as ever,
thank you for your support.