Every so often I rotate the stack of reference books in the stacks on my studio kitchen table and dip into old volumes to find new treasures. In that way I always find something that I’ve overlooked or was not ready to see before and a window is opened for the muses to shove me through.
Such was the case last month when I was paging through…
I came across a watercolor that my leaky memory has no memory of ever seeing before… Baron Philippe (1981)…
Something clicked and I began to sketch out an idea for a response….
I’ve been working on a series of studio still lifes and this gave me a chance to pull together some of the old props that have been living in the old studio (now renamed the POD ).
The oil lamp was Cousin Ed’s and one of the few treasures of his we were able to purchase back from the auction of his posessions. The empty wine bottle is courtesy of our holiday feast with D and S. The ladies handkerchief was one of Polly’s. The teacup is from Sue’s grandmother. The chair was from the old farmhouse across the road and is a very old shaker style ladderback that somewhere along the way had the rockers sawed off of so it is now a slipper chair. The little porcelain doll in her silky purple gown is a gift from Chris. The cane was a flea market find and has the whisper of a serpent carved in the handle. The bottle was from an antique store purchased on the day we went to the Amish country to pick out Finnegan. The uniform has appeared in several other paintings and was an old hollywood costume found on Ebay years ago. The shell is from Sengy pond on the Vineyard. I don’t remember from whence the table came but the old wooden floor is the very foundation of my new studio. And the rest… is pure folly.
There are homages here to all three generations of Wyeths and I humbly submit my tribute to them… The Baroness.
It is deep cold winter now and when I leave the studio at night the furnace is turned low and I shut off every light except the string of tiny white lights that wind from the porch … along the picket fence…up over the garage … and down the path to light my way home.
When my eager apprentice wakes me in the early morning it is night black dark as we make our way to work and those lights are there to welcome us like hundreds of tiny muses.
This morning, like all the others, while waiting for me to get our breakfast ready, Finnegan went to get the paints out for the day’s palette … but she came running into the kitchen with a surprised look on her face.
…this is what she found…
Now I have always known that the muses have a keen sense of humor. And I have often come across evidence of “night play” in the studio. But this little tableaux shows some promise… and I may just see where this road takes us.
My favorite living female writer, Laurie R. King, is launching her upcoming book in the Mary Russell series, The God of the Hive. She has a twenty week build up planned and at the onset has posed a question on her blog and facebook site… Why are there no great women artists ?
Now, as many of you can imagine, I take great umbrage at this but she is referring in part to one of her first published books, A Grave Talent, in which she builds a character based on the query, “What would Rembrandt look like if he were a woman”.
Since you have recently seen that The Rembrandt Book takes pride of place on my studio kitchen table, I thought it might be interesting to bring her question over here for my readers to ponder. I know all you women of paint will have an opinion…and those of pen and pencils alike.
Here for your purusal …click on the painting here for a link to read her blog entry… and my comments are below.
Now this is a subject that I can sit in front of the fireplace (or perhaps easel ) and really warm up to…and… since the biggest book among those which the muses have currently stacked on my studio kitchen table is Gary Schwartz’, The Rembrandt Book ( see blog entry for details…www.hnartisan.wordpress.com )… here are some new layers to ponder in respect to your premises. I would suggest that, at the core, it is the drive to create rather than the need to express a particular vision of the world that possesses the artist. Like an athletes’ adrenaline high, the act of creating is an intensely solitary pursuit which might contribute to the egomaniacal aspects. And the pursuit is one of beauty, and when and if that achieves common ground with the viewer…the elusive experience of the sublime. As an artist that is not my goal but a rare and precious byproduct of the journey.
Even as a female artist I might take a bit of offense at the tone of the “pathological” degree of self-importance…but my oh so patient and supportive partner Pat will vouch for the “sucking every scrap of energy in their vicinity” part of your description. Does this not also apply to the art of the writer ? What we focus on expands and if the goal is to constantly raise the bar, paint better, write better, I know for my own self that it is taking more effort and concentration, never less, to dig deeper with each brushstroke. And though the muses make regular appearances, the energy to meet those expectations has to come from within and as I grow older, as in all things, this requires a good deal more umph than it used to. My constant refrain and whining to Pat is how I just want to shut out the rest of the world so I can paint.
Innate talent does separate the cream from the milk but in Rembrandt’s day women were not allowed into the guilds so the formal aspects of training could not even give her the tools to begin to paint let alone rise to the level of “great artist”. A subjective category such as that takes generations to build and, since this last century did offer women the opportunity to be taught the trade, you are beginning to see, as Jacki pointed out with the NMWA, the history books recognizing … us. Even today I meet that boys club wall on a regular basis. Can’t imagine what Frieda and Georgia had to deal with.
And you’re right. To be a “great artist” or writer or musician or cpa is a full time job. The “practical applications of The Feminine” (if by that you mean housework, childrearing and laundry, etc. ) do cramp the creative drive. But I have come to see that this is no longer a gender crisis…just ask the three men in our art group on the vineyard who are parents and desperate to carve out blocks of time in their studios and oh so jealous of my gate keeper Pat.
So now you’ve gotten me going and I will carry this dialogue over to my blog and see what the readers there have to offer, and promote your new book in the wake of the conversation. And, you have made one more sale as I have gone to Audible and downloaded A Grave Talent to listen to again but now with the backstory. And, since this finds me FINALLY listening to the last Russell adventure…while I paint the snowy landscape outside of my studio window…I am going to get right on that Russellscape painting when it’s finished.
Oh the muses… yours in greatness… and humility.
Please feel free to add your own thoughts here and do take a minute to explore her website… the true spirit of Sherlock Holmes lives therein…as well as many others among my most beloved storybook characters.
As those of you know who have visited the studio, you will always find an empty chair at the kitchen table but you definitely have to work hard to clear a space to rest your elbows. There are always piles of books and stacks of Gazettes in various stages of perusal. Most are newly collected reference materials, art books, bird books, history books, and some are old dog-eared bookmarked standards that I dip back into often depending on what is on the easel or what is on my mind.
Here’s a look at what’s on the table for this winter’s reading…
While on the Vineyard my friend Ted gave me his library copy of Vanity Fair magazine to read. He said there was an article about a new Rockwell book, Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera by Ron Schick, that Ted thought was sorta fun which shows the photos Rockwell took for some of his paintings. It was the first book ordered when I got home and, as usual, Ted’s right on. I brought out the magnifying glass for this one and keep returning to certain images finding something new each time. It cleverly illustrates the subtle choices that the artist made to go beyond the photograph changing color, expression, positions and backgrounds to enhance and often change the narrative.
While reading Fine Art Connoisseur Magazine I came across a review of the new Rembrandt book by Gary Schwartz and so that made it to the pile. As my friend Peter will tell you I’m more interested in the pictures than the scholarly text but I’ve forced myself to read a bit of it and have learned a thing or two.
In keeping with the Dutch theme I picked up a little book on Bruegel, the elder, Bruegel: The Complete Paintings by Rose-Marie Hagen. It has good reproductions and an easy to read bit of background prose and I have spent hours already with the magnifying glass studying the detail.
At first I was paying attention mostly to the landscapes. I’ve been watching the winter come onto the farm across the street and as the trees lose their leaves and the field corn dries to a brittle umber, the stone barn, farmhouse and outbuildings are revealed. With the raking december sunlight in the early morning the colors reminded me of the Bruegel palette. Now that the storm has passed and the whole scene is blanketed in a foot of snow it has come alive like so many of his little dutch villages. I decided a couple days ago to paint the view outside of my easel window while that snow is still here…and now when I dip into this book it’s all about the red that he uses. Like the cardinals at my feeders.
And no table of mine would be complete without a couple of Wyeth references. I picked up a new one on our trip to the Brandywine River Museum last week but it didn’t have enough going to keep it in the top ten stack. Instead I reached for the richer volume of Andy’s work, Andrew Wyeth, Mystery and Magic .
The Muses led me to a previously overlooked little gem of a painting, Baron Philippe. Within a few minutes I had gathered some dusty props and the sketchbook and come up with an answer of sorts…The Baroness. Stay tuned for that one.
The other old favorite that has been moved to the top of the pile (no pun intended) is the museum publication, History and Romance, Works by Howard Pyle. Moonlight on a snowy lane…he’s got it down.
I’ve linked the books and images here to the Amazon site and the BR Museum site, not as a promotion but to make it easier for you to get more information. Of course in doing that I have come across two more books to add to the collection. It is Christmas eve after all …
Merry winter to you all from our studio kitchen table…
The cooler weather is perking up the not-so-little-anymore Finnegan…
At six months, her studio apprenticeship is focusing on getting the artiste to stick to a routine. Up at the crack of dawn, feed the pup, climb into the truck and head over to the park for a brisk half hour walk…then home to hose off …
Then it’s time to get to work…
Her new name this week is Runs With Brushes…
When I catch her and get this one back… I WILL get to work.
I need some help interpreting two phenomenons that have puzzled me of late.
The first is straight forward… this cloud formation followed me all the way to the park a few days ago. It looked so much like calligraphy that I pulled over and sketched it in a notebook. Reproduced here via photoshop it is a fair representation …
The second phenom is something that I started recognizing months ago. Every time I would look at the clock it read 3:33 . Now, to clarify, I hardly ever look at a clock. And obviously there are only two times in any given day that that number can come up. But sure enough, my nightly bladder call was precisely at that hour…and I could have gotten up and looked at the clock at any stage in that journey to and from the throne but I always seemed to catch 3:33.
Same thing in the afternoon. I’d stop painting and just randomly glance at the clock by the easel and there it was again. Not 3:34…or 5 but 3. When I think back now I remember that the first time that number came up it was on election day. I was number 333 in line to vote. Hmmmmm.
So …leap forward to almost a year later. The anomaly has blossomed. Now almost every time I look at any clock the time has all the same digits repeated. 5:55 comes up a lot, 11:11 is a fun one, I seem to catch 4:44 almost every day and so on.
No, I do not hang around waiting for the numbers to roll around. And no, I don’t pay any more attention to the time than usual. And Pat is completely done with me exclaiming, ” I don’t believe it…look…again !” But I do feel, not unlike the sky writing, that there is some larger message from the beyond that I am supposed to be getting and am obviously not catching it on the whisper.
I have no clue if anyone out there actually reads these blog entries but I am curious to hear if anyone else finds these things… well…curious ?
We’re in full tilt show-prep mode here in the studio and our young apprentice has been keeping a tight schedule. I’m trying to make up for lost time and get a few more paintings finished and this next one has been rumbling around inside my head since it came to me in a dream last winter. The stars aligned and the rain went away and the model was free so Finnegan gathered the boots and teacups and headed out for the pool early this morning .
As prop assistant, she is in charge of making sure the set up is complete…
I have been using her pool lately for everything but swimming…besides the mosquito factory, it is now a staging pond for spoon blanks that I split a couple days ago and am carving up when there is an extra hour in the day… it’s all Follansbee’s fault… http://pfollansbee.wordpress.com/ …but Finn’s job is to keep me focused and to make any adjustments needed in the setup… like pushing the model a little to the right…
It’s exhausting work, and she’s nudging me off of this machine so she can take an afternoon nap.
I’ve got the panel oiled out and the sketch done so it’s time to lay down some paint… catch ya latah.
Ok so this blog is getting far and away from the art related content which is its focus… but I am trying to keep it real. If an artist is painting from her soul then she brings to the easel every part and corner and adventure of the surrounding world. If each sense is alive then they are constantly recording and… on a good day…remembering.
Painting from ones authentic self, nod to Joseph Campbell, is my goal. Woven through the early days of this year have been threads of death, dying, grief and mourning, anticipation, joyous birth, heart-pounding happiness, soul searching love and ab-stretching laughter. I’m expanding the dialogue here to share some of this life that is lived behind my easel. You will be the judge as to whether or not the common threads make their way into the paintings.
In that light, here are some photo updates and some things that fall into the category of … musings…
Finnegan's Fence FinishedTeaching her to spell her nameMy heart in her clamshellJust wait until we get to the beach !Almost as tall as the Irisese'er...all the roses that are blooming
A fine morning in the middle of May with friends old and new coming for brunch and to meet little Finn. Tender greens from the garden, a quiche in the oven with market asparagus and home grown herbs, a pitcher of log cabin mint tea, the light and sparkle of Miss Gail’s charming witty reparte, a pot of forget-me-nots from Ronnie’s farmette, gentle reminders to Finnegan that she may not join us at the table, and rounds and rounds of adrenaline releasing laughter… wonderful.
Quite a contrast from the way Finnegan and I began our morning the day before…
This is a bed of Burdock …
…the giant leaves in amongst the weeds and grasses… it is a show stopping vegetation and has tiny purple flowers in mid-summer that resemble thistles…which are pretty when they bloom and a bit of a nuisance when they dry and become these…
Brrrrrrrrrrrssss !
Was never a problem with our big dog Gully as she had learned not to bother the flower beds…but…everything is brand new to our little Finn and when I saw her emerge from underneath those giant green leaves …well there was hardly any puppy showing for all the burrs. No, I did not stop to take a photo of that. The poor dear was not at all happy about the removal process. But while we were struggling and wrestling with the comb and the teeth I made a promise to her that I would not let one more burr find it’s way onto her tender torso.
Soooooooooo…
we decided on a fence… and with money scarce and our supply of twigs and sticks a plenty…we began to gather some woody bits…
This morning we walked down the lane and added more soldiers to the pile but the rains and wind from a passing storm drove us inside…we figure on needing a lot more sticks so hopefully the storm will cooperate and drop a few dozen… meanwhile it’s easel time…
