I spent the the entire day by myself. Jeff and Jeremiah went off to a concert, and I decided to explore the city on my own. I spent most of the time on Portabello Road, exploring the seemingly endless open-air market and photographing all the colors and textures of the shopkeepers and their stalls.
Rather than take the tube home, I decided to find my way back on foot, including a stroll through Kensington Gardens. It had already been a very long day, and I'd been walking for miles, but all the life and growth here kept me going. It inspired and revived me to be surrounded by so much natural beauty. I was planning to put this in a show of my London paintings, but decided on a whim to show it—unfinished—to a woman who came over to look at my work, and she bought it right then and there. I asked if I could keep it a few more days to add some finishing details (the hints of flowers in the upper right, and a few other bits) and she agreed. This often happens with my florals. I can hardly keep them in stock, and this is the second one that has sold before it was even finished.
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This is a small piece, but it packs a lot of punch, thanks to the Transparent Pyrrol Orange. This was originally begun as a class demonstration, in an effort to show how to neutralize the color on the rocks, and capture the rush of the water against the vivid intensity of the surrounding fall foliage. This is the result.
Nearly every year I take a group of students to the base of these majestic falls to draw and paint, and the location never disappoints, at any time of year. There is always contrast, color, drama and light in abundance. This painting sold last week, and its color and light are bound to add a splash of fire and passion to the walls of their home. I'll definitely miss this one. If you're interested in painting with me in Provo Canyon this month, The WorkRoom has hired me to teach a watercolor workshop/creative escape for women on September 24th. The class is already sold out, but I think they're adding a few more spots. One year our house in Pasadena was on the Historic Highlands home tour. People would come from all over California (but mostly from our neighborhood) to admire the lovely restored Craftsman houses. As I walked the neighborhood, I couldn't resist painting this one—on the corner of Atchison and Catalina. It's not a typical Craftsman bungalow. But I love the flash of orange shrubbery growing over the fence, echoed in the red tiles of the roof. The house is almost a back-up band to the flashy array of lush foliage. Something about this painting just says California sunshine in a big way. In fact, I left the top edge of the roof completely out of the picture, as if to invite all the sunshine in.
This painting sold this week, and I have to admit I was a little bit sad to take it down off my wall. But then I was so happy to see it go to a new home where it will be loved and admired, and add a little splash of sunlight and joy. It was the golden hour. Shadows were falling fast, chasing away the remaining light, Meanwhile, everything around us glowed.
My sister Holly and I were away with our children at her cabin in Christmas Meadows, Wyoming. Our picnic was finished, and we were walking the kids down to the river before bed. Over and over again we had to turn around and wait for Lexi, who kept stopping to catch butterflies in the waist-high field grass, All of a sudden I heard bits of conversation and laughter, then the slip and whoosh of a canoe on the river. It appeared right in front of us, as if from out of nowhere. We watched in amazement as another family floated by, out enjoying the last vestiges of daylight with their kids, just like we were. Kinship. I loved the way the light caught their faces. I loved their red canoe and their matching life jackets. I loved the rich darkness of the riverbank, contrasted with the golden glow of the meadow all around us. This moment was pure magic. I finished this painting last weekend, and I feel like I finally captured the moment. This painting is a full-sheet watercolor, (22 x 30) and will be featured in the AmBank Invitational show in November. One mistake many beginners (and even professionals) make is knowing when a painting is finished. On the one hand, knowing when to quit can mean saving yourself from overworking an otherwise fresh, vibrant painting. In the movie "Six Degrees of Separation," Donald Sutherland plays an art dealer. One day he asks the first grade teacher how all her students paint like Matisse. She answers, "I know when to take their paintings away." Sometimes we all need to stop ourselves while it is still art and before it becomes a muddy mess.
On the other hand, stopping when a painting is almost finished can be equally disastrous. Leaving out the essential darks (even when you think they're already established) can leave a painting feeling weak and unfinished. I was painting toward a show deadline on this piece, and got it to the "almost finished" stage, but not completely finished. I knew it wasn't quite there yet, but I was under the gun. As it turned out, the deadline came and went, and the painting was still unfinished. I entered another in its place. Almost the exact time a year later, I found myself painting for another show deadline and decided to pull this one out and finish it up. That's right, it has sat unfinished in my studio for an entire year! Sometimes that's how long it takes before I know exactly how to take it to its final state. I finished this last night. I started by experimenting with a dark dark along the shoreline in one spot, and liked the result. So last weekend I completed those darks along the shoreline, as well as the darks in the far background, softened areas, made some colors richer, and finally refined the figures just a touch. I like Donna Zagotta's quote on when a painting's done: "You know it's finished when you love it!" I think this one's finished now, because I finally love it. Do you have a painting you're struggling to finish? Or one you think might be finished but you're not sure? Set it aside and wait until you can see clearly how to take it to its final state. Or ask a friend. I often turn to my critique group (who offered some advice on the darks), or my dad. Another pair of eyes can often help you know when a painting is finished. This painting hangs in our kitchen next to the table, and receives more comments from visitors than almost any other painting in the house. Some guests last week mentioned that they love the colors of this painting. I couldn’t resist telling them the rest of the story: The title is “The Effects of Aging.” It’s a semi-abstract painting of a curled and shriveled autumn leaf, which I found to be quite beautiful, even with —and perhaps because of—the wrinkles and folds. I painted this with both traditional and non-traditional materials: water-soluble graphite, watercolor, and caran-dache watercolor crayons. When I created this I was approaching a certain milestone birthday, and at the time I experienced an awakening of sorts where I realized nature is at its most beautiful when it's changing, aging, turning to its rich, fall colors and gilding everything it touches. This painting holds a symbol of the truth that a woman doesn’t shed her beauty as she ages—it grows and changes along with her, takes on a fire of its own, and is never lost. I am learning to love my body by accepting the changes that come with both time and use. I choose to see myself as a work in progress, and each new stage as a different kind of beauty, not a loss of beauty. This new mindset has been reassuring and very liberating. Today would be my grandmother's 110th birthday. She was an absolute angel who made everyone—even complete strangers—feel important and loved. She was endlessly cheerful (famous for singing instead of scolding if we broke a dish), a master storyteller, baked the dreamiest goodies (and confided to me once that she put a little sugar in everything she cooked), an art teacher when she was younger. (I love that we have this in common!)..and the joy of my childhood.
Nearly 30 years ago, when I was still in college, I painted this for my grandpa for his birthday. It's called "The Prettiest Flower in the Garden." I have always loved florals, but what I enjoy most about this painting is the way I hid my grandmother in among them—you don't see her at first glance. This was the first time I had attempted anything this large, attempted a figure, or stretched a full-sheet watercolor. For some miraculous reason (call it beginner's luck?) it turned out exactly the way I hoped. When I was a missionary, I had a compañera latina who always made the most delicious food—simple, but delicious. I asked her one day how she managed to make everything taste so good. Her answer surprised me, and has stayed with me all these years. "Ya sabes, hermanita. Es que siempre cocino con amor." (You already know, sweet sister. It's because I always cook with love.) Of course. Admittedly, this painting has some flaws—although it probably represents the best of my early work. What I know for sure was that I painted it with all my heart. I painted it with love, as an ode to my wonderful Grandma Winters. And I think the love is what shows. About 15 years ago, while living in Los Angeles and running my own graphic design studio, I experienced a devastating loss that had an earth-shattering effect on my work and my life. Then I discovered artist Joseph Stoddard and remembered why I love to paint, why I live to paint. Read the whole Begin-Again story here, on The Living Room facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/fromthelivingroom/photos/a.517322511752728.1073741829.512711315547181/590681541083491/?type=3&theater
Knock off all the New Year's Resolutions in one fell swoop...hiking and painting in the Alps!12/30/2015 Switzerland Plein-Air Workshop, July 2016Get in shape: Check
Conquer stress: Check Make learning a priority: Check Get back to nature: Check Develop my artistic side: Check Take an amazing vacation: Check Use a great tax write-off: Now! My friends at Alpenwild have invited me to be their resident artist and take a small group hiking and painting in Switzerland. As any artist can attest, there is no better way to experience a place than to paint it, as you literally etch it into your soul by creating. And any hiker can tell you there's no better way to see the mountains than to get on a trail and explore a part of the landscape everyone else misses! We are doing the best of both worlds in this amazing upcoming workshop, wending our way on Alpine trails to the best waterfalls, peaks, castles and wildflowers the Alps have to offer...and remember it for a lifetime by painting on site. Then wander through picturesque villages and sample the famous Swiss chocolate and cheese when it's time for a break. Not an artist? Never fear! Even the earliest beginners can benefit from getting in touch with their artistic side in such an inspiring setting. Seasoned pro? All the better. You know the benefits that come from an adventure like this. The sweeping vistas and hidden secrets awaiting you in Switzerland are poised to take your breath away and spark genius. Partner wants to join you? Excellent! Pricing is double occupancy. Everything is included once you arrive in Switzerland. Get all the details here: https://www.alpenwild.com/trip/details/plein-air-painting-in-the-alps/ The title of the painting is simply "Red Willows, Oakley." I thought about naming it something quaint like "Over the River and Through the Woods," but it seemed a little too facile for a painting packed with gut-wrenching emotion...and echoes of hope. The flash of red on the left signifies life and love and hurt and heartache—the stuff of mortality. Yet the light at the top refuses to be doused by the encroaching shadows. Seven years ago we made a frequent trek to visit our son in Oakley. The scene and the setting were a combination of hurt and hope. Sometimes it would rip my heart out to make this drive. And then I'd cross this river and see these saturated red willows on the banks, and think, "Yes, this is life, right here. We're in the intense phase, these willows and I." I'd remember that even in a season that's barren and grey, God gives us an injection of color. And then I'd see the light flooding over the hills and grazing the treetops and sparkling on the water, and think, "We're going to survive this. We really are." And we did. This is the second-to-last version of this painting, Only those who see the original in person will be able to see how I finished it. Red Willows, Oakley Original watercolor, 17 x 27 Custom framed under museum glass $2295. This one's in tomorrow's show too. It's called "Secret Garden," and is meant to capture not only the feeling of the Secret Garden in children's literature, but also the joy of moving out of darkness and into a place of light. This one also speaks to me on a deep level.
Secret Garden Original watercolor, 10 x 14 Simple frame $750 There's also a little tiny one I haven't even photographed yet: Coleus Original watercolor, 5 x 5 Simple frame $125 Come see me at the opening reception tomorrow night: AmBank 3670 North University Ave, Provo Opening Reception: November 12, 5-8 p.m. Duration of show: November 13—February 26 Open Monday - Friday, 8-5 A portion of the proceeds benefit UVU art scholarships and are tax deductible. |
AuthorI am an artist and art instructor working in water media. Just knowing I can watch colors run together makes it worth getting out of bed every morning! Helping students capture the same excitement is equally rewarding. Archives
April 2023
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