Blog

Another in my series of renewal paintings - this one was a challenge because the under painting had such strong horizontal lines (it was a plein air landscape done with palette knife.) I turned the panel on its side so that my mind could be freed from "landscape" mode.

Because the paint was so textural underneath, when I applied more paint, it wanted to run in rivers, creating interesting patterns. I also used a rag to wipe out areas to allow the underpainting to show trough. After a couple of hours of playing around - adding, subtracting, turning - I finally decided I'd had enough and walked away and made myself a cup of tea. When I re-entered my studio, I was surprized by what had "emerged" on the panel.

I could see my guide, the Bear, had decided to join me on the journey, and she carried with her a white dove. In the shadows, other figures remain more ambiguous - perhaps they are there, perhaps not.

I named the painting "Emergence", because I feel this piece really emerged out of my subconscious. Although Bear has shown herself to me on many occasions, I find it interesting that in this painting, she holds a Dove.

The Dove has been respected and revered throughout the ages by ancient and modern Indian tribes and their Shamans. Doves are diplomatic, legendary animals that own many admirable virtues. The Dove represents the feminine power of giving, prophecy, and the hope a new beginning. The Dove shows and reveals the veils between the spiritual and physical worlds.

The Dove  returned to Noah’s Ark to tell all aboard that land was found; in the Dove’s beak was an olive branch, which was the symbol of peace. It is believed that the Dove’s nature is so pure that even Satan himself cannot shape-shift into its form. The Dove is also the symbol for the Holy Spirit, the third "aspect" of the Trinity. It is my guess that the Dove represents not only higher consciousness, but feminine energy.

It is not known in this painting whether Bear is coming out of sleep or returning to her meditative state. One of Bear's attributes is nurturing and protection - perhaps by her alliance with Dove she seeks to nurture and protect peace on earth.

Still in my renewal mode...this time with an older oil painting. It's not that I didn't like the original painting - I just felt that it was unfinished.

(The Universe is Infinite - underpainting for The New Day)

So far I've just played with acrylic over acrylic in my renewal paintings - but the truth is I have a LOT more oil paintings stacked up in my studio. So I decided to see what would happen painting loose oil over oil, and am really excited over the result.

Normally I have a concept or a story that I start out with. In this case, I just slopped on some yellow ochre and titanium white with a big brush. The horse figure was the first to emerge, then the wolf. I love the way the drips work to create texture and movement, and how the old painting shows through in unexpected ways. I guess the element of surprize is what excites me about these  paintings.

For me, The New Day retains the original concept of the underpainting while taking it to a more esoteric level.

Inspired by the white crows of Vancouver, British Columbia. This abstract bird painting asks the question - is the white crow a sign of the end of life on earth, or the beginning of a new consciousness? Or both?

As I was painting, I listened to the R.E.M. song, "It's the End of the World As We Know It" and tried to keep my mind open to the exploration of the rather abstract idea of the end of a way of life and the beginning of a new way. This painting is different than the last three that I've done, in that I started with a fresh canvas. I wanted to see if I could translate the loose, "devil may care" attitude I have when painting over something I've already let go of in my mind.

The trap I tried to be mindful of was becoming too literal in my interpretation of the concept. I purposely avoided turning shapes into "things" and just concentrated on creating an overall design and emotion. When I stepped back to check on my progress I was surprised to see the large crow shape on the left and the small crow shape to its upper right. These shapes are places where the canvas is showing through (not white paint.) It took just a few quick strokes on the larger shape to finish, put the brush down and walk away.

This piece was inspired by a video I watched about white crows in Vancouver, British Columbia. This is another of my renewal paintings - paintings that startout as one thing and are basically put aside because they aren't working. When they are returned to my easel months or years later, they take on a completely new life, with the original painting creating texture, depth and experience.

I am so excited by this process that I can hardly bear to tear myself away from my easel. Plus, it anwers the question I've been asking myself lately...what do I DO with all these paintings that I have stacked up in my studio that haven't "quite" made it? Instead of adding to the pile with more canvases, "repurposing" the old ones has given new life - to the canvas and to my creative juices!

This painting started it's life as autumn aspens. Then the snow came, and with it the wolf. 

In full experimental mode right now... and no painting in my studio is safe! Actually, I've got a bunch of canvases in my studio that have unresolved paintings on them. I decided to try to resurrect my daily paintings and see if I could ressurect some paintings as well - give them new life.

In this piece, the old painting can be seen in the body of the wolf. I really had no preconceived notions when I started slapping some cad red and white onto the very textured (palette knife) aspen trees, using a large brush. I wanted to see if something would emerge, and today it was my old friend, the wolf. Wolf seems to show up when I am learning something new, pushing the boundries of my comfort zone. That makes sense, as one of wolf's roles as a guide or totem animal is to teach.

The process of painting intuitively and abstractly is a journey into the unknown. I guess I would liken it to improvisational playing in jazz music. What makes the musicians able to successfully play outside the box of meter and melody is their knowledge of both. I am thinking about this because there is a misconception among both artists and non-artists that abstract works are somehow a cop-out. That people paint abstractly because they don't know how to paint "realistic" or representational paintings.

One only has to study the works of artists like Franz Marc to see that although his greatest work was abstracted, he very much understood and was masterful at classical painting. He knew how to paint realistically, so he knew when he could "color outside the lines" (as my friend, sculptor Timothy Nimmo, likes to put it.) 

So I am having a blast, learning the rules so I can break them.

This is a work in progress - perhaps nearly finished, perhaps not. It's kind of an experimental piece, in that I've used both brush and palette knife, and even some spattering, to get it to where it is right now. This is one of those paintings that started out one way - as a portrait of a horse - and then changed into something completely different than my original idea.

One of the advantages, for me, of working in acrylic is the fast drying time. Courses can be changed in a matter of minutes. Whole areas can be whited out and then repainted. Bits of the original concept can peak through, creating texture and depth. Lance Green is a contemporary artist whose process and paintings intrigue me. "The Dawn of a New Era" is a bit of an homage to him, for studying his works gave me the courage to paint directly from my intuition and not completely freak out when the painting "got away from me." I don't know how successful this piece is, but I am happy with the concept and the freedom I allowed myself when painting.

One of the hurdles I had to overcome was the voice in my head that told me I should choose between painting with the brush or the palette knife. That mixing them is somehow not "right" (although I've done a bit of mixing, starting with the painting I call "Glory Daze.") I literally had to say out loud, "who cares?" I think part of my angst is the feeling I get that I need to "settle" - maybe stop experimenting so much and just choose a technique.

I have to admit, the rational, analytical side of myself presents a pretty strong case for that tack. A straight line gets you from A to B faster than a line that zig zags and loops back on itself. But then my intuitive, creative side reminds me of the crow I was watching the other day. It was windy, and I watched as the crow rode the wind first to the right, then up, over to the left, and then down to the ground, a perfect landing next to her mate on the ground. In that case, the circuitous route was the most efficient way to get where she wanted to go, given the strong, erratic winds with which she had to contend.

Although I alternate between more "realistic" works and more "imaginative", I think each side informs the other. Will I ever get to a balance point between the two? Hard to say. I'm a Libra: I strive for balance. But life rarely allows perfect balance. Perhaps it is impossible to stay in the zone. I was just thinking that Nature stays in balance, but even that is not true all of the time. Over a continuum, yes, but certainly there are many inbalances. Floods, droughts, overabundance of one species, extinction of another, heat, cold... Nature is in a continuous state of flux, striving for balance but always teeter-tottering on either side of that sweet spot.

One of my mentors, Clive Tyler, told me a painting should always have a story. "The Dawn of a New Era" is about the changes that occured with the arrival of Europeans in the New World. Prior to that, the human inhabitants of what was to become North America practiced various forms of animism -  the belief that "everything is conscious" or that "everything has a soul." 

In this painting, the bison and the horse overlook the ocean, where a ship bearing the Christian symbol of the cross can be seen on the horizon. (I realize I've taken liberties here, since horses aren't truly indigineous to the Americas, but for the purpose of this painting, I've used the horse and the bison to symbolize the native peoples.) A wolf lopes across the canvas, perhaps on his way to warn others. An inidentified figure crests the hill, silhouetted by the rising sun.

Much is left to the viewer's own interpretation. Is the arrival of the "rising son" a good thing or a bad thing? Perhaps there is even deeper meaning...

This painting was done with palette knife, a method that forces me to think in terms of shapes and broad strokes of overlapping color instead of blending. I love the immediacy of the technique.

"In the Wake of Poseidon" was inspired by a recent stay in Laguna Beach, California. My hotel room had a balcony overlooking the beach and ocean - I spent two glorious days mesmerized by the pounding surf and the endless horizon.

I started this painting a little differently than I usually do - with a charcoal drawing of the horse, which I sprayed with a fixative before painting. I wondered if starting this way would make the resulting painting more "tight" - whether I'd get too attached to the drawing and be tentative in my approach to the paint. At first, that seemed to hold true. I got the background painted in with loose brush work, then came in with the palette knife - but it seemed that I was too "attached" to the horse, wanting to paint within the lines, afraid to be bold with my color. I was unhappy with the direction the painting was going, so I had to walk away for awhile, drink a cup of tea, and reflect on what the painting was all about.

I realized at this point that I really didn't know what the painting was trying to convey. The drawing was clearly about the horse, and, since the horse took up the majority of the canvas, the painting too had to be about the horse - but in looking at the background, I realized how informed it was by my experience in Laguna Beach. So I dubbed the painting "sea horse", swallowed the last of my tea, put on my "The Sea" cd (compositions by Mozart), threw away the last vestiges of fear and dove into the painting - trusting that if I turned off my analytical side for awhile, my intuitive side would be as bold as surf crashing onto rocky shoreline.

When the cd finished, so was the painting, except for a few areas where I went back in and added a line or softened an edge. I felt pleased with my effort - and think this painting has the qualities I love - drama, bold color, expressive knife work...

Then came time to actually title the painting. Sometimes a title comes to me while I'm painting - in this case, the working title "Sea Horse" kept me focused. Sometimes the working title sticks, as in "There Are Places I Remember".  I tend to like titles that are a bit ambiguous, and many times I borrow lyrics to songs or lines from poetry. That is the case with "In the Wake of Poseidon" - it is the title to a song by King Crimson. It hints at a story, the myth of the Greek sea god Poseidon,  who is associated with horses seen in the crashing of waves on the shore. He is also believed to be the force behind earthquakes, possibly due to the association between earthquakes and tsunamis in Greece.