Growing up by looking back

I know it's been a long time since I posted to this blog, but since my last post my whole perspective on life has shifted. My dad's good heart finally gave out and he passed on to the next level last week. I am very thankful to have known and learned from him for 81 years, and to have spent so much time with him in the last few months. I'm also thankful that he went peacefully without pain, in his sleep, with my sister sleeping on the couch in his room, and more family in the house. He did not die alone, and his spirit did not entirely leave this earth, because it lives on in us. Safe travels Dad.

Now I have to make the transition from being reabsorbed into family and memories, to looking forward. I have managed to do some art work in the last few months, but not much. One more painting from my creature series completed (below)...

 

...and some experiments in glass-casting from my glass-casting class at the Steelyard. I've had the idea to layer transparency/glass onto some of my paintings for a long time, but never knew how to get or make the glass I envisioned, so I made do with using polyester casting resin, embedding natural objects into resin to frame this series and casting slabs of resin to layer over this series. But plastic is plastic, and I worried about yellowing, so I was happy to find the class at the Steelyard, which opened in 2001 as a way for artists to work with heavy duty industrial materials, like steel, glass and iron.

I have an idea about casting some iceberg/glacier like slabs to use with my Alaska paintings. How? I'm not sure yet, which is sort of why I took the class, just to see what I can do with the idea.

These are some of my first experiments in casting a 3 dimensional object. I chose some shells, used clay to fill in any undercuts and covered them with plaster to make a mold. After the plaster dried I carefully pried out the shell and filled it with little pillow shaped nuggets of glass and put the mold in the kiln, for a days' long firing and cooling. They came out even better than I had hoped!

I've missed this blog, so have some pent-up posting in my system...I'll be back soon!

snailbird

It's snowing again, but unfortunately not enough for a snow day. So I'm at work with the consolation that right now the snow is floating like down feathers outside my window, big flakes against the dark buildings and slushy streets, and it's Friday. The snow won't keep me out of my studio this weekend, but two other things probably will. The first is a Saturday class I'm taking with master woodcut artist Walter Feldman  at the AS220 printshop. We have only 3 classes but after the first I'm already thinking it will take a lot more time to learn even part of what he has to teach. I'll post more about his class soon.

Then it's off to the Newport Art Museum to drop off this painting for the annual member's show.

The other thing that will keep me out of my studio this weekend is a frigid forecast for Sunday (high of 18).  I'm usually pretty content in there when I can get the temperature up to around 50, but it will take so much propane ($$$) to get it that "warm" that I'm better off working in my house. Which is ok, I have to work on developing drawings for my new series of paintings, like the study for snails in snow at top.

The sun just broke through but it's still snowing—sunshine on snowflakes, you don't see that too often.

Frosted

 

It nearly killed me to put the insulation up (see last post) but post-blizzard I'm glad I got it done. Believe it or not the studio is looking very inviting, and now that Christmas is over, I just might get in there.

Pretty in pink

CLICK TO SEE THE THE AFTERMATH  INSIDE

Somehow in the chaos of painting every first floor wall of my house and the usual holiday insanity I managed to find time to insulate my studio for the winter. I was lucky to get a relatively mild day off so opened the big garage door and proceeded to cover the screened wall with those big pink planks of insulation, the ones with the pink panther printed on one side. I did the neighbors a favor and put the printing on the inside, leaving a beautiful pepto-bismol hue facing the street. The panther smiled approvingly as I trimmed the pieces to fit and used lattice strapping to mount them snug against the screens. Hours later I finished, exhausted and relieved to finally be able to hit the switch, close the garage door and go inside for a nice cup of tea.

CLUNK!*. mmMerrMMaaMMmaahrMMm

That was the sound of the door hitting the panels and jamming the motor. I quickly shut if off. This door doesn't go back up till it goes all the way down, so I had to pry the panels loose to free the door. Not that I jumped right to it. I first had to fight the urge to say to hell with painting in the studio and decide to just draw in my house all winter. But it was getting dark outside and unless I wanted to try again on a frigid day in January—it was now or never.

Luckily I had another plan, or as I like to call it, my original plan, which was to mount smaller panels inside of the screen windows. Which was a great plan until I had the brilliant thought that it would be easier to mount the panels over the entire wall since there was PLENTY of clearance.

So after another few hours the panels were up again, I held my breath and closed the door. It cleared. And I hadn't burned the motor out. Now my studio is better insulated than it's ever been for the winter, and although it will still take a few hours to heat it from its winter temp in the low 30's to a workable 50's, it should hold the heat longer. I just wish I was able to hold the brush longer!

From Providence Art Windows to Old Furnace

This is a shot of my "Providence Art Window" halfway through installation on Tuesday. Truth is, I was too beat to worry about photographing it when it was done, and too anxious to escape the claustrophobic confines of a 15'x3' glass window box and plunge into the woods of Old Furnace State Park.

The hike was the perfect respite after hours of unrolling yards of canvas, maneuvering a ladder almost as wide as the window and climbing up and down with the aim of avoiding losing my balance and plunging through the plate glass.


The installation also involved importing thorny branches, thistles and burrs into the floor of a city window. They scratched and drew blood in protest as they tried to wrestle from my hands. In the woods, the understory let me pass unscathed, the sharp edges softened by days of rain and the emergence of spring.

The opening of Providence Art Windows is tonight at Providence City Hall atrium from 5 to 8. My window is right across the street on Fulton Street, right next to the windows displaying the Big Nazo Puppets. It's also gallery night, so there's a lot of art going on in the city tonight. Oh, and I've heard something about some basketball game...you might want to take advantage of the Gallery Night parking.

I'll post some photos soon of the completed window for those who can't make it downtown. It will be up till June 11.

Living for the weekend

I had a good weekend, the kind where I think, if only I could continue on this way, maybe I could actually be an artist.

Friday I went to the opening of the 2010 RISCA fellowship recipients exhibition at Imago Gallery. It was packed, so much so that it was hard to actually see who beat me out for the grant. From what I could see, it looked pretty interesting, although nothing made me stop in my tracks. Some good people there to talk to though, and the glass of white wine in the little plastic cup hit the spot after a full day of work and pilates class.

Saturday it felt really good to get back into my studio, despite the fact that my tubes of paint were icy cold and it never warmed up to more than 50 degrees, even with the propane stove running full blast.

I'm reworking the big (almost 4x5 feet) painting that I had envisioned as the finale to my Shoemaker series. Even though I had already exhibited it, I was never really satisfied that I had pushed it as far as I could have. So I'm going at it again by changing some large areas and ramping up the color. The only problem is that when I finally get a chance to heat up the studio and spend a few hours working on it, it's a bit hard to connect back to it. But it might help that now I have a deadline that will force me to make it more of a priority. I have to deliver a painting by June 9 for the Art League of RI's members show at the RISD Museum and I'd like to submit it, being a big museum show and all. It's the first, and probably only, time my work will grace those hallowed halls, so I hope I can pull this painting together.

Sunday I took a break to spend with my valentine. We went on a snowy winter hike in Borderland State Park. I had never been to the 1700 acre park before, which is just north of Mansfield MA, but it's a beautiful spot.

We started out the hike by heading towards the mansion. I wasn't especially interested in it, until I found out that the couple who built it were a botanist (Oakes Ames) and a painter (Blanche Ames). Born in 1878, Blanche actually designed the mansion after firing the architects who were making it too ostentatious. From the distance it looked pretty square and unremarkable, but closer up was full of surprising patterns of granite, a huge bell imported from Cuba on the roof and stained glass windows. Unfortunately the mansion wasn't open, but I looked up Blanche online when I got home and found she was a really neat person. She illustrated her husband's book of orchid research, painted in oils, and worked hard for womens rights, especially for access to birth control, all her life. She engineered the dams that created the lakes in the park, and received a patent for inventing an antipollution toilet at the age of 90. All this while raising 4 children.

After peeking in the mansion's windows, we walked around the ponds and over the earthen dams. The biggest pond was frozen over and people were walking across it inspecting several ice fishing holes. We skirted it instead, to avoid a cold wind. Otherwise I was perfectly comfortable in the mid-30's temperature. We walked for about 4 miles, but only explored a small part of the park. I'll have to return to see how it looks in the spring or summer.

• • •

A good article in the NY Times on Sunday. Enough with Minimalism, how about some Maximalism for a change? (my headline)

The Hard Winter

South Dakota, 2002

The long drive on 44 into Rapid City is becoming more familiar. Two miles from the park entrance I pass through Interior. The Badlands wall runs off to the distance on the right for awhile and on the left, the Pine Ridge Sioux Reservation and the White River. Barbed wire fences with wooden gates anticipate a few far off ranch buildings. The abandoned Chicago-Milwaukee-St Paul and Pacific Railroad draws a line through the grass first on the right, then left. The Conata Road crosses. An abandoned old car is a landmark, as is the coyote that looks more dead each time I pass. Nothing blocks the sky, which is as active as the ocean. Signs that mark with an x where someone died on the straight and empty road sometimes stand in clusters of 3 or 4. More...

I tend to like to paint environments which are harsh, which is why I loved spending a month as artist in residence in South Dakota. But the harshness of the environment is not a facade. For those who live on this land survival can mean a life and death battle with the elements.
 
While the world is focusing on the tragedy in Haiti, there is another emergency here in the U.S.  Ice storms have toppled power lines and disrupted heat supplies for one of the poorest Indian tribes in this country, as blizzards crossed over the plains.

With unemployment up to 80% and desperate poverty, I guess you could say that the Oglala Sioux Tribe is always in a state of emergency, but if you'd like to help them get through the winter and buy propane for the most vulnerable members and elders of the tribe, here's a link.  http://www.oglalalakotanation.org/

Whew!

Well, the English Christmas Cake is baked and eaten, the family has come and gone,  presents opened, toasts given, and the yule log is ashes. It was nice hosting our two large family groups Christmas eve and day, but it was a lot of work, and I'm looking forward to getting back on track with planning my Bert exhibit. Invites will be printed soon, so if you like one by post office, or by email, just send me your address and I'll add you to my list.

Happy New Year!

Snowbound

A nice mini-blizzard this weekend has completely snowed in my studio. Although it's just a dozen steps from my back door, it doesn't seem worth shoveling out, at least until after Christmas.  I'm trying to not let that depress me. The fact is, I haven't worked in my studio for awhile. Between Christmas and one, possibly two, shows coming up in January,  I'm not sure when I'll get back in there.

I'm thinking February. I'll fight the cold and dark, fire up the propane stove and PAINT.  I can't wait.

Winter mountain

I'm sick. Again. Seems like it's been every few weeks lately, but as long as it's not the swinely variety I will survive. It's frustrating though to have all day at home and not have the energy to get into the studio. I'm going to post a link to my Great Dunes page on my website soon, but for now, another found painting.

Stinky signs of spring

Even though it's only mid February, we've had unseasonably warm temperatures for the last two days, melting the thick snow cover. I took advantage of it by taking a walk through the Warren salt marshes in search of a sign of spring. The marshes were monocromatic brownish-grey, wet and icy. I did not doubt I would find a glimpse of green though, because I know where to find the skunk cabbage. Sure enough, it was spiraling up through the frozen ground and cold ice water.

When we were children all we appreciated about the plant was the fun it was daring each other to kick one open and release the stink, but Craig Holdrege has written an excellent exploration of the noble qualities of the skunk cabbage. I don't know if it's especially early this year, but I'm afraid my anticipation of spring may be...I have to remind myself that we still can have plenty of snow, ice and freezing temperatures ahead. But I don't think it's my imagination that the birds are beginning to sing more cheerfully, and I heard the Mourning Doves cooing...

Nightlife

Here's my final drawing from my drawing class at the Natural History Museum. This is a Great Horned Owl. It's really fun drawing them, I'll have to see if the RISD nature lab has any and try to get over there to draw them on my lunch break. I'm also going on an Owl Prowl at the Fisherville Brook Wildlife Refuge to try to see the non-taxidermied versions.

I have a vague idea of a possible series....wildlife at night, what's moving about when we're asleep. After all, bats would be pretty cool to paint too.

The first snow

I woke up this morning to a white world. The first snow of the season was a good solid one, covering the yard, trees, and all the thin twiggy remnants of my summer's neglected gardens. Only yesterday I raked up the last 8 bags of the oak leaves, just in time apparently.

The snow felt good and fresh, and inspired me to tackle some cleaning and organizing of closets, part of my winter's goal of containing my indoor sprawl.

I've always loved painting snow scenes. Their starkness has the same attraction I have felt in the sand dunes of Cape Cod and the Badlands of South Dakota. The monochrome, the outlined shapes, the way the surface of the land becomes visible makes me want to explore the transformed landscape. The painting below is one of a series I did in 1994 called the Elements of Winter. I hope to do some more snowscapes this winter.

My show is over and back in the studio, despite my having lost the brakes on my 20 year old painting-transport-vehicle last week. The old red truck is fixed now, and did a great job of hauling 2 loads of work. I, on the other hand, am a bit achy after loading the 25 heavily-framed paintings from the gallery to the truck, and the truck to the studio. My other goal this winter is getting back in shape after too many weekends spend standing in front of an easel. You have to be strong to be an artist.