Willing to Fail

A math professor at Williams College bases ten percent

of his students' grades on failure.

Mathematics is all about trying out new ideas -- new formulas...

and knowing that the vast majority of them will be dead ends.

To encourage his students not to be afraid of testing

their quirkiest ideas in public, he rewards rather than punishes them for 

coming up with wrong answers.

from Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit

Ms Tharp continues: "If Leonardo and Beethoven...failed on occasion, what makes you think you'll be the exception?"

I am trying to embrace this.  Honestly.  But it is much harder than it sounds.

Playing a wrong note is one thing....hauling off failed canvases is quite another, at least to me.

But back to the willingness to fail.  

I have become more aware of the emotion expressed in certain pieces of abstract art ( - mainly because I have become more aware of abstract pieces in general.)  But none of my attempts seem to satisfy me.

So again I try...willing (almost expecting) to fail.

Some warm ups by cutting up pieces of patterned papers in black and white:

These exercises are a wonderful way to experiment with pattern and variations of size and contrast.

Just make a pile of different paper "fabrics,"  then cut and paste (photo below).  No subject, no message, I just wanted to make the final configuration pleasing.

Time for something large and in paint. So I started with charcoal and a fixative on a large square support and blocked out shapes inspired by a photo of heavy clouds rolling in over a field.  Somehow I lost both photos.  Then I lost my nerve and put the painting away for quite a while.  I was totally indecisive as to how to finish it.  

Fast forward to this week: I've been working in turquoises and oranges and they give me such a rush of energy that when I spied that forgotten board leaning against the wall I grabbed it and began painting.  I let the underpainting guide my response to dark and light but used only the colors I was already using for another piece.

I was liking this ...a lot.

A Perfect Storm

24 x 24 on board, painted 3/4" edge, no frame

oil

It would be a bit presumptuous of me to claim this a "perfect abstract" but it was a perfect storm of energy, color, preparation and nerve.  It is going to remind me to be fearless.  And it is not going off to the dump anytime soon.

Finally, I have framed and hung the abstract masterpiece below where I see it daily when I leave for my studio.  The wild abandon, the obvious lack of constraint and the vibrant colors all say "GO FOR IT."  

Go For It

mixed media abstract, 12 x 9

done by my 2 1/2 year old grandson

I can sum up my week's lesson this way: Go for it and you might create a perfect storm.  Or not!

Either way, a math professor at Williams College is wise enough to give you credit if you fail.

LEARNING IN LIVING COLOR,

Cindy

Is White the Absence of Color?

"...The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for

some way, and then dipped suddenly down,

so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think

about stopping herself before she found herself

falling down a very deep well." 

                                                      from Alice in Wonderland,        

                                 Lewis Carroll

It is a very deep well indeed....with all kinds of underground systems leading to new and unusual places.  I was playing with natural dyes:

upper L to R: goldenrod, red cabbage with vinegar, red cabbage with

ammonia, walnut hulls and avocado pits and skins...

and I found the subtle colors soothing.  This was not my usual bursts of magenta or lime green and yet these were refreshing, calming.  Which got me to thinking about the absence of color...is it white?

That question caught my eye as I was surfing through program offerings on PBS and I watched one that involved a challenge from an art professor in working with white.  He talked about white being relative.  One only has to go to the paint store and ask for "white" to learn that there is at least "50 shades of" white.  Which lead me to begin thinking about experiments using white.

(See where the rabbit hole tunnels lead....you can turn back now!)

Which led me to reclaim an old painting with the intention of playing around with....white? whiteS?

the green tape is to protect the frame as this painting was apparently glued to the frame...? So I covered over the old piece.

I began to play with different shades of white...using up some old paint on the palate and employing a few toys: credit card to scrape, a rubber nib, a roller and a small sponge.  I wasn't sure where this was going and I was trying hard not to let that major issue get in the way.

Oh dear, Joni Mitchell is now singing "...they paved paradise..." and that becomes a working title.  I'm afraid that now I feel bound to come up with something.  Shoot.  We will see.  Time to let it dry, it feels a bit busy to me. Perhaps move on to a "white" collage.

12 x 9 white canvas

And...now back to the oil.

More white and I'm not liking this at all.  I'm a bit scattered without some sort of a plan....

 from bad to badder or worse to worse-er?

Calling it quits.

Unless I have a wild inspiration soon this will be headed right for the dumpster.

HOWEVER...not all is lost.  I learned that I (that's me, not everyone) need some semblance of a plan before I begin.  No problem diverting from it but with no plan I just get tangled up in the weeds.

AND, I liked working with these various shades of no color.  It's a "try again."  With a plan.

Going to go dig out the beginnings of that white collage and see where it goes...I did start with a standard abstract format referred to as the cruciform.  Now watch me take off....

Dabbling WithOut Color,

Cindy

Eclipse - Part II

Every experiment leads to something!
My challenge to paint of, about or from the eclipse was
an interesting process.  I know my next documentation of
such an event will roll out a bit differently.

happy eclipse viewers

After posting last week's blog explaining what I was trying to do, I got back to business in the studio.

I'm happy enough with the results to move along to something new.  BUT, I did learn a lot about myself and my approach to a more abstract piece:

* I need to give it a lot more thought as opposed to merely diving it, planning helps even when one diverts from the original plan,

* for me, less is more!  More is congestion.  Stop while I am ahead,

* don't feel constrained by a literal interpretation, narrow the message,  

AND

* get back on the horse before I forget how to proceed!

Here are three of the pieces I worked on:

"Ain't No Sunshine"

mixed media on board, 3.5" x 16"

available

"Moon Shadow, Moon Shadow"

mixed media, 8" x 6", framed

available

"Just Passing By"

mixed media on paper, 12" x 9" framed

available

I was absolutely thrilled to discover that my sister had been moved to glaze one of her pottery bowls with a tribute to the eclipse (but neglected to send me the photo) and that my photographer friend Gene, of Gene's Scenes, had done some gorgeous work of it.  There's no time limit for reacting to this phenomenon so get your art on and share the results.  I'm betting that we will benefit in the near future from poets, musicians and dancers who also feel moved to react in some way.

HAPPY IN THE SHADOWS,

Cindy

Spring ZING!!

99 days out of 100 I enter my studio excited to see what 

I can make happen.  But on some of those days I literally

 rush inside because my mind has been working

 all night on something it can't let go of.

Spring provided several of those wonderful days.

ZING!

That's the best word.

Spring was mysterious this year.  It peeked out from behind the clouds and then would sneak back behind winter for a bit longer.  Then, zing!, evidence.  Then retreat.  Then out again.  Like a teasing lover it played with us this year preferring to drag out the announcement of its arrival.  Which made it all the more fun to find.

I got a little abstract here as I pulled out a huge support and got to work purely in color and form.  See the gray and brown mountains?  That's what we lived with during the late muddy winter.  Then badda bang, badda boom: color began creeping up the elevation.  Like a time lapse movie, every day presented a new picture as the spring zing began hiking up the elevation.  I would choose a fav color and then, wow, a new one would emerge.  Call this piece a journal, it evolved daily.

And after so many months of seeing the stately trunks of trees marching across the fields it was like an easter egg hunt to spot patches of color here and there.  This is another out-of-my-mind's-eye piece that gave me a zing.  Spring Zing to be specific.  Ok, out of my system...maybe, maybe not.

I know its unconventional to share these without sizes and titles (and prices) but hey, they haven't even made it to the framer's yet and he always sees them first.  A quick spray today and I will take them to him to work his framing magic.  Email me if you need the details or just stop by the studio where they will soon be hanging.  

Whew, that rush was fun.  I hope that whenever I see these paintings I can conjure up that same feeling that spring brings when it tries to sneak up.  Zing! Zing! Like arrows shot out here and there.

Happy Spring to you,

Cindy

Muscle Memory

I recently began thinking about the role of muscle memory in painting. Muscle memory plays a large part in the execution of a painting; knowing that the touch or feel of the brush to canvas is correct for instance.  But it also plays a huge role in how we view what is on the canvas.  Several conversations this month led me to think about this. 

I am thinking about that huge, powerful muscle we call the brain.  It is trained in so many ways we take for granted that to think about it as a muscle is often hard.  When we first begin to paint, or learn to view a painting, the muscle in our brain is not trained to see. We tend to want to replicate every detail onto the canvas.  So many art teachers find themselves cautioning students not to obsess about the detail of the flea on the tail of the dog....when students haven't even mastered painting the dog.  But our untrained brain wants to tell everyone that there is a dog, he has a tail and on that tail with a zillion million little hairs of fur sits a flea about this size and color.  As the student progresses and becomes more confident in their execution they don't feel the need to point out that flea, trusting instead that something else in the work will lead the viewer to that conclusion.  An excellent example of brain muscle memory is when we spot a yield sign in the distance.  Just by shape or color we know what it will say and mean even before we are close enough to read the word on it.

I confess to wanting to provide way too much information.  Sometimes I do not trust myself to convey the gist without detail or, worse yet, I don't trust the viewer to see what I hope he sees.

 Here is a piece of a painting I am currently working on.  Do you know what it is?  Does your brain muscle fill in the details that you cannot see and give you the entire picture?  And why is it important that you see what I see?  I'm not sure.  These are things I must ponder now.  Do I have to tell you where I am for the integrity of the painting or is it ok if you think this is rushing water seen through the holes in dock planking?

Here is more of the piece.  I still think that perhaps I have shortchanged the viewer by providing too much information.  The less detail I give you about where exactly this path is, the more likely your memory will be jogged and finish filling in the details for you.  Then you will know where this is; it will be where you want it to be, NOT a poor representation of a place I was, or a place neither of us recognize but feel that we ought to.  Does this make any sense?

Forgive me if it does not.  But at this juncture I am struggling with the issue, never mind the execution, of exactly how much information (detail) I want to provide the viewer.  Enough to help him enjoy the view but not so much that he notes the flea has too many legs on it to be a credible representation.  This painting has a long way yet to go...at least in mental exercise...before complete.

As you enjoy art this week try to be conscience of what role your brain muscle plays while looking.  Does it rush to fill in the details of what you don't see?  Does it jump to a pleasant memory?  Does it wander down the path imagining what might be around the next bend?  I think the artist has a tough job harnessing the muscle memory of others...but I also think that is an important part of our work.

Cindy

Do You See What I Sea?

Long Key

10" x 5" oil on board

 

 

Do you see what I see?  The gorgeous turquoise waters of the Florida Keys?  Can you smell the briney air and feel the island breezes?  Do the colors make you wonder why the horizon is dark and there are shadow patches here and there of dark blue and green?  Of course this could be any beach you are fond of but this was painted at a picnic table from our campsite on Long Key.  For fun I pulled out my palatte knife instead of a brush and went to work.  Not that it took less time than a brush...but somehow holding the knife made me attempt to capture everything BUT the detail.  I went back to it several times while it lay there drying, tweaking it and playing with it.  But finally I was satisfied.  Now and then I really like something I produce, I mean really like.  And this is one of them.

 





(I tried two different frames on it.  This is brown wood.  I haven't decided which I like better.)

 

 

Until I decide I can't live without this piece you can literally steal it here.  And you may choose the style frame you like best for it.  Meanwhile I have a few more palatte knife pieces to share with you...and I look forward to doing some more!

 



(here is the gold frame)

 

 

Do you think one of the frames is better for the art or that it is a matter of where you would place it?

Would love to hear your opinion on that. Maybe frame selection tips would be a good blog subject some day.

Chasing Shiny Objects

My painting gang got inspired to play with texture one day to see what different effects we might be able to create.  Implied texture is when the painting makes you think it has bumps and

lumps, or whatever; but real texture (it really does have bumps and lumps) is

what we were after.

We gathered our materials and combined the odds and ends from errant projects and got together

one Monday to get messy and see what happened.

I decided to put a lot of different experiments onto one canvas and then treat it all as one

painting.  Be careful: this is harder than it looks.

After adding all kinds of mediums and some beach sand and then running patterns thru

some of it, I had to let it dry a long time.

I slowly began putting acrylic colors down and honestly there was no

plan other than to use a lot of circles balanced by some straight lines.

There were many, many stages in this piece from start above to this finish line...I guess I could keep going but when I began gluing on shiny metal circles I realized that at

this stage I had created a self-portrait!  My friends tease me about the wide range

of interests I get distracted by, exclaiming, "there you go, chasing another

shiney object!"

Ah yes...that is so, and I seem to run around in a lot of circles doing such....

oh the analogies are endless.

Meanwhile, here's a detail...just so you can see the real texture we were after.

This piece just begs to be touched...but careful: one of the shiney objects is sharp!!

Don't look for too many more of these from yours truely.