Still Standing--oil painting



Still Standing, oil (alkyd) on linen, 12x12

Since it was cold and icy, I slid out to my studio for the last couple of days.  This tree is down by my dock; I always stare up at it for a while before walking back up to the house.  I don't know if it's still alive--it's surrounded by other trees and I can't tell if there's any green at the very top; there's none on the lower branches.  I thought it was a cedar; now I'm not sure--the trunk is rather hairy.  I painted this from memory; the photo is a bit different.  I like that this is stark naked against the cold sky.

Maybe I should title it reforestation.  

Sketches for Still Standing

During the past year, I've thought of the tree often.  I like the one on the left--Crayola crayons on card stock.  Top right is hydrus watercolor, and lower right is, I believe, oil (it was painted from the photo). 

Chihuly Exhibit at VMFA



Organic Vase, created with Procreate on iPad

Last Friday I visited the Chihuly Exhibit at Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in Richmond VA.  I left my camera in the car so I have no photos.  Instead, here's a Chihuly-inspired iPad painting of a red vase I bought at Mr. Harris' yard sale.  I painted without actually looking at the vase, and imagined it melting and changing forms, being displayed on a mirrored surface like Chihuly's works.  (And, yes, this looks a bit like an internal organ; I guess it's a ChiHallie.)  

Mr. Harris, Colorsoft pencils on Wallis Museum board, 9x6

My camera was in the car when I stopped at the yard sale and the light was right.  Mr. Harris said okay when I asked if I could take his photo; I told him I might want to paint it.  He's a neighbor and owner of one of the local funeral homes--a nice-looking man.  He hasn't seen this yet and it's not quite finished.




Outside VMFA, photo by S. Brooks

Here I am, outside the museum, pretending I'm holding up Chihuly's 25-foot chandelier which was hanging in the Atrium--my idea--and it took a while for the patient photographer to line this up.  Pedestrians probably wondered why I was posing like Vanna White.  My brother thought this looked like Miss Liberty with a tight grip on her pocketbook--not a bad idea for these times.

The Chihuly Exhibit was excellent--rooms filled with forms and colors and reflections.  I especially liked his Ikebana Boats and the Tobac Basket Bowls, which were displayed on huge beautiful slabs of wood. 

Small Town Drawing



Robert, Inktense pencils on hot press w/c paper, 12x9

I'm a Sunday evening regular at The Pizza Pub Restaurant/Bar here in town--so is Robert.  He's usually helping out or having a cup of coffee; and I see him outside always with his pipe.  I asked if I could take a few photos with my iPad--he obliged.  It's been a long time since I've tried portraits other than my own.  Robert liked this and, last Sunday, he walked with me through the restaurant as I showed it to the customers.

Most of you fellow bloggers live in cities where you can sketch strangers at coffee shops, but I have to brew Starbucks in my kitchen.  I live in a place where everyone knows our names (and The Pub knows my drink is unsweet iced tea) so Thank Goodness it does look like Robert.  This was not as much fun as my self portraits where I tear into myself and pounce on every wrinkle.  (Maybe I can do that with tourists or fishermen I don't know next summer.)

Hurricane Sandy looks ominous but I'm 150 miles inland from the coast; my area is not expecting much damage but we might lose our internet (that's what happened last year when Hurricane Irene hit the coast).  We think this latest hurricane is named for one of the bartenders at The Pub.

I'm now putting the Inktense pencils aside and will be trying Colorsoft pencils on different papers, then on to Polychromos pencils.  (Dick Blick had a sale so a big box was delivered to my front porch Wednesday--lots of new stuff with no instructions.)  I'll play with pencils for a while, then get back to my studio and paints.  Well.... that's my plan today.

On My Easel

Title not yet chosen, 20x16 cradled panel

I've been working on this oil painting for a couple of weeks; I'm as slow as molasses in February.   Mostly, I sit in my comfortable chair and wonder what to do next--and I've eaten all the snacks that were stashed in the workshop.

Of course, there will be a logical (to me) explanation of this when I post the finished painting. 

A Quiet Street

Home, w/c on hot press paper, 24x18

Looks like a Normal Rockwell setting, right? This quiet street in a small town labeled Paradise by realtors will be active for the next six weeks. Town Council elections are coming up--four candidates for three seats. Local elections can be exciting--letters to the editor will fill the two newspapers and porch conversations will be lively.

Home is where the art is, too. I won a contest by coming up with a title for a signed serigraphy monoprint by Don Michael, Jr. My title? Sylvester got Tweety--I saw yellow feathers and blood. Don't worry, Don--the art will look great inside this 1890's house. The interior was gutted and rebuilt in 2004--totally modern inside. Yin & Yang--outside, a cottage; inside, a loft.

About the painting--the Dali-esque tree (this is about half the trunk) is at the top of my street. I have always loved it but it's dying; tree men have pruned, and huge branches have fallen. I will miss seeing it from my kitchen window; I watch crows sitting on it and, sometimes, vultures check out the neighborhood. I had taken this early Spring photo about five years ago--I set up the shot to block all my neighbors' houses. In the painting I eliminated mail boxes, utility poles, and some driveways. I'm still playing with the watercolor sticks. I had bought hot press paper for drawing and thought "Why not just do a large painting?" Here's why. I'm not a neat painter--I spatter, don't follow any of the lines I sketch, and I need more practice at "lifting."
I say "Whoops" often.

(I actually like this painting better cropped and upside-down.)

Playing with Crayons (Oil Pastels)

The Seer, oil pastel, 18x12, came from many parts of my brain, piles of magazines, and a big box of oil pastels.

For several weeks I have been looking through ten years of Art in America, cutting out photographs of paintings I admire--my choice was cut them up or be buried under them. I came across an intriguing 1970 painting by Picasso, Buste, from his Mosqueteros (Musketeers) and thought of the fun he must have had while painting--this might be my favorite Picasso work. It reminded me that art does not always have to be a serious undertaking; playing is a good way to learn.

The Seer began with a Time photograph of a soldier peering into a huge night vision machine. My work looks nothing like the photograph; I spent about 20 minutes looking at it, then closed the magazine--I remembered the green at the edge of the face. My Seer looks a bit like the X Files actor, and he has the bulging forehead vein I saw on a doctor's temple last month. When the Aztec appeared on his back, the Seer's hairstyle was changed to match. Is he looking into the future? I have no idea--the painting needed a vertical and something red.

The Seer looks nothing like the psychic my friend and I visited once a year--Mr. Whiz of G Street in Washington, D.C. He never peered into anything, sparks never came from his chest, and his predictions never made much sense. We visited other psychics, laughed, and swore we'd never spend another dime on something so stupid--but we did. My friend now thinks she's a psychic and was offended when her local police department declined her help in a murder case. I enjoy my off-plumb friends; they make me feel at home.

All these thoughts surfaced as I played with my beautiful wood box of 120 crayons (Sennelier oil pastels). Next week I hope to be using a new camera, a Canon G11, and I'll post a better photo--the G2 has served me well.

A Walk on the Arty Side of Town

During walks on my side of town, Willie waters all the mailbox posts and I check out the neighborhood--there are space-ship shaped mushrooms, an occasional snake, and weird-looking bugs. I have watched a neighbor's weed grow all summer--it's off the front porch and has reached roof height. One tall, arty-looking weed in a beautiful yard--it must be a statement. Maybe it says "I almost conform." From the street, the weed is beautifully framed by a hanging pine bough--today I used my camera.

I don't know the name of the weed--the bottom leaves are at least 12 inches wide and they have great veins. Several years ago I used some leaves to print onto watercolor paper; then I painted with acrylics. I named it Turmoil, 28x20.

It's nice living on the arty side--neighbors liked my red-ribboned hubcaps posing as Christmas wreaths, and no one has mentioned our missing shutter (it's behind the holly bushes, and those things attack).

Fun with Self Portraits

A very early sketch from my sculpting days--the 70's suburban mother-wife-Fed employee-sculptor with the station wagon.

Looking in the mirror, ca 2001.

Put your chin right there (after an ophthalmologist appointment) 2002.

Pineal Pansies, Bane of Astro-travel, (from a Polaroid shot up my nose) 2003.

Rage--I'm hanging myself but holding a barbed-wire whip, 2004.

Faux Orchid--I sat in front of a mirror for hours (living in an apartment while our house was being renovated--nine months with no digital camera available) 2005.

Eye on the table--a manipulated digital photo with my new toy (a magnifier used to enlarge early TV screens) 2007.

Ideating (a "yield" or "slow" sign appeared on my cheek; I left it) photo from 2007, painted in 2009.

In person I appear normal in my well-worn, paint-spattered denim shirts--boring! The next self portrait? I think I'll be looking at a map of heaven and hell--contemplating future travel. I hope to finish the painting before I make the trip (sometimes it's years between planning a painting and actuallly getting it done).

Drawing and Discovering

The Holly Springs art exhibit was taken down on Monday and I returned my favorite drawing to its owner--a neighbor who has bought three of my works. Nose to the Lens, white conte on black paper, is sort of a self-portrait; I would not do this to anyone else. I set the camera on the kitchen windowsill, leaned on the counter (my favorite bird-watching stance) and put my nose to the lens--in the sunlight! Every wrinkle is high-lighted and I added some for good measure; the eyes are not quite aligned as they watch, the nose bulbous, the eyebrows extra-long, the hair fly-away. I took many liberties and totally enjoyed doing this.

I also made a discovery. As I looked over my glasses at one of the stray strands of my colorless hair (used to be a redhead) I realized that, in sunlight, each strand contains the whole spectrum. The colors run across the hair--not up and down the strand! Amazing! Why didn't I know that? What happens to all the things I've learned when I die? Is there a giant data base someplace? What other amazing things are right under our noses--if we just take the time to look?

(Why has no one commissioned me to do their portrait?)

Project: Clean Out the Workshop/Studio

My workshop is well-equipped with heat, an air-conditioner, a bath room and a back porch (with a view of the lake). To save energy during the cold weather, I painted in the upstairs bedroom. Now I need to get my supplies moved back to the workshop. This may take a while because--thanks to my accumulation gene--there is barely space to walk and I got wider during Winter.