Finding my way back

So. . . I have had a little sabbatical from blogging. I've missed it.

Shortly after I posted about joining classmates at the Futurity in January, I realized I wouldn't be up to it. I knew I was sick, sick, sick -- some kind of respiratory ailment.

Although the next 6 weeks were a little hazy and were spent mostly in an upstairs bedroom, I did make notes on a few things which were more interesting than the coughs which seemed to crack a rib or burst a bra, the wads of tissues which overflowed the trashcan and threatened to take over the bedroom as if some really bad poet was doing rewrites, and the visits to the doctor which required dressing in real clothes instead of my really grungy PJs. My energy level hit zero and my brain cells took a vacation.

All of this while this little bundle of energy and her mother were moving in for the next year.

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I did make a few notes of things I'd like to share here.

***There was the death of a friend/mentor, a note on a friend's blog and an interview by a middle school student in February.

***There was early spring walks by the River with daughter and granddaughter in March.

***There were Easter egg hunts, tea parties and new kitties at our house in April.

***There was a short trip to the coast for me where I shared a couple of days with friends and explored a sculpture near by.

***There was more time to practice with my camera and some resulting photos I like -- such as these.
(What?!! You think she is an angel ALL the time.)

So, I'll transcribe my notes and add some stuff for these missing months, just because I think I'd like to know what happened during February, March and April when I return to my own archives!

You can read them. . . . Or not.

Lessons from Lucy: 'Play' is Not A Dirty Word

Watching Lucy grow and explore every day for the past three months has been fun and frustrating.

She often reminds me of new painters as she picks up a new toy, a new fork or a new pair of shoes (and yes, she does love red ones.) She wants instant success. But sometimes, she takes her time.

When I gave her a small box of sand for the front porch, she checked out everything -- BEFORE she got down to business; BEFORE she tried to create a masterpiece. She touched, felt and tasted; poured, sprinkled and scrubbed. She explored the materials at hand. She played!

If I could just get new watercolor students to do the same. They would know how to handle the brushes, what papers to use for textured or smooth results, why colors glaze or granulate or cover and maybe even when to use a photo reference as only a beginning. But most don't want to explore. Lucy and I think they miss the fun part.



And, by the way, sometimes we add water. Well. Maybe play IS a dirty word.

Lessons from Lucy: Practice Helps Fill the Basket

On Easter Sunday afternoon, our family gathered at Mamma's house for dinner and a small egg hunt. There were just Lucy and small Ben to look for the bright shapes among their great- grandmother's flowers.

They each had a basket and helping hands to guide them, but Lucy filled her basket quickly while Ben looked confused.




Painters are like that. One grabs a inspiration and quickly fills the canvas or paper with glorious colors. Another stands around and cleans his brushes, draws ideas, or sorts photos.

What makes the difference? Maybe a little preparation.



Sh-h-h-h! We didn't tell anyone, but Lucy had practiced a week earlier.


She was prepared to fill her basket.

The Stolen Day - Part II

After leaving Morris and Whiteside Gallery on Hilton Head Island, I managed to find a few more shops where I had a perfectly marvelous time spending a little money. I am not really a 'shopper,' but sometimes, as my friend Frankie says, things just call my name.

And then, I began to look for "The Sculpture." I knew that the latest creation of Patrick Dougherty, The Stick Man, was in Bluffton. I had followed the construction and enjoyed the one he created on our local college campus, so I eagerly anticipated seeing both his work and the variety of art in the galleries and shops of the tiny village.

The tiny old village of Bluffton had slowly dwindled to fewer than 600 people when artists began to discover space there for working and showing. Empty storefronts and houses were transformed and flags and banners marked the "places of art." Through a diligent marketing effort, the village began to grow as people began to come.

Now the developers are coming . . . . But that's another story.

I had read about the Stick Man's Bluffton project and the support provided by the community. I expected to find it easily in a public area in such a small town, but in the printed material, I kept seeing "Take the Ferry to Palmetto Bluff." I did not know what that meant and could not locate either the ferry or the sculpture. Everyone just said "You can't miss it!" Well, you know what? I almost did.

I had given up my search and was taking photos near a church. I struck up a conversation (of course!) with a picnicking couple who gave me marvelous directions -- leave town on the state road, go four miles toward Savannah, turn left and after entering the gate to Palmetto Bluff, go another four miles. And, by the way, those cars parked nearby did not belong to church-goers, but to the ferry riders. It arrived and departed just at the end of the lane past the church!

So, I made the drive -- it was on my way home -- and I entered another world. The Bluff offered spectacular views across the water, shaded walks under old palms and oaks and new homes with the look of gentle old ones. And there, in the middle of the public space, was The Sculpture.

I parked and walked over to it. I went into its dark spaces and looked out the openings, I marveled at the intricate design of the dome and the flow of the surfaces.
I walked to the old church and the nearby Gallery at Palmetto Bluff and viewed it from that distance.


The experience is not one which can easily be described and I wondered how many people have missed it because, like me, they couldn't find it.

On a Stolen Day, I found
the hidden treasure.

The Stolen Day - Part I

As the morning sun lit the tops of the trees at Sea Pines, we rushed around to pack our things and exclaim over things we didn't have time to do. We hugged one last time and headed home -- Frankie and Charlotte for the long drive to Virginia and me to Georgia.

Wait! I don't have to leave right away. I have a whole day just for me.

It was 9:30 in the morning as I passed the one place I didn't get to visit yesterday.
Could it be open?
It seems so! I made a quick u-turn. Yes!

And so. . . I got my visit to Morris and Whiteside Gallery and the Red Piano Gallery which has now been incorporated into the space as well.

http://www.morris-whiteside.com
807 William Hilton Parkway
Hilton Head Island, South Carolina
843.842.4433

I took my time with the always exciting watercolors of Stephen Scott Young and Dean Mitchell. I looked at the abstracted figures and heavy texture of Dan McGraw. I marveled at the quick brushstrokes of Marilyn Simandle. I wondered at the intricate landscapes of Joseph Orr. I wished for the powerful design ability of William Hooks. And as usual, was amazed at the handling of the paint by both Ken Auster and Pino. I introduced myself to the work of Joseph Larusso and vowed to search for more about him and his mysterious, old-fashioned images. I was in awe of the subtle value and temperature changes in the figures of Joe Bohler and happy to see his work here. I brought home the brochure on an upcoming show. And there were others . . . . Plus sculptures. Ah! the sculptures.

There is something very comfortable about this gallery. It always makes me feel good. They let me look all I want yet I never feel ignored. The work is well-presented with enough space to lend respect to even the smallest piece. There is room to look at the paintings and sculpture closely and from a distance in spaces which are not white-box. It is the kind of place which makes an artist want to do better work.

What joy in a stolen day!

Just Come

It seemed that I would not get there after all. The day had begun off-kilter and I called my friend to say I would not try to make the trip. It was rainy and cloudy. And who goes to the coast on such a day? I had misplaced my car keys and would not be able to leave until they were retrieved. I couldn't find anything to wear. . . . She said, "Come when you can. Just come."

Later in the afternoon, the sky cleared, the car keys appeared and I began my three hour drive to Hilton Head. I decided to by-pass the number of small towns on the route and take a small road which I had spotted on the map. I thought if I stayed between the River and the main road I would be okay -- this is on an off-kilter day, remember? It was the right thing to do. There was little traffic other than a logging truck or two. There were big, awkwardly painted signs offering "Fresh Eggs" and taxidermy and well-drilling. There were views across pastures and fields which possibly rivaled last April's views in France. There was time to leave behind the weeks of coughing, of room rearranging, of adjusting to two more people in the house (even though one is charming Lucy.)

My friend Frankie, who now lives in Arizona, and her high school friend Charlotte, who now lives in Virginia, and I settled in for an evening of catching up and making plans for the next day. We packed our schedule with shopping for stuff we didn't need, lunch closest to the catch of the day and some art, of course, before it was time for me to go.





Then, as we watched the sky across the Atlantic slowly change to night, I decided to stay another day.




What a simple and amazing gift,
"Just come."

Understanding Opportunities

This marvelous stone lantern is in a pocket garden in our city which honors a Sister City relationship with Takarazuka , Japan. Due to a set of circumstances involving changes in government in both cities, there has been little contact between the two for several years.

During the active years of the relationship, I made four trips to Japan to deliver, install and return four exhibitions of paintings (once with an exchange of artists as well.) Each time, I was greeted, hosted and befriended by many, both officially and in friendship (my fifth trip there was private, but they filled my schedule.) I hosted their delegates in my home where my older daughter met them and was asked to come to work in their city (she was there three years.)

When opportunities come along, I tend to just do what needs to be done. And those times were no different. I just collected and crated paintings, filled out official paperwork, sent info on the artists and their work, took photos/slides of the paintings, purchased appropriate gifts to exchange, packed bags and planned local day trips. I had a check list or two. I don't think I realized what the visits and the experiences would mean for me, my attitudes, and my painting. I wish I had kept a blog and better sketchbooks.

And I know now how ill-prepared I was. I knew little about the culture, the art, the language or the region. I made some mistakes and learned a little each time I went. However, I didn't cause any international incidents and they kept asking me to return.

I have missed having that connection, so it was a delightful surprise when I received an email from an old friend in the cultural department asking about a possible renewal of the bonds between the two cities. I hope this will be possible. I hope that others can have this opportunity for participating in this people to people exchange where ideas and perceptions change.

I hope they will be better prepared than I was.

What Is It Like To Be an Artist?

Last week, in spite of my coughing and hacking, I was interviewed by a middle school art student. She had to ask questions, visit my studio, complete a painting in "my style" and make a report on "her" artist. I really didn't feel up to it, croaking answers to her questions, but I thought back to a report my daughter had written in the fifth grade and the impact it had on her and "her artist." (She had selected my friend, Georg Shook, and declared, "After all, he is famous, Mom." Georg was genuinely pleased when she gave him a copy.) Somehow, I found the energy and made the effort to meet with Jordan.

Her questions were interesting ones but sometimes we veered away from the topic. I had forgotten that her parents had brought her in a stroller to a neighborhood party at my house; she had forgotten that she had come. Her grandmother had recently become a member of our family; we were both at the wedding. She had been to the opening or two of my latest work; I had forgotten the quiet teenager.


But this was about art and there were those questions about being an artist which needed answers. . . .

Good questions to ask any artist!
--When did you know you were an artist?
--Do you have a formal art education?
--Did your family encourage you?
--Which artists have influenced you the most?
--What are the most interesting things which have happened to you as an artist?

It was a long project and one which required time, preparation and thought. I applaud her creative and caring teacher. I thank Jordan for making me think about what it's like to be an artist.

The Moment in Time Window

"marginalia"
I was introduced to this word by the Cat Sidh blog. I immediately copied this quote:

"I think the interesting thing about marginalia is not so much the intrinsic information it contains, but the window it opens onto the moment in time when the notes were made."

. . . and placed this comment on her blog:

"A-a-ah, “marginalia.” True for literary folks, but doubly true for visual artists. It’s the one thing we forget to do when sketching. AND, one of the simplest reasons we can’t get back to ‘that moment in time’ when we are back in the studio."

It perfectly fills a little empty spot in my education.

I've always made notes, underlined and doodled in books and my sketchbooks include everything from the weather and smells to sizes of potential paintings I might make. Now I have a word for it!

I learn a lot from Shelly, but mostly she makes me wish I were younger, more irreverent, freer to explore and more creative with the information I have gathered -- especially with the stuff in the margins.

Shelley Couvrette's "Marginalia" entry, along with her other typical bloggin' may be found here: http://cat-sidh.net/blog/?m=200702&paged=4

Judy. Judy. Ju - oops, Annette.

Later today, I'll be taking a break from sorting and shifting things in the studio in preparation for moving in day over the weekend. I'll be meeting some members of my high school class ('59) for an evening of fun at the annual Cutting Horse Futurity -- an event which to some is exciting and to others is like watching the grass grow. We will be guests of a classmate who is director of the event and knowing Pete we can expect some fun. Maybe I'll make a report!



Today's photo is from the barbecue in the fall when Classes of the 50s gathered on a sun-swept hillside. Judy in the purple and gold t-shirt was a part of the committee, Judy in the purple western shirt was hostess and I have a tiny bit of purple mixed with blue in my scarf. The booklet under my arm includes my painting on the inside back cover

The three of us were friends in 8th grade and I introduced the first Judy to her future hubby in 10th grade. With the three of us there tonight, I think we will have a great time. What do you think?