Blog

I want to let go of making pretty pictures. 

During my March residency in Italy, the weather was often chilly, rainy or windy, but I had a beautiful studio space where I could paint daily, using gouache on paper. I could also pin my work on the walls and leave my still-lifes set up for consecutive days. I worked, without haste, in a quiet space, looking at the paintings to consider what changes to try next. My mind was not on selling, winning, or likes – but on authenticity.

Returning to the same subject and changing various elements brought me closer to what I was searching for. This was already a good path, and an intuitive one, because I have a background in science. Repeating an experiment is a great way to learn. The big difference is that I did not start with a hypothesis – because I couldn’t define what I sought. 

Here is one of my first paintings:    

This arrangement of flowers and fruit in the windowsill of the studio is a balanced composition, with local color and morning light.  I consider this a successful painting. But not especially emotional.

In fact, I was searching for something within me, and even though I respond to beauty and nature, I was not finding “me” by reproducing those subjects.

Here is the primula again, where I have zoomed in closer and invented some color.     

I think this image is whimsical and interesting.

It still doesn’t feel emotional or personal.

I don’t want my work to be too cerebral or calculated. I want the process to be intuitive, perhaps nonrational - coming from an unencumbered mind.  

I decided to try a more abstract approach. In science, an abstract is a summary of findings placed at the beginning of a data-filled article. It is the bare essence of a more detailed explanation. What if I started with a still life and whittled it down?

This painting in grayscale helped established my light and dark shapes.

Using red - a color I use less frequently as a landscape painter, I recreated those dark and light shapes, added some pattern, and left white spaces between some shapes.  

This was beginning to seem more interesting. It evoked a memory – maybe a textile? Maybe like some OpArt curtains or beach pants I made in high school?

I continued further experiments using a red palette.

Here there is more invention, yet the rendering is precise, not abstract. I like the mood and the quiet composition. It is pleasing, but it isn’t revelatory. The red unifies the painting. The abstract elements are secondary.

The search was not a straight path. The abstract journey seemed daunting. I felt stymied, so I continued to focus on color, but returned to the blooming primula; the bit of nature living inside.  

The last half of the month I explored the color yellow, also an unfamiliar color. It is a difficult color to modulate. Adding any red, green, or gray quickly sent it out of the “yellow” category. But it was fun to mix tiny amounts and make subtle shifts in hue.

“Felicity,” 11x8, gouache

This painting moved me in a new way. To emphasize the yellow, I grayed down all the other colors – especially the dark green leaves. The paper was coated with gesso, allowing thin paint to run, thicker paint to be impasto and some spots left unpainted. There is something about the yellow color, the partial outlining, and the light. It speaks to me of an old fairytale illustration.

It seems to be more than its components. And it surprises me. I remember the sunlight touching the blooms and the rim of the bowl. I feel like it captures happiness. This is my favorite painting from my residency.

Perhaps pretty pictures are meant to be gifts and can only be received by surprise. 

I saw progress through 3 actions: 1. Resolutely stumbling through ideas. 2. Taking time to look at a picture and see what the next step should be. 3. Recognizing when enough is enough.

Thank you for following my journey. Ciao! Deliece

Competitive Plein Air Festivals – a personal rumination

As I reflect on my journey as a painter, particularly a plein air painter, I realize there is a tension and a balance between action and contemplation, between risk-taking and a sense of well-being. I love to paint. I love to be out in nature. There are many ways a human being can enjoy nature – walking with a friend or a dog, birding, gardening, camping, and for me painting is especially fun. Painting combines the act of creating with the act of keen observation and quiet stillness. The stillness allows one small scene; one particular view of a landscape to open and reveal itself to you. I remember painting for over an hour near the Pebble Creek campground in Yellowstone National Park and suddenly finding a fox trotting within feet of me. He passed by so carelessly, that I could observe his face, his paws, and his quiet, bouncy gait. I know nature photographers often spend many hours waiting in stillness for their subjects to come out of hiding. I’d never have the patience for that. But this fox was a surprise gift who came by, while I was involved in something else. I was still and quiet enough for nature to resume its business. When I am absorbed in painting, I lose a sense of time. Impatience is not an issue. Painting is the avenue, the calming and joyful act that restores my connection to nature.

Being selected for a competitive plein air festival, either by invitation or jury, is affirming, but it is not calming. Stress for these events includes - driving far from home, painting in bad weather, living as a guest in someone else’s home, painting unfamiliar subjects (and BTW all of these things probably will turn out to be wonderful opportunities). And there is one more stressful aspect, one that occurs internally. It has been uncomfortable to see my work compared to and hanging beside some very talented, experienced painters. Fortunately, most painters are kind and generous with their less-experienced colleagues. Seeing the work of better painters, and talking to those painters about their backgrounds, education, and challenges is a great opportunity, and I have come to realize that all painters are striving to become even better.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly was the realization that these events are about cultivating relationships with art lovers. A plein air festival is about bringing artists and art directly to buyers. It is also about art sales financially helping the sponsor or host of the event. A percentage of your selling price will go to support the gallery or organization, and everyone is hoping for enthusiastic sales. In addition, there may be many volunteers and sponsors contributing time and financial support. Usually there are prizes, and substantial awards will attract top painters. Practically speaking, a festival combines exhibiting, commerce, education, entertainment, and community. It is an added layer of responsibility. Others are benefitting from your participation in lots of ways.

If you have gotten to this point in your journey, here are some questions you might ask yourself-

1. Can I be outgoing with an audience and “perform” while painting?
2. Can I remain confident in my practice, even if I don’t win a prize or sell any paintings?
3. Can I maintain my calm and joyful connection to nature during a competitive festival?

Question number three is really the essence of this self-examination exercise. For me, going through these scenarios helps me understand the goals of the artists, the sponsors, the hosts, the volunteers, and the community. And while I understand the expectations that others may have of me, after I am set up and surrounded by nature, after I have mixed the colors on my palette and done my thumbnail sketches, and after I have talked a bit to those who might be observing, I can find that inner joy again. All it takes is practice.

The Inner World of Plein Air Painting

Let’s be honest. There are many hurdles to jump when painting outside. And I’m going to jump right over the obvious ones like finding a location, temperature and humidity, wind, bugs, onlookers, and painting gear. I’d like to examine my inner world and share it with you.  

Why does the work always seem to fall short of my intentions? It is rare to look out on the scene I’ve chosen, to picture the composition in my mind, to mix up a palette of color in the proper values, and to wind up with a winner. I usually pack up my gear, take a final look at my wet painting and say “what happened here?” These are the reasons why I keep plein air painting anyway.

1. I have seen my paintings improve over time. 
2. I feel more in the present and part of nature when I’m outside.
3. Being unable to execute my conception exactly can result in a happy surprise.

Number 1 is significant. Painting outside, from direct observation, is where I learn the most. In general, it is easier to paint in the studio because it is more comfortable, I have more control, and I’m usually using a photo reference, which is a flat image. Number 2 is simply therapeutic, and makes me feel good for no logical reason. Number 3 is about seeing the unexpected appear on my canvas, and letting it stand.

I do a lot of self-talking. Ironically, I’m usually telling myself to ignore the mental chattering. This is much easier said than done, and it’s the physical “doing” that will quiet my chatter. So here is the advice I give myself -

1. Paint often and small. Go out with 6x8’s to “take notes,” not create a masterpiece.
2. Use a slow, fast, slow, fast practice. Choose your subject slowly, spend some time walking the area. Squint. Make three thumbnails and choose the best one based on design.  Quickly mix up some colors, dividing your palette into the family of light and shadow values, and try to make larger piles for the dominant colors.  Slowly, measure and draw your shapes.  Then quickly get those shapes in and cover your canvas.
3. Minimize your editing and correcting. Stop painting before you think it’s finished, and refrain from critiquing it in the field. You will need fresh eyes to see how your painting looks when it stands alone. Don’t continue to stand and compare it to the majesty and wonder of Mother Nature.

I wish all my paintings were beautiful. I wish I could at least dependably repeat whatever made some paintings successful. (Ah HAH – those two sentences are good examples of my self-talk! And I am telling myself to ignore this chatter.) I often have to send myself outside to play, like a complaining child. But, I love this child and will not berate her for being lazy, shy, fearful, or inattentive. Becoming a better painter is a lifelong pursuit which has no finish line; no crowning achievement; no definitive goal. So, let’s take it one small study at a time and be kind to ourselves along the way.

The All-Virginia Orchestra is an elite group of the best high school musicians in the state.  In order to qualify, each student must perform in a blind audition for a panel of judges and receive a score.  As results came in, I remember my students anxiously peering at the list which was taped on the wall, searching for their names. Did they make the cut?  And if they DID find their names, how did they rank?  As their orchestra director and string teacher, I had participated as a judge, making comparative assessments of excerpts and scales.  The criteria were measurable and objective -  intonation, rhythm, tone, tempo, phrasing. I was always proud of any student who put herself in the larger arena; the student willing to stand up to a larger measuring stick, competing against other strong players.  The successful orchestra students experienced an exciting opportunity to perform advanced repertoire with motivated peers and a guest conductor; the best might even be chosen as section leaders or concertmasters.  These students would also know they had been “measured,” and had proven their abilities. But what about the students who had auditioned and hadn’t been selected?  How did this experience affect their self-esteem and artistic development?

I recently received an email from the American Impressionist Society titled “AIS announces accepted artists for 2021 AIS Associate Member Online Juried Exhibition!”  Download the full list here.  As I scanned the alphabetical list with hope and anxiety, I vividly remembered those orchestra students.

The 25 years I worked as a musician and orchestra teacher have profoundly influenced my journey as an artist.  It is in my nature to assess myself.   When I first learn a new skill, the stakes are low and the progress is fairly quick.  It always feels good to succeed.  Raising the bar risks failure, and yet experience has shown me that risking failure is a reliable path to mastery, if I don’t give up.  There is another risk, however, that may be even more important.  What is the effect of competition on artistic expression?  Is ambition a helpful or harmful artistic trait?  I think it is important to consider this question from two perspectives, and it helps me to compartmentalize them.  First and foremost, humans are all equally valuable. I believe one needs to have enough self-regard to separate one’s worth from one’s achievements. The ideas one contemplates, the things that spark curiosity, or the understanding of oneself in the world - these are all unique, internal attributes of identity and sources of creativity. I believe this is the most important basis for artistic expression. Second, artistic improvement requires setting goals and risking failure. For painting, as well as music, an efficient and rigorous way to grow is through comparative measurement.  We start with unfettered voices as children, but it isn’t long before the world shows us our shortcomings.  For me, a huge step forward came when I realized that failure – even embarrassingly public failure (an inevitable hazard as a performing musician)  - did not mortally wound me, and in fact, was usually a “teachable moment.”  Getting over the ego-bruises began to give me artistic courage.  As a painter, this artistic courage has sent me into painting residencies, plein air events, and juried exhibitions with phenomenal painters, who have humbled, inspired, and influenced me. Applying to juried events (and being rejected or accepted) has been discouraging, thrilling, intimidating, and educational, and sometimes, I have found recognition. This recognition is decidedly external, and can inflate the ego to overshadow the internal sources of creativity.  Aristotle saw the pitfalls of ambition when he said, “We blame a man for being ambitious if he seeks recognition more than is right or from wrong sources.” Yet he knew the unambitious were also criticized, for having no aspirations to get better.

Back to the email.  My name was on the list!  My painting was among 320 paintings selected from almost 2000 entries across the US.  The AIS has now put me on their list three times.  I have failed to make the list MANY more times.  Was I happy to see my name? – you bet!  Will I define myself by this measurement and recognition?  Briefly and with gratitude.  And then I might feel the swing back inward, listening to that internal voice that has been in me since childhood.  After that, maybe I’ll set the bar higher again.