Day One of Open Studios

Well, day one of our annual Open Studios is done. This year our studio manager made a change and decided to not have our event in conjunction with the local town festival. Not sure if it was a good or bad idea. I guess we'll know by the end of the day tomorrow.

We artists talked about how it went, how the turnout was. It seems that no matter what, I always talk a lot, so my throat is sore anyway. But I certainly didn't sell in the volume that I usually do. I could blame it on lower numbers, which I believe was the case. Or I could blame it on the economy, which most agree is in the toilet. But I think I'll blame myself—I didn't make hats to please the masses this time. It was a choice. As you may know, I've been doing other things this year—making two-dimensional art. So I'm not upset by my lack of sales. It's still fun putting stuff on peoples' heads.

Visitors who noticed, were pleasantly surprised by my mixed-media collages. Some asked me to tell them the story of this one or that. Taking my friend Paul's advice I said, "It would be so much more interesting if you told me what you see." And it was. People saw all kinds of interesting things. For a few clips, I got to be entertained. Nice.

Still one more day to go. My feet are sore and I'm beat. Time to go kick back. A chilled glass of wine would be nice.

If you're interested in coming, tomorrow's calling hours are noon to five o'clock, 63 Summer St., Maynard, Massachusetts.

And the Bride Wore...

She wore a hat, of course, one of mine! Oh, I was so thrilled!

Let me give you a little background story. Fellow artist, Lisa, was going into her second marriage—the right one—and bought a wedding hat from me last year before she had a dress. Several months later, she found the dress of her dreams... but it don't go with the hat. And now we were tight on time. I looked at a grainy picture of the dress taken with an older phone. Would I be able to get anything in time? I got her original purchase back, so I could keep in mind what looked good on her, then I thought about the graceful flow and folds of the dress—very classy. I had a straw that seemed like it might match. Little did I know it was a perfect—the exact color! I sculpted something up, hoping it was right, and bingo! We had a new hat.

You never know how these things are going to turn out until the wedding is done and you see some pictures, and what pictures they were. Susan Huszar is an excellent photographer. I used her myself when I needed some shots done. When I saw the pictures I was blown away. The bride looked gorgeous and the hat looked magical. Looking at the photos I can't imagine Lisa without this hat—it simply had to be this way.

I am so thrilled to have been able to be a part of this wonderful event. I'm including just two for you to see, but I may have to post more. Apparently I haven't seen all the wonderful shots that were taken. When I do, my heart will melt and I'll post again. In the meantime enjoy these. And if you're looking for a fabulous photographer check Susan Huszar out: http://www.susanhuszar.com/

When I Grow Too Old

I've always liked this song. I like to sing it around this place that I call home. I also sing it in the car. Of course, one has to be in the mood to sing something so sweet.

Rain on my windshield

I was going to walk to the studio in the rain last night, but didn't—a smart decision given how much rain was falling when I left. When I got in my car to go to the studio, the streetlights were shining and casting cool shadows on my arms and clothes—I've loved that since the first time I noticed it. I decided to take out my camera and try to capture some of the coolness that I was seeing. Apparently, the raindrops were a little startled to be captured for mass consumption. Funny how my sleeve looks like a hat.

This one's a real kicker!

Boy, this most-recent collage is troubling me! One night I nearly cut it in pieces. Somehow i'm trying to keep the faith that it will all turn out fine.

I guess that's part of the creative process—not knowing, but having faith anyway. Sounds religious, which I'm not. It's certainly a kind of trust, trust that I'll be able to make it work out somehow. Maybe all these paintings aren't meant to get whipped out in five days. Maybe some are meant to stew a bit. It's hard to not know.

I have a hard time because I'm torn between painting and making some hats. The painting has been very fulfilling, and when I look at all the collages I see a depth of my expression that just can't come from making a hat. But there will be two more events this year, at which people will expect to be trying on hats. Balance. I was never very good with my balance—I'm all lop-sided. Hopefully I'll figure it out.

The Painting Continues... Painfully

So I'm still working on my painting, but it has been a painful struggle. I keep thinking that I'm saying something, and then next thing you know, I'm not saying a damn thing. Still, I don't want to give up on it.

Here you go, watch the struggle with my minimal comments.

Added brambles to the bottom.

Got rid of big, clowny footprints. They know they're there—I let them go.

Added gear and watch face.

Studio mate commented on the little girl and how she didn't seem to belong. He was right, but removing her was hard. I tested it with a piece of paper first to make sure. Added a pomegranate and six of the seeds.

Just plain struggling. Studio mate tried to be helpful. Rejecting his ideas can be very insightful. Though I say it's a bit of a random process, I guess it's not that random. There is something that I'm looking for, and I can't find it in every image I pick up.

My other three mixed-media collages have come back from the framers. Maybe I need to hang them in the studio so I can remind myself about the technical details that I like about them. As I fought with the current piece, I thought back. I kept coming back to the word "movement". This piece seems so flat. In those other pieces there's all kinds of movement. Movement around the canvas, seemingly movement through time, and through depths on the two-dimensional surface. That's where I need to work now—hopefully that's where this is headed. I guess this is where the magic happens. I hope I can pull it together because yesterday I was ready to cut it in pieces.

The Deadline of "Mazu"

Well, I managed to make the deadline with the headpiece. It was a very tiring experience and my understanding of the project seemed to get less clear the more tired I got. But a few of the right words and it made more sense. I delivered and I think it's good—it serves the purpose of what it's trying to do. Red was to be a dominant color as the character represents "Mazu" an Asian sea goddess who is often portrayed wearing red.

A New Commission, a Crazy Deadline

A friend of mine is making a very short (five minutes) independent film. In it is a scene of a girl wearing some head adornment. The deadline is this Thursday at the latest. There's a lot to do. Here's a sketch for you to see.

I'll try to post more images later. Right now I'm in the get-it-done phase of the project. Hopefully it will all turn out well. It's been such short notice that I'm stuck just using materials I have on hand in the studio. Wish me luck.

Let's Pretend I Have Your Attention

So this next post shows the work that I did last night. It's starting to come along. The story is getting louder.

And louder.

I'm starting to see things in it, so I'll start pulling and pushing parts.

There, I didn't even say very much.

Collage 4

There's a perfectly bland title for a blog post "Collage 4". Nice.

Well, here I am again. I've been making marks on a canvas for a few weeks now, with no sense of where it might go. It was a painful struggle because I desperately wanted to feel a story in me. I started imagining borrowing other peoples' stories, but Good Friend Paul talked me out of the untruth of it—the lack of personal resonance. Maybe he didn't exactly say it that way. Maybe he just texted something like, "Stick with your own story." Whatever the case, he's probably right.

Rather than go on and on about what I've been working on, I'll just do one post with a timeline of progression. I might stab a few words between the images to give you a sense of what my mind was trying to accomplish, the steps, if you will.

Step 1. Find the canvas that needs to be obliterated.

Step 2. Dig out a Sharpie® Marker and begin to talk about random things that come to mind.

Step 3. Rotate the canvas and paint over the whole thing because you can't find your way around. Heck, it worked last time!

Step 4. Glue on a bunch of images that seem like they might have a story to tell.

Step 5. Ask myself what it is that I'm trying to accomplish—ask right on the canvas.

Step 6. Glue more things down, try to reduce the number of elements, comment with Sharpie® again.

Step 7. Cover all of it up with a color that I can't bear and will want to get rid of.

Step 8. Take out a Sharpie and try to make some image marks.

Step 9. Wonder what the heck I'm doing, but try to go with it anyway.

Step 10. Start filling out the shapes that I've made with collaged paper.

The description sounds sterile, and I'm sorry about that. The whole thing is a bit like tuning into a conversation. At first it's faint, but by and by it gets louder. I can't really say that there's a story here yet, but there is a kernel of one. Paul wisely told met that I shouldn't really talk too much about the contents of the work. At first I wasn't sure, but when I gave it some thought, I decided he was right. Let's say you hear a song, and you're really into the lyrics, and you think you know the story being told. Well, let's say that you got to talk to the singer/songwriter and they told you that the story was about a furry pet hamster that they had as a kid—not your story. The song would lose its meaning to you. So, in an attempt to allow my image to mean something to you, my limited audience, I will refrain from psychoanalyzing it. You, however, are allowed to completely psychoanalyze your response to it.

The Brown Hat: on my head

I released the brown hat from its block last night. Here's a picture of it on my head. I don't really like pictures of myself, so bear with me. I love the hat though, and set about making a couple more sculpted pieces last night. We'll go to the studio in a bit to see if I managed to make anything worth wearing.

These remind me of little sculptures I used to make out of Sculpee when I was living with my then-boyfriend-now-husband one summer back when we were in college. I didn't know what I was making, or why I was making it, but I loved the shapes, the folds, and the shadows. Sadly, I don't have any of them left. They each would have fit in the palm of my hand. I remember painting then, too. My best friend from college still has a painting I did of some Peonies(back then they just looked like really big roses to me).

Back to Some Hat-Making

I made a couple of hats this week. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the process of creating felt. It's a very tactile experience, and I'm a tactile (if fidgety) person.

Right now there's a hat drying on a block in my studio. Very sculptural. I'll release it from its shackles later on this evening. The style may be an indicator of what's to come for the fall, but one never knows. Will this mean working strictly sculpturally? Just in solid colors? I don't know. I guess I'll let my hands make whatever they feel like making.

Another Title Change: "Bind, Bond"

I saw my good friend Anthony tonight. I brought all my canvases with me. He's good at listening and asking questions because it's part of his job. Our mutual friend Paul insisted that I should take my last piece to show him.

I had two-and-a-half hours of deep conversation with my friend about the artistic life. I revealed each piece in the order of creation, March, April, June. When I handed him the last, he hesitated, removed his glasses, wiped his eyes. It meant something to him—he saw the story he had written. And before I even revealed the title to him he said, "It's a bind and a bond." Yes, that was exactly right. So in that moment the piece got renamed. It is "Bind, Bond". It makes sense to me.

He said he'd buy it, but I'm not ready to part with these things. I suppose sometime I'll make too many pieces and I'll get tired of piling them up. Who knows?

I left smelling of incense and feeling like I had people who could hold my work in their heart. I am eternally grateful. Anthony, if you're listening... thank you.

"Bind, Mend": Complete

Well, this has been an interesting journey. Sometimes it seems I start out saying one thing and then end up saying something completely different. No one can doubt that the beginning and end of this piece are like night and day. Let's review, shall we?

The creative process is both extremely painful and unbelievable thrilling for me. And taking the photos—well, I just know that where I start is not where I'm going to end, so I have this need to document the journey. I guess it's to help remind me that all the steps (even the bad ones) need to be there.

I've said so much about this painting that it will seem repetitive, so I'll just post my final picture and talk a bit more about the creative process, I guess.

My friend Paul has been looking at my posts. He called me yesterday and, not trying to influence me or anything, told me what he saw. We did a storytelling event on Saturday, and a dear friend read a story that, well, it could pretty much be represented by this image. I didn't even think of it, and I was right there hearing the story. I made this a couple of days later. Yes, it's a lot like that story, but I don't think it's that story. Still, it's nice to see that it has some universal qualities to it.

I'm always a little sad when the work starts to come to an end. I have this feeling that I want to start up a second canvas right along side to see if I can hang on, keep the energy going, but I can't. I have to go into a kind of dormant period. Maybe I'll make marks and glue things down, but they'll probably end up all covered over. That's fine. It's part of the process. And there's always this fear that the creative fire won't come back, so I worry a little. Maybe you worry, too, like you'll never be that good again.

When the painting is done (and I think it is) I start to want to just sit with it, as if it were a friend of mine. We'll hang out in the studio and I'll look at all its parts to make sure they're right. Hopefully I'll get a chance to do it tomorrow. I'm starting to lament not having more wall space in the studio. Maybe it's time to take down some mirrors.

I'm not going to be modest here—I'm really pleased with the way this (and the two other paintings) have turned out. Somehow, I can't believe that I made them.

New title: "Bind, Mend"

So I wasn't really happy with the title Outside. It was okay, but didn't quite seem right. Yesterday, while I was working, the title Bind came to me. Then the word Mend. So the two are now together in the title Bind, Mend. Let's hope that sticks.

I've realized that it's important for me to share these pieces I've been making. Somehow, the sharing keeps me from drowning in it. Nobody came to the studio the past couple of nights, and I found myself getting sucked into the visuals that I've created, the art zone. Having people around helps keep reality in check.

Here's a picture of the painting in my currently-sloppy studio. What a mess!

A friend suggested an interesting idea—that I invite writers to tell me the story that I've created. So, I can't tell you the story, but you can tell it to me. I'm sure it would be a fascinating collaboration. If anyone is interested, I'll be happy to read.

I'm nearly done, but I'm not sure when I'll know for sure.

"Outside": Step 7

A lot of struggle with this last night. Maybe it's because nobody came in to distract me. Again, I stayed much longer at the studio than we're supposed to. But it's hard to leave it when I think there's still something I can do. I prefer to leave when I'm just thinking about it. I think that's enough to say about this.

Oh, there is one thing that is very striking about this collage—it's amazingly luminous. When I see it from across the studio it just glows.

"Outside" the next visit

I'm already at the point where I'm pushing and pulling with this piece. It seems hard for me to imagine that it's close to finished, but when I start being careful, it's a sign.

Last night I went to the studio and worked until after I was supposed to be gone. A fellow artist stopped in rather late—I thought I was alone in the building—and took up a badly-upholstered seat to talk to be about life for a bit. I suppose it was another good distraction. She said she enjoyed watching me work. Yes, it's fun watching other artists make their stuff. It seems a bit like magic, even to those of us who like to make stuff.

I have a series of images here of how the piece progressed through the night. I put some pieces onto the canvas, hesitated, and ripped them off. I put something else in their place. Then I decided it was a mistake to have removed them, so I put some back. I put in an image that I like—a girl walking down a path, her back to us. It seemed to follow some of my edges. It was there, but slowly faded away. The skirt took a hit.

I don't know where this is going, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing. Still, I'm right here... doing it.

My friend Paul says I put holes in everything. I don't have one in this yet. I wonder if one will show up. I won't force it.

This last image is just a detail shot.

Collage "Outside": Step 5

My friend Paul decided that he'd come and see my older works and what I had been painting while we were on the phone. So that's what we did last night.

He's a writer—a storyteller—and he came with some short pieces he had written. I had a chalky yellow canvas and snippets of images that I was hoping to use at some point for something or other. So while we talked and I listened to his stuff, I tried pieces of paper out on my chalky yellow board. Again, the distraction of his art kept me from having to drown in my own, so I was at the periphery again. And it was fun letting him watch the process. I tried not to behave any differently then I would have otherwise. He'd toss words of encouragement from time to time. And though I couldn't see it because I was all up in my piece, I was actually making something.

This is the fourth or fifth direction for this piece, but I think I finally have a bite on the line. For now the working title will be "Outside", but that may change if a new title reveals itself. It's hard to say that I like or don't like these pieces I've been making—they're not easy images. I guess I feel like this is coming together right.

Collage, Step 4

A few nights ago I went into the studio and started trashing my collage again. Out came the Sharpie® marker and I began to do a critique right on it. I wasn't very kind. I didn't bother photographing it because it included a lot of four-letter words.

On Sunday night I started covering up everything. There was a lot of dark there, and I didn't think I had earned it—you can't just go painting dark randomly. So there I was with my cheap paint brushes, using gesso as white (I love how chalky it is), and some of that burnt yellow that I never bother to remember the name of. I also decided to turn the thing horizontally.

My friend Paul gave me a call, and while we chatted about a storytelling event that we had done at ArtSpace Maynard, I painted randomly. It was a good move. I wasn't trying too hard. It was like I was painting in the periphery.

Collage: Step 3

I felt like I was getting too caught up in trying to make something, so I opened up my book of fairy tales and just started pulling pieces and gluing them on. In the end, I had "Mary Had a Little Lamb" in the center and Monsters and bits strewn all about. I didn't really like it, but hey, it's part of the process. It certainly was a big difference from the last iteration. I never said I knew what I was doing. I think I'm just going through some motions until something just feels right. It's as if I were a patient fisherman waiting for the pull on my line. Bear with me.