Keeping it Real

After a few years of restless uncertainty regarding the direction of my artwork, I'm finally admitting to myself who I really am as an artist. Relieved with this long-overdue acceptance, I'm going on with my bad self.

For me, it's all about the horse, but it's not just about portraying the horse in pretty pictures. Horses are magnificent creatures, no doubt, but strictly idolizing them as the beauties they are is to deny their paradoxical nature. Consider this quote from my artist's statement: "...expressing the subtle with an undercurrent of volatility."

Horses have distinct personalities. Some are sweet in nature, accepting, generous and willing. Some are sullen, nasty and psychotic - not always resulting from their interaction with evil humans. DNA and genetics play a role as well as learned behavior from other horses.

Horses are dangerous just by way of their size, speed and sheer athleticism. A spooked horse can duck violently in a millisecond, sending a rider helplessly off into space. Anyone who has worked with horses can attest to the consequences of not following the rules of sensible horsemanship. I've been kicked, bitten, crushed, stomped, run-over and otherwise had my bell rung many times. Not to mention being "unseated". I accept responsibility for my stupidity and carelessness, however some of those physical encounters entailed some frightening equine aggression.

Truth be told, our age-old association with horses is wonderful and terrible. Accidents are inevitable. People get hurt and killed. Horses get hurt and killed.

I respect this aspect of our relationship and have a lot to say about it. No morbid depictions but no 4-F's either (foals frolicking in fields of flowers). It's just how I've experienced it.

Snake, 20"x24", oil on canvas. Click here for more info.

Calling it as I see it,
Sharon

Thresholding

Eric Rhoads, the publisher of Plein Air Magazine, interviews successful artists and generously provides podcasts of the chat. Well worth your time, check them out here.

A common denominator seems to emerge throughout the interviews: that "talent" is a subjective term that implies a romantic state of divine endowment. All of the artists agree that "talent" is more like disciplined hard work and persistence. They freely share their stories of hardship, uncertainty and frustration experienced on their journey to success.

The interview with artist William Davidson especially interested me. The term "thresholding" was mentioned by Eric Rhoads as "...pushing yourself to the point of discomfort and then obligating yourself to it..."

 I had to look it up.

The online Free Dictionary defines thresholding as: the magnitude or intensity that must be exceeded for a certain reaction, phenomenon, result, or condition to occur or be manifested. Hmm, I understand a pain threshold on a scale that's endured, but this description seems like a deliberate exercise to force oneself into a higher level of accomplishment, or is it enlightenment? 

Is it goal oriented? Is it a means for accelerated growth? Is it intensive self-realization?

The Sun Dance, Frederick Remington, 1909

Will it hurt?
Sharon

Observing

I decided to take the month off from working in the studio and it was both a positive and negative endeavor. The latter was a bit troubling because I didn't miss painting or experience a yearning to return as Michael predicted I soon would. The positive side was that I didn't experience a yearning to return soon at all! Contradictions aside, the time off was well-spent in contemplation, research and meditation.

Always studying other painters and their work, I find that looking at the work of my living peers reaps the most beneficial results. It's impressive that there are so many extremely masterful painters among us.

Here a few of the many I admire:

Tibor Nagy's loose translation of both urban scenes and landscapes are beautifully abstract. The surface contains wonderful mark-making: brushwork, palette knife applications and incisions, scumbling, scraping, etc., leaving the first layers to show through to the surface. His color palette is subdued and sublime:

Nancy Boren is a risk-taker. I have studied this painting over and over and I believe it's a perfect example of pushing the envelope. The background heron is overlapped by the figure's face and touched by the far wrist. It works - as evidenced by winning the Bronze Medal at the National Oil Painters of America 2016 exhibit. Gorgeous piece:

Swedish-born painter Odd Nerdrum's art is influenced by the likes of the great masters such as Rembrandt and Caravaggio. Figures on large-scale canvases tell modern yet timeless stories of human experience in a lyrical landscape. Surface texture and a classical subdued palette inspire me to simplify, simplify, simplify. And always tell a good story:

I couldn't make it this year but it's on my bucket list to study with Morgan Samuel Price. She's a remarkable plein air painter, tackling complex subjects that she seems to effortlessly pull together. I want to observe her edit the complicated Florida flora (and fauna) as she works her magic with light and color:

Mark Boedges works in layers of transparent paint, removing, re-applying, adjusting until he achieves his desired effect. Hints of Richard Schmid? You know it...living and working in Vermont alongside the Putney Painters but emerging with a distinct and beautiful voice of his own. Strong stuff.

Fear not, I'm back at work with a vengeance and with renewed inspiration,
Sharon

Thunder

Isn't it peculiar how tidbits of help turn up to support you when embarking on a new project or venture, especially one filled with emotion? Assurance whispers through a song lyric, an article sitting in your inbox or from ideas that seemingly arrive via the cosmos. They can make you smile in recognition or take your breath away in a mind-blowing epiphany. Makes life interesting, huh?

I loved Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Big Magic. Her description of poet Ruth Stone sticks in my mind and I'd love to experience the dramatic journey of an idea thundering from afar, heading straight toward me. The catch is, if you don't act on it quickly, it continues on without you, searching for someone who will.

My ideas mercifully linger, sometimes for months. I've been preparing for a series of paintings unlike any I've ever made. October has been a very busy month and two more shows loom. That doesn't mean that I don't visit the studio and stare at the prepared canvas. Visualize. My inspiration is patiently waiting for me to make manifest. No thunder, just a lot of tidbits of help.

And no rules either,
Sharon

Stanka Kordic

Those of you who follow my artwork and it's processes have witnessed the gamut of my experiences as a painter. Sometimes it's positively thrilling and other times, well, I struggle miserably. I don't subscribe to the tormented artist sentiment, rather, I desire that the act of creating be inspired and joyous. Even though I devote time to meditate "religiously" every single morning, I don't consider myself a deep thinker. Decisions in my art making tend to be intuitive. Not doubt, I'm evolving rapidly (I think I'm too old for a mid-life crisis).

I have a master-artist voice in my head that coaches me through every piece of artwork I make from concept to signing. Before you conclude that I've gone completely daft, let me explain. Most artists have a running dialog playing in their head as they create. Believe me, it's a good thing. There is so much to consider, so much to question, comparisons - is that color warm or cool, is that horse's leg anatomically correct, does this brushstroke convey enough energy, am I accurately portraying depth, am I convincing my viewer of the story concept, and on and on it goes.

My own personal master-artist coach has become demanding and harshly scrutinizing of late. It's still a good thing but often can be downright exhausting.

However, this is not a negative post. I took this weekend to catch up on varnishing paintings. The strong solvents require that I find something else to do outside of the studio. A newsletter I subscribe to, Fine Art Connoisseur, was languishing around in my email in-box. I finally sat down at the computer and found this great video contained within the issue. It's about the process of master artist Stanka Kordic, who I am only vaguely familiar with (hey, I'm a horse artist). I found it to be extremely inspiring and I hope you will too.

No! master-artist, you need not talk me through this blog post.
Sharon

Two Old Ladies and a Blacksmith

My season of being a hermit never really was. The winter weather wasn't either, and that's why. However, I never feel I'm being as productive as I think I should be.

Our recent trip to Florida was warm and lovely. Road trips. Many hate them but I relish the boredom of miles and miles of tedious city and landscape passing by. My mind calms, the incessant chatter quiets, clearing the way for constructive thought. I can say that some of my best inspiration is achieved while the bland scenery blurs.

Here's my first painting since reentry:

Two Old Ladies and a Blacksmith

I'm always looking through the hundreds, if not thousands, of stable area photos I shoot every year. Searching for inspiration, I always pass over this particular image of complicated dappled light and intricate, overlapping figures. Plus, there was a big post and railing right through the middle of it blocking out the front of the horse. Maybe it was all the vitamin D absorbed in Florida that sharpened my memory of what a great story it portrayed.

Last summer as I was plein air painting by Elmer's Gap, a very old lady rode by on a pony leading a racehorse. Neither track at Saratoga allow ponying so I could only guess that this lady took her horses across the street, circled the main track over to the historic small oval that encircles Clare Court. It's a very good distance from where I was set up. I smiled as I observed her in my admiration, not only still riding but ponying at her advanced age. But what I was really thinking was: this scenario could be me if I hadn't made the shift from race tracker to full-time artist.

Fast forward a month or so, the main meet has concluded but there's still plenty of horses stabled at Oklahoma. Camera in hand, I'm walking around searching for inspiration and - there she is! Her horse, a mare, was getting shod and this old lady was doing her best to hold the mare AND keep an eye on the blacksmith. Her arm was stretched out clutching the end of the shank and in the other hand she swung a rub rag to and fro to keep the flies at bay. Then the mare turned her head to also observe the blacksmith and I fired off about six shots to capture the moment. Priceless. Rare. But affectionately familiar.

Michael and I both chuckled over this as we always agreed that the hardest thing on the track is to work for someone with only one horse. I respect the tolerance and patience of this blacksmith. And I hope to see this lady back at the track next year. I will introduce myself, ask her how the mare is doing and inform her that I was also once a member of the sisterhood of tough, tenacious and determined race track ladies.

Seasoned girl power,
Sharon

Indian Relay

There are moments, events, people and places that fill an artist with transforming inspiration. Not merely ah-ha moments but big, bold epiphanies that occur when least expected. Ranging from stopped-in-your-tracks introspection to heart thumping excitement, they're rare and deeply welcomed.

Early one morning last week I channel surfed onto a PBS program called Independent Lens. The featured story was a documentary titled: Indian Relay. I was stretching through my usual yoga routine and, wow oh wow, did I sit up and take notice.

The title is aptly descriptive: a relay horse race belonging to the Indian Nation. Different tribes compete at various locations and through a process of elimination, the winners vie for final championship races in Billings, Montana during September.

It's three times around a track of varying distances, most being a half to five-eighths of a mile. The same rider races all three but must change horses twice. That's the relay part, three times around on three different horses. As the rider completes the first trip, he dismounts (at practically full gallop) as the "mugger" catches his horse and the rider jumps on the next. Now here's the thing: these horses are ridden bareback. No saddles. And the riders must swing up on the next horse with no help from the team handler. Crazy, huh? With the exception of a set of blinkers here and there, it's a simple bridle with no tongue tie, nose band, figure eight or any other racing equipment.

If a horse gets loose, the team is disqualified.

Training begins out on the open range when the weather breaks.

The riders are supreme athletes and possess the confidence and fearlessness of youth. Considered an extreme sport, the element of danger and risk is prevalent. It's pure adrenaline overdose. The timing is critical, the horses are intensely excited and the team stands poised to embark on a mid-air transfer that combines chaos and collision.

I felt elated after watching the documentary. Yes, there's danger but there's also respect, love, honor, devotion, cooperation, ritual and of course, bravery. Everything an artist could ask for. Speed and movement. It's the rhythmic bass of hoofbeats felt deep down in my solar plexus.

True fact: every night my dreams are of horses. Every...single...night. I still honor and obey the muse.

Beyond excited,
Sharon

Meh

I park my website with host FineArtStudioOnline. A daily article via FASO is delivered to my inbox and I think anyone can subscribe. These short newsletters are written by artists, their spouses, marketers, gallerists, webmasters, etc. Some are very informative.

You know how once in a blue moon you will seriously resonate to some uncanny pearl of information that's tossed your way? This particular FASO piece did that to me. Authored by artist John P. Wiess, it had me nodding in agreement. Here's the link to his article and be sure to scroll down to read the interesting comments.

As I immerse myself in the now big and popular genre of plein air painting, I too have thought so much of the artwork is mediocre. Perusing my copy of the glossy and lovely PleinAir Magazine, I find myself saying meh *(on the inside) in response to some of the ads and featured articles. Don't misunderstand...most of the artwork is gorgeous and provokes yearnings that inspire me to be even remotely close to that good.  However, a lot isn't. Especially the ads in the back by the artists. I find myself thinking that the ads should illustrate their very best work but most seem to fall short. Meh.

Okay, I admit to being a newbie at this direct painting thing and what the heck qualifies me to judge? Nothing, but I have been painting for 35 years and making a living at it for the past 19 of them. So this morning I went through the issue page by page and asked myself what is beautiful, passionate and most of all...intriguing. What am I attracted to, what do I find compelling amongst this collection of art?

Here's one that got my attention by artist David Tanner:

This painting is so good on so many levels. The usual accolades of great brushwork, rhythm of movement, great use of color and all that...but mostly because as a viewer I feel such a part of the scene that if I don't get out of the way, one of the laborers will walk right into me.

Right on Mr. Weiss,
Sharon
*meh as defined by the Urban Dictionary: indifference; to be used when one simply does not care.

Realizing Intent

There's no use complaining about the weather. Almost the entire country is affected by the extreme cold and up here in the northeast...snow...lots of it. I simply cannot paint outdoors as some artists are able - my hands and right shoulder are beginning to exhibit the signs of a lifetime of repetitive motion. I'm okay with this as I consider this cabin-bound time important for study and practice.

And study I have. My dear artist friend Robert Stebleton suggested books by David Curtis of the U.K. which further led to books by Curtis' teacher, Trevor Chamberlain. I resonate with the simple, common-sense instruction by Chamberlain and will say his teaching and paintings have had a huge influence on the shifts I choose to make in my work. I'm finally experiencing some clarity after considerable floundering.

As Michael nails it: "...spot staring and wandering aimlessly." That perfectly sums up my state of mind for the past year.

Chamberlain suggests: "It's worth having a supply of boards that you have prepared yourself, and which you don't feel are too precious, to experiment and practise on, and for doing quick colour sketches of things that interest you." Fortuitously, I recently received a pile of old masonite panels that will serve his advice quite well.

Here are a couple of the better experiments:

Not quite as loose as I'd like, but my color and light is improving.

 I am pleased with the spontaneous, fluid brushwork of the Geese:

Alas, this week I'm back painting another greyhound and it looks like another will follow. Certainly helps keep the heat on in this winter of extremes. So very grateful!

Introspection and unmerciful examination are the rule of the season.

In long underwear,
Sharon

Kentucky Inspiration

Last September I participated as a vendor at the Secretariat Festival in Paris, Kentucky. It's a funky little town that exists in another time period. No chain hotels, no chain restaurants or any other tiresome mediocrity. We were staying in Georgetown, approximately 17 miles due west.

It was late in the afternoon when we tore down and packed up my exhibit. Route 460 is a very narrow road with no shoulder, just a disconcerting two foot drop from the pavement on both sides. The speed limit is 50 mph as I recall making this a white knuckle ride.

I spotted a band of mares and foals on the left side. The light was golden and glowing. Long shadows stretched as the sun sank low behind the trees. The mares were up close to the fence by the road, unusual as they are very protective of their foals and never compromise safety. I was so excited! Can we turn around and go back?

Fortunately, there was a road perpendicular to where the horses were grazing. Michael managed to pull a daring u-turn and park on the opposite road while I jumped out with my camera. At first the mares were nervous and stood in front of their foals. When they determined I was no threat, they relaxed and shimmered with highlights in the fading light. This is the heavenly manna that artists patiently pray for.

Eventide, oil on canvas, 18"x48"

I named the painting Eventide which represents the subtle period of transition from late afternoon into evening.

While I was clicking away, a lady pulled up alongside Michael and scolded him for parking on the side of the insanely narrow road. He listened patiently, pointed to me and replied, "I'm married to an artist, what can I say?"

Bless our spouses,
Sharon

Customizing Racing Silks

I've previously droned on about the necessity for artists to take control of their careers and become their own agents. We also have to get creative about gleaning the most out of an opportunity, mine being an artist vendor at the Saratoga Race Course for the entire summer season. Basically, it comes down to how to get the biggest bang for my buck. Entrepreneurship.

I wanted to offer something affordable and desirable. Racing fans here treat the top jockeys like rock stars and are thrilled to nab an autograph, let alone experience the sheer luck of being gifted with a set of goggles. With that in mind, I came up with a way to capitalize quickly and easily.

First, I drew a classic jockey stance. My jockey has his back to you and presents a combined hipshot pose of attitude and elegance. He's tall and graceful, sort of. Not that I have any prejudice against the short guys but this is my rendition for a pretty piece of art.

After the drawing was completed, I inked in the simplified shapes and sparingly floated some watercolor for color and form. I left the "silk" (shirt) blank to be custom painted. Voila!

I've sold several dozen or so already. Other than having to look up some silks and translate some vague descriptions (it's grass green with a big pink stripe that goes this way on the front and back), it's been easy and enjoyable. A couple of clients took the opportunity to design their own, right on the spot, using the colors and symbols they'd imagine if they ever owned a racehorse. What a hoot!

Here are a couple. The first is an original design (notice the pale pink wafting from the button on top of the cap, emphasis via client request) and the second is West Point Thoroughbreds, a very well-know syndicate.

All this for the very low, low price of $75. And I'll ship it!
Riders up!
Sharon

The Muse - Revisited

In the past I written about my personal Muse. We've had lots of good times together, and we've also defiantly stared each other down, hands on hips. A typical love relationship. When the equine art market flatlined, I tearily bade her goodbye, promised to visit often and set off in search of a replacement. Believe me, the Goddess of Horse Art is a stalker.

You may be asking, what is the Muse? In Greek mythology, there are three goddesses who provide knowledge and creative inspiration. Here's the Wikipedia version. In my opinion, it's the drive behind any worthy endeavor - whether it's a masterpiece of art or music or the cure for cancer. Referring to the Muse implies an outside entity when in reality the source comes from within. Creatives must learn to access a higher consciousness where all of life's answers and infinite ideas abound. Okay, it's where you invoke the Muse. Sometimes she waits around for you, insisting that you ask nicely, and sometimes she arrives unannounced in her glorious swooshing cape.

I recently listen to a Radiolab segment on NPR. Me, Myself, and the Muse is an interesting take on the the where, when and how's of inspiration. It's well worth a few minutes to listen. Be sure to hang around long enough to hear Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat Pray Love). She's a delight.

Firefox won't let me embed the audio so you'll have to click to the link here.

Say hi to your Muse for me,
Sharon

Permission to be Great

I harbor a guilty pleasure: award shows. Surprised? They ignite that fantasy portion of my brain and I visualize "what if?" What if there were nationally televised award programs specifically targeted to visual artists? Can the subjective approval of art be measured? What would be distinctive, considered excellent enough to garner special merit? What would truly be "award-winning (not self-proclaimed) and by who's standards?

Okay, that's just too crazy to even consider and yet another subject for an all-night discussion. So, I'm watching the Golden Globes last week and Leonardo DiCaprio wins best actor in a musical or comedy. His acceptance speech includes much gushing about Martin Scorcese, seated in the audience and director of the film DiCaprio has won the award for. DiCaprio calls Scorcese a "risk-taker", a "visionary", putting "the fabric of our culture on screen." I agree. Massively talented, his list of accolades is beyond impressive and his multi-tasking for not only directing films but also screenwriting, producing, acting and filling in as film historian is nonpareil. When do these over-achievers sleep? What drive. His work is great, he will leave a legacy of greatness, he drags his players along with him to great accomplishment...he's just an inspiration to become great.

Pondering this in my studio the next morning, I'm wondering if I could be great. Could I ever paint a great canvas or aspire to a great idea? What really defines "great?"

With arms folded in front a large commissioned canvas, I gather up the chutzpa to whisper to myself: today I will do something great. Just like that. This hesitant yet audacious statement prompted a liberating feeling of empowerment. Like giving myself permission to really strive, achieve and go for it. It promised opportunity for growth with assurance. It handed out confidence. It's too simple.

I urge you to give a a shot...you won't be sorry. They're just words, after all. I've said it everyday since the Golden Globes. I'm emboldened.

Discover you own greatness,
Sharon

Oil City, Pennsylvania

The ads were in artist's trade magazines. Oil City Artist Relocation Program. 100% Financing.

When a city experiences decline for whatever reason, it's akin to calling in the troops (artists) to save the day. Some of these projects have been extremely successful like Paducah, Kentucky, serving as a program model. Other attempts to attract artists to an area have experienced varying degrees of realization.

I love long, boring road trips where my wandering mind can clear out the daily pressures and open up to fresh ideas and inspiration. So it was after making a delivery in West Virginia that we decided to return home via western Pennsylvania to satisfy our curiosity regarding the Oil City program.

Beautiful countryside

It's a city struggling to survive after major oil companies pulled out in the early '90's. If you look past the numerous buildings that have fallen into decay, the city is really quite beautiful. Situated on the Allegheny River (right on it, the river splits the city) and bordering the Allegheny National Forest, the central downtown is surrounded by steep, scenic hills. We met with the relocation administrator, Joann Wheeler, who graciously provided information and her time as she showed us around the National Transit Art Studios. It's a grand old structure erected by John Rockefeller and restored by Ralph Nader. Yes, that Ralph - it's a great story. Joann is also a wonderful artist renting a studio in the building. She was quite frank about what we could expect. Basically, many of the artists who have relocated to Oil City have established outlets and venues to sell their art. The migration is to cut overhead...a lot. Don't expect tourist or any other kind of traffic. Oil City is basically in the middle of nowhere. The closest metropolitan area is Pittsburg, about an hour and a half drive south.

Stairway in the Transit Art Studios

Did I mention that an artist can rent a gorgeous light-filled, high-ceiling studio here for .49 per sq. foot?

We met with realtor Bill Moon at an empty home for sale. The real estate prices are in the cellar...it's astounding. We looked at a 3 bedroom 2 bath home that was in very good condition, needing just a bit of cosmetic work in the kitchen - $50K! Bill told us that 150K would buy us a decent Victorian. After living in Saratoga Springs, NY where real estate prices are off the charts, this was jaw-dropping!

Is something like this in our future? I never say never anymore but for now, no. I love this snobby town I'm living in and the Adirondacks and Lake George and, of course, the race track. Saratoga Springs would be just another dot on the map, struggling like so many other small cities of former glory were it not for those six weeks of horse racing every summer.

This gypsy stays put for now,
Sharon

The Process

The process of making art is as infinitely varied as the art itself. Every artist has their own way of finding inspiration and transforming it creatively. That's the magic spark, the beginning. From that moment of scintillating insight, a series of actions follows that will eventually produce a piece of art - be it a painting or a theater production of whatever the end result is desired.

Many people are not aware of the tremendous work the process often entails. It can be a long road from idea to completion. There is the preparation of materials which includes lots of trial and error in first choosing the supplies that suits the artist and at the best price. Highest quality paint is not cheap.

I prefer to stretch my own canvas simply because commercial pre-stretched canvas is awful. We begin with a textured 11 or 12 ounce canvas that has adequate tooth to hold my thick paint application. I say "we" because my husband Michael has blessedly taken over stretching duties at this point. He pulls the canvas over wooden strips, or stretcher bars and staples it in the back leaving the sides of the canvas smooth (known as a gallery wrap). Once he's finished, I begin applying the first of three coats of gesso creating a barrier between the paint and raw canvas. Coat one is mixed with a bit of water to penetrate the canvas fibers and given a day to dry. Coat two is mixed with an acrylic medium to provide flexibility and given another day to dry. Before applying coat three, I lightly sand the surface to create a bit of tooth and then apply gesso full strength. After another day of drying the canvas is ready for a ground (a neutral wash of color to eliminate the stark whiteness). Yet another day to dry and then I'm finally ready to paint! It's a labor of love...really... but you get, um, the picture.

Before beginning the painting - and this is assuming the artist is clear about what they want to express - there is usually some preliminary sketching. Sometimes a lot of sketching. Perhaps the artist requires photographic material or is compelled to research the subject that further demands untold hours at the library or on the internet. When finally proceeding into art-making, that process often takes on a life of its own that doesn't always cooperate thus requiring the artist to make time-consuming changes and other adjustments throughout.

My point is that making art is diligent work. A beautiful finished piece is a joy to behold but know that it doesn't gracefully manifest by divine intervention as some have naively intimated. Yes, we've all heard it. This is about process and I've haven't even mentioned the time (years) and effort (extraordinary) to develop skills and techniques that continues throughout the career of an artist. Please consider this before gasping at the price of an artwork next time you're in a gallery.

With a heavenly sponsored talent (!),
Sharon

Illustration vs. "Art"

We visited the Norman Rockwell Museum recently, specifically to see the Howard Pyle exhibit. Surprisingly, it was quite crowded but evidently the throngs were there for the Rockwells. The galleries in the rear of the museum containing the Pyle paintings were almost deserted. This left lots of room and time to intimately savor.

I'm a major fan of Howard Pyle. If historical accuracy is sketchy, dream it up and make us believers. And do a stunning job while you're at it with a maniacal imagination, rule-breaking design and excellent painting skills. So moving to finally see the actual paintings I've drooled over in picture books for years. The Flying Dutchman is over-the-top for diagonal thrusts creating uneasy motion:

Do you think I'm NUTZ about this painting? The Coming of Lancaster. It's almost a religious experience, a pilgrimage of sorts, to see the real brushstrokes. Adore this horse. In the olden days it was called a piebald (think Caravaggio's Conversion of St. Paul) and the depiction of his watch eyes (blue) is perfect. The expression is priceless and it's haughty posture which mimics the rider - magnificent. We have arrived to save you.

And yes, this amazing painting was there as well: The Mermaid. Wisely, a bench had been place before it for those of us who couldn't peel our eyes away:

The art snobs have always looked down their noses at illustrators. Nevertheless, one must be a superior draftsman and accomplished painter to create this kind of imagery. Their drawing skills are phenomenal and I find tremendous inspiration in this traditional genre. Pyle's imagination speaks to me, urging me to step out and express my own inventiveness.

Norman Rockwell, whose very American art is quite rooted in...well...Americana, interprets the joy of commonplace and home. However, he bravely goes out on a limb to express social injustices and causes he believed in at a time when it wasn't cool. This is so powerful...especially in 1964: The Problem We All Live With.

Here's another painting I couldn't pull myself from. The composition is uncanny with cropped faces lining either side of the canvas leading you to the turkey focal point. I was so mesmerized, I forgot to read the gallery card. Is that Rockwell's self-portrait smiling out at us from the lower right? Freedom from Want.

I have great respect for Rockwell. What technical skill and talent! It's just that I resonated to the Pyle's in a way that I find so stimulating.

Let's all go to drawing class...
Sharon

What I Did on My End-Of-Summer Vacation

I'm having a difficult time getting back to work. Vacationing on the Maine coast was so relaxing and inspiring that I'm beginning to understand the term "retirement." Michael and I brought all our own food and camped as close to the shore as possible - twice we woke up to lapping waves right on the beach.

Acadia National Park

Although Acadia National Park possessed stunning scenery, we were turned off by the commercial aspect. Buses dropped off tourists at all the choice scenic locations and it got so crowded I couldn't even set up to paint. Two days of that annoyance and we were off to explore a bit further south.

Harbor at Stonington

Artist studios and galleries were flagrantly abundant. Every town, and I mean every one of 'em we visited hosted several art galleries. In the outskirts, signs that appeared to be county or town appointed indicated individual art studios located down this or that road. Even dirt roads. Which begs the question: how can so many artists and galleries survive here along the Maine coast? Is it that lucrative? Do they stay all winter or leave for warmer climes?

The highlight of the trip was taking the boat over to Monhegan Island. With equally stunning scenery as Acadia, it's understandable how the island has held a long tradition as an artistic destination. It was almost a religious experience as I payed homage to the artists who have painted there for generations. There they were: all the subjects, scenes, landscapes and seascapes that have been painted by some of the greats...right before my eyes.

Artists at work.

Teel Island, owned by the Wyeth family, on the way out to Monhegan.

The bluffs of Monhegan Island.

Sigh. I've got to get back to work sooner or later. After all, paint is paint and a muse is a muse.
Sharon

Help Me Get This

Recently, Michael and I visited MASS MoCA. It's contemporary art on steroids and I'm sheepishly admitting that I just didn't "get" most of the installations even after reading the accompanying literature. Guiltily, that little voice in my head whispered "is this art?" As an artist I'm old enough, experienced enough and should be open to alternative perspectives and sensitive to nuance. A video installation of a person in a self car wash hosing down a non-existent vehicle elicited a silent "huh" and made me feel disconnected and, well...stupid. As a working artist I should get this stuff.

I belong to the school that believes art should tell a story and engage the viewer. Call me old fashion but I love the immediate emotional connection.

Emotion + skill + experience = great art (in my opinion). I want to be blown away by a piece and unable to take my eyes off it. And that includes abstract painting, sculpture and yes, installations that are intellectually accessible and provide relevance.

So, imagine my relieved joy when we discovered The Arkell Museum in Canajoharie, about an hour drive west from the studio. A small and unassuming building, it houses the painting collection of Bartlett Arkell who founded the Beech-Nut Company.  Paintings of beauty, luscious color, light, form and provocative subjects. Wow. Amongst the Homers, the Bentons, the Wyeths and the O'Keefes were some amazing artists I'm not familiar with.

For example: the stunning snowscapes of Walter Launt Palmer:

 I thought this was masterful...

...as well as this special exhibit by artist Jay Connaway:

I've stood on the stormy shore and nervously felt these ominous waves:

Powerful and compelling, these paintings inspire me to become a be a better painter.

Call me a boring traditionalist,
Sharon

Waguar

I'm running very, very behind in this documentary. Spending an inordinate amount of time researching on the laptop, I've gleaned lots of interesting facts about a wide variety of subjects. This is the part of creating specific artwork that people don't normally see - the time-consuming preparation. And this is even before the sketching begins. Also, my wireless internet connection is not working in the evening when I usually do all of my computer work. Sigh. Still working on it.

"Waguar" is my first greyhound to paint. Designed for a Jacksonville Jaguars fan, I've researched the team, the colors, the star players and the logos both present and historical.

However, before the drawing begins...grime, dust and fingerprints are scrubbed away.

A coat of gesso is then applied.

Finally, the drawing begins. I'll make several changes as the design evolves and takes on a life of it's own. Notice the reference material on the tabletop that will continue to grow into an unmanageable mess!

 Fast-forward to blocking in the main design.

 
NOTE: My apologies for having to implement comment moderation thanks to these stupid spammers who somehow figure a way past Blogger's own spam detection. Spamming is such an ineffective way to sell goods or services that no one wants to begin with.

Grrrrr,
Sharon

Captivating Marshes

(NOTE: my apologies for the short previous post that you received. I had just begun to put down my thoughts and *BING* the blog published. Don't know if it's Google's new dashboard or my keyboard.)

I've become fascinated by the local marshes and bogs here in upstate New York. The wintry sky colors, the elegant leaning of the tree trunks, the still, reflective waters and the overall calmness. Some of these bodies of water are created by beavers and you can actually spot their well-constructed dams built with intertwining branches and downed logs. Amazing engineering for a critter that's considered a rodent.

These little oils on canvas are the result of hiking along wooded trails that lead to these enchanting landscapes. Because the subject is new to me, I have no idea what to title them. Pink Sunset? Yellow Repose? If you have any ideas, please send me suggestions or leave a comment. They're both 11"x14" and are available for purchase.

With appreciation,
Sharon