Signs of Art

Honoring Tom Sparacino

2011-03-01T13:57:00.000-08:00

I took painting and photo classes from Tom Sparacino, off and on, for the last twenty years. I just heard last night that he passed away, and have been incredibily saddened by the news.

I shared the following on his memorial guestbook, and wanted to post it here too.

I realize that Tom has had a tremendous impact on me-- from the painting instruction to the classroom debate and banter. Tom had a sort of quiet acceptance and welcoming way about him. And we had a good back-and-forth over the years. When I was a new student, sometimes he’d humor me when I would follow him around with my brush in hand, trying to get another question in. Later on, once I’d settled in, he’d pretend to hard-time me for showing up to class late. And then he’d put up with me stretching things out to the last minute, usually being the last one to clean up.

Tom combined painting instruction with a sense of humor, unfiltered criticism (a look at my canvas generated a ‘yech’ kind of sound on occasion), and honest encouragement. Not only did he teach me painting fundamentals-- I can still hear “dark to light” and “don’t make them all the same size and color”-- Tom pushed me and encouraged me until I found my own voice and style. After I had hit on nearly every painting cliche, he kept prodding me, even though I couldn’t understand it at the time.

Until one day I brought in a book of my ‘scribbles’. With his encouragement and help, I began painting my own thing, my own way.

In the last few years, since moving up the peninsula and becoming a mom, I couldn’t make it to Tom’s class anymore. I stopped by once and emailed a couple times, intending to get back in again. I’m bummed I didn’t get another chance. And even though I hadn’t been to class in years, I’m really going to miss it.

I don't think I can articulate, or maybe even realized until just now, how big an impact this little adult ed class and one teacher had on me. While on the one hand, I could say it was just a painting class, it was more than that to me. It was a familiar place I counted on. It was a place I could relax, chat, and express myself.

Even while most of the other students were painting quite traditionally, Tom challenged me and supported me in taking a different, unique path. He opened the door to real expression, and accepted what I cautiously and hesitantly put forth. That's been an invaluable experience and a journey that I'll continue throughout my life.

Recent drawings

2010-12-19T13:23:00.000-08:00

Never quite sure what to call these.... "sketch" is over-selling it. "Scribbles" might be closer.

Thin face with words and lights

2010-12-12T17:30:00.000-08:00

This is a current painting in-process. It's large format, I think around 32 x 40.

It's a composite of two sketches -- the face alone I did recently, and the background is from a much older sketch. That sketch was done from a photo I took in NY years ago, with a waiter in the foreground, and the menu and lights blurred and creating an interesting background.

I have been using a thin, dry brush technique for this, and kind of like the airy, sheer feeling of it.

It needs a little more paint and depth to be interesting, and yet, I'm reluctant to add more paint and risk losing the current feel of it.

Build a Ladder to the Stars

2009-03-26T22:31:00.000-07:00

This is the first painting I've finished in a LONG time. I painted this for Mila and it's hanging in her room now. Sometimes she points at it and says, "I did that." Maybe that means she likes it.

Inspiration was the lyrics of "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan.

"Build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung... "

Rusty Painting

2007-11-11T12:13:00.000-08:00

Double entendre there. I am quite rusty, and well, there are some rust tones in this. I found some time to do some painting a few weeks ago. At first, while working away, I thought, "I've got something here. This is going to be cool." I had that exciting, flowing feeling. Then, I thought, "Hmmm. I'm pretty rusty. I'm not too sure about this."

It's abstract, but my underlying ideas are specific. There is a work theme (tied to an image I notice in the parking garage of my office). That's this piece.....

And a motherhood baby theme. This piece:

My reflection at this point is around both the texture and composition of the painting. It feels like two separate paintings, and it's close to being split down the middle (which art-types would tell you is bad-- the eye prefers to see things in thirds).

Here's the full view:

But... maybe that's part of the paint that my brain was trying to make. It's perhaps what I'm struffling with. Work and motherhood -- two parts not easily blended??

But in fact, they are blending pretty nicely. I'm letting this one sit for a while, but I'm thinking that I need to come back to it and bring the two parts better together.

Three Little Birds

2007-11-11T12:04:00.000-08:00

Here are three bird paintings I did for my daughter's room. Not my usual stuff, but I wanted some original artwork for her room, and it seemed like I needed something "kid-appropriate."

Mila is actually pretty interested in checking them out-- which of course thrills me. We now say hello and wave to the birdies when she gets up from her naps. (And she does like checking out some of my other paintings too!)

Creative Hiatus?

2006-11-11T14:08:00.000-08:00

Creative Hiatus?

I've recently lost my oomph for painting. But, I've lost a lot of oomph in general. I'm nearly seven months pregnant, and it sounds cheesy, but I think my creative energy is sapped. My body is focused on baby-making. Which translates to a lot of eating and sleeping in whatever free time I have.

Today I had my first art inspiration in months. I received an email inquiry from a New York gallery, asking if I'd like to be listed on their site, in exchange for a mutual link.

The words "New York gallery" carry a certain weight and excitement with them (although many aruge that's overblown). And to be clear here-- I'm talking about an online link, not an actual presence in the gallery.

But still... I said sure, and spent some time today updating my website, particularly my links page.

In truth, I'm not familiar with Agora Gallery, but their site seems to have some interesting artwork. I'm listed here: http://www.agora-gallery.com/Links/ThemeDetails-Theme-Cubism.aspx.

It wasn't the equivalent of diving back in with my brush and paints, but at least I spent some time thinking about my art and tweaking my website. And it's the first time I've written here in some time-- it's the first miniscule update I've had to share!

The thought of painting and creating has at least crossed my mind a few times in recent weeks. Maybe I'll get enough energy to actually DO something. But, for now, coming close was pretty fun.

In the meantime, here's a view of the current creation underway:

From Puzzled to Inspired

2006-07-12T14:49:00.000-07:00

From Puzzled to Inspired

Last Friday, my first solo show opened at ARTshare 25 in San Mateo.

Here I am at the reception, explaining the materials and concepts of my piece, Talked Around.

I am certainly proud and honored to be featured and it's exciting to see a collection of my work up in one place. Several folks came by for the reception, and I have even received some media coverage.

I introduced myself to each guest and made myself available if they had questions. Some fellow artsits also attended and we discussed mine and other artwork as well.

I had reactions that ranged from puzzled to inspired , and frankly, I enjoyed them all.

One young women felt strongly about my piece, September Self Portrait. She was open with her reactions and I was amazed to hear her essentially reciting the emotions I was feeling at the time that I painted the piece. She said the piece looked sad, but not entirely, and that she felt the face staring at her, challenging her to face herself and figure out what she was about.

Another guest, an older European woman, was not as enthusiastic, but she was engaged and curious. She said she owned a lot of traditional art, but was not familiar with abstract art. She asked a lot of questions and said she found the work puzzling. I'm not sure she really enjoyed it or liked it, but we had an interesting conversation about the different pieces. In fact, when we discussed Talked Around, I explained how it was Holocaust-inpired and reflected denial and suppression. She quite quickly understood the piece, and said she had personal experience with it. When she left, she thanked me and said she had learned some things.

When I rejoined some of my artist colleagues, I commented that this guest was a bit puzzled and someone said, "But that's what you're going for, right?"

I was stumped. It may have even been the next day when I thought quite definitively, "No, not really." I just paint what comes to me. My pieces are expressions of my emotions and observations. But I'm not purposely trying to confuse anyone.

It can be challenging for me when people are puzzled by my work. It often seems that they don't particularly care for it, which is fine, but it's naturally harder to take in stride or to figure out how to have a dialogue, than with someone who is enthusiastic and enjoying it.

A couple days later I was listening to the radio program Studio 360, and this theme came up again. In a feature on Andy Warhol, host Kurt Anderson asked, "Many say that Warhol destroyed traditional standards in the art world -- was this good or bad?"

Guest and close associate of Warhol, John Cale of the Velvet Underground said:

It’s essential. If you’re going to be an artist, you’ve got to inspire. I mean not just people around you who understand what you’re doing, but the ones who don’t understand what you are doing. You [might not] know what it’s doing, but it’s very good at what it’s doing. Every once in a while, you get caught by surprise.

I can only hope that my art is that kind of puzzling!

Being Out There

2006-06-05T16:42:00.000-07:00

Being Out There

I wrote a few months back about taking the leap and 'getting out there,' and the trials and tribulations of my first show.

So, now I am out there. I have several exhibits under my belt, most recently Open Studios which I did out of my home. I'm happy to report that Open Studios was a success and a fun experience. I had 20-some guests over the weekend, all of which were engaged, appreciative and complimentary. It was fun to meet new people, as well as have the opportunity for friends to see a large portion of my work all together at one time.

It was interesting to see people's reactions, which pieces they liked, and what kind of questions they asked. I escorted each visitor into my studio, showing them how I worked from sketch to painting, then showed them a few of my newer mixed media pieces, and then brought them around to the main room where a dozen or more of my paintings were hung. Most people looked carefully and asked questions. Others just wanted to take a look on their own.

Several visitors specifically chose my site to visit, after seeing my work in the catalog. One woman who had recently taken up watercolor painting said she was 'inspired.' Another said I had strong vision.

I sold a number of greeting cards, added folks to my mailing list, and met an art dealer. I also happily sold two pieces to two very appreciative buyers. It was fun to send the paintings off, and think of others enjoying them.

Of course, it's nice to hear the compliments and to make a sale, but my appreciation for the experience was about more than an ego boost. I put a piece of my heart and soul into my paintings, and it's both frightening and exciting to share that. So, to be brave enough to do it, and then have people appreciate and enjoy looking at my work, was simply satisfying.

Meanwhile, my Belmont show has begun, and I'm prepping for my next show in July. With all the logistical work to prep for these exhibits (and of course, my day job), I'm hoping I get some time to actually paint! Ideally, I'd like some new pieces to include in my solo show in July. I will keep you posted on any progress!

My perfect imperfect table

2006-04-29T13:27:00.000-07:00

I wanted to add a table to my studio for months. But it couldn't be just anything. I was waiting for the right thing to come along. I had both a practical and romanticized notion in my head. Then one day, it practically landed in my lap.

I wanted a table that was sturdy and fairly large. That was the practical side.

But I also wanted a table with a sort of beat-up, artistic character of its own. I had this storybook idea that I would just come across a perfect table. At a garage sale. Or maybe it would be a used table from an old school. Something with a history, with character. It would almost find me. Definitely not something I'd buy out of a catalog or furniture store.

Well, it showed up. We were at a friend's party several months back, and my husband spotted an old, homemade table out in the backyard. He thought it looked just like what I wanted. We discovered it belonged to one of the roomates. We asked him about his cool table, and the first thing he said was, "You can have it."

He was moving, or debating about it, and wasn't using the table anymore anyway. And it would definitely be too heavy to move.

He said he had used it to work on motorcycles, and before that his friend used it as a workbench to make custom-made motorcycle helmets with painted designs. And before that it had belonged to his friend's mom who was an artist.

It came pre-splattered with paint from its helmut-design days. It was basic and heavy and worn-in. Just perfect.

Its former owner even delivered it to me in his pickup truck and helped us get the heavy table down, and then up, some stairs, and finally into the house. We repaid his kindness with a nice bottle of wine, and enjoyed a visit.

Aside from the occasional splinter from the rough surface, and the fact that it smelled like motorcycle grease for a while, it's been just right. I have a place to work on collages, spread out sketches, materials, and even a small stereo for music.

Open Studios

2006-04-10T12:29:00.000-07:00

Open Studios

What was I thinking when I signed up? I'm not even sure. But now, I'm in it. I'm opening up my home studio to family, friends and strangers on May 20 and 21st. This is part of Silicon Valley Open Studios.

Back in the fall when I signed up, I just thought Open Studios sounded vaguely cool. I didn't have expectations about the number of guests, and I was really nowhere near thinking about sales. Unfortunately, I've never even attended other artists' open studios events in prior years.

Now, as you may be able to tell, I'm feeling less than 100% prepared. Part of me is actually still wishy-washy about even selling my paintings.

While I have a realistic dose of modesty and practicality, there is also a part of me that thinks of my paintings as my own little masterpieces. And while I'd like to share my art and even have delusions of grandeur involving museum exhibits and worlwide fame, I'm also possessive of it.

But I've decided that part of the value in creating art is sharing art and it seems worthwhile to try to be 'out there' in some way.

I'm thoroughly enjoying part of the preparation. I was featured in an SVOS press release and even for a jaded PR person, I was tickled pink with my fifteen seconds (I don't think it qualified for fifteen minutes) of fame. I was a volunteer coordinator for a sneak-peek show in Foster City, working with eighteen other artists, producing a promotional postcard, hanging the show, and attending the reception. I've attended two seminars which provided training on how to market yourself, price your work and set up your studio.

I've thought about how I'll set up pieces in my studio, out on my deck, and into another room. I've thought about materials, a price list, snacks, invitees, etc. And I still think it will be cool.

So, it's all good stuff. It's just a leap of faith to put my pieces out there, and put prices on them. In fact, I'm not that particularly concerned with making sales, but once I got involved, I realized that people may be coming with the possible intent to buy. So, I feel like I should be prepared to offer some pieces. I may crank out a few smaller ones in the next few weeks so that I can sell some lower-priced pieces. I'm also looking into making prints. And of all ironic things, I need to make sure I hold on to a good set of about twenty pieces for my first solo show in July.

Art, Collectively Defined

2006-03-05T20:09:00.000-08:00

Art, Collectively Defined

Two NY Times stories (3/5/06) presented interesting themes of art being defined through a collaborative experience.

The first article, Military Maneuvers With Computer and Color, is about a duo-artist team, now husband and wife, who have been working together for years. They've taken their collaboration a step further with input from the community.

Detail from PTG.32 APUS, the subject of 'Miliary Maneuvers...'

They invited input from "...friends, artists, students, local merchants and, most recently, members of the American military based in Iraq, to choose from colors, text phrases and forms culled from the artists' vast drawing archive."

Sort of a paint-by-voting approach that drives a collectively produced, somewhat modular, and yet unique piece. (The article includes a link to the online survey and a short multimedia file for more background.)

The second article, The Collective Conscious, takes this theme of collaborative art even further. It describes artist collectives, where artists work together often operating under a single name. These collectives tap into group creation, the power and pervasivenss of the Internet to publish and share their work, and performance-based elements to reach into the public's consciousness.

These collectives operate "... on the principle that information is power and that it is most effectively made available through a combination of science and aesthetics. " They make their art, and their statements, reaching the public through marketing campaigns for non-existent movies and through scientific research and laboratory demonstrations.

These are a far cry from the image of the solitary painter at his easel. These are dynamic, complex organizations and collaborations, some with purposeful confusion, some with a rejection of the traditional gallery tradition.

Getting Out There

2006-03-05T13:25:00.000-08:00

Getting Out There

I had my first art show back in September. Friends have said, "That's great that you're getting out there." Well, getting-out-there has turned out to be a little rollercoaster of an experience.

Me and fellow artist Edwin Pallens at our show in Brisbane, Calif.

Participation in this show came about by happenstance. I met another artist, actually through some furniture shopping (he was the salesperson/designer). We discovered that we had painting in common and he liked my work. We stayed in touch a bit, and he called one day to say he had good news. He had a show. "Congratulations! That's great," I said, thinking that was the extent of the good news. But then he very generously offered to share his show with me. He wanted to give me one of his walls. How exciting!

So, then we examined our pieces, and discussed which to select. And we discussed framing or not. And bios, and label cards. And the reception. Lots of excitement.

The location was Brisbane City Hall. Okay, not too exciting there. But still, a first show, I thought. I got myself jazzed again. Then somewhere along the line I realized that my fellow artist hadn't been specially selected himself. The City was just looking for local art to hang in their offices, and he simply walked in and offered. Hmmm, not so "big time." But still my first show, I thought, so I got excited again. I didn't want to have unreasonably high expectations, but I wanted to be positive and enjoy this, and to make the most of it.

Then came the day for dropping off our work. We met the City employee he'd been communicating with. She led us to a conference room and said we could set our paintings along the wall. When she stepped out, I asked my artist friend Edwin, "Where's the space?" He said, "This is it." Oh. It was a moderate sized conference room with typical, somewhat old conference room furniture. City officials held meetings here. Throngs of people- if any- certainly wouldn't be coming through. I couldn't help but be disappointed.

Then, once again, with reminders from my husband, I realized this was still cool. I had to start somewhere. It was a show. People would see my work. The city would host a reception. Fellow artists also told me I needed credibility in nonprofit venues like this one before the commercial art world would take me seriously.

So, I went back to being positive. I invited friends and family to the reception. I created a special playlist for music at the reception. I debated about what to wear, with some vague pressure to look 'artsy'. I belabored over pricing. I printed artist business cards, and updated my printed portfolio, including scanned images of the drawings that were the starting point for several of the pieces that would be hanging.

The reception happened and about dozen of my friends and family came to support me. And Edwin's friends and family came too. My music was good-- a mix between lively and background-ish. The city served carrot cake and coffee. All in all, it was pretty cool. People examined my artwork with interest. They looked through my portfolio and asked me questions. I got practice trying to explain why I painted particular pieces and what they meant or represented. My wonderfully over-the-top friend Matt brought me two dozen roses. My husband said I was the art star Brisbane.

In the end, it was a pretty great experience, even if it was only in a conference room in Brisbane City Hall

Since that show back in September, I've participated in three more: at the Coastal Arts League in Half Moon Bay, Redwood City Art Center, and the ARTshare 25 Gallery in San Mateo. These are all non-commercial galleries, either cooperatives or non-profit galleries. Most of the receptions consist of the artists and the artists' friends talking to each other. Little or no sales seem to take place. So, while I'm "out there," I wonder if I'm accomplishing anything.

Yes, I'm out there. People are looking at my artwork. And I think there is inherent value and enjoyment in that. But there's also a sense of going nowhere. The art world is mysterious and unstructured. Becoming 'somebody' in the art world or having greater commercial exposure is often quite an elusive goal for artists. It's hard for me to identify what success looks like, if indeed it's something beyond what I'm currently doing. I wonder about how to make sales, what fair pricing is, about commercialism vs. the simple value of expression, and even being ready to let go of my pieces.

Day Job and Art

2006-03-01T16:23:00.000-08:00

Day Job and Art

Okay, it’s been two months since I’ve posted anything. That’s not very blog-like, but it’s the impact of traveling and being back in a day-job.

But there's good news:

I've traveled to Costa Rica and seen beautiful landscapes and wildlife (that sunset picture is from Costa Rica).
I’ve still had time for art.
And of course, being employed is generally a good thing.

Obviously, I've had time for photography while traveling, in both Costa Rica and Oklahoma.

I’m the show coordinator for Silicon Valley Open Studios, PEEK show (http://www.svos.org/). I'm handling the communication with participating artists and participating in the jurying of the show.

I've had two pieces up at the ARTshare 25 Gallery in San Mateo (the show just ended yesterday).

I'm beginning to prepare for the big open studios weekend (my first year participating) in May.

And I've been doing some painting.

Last, and probably least, I have done some doodling in the midst of long corporate offsites. I just can't sit still for hours on end, so my nervous and/or creative energy comes out through my pen. Interestingly, it's actually given me some ideas for paintings.

Whoever thought a corporate day-job could be an inspiration?

Cigars, Stain and Cornell

2005-12-27T16:31:00.000-08:00

Cigars, Stain and Cornell

With readily available materials, some encouragement from an instructor, and inspiration from Joseph Cornell-- I have put together a couple of 'painting boxes.'

(Cigar box 1)

With several of my recent ideas, my instructor asked me why the pieces should be on canvas. He was encouraging me to 'think outside the canvas,' if you will. Get outside the confines of the square or rectangle. Think of installations, collage, sculpture.

Well, I got off the canvas-- but stayed in a box. I tore apart some old cigar boxes, and have begun using both the boxes and lids for ready-made surfaces and frames. With these first two pieces, I used cutouts of scrap paper that had picked up woodstain in an interesting pattern.

I'm intrigued with the idea of both found and created art, and liked that these stained sheets of paper were both something I created-- albeit somewhat 'accidentally' (when I was staining wood for frames)-- and something I discovered, when I noticed the interesting marks and decided I had to keep what most others would see as garbage (or at least paper for recycling).

Instead of throwing these sheets away, I saved them, knowing I'd do something with them at some point. When I decided to work with the box lids, I remembered these sheets. I tried different sections, selected and framed the compositions that most appealled to me, then added pen and pencil.

These two pieces remain basically two-dimensional (except perhaps for the slight bit of paper that comes up the side of the box frame), wheras Cornell's collage boxes are unique and odd assortments of 3-D objects.

(Cigar box 2)

Next ... to again use the much-overused phrase... perhaps I'll go even further in thinking outside (and inside) the box, and go 3D. I do have other scraps and ideas on hand -- wire, saved papers, broken glass, twigs.

For information and images of Cornell's work:
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/cornell/ http://www.artchive.com/artchive/C/cornell.html

Cornell's Pink Palace, currently on display at SFMOMA: http://www.artchive.com/artchive/C/cornell/p_palace.jpg.html.

Kid in an Art Shop

2005-12-27T15:26:00.000-08:00

Kid in an Art Shop

About five years ago, I was on a business trip to New York. Staying in the SOHO neighborhood through a weekend, I had some time to relax and entertain myself. I asked someone where I might find an art supply store or somewhere to buy a sketchbook and pencils.

Such a simple question. How would I know that I was about to stumble into what must be one of the most complete, funky and 'candy-like' of art stores? I was directed to Pearl Paint on Canal Street.

At that point, I hadn't even been doing any sketching (but had been painting for years), and didn't know what I would sketch. I didn't even really know what I was looking for. But this old building, with staircases that lead to more and more art supplies, was oddly intoxicating.

I truly felt like a kid in a candystore.

There were supplies of every type imaginable. Thousands of brushes. Paints. Papers. Everything.

I grabbed a sketchbook. A pen or two. Some colored pencils. A graphite pencil. A leather pouch for holding pens and pencils.

When I went to purchase the items in my basket, some were rung up, and then I was instructed to take other items to a different floor. Pens were tracked and sold on a separate floor from the pencils.

This seemed ridiculously kooky and perhaps a bit sophisticated.

It is a gigantic, magical mayhem:

"Pearl is a gigantic store

(an entire building, in fact) that offers everything from origami paper to portfolios; they sell hundreds of different types of paint, drawing utensils, and other art supplies. If you are overwhelmed by the bounty of goodies, their helpful staff will show you where to find whatever you are looking for. " http://www.ny.com/shopping/art/pearl.html

"There’s no art or craft supply you won’t find on these floors of mayhem. Most stores have a few shelves of pastels; this place has half a roomful of them. " http://www.newyorkmetro.com/pages/details/977.htm

It's been a while since I've been to NY, and the last few trips haven't included a trip to Pearl. (There's one here in SF, but it doesn't carry the magic.) Sometimes I wonder if a repeat visit would live up to the memory. In some ways, I suspect it would. But, in others, it simply couldn't. That initial discovery and surprise, upon finding each floor of what seemed to be never-ending art supplies. . .

Yet, seeing others' enthusiasm....
(http://www.yelp.com/biz/GfP4vWcc3TN_YMfFafcMXw)

"Pearl Paint is Art Student Heaven. If Pearl Paint doesn't have it, it doesn't exist...."
"Fun to romp in, sometimes buy."
"My absolute favorite thing about a trip to Pearl Paint is climbing the rickety, hideous stairway all the way to the top and visiting the tiny room where they keep the most amazing array of papers I've ever seen. "
"Each floor is dedicated to a specialty and each floor has the specialists to sell it to you. A NYC institution. . ."

. . . I will have to make a point of revisiting Pearl on my next trip to New York. In the meantime, I'm shopping in online candystores, where the art supplies are probably as comprehensive, but the experience isn't quite as funky.

The online version: http://www.pearlpaint.com/. Other online stores: http://www.dickblick.com/, http://www.misterart.com/. And my little neighborhood store (which isn't big, but often has most of what I'm looking for): http://www.maggiesarts.com/index.html.

Picasso Therapy

2005-11-20T20:00:00.000-08:00

Picasso Therapy

I showed my portfolio to an unusual crowd the other day. It included Marge, Cecilia, Ed and Paula. None of them are curators. Probably not even art enthusiasts. What they have in common is old age and dementia.

I've been visiting residents at an assisted-living home. Given their declining states of mind and health, it's hard to know what to say or do, and it's not easy to have a conversation. Sometimes I just hold their hands, smile and get them tissues for their tears. I've played a few fiddle songs for them-- most clapped, although one resident, Vera, kept complaining she couldn't sleep with that noise. In an odd, and sometimes heartbreaking way, they can be a tough crowd.

I thought I'd try showing them things. One week I brought photographs of flowers from my yard. Everyone can relate to a flower, I thought. That's a nice, pretty thing to cheer someone up. They might say what their favorite was, or if they had flowers in their garden.

I thought about bringing photos of my paintings, but I worried that they weren't serene enough, or not as universally appealing as a flower.

But then I read a feature in the New York Times, The Pablo Picasso Alzheimer's Therapy (October 30, 2005) that talked about folks using art as a therapeutic tool for people suffering with Alzheimer's. In this case, patients were getting the opportunity for private viewings of some Picasso paintings at the NY MOMA, and to good effect.

Alzheimer's patients at the NY MOMA

One neurologist shared that he had seen "quite demented patients recognize and respond vividly to paintings and delight in painting at a time when they are scarcely responsive to words and disoriented and out of it."

They "did not wear the anxious, confused looks they had worn when they first arrived at the museum. They did not quarrel in the way that those suffering from Alzheimer's sometimes do. And when they talked about the paintings, they did not repeat themselves or lose the thread of the discussion, as they often do...."

At the NY MOMA there were moments of inspiration and clarity while typically inarticulate patients described what they saw in the paintings, whether they liked them or not, or how they felt about them.

So, I decided it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

I cannot report that I saw any dramatic epiphanies or moments of pure artistic joy. But several of the residents did interact and seem to enjoy it.

With one, I had the sense that she felt her old grandma-self, as if she was looking at the work of one of her grandkids, proud and impressed. She asked questions about where I went to school and how long some of the paintings took me.

One woman would flip through, saying she liked several of the paintings, commenting sometimes on the colors while I pointed out figures or faces, to be sure she could recognize the images. Then she distinctly said, "Ick" to one of the paintings. I found that just as interesting. It was a reaction.

During this, I could see another one of the residents looking over, trying to get a view. His eyes told me that he wanted a look. So I sat by him and showed him the portfolio. I don't think he said a word, just nodded and looked at me when he was done looking at each one and ready for me to turn the page.

It was nice sharing this with them. I figure it was at least something else for them to look at for a few minutes besides the TV. Oddly, since they don't remember much, I suppose I can bring it back in again and see who might be interested next time.

The NY Times piece also commented that originals proved more impactful than reproductions. Perhaps I'll bring in an actual painting vs. my printed portfolio. The larger-scale alone might generate more of a reaction.

On the practical side, since a painting doesn't make any noise-- bare minimum, Vera and some of the others can keep napping if they feel like it.

Link to the NY Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/30/arts/design/30kenn.html?ex=1132635600&en=f6b121884e1a5847&ei=5070

Pine Needles & Resistors

2005-11-03T17:19:00.000-08:00

Pine Needles & Resistors
I've had an idea in the back of my head for some time. So with the help of instruction (I'm taking a class at SF Art Insitute), I thought there's no better time to give it a try.

The problem was my idea was a bit vague, and on top of that, it's sort of awkward. I decided to go for it. I wanted to at least experiment and see what I might come up with.

I suppose the basic idea started with a tactile fascination for bits of both nature and technology.

I've had a habit of picking up interesting bits of wood, pinecones and such for sometime. (I think this is a relatively common childhood habit, but unlike most, I never fully grew out of it.) And living in Silicon Valley, I've also picked up little computer-related goodies in stores that specialize in used technical parts, some of it salvageable, some of it functionally junk.

I had some old computer resistors on hand. And my yard and deck are regularly blanketed with pine needles. I knew I wanted to combine these in some way, particuarly given the similarity of their shape (the resistors have a small cylindrical component in the center, and then wire going out in both directions) and started playing with them spread out over a canvas in different patterns.

Then, my instructor hit me with all those questions (see previous post).

Was I trying to say that nature and technology don't mix? Why the upward movement? Why not all the pine needles going in the same direction? Why white or gray or whatever color? Why canvas vs. other background? Why a square canvas, etc.

I had some answers, but not all of them.

I know at least that I am exploring an interwoven sense of nature and technology. . .

I’m particularly intrigued by the lack of distinction between nature and technology. When does something become ‘man-made’? Ultimately, all man-made products are rooted in the materials and knowledge we find here on the earth.
I’m also exploring the co-existence of chaos and order, both in nature and technology. We see the chaos of hurricanes, and the precision of DNA. We see the scientific, binary world of zero's and one's, and we see the damage of computer viruses and the frenetic nature of the world wide web.
I see an incidental or accidental beauty in technical components, which make them interesting to me from both an aesthetic and conceptual sense.
Lastly, I am also interested in how the latest-greatest technology eventually, and sometimes quickly, becomes discarded junk -- a cycle also similar in nature.

Given that I had never done a mixed media piece, I was also eager to get hands-on and finetune the answers later. The photo above is a detail portion of my first finished piece in this theme.

First, let's just say that I'm pleased that I was able to actually make these pine needles and resistors stick. That was a good learning step and accomplishment.

Second, even in this detail photo, you can see a bit of the chaos, movement and texture of the piece. Given the first concept I mention above, about the lack of distinction between technology and nature, it's interesting to see that the pine needles and resistors blend together on the canvas, almost blending back into simple texture, and that gray is the background.

Well, there are more questions to consider and pine needles to paint! I've got bits and pieces of goodies in my studio. Okay, it looks like random junk to the 'untrained eye,' but I have a few ideas to explore, and hope to turn it into something else entirely.

Hmm... that idea of repurposing these pieces into art is right in line with that cycle-of-technology-and-nature concept. Maybe I'm just adding art to the cycle.

Why?-- Art School and Toddlers

2005-11-02T22:02:00.000-08:00

Why? -- Art School and Toddlers

I've discovered that going to art school is a bit like hanging out with a two-year-old. The commonality? Regularly being asked, "Why?"

And in my case at the moment, regularly not having the answer.

I have painted in a from-the-gut way for the last several years. I sketch things that come to me. Then, I paint them. Sometimes, I'll have a feeling or experience I'm trying to convey. Just as often, it's simply instinctual or images from my subconscious.

Apparently, this is not the way of serious art. Or at least the way of art school. I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet. But, in an art school environment, one is expected to have an objective with his or her artwork. And then to make choices -- every detailed choice-- in support of that objective.

Why this color? Why these lines? Why lines in this direction? Why all this texture? Why this size canvas? Why canvas at all?

Looking at my art in this way is a brave new world. It's a world of questions, and hopefully, eventually, answers. I have a lot to think about. This one simple word, "why." It feels a little frustrating, and frankly, a bit paralyzing. It's hard to know which foot to put forward. Or which tube of paint to reach for, or which type of brushstroke to make.

But it also feels like it could be an adventure.

Part of me would like to stick with the whatever-comes-to-me approach. But now, I suspect that what comes to me is bound to be different. Simply because a door's been opened, and I've been asked to think about it.

For now, I'm pondering the question. I'm curious to see what answers I'll come up with, and if I find an increasing sense of a "why."

Yoga & Enlightenment Through Art

2005-10-28T16:50:00.000-07:00

Yoga & Enlightenment Through Art

Yoga teacher Ronald Lewis Facchinetti has a unique view on art and yoga. He leads yoga practice in museums and galleries, and he has created a focused meditative practice on art.

His manifesto:

"Practice yoga through art."

"Change from spectator into contemplator."

"Find catharsis."

Facchinetti began with a yoga discipline called Trataka, which is a form of visual concentration. Instead of applying his focus to a mandala or candle flame (a more common yogic meditation practice), he applies Trataka to visual art.

Yoga is about the union of mind and body. Art, too, can help us create connections. This seems to be what Facchinetti is after. On his website (http://www.interstitialism.com/), he writes "Our path of self understanding and self liberation runs through the fields of visual art."

I know that I find greater self-awareness through the expression and creation of my art. This must be something every artist feels. In this case, he is also talking about all viewers of art.

In one of his online forums, he asks, "Ever weep, faint or get upset in front of a painting or sculpture? Any hallucinations?"

Well... I felt a little embarrassed crying in the New York Museum of Modern Art a few years back. But, I guess compared to hallucinating or fainting, it was a mild experience. It was my first visit to the NY MOMA, and I came upon Picasso's Les Mademoiselles d' Avignon, and I simply started crying. I sat down for a while in ftont of it, and just looked and cried. And tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Sure, I was already emotional because I was thrilled to be there, and yes, I think I remember reading that this particular painting was pivotal in Cubism (maybe Picasso's first?)... but my reaction seemed much simpler than that.

I don't know how to explain it any better than to say -- It just hit me.

It was bigger in size than I must have imagined (it's nearly eight feet square), and the image was powerful and intense. Apparently, it was intense for Picasso too. He referred to this work as his "first exorcism painting." (NY MOMA website for the image and comments: http://moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?object_id=79766)

Did I experience a moment of enligtenment? I don't know. But my emotions were strong, and despite the tears, my experience was much more of joy than sadness.

Namaste to Picasso, I say. And to the artist in all of us.

(For you non-yogi's, namaste is about the divine spark within each of us. Namaste is a gesture and greeting to acknowledge the soul in one another.)

Inside the Painter's Studio

2005-10-23T12:51:00.000-07:00

Inside the Painter's Studio

I think I've figured out why I like to watch Inside the Actor's Studio. I've never been much of a celebrity-watcher or reader of People magazine. So, watching this show didn't seem to fit.

But I like it. I've realized the appeal is the subject matter. Yes, the actors and directors talk about themselves. But more importantly, they talk about their craft. About the process of creating.

When it's a particularly good interview, you see how the actors feel about their work. How they put the essence of themselves into the parts. How they create something. You can see their passion and determination, and their utter enjoyment of the art of acting.

So, a-ha. It's not People-magazine-type talk about who's dating who, and who has nice or ugly outfits. It's about art.

And I really dig those ten questions at the end. I imagine myself on the spot, being asked to respond to those ten questions, never quite sure what my answers might be. Such a brief opportunity for cleverness and insight.

However, I am facing up to the fact that I'll never be on the show. So, I'll take a crack at it here. And given that I'm interviewing myself, I've given myself permisson for more than one answer in a few cases.

1- What is your favorite word?
Cacophony.
I like the sound of it. And because it sounds like what it means.
Alizarin Crimson is a good one in the painting realm. Also like this one for the dramatic sound (as well as the color).

2- What is your least favorite word?
Hesitation.

3- What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Art-painting-expressing-experimenting, sitting on my deck looking at the trees -- and simultaneously enjoying the squirrels and cursing them for eating all the fruit from my trees.

4 - What turns you off?
The corruption of politics. Corporate speak.

5- What is your favorite curse word?
Cluster-f--k.
It just sounds extra-messed up.
Also, swearing in a foreign language. Merde. Scheisse. Even the relatively benign, Dios mio. They sound either more sophisticated or sillier, depending on mood and how you pull it off.

6- What sound or noise do you love?
An orchestrating warming up before a concert.
You hear snippets of melody, tuning-- none of it goes together, and yet it blends into a really interesting sound.
Also, the beeps and screeching of a modem line (but not too loud).
Laughter. I love the variety and freedeom of laughter. In the right mood, and in small doses, I even find annoying laughter amusing.
Of course, many kinds of music.

7- What sound or noise do you hate?
The background din of technology and machines.
Granted, it usually becomes innocous because we all tune it out most of the time. But I'd love to have the convenience of computers, refrigerators, Tivos -- without the fans, motors and hard drives whirring.

8 - What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
A few-- sculptor, writer, jazz violinist, interviewer.
Sometimes I think I'd like to have either Terry Gross' or Ira Glass' jobs. They interview and meet interesting people, and tell interesting stories.
I'd also like to publish a couple children's books, and play like Stephan Grapellli.

9- What profession would you not like to do?
Toll-booth collector.

10- If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Welcome. Good job. Relax.

... that's my ten cents-- from inside the painter's studio.

Arrived or Becoming?

2005-10-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

Arrived or Becoming?

"An artist has got to be careful not to think he's arrived somewhere. You have to realize that you're constantly in a state of becoming. As long as you stay in that realm, you'll be all right."
- Bob Dylan, No Direction Home
Photo: Close-up of Picasso guitar sculpture, from The Picasso Museum at the Château Grimaldi in Antibes, France
For someone so prolific and poetic with his songwriting, Dylan has been notorious for being obtuse in interviews. He never quite explains himself, sometimes turns on the interviewers, and he consistently shys away from the labels of icon or "voice of a generation."
But he has some real honest and direct moments in this documentary. It's interesting to watch simply because he's Bob Dylan, and well, because he's an icon. But it's also been interesting from an artistic perspective.
His comment above was intermixed with the story of when Dylan went electric. Dylan was already famous at this point for his folk-style songs. Crowds literally booed him for playing with his electric guitar, backed by The Band.
People were so attached to who he'd been that they reviled who he was becoming. He mostly appeared to take this in stride. He just needed to do what he needed to do, whether people liked it or not. He had certainly arrived, but he was also becoming.
That struck me as taking a tremendous amount of courage and determination. Or maybe it was simply a strong sort of self-knowledge, and a desire to grow, evolve and be true to himself.
Whether painter, musician, dancer, sculptor, photographer -- his comment rings true. It's challenging as artist -- you think you've done one of your best pieces, and you want to hold on to it or capture that moment in time somehow. But you have to keep moving, growing and creating.
You have to stay in that constant state of becoming.

Art Everyday, Everywhere

2005-10-16T15:18:00.000-07:00

Art Everyday, Everywhere

As I've become more immersed in my artwork, I'm spinning with ideas -- which is exciting and dizzying (and also tiring). I see art nearly everywhere. In the endless shapes and colors around me. In people's faces. In pine needles. In computer components. In visual pictures I form while listening to certain songs. Even in the trash alongside the freeway.

Apparently, the clothing company Banana Republic has been thinking the same thing. In the midst of all their ads, you'll find the url, www.findtheartintheeveryday.com. When I saw that, I thought, "Yeah, that's what I've been thinking!" Turns out their idea is a little different than mine, but it's still a cool little video. The image above is a cut from a video where people come out of a building to form different shapes while the tune 'Mad World' plays.

This art video is contrived vs. really being 'everyday,' and it's been created for a commercial advertising campaign at that, so it's not quite the spirit of what I had in mind.

But I still love the thought. There is art in the everyday.

My challenge as an artist is to take all those spinning thoughts and inputs, and soak it all up. And to dive in and start creating from all that inspiration.

2005-10-13T14:05:00.000-07:00

Yeah, but you didn’t.

I have never really understood the all-black canvas. Maybe it’s my imagination, but it seems that of the handful of modern art museums I’ve visited, they each had a plain black canvas. Granted, maybe there was some texture, but it was all black. Or all blue.

Ad Reinhardt, Abstract Painting, 1960–66.
Oil on canvas, 60 x 60 inches.
Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum

And that’s where the disdain starts. You hear it right there in the museum. You say it. I say it. We ALL at least think it: “Well, shit, anybody could do that.”

I repeated this sentiment to an old instructor of mine.

With a bit of irritation he said, “Yeah, but you didn’t.”

To some degree, maybe that’s the case with all art. Anyone could do it. But everyone isn't doing it. It’s about the doing, the exploration, and the sensory experience that happens at the end. Whether that’s looking at a textured all-black canvas. Or a smooth, almost iridescent blue canvas. You see something. Maybe you feel something.

And if you don’t, move on to something else. Maybe a Rothko that at least blends two colors.

Or go paint your own all-black canvas. Ad Reinhardt apprently spent fourteen years doing it. He described his black canvasas thus: "A free, unmanipulated, unmanipulatable, useless, unmarketable, irreducible, unphotographable, unreproducible, inexplicable icon.”

Whatever you do, don't just stand there in the museum talking about what you could do.

2005-10-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

Always Take Time for Art

I was on duty today as docent for the Peninsula Museum of Art (www.peninsulamuseum.org) and had the pleasure of several appreciate visitors coming in. As a volunteer docent (something I began last month), I welcome folks and explain a bit about the current exhibit.

Photo: Vistors and clock inside Musée D'Orsay in Paris.

One fellow came in just as I was about to close up, but I decided to stay a few minutes to give him a chance to look around. He had been walking around while his car was being serviced, and he seemed so pleased to have come upon the museum.

A woman and her teenage son also came in today. When I asked if they'd been in before, she said no, they'd just been in the area and spotted the museum.

She said with a smile, and almost a giggle: "And we always make time to look at art."

Good thinking. Me too.

2005-10-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

Art-Talk and Wine-Talk

I’ve decided that talking about art is very similar to talking about wine. Grasping to find words to explain the sensory, the visual, the tastes on your palette.

It’s funny-- I have the same caution around wine talk as I have with art talk. I enjoy my share of wine, but I'm not so adept of articulating what I like. Thankfully, my husband keeps track of which wines I like, in addition to which ones he likes.

Sometimes I can go so far as to say “fruity” or “oaky.” I think these are the most obvious of flavors. Once I think I said “seems like hints of chocolate.” But I don’t feel adept or comfortable going much farther. I can’t rattle off, “berries, pear, tar, tannins, acidic, not acidic, long in the somethingerother, etc.”

Much of my wine talk has been sadly limited to “I like it.” (or “I don’t like it.”) And, “I’d love another glass.”

Sometimes my lack of description is about not being sure, not being able to identify the particular taste. Sometimes, it’s that I’d rather just appreciate it and drink it than talk about it.

Sounds a bit like an art-talk experience.

At my second artist reception (just yesterday), art and wine came together. My husband had picked out a nice New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and for a few minutes, it was the talk of the reception. A couple of us, including me, said, “Wow” on first sip.

“It really has some unusual flavors,” I said. “Not sure quite sure how to describe it, but it’s got a lot going on in there. Rich and flavorful. I like it.”

Sounds like a good art experience.

Hey, even Picasso couldn’t find all the words.

“I do not say everything, but I paint everything….” Pablo Picasso (Feb 21, 1966)

2005-10-09T22:33:00.000-07:00

You’re inspired by ME?! Likewise.

Having just recently taken a step from anonymously painting alone, or painting once a week in an adult-ed class, to being what I’ll call “out and about,” I’ve been shocked to find that people think I know what I’m doing. And even more jarring, they have been inspired by me.

On the one hand, I certainly do know what I’m doing. I’ve been painting a dozen years. I have developed my own unique style. I have a dedicated studio room in my home. I know what Alizarin-Crimson, Cadmium Red Light, and Pthalo Green are.

But despite all this, on some levels I feel like a newbie.

I’ve never stretched my own canvas.
I’ve never done a mixed-media work.
I don’t know how to price my work (or perhaps I do, but I’d like to earn more than the market and protocol suggests).
I never went to art school.
I just learned about the existence of Zinc White!
(How could I have not known about a semi-transparent, mixing white acrylic paint?! All this time, I’ve only had Titanium White. A current instructor said-- Not to worry. He’d had a similar late-discovery of Zinc White. Incidentally, he also told me about a painter who exclusively painted in white, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.)

So, as a relative newbie and someone ignorant of Zinc White, you can imagine my surprise when other folks were inspired by me. It’s humbling, and uniquely, equally inspiring.

From Store Aisle to the Art Institute
While shopping for new supplies (including Zinc White of course) I met another artist, the woman helping me in the store. I was asking her about brands of paint, and we got talking a bit -- I’ve found I’ve become overly chatty since I began diving into my artwork; hence the blog. The blog also provides an alternative outlet vs. boring my husband to death with every art-related thought that my mind is currently exploding with.

But anyway, we got talking a bit, and I mentioned my class. She asked where I was taking it, and when I told her it was a continuing education class at San Francisco Art Institute, she was interested to hear more. She said that she too had always been impressed with that college and interested in their classes, but, we agreed, it was a bit of an effort, especially getting up there from the peninsula area. She said she was inspired by my enthusiasm with this class. "Now I’m inspired to think I too can take a class up there soon," she said.

If You Can Share, Maybe I Can Too
During my first artist reception, a friend said, “This is so exciting for me. It’s really inspiring.” He has been writing a book, but he said he hasn’t yet shared it with anyone. “It’s great to see you sharing you work with people,” he said.

This kind of feedback and enthusiasm makes me realize that, while there is much for me to learn and a vast world of art yet to explore and develop... I’m doing it. All of a sudden, I’m doing it. People are inspired and proud and enjoying it. And so am I!

Art can be an internal, lone endeavor, but it’s also about sharing and impacting. I’ve been surprised to find that I’ve already reached a few people.

When a friend told me the other day that she was proud of me, and brought me a beautiful bouquet of roses at my reception, I felt perhaps a bit proud, certainly very appreciative, and also humble. It’s an interesting mix of sensations that makes me feel both centered and like I’m floating on air.

It’s mutual inspiration.

2005-10-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

Artsy-Fartsy Talk-- attempting to verbalize the visual

I'm entering into the world of art -- with a bizarre mix of excitement and trepidation, optimism and cynicism, doubts and grand dreams, and undoubtedly some naivete. I've been painting for a dozen years, but I am just now getting more "serious" about my artwork, getting involved in local artist groups, and I've just had my first exhibit.

I thought I'd start this art blog -- to capture my thoughts during this time of exploration, and to find another way to "be an artist." Meaning the blog can at least help me get started in "talking the talk."

So, I'll start with my thoughts on art talk itself.

My day job is in communications, so theoretically, talking and writing about art should be the easy part for me. But au contraire. Verbalizing the visual has proved more difficult than facing the dreaded white canvas.

There are two fears-- one, not wanting to sound like a stuffy, pseudo-intellectual, artsy-fartsy goon, and two, not wanting to sound-- or be-- completely full of myself.

It took me several months to write my artist statement, and I'm still tweaking it. In fact, I wonder if it will ever be final, or if I'll ever be completely comfortable with it. To get started, I looked online and found how-to tips... how long it should be, what it should cover, and sample statements. The general advice was that your artist statement should explain your inspiration. But for years I had avoided conversations of 'what is your art about?' or 'what does it mean?'

When I found artist statements where the work was an expression of something timely and controversial, say the diminishing ozone layer, or where the artist was from another country, I was honestly jealous. Everyone seems to have something to say about the ozone, for example. So, it seems safe or easy --natural and universal that there would be a sense of emptiness or concern to convey.

And from another country-- maybe it's just me, but I love that one! It feels like an automatic ticket to understanding. Ah, here I see the colors of Mexico or the reflection of the strife of the people in the Middle East. And when the artist and the work is from somewhere else, it feels somehow immediately special. It's different, otherworldly, more artistic.

My artwork happens to be particularly personal. Therefore, it carries the risk of sounding particularly self-absorbed. It comes from my emotions, and often from my struggles and pains. If I were painting images that were some type of social commentary, I suspect it would be easier for me to talk about it. I could comment on the outside world more readily than my inside world. But perhaps not. I think that all art-- or at least all good art-- is ultimately a personal portrayal or reflection of the artist. And it can be difficult to lay out your inner emotions in plain words. Then it's even trickier to somehow tie those emotions to why you chose the particular shade of Thalo green for the left side of the face.

Sometimes the answer is simply, "I don't know."
Or "Because."
Or "Do you like it or not?! Just look. Don't ask questions."

Other times it might be, "Because I was sick with doubts and self-reproach. Because I was on the verge of getting through a painful time, still a little sick on the inside but knowing I could get through it and find joy and optimism... Yeah, and that yellow part is the optimism."

I find that these types of explanations can sound simultaneously meaningful and trite... and back to fear #2 -- potentially full of myself.

But then I say to myself (dear God, is there also internal art talk?!), "Am I doing this art thing or not?" If so, I have to be able to talk about it.

An experience of art can simply be looking at it, and having whatever straightforward reaction comes to you. You like it, you don't, you feel happy or sad, or whatever.

Another way of experiencing art is to try to understand it, and to try to understand what the artist is attempting to convey. Inevitably, that understanding seems to require a conversation with actual words. I suspect that conversation and understanding may enable people to better appreciate and enjoy the art.

And I'm pretty sure that's the point in the first place.

So, I dive in, finding what words I can. Through trial and error, I am finding which words I'm comfortable with, which ones I wish I might have skipped, and which ones seem to make sense to people.

The easiest ones to find so far, have been "Thank you." For coming to my reception, and for looking at my artwork. And for listening to my artsy-fartsy talk.