Mount Gretna School of Art (Part 2)

“I see a shape. I like it. I draw it.” — Maria Michurina

“Favorite Shapes” painted paper collage, 3x3 inches (inspired by what I learned from Maria Michurina in particular)

Over a month has passed since I returned home from my artist residency workshop at Mount Gretna School of the Art. I had intended to write about my experience sooner, but life got so busy! Now, as I re-read my diary from that time, memories get stirred up. This blog post is my attempt to remember it all, and to set it in my heart. Perhaps it will prove helpful or interesting to you, too!

The workshop at Mount Gretna was led by instructor Ken Kewley. It was two weeks long in total, but the two weeks were divided into two one-week sessions. The sessions were separated by a period of about six weeks in between, during which we could work on what we learned. I already wrote about my first week here: Artist Residency at Mount Gretna School of Art (part 1).

Below is one of the collages I created during the interim between the sessions. I was playing with the composition I found in El Greco’s “Purification of the Temple.”

“The Purification of the Temple,” after El Greco” painted paper collage, 5.25 x 7 inches

“The Purification of the Temple” painting by El Greco

Week 2 of the artist residency-workshop began on Sunday, October 30th. My cottage was the same as before. And just as before, I shared the cottage with two other artists: Natasha and Sheri. By this time, I felt like the three of us had become close friends. I really enjoyed sharing a cottage with them, cooking meals together, and staying up late talking about art and life.

Me, Natasha, and Sheri: a late-night selfie!

Monday October 31st “Monday morning! Having my coffee. Sheri and Natasha are chatting nearby. The three of us stayed up very late last night (eleven!) and I was so excited and had trouble falling asleep. Looking at a Cezanne book now.” —my diary

On the first day, we worked on the same set of 9 collages from 9 am to 5 pm. There were eight students in total, and we all worked quietly and industriously. It felt sort of like meditation. Everytime we finished a series, Ken would scan them, print out the scanned versions, and hand those back to us. Then we would collage over them all over again. And again, and again. One of the main points of this exercise was to be very intentional about where we placed each shape. For some reason, this was more challenging for me than just doing “whatever.” Anyway, it was a full day, and I felt pretty exhausted by dinnertime.

Here are my notes from this day:

• Be very aware of the shape, what it is touching.

• Be aware of ALL the shapes.

• Make sure you LIKE all the unexpected shapes you create. If not, deal with them.

Some of my collages from day one.

“If you have no destination, you can’t get lost.”

—Ken Kewley

One of my many collages from Day 1.

On Tuesday, we had a real treat. The guest artist arrived, and it was Maria Michurina. She had a fun day planned for us. First we each made a little handmade book with blank pages. Then she had us go outside and walk around in the landscape, drawing all the shapes we liked best. We drew with thick, dark 8B pencils. On each page, we put in a simple, enclosed rectangle before we started drawing shapes. Maria told us that the rectangle on the page was like a sock drawer, and each shape was like a funny little sock. We were trying to organize the “socks” within the drawer.

Here are two of my “sock drawers”:

“I see a shape.

I like it.

I draw it.”

—-Maria Michurina

Then we each picked two of our favorite shapes and played around with them, in a series of small collages. We were limited to six colors each. At the end of the day, we made cute little boxes to keep our art and books in. We decorated our boxes with colored paper.

Here are the different assignments Maria gave us, and two of my collages from these assignments:

Maria’s assignments, things to do with our favorite shapes.

“The color picked first is the right color.

However, it will be changed.”

—Maria Michurina

painted paper collage, 3x4 inches

“When you work from life,

you see a shape, you make that shape,

you place it where it feels good.”

—Maria Michurina

painted paper collage, 3x4 inches

Maria Michurina gave two artist talks on two separate evenings. Here are some of my notes from her talks:

• There is freedom for the viewer to make up a story.

• Visual versus verbal stories (they are different)

• The shapes tell their own stories.

• “The painting is good because he found something he didn’t know.” —M.M., referring to Laocoön by El Greco)

• One shape at a time.

The following day, Wednesday, we had a live model. We did a series of collages from her in the same pose, from different angles. Some notes from this day:

• “You can make the dark light and the light dark. You can even switch midstream if you want.” — Ken Kewley

• Think of the collage as if you were talking with your hands, describing: “This is here. This is here.” etc.

My collages of the model:

We also built sculptures of the model out of cardboard, tape, and paint. Then we worked from our sculptures after the model left.

My cardboard lady.

Drawing from my cardboard lady.

Stanley Lewis

That same evening, we had the amazing opportunity to hear the renowned artist Stanley Lewis give a talk!

Here are some of my notes from that talk:

• the world is warping as you paint

• use a knife to cut lines and flowers out of the paper, then glue white paper behind it (for white in a drawing, rather than erasing)

• Everything has to relate to everything.

• Try to do small paintings of your bigger paintings.

• Look at a picture, such as a Bruegel picture, for two minutes a day.

Below is a painting by Stanley Lewis:

“Looking up at the House", 2019” painting by Stanley Lewis, tempera and acrylic on paper, 33x40 inches

Now here is my own collage of the preceding Stanley Lewis painting that I did on Friday of that week:

“Responding to Stanley Lewis” painted paper collage, 2x3 inches

“I’m exactly like a student.”

— Stanley Lewis

Another fun assignment towards the end of the week was working with a partner, whoever we sat next to. Without peeking at what our neighbor was doing, we cut shapes out of our paper, and handed them over. Our neighbor then had to use whatever shape (and color) that we gave them to make a collage of their own. In exchange, we would get one of their shapes to collage with, so it was a collaborative effort.

It was fun getting colors and shapes that were out of my control, and trying to work with what I was given. My parter was Garrett Moore, and I really enjoyed using his colors. At least four or five times, we handed each other almost the exactly same shape and/or color! It was such an incredible coincidence, it made us wonder if there was something supernatural happening.

Here is the collage I ended up making with the colors and shapes Garrett handed to me.

“Duet with Garrett” painted paper collage, 3x3 inches

Towards the end of the week, we did a series of black and white and gray collages of movie stills. This is my favorite one that I made:

“Sorry Wrong Number” painted paper collage, 2x2 inches

On Thursday afternoon, Ken encouraged us to wander around Mount Gretna and make sketches that we would use the next day in collages, using what we had learned during the week.

Sketching outside at Mount Gretna, looking for favorite shapes!

“Cat with green eyes” painted paper collage, 3x3 inches

“Shadows on a Wall” painted paper collage, 3x3 inches

Last class day, Friday, looking at each other’s work.

A few of us after dinner on Friday night, the last official group dinner: Garrett, me, Sheri and Natasha.

(Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get a photo of all eight of us.)

Although most people left Friday or early Saturday, I stayed until Sunday afternoon, just enjoying the peace and quiet. Natasha and Ken were there too, so we were able to have some pleasant meals and conversations together and reflect on the week.

November 6th (my diary)

“Sunday morning, raining steadily outside the cottage. Today we go home.

Most people have already left. I’ll clean up the cottage this morning and pack.

The rain drums steadily on the porch roof—the door is open to the porch, letting in the fresh air and smells of wet autumn leaf decay, of change. Yesterday, Natasha and I went on a glorious autumn hike in the surrounding woods, which still displays some colors, reds and oranges against the blue sky. The golden sunlight came down. We talked about deep personal issues, and the need to love and take care of oneself…

I’m sad to be leaving this place. ”

“Figs on a plate” painted paper collage, 6x6 inches, using techniques I learned from Ken Kewley’s workshop

So there it is. I feel like I have given my best effort to describe my time at Mount Gretna School of Art. I have given you a little taste of a week that was so rich and full and wonderful that it could have filled hundreds of pages!

“The heart, love in its delicate gentleness,

is still the best and only guide.”

—Odilon Redon, quoted during Maria’s talk

Further Reading: Artist Residency at Mount Gretna School of Art (week 1)

Artist Residency at Mount Gretna School of Art

I recently had the wonderful opportunity to go to the Mount Gretna School of Art for the Fall Interval artist residency program. This program is two weeks long, but the weeks are spread out with over a month in between. The first week was September 18th-23. I will return for my second week this coming Sunday, in only four days!

In the weeks since I was last at Mount Gretna, I have been trying to process the experience. It was such a rich and full week that it feels impossible to distill it into a blog post. But I’ll try my best to at least give you a glimpse.

On Sunday, September 18th, I packed my bags and drove out to Mount Gretna, PA, a rural town about 40 minutes north of Lancaster, and less than two hours south-west from my home in Easton, PA.

When I arrived at my cottage in the early afternoon, it was empty. I was the first one to arrive. I went in, and found the bedroom with my name on it. It was called the “Chagall” room which felt like a good omen, because Chagall is my favorite artist. I immediately loved my room and the quaint cottage. It was so full of tempting art books and beautiful original paintings left behind by students from residencies past.

settled into the Chagall room with my teddy bear on my pillow—she comes with me when I travel alone

I had some time on my hands, so I walked around to explore the funny little village of Mount Gretna. I was surprised to discover such a unique place. It was adorable, shabby, cozy, woodsy, and intriguing. There were lots of little pathways weaving in and out through dozens and dozens of quaint little gingerbread-type houses. There were gardens filled with gnomes and fairy tea parties and wind chimes and statues and funny little signs. I was delighted by everything I discovered, and almost felt like I had landed in some other world.

walking through the little village of Mount Gretna

Later that afternoon, I met my two wonderful housemates, Sheri and Natasha. They were both very warm and friendly people. Others started to arrive. In total, we were nine artists at Mount Gretna School of Art, spread out amongst a few different cottages within walking distance of each other.

That evening we all gathered on the deck of the community building for a delicious meal of vegetable soup. I was nervous to meet a bunch of new people, but everyone was very kind, and I soon felt right at home. I had a hard time sleeping at night; I woke up several times out of sheer excitement.

The next day we met at 9 am in the community building. Thus began a very full week of art-making, learning, and playing. We worked on our art from 9am to 5 pm every day, with communal dinners, art talks, and presentations in the evenings.

The community building that we used as a classroom space was spacious and reminded me of a pavilion. There were tall windows open floor to ceiling all around the building. The sunlight and beautiful autumn colors seemed to fall right into the building, and the wind blew all around. The instructor, Ken Kewley, asked us not to talk excessively or have conversations, so we worked in silence. We followed different instructions for a series of art exercises involving pens, paper, glue, paint and scissors. At first, I was unused to so much quiet, but after I got into the flow, it became like a meditation.

Our classroom had a piano (on the left) and I came early most mornings to play the piano, which helped me relax and feel grounded.

We started out by painting paper. We painted countless sheets of paper (regular computer printer paper) each with a different color we mixed. We could mix any color we desired. I mostly used full body Golden Acrylic paints.

It was blissful to get lost in the process of painting colors and suddenly look up and realize that hours had gone by. But it was exhausting and overwhelming too! That night, and every night, I had dreams about colors and I would wake up in the middle of the night out of pure excitement. I wrote a poem about it: Dreaming in Colors.

some of my painted papers, spread out to dry on the floor

We did so many different exercises that involved filling up squares with different compositions. Each exercise built upon the one before. One of my favorties was this:

1. Fill square with base color (I used gray)

2. Three shapes of one color (I used green)

3. Three shapes of base color (back to gray)

4. Three shapes of same step 2 color

5. Back and forth between step 2&3

   (there was a timer, 15 minutes I think, so we had to just keep going back and forth until the timer rang.)

   Here is my collage from that exercise, using two colors back and forth.

Painted paper collage, 3x3 inches

Another fun thing we did was work on each other’s painting. Ken distributed a piece of paper with small black-and-white reproductions of all our paintings, one painting per student. (Mine is the top center.) Then we had to play around with collage, responding to each one, using gray, black, and white.

I learned so much having to simplify these paintings into colors and shapes. It was also incredibly valuable to see all the other artists’ versions of my own painting. It made me think about the possibilities of my painting in ways I never would have considered before!

student paintings (reproduced small in black and white)

My collage versions of the student paintings.

We also did exercises working with our own paintings in color. Below you can see three of my oil paintings, which I had submitted via email before the residency. Below each one, I made a collage of the painting, simplifying each one into five colors. We were allowed to make small modifications to the original image and play around a little, so it wasn’t an exact reproduction. To me it felt like having a conversation with the painting. The painting could “talk” to me, and it could tell me different ways that it wanted to be, different possibilities.

I got so much out of doing this! It was very liberating, fun, and useful. Going forward in my studio practice, if I find myself stuck on a painting, I will definitely do some collages of the painting and see what comes of it.

Three of my oil paintings with corresponding collages beneath them.

This is the only photo I have of myself at my work station. I love it because I was so happy and I was laughing so hard when my artist friend Judy took the photo. The seltzer cans are part of a silly inside joke…you had to be there.

Another fun thing we did sometime during the week was built little “stage sets” out of cardboard, tape, and paint. The sets were representations of our painting worlds.

Here is my artist friend (and housemate) Natasha, hard at work on her “stage set.”

This is my onw “stage set,” built out of cardboard, tape, and paint

After we made our cardboard stage sets, we did little collages of them, turning them to different angles. That really was cool, because you can’t do that with a two-dimensional painting! We did collages in black and white first, then later in color.

This is my favorite collage that I did from that exercise. I was responding to my friend Aleeza’s “stage set.” It is 2x2 inches.

Below are three collages I made of my own “stage set.”

painted paper collage, 2x2 inches

Around the middle of the week, we were visited by the Israeli artist, Rotem Amizur. She was the guest teacher for the day. She had us to paint our papers with two layers of color, rather than one. Ideally, the colors were to be two “opposites.” For example a cool light color over top a warm dark color.

One thing that stands out to me is Rotem’s advice to think about colors in “pairs.” We spent a lot of time putting two colors side by side to see if they were the right pair.

“The right pair is magic,” Rotem said. “You should have a sense of place just from the color pairs.”

We worked outdoors with collage, using pins on a foam board to move shapes around.

“Mount Gretna Landscape” painted paper collage, 8 1/2 x 10 7/8 inches

work in progress

“Green sun, pink sky” painted paper collage, 5 3/8ths x 8 1/2 inches

We did a lot more during the week than I feel is realistic to describe here. When the lass class finally ended Friday evening, I was exhausted by happy, as if I had eaten a very, very full meal that I needed to digest. Even though the other artists left Friday night or early Saturday morning, I stayed through the weekend, resting and trying to process everything I had learned. I also enjoyed some quiet time in my cottage and walking around in nature. I finally got to read some of those art books and reflect on what I had learned.

I wrote in my journal that weekend:

Sept. 23, 2022: “It has been such a week! My head is spinning with colors as I fall asleep, beautiful sheets of painted paper. Some colors are so exciting, it’s hard to fall asleep. Even in my dreams, I am making collages, cutting and pasting color shapes. My fingertips are rough with dried glue. Every morning I wake up early. It’s too exciting to sleep!”

I am very excited to go back for week two! I hope to write about it here when I return.

Continue with Mount Gretna School of Art Part 2

“Invented Landscape” painted paper collage, 3x4 inches

All of the collages in this blog post are my own original work. These and other collages from the artist residency are available for sale, and I can have them framed upon request. Pricing varies. Please email me for more details: lauren@laurenkindle.com

Further Reading:

• Dreaming in Colors

• Girl With a Flute

• My Morning with Ken Kewley

Dreaming in Colors

a poem

Every night I close my eyes,

And someone places a sheet of painted paper behind my eyelids,

One color after another:

Misty blue, forest green,

Purple-gray, and burning red…

The colors saturate my dreams.

I am too excited to sleep.

The windows are open from floor to ceiling,

And the wind blows all around, like the ocean.

We are monks on an island, not speaking,

Bent over in our devotional task.

Painting, cutting, and gluing.

Only the sunlight visits us.

I thought everyone dreamed in colors?

poem by Lauren Kindle, October 2022

Further Reading: Artist Resdiency at the Mount Gretna School of Art

Envelope Art: Cats

“The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room, not try to be or do anything whatever.”

—May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

I love my cats. They are always lying around in beautiful poses, waiting to be drawn. They are not productive, nor do they seem stressed, ever. Sometimes I think they are teaching an ongoing Master Class in How-to-Rest.

I also love to write letters. It brings me a sense of serenity to sit on a Saturday morning, pen in hand, and conjure up a far away friend in my mind’s eye. After I have written, if I have time, I sometimes paint the envelope, turning the whole message into a small gift of love.

Related Blog Posts:

Envelope Art: Lovers

Envelope Art: Flowers

Strange Love Letters

A Childhood Memory

Envelope Art: Lovers

“Love is a circle that doth restless move/ In the same sweet eternity of love.”

--Robert Herrick, 1591-1674

“…I dreamed that the universe had a party,; All the stars were invited…”

—Kate Farrell, excerpt from poem: “The Double Bubble of Infinity”

Further Reading:

Envelope Art: Flowers

Strange Love Letters

A Childhood Memory

Envelope Art: Cats

Envelope Art: Flowers

“How can I make it simple?”

I like to write letters. When I have time, I like to decorate the envelopes with artwork.

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Further Reading:

Strange Love Letters

Envelope Art: Cats

Envelope Art: Lovers

A strange lover letter…

The Blue Easel

“Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of Life.”

— William (Bill) Mutschler, Sr. (carved in the front steps of the Blue Easel)

I frequently go to the Blue Easel to get paintings framed. Bill, the owner, is the person who does a lot of the framing.* He loves to talk, and we always have interesting conversations. He is about 85 years old, and still busy and productive and full of energy. It’s quite impressive; I’m sure he has more energy than I do!

And of course, I am always pleased with the beautiful frames he builds for me. Here are some photos from a couple recent paintings he framed. Both of these paintings are available for sale.

*2024 Update: Bill has since retired and the shop is now competently run by his wonderful granddaughter Colleen. I continue to get my paintings framed there.

“Strawberries” oil on board, 8x8 inches (11.5x11.5 including frame)

“Red Tulips” oil on canvas mounted on board, 16x12 inches (not including frame)

available at Dwell Fine Art & Craft

Bill also framed this monotype below: “Muse, writing a song.” (Sold.)

Bill, busy at his work!

The inside of the Blue Easel is fascinating, it’s almost like a museum! In addition to frames, there are all kinds of other interesting objects like antique tools and old pieces of artwork. The building itself is very old, it was once a mill. The building is close to the Bushkill Creek, and often there is flooding in that area. Two years ago there was a really bad flood and also a heroic rescue by brave emergency workers. You can read that story here. Bill told me they are still dealing with damages from that flood, but luckily nobody was hurt.

So much to see! You could spend a long time poking around…

Recently two new occupants arrived at the Blue Easel: kittens! Bella and Barney are so cute, I can’t stand it. Every time we go, my son and I love to play with them. Barney comes out more readily; Bella is shy.

(If you are interested in having a kitten of your own, Bella and Barney have four more siblings that need to be adopted. Contact the Blue Easel.)

Frame shop kittens!

Kitten and Kid, being cute

There is such a nice personal touch at the Blue Easel, and I always enjoy my errands there. I never go when I am feeling rushed, I like to just enjoy the experience and have a nice long chat with Bill. On the way out, I say goodbye to Saint Francis, an impish toddler, and a goat.

Saint Francis

Impish Toddler and Goat

“Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of Life.” — carved in the front steps of the Blue Easel

The Blue Easel

2006 Stocker Mill Road, Easton PA, 18045

(610) 253-1131

Tuesday-Saturday 9:30 am- 5 pm

Cape May 2022

At the end of June, my 12-year-old son Morgan and I drove to Cape May to spend a few days with my sisters and parents. One of my sisters had rented a house right in the little town of Cape May, very near the ocean. We have all gone to Cape May for a week, many years in a row, with the pandemic being the exception. When I go, I love to wake up at 4:30 am to paint the sunrise.

One morning, Morgan woke up early and he came along with me! I couldn’t believe he wanted to wake up so early, but I was happy he came. He brought his new drone which he got for his birthday in March, and he used it to make this amazing video:

Morgan and me. (photo credit: kindly passerby)

It was a glorious brilliant pink sunrise. What would I do without my beloved “opera rose” paint? (Holbein Quinacridone Opera) Morgan was a great companion. It was truly a wonderful time and I was very proud of my painting. But then, as I was packing up and taking down my easel, I dropped the whole painting face-down on the sand! Luckily I was able to salvage it, removing the worst clumps of sand, and then a little bit of re-painting.

Maybe even better than before…

“Morning Lighthouse” oil and sand on board, 8x10 inches

We packed up and walked back to the rental house, arriving before anyone else woke up. The rest of the day was spent with activities such as these: relaxing, playing with Morgan’s little cousins, working on a puzzle, napping, and going back to the beach for a swim. I made a couple other paintings at the beach that week, but I’m not quite finished with them, yet.

“Pink Sailboat at Dawn” gouache on paper, 6x4 inches

Related Reading:

Cape May Paintings (2018)

Cape May Paintings (2019)

Li Po

a poem by Fred Lowe

“Li-Po reaches for the moon” monotype by Lauren Kindle, 4x6 inches

Li Po #1

According to legend, Li-Po (Li-Bo, Li-Bai), one of the great poets of China’s T’ang, got drunk one night and climbed into his boat to view the moon. He rowed to the middle of the river so that the river-bank trees wouldn’t obcure his view.

The moon came with him, floating alongside the boat. Li-Po, thoroughly drunk with wine, but also with ZUI, the state of intoxication brought on by the moon’s full-faced radiance, reached overboard to grab her.

“Moon-drunk” monotype by Lauren Kindle, 4x6 inches

The boat tipped. He tumbled into the river and drowned.

Imagine his surprise: the moon disk that a few seconds before

had been drifting placidly beside him, now wobbled in shim-

mery splinters above him as the cold, black current scraped

him against the bottom stones—

With no witness, how did the story go forward?

a drifting oar

the empty boat

the sour smell of spilled wine

“Broken reflection” monotype by Lauren Kindle, 4x6 inches

“Li Po #1” was originally published in 2018 in The Moon Book, a poetry anthology. To purchase a booklet, email Fred Lowe at flowejr@embarqmail.com.

Fred Lowe: In addition to journal publications and two Pushcart Nominations, Fred specializes in collaborative projects with graphic artists. Singing Head, a hand-fabricated book illustrated by Val Sivilli, appeared in 2014. The Moon Book also with Ms. Sivilli was published in 2018. Tobar Diary, a publication of the Moonstone Press with original cover by Richard K Mills, was published the same year. Fred lives in Frenchtown, New Jersey and in Halls Mills, Maine.

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Further Reading (more poetry)

The Dust Bowl of My Elbow by Margaret Campbell

Hands by Margaret Campbell

Virgil’s Muse by Margaret Campbell

In This One by Kat Good-Schiff

Masterpiece by Ian Kindle

Glutton Before Death by Lauren Kindle

My Son by Lauren Kindle

Roman Moon by Lauren Kindle

Shapes by Lauren Kindle

Edge by JD Wissler

Light of the Firefly by JD Wissler

Stars Make Their Own Space by JD Wissler

Dear Mom, I love you a lot…

This is beautiful little note that my daughter wrote to me about four years ago, I think. So she would have been eleven years old. I love this note, and I keep it taped up on my studio wall, and I read it often. I feel very grateful and loved.

Dear Mom,

I love you a lot and I hope you feel better. Here is some advice:

Whenever you are going hard on yourself and thinking negative things, think about all the good things you have, Love yourself and believe in yourself and your art, Even when you don’t make money you are still a great person and artist, and remember that you are loved, amazing, worthwhile and an incredible person. I love you sooo much.

Love, Nell

Nell and me in the studio a couple weeks ago, during “Take-Your-Kid-To-Work” Day.

Nell’s first oil painting, age fifteen. (“Take-Your-Kid-To-Work Day”)

Further Reading:

Having an Artist Mom (a guest blog post from my daughter when she was 9)

Sharing Wonder: Looking at Art Books with my Daughter

Reading Art Books With My Daughter (Reprise)

Missing Bill

painting detail by Bill Barrell

I knew Bill for a long time.  I first met him back in early 2007, when my husband and I first moved to Easton with our newborn daughter.  I quickly befriended my neighbor, Liza, who was also a new mother with a baby girl, and we spent many lovely days wandering around Easton with our babies in their strollers.

Me and Liza at a local farm with our babies in 2007. (These babies are now 15 and 16 years old.)

The first time we stopped by Liza’s parents’ house downtown, with our babies in tow, I was immediately impressed by its beauty.  The home was spacious and bright, with high ceilings and white walls drenched in sunlight which flooded in through the many large windows.  Marilyn and Bill were so courteous and welcoming.  Bill made us tea in a large teapot, which, along with his charming accent, made me feel like I was in England.

painting by Bill Barrell

I was amazed by the huge paintings hanging on the walls of their house.  I learned that Bill was a painter, and he had a long and successful painting career behind him.  During one visit, Bill showed me his studio down in the basement.  I was just blown away by the power and quantity of the paintings.  I also felt wistful, even sad.  Something in me longed to paint too, but that desire seemed completely unachievable to me at the time. 

But Bill encouraged me. 

“Just do it,” he said.   

Bill’s studio, open to visitors during the memorial.

painting by Bill Barrell (Liza, pregnant)

I had another baby, and I was quickly overwhelmed by the responsibilities of motherhood.  It seemed even less possible than ever to paint now.  But Liza told me it was possible.  She recounted wonderful stories of her own childhood, and what it was like growing up with an artist dad in Jersey City.  It sounded dreamy, magical, and best of all, achievable.  But still, I couldn’t figure out how Bill had managed it. 

painting by Bill Barrell

“Are you painting?” Bill would ask every time we brought our kids over for a visit.  Liza had another baby by then as well.  We were both so busy taking care of little ones. 

“No,” I would say as I changed a diaper.  “It’s too difficult.  I don’t have time.  Money is tight…”

Bill merely shrugged.  “You can get very cheap paint at Home Depot,” he told me.  “Ask them for the mistakes.  They’re always mixing mistake colors, and they sell them cheap!”  He waved his hands, to show how easy it was.  Not only easy, but necessary, even obligatory. 

Bill just assumed that of course one would paint.   An artist just paints, that’s all there is to it.  Logistics would have to figure themselves out.

painting by Bill Barrell

“But you were lucky,” I told him one day, as Bill poured me and Liza a second cup of tea. 

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bill said, sipping his tea.  “It was hard work.”  He said it with a smile and a sense of satisfaction, the way a skilled laborer might talk after building a solid stone wall.  Hard work, but satisfying.

Bill’s paintings and art books

Years passed, and my kids grew older and went to school.  Eventually I did figure out how to be an artist.  It was hard work, but I knew I was in good company.  Bill continued to give me a lot of encouragement when I posted my paintings on Facebook.

“Very beautifully composed,” he wrote in a comment once.  “And colors are a knockout.  Keep ‘em coming!” I copied down everything he told me in my sketchbook, to read and re-read during my dark bouts of self-doubt and despair. 

When I had struggles, I would reach out to him.  He offered to write me a letter of recommendation for the Pollock Krasner award, a grant which he himself had won twice.  I didn’t get the grant, but he kept encouraging me anyway. 

“Well nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said, when I didn’t get the grant.  “Keep trying, every year.”

Bill’s art supplies

Bill also supported me by buying a few paintings from me in recent years, which helped tremendously.  He continued to advise and promote me during the last years of his life.  He listened to me when I told him of my struggles.  He helped me have confidence in myself and my own path as an artist.  He showed me how to not care too much about other peoples’ opinions and judgements. 

Painting, and being authentic to oneself, was of primary importance.  I’ve never met a man so confident of his vocation and abilities.  He radiated confidence.

painting by Bill Barrell

“I understand, Lauren,” he wrote to me in one of his last messages.  “I have been painting for over sixty years.  I was a late bloomer at 25.  Been through thick and thin.  So I recognize where you are coming from…You are a good artist.  I like the way you explore different approaches.  Your drawings are graceful.”  I wrote his words down in sketchbook, hungry for encouragement.

For some reason, I sort of assumed that Bill would always be in my life, a mentor, a guiding star, an example of hard work and confidence in the artists’ path.  When he died, I was stunned.  It just didn’t feel real.

paintings by BIll Barrell

A few weeks ago I was painting in my studio.  Suddenly, I fervently wished that I could show Bill what I was working on.  It was something big, something new.  I knew he would be excited about it.  He would really get it!  But then it hit me…

I could never show Bill what I was working on, not then, not ever again.  That’s when I finally cried, there in my studio with blue paint on my jeans and on my face.

I miss having someone in the world who believed in me so much.  I miss him as a mentor and as a person, but I’m grateful that I had the chance to know him. It was a real gift.  I feel close to him when I am painting in the studio, whenever I’m really on a roll, painting enthusiastically without any fear or hesitation.  In those moments, it’s like Bill is right there, too.

“Keep trucking,” he says, smiling.  “Keep ‘em coming!”

oil paints, left behind…

Man With Black Socks

What does it mean to be human?

We try so hard to connect with each other.

Even when we are angry, or confused, or scared.

We offer the gift of our vulnerability, we open ourselves up to pain.

What else can we do?

“Man with black socks and bouquet” oil on canvas, 36x28 inches (sold)

I watch my husband putting on his black socks.

His familiar movements and gestures are beautiful to me.

“Ian and his black socks” ink on paper, 11x14 inches

“Man putting on black socks” oil on canvas mounted on board, 12x7.5 inches

I look at Bonnard’s paintings of women putting on black stockings.

The paintings are sensual and tender, but they make me feel sad.

Life is short.

Ordinary moments become precious as they pass away.

And we are so hungry for connection.

We try so hard. What else can we do?

“Woman Putting on Her Stockings” Pierre Bonnard, 1893

“Woman with Black Stockings” Pierre Bonnard, 1900

another Bonnard painting

What is going on in my studio?

“…there is no difference between practice and art. The practice IS the art.” — Dani Shapiro

COLORS! My new large canvas, some preliminary marks…

I’ve started painting bigger. Recently my studio mate Elizabeth gave me a large piece of canvas, which I tacked to the wall like Bonnard. I made my first marks; it was exciting!

work-in-progress near the window…and a nice spot to have tea

I’m having a lot of fun exploring a different way of putting paint down. A lot of things are different when the scale is bigger, and I have a lot to learn. My teacher Frank used to say, “Painting itself is the best teacher.” And that feels true. I am learning so much. Like how to be less controlling and to allow the paintings take their time, to slowly evolve at their own pace. It’s so satisfying to get a lot of layers of paint down on the canvas. I’ve also learned to be more patient and comfortable with paintings when they are in their awkward, unresolved stages.

I don’t always know what’s going to happen, and I don’t need to know.

I just need to show up.

Here are some thoughts I scribbled down, from my diary two weeks ago:

Why do I want to make big paintings?

Why do I want to make narrative paintings?

Why do I want to explore the nature of oil paint in a certain way?

(well…why not?)

And also…does it matter?

“Dragon, Woman, Muse” oil on canvas (work in progress) 30x48 inches

If someone doesn’t like or approve of my paintings or my direction, does that matter?

NO.

What matters is that I am authentic to myself and obedient to my Muse.

Does envy have a place in my life? In my studio practice?

NO.

Only Gratitude.

The Painter and the Muse

a poem by Lauren Kindle

“Small muse” monotype with additional painting, 4x4 inches

The Painter and the Muse

I paint for no mortal man,

Not for you, sir, or anyone.

I paint only for myself.

I paint what I want.

I paint what I—

And then the Muse speaks

(her hand gently resting on my breast)

“Oh dear heart,

Did you really believe all that?”

(and my knees give way)

—poem by Lauren Kindle

On the easel: “Standing muse” oil on canvas, 24x8 inches

“Standing Muse” detail

More poems that I have written over the years:

Five Poems I Wrote in Italy

Shapes

Glutton Before Death

My Son

“Standing Muse” detail

“Standing Muse” detail

“Seated muse playing a harp” monotype with additional painting, 7.5x5.25 inches

“Greek Muse (1)” monotype, 10x8 inches

“Greek Muse (2)” monotype, 10x8 inches

“Muse, writing a song” 5.5x4.25 inches

Pink Clouds and Life Musings

four versions of an early morning sky, seen while waiting for the school bus

1. Fantasy

I’ve been struggling recently with my limited energy and motivation. I can’t seem to do all the things I want to do. Not even close. Painting feels exhausting. I love to do it, and I’m grateful for having the ability to do it. But it’s still exhausting.

I try to get into the studio most mornings for three hours. Then I have the afternoons theoretically “free” for appointments, or administrative tasks, or even a coffee date with a friend. Or that was my fantasy anyway. However, the reality is that after painting all morning, I just need the afternoon to rest before my kids come home from school.

2. Rest

Like…really rest. Not catch up on email. Not meet with a friend for coffee. Not work on writing a blog post.

Just Rest.

Drink tea under a blanket on the couch and pet the cat. Stare at the wall. Maybe read an Agatha Christie novel. One that I’ve already read a few times. One where I already know who the murderer is.

3. Mortality

It’s easy to feel frustrated with my low energy and how little I seem to be able to do. Should I just forget about having friendships? Can I stop doing the laundry? How badly do we need groceries? Why does the car keep having problems? Everything feels important, and demands attention.

Often, my reaction to all the things I have to do is to shut down, curl up in a ball, and not do anything at all.

I recently read a good book by Oliver Burkeman called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals. I loved it! He basically reminds his readers that life is short, and it’s actually impossible to “get everything done.” It’s impossible. And that’s a relief! That means we can quit stressing about it so much. If it’s impossible, then it’s impossible. It’s no good getting angry with ourselves for not being able to do something that is impossible.

4. Humilty

There’s a quote in Burkeman’s book which I underlined.

“…if you can step more fully into the condition of being a limited human…” then your life can be valued by “not how many people you helped, or how much you got done; but that working within the limits of your moment in history, and your finite time and talents, you actually got around to doing—and made life more luminous for the rest of us by doing—whatever magnificent task or weird little thing it was that you came here for.”

So, here’s to working within our limits with some humility and grace. Let’s celebrate our small, weird little accomplishments. It’s probably enough just to be kind, to be present, and to remember how special it is to be alive.

Hands

Why was she hiding her hands?

Ashamed of her fingernails, curved

like beaks, and terrified that the bird

of death had made his nest in her lungs,

as he had. I wish I had photographed

her hands without a cigarette, or your hands

removing the tumor, the way Paul Strand

photographed Georges Braque's hands

in quiet repose on a stone the shape of

his trepanned skull. The encyclopedic

left thumb reads the letter of the burr hole.

Where have these hands been? Cross-hatched

windows of skin look out over pools

of knuckles narrating line after line

of the hands' work and the life lived.

Between the tender bed and the nails,

the quarter moon of infancy presides,

its sweet face pressed against the keratin shell.

Scaling the dorsal venous mountain range,

these hands have gripped the palms of

fellow climbers. In love's anguished mime,

they are finger birds with nerves of wire.

They could have painted a portrait

of my mother breathing the infinite sky.

— poem by Margaret Campbell

Hands

Margaret A. Campbell 

Published originally in JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association) January 2013

Poem inspired by Hands of Georges Braque, Verengeville-sur-Mer, France, 1957, by Paul Strand (1890-1976)

Other poems by Margaret Campbell:

The Dust Bowl of My Elbow

Still Life Within the Painter’s Heart

Sheep Painting Workshop

“ The brush was my friend and I was excited to see what was going to happen.”

—Irene Tatariw Trindle (my mother)

“Sheep Painting” painted by Irene Tatariw Trindle, oil on board, 8x12 inches

a guest blog post by my mom, Irene Tatariw Trindle

Lauren Kindle, an artist, and my daughter, teaches plein air painting workshops. As much as I was curious about trying one, I did not plan to sign up because the medium was oil paint and that scared me. I figured at this stage of my life, oil painting was just too complicated and expensive. For example, one tube of oil paint can cost between $5 and $25. (Editor’s Note: a tube of oil paint can cost even more than $25.)

Lauren said the workshop was just about full and she suggested I consider signing up. It was a group of women that were friends and Lauren felt that I would fit right in. She then added that she would need to ask them if it was ok if I joined the group.

Another daughter, Susan, said "you should try it".

I glumly said "It's oil paint".

Susan said I might be missing something if I didn't try it.

Lauren said "You're in if you want."

I told her I didn't know how to draw sheep.

I told her I didn't know how to paint sheep.

She said, "You will do fine."

I drove to Pipersville and I found the workshop. Everyone was there. Lauren showed us paintings of sheep by famous artists and that was inspiring. She held up books and we admired what others had accomplished, for example some paintings by Louisa Matthiasdottir.

“Icelandic Sheep” painting by Louisa Matthiasdottir, oil on canvas, 31x26 inches, 1977

After introductions were made, I found myself standing under an umbrella next to the sheep corral. Lauren set me up with an easel and everything I needed. Although sheep look very much alike at first glance, they are very different. These were a rare breed of sheep and they were called Shetland Sheep. Each sheep had a name and they were different colors and different sizes.

Then we were given pieces of paper to make 3 quick sketches of the sheep. It was a good thing to do because sheep do not stay in one position very long. I actually made more sketches because I didn't like any of my 3 sketches. I stopped when I found one that I thought would work.

pencil sketch by Irene Tatariw Trindle

pencil sketch by Irene Tatariw Trindle

pencil sketch by Irene Tatariw Trindle

I was surprised that basically we were painting from our sketches, but also looking at the sheep to get the right colors and features. Since I didn't know how to paint a sheep, Lauren suggested we make rectangles for the sheep bodies and triangles or smaller rectangles for their legs. I can definitely make rectangles and triangles.

Artist Irene Tatariw Trindle at work.

Each of us was given a palette of colors and Lauren's assistant, my 11 year old grandson, Morgan, would replenish our palettes if we needed more. Lauren talked about mixing color and creating color and how we could make any color we wanted from the colors on our palette.

I was also surprised that we didn't draw on the white panels Lauren gave us. I could not believe the process. The old me would have drawn the sheep on the panel before painting them. Lauren said to look at the sketch if we needed to and start off painting the sheep right on the panel. Lauren said we could draw on the panels if we wanted but it was "fresher" if we painted directly on the panels. Also, painting on the panel was more immediate.

I found that I liked painting directly on the panel. It "flowed" out of the brush and there were no mistakes as it was all just happening. I was not filling in a drawing.

The brush was my friend and I was excited to see what was going to happen.

We painted on the panels. I painted rectangles and triangles and other shapes. I was pleasantly surprised with the oil paint; it was very forgiving and it had a texture, and with just a swish of the brush the sheep could be looking sideways or looking down or looking at me. I also liked that I could paint things whatever color I wanted. I could change things, too.

It was a very powerful feeling.

oil painting by Bonnie Tobin, workshop participant

After several hours, we were all invited to take a break and have a tea party! Tea was served in beautiful porcelain cups that had images of sheep on them! There were homemade cookies and a delicious bread.

Finally, I excused myself from the tea party saying "My painting is calling me..." I still had things to accomplish in the next hour of the workshop. We all thanked and complimented the hostess and excused ourselves. We took up our paintbrushes again.

oil painting by Tina Bruzas, workshop participant

oil painting by Paula Williams, workshop participant

oil painting by Nancy Lukomski, workshop participant

All of us completed our paintings. Lauren had each of us present our paintings. The workshop attendees and Lauren made comments on each painting. I am thankful that I had the opportunity to try out oils and on such a perfect autumn day and with such cool people. It was wonderful to see how the 8 different attendees could produce 8 different paintings that were unique in their own way. Some focused on the barn, or on one or two sheep, or on the stone wall. Some enjoyed the greens of the foliage in the background. Different things were important to the different "artists".

Of course, the painting that I liked best was Lauren's demonstration painting; it was just one sheep and it was beautiful. (Editor’s Note: “Thanks Mom xoxo.”)

“One beautiful sheep” Demo-painting by Lauren Kindle, oil on board, 5x7 inches

Further reading:

Girl With a Flute: another guest blog post my mom wrote about a workshop with Rotem Amizur in 2018

My Mom’s Beautiful Art: a blog post about my mom’s gouache paintings.

My son Morgan made this sweet video-montage of the workshop.

Jacob Janes: the aesthetic experience of art

“Good art…invites us in and elevates us, as we sense the tension and resolution within the composition, and in some cases, the creative process itself. This is an aesthetic experience.”

—Jacob Janes, artist

“Bullfighter” by Jacob Janes, Oil on panel, 23.5” x 19”, 2021, Private Collection

a guest blog post by Jacob Janes

What do you experience while looking at a painting? How does art affect you or the space it’s in?

Early on, I saw how marks on a surface added up to something greater than their sum. I felt that the images were more alive than myself. Good art does this; it invites us in and elevates us as we sense the tension and resolution within the composition, and in some cases, the creative process itself. This is an aesthetic experience.

“Untitled” by Jacob Janes, Oil on canvas, 38” x 34, 2021, Private Collection

I hope to share this with as many people as possible. It is a privilege to live with artwork which offers this type of experience daily. Artwork can define a living space and endlessly offer a refreshing and healthy perspective. This is my hope for my own paintings, whether in private collections, galleries, or museums.

“Birthday Bouquet” by Jacob Janes, oil on canvas, 23” x 18.5, 2021, Available

“Untitled” by Jacob Janes, gouache on paper, 11” x 10, Available

As an artist and educator, I want to create opportunities for myself and the students I am teaching. How can I encourage students to become artists if they are unlikely to succeed in this field or get teaching jobs? I want to find a way to educate the public on what they should expect to experience from a work of art, and why they should have artwork in their homes. Generally, what sells and what offers a genuine aesthetic experience are two different things.

“Nightcrawler” by Jacob Janes, Gouache and crayon on paper, 10” x 11, 2020, Available

The solution to this problem is to create more collectors who want work that looks good in their homes. Paintings can be affordable and they last a lifetime. There is also this funny thing about paintings, that they just sit there and I really don’t take that much time to look at them, even if they’re in my home. But they are there and they are offering something passively. They provide good, honest company. More than filling up blank walls, they challenge me to be the best version of myself, and that, to me, is something religious.

“Study of Medieval Painting” by Jacob Janes, Crayon on paper, 8.5” x 11, 2019, Available

jacobjanes.com

For inquiries about purchasing a painting, contact Jacob Janes.

More Artists’ Thoughts on Painting:

New Years, New Days by Scott Smith

Chris Liberti: Thoughts on Painting

Words of Wisdom from Krista Steinke

Creativity is Everything by Adriano Farinella

Laura Vahlberg Ten Tips on Painting

In This One

a poem by Kat Good-Schiff

Black Lava Bridge, Hana Coast no. 2, 1939. Painting by Georgia O’Keeffe. Oil on canvas.
Courtesy of Honolulu Museum of Art.

In This One

You stand on the brink
of another adventure.
Mom is about to leave you
but it’s not camp this time—you’re 21,
on your own in Acadia National Park
ready to hike & sunburn
drink beer & chase ravens.
You’ve climbed beyond a railing
to the edge of a rock ledge, while she calls
Do you have to go out so far? then
Turn around so I can take your picture.
You always go to the limits of her sight.
She always tries to hold you with a photograph.
You wear a purple sleeveless shirt
jeans cut off at the knee
you stand in sandals on uneven rocks
special sticky rubber strapped to your feet
with green webbing.
Your left hand leans against the orange cliff—
arm outstretched, elbow slightly bent.
Your right hand rests on your hip.
Below you, the ocean pounds.

Kat Good-Schiff

“In This One” was originally published in Quay: A Journal of the Arts

Kat Good-Schiff is a librarian and writer. She has an MFA in poetry from Goddard College, and her work has appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry, California Quarterly, Meat for Tea, PANK, and elsewhere. She lives with her wife and their animals in western Massachusetts.

Kat Good-Schiff’s blog: Dragon’s Meow: Poetry & Paying Attention

My trip to the MoMA with Kat: Kat and Picasso

Some poems by others:

“Still Life Within the Painter’s Heart” by Margaret Campbell

“The Dust Bowl of My Elbow” by Margaret Campbell

“Virgi’s Muse” by Margaret Campbell

“Masterpiece” by Ian Kindle

“Edge” and other poems by JD Wissler

“Light of the Firefly” and other poems by JD Wissler

“Stars Make Their Own Space” and other poems by JD Wissler

Painting Cows With Melissa

Last month, my friend Melissa signed up for a Cow Painting Workshop I taught at Clear Spring Farm. It was a hot August evening, and the cows were as lovely as always. I have painted them before, and I feel like we have come to an artistic understanding over the years.

Melissa was the only person who signed up for the workshop, which ended up being a very pleasant experience, peaceful and low-key. I showed her how I like to do my preliminary drawings, quickly, using only straight lines. I usually do a few of these straight-line drawings before I start painting. Here is one of the drawings that Melissa made:

The cows were relatively cooperative. At first they displayed a great deal of interest in our painting activities, but then they wandered off. It was ok, though, because we won’t doing “super realistic” painting. It was nice to have the cows around for their energy, but we could also use our memory, our sketches, and our intuitive response to the colors and shapes that we put on the surface of the painting.

We focused on color-shapes, and the way that one color behaves next to another, the way they “talk” to each other. Sometimes, I think of it as the colors “singing together.”

Melissa did a wonderful job. She mixed several gorgeous greens, each different, and they came together harmoniously. It was a pleasure to see the brush strokes and thick paint on the gessoboard. The little white spot on the forehead of the baby cow is a beautiful detail, shining like a star in a special painting.

painting by Melissa D’Amico Mulligan, oil on board, 12x9 inches

Teaching is really rewarding. It makes me happy to see other people falling in love with the painting experience. I look forward to seeing more of Melissa’s paintings in the future.

Thank you Melissa, for the lovely evening of painting. Thank you, Kromer family and Clear Spring Farm, for sharing your land with us. Thank you, cows, for your beauty and presence.