A Vision of the Ephemeral

December 16, 2015

"He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost."

--Alexander Eliot, on Monet

Rouen Cathedral, West Façade, Sunlight 1892 Washington, D.C., USA — *Rouen Cathedral, West Façade, Sunlight* 1892 Washington, D.C., USA

Recently, I stumbled upon Sight and Insight, a book about art by Alexander Eliot. I was looking for a completely different book, but for reasons unknown, the reference librarian went and dug this one out of storage for me. I voraciously devoured it and came upon this evocative paragraph:

"Monet, poring over the light on Rouen Cathedral, saw not an edifice of eternal hope, but rather a vision of the ephemeral. "This stone facade, his paintings seem to say, "is rosy as flesh, delicate as hair, and fading fast with the fading light, crumbling into shadow." At his easel Monet was a frenzied athlete holding back the dusk. He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost. Not that he lacked faith in the morning: he knew the sun would rise again--and set again-- but not for every man, not forever for any man, not very long for anyone."

Rouen Cathedral: Full Sunlight 1894 Louvre, Paris

Monet painted more than thirty canvases depicted the Rouen Cathedral, during the years 1892 and 1893. Although it is the same physical cathedral in each painting, it is also a different one. So much has changed: the light, the time of day, the atmosphere, even Monet's own inner emotions. Fluid, elusive, ephemeral...

Rouen Cathedral, Facade (sunset), harmonie in gold and blue Musée Marmottan Monet Paris, France  1892-1894 — *Rouen Cathedral, Facade (sunset), harmonie in gold and blue* Musée Marmottan Monet Paris, France 1892-1894

Looking at these paintings, I wonder: am I as inconstant as the Rouen Cathedral? Certainly, I am not the same person as that 9-year-old girl, making up imaginary worlds in the woods behind her house, or that 19-year-old, sleeping in a hammock high up in the trees, needing nothing at all, it seems, but water, love, and starlight. I don't even feel like I am that same 29-year-old mother, with a baby and a toddler, happily overwhelmed with nursing, changing diapers, baking bread, and keeping house.

These memories of myself float away like dreams.

La cathédrale de Rouen, le portail, temps gris (Rouen Cathedral, the West Portal, Dull Weather) Musee d'Orsay, Paris, painted 1892 — La cathédrale de Rouen, le portail, temps gris (Rouen Cathedral, the West Portal, Dull Weather) Musee d'Orsay, Paris, painted 1892

Perhaps, like Monet's cathedral, I myself change as rapidly as the sunlight changes on the side of a building. From hour to hour, I go through a complete metamorphosis, from dawn, to full sunlight, to the mysterious shadows of coming darkness...

I keep busy to forget my mortality. Each mundane task takes on importance; each little drama crowds out the blank emptiness of eternity. But in a hundred, a thousand, or even ten thousand years, perhaps, all of my paintings will turn to dust. And even the paintings of those great artists whom I admire, they too, will be gone.

"This stone facade, [Monet's] paintings seem to say, "is rosy as flesh, delicate as hair, and fading fast with the fading light, crumbling into shadow."

Rouen Cathedral, Facade and the Tour d'Albane. Grey Weather, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen, 1894 — *Rouen Cathedral, Facade and the Tour d'Albane. Grey Weather*, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen, 1894

The most beautiful, the most precious, the most poignant of all human experiences, are those that are ephemeral: lilacs blooming in the spring, the world glittering under newly-fallen snow, a color-drenched sunset... And of course childhood, especially that of one's own children. How did they suddenly grow up so fast?

It is one of the responsibilities of our brief, miraculous existence, to appreciate the beauty of the ephemeral, and not only to appreciate it ourselves, but to share it with everyone around us. It is our responsibility, and also, our deepest joy. And for this, we have Art.

"He begged mankind to witness a beauty on the edge of being lost. Not that he lacked faith in the morning: he knew the sun would rise again--and set again-- but not for every man, not forever for any man, not very long for anyone."

Poems About Paintings: Part 4

December 9, 2015

"She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
Yet almost in her heart would hold it back."

--Dante Rossetti, "Venus Verticordia"

"Venus Verticordia" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1868

She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
   Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
   She muses, with her eyes upon the track
Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
Haply, ‘Behold, he is at peace,’ saith she;
   ‘Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart
   That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,—
The wandering of his feet perpetually!’

A little space her glance is still and coy;
   But if she give the fruit that works her spell,
Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
   Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe foretell,
   And her far seas moan as a single shell,
And through her dark grove strike the light of Troy.

This poem is by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a poet as well as a painter, and he wrote it to accompany his painting. Both the poem and the painting are entitled, "Venus Verticordia." For further reading, you can check out a great essay about these particular creative works, and the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, called "The Goddess of Love and Beauty." However, it is not the intent of this blog post to delve into the fathoms of art history, or any serious literary analysis. I'm really here to show you some provocative women.

More precisely: provocative women offering fruit.

"Pomegranate" by Lauren Kindle, oil on canvas, 5x7''

Next week, a woman is coming to my studio to sit for her portrait. I'm very excited about it, because my client requested to be painted in a Biblical or Mythological manner, holding a piece of fruit, such as the pomegranate I recently painted, above. This is something new, that I haven't tried before, and I'm eager to give it a whirl!

So, in anticipation of this portrait-sitting, I have been preparing myself by looking at old paintings which feature this motif in a way that intrigues me. I looked at as many paintings of provocative women (and men) offering fruit as I could possibly stand. I'll share my favorites with you.

I started out by looking at all of the Eves I could find. I like this one by Lucas Cranach the Elder, because of the thoughtful expression upon her face. For this commission, I'm not looking for an image of shame or regret, but something else. A sense of female power, perhaps?

Rossetti's "Proserpine" at once caught my eye, because the sultry, glowering Goddess is actually holding a pomegranate, precisely what my client has ordered.

"Prosperpine" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1874

And here is this guy again. (You may recognize him from an older blog post, Men: Beautiful Objects of Humans with Feelings?) I know he's not a woman...but... it's my blog. I'm putting him in, so there! SIgh...

Finally, here is another painting that my client asked me to consider for inspiration, in part due to the model's direct gaze, looking straight at the viewer. This is Courbet's "Nude With a Flowering Branch." Not exactly fruit, but, close enough. After all, there can be no fruit without flowers.

"Nude With Flowering Branch" by Courbet.  Sorry, I couldn't find a better image. — "Nude With Flowering Branch" by Courbet. Sorry, I couldn't find a better image.

I would like to appeal to my readers for some input. Which paintings were your favorite? Or maybe you didn't care for any of them? Why, or why not? If you have any ideas or suggestions as I prepare for this upcoming portrait commission, please share them.

Please understand, the paintings I have shared in this post are by no means the end of the story. Despite my admiration for Rossetti, Cranach, Caravaggio, and Courbet, I have my own agenda, my own ideas and feelings about about beauty, sexuality, power, temptation, and womanhood, which I can't quite disclose at this early, brain-storming stage. We shall see how things evolve as this project unfolds...

Fear and Vulnerability

December 2, 2015

"If you're afraid, what you paint will look like fear."

---Frank Arcuri, my painting teacher

"Regret" oil on canvas, 12x16'' This oil sketch fell so short of the vision in my head, and I'm embarrassed to share it. But it does illustrate my feelings of vulnerability.

Lately, a lot of insecurities have taken residency in my head. Yesterday, I spent a few hours working on a still life commission of a jar of olive oil and a hunk of bread. In a fit of loathing, I wiped out everything I painted.

Now my canvas looks better.  That's how bad it was. — Now my canvas looks better. That's how bad it was.

Some days I feel so unworthy and horrible, and doubly so, because now I'm on The Internet in this public way, and I'm revealing all of my paintings to the world, not just "the good paintings."

There are no good paintings.

I'm at a stage (hopefully it's a stage) where almost every painting is flawed in my eyes. My brain is riddled with fears and doubts. I found this list in my journal from this past May:

Some Fears:

You are not that good.

What are you thinking?

Why are you drawing so much attention to yourself?

You should hide in a cave.

What is the point?

I have to smile when I read this, because, deep down, I know the point The point is, I just have to push through these days, and do the work. I clock into my studio and I paint for three hours each morning, regardless of whatever emotions are besieging me. I just do the work, and sometimes it's good, and sometimes it's bad. Then I put it out there, into the universe, a.k.a. the internet.

There is nothing special about me having fears and feeling vulnerable; everyone struggles with these demons. I have to trust that there is some benefit to sharing the steps of my journey, however faltering. If I withheld my flaws, there would be no website. In fact, in my lifetime, it's possible I may never reach that level of competency towards which I strive. I still have to paint, and not worry about all that.

With this one life I have, I can find sustenance in the work itself, rather than the dictates of my fragile ego, and I can trust that I am on the right path. I feel so much gratitude for each day, each new chance to follow my passion.

Just doing the work, and not worrying about silly fears...

Please leave a comment below, sharing your own method for dealing with fears and vulnerable feelings. I will pick a name at random from the comment-leavers, and the winner will receive a free 8x10'' print of any artwork on my website. Contest ends at 9 pm on Tuesday, December 8th.

Additional Note: I will be part of a group show (Nelli Rae's Community Art Show Extravaganza) at Nelli Rae's Kitchen, 8826 Easton Road, Revere, PA, 18953. The opening reception is this Friday, December 4, from 6-9 pm. Everyone is invited!

Interview With Kate Brandes

November 25, 2015

"There's a simplicity in nature, that, if you bring that to your artwork, it's what makes it sing."

--Kate Brandes

I pour steaming hot tea from a red teapot, and pass the mug across the table to Kate Brandes. The morning sunlight shines brightly into the peaceful house. We sip our tea, and I smooth out a blank notebook page, ready for my first "Artist Interview." I smile at Kate. She is a slender, dark-haired woman with large blue eyes and a quiet, dignified demeanor. She smiles back at me, shyly. I turn on my recording devise, and we begin the interview.

Kate Brandes has worked as a geologist and environmental scientist for twenty years.  She works for the Lehigh Gap Nature Center, where she is currently focused on improving local ecology using native plants in small public and residential gard… — Kate Brandes has worked as a geologist and environmental scientist for twenty years. She works for the Lehigh Gap Nature Center, where she is currently focused on improving local ecology using native plants in small public and residential gardens. Over the last seven years, she's developed skills in fiction writing and painting.

I have transcribed most of the interview below, but if you wish to hear it in its entirety (about 18 minutes), you may:

LAUREN KINDLE: This is october 5, 2015. "Tea with Kate Brandes." My very first artist interview. So Kate, just to tell people a little about yourself, just say a little bit about who you are. Where do you live, where is your studio, what makes up your day to day world? Pets, kids, friends, partners? That kind of thing.

KATE BRANDES: Ok, I live in Riegelsville. and I live with my husband David and my two sons Owen and Sam. And I paint in a room in my house that operates as my office for my work, my paid work, and my writing space, where I'm working on two novels at the moment. And then also my painting studio, so it's kind of a chaotic--

LK: All in the same room?

KB: All in the same room. yup!

"Winterberries" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK: And what would you say an average studio day is like? or if your days are varied, what is an average week like for you? How do you divide your creative time and your responsibilities?

KB: Mmhmm... It changes week to week. I would like to have a schedule, and I try to have a schedule, but it's always in flux. and it's in flux because my work changes. I have a very busy spring and a very busy fall. The creative time is just crammed into the spaces that are available. And sometimes there's more space and sometimes there's less. And if I can try to get a schedule going, which is a little easier right at this point in my life, right at this season, then I do.

LK: What are you working on now, artistically? What are you most excited about? Confounded by? Obsessed with?

KB: I'm most excited about our project.

LK: Yeah, me too!

Kate's watercolor painting of "Audy" from our Intersections project.

KB: I really feel super energized by it, and I'm so excited to be working with you, another artist. I think, this is...I've never done that before! And I feel like it's pushing me to do things that I wouldn't otherwise do and I just feel that I think about it a lot, so I love it. I've also just had more time for my writing world recently, and I have a new idea for my old novel that I'm excited about, and new ideas for a new novel that I'm excited about, so I feel like, right now my creative life is sort of brimming. And i'm excited.

LK: I love that. "Right now, my creative life is brimming."

KB: Yeah. I would just love to do it all the time, but of course, there are all these other things that are important too.

LK: There are these seasons, you know.

KB: Yeah, exactly.

"Murmuration" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK: What are some creative projects or topics that have excited you in the past, and, do you see any connection, path, or story connecting these different interests, leading to where you are today, and additionally, can you see it going into the future in any direction? Or imagine it?

KB: Well there are certain topics I am drawn to, like I'm very drawn to, I don't know, I always describe it as "Charlie Brown Christmas tree people" I guess, you know? I'm drawn to the concept of abandonment and the concept of imperfections...I think the idea of vulnerability is really important. That's where I feel like I could use the most work, like being more vulnerable in my artwork, whether it's painting or writing. I think if I could do that, I would improve a lot, in both areas.

LK: Well, we're doing that

KB: We are! But it's good. I need to be pushed in that direction. So that's really important, I think. Yeah for me, it's like, for anyone, it's all about trying to face your fear. Right? Your fear of not doing it right, or not doing it well enough.

"Abandoned Fruit Stand on Old National Road" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK: Do you feel like through your life, you've been facing different fears?

KB: My whole life I haven't really identified myself as an artist at all. It's only the last year, even, I would say, and I've been writing for much longer than I've been painting, but I've always been like, "oh, this is a hobby." I still say that. And it is sort of a hobby, but it's also something that I feel like I'm not really a whole person unless I'm doing. I feel like I'm a much happier being.

LK: What kind of things do you do when things aren't going right, or if you're having a fallow period, in making or in thinking? Do you have things to help you deal with that?

KB: I walk. I walk for really long ways. I've always done that And I keep cards in my back pocket, or my phone, and I take notes on my phone, just talking into it. But that is the best thing for me to unloosen whatever's stuck. And mostly that's true with stories. With writing. With painting, I haven't been stuck yet. I sort of flail around and find something, but once I find it, then I don't have trouble working on it at all.

LK: Like us driving around the West Ward in circles!

KB: Exactly. I know what I like when I see it. I have to trust that more, because it's true.

LK I think I had a whole entire novel come to me on a walk once. I ran home, I was like, "Oh my God!" I had to write it down. It was crazy.

KB: Yup. I have solved so many problems in that way. And not only novel writing, but even thinking creatively about my job, you know, there's some issue, or problem I can't solve. I've thought about getting a treadmill at my desk, because that action, you know?

LK: Right. I wonder if that would be the same as going out into the world?

KB: Somehow I don't think so.

LK: It seems doubtful....

"5th and Ferry" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK: How do you sustain yourself so that you can be creative? What sort of things do you need to make time for in order to be an artist or a writer?

KB: I'd say the most sustaining thing is time, allowing enough time, because it takes time to...like if I feel like I get too crunched, it's really hard to---

LK: So with a job and two children and a husband, how do you make that happen?

KB: Well, my kids are in school, so that helps. And my job is busy sometimes, and less busy other times. so it's all about cramming it in. But there's also enough time to have coffee on the porch in the morning, in my life right now, and that hasn't always been true, and that's really important for me. Or to go on walks. Because those quiet times are essential for creativity. I think for anyone, really.

LK: What advice would you give to an artist just starting out?

KB: Yeah I mean, I would just say, "Go for it!" That's what I would really say. People talk to me a lot about how they wish they would do things or they feel like they could write something or they feel like they could produce something like artwork, or they were interested in that when they were young, but they don't have time. And I just heard somebody say something along the lines of like...."You feel like you're busy, and you're really just afraid." And I think that is so true. It's been true in my life. And I think again it comes back to, you can do whatever you want. You're not too busy. Maybe you are, but then, you have to change things, in order to honor that.

LK: "Where there's a will there's a way."

KB: Right. and it requires sacrifice, I guess on some level, but...

LK: No, I hear you. I think that's true. I mean, when I had babies, I really did feel like I was too busy...

KB: When I had babies, I was too busy!

LK: But eventually as the kids got older, I think that became an excuse. Really, I was just afraid.

KB: Yeah. It's true for anyone. It's true for me still. You know, like, on some level. We're all just trying to do the best we can. Face our fears the best we can.

"Lucky Three on Sitgreaves" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK On your website you say "There are parallels between nature, painting, and writing." Can you elaborate on these parallels?"

KB: Well, I think there are so many parallels between the arts just in general....I know a lot more about writing than I do about painting, just because I've been doing it longer, but you know, white space on a page, lights and darks and those concepts, are so true, in writing, as well as they are in painting... In character, in theme...a one dimensional character is really boring, and not realistic and not interesting to read at all. Just like a one dimensional painting would be the same way. That balance of light and dark. And sometimes it's more dark, two thirds dark, and one third light...or vice versa. People are like that too. It's just about being truthful on the page no matter what you're doing.

LK: Right, and how about nature?

KB: Nature is the same in so many ways. There's a simplicity in nature, that, if you bring that to your artwork, it's what makes it sing. There are certain...in some ways, I think of it as landscapes... Because that's what I think about a lot. I think about repetition in landscapes. That's what holds a landscape together to the human eye. The same thing is true in our work. The same thing is true in writing. You need to repeat a certain theme, in order for the writing to hold together. ...

"House and Sun" watercolor by Kate Brandes

LK: It seems like this is a rich area we could explore further. Let's keep it on the back burner. My final question is about your medium...what is it about watercolor that appeals to you? And how does it help you to say what you want to say?

KB: ....I feel really challenged by watercolors. I feel like I could just study them for the rest of--and maybe I'll change my mind in a year, but I feel like I could study them for the next twelve years and not understand them fully... I feel really satisfied and happy with them, right now. I don't feel like I'm wanting something else. I love that you can layer them, I love that you can, that there's a transparency to them, that the light shines through them. I think I'm really attracted to light. I've always loved, been star-struck by the light in the sky at any given moment. So I love that that's true with the watercolors, that you can do interesting things that way...

LK: Well, thank you for this wonderful interview. Let's go outside and paint!

KB: Sounds good, sounds good.

Myself and Kate Brandes, outside painting in the West Ward, in Easton, PA.

Confession: I have borrowed many of the interview questions from the blog of one of my favorite artists, Angela Fraleigh. On her blog, Angela often interviews artists, and I LOVE reading those interviews. Her interview with Ann Toebbe is one of my favorites.

My Son

November 18, 2015

"And then you sing to me a sweet, unbidden song."

--excerpt from "My Son," a poem I wrote yesterday

My Son

You wouldn't smile if I asked,

but you would if I didn't.

Spirit blazing with your little spark of defiance,

or else all wide-eyed innocence,

spilling your long stories to me

along with milk off your spoon,

while your cereal gets soggy.

Round, pink cheeks and soft curls,

part cherub, part imp;

Every day I bathe in your sorrow, your fury,

and your love...

Sometimes, when you find me,

amidst piles of laundry,

eagerly clamoring to help sort socks,

I get a glimpse of the man you will be,

And then you sing to me

a sweet, unbidden song.

Mary Magdalene as Melancholy: a guest post by Ellyn Siftar

November 11, 2015

"Put your hands on the wheel, let the golden age begin." --Beck

Golden

When I walk in the woods in late October and the golden leaves crunch underfoot, I'm filled with the most blissful and conflicted of emotions: melancholy. It’s the same feeling I got when I said goodbye to my eldest as she walked into her college dorm room freshman year, the same feeling I get every time I listen to a song from my youth and it brings to mind the pain and bliss of adolescent newness. Yet I wasn’t ready to be so powerfully punched by this melancholy via a painting, but Artemesia Gentileschi’s “Mary Magdalene as Melancholy” hit me in the gut when I saw it for the first time last week.

"Mary Magdalene as Melancholy" by Artemesia Gentileschi

Mary Magdalene and I have an intimate relationship. When I first learned about her from a Catholic friend as a ten year old, I was incredibly intrigued and it set the stage for the following year when a book fictionalizing her life fell into my lap. This book became one of those books that continues to reach out to me even today. Mary’s story of abuse, forgiveness, and her tender relationship to the man Jesus, kindled a deep craving in me and became a touch point for me in understanding myself as both a woman and a follower of Christ. Gentileschi’s painting is a sinking into that which is comforting: her hand in her hair, her soft, closed eyes.

Here is a Mary Magdalene who has reconciled her past with grace. This melancholy is an aesthetic that has only a hint of depression, and is more akin to a looking back, a contemplation and yearning. Gentileschi's painting is unlike the penitent Magdalene paintings of the baroque era, which focused on her shame.

A note from Lauren: For comparison, here is Caravaggio's "Penitent Magdalene." Caravaggio and Gentileschi were contemporaries and friends, but their paintings of Magdalene evoke different emotions.  I couldn't say it better than the Jesuit poet… — A note from Lauren: For comparison, here is Caravaggio's "Penitent Magdalene." Caravaggio and Gentileschi were contemporaries and friends, but their paintings of Magdalene evoke different emotions. I couldn't say it better than the Jesuit poet, Giuseppe Silos (1673), when he describes Caravaggio's painting: "We can see the silent remorse hidden in her conscience, and in the depths of her heart she is burned by a secret flame."

Artemesia's painting of "Mary Magdalene as Melancholy" brings to mind this passage written by Kierkegaard:

"Besides my other numerous circle of acquaintances I have one more intimate confidant-my melancholy. In the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, she waves to me, calls me to one side, even though physically I stay put. My melancholy is the most faithful mistress I have known, what wonder, then, that I love her in return."
-Søren Kierkegaard

I also connect Beck's song, "The Golden Age," with Artemesia's painting. Several dear friends have commended the artist Beck to me over the years and yet I have never really listened. I popped on a mix after a particularly glorious run in the golden leaves under an azure sky and this song knocked me out.

"The Golden Age"

Put your hands on the wheel
Let the golden age begin
Let the window down
Feel the moonlight on your skin
Let the desert wind
Cool your aching head
Let the weight of the world
Drift away instead

These days I barely get by
I don't even try

It's a treacherous road
With a desolated view
There's distant lights
But here they're far and few
And the sun don't shine
Even when it's day
You gotta drive all night
Just to feel like you're ok

These days I barely get by
I don't even try...

-Beck

For me, the deeper desire of melancholy is a letting go, an acceptance of powerlessness. The leaves fall and are crushed underfoot, the seasons change, children grow up and move away and for a time, life is fallow, But the profound trust it takes to let go allows for a fallow field, where seeds have fallen and are resting in the comfort below the white snow, and will grow upwards into the warm spring air.

Ellyn Siftar lives in Bethlehem, PA. She is a beautiful, strong, creative woman. She is my good friend, and also a wife, and a mother of four children. Her interests and talents include (but are not limited to) music (singing and piano), painting, drawing, calligraphy, and teaching. She runs, hikes, and dances with vitality and passion. She is a member of Trinity Episcopal Church in Bethlehem, where she has been a dedicated volunteer and occasional teacher for the youth program. She juggles several jobs, but always manages to take care of herself and stay true to her priorities. Ellyn is currently going back to school (she will be at Moravian starting in January) where she is investigating the intersection between compassion, environmentalism, and art.

Solace

November 4, 2015

"I promise to be a safe harbor in all storms..."

--from our wedding vows

"Solace"  oil on canvas, 16x20'' — "Solace" oil on canvas, 16x20''

I finished this painting two days ago. It was something I had been playing with, off and on, for several months. I always keep a canvas like this, on the side, for pure pleasure. It balances out all of the hard work I am doing to seriously learn my craft. With this pleasure-canvas, I indulge my desires to paint sentimentally, whatever I want, with as many colors as I want, and, obviously, as many flowers as I want. As you can see, I often have a lot of flowers that I need to "get out of my system."

So did Chagall, my artist-crush throughout my twenties.

Bouquet près de la fenêtre by Chagall — *Bouquet près de la fenêtre* by Chagall

Among other things, the theme of my new painting is the "solace of marriage." It so happens that I had lost my wedding ring for the past two months. I felt bummed about it, and was nearly driven to actually cleaning the house in order to find it. Then, on Sunday, it "turned up" in my five-year-old son's magic-trick box. He claims he was using it to do a magic trick. He certainly made it disappear! Finding the ring motivated me to finish the painting.

Abracadabra!  Found you! — Abracadabra! Found you!

Finding my wedding ring also reminded me, naturally, of my wedding, over eleven years ago. I would like to end this blog post with an excerpt from the wedding vows that Ian and I wrote together.

Our Vows

I give you my promise

That from this day forward you shall not walk alone.

May my heart be your shelter,

And my arms be your home.

I will rejoice with you in happy times,

And kiss away your tears when you are sad.

I promise to remain by your side

In sickness and in health,

For better and for worse,

Through stability and change,

For all our lives.

Actaeon

October 28, 2015

"As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be..."

--John Donne, "To His Mistress Going to Bed"

Actaeon

O, my America, my Newfoundland
John Donne, "Elegy 20"

O, my America, discovered by slim chance,
behind, as it seemed, a washing line
I shoved aside without thinking –
does desire have thoughts or define
its object, consuming all in a glance?

You, with your several flesh sinking
upon itself in attitudes of hurt,
while the dogs at my heels
growl at the strange red shirt
under a horned moon, you, drinking

night water – tell me what the eye steals
or borrows. What can't we let go
without protest? My own body turns
against me as I sense it grow
contrary. Whatever night reveals

is dangerously toothed. And so the body burns
as if torn by sheer profusion of skin
and cry. It wears its ragged dress
like something it once found comfort in,
the kind of comfort even a dog learns

by scent. So flesh falls away, ever less
human, like desire itself, though pain
still registers in the terrible balance
the mind seems so reluctant to retain,
o, my America, my nakedness!

George Szirtes (2012)

I can't pretend to really understand this poem by George Szirtes, but I love the imagery. The feeling of the dogs, the hot teeth, the beautiful anguish of being human, and of having a body that can turn against you... Also it gave me cause to look at the Titian painting again.

What's going on here? Actaeon shouldn't be looking at this virginal goddess. She's about to have her hounds rip him apart! But could that adorable little dog really do any harm to a sincere and well-meaning-but-still-lusty man like Actaeon?

When I was on the internet looking for poems, I was initially hooked by the John Donne quotation. I love John Donne! Incidentally, if you haven't read any John Donne poems, you should. Start with "Song." It's just like a magic spell...

Of course I had to go and read some of George Szirtes' blog, and I encourage you to do the same. He has a lot to say about the Titian painting, my favorite sentence being this:

"Paint is like flesh in his hands: the colour is voluptuous, the paint glows and is stirred, caressed, pinched, dabbed, blurred and slapped into depiction."

I don't know if it's the full moon, but I'm in love with the visceral substance of oil paints, and in turn, the paint itself seem to be in love with the idea of flesh, at least for Titian. I love that a poet can make me feel something new for an old painting, and that mere words can reinvigorate images. Feeling generous, I'll even admit to being in love with Actaeon. I certainly wouldn't have set my hounds on him, if I were the Goddess of the Moon...

Click here for another great resource for poetry and paintings.

Men: Beautiful Objects, or Humans With Feelings?

October 23, 2015

"What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! ...the beauty of the world!" (Hamlet, Act II, scene 2)

"Design" by Angelica Kauffman (1741-1807)

For centuries, in Western Art, women have completely dominated the field of painting. Men, for the most part, have been models, often nude, and almost always desirable. They have been completely unwilling, or unable, to stand up from their supine positions and join their place beside women as Artists. Of course, there have been a few notable exceptions, whose genius and skill we can't help but recognize.

But men like Caravaggio are a rarity; we are much more likely (and we prefer) to find our men, sensual and semi-nude, reclining amidst piles of ripe fruit, lying about on unmade beds, or sprawled in submissive repose upon deflowered stream banks.

detail from "Echo and Narcissus" by Poussin (1628-30)

It's only been since the second half of the twentieth century that proponents of men's civil rights have started taking a stand, asking for men to be seen as Artists and Equals, or, at the very least, Humans with Feelings. They complain about being objectified by women, and with good reason. Open any art history book and you will find the age-old story of a woman artist using her hapless male model to father a child, and then callously discarding them both to the whims of Fate.

Detail from "The Barque of Dante" by Delacroix (1822)

Of course we would be heartless not to feel a little sympathetic towards the Plight of Men. But, despite any personal sympathies we might harbor, it would be incorrect to adopt the current, trendy, politically correct attitude that men are more than just beautiful objects. Most educated people have to admit that, not only are men biologically inferior to women (as artists), but they are just too beautiful to be taken seriously.

"The Gardeners" by Robin F. Williams (2013)

Still, idealists can't stop dreaming. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Beauty permeated everything, and everyone? Rather than being a cage, what if Beauty flowed freely, from artist, to canvas, to model, to the world, and back again? And maybe then, in that future reality, we might be able to regard men as equals, even as we ask them to lie back and be painted...

Taking Notes: a weekend plein air workshop

October 16, 2015

"Whatever it is you want to do is already waiting for you to find it." --Adriano Farinella

On Saturday morning, I walked downtown to Adriano Farinella's studio in Easton, carrying my French easel, a folding table, and a backpack filled with art supplies. Despite the heaviness of everything I carried, I felt as if I were floating in the clouds; I was so excited to spend the whole weekend painting outdoors. I had a strong intuition that I would learn a lot.

At the studio, Adriano helped me streamline my collection of plein air gear, making it much lighter. Then off we drove to a lock along the Lehigh Canal, not far away from downtown Easton, but refreshingly green and bucolic. We painted scenes of the water, trees, and sky.

Here is Adriano's sketch of the same scene, also oil on gessoboard.

In order to create my painting of the canal, I learned a new, valuable technique called a "Notan Sketch" which is a quick, small sketch that establishes the composition, and reduces the values to only two. A "less is more" mentality comes in handy here. It helped me to go a step further and eliminate values altogether. I forced myself to keep everything as simple, straight, and geometric as possible. I got something abstract like this:

These are the bones of the painting, "Morning on the Lehigh Canal."

And here is the final painting, the bones fleshed out:

My painting, "Morning on Lehigh Canal" oil on gessoboard, 9x12''

During the painting workshop, I was able to identify one of my weaknesses as an artist. In previous landscapes, I had been really punching up the dramatic contrasts of light and shadow, immediately going for the darkest darks in every dark place in the scene. I did this to make a powerful, attractive painting that people admired, and also to cover up for my weaknesses as an artist. Mainly, I wasn't able to get the spirit of the landscape in subtler ways. So I painted it bam, pow, wham! style.

"Sunlight in the Cemetery" is an example of my bam! pow! wham! style.  I still like this painting, in the same motherly way that I am fond of all my painting, but you can see how I rely on an extreme use of darkest darks and lightest light… — "Sunlight in the Cemetery" is an example of my *bam! pow! wham!* style. I still like this painting, in the same motherly way that I am fond of all my painting, but you can see how I rely on an extreme use of darkest darks and lightest lights.

Working on learning to use value in a more mature and subtle way was like learning a whole new language of painting. I also learned a different way of looking at my subject, of holding and using the paintbrush, and of organizing the thoughts in my mind. My brain felt all stretched out from so much learning in so short a time!

Me, working on "View from Clear Spring Farm."  Clamps from Home Depot proved invaluable in holding the gessoboard onto the easels in the face of the wind. — Me, working on "View from Clear Spring Farm." Clamps from Home Depot proved invaluable in holding the gessoboard onto the easels in the face of the wind.

On Sunday, we went to Clear Spring Farm to paint. The kind owners, Terry and Dave, let us go up on a hill way behind the barn. This hill seemed to be on top of the world. There were vistas all around; it was incredible. All day long the sun shone down and autumn wind blew all around us.

Adriano, painting the distant hills from our perch on top of the world at Clear Spring Farm. — Adriano, painting the distant hills from our perch on top of the world at Clear Spring Farm.

As I painted, Adriano told me it's helpful to think, "I'm not here to make a painting. I'm here to take notes." This takes an enormous amount of pressure off, and allows me the freedom to develop my skill without feeling like I need to produce something finished.

"View from Clear Spring Farm" oil on gessoboard, 9x12''

At some point, you have to let go, and allow the painting to happen. "Think about values, not trees, and trust," advised Adriano. "It will take form. The tree will take form."

There is a deeper meaning in the painting than just faithful reproduction of a lovely landscape. There is a dimension of spirit, of feeling, and of getting at what it feels like to look at the scene before you. It doesn't have to be perfect.

It could be that the painting is guiding me, the artist.

"Listen to what the painting wants," said Adriano, "And just follow it."

Nude Descending

October 9, 2015

"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks."

---Plutarch

The first time I saw "Nude Descending a Staircase" by Duchamp I was in first or second grade. They had some program where a lady would drive a big trailer full of art (nice quality, large prints of famous paintings, to be more precise) and visit classrooms. I LOVED that lady and her trailer. I remember her talking about this particular Duchamp painting, and I thought it was interesting. All of the different lines and shapes seemed to be in motion. I thought EVERYTHING the art lady showed us was interesting. I wanted to live in the trailer with her and drive across the country with all that art. I was filled with excitement!

But when I grew up, I must have forgotten my initial enthusiasm for "Nude Descending a Staircase." I thought the lines and shapes were uninspired and boring, and Duchamp was worthy of nothing but my apathy. I never gave the painting another look. Never, that is, until a month ago, when I found this poem by X.J. Kennedy.

Poem by X.J. Kennedy:

Toe upon toe, a snowing flesh,

A gold of lemon, root and rind,

She sifts in sunlight down the stairs

With nothing on. Nor on her mind.

We spy beneath the banister

A constant thresh of thigh on thigh—

Her lips imprint the swinging air

That parts to let her parts go by.

One-woman waterfall, she wears

Her slow descent like a long cape

And pausing, on the final stair

Collects her motions into shape.

Sigh..... This poem speaks to me. The "...air/ That parts to let her parts go by." It makes me think of the many different parts of myself, the multitudes I contain, normally hidden away, but sometimes flowing free, like a "one-woman waterfall." I take a closer look at the vibrating rhythms of the lines, the mysterious machinery hidden in the shadows, and the awkward grace of all of those elbows and knees. I keep looking and looking at this painting.

So, somehow, the poet X.J. Kennedy has reclaimed the Duchamp painting for me, and placed it back into the temple of my heart, the temple where I hang all of the paintings that I love so much, and that speak so intimately to me.

I hope you will look at the painting again, and read the poem again. And maybe a third time. My 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Augenblick, always advised us to read every poem three times. Until we did that, we couldn't even pretend to understand it. Perhaps a painting is the same way. You can't just look at it once, as a child, or twice, as a young adult, but you must continue to go back to it again, and again, as you mature through life.

Poetry Submissions Accepted Here: This post is Part 1 of an ongoing series called "Poems About Paintings." If you find a poem that fits, or better yet, if you write one yourself, please feel free to submit it to me. I will consider it for publication in a future blog post. Write a poem about a painting you love, or a painting you hate, or a painting that refuses to stay in either category. I can't wait to see what comes forth!

Ten Years and a Teapot

October 2, 2015

"There is no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap...patience is everything."

--Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

"Grandmommy's Teapot, After She Is Gone," oil on canvas, 11x14'' 2015

Last week, I finished this still life. It is a painting of my Grandmommy's teapot, and it has a lot of significance for me. It's also not the first time I have painted this teapot. Ten years ago, without any real training, I gave it a shot. I think it's interesting to look back and see how my painting style has changed.

"Grandmommy's Teapot When She Was Alive," oil on masonite, 24x24''  2005 — "Grandmommy's Teapot When She Was Alive," oil on masonite, 24x24'' 2005

I was living with Grandmommy when I finished my first teapot painting in 2005. I remember carrying it down to the living room and showing it proudly to her. She seemed pleased, and she praised my efforts, but then she reminded me firmly that she needed to have her butter dish back immediately. In fact, she had been wondering where it was all week. We butted heads; I couldn't understand why she couldn't live without her butter dish for the sake of Art. But she was more stubborn than me, and she always won these types of arguments. She was an old lady, living in the house she had lived in for over fifty years. Of course she liked things to be just so.

"Grandmommy's Cream Pitcher," oil on canvas, 8x10'' 2013

My husband and I had moved into Grandmommy's house in Hampton, New Jersey, when I was 24 years old. We had been married for over a year, living a nomadic life in various forests across the country, with not much more than a tent and some camping gear. But, when Papa (my grandfather) died, Grandmommy could no longer live alone. It seemed natural for Ian and me to live with her, since we had no real home or job tying us down. We took care of her, making her meals and taking her to doctor appointments. During the day, Ian worked on his novel and I worked on my paintings. Every night, I would make a pot of green tea in Grandmommy's teapot, and we all would sit in the living room watching "Murder She Wrote," or something similar, drinking tea, and eating cookies. It was very cozy.

This diary entry from 2005 further illuminates my obsession with teapots.

As an artist, I was very lucky to have that time to grow and learn. With few responsibilities, I could really dive into my creativity. "I have been joyfully painting," I recounted in my diary. But it wasn't always easy living with Grandmommy. Another diary entry says: "I am very selfish. I want people (Grandmommy) to respect my time to do art. I know it is not a "real" job but I want to treat it like a real job...I feel so mad, and I can't talk about it, because my feelings are selfish and unjustified, and I don't want to make Grandmommy upset."

"Grandmommy's Mustard Pot" oil on canvas, 8x10'' 2013

I didn't realize that the real treasure of my experience was the quality time I was spending with Grandmommy, time that could never come again. The painting was just a happy by-product. I often feel the awful pain of remorse, wishing I could go back in time and be with her again, and this time, be more loving and patient. Now that I am older, with kids of my own, I feel I could do a much better job of taking care of her. But I think Grandmommy understood that. She knew I loved her. And she loved me with an infinite depth of love and forgiveness, completely accepting my 24 year old self, with all my immaturity and imperfections.

And so, now I am ten years older. Perhaps I am wiser and more skilled as an artist, but... I miss Grandmommy! My paintings are my love songs to her; the teapots, cream pitchers, and mustard pots are hymns of gratitude for all of our good times together.

I love you, Grandmommy!

Thoughts on Perfection and Motherhood

September 18, 2015

“Turn the child over to love. Turn yourself over to the idea that love and peace simply are.”

---Polly Berrien Berends, Whole Child/ Whole Parent

Yesterday, I painted this portrait of my sister nursing her new baby. I was trying to capture the holiness, the other-worldliness, that is expressed in one of my favorite paintings, The Virgin Holding the Sleeping Child, With Saint John and Two Angels, by Bernardino Luini (1480-1532). Of course, I failed completely. With my eager, plodding brushstrokes, I piled the paint on too thickly, and made the figures heavy and crude. And how did Luini get them to almost glow with light? Oh, that's right, he knew and worked with Leonardo da Vinci himself! I'm sure they painted together, and da Vinci must have taught him a few things.

The Virgin Holding the Sleeping Child, With Saint John and Two Angels by Bernardino Luini — *The Virgin Holding the Sleeping Child, With Saint John and Two Angels* by Bernardino Luini

Really take a look at this detail. Is anything more perfect?

A small print of Luini’s painting hangs in my studio, where it continues to give me a sense of peace and comfort every time I look at it. The Mother’s quiet love and the Baby’s complete trust are ideals for which I strive daily.

But let's be real. We all know that motherhood is not always serene. Children are not always blissfully sleeping. Mothers are not always graceful, patient, and kind. Motherhood is hard. It's messy, stressful, and overwhelming. It can bring out the worst in us.

a sketch of my sister nursing her new baby

I think most mothers look a little more like Madame Renoir: wrinkly clothes, disheveled hair, and a dazed look from not getting quite enough sleep. But still, Renoir loves her and thinks she is beautiful. Look how tenderly he has painted her, as she nurses their little son Pierre.

And as for me, well, this whole parenthood thing has been a very humbling experience. I'm so far from perfect. As an example, here is an excerpt from my diary, August 7, 2010. (Morgan is 4 months old; Nell is 3 and a half. And you will need to know that Liza is my good friend and neighbor.)

Blah! Hard day...Everyone is sick but me...I was terribly cranky all day, and had almost as many emotional meltdowns as my 3-year-old daughter. I feel really stressed...I MISS art...I feel drained...It all caught up with me today, despite a walk to the farmer's market with Morgan, where I got fresh basil, peaches, and nectarines, and a bouquet of flowers. I fell in a heap on the floor of the kitchen, crying at the Goliath-load of housework looming over me. Nell was sweet and hugged me. "That's okay, mommy," she said. "Just get a broom"

Liza came over and brought me a gift, a bottle of her favorite Portuguese white wine. Also, she presented me with a little bound notebook, pocket-sized, in which to write all of my ideas for paintings, etc. It's wonderful to have such a delightful, understanding friend.

I hit a low point a few months later, when I wrote this in my diary:

Two days ago I really LOST IT at Nell. I was really angry. She was really scared and crying...I feel like the very worst awful mother I could be...I am like a wretched, hideous, putrid, disgusting worm.

But then, two weeks later, we get a moment like this:

Driving in the car today, Morgan asleep, Nell in the back seat asks me: "Mommy, how did you get so beautiful?" On our left, the shining, ice-glazed river. On our right, the steep, snow-white cliffs. And the road before us. And the road behind us. Beauty all around.

I think what I am trying to say is that you can hold the two ideas of motherhood at the same time; the miserable, stressed-out mother and the Holy mother are two sides to the same coin. Perfection, like a golden thread, is inextricably woven into our woefully imperfect experiences: the tantrum on the kitchen floor, and the bouquet of flowers on the counter. And it doesn't hurt to have a good friend stop by, just when you need her.

And what became of the little notebook that Liza gave me? I used it so much it practically disintegrated. But it was a spark that kindled the flame that is burning in my heart today, the flame of artistic creativity.

Disclaimer:  I know I'm being "mother-biased," because I happen to be a mother.  Sorry about that!  This sketch is my shout-out to all those great DADS out there, doing such a great job, and struggling with the same things.  Kee… — Disclaimer: I know I'm being "mother-biased," because I happen to be a mother. Sorry about that! This sketch is my shout-out to all those great DADS out there, doing such a great job, and struggling with the same things. Keep up the good work, dads!

Thanks for reading my new blog! Please post a comment below, and you will be entered into a raffle to win a free 5x7'' high-quality print of any of my paintings or drawings you choose. The deadline is 9 pm next Thursday night, September 24, 2015.

Sharing Wonder: Looking at Art Books With my Daughter

September 11, 2015

"What we need is more sense of the wonder of life

and less of this business of making a picture."

--Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

We are looking at paintings by one of my favorite artists, Pierre Bonnard.

Parenthood is all-consuming; it’s the kind of thing you need to embrace wholeheartedly, or suffer in futile resistance. Your passion for your children and your passion for your art appear to compete with each other, and it can feel painful. Maybe this is your struggle. If so, take heart. There is a middle path, a path of wonder.

For the past year, my 8-year-old daughter Nell has been getting up very early in the morning to spend time alone with me while the others are still asleep. We creep downstairs together quietly and I make some tea and coffee. Then I let Nell choose one of the many big art books on my bookshelf, stuffed with full-color reproductions of beloved paintings. And then we sit, slowly turning the pages, talking about our favorite artists, snuggled under our blankets, until the boys came downstairs wanting breakfast.

Nell's favorite painting by Georgia O'Keeffe, Red and Orange Hills, 1938 — Nell's favorite painting by Georgia O'Keeffe, *Red and Orange Hills, 1938*

Lately, those mornings are fewer and fewer, as I’ve been trying to fit in some morning exercise for myself. But we try to have at least one morning a week when we connect in this special way. It’s wonderful for me to see the paintings through her eyes, to ask her what it is about the paintings that speaks to her soul. Her fresh perspective invigorates my own understanding of each artwork, and gives me new inspiration. I am always learning, and my appreciation of art is always growing wider.

In his book The Art Spirit, Robert Henri asks us not to focus so much on "this business of making a picture," or, as I understand it, the egotistical idea that as an artist, I am defined and valued by my material production of Art. Instead, Henri calls for us to cultivate our "sense of the wonder of life." This wonder is the real mark of an artist, and who can help us more in our quest for wonder than the children who share our lives?

Generous Permission

September 4, 2015

”Nothing redeems but beauty, its generous permission, its gorgeous celebration of all that has previously been uncelebrated.” --Dave Hickey, The Invisible Dragon

I’m so excited about the next two years. I can’t contain myself! Here is what is happening with me: I have been a stay-at-home mom, devoted to raising my two wonderful children for nearly 9 years, and they started school this week: both of them! (kindergarten and 3rd grade) It has been a long time since I didn’t have a little one at home all day. Suddenly, I will have the hours between 8:30 am and 3:30 pm all to myself. It couldn’t come at a better time.

For the past year, I have been on fire, fiercely, in my soul. I am an artist! I want to paint! I need to paint! Of course, I have been painting all along, squeezing it in wherever I can, but now the doors are opening. And I am so ready.

Several months ago, I was surfing the internet, cruising around looking at artist-residency opportunities, and fantasizing about packing my bags full of paint brushes and canvas and moving to Italy, to immerse myself in painting. After a few days of this, Ian, my patient, loving, albeit somewhat startled husband, started to protest. In his opinion, abandoning my own family in pursuit of Art was not my best course of action. “Why not have an artist residency here?” he asked. “It could be a mom-housewife-artist residency. Let’s call it a two-year residency, and then we’ll have a meeting at the end of the two years, and plan our next steps.”

"Father and Son," oil on canvas, 11x14'' — **"Father and Son**," oil on canvas, 11x14''

And so, Ian gave me generous permission to go for it, to really work on what I am passionate about, without worrying about money. And it will be work. I intend to WORK. In the most joyful, most enthusiastic, most exhausting sense of the word. For the next two years, I have been given this generous permission to pursue my passion to the hilt. As with all artist-residencies, I do have to uphold my side of the deal. In this situation, I have to keep the house from completely decomposing into the ground, feed my family, and meet the kids when they get off the bus. No problem! I don’t plan to win any housekeeping awards, but certain mediocre standards will be upheld. (However, I do have high standards for loving my family and being a good mother, so I will be vigilant to make sure that doesn’t slacken.)

In the meantime: Art! It’s not really Ian who has given me this generous permission. I am giving it to myself, by speaking up about what I need, by listening to my heart, and by valuing my vocation as more than a selfish hobby. Instead, it is the life-blood of my existence. And I would like to give you, dear reader, the same generous permission. Redeem your life, take up your paintbrush, your pencil, your camera, your monologue, your artistic weapon of choice, and follow me into this awesome battle, to slay our monsters and conquer lands that until now have only been in our dreams.

Stay tuned. Every Wednesday I will write an art-related blog post to encourage, inspire, intrigue, amuse, or surprise you. May my blog be “a glorious celebration of all that has previously been uncelebrated.”