Thursday, October 26, 2017
Yup, same wip!
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
WIP again
Finished off the tree group to the right today. Started in on the mid/foreground grass. I cut the top of the pic off by accident. I missed a lot of what got done today!
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Still the same WIP
I'm almost done messing with the middle ground now. I always have a hard time switching from background to middle ground for some reason. It's where I usually end up experimenting so much the thing gets overworked. But I'm getting wiser to my own forms of sabotage. Still need to finish off the upper right hand side but that won't take long at all. Then I can finally get into the foreground, tweak the color and bring out the composition's high points.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Saturday, October 21, 2017
I reclaimed my values today and basically overhauled the values and color in the whole painting. Once values are corrected in one place it's typically necessary to adjust the values in the whole painting. The last two days should count as my two steps backward. Tomorrow or monday will be my one step forward again. I always have a hiccup somewhere in my pictures that I need to address. I don't want it as such but I'm afraid it's become part of my painting process. Dead color and weak values first, then go back in with the real colors and values.
Friday, October 20, 2017
You know that part in Jurassic Park 1 where the boy and the adult scientist guy are stuck in a car in a tree? While they're climbing down the tree, the car starts to break the branches and threatens to fall on them all the way down until they're on the ground and the car has fallen over the top of them and the boy says, "Well, we're back in the car." That's how I feel today. I was too frustrated yesterday to post anything because I ended up wiping the entire right side of the picture. Today it's been redone and now I'm exactly where I was before I started yesterday. Such is life.
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
wip
It's almost time to start breaking out the small brushes and get busy with details, edges,.final values and color. Today I flew around the canvas to whatever looked like it wasn't brought along with the rest of the picture. Defined the shape of the calla lily pond, all but finished the trees to the right, shaped the dead tree in front and offered possible finishing options.
Friday, October 13, 2017
wip wip
When I get close to finishing a painting I'm pretty much moving all over the canvas as I find areas that need to be addressed. Today I put in the main characters, and filled in the background trees a touch more. Improved the meeting line for the background woods and the background field. The closer to done I get the easier it is to see what's wrong. Until I finish the second 'block-in" I'm not certain its correct and usually end up futzing a bit. When starting out, a painter is on their own because there is nothing to relate your colors, values, shapes, proportions etc.... From here its all finishing work.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Pic # whatever...8th in this WIP or so...
Short day today just tweaking values and adjusting the shapes of the grass colonies and allowing for a touch more definition there later if need be.
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Another wip pic
The warp or weft, can't remember which is which(the sunken ones), on this linen is making some serious valleys. First time using this brand. If I don't compensate it will look like there are long vertical and horizontal lines. Good for checkers. Not so good for a picture.
I've got a decent framework from which to make a painting now. A couple of touches tomorrow and then I'll start making a picture.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
WIP me
Taking some colors for a test drive today and making a quick foray into the foreground.
Current WIP - Posted on October 10, 2017 at 12:30 PM
Posted on October 10, 2017 at 12:30 PM
I'm still in blocking in mode but at this stage in the painting I'm doing more looking than painting. Checking proportions, base colors, adjusting values and trying to put the whole thing together in my head before moving on to the next stage. The only thing on the canvas right now that I'm sure of is the dark value I added today to the tree group on the right. It's the only thing that's done :)
I'm still in blocking in mode but at this stage in the painting I'm doing more looking than painting. Checking proportions, base colors, adjusting values and trying to put the whole thing together in my head before moving on to the next stage. The only thing on the canvas right now that I'm sure of is the dark value I added today to the tree group on the right. It's the only thing that's done :)
WIP - Posted on October 2, 2017 at 8:05 PM
Posted on October 2, 2017 at 8:05 PM
A palette full of fun for my current WIP.
A palette full of fun for my current WIP.
The Great Indoors! - Posted on July 30, 2017 at 3:35 PM
Posted on July 30, 2017 at 3:35 PM
I've been getting burnt out on framing, making linen panels, mounting old work, submitting work, and working on studio stuff so I got out and did a couple studies this week. It felt great to get out of the studio and feel like a human again.
I've been getting burnt out on framing, making linen panels, mounting old work, submitting work, and working on studio stuff so I got out and did a couple studies this week. It felt great to get out of the studio and feel like a human again.
A Query Into Relevance - Posted on July 28, 2017 at 10:15 AM
Posted on July 28, 2017 at 10:15 AM
A good read from the mind of the late Robert Genn:
jean-jacques-rousseau
In sympathy with the tone of this article, is landscape painting more relevant today than it was in the early 18th century? Is it relevant at all? Does it even matter if it's relevant or not?
A good read from the mind of the late Robert Genn:
jean-jacques-rousseau
In sympathy with the tone of this article, is landscape painting more relevant today than it was in the early 18th century? Is it relevant at all? Does it even matter if it's relevant or not?
Just sharing - Posted on July 27, 2017 at 9:20 AM
Posted on July 27, 2017 at 9:20 AM
A couple of pics from last fall outside Hewitt, MN. It was about 4pm and the sun just lit up the flags on the Bluejoint prairie grass.
A couple of pics from last fall outside Hewitt, MN. It was about 4pm and the sun just lit up the flags on the Bluejoint prairie grass.
Upcoming Show - Posted on July 17, 2017 at 11:20 AM
Posted on July 17, 2017 at 11:20 AM
I am happy to announce that I have two paintings that have been selected for this show. If you're in the area drop in and say hi and see some of the best paintings from the region.
Thursday at 6 PM - 8 PM
3 days from now · 63–88° Sun
Great River Arts
122 1st St SE, Little Falls, Minnesota 56345
For details copy and paste this url:
https://www.facebook.com/events/1444690965611436/?acontext=%7B%22action_history%22%3A%22[%7B%5C%22surface%5C%22%3A%5C%22page%5C%22%2C%5C%22mechanism%5C%22%3A%5C%22page_upcoming_events_card%5C%22%2C%5C%22extra_data%5C%22%3A[]%7D]%22%2C%22has_source%22%3Atrue%7D
Collective Visions
Thursday at 6 PM - 8 PM
3 days from now · 63–88° Sun
Great River Arts
122 1st St SE, Little Falls, Minnesota 56345
For details copy and paste this url:
https://www.facebook.com/events/1444690965611436/?acontext=%7B%22action_history%22%3A%22[%7B%5C%22surface%5C%22%3A%5C%22page%5C%22%2C%5C%22mechanism%5C%22%3A%5C%22page_upcoming_events_card%5C%22%2C%5C%22extra_data%5C%22%3A[]%7D]%22%2C%22has_source%22%3Atrue%7D
Viewing Announcement - Posted on June 15, 2017 at 9:35 AM
Posted on June 15, 2017 at 9:35 AM
Hey there,
I wanted to let everyone know that MacRostie Art Center in Grand Rapids, MN will be carrying 4-6 of my paintings beginning June 21, 2017. If you're in the area, check them out. Very laid back but also very professional and fun.
MacRostie Art Center
http://macrostieartcenter.org/
405 1st Avenue NW
Grand Rapids, MN 55744
Hey there,
I wanted to let everyone know that MacRostie Art Center in Grand Rapids, MN will be carrying 4-6 of my paintings beginning June 21, 2017. If you're in the area, check them out. Very laid back but also very professional and fun.
MacRostie Art Center
http://macrostieartcenter.org/
405 1st Avenue NW
Grand Rapids, MN 55744
Carbon and Calla Lillies - Posted on June 11, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Posted on June 11, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Was it summer breathing a sigh of relief? The chaos of spring has waned and a restful quiet has settled in. The marsh proffers its stage for the evening to please anyone who listens. Above and to the right we have a pileated woodpecker caws as the frog section below begins to join in with their peculiarly percussive rhythm. A heron not far off adds a solo piece for all to fear with its eerily jurassic sound. The air is so still you could send a smoke ring 100 yards and it would perfectly hold it’s form. A kingfisher broadcasted its declarations in its hasty rush to its position. The crickets had assembled and the owls were conducting a chilling inquiry of the night.
Such beauty comes together as an ensemble born from real chaos. How can so much uncoordinated noise cause such a breathtaking effect; a gravely arresting plea to listen a moment. Because these are the moments we keep. These very personal experiences. Weakly worded phrases and partially scrambled descriptions won’t translate persuasively. These brief moments when it’s just you and the mystery. Any attempt at description would fall flat. This moment, this one, isn’t something that was meant to be shared. The best you can do is say, “You had to be there.” You will take this one home and remember it the rest of your life.
Was it summer breathing a sigh of relief? The chaos of spring has waned and a restful quiet has settled in. The marsh proffers its stage for the evening to please anyone who listens. Above and to the right we have a pileated woodpecker caws as the frog section below begins to join in with their peculiarly percussive rhythm. A heron not far off adds a solo piece for all to fear with its eerily jurassic sound. The air is so still you could send a smoke ring 100 yards and it would perfectly hold it’s form. A kingfisher broadcasted its declarations in its hasty rush to its position. The crickets had assembled and the owls were conducting a chilling inquiry of the night.
Such beauty comes together as an ensemble born from real chaos. How can so much uncoordinated noise cause such a breathtaking effect; a gravely arresting plea to listen a moment. Because these are the moments we keep. These very personal experiences. Weakly worded phrases and partially scrambled descriptions won’t translate persuasively. These brief moments when it’s just you and the mystery. Any attempt at description would fall flat. This moment, this one, isn’t something that was meant to be shared. The best you can do is say, “You had to be there.” You will take this one home and remember it the rest of your life.
Rambling In Red, White, and Blue - Posted on May 28, 2017 at 6:00 AM
Posted on May 28, 2017 at 6:00 AM
We're Americans, what can we say? We like our whiskey straight and our politicians crooked.
I don't want to talk about what American culture isn't. There's enough of that tripe already. If there is an American culture it can be found in popular culture. Rock n Roll. Jazz. Rap. Heavy metal. It's found in a free people that have thrown themselves to the wind and let come what may.
It isn't going to be found at work. It's not found in our buildings. It's found in our people. People who have found freedom in doing what they want with their lives. It isn't doing what you think other people want or what other people think you should be doing with your life. It's found in people who have thrown all that shit out the window, slammed the sill and drawn the curtains for good. We find freedom where we can in our lives. And we fight for it.
American culture is found in people who do what they want with their lives. Fucking the consequences, and damning torpedoes along the way. It starts with a few colonists giving King George III the finger and, by the way, here's what you can do with your tea! It's found in people like James Hetfield, Jackson Pollock, Jim Morrison, Peter Marino. People going big, going bold. People who are what they are, naturally. Throwing convention out the window and to hell with the consequences. And if that means going hungry sometimes then so be it. Maintain dignity. You won't have nice clothes. No Harley Davidson. No Cadillac, no Camero or Corvette. All that stuff is cool but its not worth trading your life in for.
Baseball is kinda cool. That's a part of American culture. Football too I suppose. Basketball. Hockey. I guess hockey is more of a Canuck thing but it's big here in Minnesota. And the east coast. But baseball is a game. It doesn't mean anything. You can be a fan all your life and it doesn't mean a thing. You aren't doing anything with your life by watching someone else play. That's not a life. That's playing spectator to other people's lives. People like Morrison, Pollock, Poe, Inness, Ray Charles, Lady Gaga, Perry Farrell, Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson, Madonna, James Brown. Hell, throw Marilyn Manson in there if you want. Whoever your hero might be. All Americans. Individuals all. Doing, or did, what they want or wanted. Freedom is the only meaningful export we have to offer the rest of the world. But it comes in so many cool variations.
I'm naming a lot of stars of pop culture. But that's part of the American identity. Don't get me wrong, I love listening to a string ensemble, symphony or an orchestra too. But its more of a European thing. The Japanese have their taiko drums! That's big and bold. But those don't have that American flare. That American bravado. That gunslinger strut that says "I don't give a fuck." What matters is being free. Being yourself and tolerating others muddling their own way through life.
Americans are having a hard time getting along with the Muslim fundamentalists. They're just such fucking prudes. They want to take away everything we're willing to die for. They want the planet to knuckle under and say their prayers with them. They want conformity. We'll give them bullets. They want to suppress. We'll give them bombs.
Thank you to all those past and current veterans who put their lives on the line so I can scribble a line to share. Keep the swagger.
Happy Memorial Day!
We're Americans, what can we say? We like our whiskey straight and our politicians crooked.
I don't want to talk about what American culture isn't. There's enough of that tripe already. If there is an American culture it can be found in popular culture. Rock n Roll. Jazz. Rap. Heavy metal. It's found in a free people that have thrown themselves to the wind and let come what may.
It isn't going to be found at work. It's not found in our buildings. It's found in our people. People who have found freedom in doing what they want with their lives. It isn't doing what you think other people want or what other people think you should be doing with your life. It's found in people who have thrown all that shit out the window, slammed the sill and drawn the curtains for good. We find freedom where we can in our lives. And we fight for it.
American culture is found in people who do what they want with their lives. Fucking the consequences, and damning torpedoes along the way. It starts with a few colonists giving King George III the finger and, by the way, here's what you can do with your tea! It's found in people like James Hetfield, Jackson Pollock, Jim Morrison, Peter Marino. People going big, going bold. People who are what they are, naturally. Throwing convention out the window and to hell with the consequences. And if that means going hungry sometimes then so be it. Maintain dignity. You won't have nice clothes. No Harley Davidson. No Cadillac, no Camero or Corvette. All that stuff is cool but its not worth trading your life in for.
Baseball is kinda cool. That's a part of American culture. Football too I suppose. Basketball. Hockey. I guess hockey is more of a Canuck thing but it's big here in Minnesota. And the east coast. But baseball is a game. It doesn't mean anything. You can be a fan all your life and it doesn't mean a thing. You aren't doing anything with your life by watching someone else play. That's not a life. That's playing spectator to other people's lives. People like Morrison, Pollock, Poe, Inness, Ray Charles, Lady Gaga, Perry Farrell, Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson, Madonna, James Brown. Hell, throw Marilyn Manson in there if you want. Whoever your hero might be. All Americans. Individuals all. Doing, or did, what they want or wanted. Freedom is the only meaningful export we have to offer the rest of the world. But it comes in so many cool variations.
I'm naming a lot of stars of pop culture. But that's part of the American identity. Don't get me wrong, I love listening to a string ensemble, symphony or an orchestra too. But its more of a European thing. The Japanese have their taiko drums! That's big and bold. But those don't have that American flare. That American bravado. That gunslinger strut that says "I don't give a fuck." What matters is being free. Being yourself and tolerating others muddling their own way through life.
Americans are having a hard time getting along with the Muslim fundamentalists. They're just such fucking prudes. They want to take away everything we're willing to die for. They want the planet to knuckle under and say their prayers with them. They want conformity. We'll give them bullets. They want to suppress. We'll give them bombs.
Thank you to all those past and current veterans who put their lives on the line so I can scribble a line to share. Keep the swagger.
Happy Memorial Day!
Rankless, Casteless, Classless - Posted on May 7, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Posted on May 7, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Just casually looking around on any given day I find there are countless scenarios that present themselves as paintings. A burgeoning feast for hungry, winter fed eyes. I never have a hard time finding subjects to paint. They're everywhere. Literally. Everything from lichens growing a little village on a rotting tree stump to grand vistas of sweeping valleys to the way the telephone wires tangle together in the alley. They all jump at you. Begging for their turn at the easel.
The interest and curiosity found in everyday things can come as a revelation if we take the time to look. The more you look, the more you find. If you keep looking everyday for the nuances that present themselves, over time your brain becomes hardwired to see a painting in almost everything you look at. It's like handing out treats to your maniacally excited pet. All that jumping and fussing. You simply don't have time or enough energy to dedicate to all the beautiful, interesting things seen throughout the day.
When I'm going to paint outside, I must have a predetermined subject or place in mind so that I know where I'm going. Otherwise I end up mentally tagging all the great subjects and trying to rank them in order of potential. Invariably, I'll spend so much time looking at all the great stuff to paint that I end up spending more time looking than painting. Maybe that's the idea, I don't know. But if something shouts for attention that isn't the intended vessel of my affection than I'll firmly commit myself to the new subject instead. Always keeping options open. Because there are so many variables as to why something might look a particular way, it will never look the same again...ever. The light will be different. There is more dust in the air. There is less moisture in the air. All of the queues your brain takes from what you see and feel are infinitely tangled together in an endless orchestra of emotional awe. Mixed metaphors aside, you can never step in the same river twice. So you cast your net into the water and hope to capture one fish from the swirling mass of them in front of you. Happy to take something home. Satisfied with accepting what was offered the whole time.
Just casually looking around on any given day I find there are countless scenarios that present themselves as paintings. A burgeoning feast for hungry, winter fed eyes. I never have a hard time finding subjects to paint. They're everywhere. Literally. Everything from lichens growing a little village on a rotting tree stump to grand vistas of sweeping valleys to the way the telephone wires tangle together in the alley. They all jump at you. Begging for their turn at the easel.
The interest and curiosity found in everyday things can come as a revelation if we take the time to look. The more you look, the more you find. If you keep looking everyday for the nuances that present themselves, over time your brain becomes hardwired to see a painting in almost everything you look at. It's like handing out treats to your maniacally excited pet. All that jumping and fussing. You simply don't have time or enough energy to dedicate to all the beautiful, interesting things seen throughout the day.
When I'm going to paint outside, I must have a predetermined subject or place in mind so that I know where I'm going. Otherwise I end up mentally tagging all the great subjects and trying to rank them in order of potential. Invariably, I'll spend so much time looking at all the great stuff to paint that I end up spending more time looking than painting. Maybe that's the idea, I don't know. But if something shouts for attention that isn't the intended vessel of my affection than I'll firmly commit myself to the new subject instead. Always keeping options open. Because there are so many variables as to why something might look a particular way, it will never look the same again...ever. The light will be different. There is more dust in the air. There is less moisture in the air. All of the queues your brain takes from what you see and feel are infinitely tangled together in an endless orchestra of emotional awe. Mixed metaphors aside, you can never step in the same river twice. So you cast your net into the water and hope to capture one fish from the swirling mass of them in front of you. Happy to take something home. Satisfied with accepting what was offered the whole time.
The Way Through It - Posted on April 9, 2017 at 12:35 PM
Posted on April 9, 2017 at 12:35 PM
All alone again. Is it the sadness in this beauty or the beauty in this sadness? Regardless, it seems they have drawn me in, again. Inward, outward, downward, then upward with the breeze my mind blows. Trying to show me something? Something I'm still incapable of understanding I'm sure. Something in the way the cold breeze blows around me. Then through me. It consoles me somehow in this wild place. And the sun shines bright on the creek. Meandering through the complex of overgrowth I can see the way through it all. Jack reminds me that sometimes the heart ain't no place to be singing from at all. And this bolt of bright color in a world gone grey. The brush finds its way back to the canvas and adds another passage somehow. For some reason I'm still unable to comprehend.
This touch of warmth in a world so cold. Is there really a message or am I just dreaming where there is not but silence? Indifference. Why do I seek to be alone out here? Alone in places like this where pagan voices still echo off the hills. To be alone but not lonely. Saddened but encouraged by the struggle of the living things around me in a similar situation. In a moment of deep compassion my heart goes out to them. Do they too fight to find meaning in this sunshine? Do they really reach out to me? Or is it just the romantic seeking arbitration? I find my footing in the snow again and manage a smile.
All alone again. Is it the sadness in this beauty or the beauty in this sadness? Regardless, it seems they have drawn me in, again. Inward, outward, downward, then upward with the breeze my mind blows. Trying to show me something? Something I'm still incapable of understanding I'm sure. Something in the way the cold breeze blows around me. Then through me. It consoles me somehow in this wild place. And the sun shines bright on the creek. Meandering through the complex of overgrowth I can see the way through it all. Jack reminds me that sometimes the heart ain't no place to be singing from at all. And this bolt of bright color in a world gone grey. The brush finds its way back to the canvas and adds another passage somehow. For some reason I'm still unable to comprehend.
This touch of warmth in a world so cold. Is there really a message or am I just dreaming where there is not but silence? Indifference. Why do I seek to be alone out here? Alone in places like this where pagan voices still echo off the hills. To be alone but not lonely. Saddened but encouraged by the struggle of the living things around me in a similar situation. In a moment of deep compassion my heart goes out to them. Do they too fight to find meaning in this sunshine? Do they really reach out to me? Or is it just the romantic seeking arbitration? I find my footing in the snow again and manage a smile.
First Time Auction On eBay - Posted on April 1, 2017 at 4:35 PM
Posted on April 1, 2017 at 4:35 PM
Greetings! This message is to inform you that this painting, "In Another Life", will be auctioned beginning immediately and ending next Saturday, 4/8/17 on eBay. Since this is the 1st time I'm auctioning on eBay I'm offering a $0.99 opening bid with Free Shipping. I am asking that the winning bidder write a short testimonial. More information is available on the auction page at:
http://www.ebay.com/itm/262919304568?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649
Stay true,
Rob
"In Another Life" Auction - 1st Time on eBay Intro Bid $0.99 + free shipping
Greetings! This message is to inform you that this painting, "In Another Life", will be auctioned beginning immediately and ending next Saturday, 4/8/17 on eBay. Since this is the 1st time I'm auctioning on eBay I'm offering a $0.99 opening bid with Free Shipping. I am asking that the winning bidder write a short testimonial. More information is available on the auction page at:
http://www.ebay.com/itm/262919304568?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649
Stay true,
Rob
Showing and Selling - Posted on March 24, 2017 at 4:35 PM
Posted on March 24, 2017 at 4:35 PM
I'll be at Sprout this Saturday, tomorrow, in Little Falls, MN selling more of my recent work. I had a great time last month and I expect the same this weekend. Fresh produce from locally sourced growers, other artists work, live music, blacksmithing, and cooking demos! They open the doors at 10am and will wrap things up at 3pm. Hope to see you there!
I'll be at Sprout this Saturday, tomorrow, in Little Falls, MN selling more of my recent work. I had a great time last month and I expect the same this weekend. Fresh produce from locally sourced growers, other artists work, live music, blacksmithing, and cooking demos! They open the doors at 10am and will wrap things up at 3pm. Hope to see you there!
Good News For People Who Like Bad News - Posted on March 14, 2017 at 3:45 PM
Posted on March 14, 2017 at 3:45 PM
Professor Forgas of the University of New South Wales in Australia in a 2009 study about moods and how they affect people said : "Whereas positive mood seems to promote creativity, flexibility, co-operation and reliance on mental shortcuts, negative moods trigger more attentive, careful thinking, paying greater attention to the external world." He goes on to say that a "mildly negative mood may actually promote a more concrete, accommodative and ultimately more successful communication style". Looking at examples through history we might consider that Beethoven, Poe, or Bosch may have agreed.
As a young writer I certainly would have agreed. But the great works of humanity, the works that have been meticulously preserved through centuries of painstaking conservation, have something more to offer us than commiseration. They do more for us than just reproducing yet more misery, despair and self-pity. There is a whisper of hope in those messages that are timeless.
In more recent history we have, through our patronage, upheld and supported the idea that artists must suffer. There is a stigma for young artists to feel like they should demonstrate that they know pain. Almost as an obligation. To show that they suffer and know suffering. Any artist that doesn't suffer and communicate their misery isn't an artist at all in the current art world. However, if you're bold, brash, arrogant, and can talk a mean painting; if you confuse your audience and tell them how worthless their life is; if you just throw snot on your canvas and tell us how angry and miserable you are; if you do these things and can walk with a swagger then you've got a chance today. But these things, these productions, feed off of despair and hatred. The 'tormented artist' focuses on misery, anger, and other dark forces and has no room in their message for optimism.
I should know, I was once among them. But in the great works there is expressed a aspect of humanity that perseveres through that pain. Like heroes they show us how to endure. Through these works there is a beauty rooted among the quiet suffering. Like color compliments we have no context for them to exist in until their opposite is introduced. One simply cannot exist without the other. Without dark, we would not know light, etc., etc.. But its more of being a part than a whole. Anyway, so its fundamentally sound, as an artist, to know pain and have the ability to express it, even if only as a counterpoint to beauty.
But in our finest works there extends a ladder to the bottom of our dark wells. A speck of hope that this too shall pass. It's more important for an artist to demonstrate a state of mind, or a way of thinking about things that releases or eases pain's grip and shows us something meaningful and sometimes even profound. At the very least we are shown that someone else, among the centuries of swarming humanity, knows how we feel. To manifest the sublime that courses through the pain and triumphs in spite of the forces stomping us down. We are shown a bit of who we are on a fundamental level. A part of what it is to be human. There is that mounting feeling that we just, might, make it out of this. That its going to be alright. Without that element, we're simply misery mongers. A broken wheel. Dead weight. But with that element, we see that just as in life, there lies a peculiar beauty in our anguish.
Professor Forgas of the University of New South Wales in Australia in a 2009 study about moods and how they affect people said : "Whereas positive mood seems to promote creativity, flexibility, co-operation and reliance on mental shortcuts, negative moods trigger more attentive, careful thinking, paying greater attention to the external world." He goes on to say that a "mildly negative mood may actually promote a more concrete, accommodative and ultimately more successful communication style". Looking at examples through history we might consider that Beethoven, Poe, or Bosch may have agreed.
As a young writer I certainly would have agreed. But the great works of humanity, the works that have been meticulously preserved through centuries of painstaking conservation, have something more to offer us than commiseration. They do more for us than just reproducing yet more misery, despair and self-pity. There is a whisper of hope in those messages that are timeless.
In more recent history we have, through our patronage, upheld and supported the idea that artists must suffer. There is a stigma for young artists to feel like they should demonstrate that they know pain. Almost as an obligation. To show that they suffer and know suffering. Any artist that doesn't suffer and communicate their misery isn't an artist at all in the current art world. However, if you're bold, brash, arrogant, and can talk a mean painting; if you confuse your audience and tell them how worthless their life is; if you just throw snot on your canvas and tell us how angry and miserable you are; if you do these things and can walk with a swagger then you've got a chance today. But these things, these productions, feed off of despair and hatred. The 'tormented artist' focuses on misery, anger, and other dark forces and has no room in their message for optimism.
I should know, I was once among them. But in the great works there is expressed a aspect of humanity that perseveres through that pain. Like heroes they show us how to endure. Through these works there is a beauty rooted among the quiet suffering. Like color compliments we have no context for them to exist in until their opposite is introduced. One simply cannot exist without the other. Without dark, we would not know light, etc., etc.. But its more of being a part than a whole. Anyway, so its fundamentally sound, as an artist, to know pain and have the ability to express it, even if only as a counterpoint to beauty.
But in our finest works there extends a ladder to the bottom of our dark wells. A speck of hope that this too shall pass. It's more important for an artist to demonstrate a state of mind, or a way of thinking about things that releases or eases pain's grip and shows us something meaningful and sometimes even profound. At the very least we are shown that someone else, among the centuries of swarming humanity, knows how we feel. To manifest the sublime that courses through the pain and triumphs in spite of the forces stomping us down. We are shown a bit of who we are on a fundamental level. A part of what it is to be human. There is that mounting feeling that we just, might, make it out of this. That its going to be alright. Without that element, we're simply misery mongers. A broken wheel. Dead weight. But with that element, we see that just as in life, there lies a peculiar beauty in our anguish.
Colorful Dreams - Posted on February 12, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Posted on February 12, 2017 at 9:00 AM
Wrested from that one brief capsule of moment, that singularity of orchestrated light. It must have been the color offered there, so briefly, in that one single, razor thin slice of eternity. There was hazy sun in the late afternoon. Most of the trees had started to change color or were already in various stages of change. Any one single section of this spot would have been a good section to base a painting on, and there were limitless sections.
You could tell summer had clearly waned. It was getting colder out. I was tooling around on a motorcycle as part of an annual ritual of saying goodbye to summer. I think it was the grays that had caught my eye the most. They're usually the most interesting. They're the colors, in league with the rest, that disappear if you stare at them too long. They remind us of the err in duality, the err in precluding it is us vs. nature. They're the colors with depth and enjoy partaking in some of the qualities of their neighbors. They're the colors in sympathy with the sentiment of the rest of the painting. They are the glue once it all becomes a coherent whole. Selflessly disbanding themselves into shards of a broken mosaic.
But its hard sometimes to pinpoint exactly what it is about a place that makes us feel the way we do. Why would a collection of light and dark spots of color inspire us? Its easy to pick out a main character for a painting when there is a limited amount of material to choose from. So you pick that subject and get down to the business of painting. Its a relatively simple process when you want to focus on just that one element.
There are times though when the collection isn't so obvious; when the arena and the feeling it evokes are elusive in your search for the why. They end up ducking analysis and skipping roll call. We're forced to dig a little deeper into the trove that is ourselves. We find ourselves asking questions instead of faking it. Questions that normally aren't typically found in nature. When its the gestalt of a place that makes us pause and admire it, we're offered a hint at an idea. We're teased with an emotion that is as complex as the branches in a tree canopy.
Wrested from that one brief capsule of moment, that singularity of orchestrated light. It must have been the color offered there, so briefly, in that one single, razor thin slice of eternity. There was hazy sun in the late afternoon. Most of the trees had started to change color or were already in various stages of change. Any one single section of this spot would have been a good section to base a painting on, and there were limitless sections.
You could tell summer had clearly waned. It was getting colder out. I was tooling around on a motorcycle as part of an annual ritual of saying goodbye to summer. I think it was the grays that had caught my eye the most. They're usually the most interesting. They're the colors, in league with the rest, that disappear if you stare at them too long. They remind us of the err in duality, the err in precluding it is us vs. nature. They're the colors with depth and enjoy partaking in some of the qualities of their neighbors. They're the colors in sympathy with the sentiment of the rest of the painting. They are the glue once it all becomes a coherent whole. Selflessly disbanding themselves into shards of a broken mosaic.
But its hard sometimes to pinpoint exactly what it is about a place that makes us feel the way we do. Why would a collection of light and dark spots of color inspire us? Its easy to pick out a main character for a painting when there is a limited amount of material to choose from. So you pick that subject and get down to the business of painting. Its a relatively simple process when you want to focus on just that one element.
There are times though when the collection isn't so obvious; when the arena and the feeling it evokes are elusive in your search for the why. They end up ducking analysis and skipping roll call. We're forced to dig a little deeper into the trove that is ourselves. We find ourselves asking questions instead of faking it. Questions that normally aren't typically found in nature. When its the gestalt of a place that makes us pause and admire it, we're offered a hint at an idea. We're teased with an emotion that is as complex as the branches in a tree canopy.
The New Deal, But Not Roosevelt's - Posted on January 16, 2017 at 1:20 AM
Posted on January 16, 2017 at 1:20 AM
Well I've been licking my marketing wounds now since last November after having my hope resoundingly crushed when I submited two paintings for auction and its time for me to get back on that horse and get back to business. Which is difficult when your business is exposing your humble, naked soul to perfect strangers.
But there it is. Its bootstrapping time. Onward we trudge, with our heads down and resolve firmly in tow, even if it has to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the fold. I've been working on a painting, a large piece for me at 24x36". It's not the size of the painting but the sentiment that is taking me an inordinate amount of time to create a picture that satisfies me.
Over this past spring, summer, and fall I was posting new plein air work every week and offering the painting as visual stimulus for the weekly blog updates. That on top of the business of running a business proved to be too demanding. It hung over me like a dark cloud threatening my peace of mind almost daily. I want to offer something that no one else is offering though, that no one else can offer. A fully rounded experience that immerses people in the moment and leaves something to think about long after having seen the painting or read the blog or poem or whatever. I'm an admirer of the late Robert Genn's work with respect to his "Twice Weekly Letter" and remain influenced by his excellent example. "...ask yourself, what could be".
You see, I'm limited by my heavy metal poisoning, I've discovered that I can't keep that pace up indefinitely so I've been trying to come up with an alternate but still regular blogging schedule. Above all though, I don't want it to be just a blog. I don't want to make it a daily diary. I'm not narcissistic and I know this isn't about me. It's about something larger than myself. Something inside all of us that appeals to our sense of the spiritual, intellectual, emotional, philosophical and hopefully a little humorous every now and then.
Being a visual artist with a website, I feel obligated to offer as rich of an experience as is possible in this new medium. And a new medium it is. The presentation of new artwork coupled with prose and a dose of the very personal. Artists of the Far East have offered poetry with pictures since antiquity but lacked the personal background, the insight, and the close relationship that is formed between reader and writer that happens when following an artist regularly through a blog and/or social media.
If you were born before 1980 then you know the excitement of getting a personal letter by, 'snail mail', from a friend. I want to have a bit of that personal interest so people aren't just getting a laundry list of new events and work. Being new to this, having just kicked this thing off last April, I'm finding that expecting that level of quality is overly demanding of my fragile psyche to produce week in and week out, month after month. After all I'm an artist, and we're notorious for needing our downtime to allow new ideas to simmer and stew before producing something that is meaningful and lasting. I'm scaling back my weekly ambitions, starting last October ;) , and will be able to focus more on the quality of the blog without the hazard of risking complete burnout. I'm shooting for every other week right now but can guarantee at least 1 per month. There may be a sprinkling of new stuff more frequently as we move forward and I get more comfortable, but that will depend on the volume of qualitative material available at any given time.
So in the interests of getting back to some sense of regularity, I'm offering a poem this week with my current wip(work in progress).
Stay true,
Rob
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dedication To Traci
She's the type of love that wars are fought over.
My love rights all ships and blooms in fields.
My love radiates.
My love consumes.
She is color in clover
and a breeze through lilacs.
My love is the calloused hand that holds a brush.
She is the skin on her inner thigh,
beauty in the stars,
and company in the night.
My love soars;
riding thermals to the moon.
Hers is the kind of love that makes men desperate.
The kind that leads to murder.
The kind that men starve for.
The kind of love that men die for.
She is warm
She is wet.
She is drunk on jet fuel
and calls me to heel.
She sends me spinning
and convulsing through my dreams.
She is the offered body.
Naked to her painted toes.
My love chokes on desire.
She is that one day that will never come again.
Breathlessly infinite.
Well I've been licking my marketing wounds now since last November after having my hope resoundingly crushed when I submited two paintings for auction and its time for me to get back on that horse and get back to business. Which is difficult when your business is exposing your humble, naked soul to perfect strangers.
But there it is. Its bootstrapping time. Onward we trudge, with our heads down and resolve firmly in tow, even if it has to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the fold. I've been working on a painting, a large piece for me at 24x36". It's not the size of the painting but the sentiment that is taking me an inordinate amount of time to create a picture that satisfies me.
Over this past spring, summer, and fall I was posting new plein air work every week and offering the painting as visual stimulus for the weekly blog updates. That on top of the business of running a business proved to be too demanding. It hung over me like a dark cloud threatening my peace of mind almost daily. I want to offer something that no one else is offering though, that no one else can offer. A fully rounded experience that immerses people in the moment and leaves something to think about long after having seen the painting or read the blog or poem or whatever. I'm an admirer of the late Robert Genn's work with respect to his "Twice Weekly Letter" and remain influenced by his excellent example. "...ask yourself, what could be".
You see, I'm limited by my heavy metal poisoning, I've discovered that I can't keep that pace up indefinitely so I've been trying to come up with an alternate but still regular blogging schedule. Above all though, I don't want it to be just a blog. I don't want to make it a daily diary. I'm not narcissistic and I know this isn't about me. It's about something larger than myself. Something inside all of us that appeals to our sense of the spiritual, intellectual, emotional, philosophical and hopefully a little humorous every now and then.
Being a visual artist with a website, I feel obligated to offer as rich of an experience as is possible in this new medium. And a new medium it is. The presentation of new artwork coupled with prose and a dose of the very personal. Artists of the Far East have offered poetry with pictures since antiquity but lacked the personal background, the insight, and the close relationship that is formed between reader and writer that happens when following an artist regularly through a blog and/or social media.
If you were born before 1980 then you know the excitement of getting a personal letter by, 'snail mail', from a friend. I want to have a bit of that personal interest so people aren't just getting a laundry list of new events and work. Being new to this, having just kicked this thing off last April, I'm finding that expecting that level of quality is overly demanding of my fragile psyche to produce week in and week out, month after month. After all I'm an artist, and we're notorious for needing our downtime to allow new ideas to simmer and stew before producing something that is meaningful and lasting. I'm scaling back my weekly ambitions, starting last October ;) , and will be able to focus more on the quality of the blog without the hazard of risking complete burnout. I'm shooting for every other week right now but can guarantee at least 1 per month. There may be a sprinkling of new stuff more frequently as we move forward and I get more comfortable, but that will depend on the volume of qualitative material available at any given time.
So in the interests of getting back to some sense of regularity, I'm offering a poem this week with my current wip(work in progress).
Stay true,
Rob
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dedication To Traci
She's the type of love that wars are fought over.
My love rights all ships and blooms in fields.
My love radiates.
My love consumes.
She is color in clover
and a breeze through lilacs.
My love is the calloused hand that holds a brush.
She is the skin on her inner thigh,
beauty in the stars,
and company in the night.
My love soars;
riding thermals to the moon.
Hers is the kind of love that makes men desperate.
The kind that leads to murder.
The kind that men starve for.
The kind of love that men die for.
She is warm
She is wet.
She is drunk on jet fuel
and calls me to heel.
She sends me spinning
and convulsing through my dreams.
She is the offered body.
Naked to her painted toes.
My love chokes on desire.
She is that one day that will never come again.
Breathlessly infinite.
Into the New - Posted on November 13, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on November 13, 2016 at 9:00 AM
This painting will be auctioned on Daily Paintworks beginning today, 11/13/2016, and ending 7 days out. If you would like to place a bid please go here.
Late morning shadows in the heat of summer somehow feel like shelter. A tree demarcates a shift in the trail opening onto the world of the sunlit. Paper birch pioneering the field and making a transitional forest where the mono ecology of farming yields to the wisdom of the wood.
This painting will be auctioned on Daily Paintworks beginning today, 11/13/2016, and ending 7 days out. If you would like to place a bid please go here.
Late morning shadows in the heat of summer somehow feel like shelter. A tree demarcates a shift in the trail opening onto the world of the sunlit. Paper birch pioneering the field and making a transitional forest where the mono ecology of farming yields to the wisdom of the wood.
North Country Pasture - Posted on November 6, 2016 at 8:00 AM
Posted on November 6, 2016 at 8:00 AM
Wetlands and tundra are powerful sources of life. Star Wars fans know it as Dagobah. The womb is wet for all of us it seems. The very air is dense with life in these places. The animals here know that there is no need to sow it, plow it, crop it or yoke it. If we could see it we would go blind. Sanctity is comprehended in the atmosphere. Life boils over and spills outward. Irradiating the countryside with its grace. A shock-wave of life.
Wetlands and tundra are powerful sources of life. Star Wars fans know it as Dagobah. The womb is wet for all of us it seems. The very air is dense with life in these places. The animals here know that there is no need to sow it, plow it, crop it or yoke it. If we could see it we would go blind. Sanctity is comprehended in the atmosphere. Life boils over and spills outward. Irradiating the countryside with its grace. A shock-wave of life.
More Human Than Human - Posted on October 23, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on October 23, 2016 at 9:00 AM
It was late Sep in 1928 and something unlike anything else on earth was unveiled at the Royal Horticultural Hall in England. Up to that day a robot was something for Hollywood and fiction writers. But on that day and forever after a concept manifested itself and a new age had arrived. Back then, Eric the robot bowed, and looking right and left began to address the gathering with a four minute opening as sparks flashed from his teeth. According to Popular Science magazine, which covered the debut in 1928, the robot was "deemed an almost perfect man by the New York press".
Fast forward to today and we have "60 Minutes", the American TV news magazine, reporting that Stephen Hawking(the internationally renowned physicist) is calling a new movement in artificial intelligence, "the biggest event in human history", and the 60 Minutes' headliner reads "Artificial intelligence positioned to be a game-changer."
IBM has created a machine, "Watson", that learns from experience. It can "consume the equivalent of a million books per second". John Kelly is the godfather of Watson and says, "as it’s given data and given outcomes, it learns... And as it interacts with humans, it gets even smarter. And it never forgets." It has gone through medical school and is to be tutored in genomics and oncology and has already reportedly identified new treatment options for 300 plus people suffering from cancer that their treating physicians had overlooked.
Tech giants are backing the project with millions, in fact IBM has invested $15 billion in "only a few years". The US Navy is investing in the application as an independent navigator and eventually into an automated sub hunter. Hilton hotels is already using it as a concierge and plans to have one in every one of its hotels. It can do these things but can also remind you to take your medications at 8:17am 10 years from now. Oh, and 5 years ago it beat two humans on the game show "Jeopardy".
The staggering thing is that its estimated to be operating at only a few percent of its capacity. And of course, along with countless other benign inventions of the past, like atomic energy, it will be modified into a killing machine of some kind. You can't help but wonder about the philosophical underpinnings. Are we literally at the point Nietzsche presents with his Ubermensch(superman)? Considering genomics and other biological breakthroughs in conjunction with new A.I. capabilities it really begs the question: Are we replacing God? Are these inventions our way of justifying our existence? Will these things evolve into something that is superior to humans in all practical aspects? Are these pieces of our own natural evolutionary puzzle?
In my opinion, keeping things benevolent may be the biggest hurdle. Its no coincidence that its arguably the most important and meaningful aspect to consider and that its also the one thing that isn't being addressed hand-in-hand with new technology. Its only a matter of time until someone monkeys with the standard of 'preservation of life' as the primary protocol and finds a way to make a killer and destroyer out of this thing. It appears that no one has any idea how to program ethics, compassion, or empathy. Those are some of the human race's better attributes. Shouldn't those be included somewhere in our evolution?
It was late Sep in 1928 and something unlike anything else on earth was unveiled at the Royal Horticultural Hall in England. Up to that day a robot was something for Hollywood and fiction writers. But on that day and forever after a concept manifested itself and a new age had arrived. Back then, Eric the robot bowed, and looking right and left began to address the gathering with a four minute opening as sparks flashed from his teeth. According to Popular Science magazine, which covered the debut in 1928, the robot was "deemed an almost perfect man by the New York press".
Fast forward to today and we have "60 Minutes", the American TV news magazine, reporting that Stephen Hawking(the internationally renowned physicist) is calling a new movement in artificial intelligence, "the biggest event in human history", and the 60 Minutes' headliner reads "Artificial intelligence positioned to be a game-changer."
IBM has created a machine, "Watson", that learns from experience. It can "consume the equivalent of a million books per second". John Kelly is the godfather of Watson and says, "as it’s given data and given outcomes, it learns... And as it interacts with humans, it gets even smarter. And it never forgets." It has gone through medical school and is to be tutored in genomics and oncology and has already reportedly identified new treatment options for 300 plus people suffering from cancer that their treating physicians had overlooked.
Tech giants are backing the project with millions, in fact IBM has invested $15 billion in "only a few years". The US Navy is investing in the application as an independent navigator and eventually into an automated sub hunter. Hilton hotels is already using it as a concierge and plans to have one in every one of its hotels. It can do these things but can also remind you to take your medications at 8:17am 10 years from now. Oh, and 5 years ago it beat two humans on the game show "Jeopardy".
The staggering thing is that its estimated to be operating at only a few percent of its capacity. And of course, along with countless other benign inventions of the past, like atomic energy, it will be modified into a killing machine of some kind. You can't help but wonder about the philosophical underpinnings. Are we literally at the point Nietzsche presents with his Ubermensch(superman)? Considering genomics and other biological breakthroughs in conjunction with new A.I. capabilities it really begs the question: Are we replacing God? Are these inventions our way of justifying our existence? Will these things evolve into something that is superior to humans in all practical aspects? Are these pieces of our own natural evolutionary puzzle?
In my opinion, keeping things benevolent may be the biggest hurdle. Its no coincidence that its arguably the most important and meaningful aspect to consider and that its also the one thing that isn't being addressed hand-in-hand with new technology. Its only a matter of time until someone monkeys with the standard of 'preservation of life' as the primary protocol and finds a way to make a killer and destroyer out of this thing. It appears that no one has any idea how to program ethics, compassion, or empathy. Those are some of the human race's better attributes. Shouldn't those be included somewhere in our evolution?
Riding An Island - Posted on October 16, 2016 at 11:10 AM
Posted on October 16, 2016 at 11:10 AM
In a private world of motion and speed the only sounds are the wind and the engine. While the body is nicely locked away. Encapsulated. Insulated from the world at rest. The well meaning intrusions. Thoughts can roll in time with the wheels. There is a sense of safety while in motion. Untouchable to the world. The world at rest. The world at large. Motion acts as a cushion, softening the blow of a harsh reality. A blow meant to convince and conform. To play nice with, and by the rules of, others. You can be an artist while in motion. With no one to stop or interrupt you in their curious need. Disrupting the thought-train. Also in motion. Always in motion. Prying the wedge of society's influence between yourself and your thoughts. Prying you further and further from your epiphany. Halting the thought-train. Keeping it from it's destination and haphazard schedule. Each word spoken another mile. Holding the passengers hostage. Keeping the passengers waiting. And so they wait. Some patiently, others depart at the first sign of delay. Never to be seen again. Thoughts whispered are the first to go. Wisps of revelation disappearing like smoke. Wisdom sent packing. When stopped there is a feeling of being put at risk. Exposed as you are and conspicuous. Vulnerable to conversation. An object of suspicion. Investigated by the neighborhood watch. There on the side of the road. Thinking your thoughts. Making your paintings in your mind.
In a private world of motion and speed the only sounds are the wind and the engine. While the body is nicely locked away. Encapsulated. Insulated from the world at rest. The well meaning intrusions. Thoughts can roll in time with the wheels. There is a sense of safety while in motion. Untouchable to the world. The world at rest. The world at large. Motion acts as a cushion, softening the blow of a harsh reality. A blow meant to convince and conform. To play nice with, and by the rules of, others. You can be an artist while in motion. With no one to stop or interrupt you in their curious need. Disrupting the thought-train. Also in motion. Always in motion. Prying the wedge of society's influence between yourself and your thoughts. Prying you further and further from your epiphany. Halting the thought-train. Keeping it from it's destination and haphazard schedule. Each word spoken another mile. Holding the passengers hostage. Keeping the passengers waiting. And so they wait. Some patiently, others depart at the first sign of delay. Never to be seen again. Thoughts whispered are the first to go. Wisps of revelation disappearing like smoke. Wisdom sent packing. When stopped there is a feeling of being put at risk. Exposed as you are and conspicuous. Vulnerable to conversation. An object of suspicion. Investigated by the neighborhood watch. There on the side of the road. Thinking your thoughts. Making your paintings in your mind.
People Of Color - Posted on October 11, 2016 at 4:55 PM
Posted on October 11, 2016 at 4:55 PM
With Autumn falling on us I'm reminded that in this very short but intense season timing is everything for getting out and seeing the landscape in all her finery. Some years the wind, which also picks up in Autumn, robs us of the indulgence. Windy days in Autumn feel like sacrilege. They make me cringe every time a gust blows. Other years, there has been too much water, or not enough water. So instead of the candy like oranges, reds and yellows we get the jaundiced, yellow-brown of ill health. Unlike the other 50 weeks of the year, for these two we are treated to an almost alien landscape. A world where color is felt intimately. Where color and light team up to saturate the very air we breathe. It fills the atmosphere like humidity and drenches us in a rain of hue. Wringing our clothes out when we get home. I like to get out and go for long rides trying to absorb it all. Just sitting under a maple in your back yard seems like a new experience. Like a supernova there is the blinding flash before the passing begins. There is no impulse to paint. Some things should just be enjoyed. Not captured, cataloged, or clicked. Just a human mooning in a moment in time. A quiet sharing of the world seeded in empathy.
With Autumn falling on us I'm reminded that in this very short but intense season timing is everything for getting out and seeing the landscape in all her finery. Some years the wind, which also picks up in Autumn, robs us of the indulgence. Windy days in Autumn feel like sacrilege. They make me cringe every time a gust blows. Other years, there has been too much water, or not enough water. So instead of the candy like oranges, reds and yellows we get the jaundiced, yellow-brown of ill health. Unlike the other 50 weeks of the year, for these two we are treated to an almost alien landscape. A world where color is felt intimately. Where color and light team up to saturate the very air we breathe. It fills the atmosphere like humidity and drenches us in a rain of hue. Wringing our clothes out when we get home. I like to get out and go for long rides trying to absorb it all. Just sitting under a maple in your back yard seems like a new experience. Like a supernova there is the blinding flash before the passing begins. There is no impulse to paint. Some things should just be enjoyed. Not captured, cataloged, or clicked. Just a human mooning in a moment in time. A quiet sharing of the world seeded in empathy.
Plein air by the watercooler - Posted on September 11, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on September 11, 2016 at 9:00 AM
While I was out painting this one I had four different groups that drove by, turned around, parked on the shoulder and came over to take a closer look. One group of guys who had just finished their day on a construction site offered me a beer, which I declined since I was painting. The three of them couldn't have been more than 25. I thought it was interesting that a few guys working construction would stop, turn around and come back for a closer look. If you had to choose three people out of a hundred to stop and turn around, how many of you would pick three guys in a pick-up who work construction? Right. So I was pretty surprised, but also impressed when it was a pick-up filled with three young guys. I guess they stopped to check out what the hell a guy is doing on the shoulder of the road, sitting in a lawn chair and doing...SOMEthing under an umbrella. You've seen those 19th century impressionist paintings with a painter somewhere in the picture sitting under an umbrella? Right. I was THAT guy. So, with a few rough necks approaching, I started wondering if they were coming to jump me and sell me off to the sex trade or something. But no, they were just curious. All three of them were really friendly and seemed genuinely interested. All of them had served and paid their dues in Afghanistan and were now working construction. At the risk of sounding old, I'm really impressed with the people I've met that are somewhere between 20 and 28 or so. The ones from that age group that I've met have not only been strapped with defending the worst threat to America since WWII; not only have they grown up knowing nothing other than the recession, but they've been nothing but kind to me, hard working, and modest individuals who value a wide variety of ideas. I think its admirable when people aren't what you expect. When they shatter your assumptions and are open to differences in people. When they can be construction workers driving home, stopping to check out a plein air painter.
While I was out painting this one I had four different groups that drove by, turned around, parked on the shoulder and came over to take a closer look. One group of guys who had just finished their day on a construction site offered me a beer, which I declined since I was painting. The three of them couldn't have been more than 25. I thought it was interesting that a few guys working construction would stop, turn around and come back for a closer look. If you had to choose three people out of a hundred to stop and turn around, how many of you would pick three guys in a pick-up who work construction? Right. So I was pretty surprised, but also impressed when it was a pick-up filled with three young guys. I guess they stopped to check out what the hell a guy is doing on the shoulder of the road, sitting in a lawn chair and doing...SOMEthing under an umbrella. You've seen those 19th century impressionist paintings with a painter somewhere in the picture sitting under an umbrella? Right. I was THAT guy. So, with a few rough necks approaching, I started wondering if they were coming to jump me and sell me off to the sex trade or something. But no, they were just curious. All three of them were really friendly and seemed genuinely interested. All of them had served and paid their dues in Afghanistan and were now working construction. At the risk of sounding old, I'm really impressed with the people I've met that are somewhere between 20 and 28 or so. The ones from that age group that I've met have not only been strapped with defending the worst threat to America since WWII; not only have they grown up knowing nothing other than the recession, but they've been nothing but kind to me, hard working, and modest individuals who value a wide variety of ideas. I think its admirable when people aren't what you expect. When they shatter your assumptions and are open to differences in people. When they can be construction workers driving home, stopping to check out a plein air painter.
Merely Players - Posted on August 28, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on August 28, 2016 at 9:00 AM
On the way to my painting site for the day I had looked at a couple of other spots and was reminded of the feeling I get when looking at certain meadows that are surrounded by trees. I get a very cozy sense of arena. If you've ever been to a small playhouse then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Almost like a movie theater with a small screen but without the 3D affect. Shrubs and trees take their places on the stage The grass and hedges do their stretches and loosen up. Flower communities flow through your eyesight like a running creek. Being dimly aware of sounds that are off in the distance while your focus is on the stage, the arena. It helps to look at one spot in particular, usually somewhere in the middle of the field, and let your peripheral vision take it all in at once. It's a very safe feeling. Like you're finally home after running from the police all night. The arena feeling is also like some kids' toys. When I was a kid I had this multi-level parking ramp with an elevator you could crank up or down. There were some painted lines for parking out front and a sticker on the building looking like a window into an office. In playing with that thing I would get swallowed whole by the fantasy of it and forget everything else around me. That little parking ramp became my world. These little arenas are very much the same thing. It's a cozy little world. A universe unto itself. Separated from the rest of the globe, from the curious eyes, from the rest of humanity by a curtain of trees. It feels like coming home.
On the way to my painting site for the day I had looked at a couple of other spots and was reminded of the feeling I get when looking at certain meadows that are surrounded by trees. I get a very cozy sense of arena. If you've ever been to a small playhouse then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Almost like a movie theater with a small screen but without the 3D affect. Shrubs and trees take their places on the stage The grass and hedges do their stretches and loosen up. Flower communities flow through your eyesight like a running creek. Being dimly aware of sounds that are off in the distance while your focus is on the stage, the arena. It helps to look at one spot in particular, usually somewhere in the middle of the field, and let your peripheral vision take it all in at once. It's a very safe feeling. Like you're finally home after running from the police all night. The arena feeling is also like some kids' toys. When I was a kid I had this multi-level parking ramp with an elevator you could crank up or down. There were some painted lines for parking out front and a sticker on the building looking like a window into an office. In playing with that thing I would get swallowed whole by the fantasy of it and forget everything else around me. That little parking ramp became my world. These little arenas are very much the same thing. It's a cozy little world. A universe unto itself. Separated from the rest of the globe, from the curious eyes, from the rest of humanity by a curtain of trees. It feels like coming home.
The Unwashed - Posted on August 21, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on August 21, 2016 at 9:00 AM
It was a beautifully rainy day. One of those days when at any moment the sky could open up and start pouring rain. Some people don't feel comfortable in a climate that is always sunny. It's kinda boring. It's like your favorite food. Do you like chocolate? Do you want to eat nothing but chocolate for 90 days? It's that 'too much of a good thing' thing. Thank god for the rainy days. I love listening to thunder. Watching lightning fork through the sky. I love the smell of rain when it first hits and starts coming down hard you can smell the blacktop searing under the cool raindrops. I like how it removes all the dust from the sky once it's over and everything is sodden and crystal clear. The very air seems to get out of the way of what you're looking at and everything gleams from having been washed clean. Like the earth has been slaked. I love when the sun comes out after a hard rain. It's like heaven itself is being delivered on golden bars of sunlight. When everything is wet and humid you can almost taste the vegetation in its wet revelry. When the smell of spice and fruit and wood and soil all mingle freely and loudly assert their presence. You can pick out each scent individually and inhale its perfume. I've actually hyperventilated a couple times on the motorcycle trying to take everything in as it passes. Like a dog does every time it can push it's nose through a crack in the car window.
It was a beautifully rainy day. One of those days when at any moment the sky could open up and start pouring rain. Some people don't feel comfortable in a climate that is always sunny. It's kinda boring. It's like your favorite food. Do you like chocolate? Do you want to eat nothing but chocolate for 90 days? It's that 'too much of a good thing' thing. Thank god for the rainy days. I love listening to thunder. Watching lightning fork through the sky. I love the smell of rain when it first hits and starts coming down hard you can smell the blacktop searing under the cool raindrops. I like how it removes all the dust from the sky once it's over and everything is sodden and crystal clear. The very air seems to get out of the way of what you're looking at and everything gleams from having been washed clean. Like the earth has been slaked. I love when the sun comes out after a hard rain. It's like heaven itself is being delivered on golden bars of sunlight. When everything is wet and humid you can almost taste the vegetation in its wet revelry. When the smell of spice and fruit and wood and soil all mingle freely and loudly assert their presence. You can pick out each scent individually and inhale its perfume. I've actually hyperventilated a couple times on the motorcycle trying to take everything in as it passes. Like a dog does every time it can push it's nose through a crack in the car window.
Daze of August Past - Posted on August 14, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on August 14, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Have you ever caught yourself noticing something for the first time even though you've passed it every day for years? This painting is a bit like that. I've looked at this field before though and it's never had such a great variety of color as it did this year. I had the inverse happen earlier this year when I went back to another place I've painted before. I was packed up with all my gear and headed to a spot that was exploding with a menagerie of color and foliage and textures the year before. I wasn't happy with my result from the last time so I was really excited to get back to it and have another crack at it. But when I got there it didn't look anything like it did the year before. It was the same time of year at the same time of day but everything looked scraggly and grey. Lifeless. Dead. Such a stark contrast from its exuberence last year. So when I passed this field for about the 4th time this year I stopped and turned around to catch it before it was gone like the other jewel. Like so many things in life that we never notice or we take for granted. The really good moments with those you love and the beauty flowering in a field; I'm reminded of the transience of all things in this life and that 'this too shall pass.'
Have you ever caught yourself noticing something for the first time even though you've passed it every day for years? This painting is a bit like that. I've looked at this field before though and it's never had such a great variety of color as it did this year. I had the inverse happen earlier this year when I went back to another place I've painted before. I was packed up with all my gear and headed to a spot that was exploding with a menagerie of color and foliage and textures the year before. I wasn't happy with my result from the last time so I was really excited to get back to it and have another crack at it. But when I got there it didn't look anything like it did the year before. It was the same time of year at the same time of day but everything looked scraggly and grey. Lifeless. Dead. Such a stark contrast from its exuberence last year. So when I passed this field for about the 4th time this year I stopped and turned around to catch it before it was gone like the other jewel. Like so many things in life that we never notice or we take for granted. The really good moments with those you love and the beauty flowering in a field; I'm reminded of the transience of all things in this life and that 'this too shall pass.'
MUGGED AT THE MAUL - Posted on August 7, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on August 7, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Standing on the side of the road and staring at the field in front of me. There is the occasional bird chirping or crickets somewhere in the distance. Out on the horizon I fix my stare. Thoughts wash over me. Building into waves that buoy my head like a cork. They come and lift and sink and recede without borders. Without fences or signposts. Just the approaching idea, then the crest, then the retire. This might go on for hours if I didn't force myself to move on to something more practical. When you're dumbfounded by anything that is in front of you, it's easy to pass the time. Just allowing thoughts and words and visions and daydreams drifting through your mind. It's a form of meditation I suppose. Afix the thousand yard stare and off into the mind like a forest.
Standing on the side of the road and staring at the field in front of me. There is the occasional bird chirping or crickets somewhere in the distance. Out on the horizon I fix my stare. Thoughts wash over me. Building into waves that buoy my head like a cork. They come and lift and sink and recede without borders. Without fences or signposts. Just the approaching idea, then the crest, then the retire. This might go on for hours if I didn't force myself to move on to something more practical. When you're dumbfounded by anything that is in front of you, it's easy to pass the time. Just allowing thoughts and words and visions and daydreams drifting through your mind. It's a form of meditation I suppose. Afix the thousand yard stare and off into the mind like a forest.
Taking In the Music - Posted on July 31, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on July 31, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Almost into August. I was listening to the cicada's do their cicada song. More of a nearly deafening buzz than a song really, but what do I know? I'm not a hot female cicada looking for a stud. I've heard these bugs every summer I've spent in the midwest and I have never been able to find one. You would think it would be easy but the closer you get, it seems to be coming from some other direction. So I'll dumbly march off in the new direction only to hear it coming more from where I just was. Sneaky. It's a lot like trying to pin down a color. The longer you look at it, the less of it you see. You get 'eye fatigue' and your brain starts to tell you its greyer than it actually is. I'll spare the color theory lesson. The cicada's song is the drum beat backing the chorus of a mid-summer afternoon. I listen, and take my notes.
Almost into August. I was listening to the cicada's do their cicada song. More of a nearly deafening buzz than a song really, but what do I know? I'm not a hot female cicada looking for a stud. I've heard these bugs every summer I've spent in the midwest and I have never been able to find one. You would think it would be easy but the closer you get, it seems to be coming from some other direction. So I'll dumbly march off in the new direction only to hear it coming more from where I just was. Sneaky. It's a lot like trying to pin down a color. The longer you look at it, the less of it you see. You get 'eye fatigue' and your brain starts to tell you its greyer than it actually is. I'll spare the color theory lesson. The cicada's song is the drum beat backing the chorus of a mid-summer afternoon. I listen, and take my notes.
Today's Feature - Posted on July 14, 2016 at 3:35 PM
Posted on July 14, 2016 at 3:35 PM
Minnesota landscape painter Joshua Cunningham was featured in this article in Plein Air Magazine's Newsletter. I've quietly followed Joshua for a few years now and the media coverage is well deserved. Good read, good guy, and a great painting to boot. Check it out...
A License To Be Strange - Posted on July 10, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on July 10, 2016 at 9:00 AM
When I was a late teen I had always thought it would be really cool to have a freak card. When you like looking at cool stuff and that stuff always seems to be in a place where people might question your intentions, especially now after 911, its nice to have a card that says, 'Hey, I'm alright. No ill wrought schemes going on here, just a fool enthralled with everyday things."
That's kind of what being a plein air painter is. You find something cool, you stop, you unload all your gear on the shoulder of the road and you set up camp right there. Traffic passes by, sometimes people wave, other times they look at you sideways, but its ok. If they stop and ask what you're up to, you just whip out your business card and show them you're in the business of being odd. Its a license to be strange. Sometimes when I'm all packed up after a day, I'll just sit in the lawn chair I brought on the shoulder of the road(sometimes a highway if the situation calls for it) and soak in the scene for a little bit before I take off. Again, some people look at you like you're an alien, but it doesn't matter, you're a card carrying simpleton. 'Don't mind me, I'm just entranced by bright and shiny things."
When I was a late teen I had always thought it would be really cool to have a freak card. When you like looking at cool stuff and that stuff always seems to be in a place where people might question your intentions, especially now after 911, its nice to have a card that says, 'Hey, I'm alright. No ill wrought schemes going on here, just a fool enthralled with everyday things."
That's kind of what being a plein air painter is. You find something cool, you stop, you unload all your gear on the shoulder of the road and you set up camp right there. Traffic passes by, sometimes people wave, other times they look at you sideways, but its ok. If they stop and ask what you're up to, you just whip out your business card and show them you're in the business of being odd. Its a license to be strange. Sometimes when I'm all packed up after a day, I'll just sit in the lawn chair I brought on the shoulder of the road(sometimes a highway if the situation calls for it) and soak in the scene for a little bit before I take off. Again, some people look at you like you're an alien, but it doesn't matter, you're a card carrying simpleton. 'Don't mind me, I'm just entranced by bright and shiny things."
God, Throw Me A Line - Posted on July 3, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on July 3, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Painting buildings isn’t really my thing but this week for some reason I just HAD to paint a straight line! I ached to paint lines! In painting landscapes there ialmost never an opportunity to actually draw something. You have to pick your path carefully and above all, NO LINES! Mass drawing only which is a painterly way of saying ‘fudge it’. Nature’s lines are far more subtle than our cubes, rectangles, squares and board-straight corners. In painting the landscape, the rule sounds something like, ‘nature abhors obviousness, conspicuous lines are rare if they appear at all, and if you want to paint lines then join a highway crew’! Not quite but you see what I mean. I’m a lover of line.
Save for the human voice, there is nothing so expressive in all the arts as line. Color? That’s an exercise for the intellect. I never really struggled with figures or portraits because of the lines! Very discernable. Depth is rarely an issue to consider and if you only look every 10 minutes or so that’s ok, because the model and the lighting hasn’t changed. I think that’s one of the reasons I’ve been working so hard at landscapes. It’s by far the most challenging for me. But I digress.
So I duped myself into painting a building this week. Just one. I think this is the first straight line I’ve drawn in 3 years. Oops, I did include a telephone pole in a piece earlier this year. But other than that, I’ve been steeped in landscapes and the varied, alike-but-different patterns the natural world piles in front of you when you go to depict her.
Painting buildings isn’t really my thing but this week for some reason I just HAD to paint a straight line! I ached to paint lines! In painting landscapes there ialmost never an opportunity to actually draw something. You have to pick your path carefully and above all, NO LINES! Mass drawing only which is a painterly way of saying ‘fudge it’. Nature’s lines are far more subtle than our cubes, rectangles, squares and board-straight corners. In painting the landscape, the rule sounds something like, ‘nature abhors obviousness, conspicuous lines are rare if they appear at all, and if you want to paint lines then join a highway crew’! Not quite but you see what I mean. I’m a lover of line.
Save for the human voice, there is nothing so expressive in all the arts as line. Color? That’s an exercise for the intellect. I never really struggled with figures or portraits because of the lines! Very discernable. Depth is rarely an issue to consider and if you only look every 10 minutes or so that’s ok, because the model and the lighting hasn’t changed. I think that’s one of the reasons I’ve been working so hard at landscapes. It’s by far the most challenging for me. But I digress.
So I duped myself into painting a building this week. Just one. I think this is the first straight line I’ve drawn in 3 years. Oops, I did include a telephone pole in a piece earlier this year. But other than that, I’ve been steeped in landscapes and the varied, alike-but-different patterns the natural world piles in front of you when you go to depict her.
Empty Handed - Posted on June 26, 2016 at 2:25 PM
Posted on June 26, 2016 at 2:25 PM
Plein air was pretty much a bust this week. I only managed to get out once and I was just OFF for some reason. Just one of those days when things that would normally fire up the boilers just sat flat, laying down in front of me without any life to anything. Of course, one thing leading to the next, I was getting overly annoyed at the bugs, the wind kept blowing my rag onto my painting, the cars wouldn't stop passing by on the dirt road so I have grit in my paint piles and the wet spots on my canvas, and out of frustration I got caught in the wipe/restart cycle where every 20 minutes or so I keep starting, wiping, restarting, rewiping, restarting again, rewiping agan, ...you get the idea.
I really like the spot I was in so I'll be going back there this week to do it justice. That's just how it goes some times. It's a lot like fishing in the sense that you can't say you're going out to catch a 20 lb. pig of a fish. All you can do is get all of your gear together, get it all in the boat and shove off to the fishing hole with hopes of landing something. Sometimes you arrive back at the dock with nothing to show for the day but a lovely sunburn. Oh well. The weather was beautiful and you know you'll go out again soon and maybe next time that lunker will hop in the boat for you. But you have to be there in order for that to happen. It's hard to catch a fish if all you do is stay home reading books about fishing. At some point, you have to get out on the water and throw your line in.
I've also been enjoying working on the studio painting currently in progess so I was fairly divided when I went outside to paint. Here's the aborted attempt from earlier this week...
Slumbering Souls Meadow_Pace - Posted on June 19, 2016 at 9:30 AM
Posted on June 19, 2016 at 9:30 AM
Standing in a meadow for four hours not talking, not reading, not listening to music, not waiting for the phone to ring, beep, or buzz. That feeling of being unplugged sinks into your mind like aloe on dry skin. The heart beats a bit slower. All the madness in your life is peeled away. The grasses, sedges, shrubs, and trees all seem to be emanating a low hum. A dog barks. The sound falls away. A bird sings. The sound falls away. Addressed and dismissed simultaneously. A kinship with unspoken reason asserts itself somewhere in the subconscious. Somewhere in between the view and the feeling.
The Poet of the Canola - Posted on June 19, 2016 at 9:00 AM
Posted on June 19, 2016 at 9:00 AM
While working on the Slumbering Souls Meadow plein air series I ran across this field of canola. It was too good to pass on and I wanted to make sure I had a chance to paint it before it got harvested so I took a day away from the meadow. It was a fairly surreal experience being in front of such audacious color for so long. The color and the value clashes gave me the sort of feeling you get from looking over an enormous expanse like the Grand Canyon. A feeling of having lost all sense of the space in front of you. Like knowing your sense perception isn't quite capable of comprehending what you're looking at. Staring into a space not relative to anything you know.
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