I believe we visualize ourselves appearing to others a certain way, rather than visualizing the multiple facets of ourselves that others actually see. Maybe we want them to see us a particular way, or maybe we transition from one facet of personas to another so seamlessly that we cease to notice the differences.

There is an non-pragmatic, child-like aspect of myself that emerges when I look at art supplies. It doesn’t matter if it is in person or filtered through the the pages glossy catalog, my inner kid has a way of dominating my internal monologue, attempting to convince me this “shiny” will make me a better better artist, as if it the only barriers that separate artist from the craftsperson can be solved by writing a check.

The rational facet of my brain knows this is, in fact true, but the part of my brain that interprets what I see, doesn’t actually give a shit, because easels, well, they are absolutely stunning. The wood doesn’t have a single blemish, and the stain, a warm, cherry mahogany tone, looks like it should be displayed in an living room, not confined to the outer limits of a studio or basement.

As far as my brain is concerned, art supplies in general, easels in particular, are pornography. I look at them and I see the things I want to be, instead of casting the occasional glance at my surroundings and seeing myself for who and what I am.

Two years ago, I reintroduced myself to oil painting. Small stuff. Nothing serious. Mediocre execution at best, but that doesn’t matter. Success wasn’t the goal. The process: layering scratching and mark making, was. The early work was completed, seated at my drafting table, but I soon longed to stand and make the most of full arm extenuation, and the ease with which one can distance herself from work and see problems that are less obvious when viewed up close.

I converted a step ladder into an easel with a pair of bungee cords and a scrap two by four, I have an adjustable easel and a workable solution for storing a fiberglass ladder, all without taking myself or the process of painting too seriously.

Two months ago, I had a realization about my irrational love affair with easels. It isn’t about the shiny, the scent of stain, or even the functionality. It was about the things that weren’t there. The negative spaces.

Easels can easily by represented by a few quick slashes made with a pencil, but the story isn’t the easel itself, but the manner in which these linear shapes frame the secondary characteristics of the room, reducing the sum to cropped versions of individual components, encouraging me to evaluate the way I see ordinary objects.

Reflected Sunlight; Oil Painting; 9.5″ X 11.875″

Several years ago, I saw a glass installation by Dale Chihuly’s studio* at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. I like blown glass for it’s sculptural quality, it’s treatment of light, and reflectivity. Well-lit, glass creates a secondary illusive quality through shadows and reflection that two-dimensional work does not. When combined with natural beauty the results are astounding, exhibiting the man-made and the natural in a complementary juxtaposition of the best attributes of both.

When I learned of another environmental installation, this time at Cheekwood in Nashville, I made a day trip. Cheekwood offered the option of an evening viewing with the work illuminated, a different context from my initial viewing of a Chihuly installation.

The night viewing was a good concept…on paper. My pre-conceived notions got the better of me. I mistakenly assumed the installations would be internally lit to create a more subtle glowing effect, but most were accented with spotlights, and only a few were conceived with illumination in mind from the v beginning. The work itself was as exquisite as I’ve come to expect, however some parts were not well maintained. Some the pieces in the water installation had clearly suffered the side effects of the local drought conditions. Many globes displaced the signs of water evaporation as the water level dropped, and other pieces were out of position or turned over completely. Perhaps volunteers were in short supply, or the nearing end of the exhibition led to more lax maintenance…either way it was well executed work exhibited in improper conditions.

There were other issues with the grounds themselves, once the sun set, the paths form one exhibit to another (particularly near the ponds and spillway) were not lit well enough for patrons with unsteady gaits, and the spillway was so poorly lit patrons were trying to cross it jumping from stone to distant stone in poorly conditions, with errors leaving one all wet at best , and at the worst broken limbs or stitches. The flow of traffic was not considered in the areas surrounding the Japanese garden. Plants were being trampled, and patrons were walking up to touch some sculpture because the darkness left little indication or clue these were areas not open for public foot traffic only viewing…not the best planning for safety or preservation, but I suspect the evening’s gate proceeds were enough to eradicate safety or lawsuit concerns.

The work itself was well executed. Some of the installations, closely resembled those in Atlanta. The work was complementary to the landscape, and complimentary color pairs brought out the brilliant hues in both landscape and glasswork. Because of the tendency to work in series, some pieces exhibited a mild sameness, yet by arranging them within a different botanical setting, they were allowed a rebirth with the context transforming them into a slightly re-invented idea.

More pictures of the exhibit here.

These have been stacked like a cord of wood in my studio for more than a year. Each one finally has a face and a pucker so it is time for them to have real homes. I bought the pattern to make one for the Better Half’s granddaughter, but like many good intentions, this evolved into an obsession fueled by an post-holiday sock sale, and many stressful hours spent waiting in the company of extended family.

It seems the sum of my neurosis equals fifty-five sock animals of the feline persuasion. Five have been placed in good homes, two will remain under my guardianship, as I am considering listing them as dependents on my tax return, leaving only forty-nine in need of homes.

If you want one, or three, send me an email with a mailing address, as well as absolution of any responsibility should anyone in your care rip off an arm and attempt to consume it in lieu of a nutritious snack. I can’t take request for specific colors (unfortunately most are feminine color schemes), but if one is for a toddler, I can send one with embroidered eyes instead of button ones. These are machine washable, and hand stitched. The drop dead date is October 13 or while supplies last.

All sock kitties include complimentary cat hair courtesy of my studio assistants.

Bird of Paradise
Media: Watercolor and gesso
Size: Approximately 20″ x 30″

This is an old watercolor, completed@ 2000. Smaller sections hold my attention, but overall it reminds me of decorative prints that coordinate with living room sitting arrangements in family-owned budget furniture stores. That isn’t to say it is completely without merit, but that it was an exercise in pandering to the decorative gene dominating well-to-do southern housewives amusing themselves by playing bridge, and attending community art openings. The only purpose of painting this was hope of a sale. It was well received and eventually published in a calendar but it never sold, It is currently housed in a narrow hallway in my mother’s house where anyone attempting to view it while wearing bifocals is liable to get dizzy and tip over.

Part of growing, is recognizing all paths on the journey do not lead you closer to your destination. Some just remind you where it is you do not wish to return. Regardless, part of knowing where you want to be, is knowing where you do not.

Rabbit
11.875″ x 9.5″
Mixed media comprised of latex paint, charcoal, chalk and conte crayon executed on masonite panel.