Free Styling

These two paintings are more about Enlightenment of the Soul. I had no general idea about the direction the first painting was going to take, I did it on automatic pilot, I did not think it through, it was free styling.

Some people mentioned the color pallet of Gauguin, and yes the bright colors are sort of Gauguinish, I never consciously thought about it. Exploring with effects and the texture of acrylics, acrylic paint can be a fun medium to play with, its fast drying and its interaction with either water or gel medium can be challenging. I particularly enjoy some of the accidents that can happen when you over work an area, it can create some particular effects.

These two pieces were more of an exercise to open the channel of creativity. Amazing surprises can emerge from freedom of expression. Not over thinking or analyzing the intention of a piece is liberating. The first piece above really express that freedom of gesture and expression, you can see in the second piece that the mental interfered with the flow and that it is more static. Even though I was working with the same pallet the brush strokes are more controlled, like I am trying to impose an idea or a direction to the piece.

When you are in that special creative zone, in that moment without expectations, things happen. Then as you let the mental or ego come in your special place, it starts to shrink and it translates by altering your brushstrokes.

I love those special moments and I cherish them, instinctively I am also more attached to those pieces that have been created from it. I wish there was an automatic button I could push that could take me there every time I pick up my brushes.

I look forward to my next ZONE IN...

STUFF and MORE STUFF

Haven't really thought about space

Because growing up, I had none

Lived in a 1 bedroom apartment

with Grandma and her brother

He had the only bedroom

While I shared the sofa with Grandma

I didn't mind, didn't know better

Now that I am thinking about it

I find myself wondering

Where did she put my stuff

I must of had stuff, I was a kid!

I don't remember having a dresser.

We had a couch, a television set, a kitchen table

an end table and where was the rest of the stuff?

All in One big closet?

We lived there for 3 or 4 years

Then we moved to a bigger place

3 bedrooms

my first time having my own bedroom

so I thought...

But she wouldn't have it.

Got twin beds in the one bedroom

Her brother got the other one

She closed off the spare bedroom

Cutting cost down on heating.

Privacy? I never had it.

Stuff, I could not keep any.

Eventually, I moved out.

I had no clue and no stuff.

Then over the years

After 3 kids, stuff happened

Lots of stuff...

Then they moved out

Gave them their and some of my stuff

I finally got a big house

Filled it with lots of books and more stuff

Got 2 dogs to replace the kids

Now, there is just too much stuff

To many books, to many papers, clothes

Knick knacks, art supplies and whatever else.

Not a hoarder just a keeper.

I have a box full of Special Occasion Cards

Given to me or the kids, 30 years worth,

All my journals since I was 12,

Boxes of pictures and many photo albums,

My grandma's and my mother's albums

A drawer full of pens, pencils and whatever,

A couple boxes of various papers and odd things,

I hope to use in a special project, like collage or something.

I hang on to things just in case...

I always think I may need it one day.

I managed to give or throw away some of it,

but somehow, other stuff finds its way to my house.

Am I making up for all those years

Of no stuff?

I love my stuff, my books, my art supplies, the pieces of rope,

the jar of buttons, plastic bands, my journals, the pictures, my knitting kit,

and every single objects I have collected over the years.

So why is there a part of me that wants to get rid of it all?

Maybe there is a part in me that misses the lightness of having no stuff...

Graffiti Wall, Maybe...

A bit of foolishness in the air, I decided to just let go and see what would come out of it, and there you have it: Graffiti Wall, Maybe. I know it is far from conventional graffiti and furthermore it is on a canvas and not on a real wall.

I just decided to play with it, incorporated words with Stick Man and Stick Woman along with Stick Dog, why not? Butterflies and music notes. Somehow the colors are pleasing to the eyes and the content draws you in so you can find some details or messages.

Just a fun piece to loosen up with so I can go back to the serious stuff. Now, what does it mean...serious stuff? There are so many artists out there trying to break through, so many different styles and original ideas, sometimes it makes me wonder why I am doing this, and what will become of it all.

Looking at other people's art work will either inspire and/or intimidate my creative juices. I wonder how far creativity can take us, what will we come up with next. I decided to challenge myself and spend more time with my paint and brushes and see where it will take me.

At this point I haven't found my signature or style, still in an exploration mode. I want to experiment with collage, I have been accumulating bits of papers of all kinds hoping to use some of it for that purpose. There are so many things lying around dormant in either boxes or drawers waiting to be used, so many ideas have come and gone because I did not write them down.

Mental note: WRITE THINGS DOWN and TURN OFF THE TELEVISION (forever if you can...)

Field of Iris'

Revisiting an unfinished project can sometime be a good thing. I forgot this work for months, lost interest and although it called to me from time to time I would not touch it. It seems like I needed to take my distance from it, I had to wait for that moment when it just clicks into place, and you just know instinctively what to do.

I've tried to capture the essence of the painting with my camera, but somehow it doesn't do it justice, meaning it doesn't allow the painting to pull you in like the original canvas does. I don't believe it to be a master piece but somehow you would feel an emotional charge coming through. I don't usually paint flowers, this is my first time, and I found it to be quite a challenge, so much so that I have a second one in the works.

I have put aside the forest because I can't seem to make up my mind about which season it will depict, everyday I walk by it and I know that my sub conscience is picking up its vibes and analyzing what's missing or what needs adjusting, it will work its magic and eventually delivered its findings so I can act on it. I had several unfinished paintings in my basement and this past week I brought them all up in my studio, they had been down there for so long that I had forgotten some of them.

There are no links between them, some were assignments and never really spoke to me. Actually, the spontaneous creations always seemed better executed and have an energy charge that the assigned work seems to lack. However, when I revisit them with a fresh eye, without the pressure to deliver I will either change the painting completely or make some subtle changes that somehow will make the difference, meaning that I will feel content with the end result. This is what happened with the Field of Iris', I am content, satisfied with the outcome, I can let it go.

Funny thing, it used to be easy to let go of my paintings because I felt that if I let them go I could just create more, somehow it seems a bit harder these days must be because of that long halt, months without touching my brushes, no desire or need to. Now it is different, I see and imagine colors and shapes in my head again. That feels good...Next step will be for my paintings to find a new home where they will be appreciated and loved. Consequently, I will have to work on the next generation.

Being remembered, does it matter?

I have been thinking about what pushes me into action, like why do I paint or write, is it because I feel the urge to leave some kind of Legacy, a sign that I was here, that somehow I mattered?

I heard Jean Pascal the Boxer on a radio talk show, and he said "some people read or write about history, I want to make history!" Obviously not everyone is called to make history, some of us disappear leaving nothing behind. It is a bit like if a tree falls in the forest did anyone hear it? What compels us to leave our mark, and what if the world ends, then who would remember any of us then? Does it matter?

In some ways this urgency to leave our mark propels us to action, to create or do something that we hope will last the passing of time. Our ego needs recognition and appreciation, this makes us believe we are worth it, it boosts our self-esteem.

This brings me to my family, I remember my grandmother and some stories about my great grandmother, but really, I know nothing of her family and friends, none of them did anything worth remembering them for in history books.

I have my grandmother's old pictures in a box, filled of her people that I don't know and, there is no one left to tell me about them, none of them made history, yet I am sure they wanted to leave a Legacy or be remembered like the rest of us.

They only came to life when my grandmother and her siblings would tell stories to each other about them, I am afraid that back then, when I was young, I lost interest during some of the story telling because I did not know them. Today I wish I had paid attention.

One of my great aunt was exceptionally good at story telling, but her stories were mostly make believe, she lived in a magical world of her own, and I loved her for it. She made my every days special days, she would foretell how my day would unfold, how I would go to the pond and run into a frog, how I would build castles in the sand, and play house outside with some old blankets and chairs, or how I would play cowboys and Indians with the neighbor's kids. I was in awe that she knew all that I would do before I even knew it. She did not make the history books, but she lives in my memories, memories I have to share of this incredible joyful woman that made living a fun adventure.

She was an animal lover and she talked to them, somehow they seemed to understand her. She would talk to birds and would give them rides on the clothes line. She would guide the bees to pollinate certain flowers. She even had a pig as a pet that followed her around. She was the clown of the family, I remember a certain car ride with her, my grandmother and their friends, she had us all in stitches we were laughing so hard, she was the light of the party and she did not even drink.

Nora liked to cook and bake and she liked having her family around her table. She made her own jams and pies to the delight of all. And, one of her money making hobby was to pick up worms to sell to the local fishermen. She would leave with her sun hat, her bucket and her shovel and walk into the cow field and dig for the wiggly worms. Also, during the strawberry harvest season she initiated me to the art of strawberry picking, I worked along side of her on our neighbor's strawberry farm. My aunt would sing and make jokes as we worked to the delight of everyone in the field. These were the best summers ever.

There were people in my life I wish my children had the chance to meet and know because they made my life so much more happier. Aunt Nora was one of them. You can see her on the left of the black and white picture, I am sitting next to her with my grandmother and my brother, my fifth birthday. And, in the color picture she is holding my son, unfortunately she left us not long afterward.



I guess it is up to me to keep my family history alive by writing about it so that my children can learn about all those incredible people that have shaped our family.

Northland

This is one of my favorite paintings from Tom Thompson, it is currently at the Museum of Fine Arts in Montreal.

The setting is a scene of a forest surrounding a lake, it depicts a virgin forest with no human imprint. Maybe that is why a birch tree is lying amidst the standing forest on the edge of a bed of rocks, knocked down by the force of nature. Through the forest beyond the lake we see the continuity of the forest around it.

The predominance of red, orange and ochre tones used for the leafage covering the rocks and parts of the trees sets the tone of an autumn scenery. There are no symbols or anything suggesting anything else than what it is, a representation of a forest at a specific point in time.

The artist has used both warm and cool colors just like fall, cool and colorful. The mixture of red and orange tones of the autumn leafage that are spread across the bedrock in the forefront guides us into the painting. Inviting us to go deep into the bright birch forest, the artist is using a mixture of beige and pink colors for the trees, making them stand out by their lightness in contrast with the predominant red, orange and ochre tones against the dark blue lake. By using this same mixture of pinkish beige Thompson leads us around the dark lake forcing us to fallow its shore line in a circular movement, there is a faint repetition of the red and orange tones on the far shore of the forest. The intensity of the colors and his choice of palette are reminiscent of the Fauvist period.

There is a great balancing act in the composition and his usage of colors. He reintroduces the blue of the lake in the forefront to enhance the rocks or maybe it could be thought to be the shadows of unseen trees.

The open composition allows for our imagination to see beyond the canvas, you can picture the lake and the forest extending on for a distance on either side of the canvas, or imagine the forest behind you casting shadows on the forefront, you know there is more to the place.

The harshness of the light suggest that the artist chose a direct pointed light source that would explain why the trees are so sharp and seem to reflect the light. Thompson is successful in creating an effective contrast effect with his usage of the dark and intense hues. This effect is even more apparent as you back away from the painting, the trees appear to be white and as you get closer your eyes detect the subtleness of the light pink against the darker shades.

Thompson was born around Claremont, Ontario on August 5^, 1877. Although he started to draw and paint at an early age, he only took to painting seriously in the year 1912. His first trips to the Algonquin Park inspired him and he produced hundreds of small sketches of the region. Many of Thompson’s major paintings began as sketches before expanding into large oil paintings.

His paintings are an acquired taste, as you revisit his work and really pay attention to the details and the color choices, you really get a sense of the artist's passion and you can't help but feel it. Writing about a painting forces us to go beyond the imagery, it helps us notice the subtleness and the technicality used by the artist, questioning certain brush strokes, looking for a clue as to the initial approach. It is bringing us closer to the process while trying to unmasked its secrets.

I would suggest you try this exercise and see if it will change the way you initially looked at a particular painting.

Patience and painting

I don't usually put this much effort in to a painting, but for some reason this particular one is a never ending process. Each time I go for a walk in the woods I notice something more, this year the forest has undergone some major transformation in its landscape. It is chaotic, disorderly. No one has tempered with it, broken trees and branches are all over its leave carpet, the wind has done a lot of damage to the weak and fragile trees.

Consequently I am learning about patience through my brushes, I am learning focus in order to achieve a texture or a specific result. The act of painting lets me be in the moment, the focus lets me forget about the mundane stuff and the whole teaches me patience.

An ongoing project, I can't count the time I have spent over this canvas subtracting or adding shapes and colors. Will it be what I hope it can be once it is finish? I don't know if I can bring out its full potential but I won't stop trying.

I have other pieces on the go, but none inspire me like this one. I am drawn to the forest, I get lost in it. The abundance brought forth by nature, the continual renewal of life every spring is a strong motivator. Even with the destruction left by the force of winds gives it charm and creates a new tableau. Every time something is moved or broken it opens a door for a new beginning, moss, mushrooms, and insects will take over and create a new image with the broken or dead. Patience, for everything transforms, everything changes, we just have to wait for it.

On an other note, while going trough a book on Impressionists I fell into a Renoir painting called "Trees in the forest of Fontainebleau" that was done in 1860. The simplicity of it gives it power, yet the light is divine. Renoir was able to give it life, or should I say a soul, this is what I would like to achieve in my paintings.