Trees break free from rocky soil. The sea crashes onto land. The natural world is filled with interesting and often incongruent intersections. In her paintings, French born Brussels based artist Edwige Fouvry calls our attention to those confluences to be found around us.
These places of intersection are often some of my favorites– the drama of cliff faces rising above a glassy lake is just too incredible to be true sometimes! Landscapes remind us of our own juxtapositions, the way our lives don’t always seem to make sense and yet, somehow we continue to thrive. There is a certain type of wildflower found in Florida that actually needs what we would normally think of as disaster ( wildfire ) in order to grow. Perhaps it is at those times when the sea crashes onto our shore that though we think we are drowning, we are actually being nourished.
Something about spring brings to mind the word lush. The landscape here in Northern California has been filled with blossoms and green. It’s like the earth is ready to explode with the joy of warmth and sun following the grey of winter. But we know all this riotous color is short lived, soon to give way to the scorched earth of summer. These abstract paintings by Australian artist Todd Hunter remind me that the overabundance of life isn’t to be taken for granted.
Just as Hunter’s paintings are a deluge of color and texture, so does our life sometimes seem overflowing with happiness and good fortune. We store up those feelings, to be called upon in the midst of the drought. But right now the rains are coming and we relish the abundance while we have it.
For painters, it can be so intoxicating to fall in love with those first strokes laid on a canvas. They can seem so pure, so guileless. It’s tempting to call it done. But what we learn over time is that choosing to cover and rework can bring depth and clarity that wasn’t there at the beginning stages. We might lose something we loved, but we always know it is still there, under the latest cover of paint.
Charleston artist Brian Coleman knows a thing or two about what he calls “excessive reworking”. Painting intuitively and to music, Brian’s thoughts and feelings flow freely onto canvas. Yet with many a freewheeling emotion, sometimes those first strokes need to be reigned in. Just as we push aside a hurt to focus on what is better, so his work reminds us to cover what was in hopes of finding better in the new.
Momentum can be a tricky thing. If we’re moving in a positive direction, building and maintaing momentum is crucial. But if we’ve begun sliding into bad habits or toward danger, we need to do everything we can to stop the propulsion. In her Plank sculptures, New York artist Leslie Wayne takes her paint on a journey, pushing and piling like lava flowing down a hillside.
Sometimes we can temporarily stop the slide, but what if it just keeps coming, piling and piling until it overflows? Maybe the trick is to just let it slide. Sometimes we need to allow ourselves the freedom to shift so that we can position ourselves to move away from one thing and build toward another. The shifting can be tricky, though. Overcorrecting might delay or detour. But if just allow a tiny, scary bit of sliding, we move with greater purpose.
Are you a piler? At any given time, we live with at least half a dozen piles scattered among us– stacks of mail, bills, laundry, books, you name it. Sometimes one pile begets another pile and so on and so on. These paintings by Brigid Watson, with their heavily layered texture reminded me that the piles are simply the layers of life.
In Watson’s paintings, the layers of paint swirl together, overlap, sometimes just piling one right on top of the other. So it is with our own piles. We try to keep things neat and compacted but that just isn’t the way life works most of the time. The piles continue and soon we can only catch glimpses of what lies beneath. The layers add to the foundation, creating movement, color, creating life.
To see more of Brigid Watson‘s work, check out her Facebook page. I chose to focus on these textural paintings but I fell in love with everything she does!
Our little apartment here in Marin County is on top of a hill, looking down on a small valley below, surrounded by trees. We delight in leaving the windows open, each glimpse out feels like the view from a treehouse! Every morning, as I groggily try to get my bearings post-alarm-ring, I catch tiny little slivers of the sunrise through the trees.
Occasionally, those small slices propel me out and up the steps to see the full view. But most of the time, I’m content with those tiny little looks. The bigger picture is in the beyond and there is comfort in knowing it is there, yet I don’t feel compelled to always seek it out. I’m safe and content up here in the trees and the slivers are enough. Just a little taste can be just as satisfying as eating the whole pie.
I’ve always loved being outside. When I was young, my brother and I would spend entire Saturdays outside, only coming in when we heard my dad’s special ( and loud! ) whistle. As the years went by, it seemed like the opportunities to be outside became fewer. But that old ache has been renewed and these days, I can’t wait to get out to where I can breathe. Artist Eric Aho‘s abstract paintings capture that magical feeling that only the freshest of air can bring.
Mr. F and I like to seek out lesser traveled trails– definitely a challenge while we’re in the Bay Area. But even if the solitude is short lived, we soak up every second. One of us will pause– shhh! The other always asking what is it? What do you see? What do you hear? What we hear is nothing. Quiet. Peace. Air in, worries out.
Every place we land has a different personality, a different vibe, if you will. Yeesh, I just used the word vibe. Methinks I’ve been in California too long! The same way there is a person for everyone, there also is a place for every soul. In her work, Kansas City photographer Rebecca Clews uses microphotography to create imaginary worlds, her own sense of place.
You can tell the folks who have found their place because they will tell you it is the most beautiful wonderful place ever and you’ll never find one like it and but wait, why in the world would you not want to live here, too?? It’s true each place has it’s beauties but in order to know which spot of earth is The One for you, it has to touch your soul. If you aren’t there, you’re longing to be back. If you haven’t found it yet, you’ll know it deep inside when you do. I hope.
Nope, I didn’t mean losing. That’s not a typo. Loosing– as in, letting go, loosening the reins, giving some slack. I’m not the best at the loosing thing. And it shows in my work sometimes. I become regimented and have a hard time letting go and just going with the flow. When I saw these pieces in the Trashed series by Janet Lage, I immediately admired their seemingly “I don’t give f*** attitude“.
The splats of bright color, the twisted, energetic lines, the barely comprehensible scrawls, it’s like she is looking into the inside of what all our minds really look like. Aren’t we all just filled with chaos, contemplation, and contradiction? Maybe that’s why so many of us need help with the loosing. We’re struggling nearly every second to keep what seems like interior pandemonium from spilling out, ruining our calm, controlled facade. Or maybe that’s just me. Ha.
In this world of sharing every tidbit of our lives, transparency can be a blessing and a curse. A recent blog post by artist Emily Jeffords and these ink paintings by Sarah Irvin brought to mind a situation that came up for me recently and I thought I would share my experience with you. It was one in which I was transparent in my sharing, thoughts, and motives, which helped me to be understood clearly, but at the same time, has made me a bit more guarded.
If you’re a regular AF reader or social media follower, then you know that in the past year, I’ve been painting regularly for the first time in a very long time. Basically since college lo’ those many years ago! I’ve been trying to find my way and find my voice artistically and shared my progress here but mostly on social media. I finally felt like maybe I was beginning to hit on something when in a few pieces I began to notice a similarity to an artist’s work I greatly admire. And then the panic hit.
This artist and I, thankfully, are online friends ( we’ve yet to be in the same place at the same time to meet in person ) and I had a feeling she had seen the similarities, too. I wrestled with whether or not to say anything but finally determined that the best course was– you guessed it, transparency.
I sent the artist an open, honest email letting her know that I was in no way intentionally trying to copy her style. In generosity of spirit, she reassured me that although she’d noticed, she knew it couldn’t be intentional. As artists we are all influenced by the other work we see, we can’t help but be. We are all taking cues from those who came before.
Through this exchange, the artist gave me a piece of advice that I’ve been trying to take to heart. She counseled me to perhaps pull back on sharing work until I felt sure that the direction the work was taking was where I wanted to go and felt uniquely my own. Transparency in this case led to a pulling down of the veil, if only temporarily.
I am more guarded now, in what I share on public media– not for fear of someone else copying me, as more successful artists often are for good reason, but for respect for the process, which right now, is between me, myself, and the canvas.
The paintings in this series by Sarah Irvin are about a very different kind of confusion and definitely worth your time to explore and read about on her website.
