Art, Meaning, Green Living & Health
Art, Meaning, Green Living and Health
(see "TOPICS", below)
10/27/2017 11:52:41 AM
(a talk I gave at my 60 year retrospective at the Sedona Arts Center, Oct. 27, 2017) Here is a video based on this same material.
Life is a creative journey. Every day, each moment, each act, each though is an opportunity for creative expression. And, like actors in a vast cosmic play, together we all co-create this infinitely complex thing we call human life on Earth.
I once read that in every species there are two currents: the conservatives, who maintain what has been working so far, and the innovators, the creative explorers who try new things and who become the cutting edge of evolution. And though these forces often clash, we need both and it is a dance between them. Both have a place.
I would add to this observation, however. It’s not us versus them. I think we each have both of these forces within us: the ability to keep on keeping on, to plug away with the known, and also, the spark of the creative that drives us to try new things.
Keeping things going in the standard way has obvious benefits and limits. As for innovation, trying new things often seems to have no higher purpose other than play, perhaps play itself being how we best learn. And sometimes our most treasured innovations and ventures may not succeed as we hoped. Sometimes they create problems, as creative chemistry and industry have done.
But sometimes they can and do change the world. When Steve Jobs hired the people at Apple who created the many devices that have interconnected the greater mind of humanity, wisely, he chose those who also excelled in humanities and arts over the technocrats.
My ancestor John Adams, a founding president and a farmer, also spoke of this, pointing to the natural order of stability and security first, then innovation and play. He said that he studied politics and war and government, so that his children could study science and math and navigation and business, so that their children could explore painting and poetry and ceramics and architecture. And that is exactly what happened. I am one of the lucky descendants who got to explore the creative arts, which I did. Though we have always lived to some extenet under the shadows of the nuclear age and a time of environmental threat, most of us here are the lucky children who have been able to live creative lives in a time of abundance, liberty and opportunity.
For me, that has meant a lot of exploration of the visual arts, as well as writing. As you can see from the small fraction of my work on display here, I explored a diversity of media. I used crayons and acrylics, oils and pastels and whatever I could find. I glued spaghetti and eucalyptus buttons, sand, plaster, jewels and beans alongside pencil and paint. I explored portraits of Native Americans that seemed to draw out unhealed issues from other lives. I printed up little books and inspired sayings and sold them at craft fairs.All along, I create abstracts that remind me of the formless and infinitely creative space behind all form.
As Adams invited, I have also been at least a wannabe architect and city planner. In 1994 I designed our passive solar home in Eugene, where we lived and made a living for twenty years. To decorate our homes I tried my hand at stained glass, floral wreaths, hand painted clocks and ceramics, homemade futons and sofas, and more than I can remember. It was lovely and comforting to nest in. Home is my refuge. It is safety, comfort and that stable conservative thread that keeps life going.
As I said, I also wrote, and have done a lot of critical thinking and research about many matters. Creativity is widely curious and I think you will find this trait in many artists. With my husband Richard, a veterinarian, I co-authored a best selling Rodale book with innovative recipes that led the way to feeding home prepared diets for companion animals. As of March 2017, it is now in its 4th edition, to which I made major contributions and also illustrated.
At times I blamed this book, along with the overcast skies of Oregon, for taking over the artist in me, drawing out my left brain and opening up many business and teaching opportunities we worked on together for many years. But it has also given us both a powerful chance to impact a lot of people with messages about healthy food, about sustainability, ecology, right relationship and holistic thinking.
And that leads to another thread woven throughout this life story, not unlike the one that called to Adams. Ever since college years at Berkeley I have longed to change the world for the better. I think that has called many or most of us as well. HOW to do that has always been the biggest challenge.
Though I started as an art major, fine art seemed incapable of changing the world to really meet the social and environmental challenges of our day. Thinking it held the answers, I entered a PhD program in social psychology in 1971: change society, change the world. But soon this was clearly too stalwart and limited to silly predictable experiments you’d have to “prove” with abstruse statistics.
And so, like many of our generation, I explored social change through personal transformation and spirituality. For a while, during our 20 years in Oregon I was a licensed counselor, but that too, soon seemed too narrow and too self absorbed, leading more into the ego than beyond it.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. Meanwhile, I kept busy and helped secure our retirement years renovating real estate.
Yet inside I still longed to serve the higher good, to do what most needs doing at this point in history, AND at the same time, to follow my natural inclination and gifts to express beauty.
It is often hard to see how the threads of your life weave together when you are in the midst of it. All I knew was that about 2006 I really wanted to come to Sedona and paint and become part of the wonderful art community that is here, whose heart is the Sedona Arts Center, which will now receive 25% of sales in this show.
So we moved here. I studied at SAC and I taught at SAC. I’ve won a number of fine awards and have been in the Plein Air Festival seven times. Drawing on my experience creating events and workshops with Richard for veterinarians, I’ve created group shows with poetry readings, have had my own gallery for a while.
Mostly, I painted landscapes, thinking I would spend the rest of my life perfecting that gift as much as I could. I did focus, more than I ever have, and I feel good about the many beautiful landscape paintings and pastels that resulted.
At the same time, I soon began to integrate my interests and wrote a lot of heart felt poetry to accompany many of my paintings. I am very pleased with how these two, as well as spirituality, came together in my 2013 book, “Spirit of the Earth.” The threads of the tapestry began to join, and I hope you will take a look at it. Many people have found it inspiring, including me. It comes through me more than from me.
So, as in the 1980s in California, I again began a serious study of painting landscapes, and soon, to grow them. In the tradition of countless ancestors, I have always kept a garden, and here on the rocky dry soils of Sedona with an abundance of hungry wildlife, necessity has been the mother of invention, as it has always been in all species. This time the Muse of Creativity led to designing and building a variety of screenhouses and container gardens to grow and defend lovely greens, tomatoes, potatoes, garlic and more.
About 2012 I began offer green living, garden tours and presentations to interested people, including on YouTube. In 2014 it morphed into a monthly potluck group. This time the creative act was less about stuff and more about relationships. It became a community of people sharing an interest in creating a better world, together. Many of you, as you know, are here.
We often watch films and in October 2014 many of us saw the life changing film,“Cowspiracy.” Overnight, after learning the profound truth that a simple, healthy change of diet was truly probably the most important thing any of us can do to change the world for the better, most of us made the switch to a whole food plant based diet.
Now, each day we eat this way we each save about 1100 gallons of water, 45 pounds of grain, 30 sf of rain forest and one innocent animal’s precious life. And that matters, because, unless more of us make this change, and soon, in ten years we could lose the Amazon to grazing and to growing livestock feed. Animals agriculture is the #1 human contributor to greenhouse gases and in the coming decades we will lose much of our fresh water supplies to its inefficiencies. If we continue eating seafood as we are, by 2050 we could fish out the entire ocean. This is not a good legacy to leave our grandchildren, nor all the life forms of this blue green jewel of a planet spinning in space.
And so now, much of my life is now dedicated to spreading the word about making this shift, through blogs, working with others, offering presentations, and creating significant changes to the 2017 edition of our Rodale book, after learning that dogs in particular, can not only adapt to but live longer and healthier on a plant based diet as well. And their dietary footprint on the earth is quite significant, especially due to the trend to feed them lots and lots of fresh raw meat. I also hope you will take a look at this latest edition, which I got to illustrate (the originals are for sale here) or at least take one of the free postcards available here. It includes a recipe that has helped one dog live to age 26, and others to advanced years as well. Also, please take a copy of my plant based diet suggestions for humans. They are simple, healthy and tasty.
So that’s my story, for now.
What can we learn about creativity from from this particular life of diverse wanderings and focused production, as well as musings upon your own?
First, we need to understand who we are. We are all highly creative beings whose every thought impacts the world. It is our very nature, because we are inseparable from the creative Source of all life, the great orchestrator of it all, which often orchestrates in ways we cannot presently understand from our little corner of the world. I think in our afterlife “life review” it will all be clear.
Second, I think we each come in with a mission. Changing the world is important to many of us, and so are many other things that we come here to learn. How to love, how to forgive, how to be patient, how to trust, how to create.
Third, every act we perform is a creative one. We don’t always seem be able to create or have choice over much of what happens in life, but we always get to choose how we react to it and what we make of it. Therein lies our happiness, and our power to transform life.
Fourth, let us honor both sides of us: the creative innovator and the tried and true conservative that keeps the food growing and the houses built and the bills paid.
Finally, let us trust the course of events and to be patient. It can be confusing to tie together diverse interests that seem to call in different directions or to find out which doors will open and which will close, and why.
To do that I have found it best to trust my heart and to respond to the doors that open and walk away from those that close. Without questioning my impulses, I have usually just followed them with confidence.
Proceeding in this way, with I know now that I have made a difference in this world, not necessarily in a way that I could ever have predicted, but I know that I have contributed to a chain of events that is helping to awaken this world. And where that leads next in terms of creative projects, I have no idea, but I will trust where my heart and life leads me.
Despite all the bad news in the world, I have also come to believe that a very positive future awaits humanity and our planet. In the still of the night, just before dawn, sometimes I awaken and I know that the best is yet to come. Many others report this sense as well, including some who have had deep experiences with the Light in Near Death Experiences. There will be hard times, for sure, but I believe we will get through it. It is the grand power of nature, of life itself, that is expressing through each of us in zillions of ways that no single one of us can truly comprehend.
Life is creative and innovative and so are we. Let us trust that.
Thank you so much for coming and for the creative acts that each of you do to make a better and more beautiful world.
6/21/2017 2:27:06 PM
Recently I impulsively signed up last minute to join my friend Gretchen Lopez at her art workshop in Altea, Spain. We haven't been abroad for ten years (the long flights and travel arrangements aren't quite the same as "Beam Me Up, Scotty," my preferred future way to travel).
People have been asking for a report, so here it is!
I had a terrific time at the art workshop, held at different spots in and around Altea, Spain, a Renaissance town on the southeast coast, just a forty minute taxi from the airport at Alicante. Our hostess picked us up, a friendly British ex-pat who ushered us into a delightful four story townhouse for little over $100 a day, overlooking the sea. Loved the terraces with their ventilating yet secure wrought iron out shutters. The stairs were a challenge for my bum knee, but that has much improved since the trip.
I loved the street and the street life. Narrow, walkable (few were driveable) with intricate designs of black, white and grey cobblestones, cats perched behind the beautiful wrought iron guards over all windows (great combo for security and ventilation). Lots more stairs, and all this no doubt contributes to the health of the locals, who meet, along with visitors galore (mostly UK and German) in the abundant outdoor cafes, which come alive about dusk.
The first day of class we met Gretchen at the top of the hill at the Iglesia de Altea, a marvelous blue tile topped structure rebuilt in the early 1900s.
This plaza was the heart of the town, surrounded by cafes and openings to the sea. Everyone was in a jovial mood and eager to get painting. Most worked in water soluble oils. I opted for a combo of pastels and acrylics, not wanting to contend with the drying process and extra space that requires in luggage, already heavy with art gear and a few food staples like our morning oats, instant beans, hummus: we brought them to save $ and also because we had read there weren't many veg friendly places in Altea (true).
Gretchen gave excellent demos each day (see this 25 minute video I created of her demo the last day at the Mercado). Most days we did reviews of our work and our intrepid group of 6 or 7 at various levels did amazingly well, each with their unique styles, some more tight and realistic, some loose as a goose.
Lanie Widmar was our local contact, a watercolorist who moved there from Sedona with her husband Russ only seven months prior. They love it and seem to be in Spain for good. She helped translate when necessary (not usually) and I also found the long-unused memories of college Spanish class surface enough to make it look like I knew something of the language (a good accent goes a long way).
Here she is with Richard at a delightful day we spent painting by the paseo that goes along the sea. Not the best beach for a swim (rocky) but I loved the architecture, once again, and did several pieces based on it.
Time went fast, as we captured street and cafe scenes and met for several meals as a class, at the top of the Crown of India (5 star and views), a Dutch run place by the sea, and the Restaurante de Artistes for our final meal.
Our class photo, taken at the Tuesday Mercado the last day:
Gretchen, next to me, is not that short, but it's so like her humble self to come down to our level!
On Wednesday morning our hostess drove us back to the airport, where we took a short flight to Barcelona, opting not to take a long drive or train ride, a choice we are glad we made. We were glad we'd chosen a nice old hotel overlooking La Ramblas, right next to the charming Gothic Quarter. That's what we travel for, not to see another sameo sameo chain hotel or another MacDonalds, right? Fortunately the hotel had excellent sound proofing. We ran the AC and slept well despite young people partying down there all night. The next morning we walked across the way to a plaza and met Marcos, who took us on a delightful E bike tour of the city, which is utterly the best way to see a bikeable city, especially when it's small (just the 3 of us). In the evening we went on a scrumptious vegan restaurant tour, also intimate, with a Norwegian brother and sister and our charming young Spanish guide, a woman.
Old Barcelona is a fascinating place, full of walkable streets that frequently open to plazas. Many buildings still have foundation stones from Roman times, as well as medieval. Definitely a party town for young people these days in many ways, which is an improvement, I'm sure, over some of the challenges of its history... the Inquistion, the Reconquista wars, Franco, etc. Many windows displayed "Si" signs, meaning, yes, I'm for Catalonian independence. Barcelona is the center of Catalonia, with a distinct language with French influence, a true crossroad between northern/western Europe and the Moorish influence from the south.This region of Spain has also fostered some very creative artists and architects, including Picasso, Gaudi and Dali.
On Friday we took a bus tour to the ancient medieval town of Girona, featured in many period films and complete with a Jewish museum and the Office of the Inquistion. No doubt a place full of ghosts, it was fascinating, this was clearly a better time to visit it in modern times, and once again, it was full of hills, stairs and narrow passages. Afterwards we visited Figueres, a village where Salvadori Dali created a monumental museum of his works, in itself a piece of surrealism.
On Saturday, our last full day in Spain, we rented bikes and headed for the large city park, where we hung out, Richard reading and resting and me doing pastels sitting on the grass. Nearby were some local Spanish ladies who meet regularly to crochet together and give away their wares to passerby, in this case crocheted flowers. The park was also full of African immigrants attempting to sell colorful tablecloths from India, as well as local families gathering and socializing. One of my favorite days on the whole trip.
The next day we took the long flight home, a day that never seemed to end, but aided by tons of free movies and decent airplane food, until at last we landed in Phoenix at 7:30 pm. Wisely, we chose to spend a night at the luxurious Embassy Suites in Paradise Valley, took a swim and bought some new spinner carryons for our next trip. Who knows? This one may be much sooner than another ten years!
In fact, Lanie and I are talking about co-teaching pastel and watercolor workshop: Altea? Provence? Italy? Hmmm.
To see the works I produced on this trip, check out the collection of Recent Works.
11/16/2013 9:13:10 AM
Travel, change and learning are freeing for the soul. And freedom was indeed the theme of a recent trip to Santa Barbara to paint under the tutelage of my friend and artistic mentor Marcia Burtt, an acrylic landscape painter who is a master at capturing the Zen-like essence of a place.
A dozen or more of us met for three wonderful days at Goleta Beach with the theme of "Painting More Freely." Even if oil or collage was their usual medium, nearly all the artists there used acrylics as suggested. Its quick-to-dry chemistry offers the artist an excellent means of exploration and change, perfect for those who prefer to feel, rather than plan, their way into a painting. Acrylic paints allow easy revisions without muddying one layer of paint atop the other, enabling the artist to achieve the perfect gesture after dozens of tries. You can even paint over a passage with white and lay down a fresh transparent color similar to watercolor. (For these reasons Marcia eschews slow-drying acrylics offered in recent years.)
This was my third workshop with Marcia Burtt and I always learn a lot from just watching her paint. It's not only from seeing how she conveys so much with so few gestures (painted even more thinly than I remembered or than photos convey). It's also what she has to say about painting in a meditative state that leaves little room for separation between the painter and the painted.
At first it seems otherwise, for this longtime plein air master has much to say about the mechanics preceding painting, insisting that "setup is everything." She shows, for example, her discovery of using a plastic fishing tackle box to lay out and also preserve the acrylics. She urges the use of of easels that adjust to vertical, of large brushes, of large canvases and of large absorbent rags. She shows us why we need to keep the paintbox on the shadow side of our bodies so it doesn't dry too fast, why we need a large sprayer to keep it from skinning over, how tall side tables save your back, why we must keep the water, brushes and palettes clean and refreshed. She explains how New Traditions AC 14 linen panels do wonders for your work. And so on.
Why this attention to setup and materials, more than most any teacher I've studied with? The aim, she explains, is to free the painter from even the slightest hesitation, awkwardness or delay in reaching for the paint. After the setup is mastered, we are free to become the very process itself.
From there, much as I would like to explain it, I cannot describe step-by-step what Marcia Burtt does that gives her style such a freshness. There really is no formula for spontaneity. It's like a poppy opening on a spring day. It just happens.
It is easier to say what she doesn't do and perhaps this will be helpful or liberating for some readers. Unlike many artists, she does not use thumbnails, cameras or even view finders. She doesn't consciously design or even sketch out the composition. She does not consider the complementary color. She cannot say exactly how she achieved a certain color mix when asked. She does not aim to paint from thin to thick or dark to light, nor seek to accentuate a defined center of interest with texture, value or detail. (One might generalize that most of her dark and light passages are thinly painted, whereas midtones are more opaque.)
The mind keeps seeking the how-to, the principle, the known. So at times while watching her paint, I thought I observed several techniques commonly taught by artists. A few times I would offer that idea for clarification. But to these comments, she would simply turn and say, in all sincerity, " I don't know about that. I try to think as little as possible when I paint."
So, what does she do? Surely something can be said or described about that.
In her own words, Marcia starts an outdoor painting by first looking for what she most loves in the scene. (In another workshop she said, "Painting is an act of loving."). From there, she passionately feels her way into the composition, adjusting as she goes, just generally aiming for simplifying and abstracting the masses.
"Whale into it," she advises as she scrubs broad strokes of color onto a large pre-used canvas, one of many less successful paintings she is happy to paint over.
"Swept Clean," 12 x 24 Acrylic, Susan Pitcairn
While overlooking the beloved lagoon she has visited and painted for decades, she urges us to feel as if the brush is "out there," actually in the landscape. "Keep your eye on the scene, not on your canvas. Let your hand follow the form in one long gesture," she demonstrates.
She also suggests we make every stroke meaningful, depicting what we see. She urges us to limit our use of white, using yellow or orange (or painting thinly over the white canvas) to lighten values. She notes also that with acrylics both lights and darks dry toward the midtones.
But really I think the essence of the Marcia Burtt "method" is to venture beyond the assumptions, formulas and thoughts that often cloud our artistic instincts. This is particularly true for those of us who have studied a number of styles and media with several teachers.
And thus she teaches freedom. She teaches freedom not to know, freedom to experiment, freedom to use large canvases, freedom to test a color mix right on the edge of the developing piece and even the freedom to play off an earlier painting as her ground, incorporating it beautifully into the new piece. I loved that especially.
Most of all, Marcia teaches the process of learning to free oneself from thought and to merge with the very essence of nature.
And lest we expect perfection in her or in ourselves and chide ourselves for less than that, let us not forget the word "more" in the workshop title. It's about learning to paint — and to live— more freely, not discarding all known thoughts and principles but allowing them to be the servants and not the masters of the creative spirit.
To see her work, visit
marciaburtt.com, or if you can, see her latest pieces at the beautiful
Marcia Burtt Studio in downtown Santa Barbara. As her website aptly states, "Burtt uses clean, precise color, creating a sense of immediacy that opens a window to the time and place of the painting. Her refreshing 'less is more' approach to brushwork results in paintings that are not sentimental or trivialized; they are records of nature that allow the grandeur or intimacy of the setting to dominate the composition and the viewer’s memory and imagination fill in the details."
"Incoming," Acrylic on linen panel by Marcia Burtt,
still in process after six months of return trips to the beach
Marcia Burtt in her Santa Barbara studio gallery
After the workshop, my husband and I stopped in Ojai at the Peppertree Retreat, at the former home of J. Krishnamurti, a prominent philosopher and spiritual teacher of the 20th century. It was a fitting visit, not only because we had met at one of his talks in 1976, but because touching back in with his teachings, still alive in this lovely oasis, served to underscore the same sense of freedom to which Marcia points with her brush.
Krishnamurti has said that "Truth is a pathless land," and so it is with art. There are techniques, there are principles, and sometimes these seem to have a place, at least after the fact, in making small corrections. But that creative spirit that draws us to great art, whether creating it or appreciating it, is something beyond all thought, all judgement, all analysis and all separation.
The true creative spirit emerges at those moments when we are so immersed in the process that there is no choice but to do whatever one does, at that moment. We act at such moments, we paint at such moments, not as spectators apart from life, but as the very agents of life, celebrating the pure beauty of what is.
The author at Peppertree Retreat, Ojai, California
8/5/2012 9:57:49 AM
With little or no notice in the past month (July 2012), two flagship Sedona galleries that have inspired and served artists and art lovers for over 35 years each have closed their doors and emptied their walls almost overnight: El Prado and Windrush. Many, many people will miss the beauty, inspiration and sense of community that they served.
Another major gallery is moving to a lower rent area, others who hang on are often depending on artists to share rent and staffing, are artist-owned or are cutting deals to make sales. In the midst of it all, hope springs eternal and a few new galleries have opened in the last year or two. But make no mistake: the art gallery business is a tough one, and most especially in this economy.
Last night I sat under the still light of the desert moon remembering these beautiful galleries and all that they meant to those who love art, imagining all the stories their now-empty walls could tell. Smiles and sales, openings and conversations, friendships and inspiration, and all the delight of taking home a beautiful, original work of art to grace one's home. All gone now, and it's tenderly sad.
It is tempting to use this platform to gently nudge readers to consider stretching a bit to keep galleries in business, to "make the sale." After all, if we want any local business to continue, whether it's a gallery, a hardware store, or a bookstore, we need to make purchases there. And yet, I fully understand why people often don't buy even with they love a piece of art: too little money or too much stuff.
But deeper than all this, there is a lesson to be learned in loss and change, which is, after all, something that is continuously happening in every moment, in every day, in every life. As Eckhart Tolle teaches, there is something sacred in the dissolution of any form. At the moment of death, there can be a great spiritual opening, as I witnessed in my father's final days as he sat up in bed, awe-struck and reaching towards some unseen glory. More and more, I see that this opening is available to us in every moment, in every experience.
Outwardly, it is another matter. All life is constant change, the arising of a form and then its passing. It may be a breath, a note of music or a day or a gallery, but all things come to an end, pause, and then something else arises to take its place, for Life loves to express itself bountifully and beautifully in countless ways, as do artists.
But in that pause between forms, in the letting go of a form with which we are connected, in the ever-present isness/awareness behind all of it, there is a deeper beauty that has much to reveal. It's a place we can truly hang our hat and call home. It IS Home.
AND, it is so hard to put into words. Its truth and its beauty are beyond words and beyond our minds, beyond all form.
Can we put a wall around love? Can we measure joy? Can we build peace? All of these are but the rainbow colors of a wordless vital essence that is within each of us, here, now, a soft and beautiful feeling, a subtle awareness that is not of this world, that is not of thought, but that permeates this very moment and every moment. It is our very essence.
Can you feel it?
________ • _________
Recommended contemporary teachers of great insight whose books and videos that I have been finding really useful in these regards:
• Eckhart Tolle, one of the greatest spiritual teachers of our time. I often listen to his talks while painting. Free teachings online.
• Frank Kinslow, especially his recent book, "Eufeeling: the Art of Creating Inner Peace and Outer Prosperity"
• Gina Lake, a Sedona writer who has authored over a dozen wonderful books, all excellent. Free audio-videos.
• Leonard Jacobsen, whose presence teachings have deeply transformed many people. Free audio/videos on his site.
2/26/2012 6:49:26 PM
After twenty years of slogging through the rainy Northwest, I was quite happy to return to the sunny Southwest in 2006. Not only did I grow up in Arizona, but Sedona has been a great place to revive the art career that somehow washed away when we moved north in 1985 from California so that we could afford a decent home.
Do you detect a small note of resistance in this? Well, you are perceptive.
It's not that the Northwest is not full of beauty. Summers are great: all three days of it, as we used to say. And it's not that one can't be happy under just about any circumstances with the right attitude. Indeed, I loved much of my life in Oregon. It was a great place to garden, a wonderful place for biking and camping, and it has a progressive culture. Not to mention those delightful Farmer's Markets and summer's outdoor festivals. And housing is definitely more affordable than in beautiful coastal California where you can mortgage your soul for something your dog might decline.
But for all this ... You Pay.
You Pay with month after month of mostly cloudy weather. You learn to cope, mostly by adopting the lifestyle of native Oregonians, who can't wait for the winter months when they can finally put away the mower and the weeding tools and simply curl up by the fireplace with a good book.
OK, enough grousing. This is all background for The Day I Came to Peace With Rain, October 26, 2011.
Here it was, nearing the end of the 2011 Sedona Plein Air Festival. Most of us festival artists had packed up and headed to Jerome early that morning at the invitation of the local Chamber of Commerce. And it's a great place to paint, with stunning vistas. Driving up the hill, I saw the writing in the sky: dark, dark clouds pouring over Mingus Mountain, ready to pounce on the tiny berg of Jerome, still bathed in glorious morning sun.
Quickly, I pulled off to the side of the road, hurled my pastel plein air gear in place and whipped out a 30 minute rendering of the scene before me. I was about 95% done, thankfully, when at first a few small splats of rain hit the piece, creating small dark blotches in the sky of my landscape. No worries. Took about 10 seconds to get it under cover, and another 60 seconds (well, maybe a little more, but this is how Plein Air Festivals are, you understand) to dive into the car and head on up the hill to the town.
Arriving at the festival tent to check in, I found a handful of artists, staff and volunteers huddling around the coffee and doughnuts, stepping away from the edge of the shelter as a "hard rain began to fall". At least Arizona rains don't fool around for two to three months like those in Oregon. They know when to rain and when not to rain. And this was rain time, most definitely.
It was a cheery crowd, though. It's really good to see the rain in a desert land, after all, and the good people who put on the Sedona Plein Air Festival are a lot of fun. After a while it let up enough to set up a small shelter under my van's hood, overlooking the old Jerome High School and the distant vistas below. It's a good thing I use different artmedia, because pastels are no match for a rainy day. Nor are acrylics. OILS, on the other hand, definitely do not mix with water. This is the day of my life that I really, really learned that simple axiom.
And so I painted two different vistas in the shelter of the van, as a few intrepid festival visitors stopped by in the occasional sun showers between torrents. One was such a favorite that my husband claimed it for his office, "Here On This Mountain":
It was darn fun, actually. Here it was, 2 or 3 pm and I'd already gotten three pretty decent paintings for the day. I was on a roll.
AND, the festival was almost over and I still a 24x24 stamped panel waiting THE Frame of the Century I'd had custom-made for the event by Mountain View Frames in Cottonwood, a carved copper beauty. So I packed up, buzzed down the mountain back to Sedona, saw an incredible sun spotlight against the dark sky again, this time against the lovely red rocks on the west side of town by Zaki Gordon Film Institute and, well, the old town dump.
This time I jumped out of the car even faster, forgetting my hat and jacket. Dashing off to the prominence about 40 feet from the car where the view was ideal, I whipped my trusty Soltek easel into position, plopped the panel in place, and, using the largest brush I had, blocked in the scene in about half an hour. Whew.
What a beautiful squall it was, as I brushed it in, coming over the red rocks... Coming... which way? Oh...
Soon the squall was no longer There, but Here, a pouring, drenching sheet of rain that left a half inch of water in my Soltek trays and turned me into the approximation of a drowned rat...
But I was nailing it, I thought. No matter the rain! Soon the sun was out again and the brush flew over the panel, leaving my hands hanging on for dear life. And then the rain would come again, ha, ha, ha! What a tease it was!
And so I continued painting another 20 minutes or more, laughing almost hysterically, the tension of twenty years of resentment about the reality and necessity and life-giving beauty of rain washing away into the damp red earth.
Finally, it was time to stop. The painting was done enough, certainly fresh, and the day was coming to a close. But the laughter and the smiles continued all the way home and then some. It was a great laugh.
And that is why I named this piece, "Hilarious Squall."
Later, after the festival was over and it had not sold, despite the aura of joy beaming from its every pore, I confess I did spend a half an hour or so of considered time in the studio doing what artists do: adjusting the brightness here, the shadow there, the hue and detail at this place and that. Not too much I hope.
After all, I wouldn't want to paint over the lesson contained in this piece: to welcome whatever it is that life brings us!
:)
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"Hilarious Squall", still in the frame of the century, is available for purchase. To inquire, phone 928.203.1095.
5/8/2011 10:06:49 PM
Professional artists or not, we all love to be deeply creative. Where does that come from, anyway? And why does it come and go?
Whether it's the artistry of paint, or perhaps music, clay, dance, words, cooking, gardening, crafts or architecture, most of us have urges to express beauty in our lives.
From a lifetime of creative expressions of various sorts, I've found that the drive to create comes and goes in cycles, which usually seem to be out of my bidding. At times I lie awake at night as beautiful visions and inspirations download full-blown into my mind as though from some cosmic studio. More often, I'm in more of an artistic holding pattern, producing decent but predictable work. And at other times, the drive to create is just not there and, honestly, I'd rather putter about the yard, take a nap or go on a walk. Or even organize the closest: no kidding.
This is all OK. No problem. Read on.
A long time ago I attended a seminar for professional artists in which the presenter suggested that an artist needs to find balance in their life to succeed. He suggested we spend about 1/3 of our working time finding inspiration, about 1/3 actually creating art, and about 1/3 getting it out into the world (marketing, business and shows).
Looking back some decades later I have to agree with his formula, give or take a few percent for the heck of it.
So let's get down to it.
Losing the MoJo
Lately I've felt less inspired than at times. And for good reason. It's easy to overlook such a slippery and ethereal thing, as compared to the tangible rewards of creating and showing your art. Well, looking back, I see that the last 12 months even the creating part has lessened as I've spent a disproportionate amount of time with the least artsy part of that triad: marketing, business and shows.
Specifically,
-I opened my own gallery (staffing it 3-4 days a week, hosting monthly receptions and new shows, showing other artists as well)
-was the featured artist in a solo and a group show elsewhere
-participated in a 3-4 local art association shows,
-painted in the weeklong Sedona Plein Air Festival
-taught two month-long weekly classes and a 2-day residential workshop
Not to mention "having a life," with weeks of family visits and travels, and in the prior year having cared for and lost both parents and then conducting their funerals and closing their two homes. Oh, and one of my gallery artists was murdered last summer by his crazy roommate.
"It's all good," as the bumper sticker says (well, not all of it really) but I found that in the course of all this, I was simply not able to spend as much time painting as I wanted to or thought I should. And even when I was painting, the dictates of some of the venues and their timing limited the size, location, subject matter or the pace I might have otherwise chosen.
At the same time, some vague inner discontent was nagging at me to slow down and re-examine the whole ball of wax.
My body chimed in on that, manifesting some aches and pains and a reduced energy level that have forced me to do a bit less for the time being.
The Scaryness of Self-Inquiry and Change
With or without other challenges (like losing a job, health or relationship), times of self-examination or transition can be scary. For all we know, a deep self-inquiry might even lead us to completely abandon something that has been successful without any assurance of something better coming to take its place.
In my case, I quietly wondered at times whether I should even continue a "career as an artist," despite deciding earlier that it's what I wanted to do the rest of my life and despite a fair amount of success at it. I just didn't feel that motivated anymore. Just after I was really making something of my art, had I peaked? Was I already heading for life as a "has been"? Well, there's something to be said for early retirement..... :-)
Not wanting to burn my bridges down to the last railing, I continued painting, teaching and going through the dance. Meanwhile I waited for life to guide me. I've explored some of it with artist friends, with my husband and, best of all, more recently I have actually asked (almost begged) for inner guidance.
Oh yes, that's it....! Inner guidance, the source of all inspiration, artistic and otherwise!
That's what got out of balance in the rush of all those outer activities. How quickly we can lose touch with it.
Inner guidance is something we can definitely ask for and make space for (if we remember). That would be wise. Otherwise, we may take the other route of just find ourselves slowing down and letting life have its way with us, so to speak. So lately I've been taking more time to just putter about home and garden and to sleep and do nothing in particular. When I'm more motivated to do so, I have taken some time to listen to or read favorite spiritual teachings. Eckhart Tolle is my favorite such guide, though there are more and more nowadays with similar messages that are amazingly universal, wise and helpful both for people of faith and of no-faith.
Much of the process of getting re-inspired also involves watching and learning from those less-than-inspired, even depressed, feelings. Rather than thinking of oneself as being in a state of decline, it's helpful to simply accept it as a natural cycle of "Dark Then Bloom," as motivational speaker and author Dr. Mylene Dressler describes these periods of going within, which she considers to be a necessary part of true creativity.
For me this has all been fruitful and exactly as it should be. After a long cold winter, spring flowers are blooming, both outwardly and inwardly. Today, at least, I feel as though I've awakened from a temporary dream in which I (once again) got too caught up in the fascinating forms of this life. This time the dream was about the rewards and also the limitations and challenges of "being an artist", among other recent life adventures and dramas.
Part of the dream is that I'm my body and it's undeniably aging (61) and oh-no, I'm in decline....!
Well, folks, this surely signals that the best part of life is yet to come, if we butwelcome it:
Dis-Identification
There are lots of things we can talk about, but few are more worth discussing than Dis-Identifying with mind, body, ego, self-images, etc. Especially if you've ever experienced anything other than pure delight and vitality your whole life. (Could that be?)
What learning to dis-identify is teaching me, at least at this shining moment (feel free to remind me later!), is the truth of these things:
1. I am not an artist. In fact, I'm not even this mind-body thing called "Susan." (Wait, don't tell everybody she's stopped being an artist. Or that she's flipped out. No, no! Read on! Please!)
2. I am simply Spirit, temporarily caught up in playing the fascinating roles of artist, wife, American and, er, human.... (Can you relate? I mean, look at it closely. What else could we be?)
2. Mistakenly and totally identifying as or with any role, self-image, person, place, thing or belief (thus, any form, whether positive or negative) is normal, yes. But it's a sure path to suffering, or at least losing your mojo. The simple reason is that, sooner or later, all form comes and goes, be it people, places, beliefs, self images, sunny spring days, health, cultures...even planets. Yes, all these are fun when they go well, but all are subject to change and loss and all have their opposites (seeming enemies, poverty, sickness, evil, loss, failure, etc.) Aspiring to "be" other than what we already are (inherently happy Spirit, temporarily expressing as this person) is the main thing that actually takes us away from true happiness.
4. Spirit is One. As the changeless awareness-consciousness (words fail here) we each are, at our inmost core, we are all One. This formless intelligence (aka God, Spirit, Source, Life) operates in all life forms with brilliant interconnectedness and incomprehensible orchestration, way, way, way beyond the puny capacity of mere thought to comprehend. And in some crazy way it's connecting us all. Have you ever had a profound sense of being One with somebody, such as in an intimate relationship? My husband and I had an amazing mutual "Vulcan mind meld" the day we met. I'm also reminded of a friend who said "my wife and I are one person" (not realizing then that the deeper truth is that we all are one in that same way).
This principle of One Being (non-local consciousness might be a better name for it) explains telepathy and a whole lot more. It's not easy to grasp, it seems, while "trapped" in these bodies or identifying as our personalities. But reports of NDEs (near death experiences) commonly include this realization. Thus the God we may pray to is really that Kingdom of Heaven everywhere and within all, beyond seemingly separate minds and bodies. And it guides events wisely if our minds follow rather than try to lead.
5. Spirit loves to express beauty and drama, and in the end to know itself, to get lost and then to journey "home." And this seems to be the deeper reason why we are called to be creative, whether in painting, film, dance, music, architecture, gardening or even just in the infinite set of artistic dramas we all engage in that endlessly offer us lovely opportunities to express patience, compassion, forgiveness, courage, generosity and so on. Why not? The themes of all these artistic expressions point again and again to journeys, struggle and resolution, wholeness, love, harmony, peace, happy endings and so on.
(For my observation about how the principle of Oneness evidences itself again and again, consciously or unconcsiously, in all forms of art, read my article, Awaken to Beauty.)
The problem? None, really. We are free to carry on in all these things. Spirit loves the contrast and play of worldly dramas and worldly beauty, it seems.
But ....there's a built-in self-destruct to all that. When inspiration fails us, when health slips away, when winter comes or a mate dies, when a job or fortune is lost, when the reputation is stained, when innocence is lost, when we feel forgotten or lonely, when the attendants come to get you....Then, and preferably long before, it is time to remember who and what one really is:
loving Spirit, shining and expressing beauty and drama everywhere and nowhere.
And then it is increasingly likely that soon that particular aspect of the One in that expresses in All will find its way Home.
Getting Stuck on a Particular Path
Often the journey Home takes the form of a particular path at first. We are drawn to special forms-- teachers, practices or religions that call us to God, to Home. Or it could be the idea of the perfect soul mate. All these engender the most powerful pulls as well as the most heart-rending disappointments when fail to see the universal beyond the particular, like when the religion is found to be faulty and divisive, or the perfect soulmate files for divorce.
Yet, should any of our most precious and sacred forms fail us, that is actually a blessing, a huge invitation to awaken.
Awakening is not something that can be forced. People have glimpses of it, deep experiences of it and sometimes enduring mastery of living in that manner. Self-inquiry seems important, and sometimes it helps just to be in association with others who are awakening. Once, when I was at a spiritual retreat, I woke in the middle of the night with a deep sense of there being just this great energy that seemed to be from something vast and timeless and ancient. At first, there was not even the usual sense of being a person, let alone being Susan. It was very strange, yet very familiar. Gradually I woke up as claimed the usual identity as Susan. But in a way, that was falling asleep again... to that amazing mystery.
Nevertheless, it appears and beckons again and again in my life, and probably in yours too
And each time it is like a calling card to remind me of who I really am, which is the same in essence as who you really are.
And there is the sense that we are all destined to know this, perhaps again and again.
Not to worry: it's just a movie.
The Life that we all are is both universal and endless, its spirit surely interconnected everywhere within every form. The experience of living as an individual, trapped in a body-ego-role, can feel quite the opposite. But, in truth, how can it be otherwise? How could all of THIS amazing and vast universe operate in any other way but as a deeply-interconnected matrix of Life, being all of us? It simply wouldn't work. It would be hopelessly chaotic and random.
Thought: The Perfect Set of Blinders
So what blinds us to knowing this? Living as humans necessarily means living with the world of thought, which has over time completely taken us over. Our ordinary mental conditioning affixes labels and images on everyone and everything. Though this is part of playing our human roles, and it is also exactly what blinds us from directly sensing the Oneness we all are.
Once you begin to glimpse this, the most remarkable aspect of the whole process is actually, how completely and how easily we are fooled, by ourselves really, living most of the time under the false assumption that we are somehow apart from the wholeness and embrace of all Life, from God, from love.
These things we know, or once knew. Don't you think?
Yet, somehow, here we are, living as apparent individuals in a world built of dualities and contrasts (male-female, animate-inaminate, electron-positron, light-dark, in-out, up-down, my religion-their religions, my family-everyone else, left-right, allies-enemies, good-bad, rich-poor, gain-loss). And here we are, despite ourselves, continuously staking an identity as some small piece of the game. For example, artist...
How could this lead to anything but limitation? How could this ever encompass All That Is?
How could this mis-identifying ever understand truth?
How could any part of life be apart from Life?
I mean, really!
Yes, folks, I'd say it's definitely time to disidentify. And, even though later on you may finding me speaking otherwise, right now I am clear that I am not:
-an artist (or any other profession)
-a success
-a failure
-good
-bad
-healthy
-unhealthy
-rich
-poor
-my thoughts
-my possessions
-my creations
-my beliefs or non-beliefs
-my political party
-my religion
-my country
-my ancestry
-this country
-my gender
-my species.
Nor are you. So there.
Nope. Sorry, I just don't want to confine us anymore.
So, what ARE we, really? I don't know. Seems like we are Life being none of this and all of this, expressing as each of us.
But if you like, we can keep this a secret..... just between us. OK?
:-)
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PS- By the way, I'm now feeling re-inspired and ready to dream up my (Life's) next artistic project:
"Oneness: The Art of the Universal " A three-week celebration of paintings, poetry, music and spirit, opening Friday 11.11.11 at 11.11.
An experiential exhibit of deeply-inspired art and writings by gifted artists sharing their sense of life's interconnectedness and wholeness. Also: a full-color show book, with DVD slide shows, prints and calendars for holiday gifting.
The opening reception from 4 to 7 pm on November 11 features the artists reading poetry and sharing insights about art and spirit.
We will also host a reception during Sedona's First Friday Artwalk Dec. 2 from 5-8 pm.
Featuring: Susan Pitcairn, Vince Fazio, Libby Caldwell, Richard Drayton, Lyn Jeckyl, Polly Cullen, Mary Lois Brown & Peg Doig
Sedona Arts Center Special Exhibition Gallery. Nov. 11 to Dec 6, 2011. Open most days 11-5.
4/13/2011 11:42:04 PM
Art exhibits that focus on the granting of awards and prizes can be a great opportunity to share and to sell one's work, but lately I'm taking a different view of whether or not they really are best conducted in that way.
Whether one" wins" or not, I think the focus goes too much to comparison of one artist's expression versus another, when all can be honored and appreciated for what they are. It also shifts the consciousness in the artists and guests too much to judgement and not enough to appreciating and exploring the meaning and sacred quality of the creative act.
Just because this has become a tradition does not mean it must continue forever as such. I think it needs to be re-examined, along with the state of mind behind it. At times I've tried to express my thoughts and feelings about this to organizers and jurors but have not been as articulate as I would like, so hopefully this blog will clarify it.
First, I understand the need, often, to juror the pieces that get into a show: lack of space, desire for quality control and so on. But more and more I've come to feel that adding the element of awards to a show causes more harm than good, damaging the spiritual aspect that surely is the heart of art.
We Are All Judges
I'm sure it's especially tough to be a conscientious and fair juror, especially of a show with many excellent pieces and involving artists who are also friends or associates. While most of us have never been official judges, we are have all judged many shows, haven't we? We judge the art, we judge the artists and, finally, we judge the judgements of the official jurors. And if we look, we can see that that state of mind comes between us and a deeper appreciation of creative expressions or of the soul of our fellow painters.
Whenever I sit the gallery at a judged art show, I see two common responses. One response is from those who immediately go to the award winners and don't look much at the other pieces. Their stance seems to be that the judges are the authority and therefore they must know what is best, so they should focus on those. My sense is that this confers a bit of pride from identifying with authorities or the celebrities. "I know what it is right because I know that they are right."
Others-- mostly artists who either weren't in the show or didn't win an award -- walk around with a more independent and critical eye and comment aloud or inwardly about whether or not they agree with the judges' conclusions. Often, quite a few raise their eyebrows at "Best of Show." And the top winners can actually be subject to the most criticism, unless perhaps they are clearly amazing pieces: it makes you "one up," after all, to have better taste than the judges.
Don't get me wrong. I am all for constructive suggestions among artists as to how to improve our art and our craft. When I teach art, I try to offer detailed and specific feedback and to point out broad principles that can guide future work. All this, as I'm sure you would agree, helps us perfect our skills and expression.And yet in the end it is fairly pointless to look at art with an eye that is solely critical. Rather, I would say that it much more imperative that we nurture what I would call the Art Spirit, the sacred core of art.
Such a spirit seeks and prefers the beautiful and yet can always find some beauty and goodness in all of life's expressions. Imagine the possibilities if we artists and representatives of art societies focussed on how we might minimize comparison and competition in art. Even in a show full of highly accomplished artists, there can be only one who is labelled "best" or "first" and only a handful who get any official prizes. Do we go to museums and decide that Monet is better than Cezanne? Or that Michelangelo beats out Rembrandt?
We can also explore whether awards undermine the sense of comaraderie and support among artists and whether it's worth the encouragement it gives the winners. I say this as an artist who has won several "First Place" awards; the rewards of "winning" are brief and the sincere congratulations surprisingly rare, as others politely stifle their own disappointments (and perhaps question the judge's decision).
Why Do We Like to Judge and Compete?
Looking a little deeper and wider at this issue, we are all taught from an early age to compare ourselves to others and to continuously evaluate everything we see in terms of like or dislike, acceptance or rejection. This tendency is so deep that it even colors how we see nature, the supreme work of art. Thus we often presume to say things like, "Oh, that's a beautiful flower. I like it better than that one." "Ah, this is good weather" or "Darn: another cloudy day." Or we walk around the neighborhood saying or thinking, "Nice lawn, nice design." "Pretty shoddy looking place..."
Why do we human beings do this? In some ways it may help us to discern quality and improve what we do. But all too often it has a subtle payoff of making us feel superior to what we are judging. We know better than nature, after all, that it should not be a cloudy day. It's crazy, but there is truth in this.
Such a hollow payoff this is, bringing only short and shallow satisfaction and robbing us of something far more precious: ourselves and our connections with each other and nature. And it robs us of that fresh and connected innocence with which we look at someone or something we love free of images and preconceptions.
Taken more lightly, one could say that all of this is just a game, not to be taken too seriously. And that at least it helps us to discern and reward quality.
There is truth in that also. And even at the biological level, the fact is that beautiful people are the result of thousands of judgements by ancestors who selected more attractive rather than less attractive mates. We might be lucky or unlucky in our looks, our brains, our education, our opportunites, and all that.
But we all have equal access to the true wealth and beauty that lies within. This beauty outshines and outlasts all others.
A New Vision for Art
If artists agree to let go of the egoic thrill of "winning" or even "succeeding" even in terms of sales and status, and focus instead upon serving each other and serving life as a whole, we could begin to envision and create shows, galleries, exhibits and other outlets that would better meet this purpose.We are, after all, creative people. Where there is the will there is the way.
Community art groups, coops and classes are already often places where this spirit flourishes. Taking it further, what if artists created shows that brought beauty and expression not only into galleries, events and museums, but also into public places in need of greater life or greater inspiration? What about bringing inspirational art into bureaucracies, offices, nursing homes, schools, churches, prisons, hospitals, airports and the like?
What if we collaborated with other kinds of artists ---poets, musicians and performers -- to create inspirational events?
And what if, when artists congregate, we were to share statements about what inspired our work, what truly touched us, instead of evaluating technical skills?
What if we sought ways in which to encourage other artists, whether more experienced or less experienced, rather than how to gain more prizes, sales or status for ourselves?
What if we put the intention into each piece that it might find its way into the hands of the person who will most appreciate and enjoy them rather than the one who would pay the most money for it?
Would life still find a way to support our craft?
Let's find out!
11/11/2010 10:25:36 PM
An exceptionally talented group of 32 artists descended upon red rock country this October 23rd to 30th for a full week of paintouts, sales, lectures and demonstrations at the 2010 Sedona Plein Air Festival. I was honored to be among them and to become one of the top selling artists in this annual event.
The event's kickoff, the "Main Street Paintout," was a great success, with all of us painting at various spots along 89a in uptown Sedona, most clustered at the openings between buildings where we could catch views of the eastern and northern buttes and ranges surrounding Sedona:
The Sedona Arts Center, the event's sponsor, tried a new approach this year, having artists frame our pieces from two quick draw paintouts for immediate display and sale to the public, fresh off the easel. My 9x12 pastel, "Joyous," sold on the spot.
The weather was completely overcast for a day and a half of our three days of free (unscheduled ) painting time, leading some to paint unusual scenes, such as Steve Freeman's nightime view of the Red Planet Diner, which took the coveted "Artist's Choice" award. During the cloudy time I painted a couple of closeups of flowers and when the skies clear at nightime I went out to paint the full harvest moon, "Clear Night,"a 6x8 pastel (available, framed, or $275):
On Thursday morning the hardworking staff and volunteers from SAC gathered at Los Abrigados Resort for the two hour final "Quick Draw" and sale. I chose a scene from a courtyard in nearby Tlaquepaque expressing the harmony between nature and the built world, "Tlaquepaque Morning" 9x12 pastels ($550, framed):
That afternoon we turned in our framed paintings and many of us took a break from a long and intense week of painting and framing.
The next day was the lovely Gala private preview at the Arts Center, with catered food and wine.
Collectors filled both upper and lower galleries to see what we had created:
There I was happy to sell I my major piece for the festival, "Journey," a 24x24 oil painted over two morning sessions near the Cultural Park in west Sedona. I was thrilled that the buyer was thrilled to get it and honored that several people told me they voted for it for the Collector's Choice award.
"Open to Light" (an 8x10 pastel) also sold that night, an image I may re-visit for a larger oil painting...
The next day, Saturday, was the final public sale, where I sold yet another piece, a tryptich, to a delightful buyer from my former stomping grounds, Santa Cruz, California:
4/11/2010 3:14:02 AM
Awake in a still night, so peaceful. Somehow this seems more real than daily life. My, we get busy in daytime. Pause and take a breath...
Artists express themselves in form. All life, indeed, expresses itself in form.
And yet when it is dark, when sounds are few, when the mind is fairly quiet, there is sometimes this recognition of the kingdom of heaven within, spoken of for ages.
It is a mystery how, out of this spacious potential, life arises, ideas arise, inspirations arise, words arise, symphonies arise and visions arise.
If I can accomplish one really good thing with my art in this life, it would be to learn how to paint completely out of an awareness of stillness, of the sacred.
Many artists sense and sometimes talk about this, but how little we speak of it in formal art training. How little we speak of it in daily life.
And yet there is this sacred stillness, perhaps everywhere, all around, within and without, and at all times, if we but stop.
Listen.
Look.
Sense.
And smile.
Joy and peace to all.
2/13/2010 1:58:39 AM
While googling my name placement on the web for my art, what should I find but two of my childhood art pieces for sale on EBaY? And at top dollar too--- $450 for a colored pencil portrait sketch and $1500 (was $3000) for an 11x14 acrylic.
I guess they aren't making any more vintage 1960s era art! Artists: there may be an untapped market here! Start digging through those closets. Tell the family not to toss 'em!
It is definitely flattering, but also mysterious who this seller is and how they got hold of these pieces, which were recently in my parents's home. I think it's possible I put one in a pile of giveaways during a garage sale, but the other one... I don't THINK so!
I put in an email to the seller . Hey, I've got MORE of those!
I will keep you posted if I find out anything further on this bizarre mystery.
The link:
Update, March 2010: Apparently, someone picked it up by mistake at the estate sale. And, it sold for $1000 as a result of this blog!
Think I'll start lookin' thru the closets.....
1/12/2010 4:38:23 PM
To receive the Glory,
The glory arising with every breath
Neither far nor near,
But everywhere
In the silent space within it All.
Ah, it's not a waiting,
But an opening to joy.
Living on the edge of
Life's ups and downs
One day the Glory just finds us,
Sitting and open,
A still field of light in every smile,
A sparkle in everyone's eyes,
Whether seen
Or not seen.
The you, the me,
The them.
It matters little then.
When at last there is
Just this Glory
Unfolding
Everywhere.
1/11/2010 12:01:40 AM
Have you ever tried painting outdoors from life, or as the French like to say, "en plein air" ?
If not, I invite you to try your hand at this delightful way of connecting with nature. Though I first started painting outdoors in the early 1980's, like many artists I have nevertheless often relied upon photography and sketches to execute my best paintings in the comfort of the studio. But gradually I find myself shifting to more and more outdoor work.
Why?
For several reasons. Here's a few that come to mind:
1. The human eye sees better than a camera. I'd heard this said before, but for me seeing finally became believing in this case. Yes, a camera can wonderfully freeze the ever-changing play of light and shadow as your memory just cannot do (not mine anyway), and that IS its main advantage. But the human eye can see details in dark shadowy places where no camera dares to go (unless it washes out the exposure in the bright areas). In other words, your eyes effectively adjust their apertures continuously to allow you to perceive subtle colors. It's one thing to paint from a photo and just depict that strange squarish blob, whatever it is, in the distance--- and quite another to see it clearly in person. Heck, you can even walk up to it often times and see what it is. Understanding what it is can truly help you paint it well.
2. Painting from life is a way of connecting with people and places. Frankly, one of the obstacles I found earlier in my life to being a professional painter was the isolation of spending so much time by myself. Solitude can be an enriching experience. But it is best balanced by also spending time connecting with others. This could be with other artists you might encounter in plein air classes, or interested passersby, or it could be with nature itself.
I've found it helpful when painting outdoors to take some time before, during and after a painting session to step back, sit down, wade in the creek, take a breath-- and to just feel the magic of the moment. This might in turn engender a poem or short journal entry.
Some painters deepen the connection to nature by returning repeatedly to the same location, glazing and re-working a piece or starting another version of the same scene, really getting the feel of a place. I've been doing this more in the last year or two since studying with Clive Pates, a master of "extended plein air" and I really like that aspect of it. Taking your time in this way really makes it more relaxing as well.
3. Your work is fresher and more inspired. Admittedly, a plein air painting can sometimes fall flat on its face. (Sometimes literally, like on a windy day! For this you must learn to anchor your easel with weights or get a broad-stanced one like the Soltek!) But just as often, the rapid change of sun and shadows invites you to work in a more impressionistic, loose way that gets to the essence of your subject rather than a belaboring of details. I've observed that fresh, painterly gestural brushwork seems to appeal broadly to many viewers. It shows emotion and personality and it leaves somethng to the imagination as well. Some of the appeal may also be how it suggests the essence behind form, which has a kind of spiritual appeal.
4. Health benefits. I bet you didn't consider this one. But if you use oils, painting in the super well-ventilated great outdoors greatly reduces your exposure to the petro-chemical solvents in your thinner (even the odorless ones). Besides, it's been found that modern humans have a much-reduced intake of vitamin D due to spending way too much time indoors. This has been linked to an increase in a number of diseases, including cancer. Just don't over-do it. A broad-rimmed hat is a must, and definitely seek shade and drink plenty of water on a hot day.
5. It saves you from the temptations of computers. Know what I mean? Modern life has a way of gluing us to our computer screens (even taking us away from our studio easels if we aren't careful!). Getting outside not only removes this major distraction to laying brush to canvas, but getting outside also means getting back to Real Life! It's really hard to connect to the web out there in the wilderness, so take advantage of that fact while it's still true. The web is great, but let us not forget to live.
A closely-related angle on this is the phenomenon of "chance encounters." Getting out in the world, be it a plein air workshop or be it a solo expedition, can open you to some interesting conversations and encounters with people (and sometimes animals) that can lead to all kinds of wonderful sequelae.
Sound like something you'd like to try? I've found that even people who have barely ever picked up a brush or a stick of pastel in their life can do surprisingly exciting plein air work, given a little guidance.Or experienced studio artists sometimes can find it really helpful to simply get some pointers on the practical aspects of gear, techniques and such that are particular to outdoor painting. So I recommend taking a workshop with a plein air artist if possible, or finding some buddies to go out painting with.
From time to time I offer plein air painting workshops or classes. (See "Events" tab).
Susan Pitcairn is on the faculty of the Sedona Arts Center and participates in the invitational-only Sedona Plein Air Festival. She has won a number of local and national awards for her painterly colorist landscapes.
"View to Forever," is available for sale at Gallery 527 in Jerome: 928.649.2277 ($400)
12/3/2009 10:15:02 PM
The following article preceded opening my gallery in March 2009. By September 2009 when I had the opportunity to sell the space, I decided to close it. Part A is the original blog. Part B is the explanation of why I closed it! Enjoy! :) --- Susan
Part A: The Dream
A few weeks ago I would NEVER have imagined that, shortly after my 60th birthday, without previously planning it, I will soon open my own gallery. That's despite this economy, cautions from a number of friends, with falling values in real estate and the dollar, and hard times for artists and galleries.
It's not even the gallery district, nor a pedestrian area. But it's the growing part of Sedona. #3 art destination in the US according to a recent survey. It's a hot little new business condo in walking distance to our house, right next to one of the most popular restaurants in town, Picazzo's.
Hotels and resorts are sprouting up in nearby lots and a mixed-use development is approved next door. And so, after investing some inheritance money we'd planned to use paying off our mortgage,we will be taking on additional debt. But soon we will soon be the proud owners of a charming corner storefront with mountain views, suitable for a beautiful and special gallery space.
It's a place where all kinds of magical things might happen if we can but keep our minds and hearts clear and focussed. I hope to create something I've dreamed of, off and on, for years: a space where people can see beautiful art in a cohesive space, with poems, music and a comfortable place to sip a cup of tea and contemplate peace and beauty.
(And if it doesn't work out, I'm convinced that others would be happy to lease it for a price well above our costs to own it.)
How did this happen? A couple of weeks ago, I was scrunching away at my computer, buried in business, when my artist friend Lola dropped by for coffee and a pickup. I warned her that I felt SO overwhelmed I hardly had time to talk.
But Lola is understanding and kind, and before long I was taking a much-needed break from a mountain of business related mostly to the estate of my parents, who both died in the last year, including what to do with our investments, how to cope with this scary economy no one can predict....
As we talked on the patio, I shared that, really, I wished I could just focus on my art and realize my dream of having it, along with poems and music, displayed and shared in an inspiration space.
"Maybe we should just open a gallery. I know a space for rent," Lola said in a burst of enthusiasm.
At first that seemed crazy (who needs MORE business "to dos"?). But before I knew what had happened I said, "OK. Why don't we just take a drive and see what's out there?" (It really helps to have a partner in crime, doesn't it?)
Hours later I was considering the purchase of on a nearby office condo for sale in a prime highway signage location in the central business part of West Sedona. Most of Sedona's commercial real estate is owned by a handful of people and there are few opportunities to own a place at this price point. We met the realtor, one of that handful full of information about and confidence in the Sedona business scene, and he convinced us that it was a good deal. I talked it over that night with Richard and we decided to do it. We had to leave town the next day and someone else was interested, so we hastily signed papers, with the understanding we could back out within a few weeks.
Well, a week later we got home from our travels and I began doing my due diligence. I sobered up as considered it would mean:
- refinancing our house for an additional $130k at age 68 and 60 when we could have had it free and clear.
- bucking the tide when tons of galleries are closing and high-end longtime professional artists are in lean and scary times.
A Phoenix realtor advised against it, passionately.
Most artist friends said it's too risky and stressful, or wait til later.
My body sent out stress signals so strong I began to wonder if I was developing a fatal disease that would, if nothing else, lead this venture to disaster.
About the only one advising for it was a New Age friend who said "You gotta follow your dream!" Nice implication, that it will all work out if you follow your heart... But I do believe in thinking about big decisions rationally as well. So I thought it through, read articles, looked at comparables online and googled "art market recession."
After a day or so of this, my feet were getting so cold that not even the promise of fulfilling a longtime dream could knock my socks off at that point. So I made up a list of ten reasons to email to Lola and others as to why not to do it. Finally, I decided NOT to do it. And I felt relieved. I felt free. I felt grateful for a simple life of lesser accomplishments but more peace.
Finally, last night I called up the realtor to back out. He said "Let's talk it over in the morning, this could be a mistake, you will kick yourself for missing the chance." (Well, at least kicking myself might warm my feet back up.)
And then I got an email from an artist freind and mentor who is still successfully running her own gallery. She just had her best year ever, and she felt I could make it work. I began to feel peaceful inside, that either way was OK. Really, as some spiritual teachers say, it doesn't matter that much what goes on outwardly: it's the inner state that matters most.
The body settled down. I calmly read some more articles on the art and real estate world, and soon I found good and reasonable PROS for every CON I'd listed. And a few things to check out. This morning I did that, and what I found gave me the green light. I am back on board, in for the ride. We will close in late December.
And so here they are, for the curious, the skeptical, the consoling, the bemused, the envious and the pitying:
TEN REASONS TO OPEN AN ARTIST-OWNED GALLERY DURING A RECESSION:
1. As my dad liked to say, most fortunes have been made buying real estate in down times, using cash. It's a good price. And when the rest of some inheritance money comes in next year, I tell myself, it WILL be cash, and almost exactly the amount needed. The realtor presented convincing evidence that it's underpriced.
2. It's a better investment than a lot of what's out there now (US dollars? stocks? 1% interest rates? hmmm), and it can lead to an income stream. Some comparable artists I know have actually had their best years recently, so I can do well too if I play it right.
3.Some say a weak art market is good for an emerging artist gallery. That's because it's not profitable at first anyway, and then you'll be rising in reputation just when the buyers come back. My price point, quality and value are good and, really, I only need to sell three $400 pieces a month to make basic expenses.
Sedona is a good place for this also and will increasingly attract the wealthier retirees and foreign tourist who will see it as the art and travel Costco of the world if/as the US dollar declines in currency exchanges. Especially Asians, who already have discovered us.
4. It will most likely boost my creativity, skills and production. While I have worried that it may mean less freedom and even time to devote to painting, it could actually be a productive studio space: larger, brighter than home, without some of the distractions and temptations. Knowing my undisciplined and easily-distracted tendencies, maybe a schedule and a monthly sales goal are just what I need.
5. This particular situation may be perfect timing: Some say "Wait. You can always do it later." Well, maybe--- but I've lost momentum before when hesitating. And later on, prices for space may rise too high. The location is a spot that draws some wealthy clients for other businesses, Lola is a great comrad for this venture in many ways, this spot offers great signage, and the restaurant is a natural draw. Not to mention future potential as nearby developments resume.
6. It's most likely my best career builder.Yes, I could cultivate other outlets and go looking for galleries,etc. But it would never offer the same opportunity for the unique space I want, with poems next to my pieces, with my art-poetry books, with music. And no one has as much interest in getting my work out there as I do.
7. If things go south, there is a believable, workable backup plan. One concern at our ages (60, 68) is health problems. That could throw a monkey wrench in everything. And of course it may or may not work as a gallery, or I may just decide it's not worth doing one for whatever reason. Maybe I'd really rather go hiking.
Ok: we need a backup plan in case all hell breaks loose. Well, nothing in this world is totally secure, but today I got definitive proof that this is a desirable, leasable space (with profit), even in this market. Whew. That helps.
8. The location follows a formula for success. Though it is not a gallery district at this point, I read of others succeeding in a similar area near Aspen, getting in cheaper before it was fully developed.
9. You gotta follow your dream. Yes, my friend is right. And we don't always get a second chance. I have had a vison along these lines for a long time, a haven of artistic inspiration, poetry, music, reflection. There must be a higher force helping me out here. (And today I honestly felt like my mother was sitting in the car next to me, cheering me on joyfully. She agreed last summer to try to contact me after her death. Maybe that was real...
10. You will never know if you don't try!
DISCLAIMER: The above advice is not for everyone. Running an art gallery can be hazardous to health and finances (as is life). Nascent artist-gallery owners should consult their stockbrokers before taking chances. (They did SO much for your 401k, didn't they?) Follow the herd and hunker down. Do not try this at home. Do not turn off the television set. Do not take chances. If retirement is an option, consider!
Part B: The Reality
So here, a year + later, is my report on what happened. A good thing to read, fellow artists... and it may not apply to you.
The Grand Opening in mid-March was grand indeed. Lots of friends and supporters. It was beautiful, and we continued to have monthly openings through the spring, with poetry readings, food and friends. We had decent sales (though never at the openings).
We created a charming video for the local tourist channel.
The first six weeks or so Lola worked two days a week faithfully and helpfully, and Leon, a sculptor I took on, worked Saturdays or Sundays, each on straight commission (which ended up being nothing most days). Shortly after we opened, Lola and her husband were finally able to sell their home after years of trying. So they now had a big decision to make: stay or move closer to family. In the end they decided to move, and with regret for our project, she was gone by late May.
Staffing it 4 to 5 days a week was too much for me and so I paid a couple of people that I thought would be good at sales for brief tryouts: didn't work out.
In addition, I found it difficult to concentrate on producing art while minding the store. Too many interruptions, too much time consumed with administrative and marketing details on the computer, turning over shows, dealing with other artists and would-be artists in the gallery and a host of minor construction issues to deal with. One was simply the stuffy feeling inside, especially as the weather warmed and I had to close the door, which discouraged passersby from entering. Sitting at the front desk by the bank of dimmer switches (which emit high magnetic fields) probably didn't help. Then came the whopper.
In June we had a lovely opening for a show with the theme of "Canyons and Mountains." I read some poems as usual. One included a line about how life can suddenly come to an end. Without asking me, Leon decided to move one of his sculptures to a more frontal spot next to where I had this poem, "Life on the Edge," displayed. Two mornings later Sherry, a participating artist who was sitting the gallery that month, opened up to discover the poem had oddly fallen off the wall and its glass face lay in shards across the floor. Cleaning up, she sensed that Leon was angry... We did not know it until a call came the next day, but in fact, Leon had just been brutally murdered by a deranged roommate with extreme fundamentalist religious beliefs, apparently as a result of arguments over their differences (and, of course, his mental illness).
Needless to say, we were in shock and grief, especially the other sculptor in the gallery who was a lifelong friend of Leon's. The rest of the summer was not only slow, as is common for galleries in Sedona, but it was a challenging time of recovery, deciding what to do with Leon's remaining pieces, and a planned trip to see family. By late summer my health was beginning to suffer with various aches and pains that had been creeping up on me. I was so busy I'd not had time to go seek medical advice but finally I did. I was diagnosed with adrenal exhaustion, low thyroid, early fibromyalgia, ostopenia, cervical arthritis and stenoisis, and suspected diverticultis. Mostly I just felt tired and, at times, near collapse.
Putting out a feeler to my next-door business neighbors, I found that they would be glad to buy the space at the price I'd put into it. Within a couple of weeks it was sold and we were out. I could have stayed longer and delayed the close until a month or two into the fall art-selling season, but I was ready to be done with it. I needed to rest. In fact, I often found myself saying "I could use a year's vacation." I'd been in high gear for about three years to this point, dealing with both parents' final illnesses, deaths and closing out and selling their two homes.
So I've been slowing down since. My health is improving and I treasure, absolutely TREASURE my freedom to do simple things like take a walk or a nap or even a little trip out of town when I feel like it. This is true wealth. So now, if you're still with me, let's look at:
TEN REASONS TO CLOSE AN ARTIST-OWNED GALLERY DURING A RECESSION:
1. My dad was right. It's good to buy real estate in down times. But there is a price to pay, in holding costs if it's empty or not productive, and it's not a passive investment. It's work. He himself never bought anything but his house and a vacation house, and those were more than he could manage as he got older. And the truth is there are actually some other investments out there that can be good: right now we're getting a nice interest rate carrying the trust deed on the gallery sale! Sure a lot easier....!
2. Yes, some artists have done well lately, but most have not. Success at such times takes inordinate takes luck, determination, energy and business acumen. Yawn.... I think I'll go take a nap.
3. "Some say a weak art market is good for an emerging artist gallery. That's because it's not profitable at first anyway, and then you'll be rising in reputation just when the buyers come back. My price point, quality and value are good and, really, I only need to sell three $400 pieces a month to make basic expenses." Well, nice thoughts, but marketing and ads costs are more than you expect (and not worth it, I might add), as well as various odds and ends. Location is more important. So, despite decent sales, I lost about $12,000 in six months and heard too many stories of others who lost $100,000 and their health keeping a gallery open for several years. I decided to nip this charity in the bud.
4. "It will most likely boost my creativity, skills and production. While I have worried that it may mean less freedom and even time to devote to painting, it could actually be a productive studio space: larger, brighter than home, without some of the distractions and temptations. Knowing my undisciplined and easily-distracted tendencies, maybe a schedule and a monthly sales goal are just what I need." In fact, I found it a hard place to be creative. Some succeed at this, but the key is to be very disciplined in the first place and to start your studio painting BEFORE you open the doors or the computer.
5. Be careful about rushing a decision. I thought this situation might be perfect to "do it now" but in fact the restaurant did not particularly draw wealthy clients, I rushed too quickly into the selection of my associates and so on. Just because a situation unfolds quickly and easily, it may not be the best choice to make.
6. "It's most likely my best career builder.Yes, I could cultivate other outlets but it would never offer the same opportunity for the unique space I want, with poems next to my pieces, with my art-poetry books, with music. And no one has as much interest in getting my work out there as I do." This remains to be seen. I'm still in a certain amount of rest and recovery time, but I do notice that there are other opportunities in life and I suspect the best art career builder is to do one's best possible painting first. Running a retail business is a different career altogether: artist beware. (and I've seen several other artist-owned galleries go under in the last year also, for similar reasons).
7. "We need a backup plan in case all hell breaks loose. Well, nothing in this world is totally secure, but today I got definitive proof that this is a desirable, leasable space (with profit), even in this market. Whew. That helps." Wow, it's interesting to look back at one's thoughts sometimes....! Yes, have a backup plan. As it turned out, ours was the simply the good fortune of being able to sell it so easily. The buyers have not found anyone to lease it yet, but they're young and productive business folks: I think they'll make a go of it eventually. I wish them luck (and I still have the gallery sign in case we have to repossess it... just kidding!)
8. "The location follows a formula for success. Though it is not a gallery district at this point, I read of others succeeding in a similar area near Aspen, getting in cheaper before it was fully developed." At this point, I'd advise most artist-owned galleries to locate in an existing pedestrian art district unless it's really more of a studio for you. I think it's a morale-booster to be among your own kind. I enjoyed my financial business and restaurant neighbors, but it would have been a lot more fun with fellow artists nearby.
9. "You gotta follow your dream. " Some dreams are just dreams and you don't have to follow them. The real trick is learning to love each day as it unfolds and knowing who you really are, here and now. Admit it. It's true.
10. You will never know if you don't try! Well... there's truth in that! Life is for learning.
So, what have I learned? Do I have regrets? Once in a while I miss it a tiny bit, but overall, no. It was a marvelous six-month exhibit. It did help boost my standing and confidence. And I wouldn't completely rule out doing it again. But I'd want to do it in a more artsy location, with a dependable partner or partners to spell each other (family members or lifelong friends seem to be the best combos in my observation, or just people looking after each other adjacent spaces for a commission). And I'd want to first really consider other ways of achieving the same purposes. I'd also be less inclined to host other artists and turn over monthly shows unless I had someone really good to handle all that: it's a lot of work and can bring up a lot of emotional and political consequences that are not compatible with being a productive creative artist.
Another observation: It was great to have a beautiful space for exhibiting my work, but it did not actually serve my original purpose that well, which was to create an inspiring space with art, poetry and music. Most did not take the time to read the poems, for example. And I found my own state of mind became more and more about trying to make a sale. An artist friend who ran her own gallery in Costa Rica said it took at least a year to settle in and find her balance. And eventually I may have done that. But, maintaining the state of mind you visualize you will have is always a challenge.
This is true for all our dreams, isn't it? We may imagine the ideal partner, the ideal home, the ideal job. But the reality is that nothing outside ourselves can make us happy. Happiness is an inside job. And sometimes it's easier to find that inner happiness when life is just a tad bit slower... and simpler.
Leaving you with that thought, I welcome your comments and sharings!
11/15/2009 6:45:18 PM
Recently I was attending a homeopathic conference for veterinarians as the wife of one of the lecturers when something perked my attention, a wonderful quote so relevant to art:
"One of the distinguishing characteristics of a great painter is that he knows when to stop. Many a painting which would have been great, if the artist had known when to stop, has been weakened and spoiled by over-finishing. In his anxiety to perfect a few insignificant details he robs his work of its vitality — kills it. It is the same with a case."
From: "The Genius of Homeopathy: Lectures on Homeopathy Philosophy" by Stuart Close, MD, p. 170
Now doesn't that just say it all? How'd this doc know that?
Finishing a painting is indeed a challenge at times. Like many other artists only partway on the never-ending path to greatness, I am plenty guilty of overworking paintings.
But gradually I think I am learning better ways to balance the desire for detail and finish with the desire for freshness. Here are some things I've learned thus far from master painters. Some are about how to first get the life in a painting (good idea, loosening up). And some are about knowing when and how to stop so you don't kill the life that's there:
Get the Life In It
• Learn to express gesture and contrast: Simple, suggestive gestural marks or soft, hazy areas that contrast with areas of greater detail give life to a work of art. This is so commonly said in art classes, it has almost become a formula. Nevertheless, broad brush strokes and dynamic scribbles, especially ones at the edge that lead in to the composition, can also aid this process. Try things that help you loosen up: big brushes, large sheets of paper, 5-20 minute studies, and so on. This painting was done on brown paper and glazed over a time or two for fresh re-working onsite from life. The amount of positive feedback I've had on this plein air painting tells me that there is power in the simple:
"Layers of Reality" 18x24 Oil, NFS
• And speaking of plein air, it helps to work from life, at least some of the time.This practice not only helps you see more quickly but because very little in life will hold still for very long. That forces you learn better how to capture the essence and simplicity of a subject. If you really prefer to work from memory, imagination and photos, that's fine, nothing wrong with that. Respect yourself: just stay in touch with what is full of life and spirit in your idea and occasionally work from life in some manner to help that process.
• Keep some areas thinly painted, especially the darks and shadows. This leaves life in the painting. If you've overdone a shadow, bring some reflected color back into it, or even repaint it from white on up.
• Rather than work every detail of an object, try painting the broad geometric form first, and THEN cut back into it with highlights, shadows and carving out the edges with the negative shapes of the sky or background.
• Squint, take off your glasses and see the big broad picture of masses. It is often, but not always, true that less is more and simple compositions and designs become more evident in the manner.
• Respect your own style and what is fresh and lively about it. Despite what is said above, don't fall into a formulaic trap for freshness. Some people prefer emotional, gestural, abstract paintings and some prefer precise detail. Detail is OKAY! Again, there is no right or wrong here. We must learn to honor and enjoy our own nature or we are at war with ourselves. So if your nature is to prefer precise photo-realism or even abstracted detail, then you must be especially careful that the IDEA behind your painting is full of life and that you retain excitement as you loving render it. That, of course, applies regardless of your style. So...
• Attend to your spirits. Writing poetry, listening to music, and sitting peacefully and inviting the joy of your inner muse are all helpful ways to start, to work on, and to finish a painting. If, on the other hand, you feel tired, cranky or hungry, that's a good time to stop and take care of yourself before returning to the easel. Many artists can only work for 2 to 3 hours at a time without a break. That's fine. It's not a marathon.
As You Near Completion:
• Step back and get some distance in both space and time. If you feel that an area is not right, rather than "lick it" to death, put down your brush.Be deliberate, not on autopilot, as you paint. So step back and ask yourself (nicely), what is it that bothers you?What would be more exciting? . If it's not immediately clear, get input and/or put it away and come back to it later. Hang it on the wall or prop it up in view. Then, sometime while you are chatting, watching TV, or otherwise gazing at it in a relaxed manner, you might immediately and effortlessly see what needs to be done. Take notes and when you are ready, try it out. But be careful about overdoing it!
• If something really feels off, then maybe you need to REALLY work it over anew. Wipe it off/let it dry (depending on the medium) and just start off freshly. Extended plein air artist Clive Pates likes to glaze over the entire painting or major sections of it in order to have something to work back into while still retaining the underlying drawing and values. Marcia Burtt, a plein air acrylic master, likes the easy way that she can keep painting freshly over acrylics with her broad gestural strokes, sometimes first taking the whole "not right" area back to white and starting over.
• Don't assume you must keep working and working to a certain period of time or that it has to all have the same level of detail. Contrast of detail and looseness is one of the most exciting aspects of great paintings.
• If you are tempted to try it a different way, you can always start a new painting of the same subject instead.
• Ask for feedback but ultimately, trust your own judgement. If a teacher, friend or family member makes a suggestion, listen and consider, especially if several say the same thing. But don't turn painting into a committee project. Each person's style may be as unique as their handwriting and the important thing is that YOU are satisfied with the result and that it communicates what YOU intended it to communicate.
And if YOU like it, you can be sure at least SOME others will like it too!
