Behind the Painting: Both.

I realized yesterday that while I don't miss the confusion and effort of gathering blog post content, I miss sharing stories about my work. So I thought I would talk about Both., a painting from my nature series, which consists of seven paintings of flowers or tree branches.

This painting is different from many of my pieces because:

1. There are no chairs.

2. It was done on paper and then mounted on a panel.

3. It is painted in ink and acrylic paint.

4. This piece has a title on its tag as well as a haiku about the piece.

Only two of the seven pieces in the nature series are done on paper, the rest of the nature series are paint on wooden panels. Still, I consider this piece a painting. For this series, I wrote a haiku for each painting, which was tedious and also really satisfying. Writing and words and meranings and implications are really important to me and my work. I also felt relatively proper because haikus are supposed to be about nature. The haiku for Both. was one of the quickest to write because I had already taken notes about the imagery. You can read the haiku by clicking on the second image below.

This tree was found in a friend's backyard. I plopped down on the back steps and searched for something to sketch and landed upon this fascinating tree. The tree itself is rather simple, hardly any smaller branches until about 10 feet up and yet its body language spoke to me. It told a story of two separate entities splitting early on, but yet still sharing one base. The mounted watercolor paper was originally supposed to be cut up and placed on two smaller panels, but having each limb in its own space emphasized the idea of division, as well as including messy paint edges. But life is messy and imperfect and so it makes sense to have this wonky shaped image. My notes and haiku relating to this image are wondering about why these two grew like that. Do all trees like that do that? Is it necessary? Or were they tired of each other? Why do we grow apart? Why are we not united? And yet, look how much do we still have in common.

Both.

9 x 12 x 1 inches

Ink and acrylic paint on paper on wood panel with paper tag

2015

Both. 
Tag Detail of Haiku

2015

 

Tree sketch

Pencil on paper

2015

This: Poem

Now that the dozen Behind the Painting posts are complete, I'm pondering what to share on this blog next. Today I am posting a poem my Granddad wrote about my chair pieces. This poem serves as a lovely way of wrapping up my stories behind the pieces because it makes suggestions of what else these stories could be about and summarizes my chair series succinctly. I contemplate using it as an artist's statement sometimes. My aim is to have viewers relate to the paintings or to identify themselves in the scenes and I feel this poem could help lead people to understanding without me spelling it out.

As a little behind the scenes, here's a tidbit about my Granddad: He has been a great source of support and inspiration. He always believed in me and my art trajectory, even when I was younger and more unsure of myself and making, uh, terrible things. As a geezer, he continues to write poems and submits them to be published (as well as always trying new things, especially artistic endeavors!) Also please note that while this poem is sincere and beautiful, he has the weirdest and best sense of humor you'll ever find and ever since I decided I like elephants, it is everything pachyderm for me from emails to presents (this fact will help you appreciate the personal note as well as the expression that is the last line.) Enjoy!
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HAVE A SEAT

By Bill Dill

25 portraits of empty chairs, 

the simple folding kind, alone

to a baker’s dozen – jumbled,

neatly ordered sets, tumbled

on a side. No group has a name.

Each one brushed with love,

simple browns and grays, most

clean of dents and scratches –

they stand in sunlit patches,

bare floor and wall. That’s all.

Try the palettes of our minds,  

conjure how the chairs have lived

with us and we with them: to meet,

listen, pretend to work, pause to eat;

picnics, pizza, hugs and mugs of beer.

Dangled, tangled legs, a restless

child or lover in the dark; debating

art or numbers on a chart; doomsday

waits in fear – what will someone say

about our rights, our health, a job?

By the gallery door surmising ways

that each of us might fill the chairs,

the painter chuckles while we ponder. 

Will we share the truth, she wonders

about elephants who share our rooms?

Behind the Painting: Search for ordinary wonder.

This is the last post of this set of twelve Behind the Painting posts, though I may do it again in the future. I am sending an exclusive 13th Behind the Painting to my mailing list next Tuesday. If you are interested in turning the dozen into a baker's dozen, you can sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/btD855

I started these dozen posts with Should be. an older piece about the idea of should and its connection to shame, self-doubt, and disappointment. When I started painting chairs, many of them were rather angsty. I wanted them to reflect the shame I suffered in my own life and help others realize they aren't alone in these feelings. Today, I want to reflect upon a more positive painting to end on a high note and represent the more optimistic pieces I have been creating recently.

This last painting, called Search for ordinary wonder., is based on an observation, sketched in my sketchbook at a coffee shop. My boyfriend and I were sitting at one table and another woman sat at another table next to us. There was a special event that day and they had a DJ cranking out the jams. They were loud and upbeat, the woman was peering around us to watch the DJ playing there. Her eagerness to engage and watch and just be interested me. She was enjoying the musical moment she stumbled upon (or maybe sought out) and after I painted this piece, I recalled her craning around us with a look of contentment and enjoyment. So I titled the piece Search for ordinary wonder. in honor of her. Treasuring those simple things and being present in the moment like she was is important. Whether is is focusing on a sound or simply remembering to take a deep breath. Is the title an instruction or an inspiration or both? Perhaps a more accurate title would be, "Let the ordinary wonder amaze you." So here's me reminding you. 

Another painting came from this same day, titled Independent Certainty. that I am just adding on. It is of a man who was sitting facing the DJ while a couple had a date behind him. And I was impressed by how confident and comfortable he looked alone, watching this DJ, even bobbing to the music. So here's some opposite action to all that shame, not being afraid of enjoying what you love even alone in public. You do you.

Search for ordinary wonder.

10 x 8 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

Independent certainty.

10 x 8 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag
2015

Sketches for the paintings

Pen and House paint on paper

2015

Behind the Painting: Worth the wait.

A few weeks ago I went to grab a coffee. As I sat there enjoying my warm, frothy latte from Peet's, I found myself wanting to draw and was upset to find I didn't have a sketchbook with me. I did have my planner though, with many past weeks begging to be scrawled upon. A handful of chair painting sketches were born from that drawing session. Once I got back to my studio, I transferred these scribbles to my sketchbook. In the bottom-most image here, my planner is perched on my sketchbook showing off the sketches for Worth the Wait., this week's painting selection.

I just finished the painting this morning, and even more recently realized it was the same colors as Different Approaches., last week's piece, which means that one of them will need to be updated (probably Different Approaches. because I have issues with it's composition as well.) Plus I have been changing the background of Worth the Wait. every week and I'm satisfied with it finally! I settled upon a grey-blue-purple-ish color, which is actually where it started. I went through coffee and peach colors. Usually it makes me cringe to see a blue background with a green foreground because it just screams being outside, but somehow, the grey-ish color makes me happier than peach for this painting. Me changing the background color is a common thing, and I am really excited that I documented my process more thoroughly this time around. 

The composition of this painting is of the line of people waiting for coffee while I was sitting in Peet's. I started doing vertical chair paintings fairly recently, about a year ago at the most? (Out of three years painting folding chairs.) I am still getting a handle on how to use the space in these compositions. What caught my attention about these people in this line is how they were all facing their own direction, paying attention to many different things. The phrase "single-file" implies to me that lines are all organized and perfect. Though compared to the disaster of airport "lines," which are really just masses, this line was pretty clear. I can still see some of the people who were standing in line. There were two guys standing at the counter ordering. And I recall the guy on the right had his arms up behind his head and just looked so comfortable and confident, almost kind of ridiculously so. I wish that had transferred a bit more in the painting. Though I love the bonded pair at the head of this line cause it makes me think maybe people are in line to get married or the single riders at Disneyland. What's worth the wait for you?

Worth the wait.

14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

Worth the wait. in progress

14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

Worth the wait. in progress

14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

 

Worth the wait. in progress

14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

Worth the wait. in progress

14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

Coffee shop sketches

Pencil and pen on paper

2015

Behind the Painting: Different approaches.

A few weeks ago, I asked people to select pieces they wanted to hear about and this week's piece, Different approaches., was nominated by one of my studio peers.

It came about one day when I was in my studio analyzing/worrying about something and I managed to stop the cycle and wonder, “How much more do I let myself think about this?” This phrase interested me, so I added it to my list of potential titles. The same day, or soon after, I took out my sketchbook scrawled the phrase, "How much do I think about this?" across the top of the pages and went to work sketching chair compositions. There two main sketches on the right-hand page below are based on this phrase. These two sketches became Different approaches. and How much more do I think about this?, the two paintings pictured below

The painting, How much more do I think about this?, is a more literal interpretation of that moment I had where one feels as if their brain is caving in (implied through body language and the horizon lines). I can't recall exactly what I was thinking about then, but I am certain it related to me feeling awkward or shameful for some social interaction. Different approaches. tells a story of my social hesitancy, particularly during awkward attempts to join a group or interact with unfamiliar people. The chair in the upper left is me standing there wondering if it will ever be possible to approach the other chairs (people), grinding my gears attempting to get up the nerve to talk to them. (Usually the answer is I don't.)

Titling Different approaches. went different than expected. Originally, I wanted to make it about shyness or hesitancy, then I realized that viewers wouldn't necessarily identify as the reserved figure in the corner like I do. I decided the title should include all the other chairs I put in the piece because I put them in there on purpose with their own body language and stories. The two chairs in the front are absorbed in their conversation, oblivious to the fact that anyone else is anything but contently interacting. The third of that trio has is angled towards the hesitant one in the corner, implying they notice them or are even perhaps beckoning them over. To help the viewer appreciate the multiple perspectives and stories within, I titled it Different Approaches., and as a reminder that we all do approach things differently.

Different approaches.

16 x 12 x 1 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

How much more do I think about this?

7 x 5 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

 

Sketchbook spread

Pencil and watercolor on paper

2015

Behind the Painting: I don’t deserve it.

This week's painting, I don't deserve it., is an edited painting and I am really excited because I have pictures of its stages! The piece began as two chairs holding hands, the bottom-most image in this post. I wasn't happy, so I tried changing the background color and that still didn't work for me. And when I dislike a painting I gesso over it, so I did! I may have known I liked the right-hand chair or I just started gessoing and realized that that chair looked good and I wanted to keep it. Either way, I kept the right chair amid a mess of gesso (the second image below).

Basically, I left this chair alone. I took its friend/partner away. And this person, aka chair, at some point says to itself, "I don't deserve it." Either they're too good or not good enough, which you can decide for yourself, is that glass half-empty or half-full? Usually when I am talking to myself like this, the glass is half-empty. Oh, how that self-doubt sneaks in!

This half-empty and loneliness of his friend being away, is emphasized by the wonky horizon. The angled horizon line indicates a floor sliding down towards the chair as if the world is off, topsy turvy. This repeating motif of wonky horizons in my work is inspired by Cezanne’s still lives that had uneven horizon lines that he explained were how he perceived the things in front of him. While working on still lives, even while measuring carefully, I find objects and lines sometimes just don’t line up quite right, especially since your head, eyes, and body may have moved. So each drawing, the world really, is a piecing together of different view points coming together.

To sum up this piece, someone once asked me what this piece was all about and I tried to explain it, babbling about Cezanne, and in the end exclaimed, "Sometimes I am just angsty!"

 

I don't deserve it.

12 x 9 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

The gesso round

12 x 9 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

The first round

12 x 9 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2015

 

Behind the Painting: The right conjugation.

In honor of my grandpa's birthday this week, I thought I would cover some of the pieces based around his death. It was my first experience with losing someone really important to me, and while his death was about the most beautiful and positive way to go he could have had, dealing with that empty hole in your life was something new to me. The teal and brownish red pieces pictured below were about him. The left-hand piece had a half-covered chair with his first birthday date like a photograph made after I found an old family picture with a family birthday on it. And the other with carved text that reads, "I'm sorry i never painted you while you were here." Perhaps this sentiment is why I made so many pieces about him. I used to paint and draw portraits of people and it was saddening to realize I never would have the chance to photograph or draw him myself any longer, my artistic version of comprehending loss I guess.

The right conjugation. and Waiting for your moment. were supposed to be a pair of paintings, but once completed they didn't need to be together. Waiting for your moment. is a game of musical chairs (as well as many other games.) I included some studio shots from my senior year of college to show both pairs of paintings. (Plus it is further behind the scenes views!)

The right conjugation., this week's actual pick, technically represents the missing chair in the game of musical chairs. It also represents my grandpa separated from this game of musical chairs because he no longer physically participates in the game called life. There are two chairs: one is a ghost image of my gone grandfather and the other is a vibrant, clear, still there chair, representing me. These two chairs fill the same space because they are related and there is only one hole to fill in the game of musical chairs. I am made from parts of who my grandpa was and is and I stand where he once was. The title alludes to past and present tenses and beyond with the word conjugation. It refers to how you structure verbs in languages to tell when an action is occurring. This is the right conjugation because he was here and I am now there, trying every day to fill in the gaping hole of generosity, silliness, dedication and caring he left behind.

The right conjugation.

6 x 4 x 1 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2014

Waiting for your moment.

12 x 16 x 1 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2014 

While you were here.
12 x 16 x 1 and 14 x 11 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2013/4

Senior Studio Snapshot

2014

Senior Studio Snapshot

2014

Behind the Painting: A contemporary context editorial.

A contemporary context editorial., this week's pick, recently debuted in an exhibition entitled Chairs at the Sebastopol Center for the Arts. I felt honored to be part of such a mix of wonderful work. While talking to people at that show, some commented they believed the chairs were just in a meeting or were dancing. I love the different stories people tell. It's difficult to tell my stories because the pieces aren't meant to tell one story, they are made to be interpreted and identified with. That said, this blog has been a really wonderful space for me to actually open up about my paintings because I find it challenging on the whole.

For me, A contemporary context editorial. is as an opinion piece about how people are able to come together and stand up for something. How so many of us hold someone's hand during the hard times and how humans can bond together to work through issues. I have a very positive assumption about people in the world; I believe in the good. And though I am scared and worried about all the crazy and detrimental things that happen, I continue to watch amazing people stand up and stand together. People amaze me and inspire me, so in the cold of my studio huddled by me heater about a year ago, I first did the water-y acrylic piece on paper of people, excuse me chairs, slightly off-kilter being held up by others, leaning on each other for support and strength. I turned this watercolor into a longer, bigger version on a wood panel. It was done chair-by-chair as I thought about how when you hold one person's hand literally or abstractly and they hold another person's hand and so-on-and-so-forth all added together that makes an odd, messy, wonderful line of support. There is strength in numbers, there are people you don't even know wishing well for you, together we can stand up. As a woman in my mid-twenties, I am slowly navigating what matters to me and how I can make a difference, how I WANT to make a difference. We all have the power to do something and it's really scary and really amazing.

A contemporary context editorial.

12 x 24 x 1.5 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel with paper tag

2015

Installation at Sebastopol Center for the Arts

2015

Paper Study

9.5 x 15 inches

Acrylic paint on watercolor paper

2014

Paper Study

9.5 x 15 inches

Acrylic paint on watercolor paper

2014

Behind the Painting: Half of two. & A contemporary incident.

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Both paintings this week are based on the Robert Rauschenberg piece pictured at the end of this post. While doing a report on Rauschenberg in college, I stumbled upon this piece comprised of two wooden chairs nose-to-nose atop their own staircases. I was taken by the piece, which is noteworthy because I am not always enamored by sculpture, especially readymades (I placed that link to a definition for those unfamiliar with that term.) PLUS, as I had been painting chairs for a while, seeing chair artwork, hearing chair references and fielding chair jokes left me a bit numb in the chair department. This piece cut through that with its story of meeting someone special, that intimacy (the nose-to-nose postition), that royal, up-in-the-cloud feeling (being at the top of the stairs) you get when you find someone special. As a lover of words and titles, his title, The Ancient Incident, lead me on a journey believing that he was telling the story of how humans have been meeting and courting and sharing our little secret moments for all of history.

Half of two. was the first of the two paintings, a few months prior to the second, hence the slightly different style of painting. I originally titled it, A contemporary Incident., but I changed the title after doing the second painting. Physically, it is the same story as Rauschenberg and the second painting, but its new title is a reference to the line in a fraction between the numbers. Half of two. Is it an answer? Is it a question? Should it be answered? Half of two is one, isn't it? But really, I think I was interested in drawing attention to the division, that slight, slight line running between them, that pent up energy between them, the strength in that simple line.

A contemporary Incident. is a smaller and more graphic version of this composition. It's title is a play on Rauschenberg’s title, turning his old wooden chairs into my neutral, metal folding chairs existing in the present. Instead of referencing a general event that is ancient and traditional, I turned the "the" into an "a" to imply a more specific meeting among the many that have happened in history.

Half of two.

12 x 16 x 1 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2014

A contemporary incident.

4 x 6 x 1 inches

Acrylic paint on wood panel

2014

The ancient incident.

Robert Rauschenberg