In August of 2023, when my sister visited Raleigh, NC, I took her to the NCMA (art museum). We found ourselves standing before a colossal Robert Motherwell painting.
The sheer enormity of the work engulfed us in its space, and it seemed deceptively easy to create. In a lighthearted moment, I exclaimed, "Alright, I give up. I'm going in this direction." My sister nodded in agreement.
A seed was planted. That's when it all began.
As summer turned to fall, ordinary details captured my attention during morning walks. The cracking paint on crosswalks, meandering lines of black tar on roads – even divots in the sidewalk concrete contained wonderfully organic shapes and patterns. There was beauty in their imperfection.
I slowed my pace, occasionally pausing in the middle of the road to study the intricacies beneath my feet. A casual passerby might have wondered if I was okay, witnessing my fascination with the seemingly mundane.
My artistic journey has taken numerous twists and turns. Working with encaustics, oil/cold wax medium, and mosaics limited me from working at a large scale for various reasons, including allergies. Multiple signs urged me to switch mediums AGAIN, but I found myself resisting the change. This year, however, I relented and rediscovered acrylics. (Photo is from 2012, working small in encaustics hot wax)
Do you know art stores charge a whopping $260 to deliver large canvases to your home? Well, I showed them, didn't I?
The nice folks at the art store even helped to secure my load, which was no easy task on a cold, blustery day. They said I had a "nice rack" and "great ratchet straps". That was a first for me. Heck, I'll take it!
I made it home without the 5x5 ft. canvases setting sail, marking the official start of my venture into abstraction.
In 2016, I dabbled in acrylics during my "graphics phase", resulting in the paintings you see above. Retrieving my acrylic paints from storage, I turned to face the Big Bad Blank canvas. Yeah, baby. Now or never.
And so the fun begins. It seems I have gone all the way home, past my graphic design roots, and all the way to childhood.
My fine art toolbox comprises scribbles, swirls, blobs, and shapes. It's perfectly imperfect, and it's liberating. After all, we're all evolving works in progress, and I plan to embrace my imperfections – divots, smears, and all.
Thank you for being part of my artistic adventure. Your presence means a lot to me, and I genuinely appreciate you being here.
Although one foot remains grounded in the world of abstract landscapes through commissions, the other is eagerly tapping the floor, excited to see how the next chapter of my artistic journey unfolds. Stay tuned!
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2024 SHOW SCHEDULE
Mims Gallery at the Dunn Center, Rocky Mount NC
Jan 11
Arts in the Park, Richmond VA
May 4 – 5
New Elements Gallery, Wilmington NC
Oct 25
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P.S. You can read more about my artistic journey in the March 2024 issue of Wrightsville Beach Magazine.
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Hung from the Old Post Office building, "New Voices" is reminiscent of a post card and incorporates a montage of widely recognized symbols for peace and justice.
Peace & Justice Plaza, the square in front of the Old Post Office, honors the energy and spirit of the thousands who – for decades – have exercised their rights to assembly and speech and have spoken out on issues of peace, justice, and equality. Learn more at http://chapelhillarts.org/.../peace-and-justice-banners/
During the last couple of years in my garage studio, I stacked paintings on my Ikea hack shelf just so, making sure the paintings wouldn’t rub against one another. It was driving me bonkers!
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I paint in the garage because I'm allergic to my paint medium and need ventilation. 😝
Wanna see something scary? Click to see my messy garage studio!
It didn't take long for the shelf to fill. Then I'd lean paintings up against all sorts of things – even garbage cans, anything that would hold. There was no room to walk, save for a narrow pathway. The mess was driving me bonkers. I needed to do something.
Someone, anyone, please save me!
I searched online for ready-made storage solutions, but none of them ticked all the boxes for my needs. The only ones that came close carried hefty price tags of over $2K. For me, that was out of the question.
The shelf on the left couldn't fit tall canvases, and the one on the right
didn't have enough vertical dividers to separate the paintings.
Starting with a metal frame from Home Depot, I knocked supports together. Then I wielded my jigsaw thingy to make plywood slots and dividers. To finish it off, I sealed the wood to prevent warping and sanded the edges. Wood splinters suck!
My first time cutting wood. Ugh! So much sawdust. 😱
For you shop geeks out there, don’t be judgey on me now, lol. I know this shelf may look amateurish to you, but to this beholder’s eyes? Mwah. 😘 🙌🏼 😍 Perfetto!
Ta-da! My shelf is finished. The bottom shelf can accommodate 3-foot tall panels.
Paintings can now stack neatly and slide in and out without risk of damage, thanks to vertical dividers and carpeted shelf liners. Not only can the shelf accommodate my standard panel sizes – and lots of them – it even has a spot for cardboard storage. Plus, look at those gleaming casters. They're ready to rock ’n roll!
Caster bling. Come on, admit it. You're jealous, aren't you? 🤣 🤣 🤣
Carpeted shelf floor. Smooth action!
In the end, I got myself a new shelf, including all the bells and whistles, for a fraction of the cost of the ready-made alternatives. Bonus: the garage studio is no longer an obstacle course. Woohoo!
So what if it took forever, lol? I know, I know. I shoulda taken Shop in high school. 😆 But forced to work within my budget and limitations, I couldn't have done it any other way.
Taking my time, I measured, remeasured, cut, painted, and sanded. After all, I'm the kid that colors inside the lines, remember? And although the shelf may not be perfect in the classic sense, I'm happy to say it's imperfectly perfect for me. 😘 😘 😘
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2022 SHOW SCHEDULE
Arts in the Park, Richmond, VA
April 30 – May 1
Artsplosure, Raleigh, NC
May 21 – 22
New Elements Gallery
TBD Summer 2022
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]]>On Jan. 2020, I was listening to the playful sounds of water and feeling the gentle Cancun breeze when I learned about Covid. Little did I realize a maelstrom was brewing and headed my way.
]]>I thought Covid would fizzle out like other SARS viruses. Now approaching year three of the pandemic, I’ve learned some valuable insights and coping mechanisms to lift my spirits. I hope you'll find something here that's useful or, at the very least, makes you smile.
Except me. I bought a TON. I figured if I ran out of sauce, a pat of butter and minced garlic was enough to make me happy. As it turned out, the grocery store never ran out. A year and a half later, and I was still working through that stash. 🍝 🤭 😔 Fortunately, spaghetti lasts forever.
Leave it to boys (ahem, my brothers) to wonder why people panicked over toilet paper. “You can always wash like in the old country (i.e., Philippines).” First, eeeuw. Second, try doing that several times a day. Third, huh? I don’t recall ever having to do this!
While life slowed down for most people, I was as busy as ever. That’s what happens when you’re self-employed and there’s this thing called the internet. So many bright shiny objects!
Have you heard of NFTs (non-fungible tokens)? Yep, Facebook/Meta/Google fed me some ads to things I didn’t know I wanted, and like a good girl, I opened my mouth wide and said, “More, please.” 😆 😆 😅 If I disappear for a while, don't call 9-1-1. Instead, call Mark Zuckerberg or his cronies. They'll know where to find me.
This NFT sold for nearly $600K. I'm not sure I get it; hence, the rabbit hole.
While I still have the same non-negotiable habits (making my bed in the morning, changing out of jammies into daytime jammies – aka sweatpants 😝, exercising regularly), I’ve gotten more lax about other things like changing socks. Recently, a ladybug fell out of one of my socks. Poor thing. Nobody should go that way. I don’t know how it got there or how long it had been there. It probably died of stinky sock poisoning. 😬
Now, now, Charlie. No four-letter words are allowed here. 🤣 😵 So there's C for Covid and Coronavirus, of course. There’s also Caution, and I’m married to him. 😷 😷 😷 He's highly determined not to play a starring role on anyone's "Meet the Victims" list. And so we never go out. Just kidding! I have to admit that I, too, am doing my best to hang on to my tastebuds. You never know! Plus, I really like the taste of garlic.
C is also for Corsi box, a highly effective DIY HEPA filter. I made one, and I’m surprised they’re not more popular.
Here's the Corsi box I made. Decorations are optional. ☺️
Needing a break from spaghetti, I started ordering takeout food regularly. Yippee, maid’s night off!!! This year, I discovered Prime Barbecue, made in the Texas style. I don’t eat meat often, but when I do, it’s a real treat. Beef brisket? Yum! Smoked beef brisket on the fatty side? Mmmmm delicious.
I’m not exactly an outdoorsy kind of girl (my camping days are over) but it makes me happy to be outside, especially on sunny days. Whenever someone says, “Wanna go for a walk?” you can see my tail wagging. Maybe that’s why I don’t mind working in the garage, despite the heat in summer and cold in winter. It’s as close to being outdoors as I can get while working.
For some time now, I've been on a weekly Happy Hour Zoom call with my Bffs: two in Toronto, one in Ottawa. We laugh at everything, even at each other’s expressions, when screens freeze and voices croak from slow internet connections. Friendships endure despite distance.
It's a bird! It's a plane! It's… why, it's my Mom! Three years ago, my lovely Mom (whom I had previously referred to as the original Energizer bunny) passed away. When she was in hospital, I found myself looking up at the sky more often – praying, hoping, bargaining with God. After she passed, I continued looking up. I feel she’s still around, in a happier place, up there somewhere. I often say, “Hi, Mom. Miss you, love you… and thank you.”
This year, I started painting more skies and clouds. They hold so much hope, promise and mystery.
I started a tall, skinny series of paintings. They're a bit of a unicorn. I didn’t know if the narrow size would work out for my landscapes, but I gave it a shot anyway. Besides, I decided I was going to beat this new format into submission… and I’m happy to say it surrendered. They’re great for those narrow walls. See the series here >>
When the pandemic began, my iMac crapped out. Of course! Because the Apple store was closed, I did some troubleshooting, ordered a new drive, and learned how to install it by watching Youtube videos. Heyyy, (1) It wasn’t easy (2) I wouldn’t recommend doing it yourself (3) Even if I managed to get it done. Ha! (Tip: It helps if you have four hands and good eyesight, none of which I have). I feel like I should get an award or something… 🍰 🏆
When shows got canceled, my focus pivoted to online. And when the viral blizzard hit Toronto this past Christmas, I changed plans at the last minute and stayed put in NC. Feeling disappointed, I went out and bought a big-ass prime rib roast and made all the fixings. Yom yom! Take that, Omicron.
Of course, nothing replaces in-person connections. This winter, I have to settle for people-watching while standing in line at the grocery store. It’s very sad. But my neighbors, previously more private, are now more eager to engage. That makes me happy. Some are even poking their head around my garage studio, wondering what the heck I’m up to.
Plus, it may not feel like it yet, but days ARE getting longer. Soon, the great outdoors will give us a big warm welcome. Just hang in there a little longer. I think everything's gonna be alright. 🌞 😎 🎉 🌻 🍻
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2022 SHOW SCHEDULE
Arts in the Park, Richmond, VA
April 30 – May 1
Artsplosure, Raleigh, NC
May 21 – 22
New Elements Gallery
TBD Summer 2022
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Read my earlier post >> Quarantine Journal #1
My hands do their own thing. I must’ve been four when I hoisted myself up onto a chair and turned on the iron. Everyone was asleep, so I thought I could get away with it. Things were going well until I started ironing my baby sister's bib – covered with plastic on one side. A hole formed. Oh-oh. Busted!
]]>I must’ve been four when I hoisted myself up onto a chair and turned on the iron. Everyone was asleep, so I thought I could get away with it. Things were going well until I started ironing my baby sister's bib – covered with plastic on one side.
Apparently, I didn't stop there.
At five, I watched Uncle Felix shave a long bar of soap with a blade. I can still see him seated at the corner of the dining table, his hands moving left to right in a regular rhythm. Soap curled and peeled away. I was mesmerized. When I asked if I could do what he was doing, he replied, “No.” He collected the soap curls into a plastic bucket, later to be used for laundry.
Then I spied him shaving soap another time. After he walked away momentarily, I couldn’t help myself. I scrambled onto his chair, reached for the blade, and gingerly pressed the sharp edge onto the bar of soap. Left to right, left to right.
When Uncle returned, I wasn’t reprimanded. He chuckled in amusement. But he also ridiculed me.
A short time later, I came down with the mumps. I still remember the discomfort of swollen glands, my neck engorged as I looked up at Uncle. “Do you know why you got mumps?” he asked. “It’s because you shaved the bar of soap.” I believed him. Thus ended my soap-curling career.
I used a fat black marker and wrote my name, along with my siblings’ names (all seven of us), on the back of our light blue vinyl desk chair. We each had five names (Mom said she wanted saints to watch over us), so I ended up writing a novel. Yo, I was practicing penmanship! Did I mention the chair was brand new? Yep. And the marker? Permanent. Uh-huh.
And then there was the time I scribbled all over my older brother’s report card. Jesuit school. He got into big trouble, which meant I got into big trouble… sigh!
Now, if only they threw more coloring books my way and plopped me on a corner somewhere, everyone would’ve been just fine. 😚
]]>Toot, toot! I'm tooting my horn for two very good reasons. Last week, I received the exciting news that my painting, “Gloryland,” was selected for the new NH Hampton Circuit Court building. Second, I got to cast my very first vote in a U.S. Presidential election. Why'd it take so long? Well, I had a bit of a circuitous journey...
]]>Gloryland, oil/cold wax medium on panel
I was pleased with the way this painting turned out. My medium, oil and cold wax, allowed me to apply paint in several layers, as I do for all my paintings. Layering adds depth and character, and in this instance, it also lent a rustic appearance, a sense of history, of years gone by.
Given the upcoming elections, it also made me reflect on my unique American experience.
Growing up in the Philippines, I thought of America as the greatest country on earth. It was often described in superlatives. The best. The brightest. The wealthiest. The smartest.
Did you know that after the Spanish-American War, the Philippines was ceded to the U.S.? Thereafter, American influence grew on the islands. Spanish, once the dominant, formal language, was slowly replaced. By the time I came around, English predominated.
I grew up reading your fairy tales and parables, listening to the same songs, studying the same Bible. I had a steady diet of Popeye, the Three Stooges, Casper the Friendly Ghost, and Reader’s Digest. My school’s curriculum was modeled after the American system. I learned the difference between it's and its, their and they're. Macbeth, Hamlet, Othello.
Outside of school, I enjoyed flipping through the glossy magazines my Mom picked up at Dau Market, not far from Clark Air Base. It was our halfway rest stop between Manila and our home town in the country. I was mesmerized by the colorful ads and fancy products. Remember Halo Shampoo? Short & Sassy? Occasionally, we had Kellogg's Corn Flakes and we thought it was exotic. 😝 🤣😅 I had a Kodak Instamatic camera, and my favorite candy bar was Nestlé Crunch.
Dau Market, Angeles, Philippines
I devoured stories about the Kennedys and became convinced that anything American was better, classier, grander. I listened to the Beatles, watched Hawaii 5-0, Fantasy Island, Charlie Brown, and the first concert I attended was the Commodores. In an absurd way – notwithstanding the colorful, honking jeepneys and tricycles weaving through traffic, the amazing sunset at Manila Bay, the Marcos regime during martial law – it can be argued that I had a uniquely American upbringing.
When I immigrated to Canada at 15, we made a pit stop in L.A. to visit relatives living in the Valley. Los Angeles was exactly as I had envisioned, just like the movies, a dream come true. The wide streets were lined with palmettos, a sturdy and stoic relative of the typhoon-swept coconut trees I was accustomed to. Cars moved at a steady speed on the highway. No water buffalo or rickshaws cutting across to slow down traffic. No daredevils speeding up to pass cars against oncoming traffic. Everything seemed orderly. A visit to Disneyland was the cherry on the cake. I loved it all.
In the intervening years, I learned that North America is not the fantasy world found inside the pages of Woman’s Day, McCall’s, or Good Housekeeping. It’s not solely populated by beautiful people with bouncy, shiny hair wearing beautiful clothes.
Like any place on earth, it has its imperfections. It’s a country of laws, flaws, creativity, speed limits, and speed bumps. It values human life and has a love affair with cats and dogs. It's democratic, proudly patriotic, and loves the red, white, and blue. Scratches and all, it’s still the America of my youth. And it's always striving to be better.
Another flag painting called "New American," which I made around the time I became a U.S. citizen.
It was purchased a few years ago by Northeast Wisconsin Technical College.
Three years ago, I became an American citizen and last week, I cast my ballot for the first time in a presidential election. I've had the privilege of being a citizen of three countries, and I come from a different perspective.
Whoever the U.S. selects to be its president will have far-reaching consequences. It affects little girls from dusty little towns, reading glossy magazines, dreaming of the land of milk and honey. So don't just stay home like Homer Simpson. Not everyone can vote in a U.S. presidential election, yet it affects them. Make a difference. Lisa Simpson would approve. Archie Bunker would approve. Heck, Santa Claus and Snoopy would approve. Go vote, my friends. Toot your horn and make yourself heard.
Tired of quarantining? Can't bear the thought of another staycation? Feeling restless? Yep, I hear ya. I have a confession to make. I’m not in quarantine.
]]>Where I vacationed earlier this year. Where I want to be.
Not that I don’t take this pandemic seriously, because I do. It’s just that, sad as it may seem, I already live a quarantined life.
Don’t get me wrong. I love being outdoors. I swim and run every day in the summer. I run and walk in the winter. At restaurants, I always opt for outdoor dining.
This is a big change from my earlier days.
Growing up in one of the most populated cities in the world (Manila), after I moved to Toronto, it felt like the suburbs to me. And if you’ve ever been to Toronto, you know how insane the traffic is. Yet, downtown rush hour was a cakewalk. Moving to Chicago was no different, except for more honking.
And now, I live in Raleigh, NC. Clearly, I’ve lost my way. I’m not even living downtown! I live in Wake Forest.
Do you know that "boondocks" comes from the Filipino word, "bundok," meaning mountains? I'm lost in the wilderness. Maybe I've come full circle… but I digress.
The Boonies, NC
There’s lots of grass and trees, hiking trails and parking lots. I live in a house with a garage. There’s even something called a bonus room that’s larger than my entire Chicago apartment. I used to walk everywhere. Now, I drive.
No streetcars rumbling by. No honking. No verbal abuse on the street. Just nice people everywhere, waving to each other.
Yep, there’s a twilight zone aspect to living out here, and it took some getting used to. Watch me now as I run. I wave to everyone. Well, almost everyone.
I’m leery of waving to people in trucks. I’ve never seen so many pick-up trucks. I associate them with a certain aggressive behavior. But I could use a truck for my business so I’m stuck. The city girl in me is making do with a roof rack on top of my little VW. It looks ridiculous at times, with a 4x8 sheet of foam board strapped to the top going 5 miles an hour. Now I look longingly at trucks.
When I stain and sand the sides of the wood canvas, I like to don a white lab coat to protect my clothes. I’m sure my neighbors are confused as they see me working in the garage studio. Maybe I should buy a face shield and a stethoscope to get them going on Nextdoor. Bring out the popcorn!
So I continue living my quarantined life. Since I’m self-employed, one day bleeds into the next. There are no weekends because I’m always working. I never knew what day of the week it was anyway. I’m lucky if I know when the clocks change.
How's your quarantined life going? Don't do what I do. Stay out of trouble!
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Sapphire Shores, 36x36" oil/cold wax medium on panel
I love water. I adore it in all its shades. Cerulean. Turquoise. Azure. Beryl. Teal. Indigo. Ultramarine. Seafoam. Sapphire.
Maybe it's because I've always lived near water. I grew up in the Philippines, a country of 7,100+ islands. We lived in Manila on the largest island of Luzon, but my family spent school breaks in Pangasinan province, four hours northwest. Here I am at age three (on right). A day of pure bliss.
When I was five, my Dad became the province's governor and for four years, our defacto summer home was the second floor of the government offices on Lingayen Beach. For history buffs, Lingayen Gulf is where Gen. MacArthur landed when he fulfilled his promise to return.
Urduja House, Governor's Office
Paradise Found
The building was fairly isolated at the time. We had no neighbors, and with nothing better to do other than terrorize the grown-ups in the offices below, my six siblings and I spent a great amount of time playing on the beach – building sandcastles, scribbling on the sand with a stick, flying kites and collecting seashells. I would trundle back home with the hem of my dress loaded with sand.
At least twice a year, we would take an excursion to Hundred Islands National Park, accessible via outrigger canoe. Back then, it was teeming with wildlife – starfish and other tropical fish in the most wonderful colors. The teal blue waters always took my breath away.
Hundred Islands, Pangasinan, Philippines
After my Dad lost the elections when I was nine, the charmed life disappeared. The family purse strings tightened but still, there was always a beach to run to that guaranteed a good time.
Trading Places
Things changed dramatically when my family immigrated to Toronto, which sits on Lake Ontario. I was fifteen. After class when the weather was nice, I'd take a bus, transfer to a streetcar, and then walk the quarter-mile to the beach.
The Beaches neighborhood, Toronto
There was an alcove beneath the boardwalk, just outside the Olympic pool. It was my secret hiding spot, my quiet space. I would huddle inside this little nook, sit akimbo on the sand, and do my homework to the sound of the waves. Sometime after college, I moved into this neighborhood and made The Beaches my home.
Chicago beckoned in 2001 during my graphic designer days. Looking for a place to live, I was drawn to water once again and chose The Loop, a stone's throw away from Lake Michigan.
Bike path alongside Lake Shore Drive, Chicago
I have logged countless hours running and cycling along the lake, usually heading south past the Shedd Aquarium, continuing onto Hyde Park before turning around. It was my morning routine.
Life's a Beach (Not!)
Now I live in the Raleigh area, NC. It's full of trees, and I love trees, too, but it's not water. I miss the vast expanse of large bodies of water, the blues and greens, the skies that kiss the water's edge. So I visit the beach whenever I can, I swim year-round, and I paint water – mostly horizons but sometimes, closeups, too, in all shades of blue.
If I ever won the lottery, you'll be sure to find me poolside or on the beach somewhere – maybe in the hot Caribbean countries I've learned to love, back "home" in the Philippines, or the gorgeous Muskoka Lakes north of Toronto – looking out over the horizon, beverage in hand, and listening to the sweet sounds of water.
The right brain is the creative side, the side that likes to draw rabbit ears on cats because it can, add fish sauce to chicken dishes because it can, and mix acrylics with oils (a big no-no), yup, because it can.
The right brain is also intuitive, playful, temperamental, and immature. Think Pee-wee Herman. Fortunately, the left, logical side (aka "Spock") often intervenes to keep things on an even footing. Here's what goes on during the 6 stages of the creative process.
It's playtime. The artistic brain is doing its own thing, in its own space. No boring meetings to attend, no office politics, no traffic commute. Just blissfully banging around in the garage studio, listening to some tunes, breaking into the occasional tequila dance with skinks (lol).
SPOCK: Finally, I can start painting again. The recent cold vortex made it impossible to work in the garage studio. Let's see. Day 3. Making progress.
PEE-WEE: Connecting the dots. La la la la. A little more. That's it. La la la la la. Ooh, look at that. So cool.
It's smooth sailing in outer space and the layers begin to pile up. Then halfway through, the mood begins to shift.
SPOCK: The painting is looking flat. I should probably add some contrast. Let's try a little dark area here, something to give the painting some gravitas.
PEE-WEE: Gravitas? Haha. Who am I trying to impress?
The painting is in trouble but the solution isn't clear. Although a form is beginning to take shape, it doesn't look like much.
PEE-WEE: Color wheel? Haha. The color wheel isn't going to save this painting. It looks like S---
4. The "I am Shit" Stage
Now there's a bunch of trial and error going on. The Pee-wee side is beginning to have a meltdown. Danger! Danger!
PEE-WEE: Shoulda left it alone. Why do I even try? Look at it. It's sh*t. I'm sh*t.
Spock persists, knowing the painting will eventually turn the corner like it usually does.
SPOCK: Now for a little more. There, it's done.
PEE-WEE: OMG. Haha! I meant to do that.
SPOCK: It's fascinating. I almost believe in luck.
So there you have it. The creative process, in a nutshell, a tug of war between the two sides of the creative mind, another epic battle fought and won. Another painting is done.
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Now that the garage studio is no longer an icebox, Spock and Pee-wee have been doing lots of nattering. Many works in progress (in preparation for my upcoming shows), seen below in the S-H-I-T stage.
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]]>Painting can be fun. It can also be a real challenge. There are days when my hand fails to translate onto canvas the vision in my mind's eye. Even the simple act of blending colors can sometimes prove vexing, and I end up wasting gobs of paint in the process.
Inspiration can be coaxed not only from outside stimuli but also from quiet thoughts within. This is especially true for my abstract paintings, which are intuitive. Color selection and placement are applied quickly and at random. After several layers, a form begins to emerge, grow, and evolve. And then, the painting is on its way. If this sounds easy, it's not, because there are always multiple forks on the road. This leads me to the next lesson.
While I'm not a napper, I'm a big fan of a solid night's sleep. Sometimes, you just gotta leave the painting alone
and save fun for the next day.
For the past two springs, I've been taunted by skinks. I don't like these reptilian little buggers. And no, they're not cute. They lither.
As I'm merrily engrossed in my painting whilst listening to Joshua Johnson on NPR, I catch something moving from the corner of my eye.
Argh, not again! At this point, Lizzy is outside. She pauses. I know she's angling to come in. Doesn't she know she's trespassing?
I look at her. She looks at me. It's a staredown.
You'd think she'd skitter off quickly since, from her viewpoint, I must look like Godzilla. But Lizzy stays put. I have to admire that.
I stomp my feet a few more times. Sometimes I'm forced to throw something to scare her off.
She skitters across to the other side of the garage door, forcing me to run and defend the castle.
Eventually, she runs and hides in the bushes, only to return, sometimes with reinforcements, and resumes the stance. Last year, a three-pronged attack had me dancing the flamenco. Buggers.
The good news is that the party's over by summer. It's like it gets too hot to dance, and they seemingly pack it in one day and head for the mountains.
So, no Lizzy yet but just wait. She and her lot are probably whistling down the hillside as I write, doing the cha cha. But for now, I paint in peaceful bliss. Spring at last, spring at last.
]]>Chardonnay Bay, 36x36" oil/cold wax on panel
Seems I'm just mad about yellow, and yellow's just mad about me.
After all, it's inserted itself into my life. I mean, look at this painting. Unashamed and glowing like there's no tomorrow.
So this year, I want to give thanks to the color yellow. Without it, there would be no sun to warm my days, no moon to gaze upon, no bananas, no curries, no cheese, no rubber duckies or smiley faces. In fact, the world would be blue.
Don't get me wrong. Yellow isn't my favorite color. In fact, I can't stand the sight of it coming straight out of a tube of paint without putting on my shades. But when I "dirty it up" with a bit of warm grey or burnt umber, even olive green, I get all mellow yellow. "Ooh, look at that," I say as I take off my shades.
I was unaware of my color bias until I started looking at my stuff: home decor, clothes, paintings, etc. My comforter is mustard and white. My favorite swim towel is yellow-green and grey. My sweater du jour is sage. Ack! I even have a flower arrangement that's golden olive. And it's fake! I know what you're thinking. How déclassé. Oui, oui. What can I say?
I'm powerless over yellow.
Ultimately, I suppose I don't mind. Yellow has certainly brightened up my life and I hope it's brightened yours, too. So thanks, yellow, for being a good sport, getting all dirty and playing nice with other colors.
And a big Thanks to you, too, for being here. Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving that sings a mellow yellow.
"You can study anything you want in college… as long as it's not art."
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In Summer of 2010, my Mom and sister visited from Toronto. On the Saturday of their visit, I took them to an art festival.
My Mom loves art festivals.
Actually, she adores shopping and is enthralled with materials, from Bakelite (an antique plastic resin, now coveted)
to semi-precious stones, ivory to gold and anything in between.
She has all sorts of collections: scarves, jewelry boxes, antique wooden saints, even walking canes in the most intricate designs. To the right is one she gave me.
At the time, she was 84 and walked in spurts. She still does. After half a block, her legs weaken and she feels the need to sit down immediately.
Except when she's shopping. It's truly a miracle. In shopping mode, she can stand for a long time until, of course, she realizes she's tired.
We brought along a wheelchair, and I asked my sister, Tessa, to attend to Mom. I was training for my last marathon, and was feeling weary after having run 18 miles earlier that day. I found some shade and rested nearby.
After 45 minutes, I spotted Tessa way off in the distance, looking about confusedly. I also observed that Mom was nowhere around. I went to see what was going on, only to learn they had somehow become separated.
Mom couldn't have travelled far, but Tessa had no idea where. One minute Mom was right there, she said. And the next minute Mom was gone. I guess Tessa loves to shop, too!
I approached the festival organizer's tent to file a Missing Persons Report: 84-year-old Asian grandmother known as "Cora". May or may not respond when called. Has short, curly black hair. Last seen traveling with wheelchair.
It was absurd. How could this happen? It may be funny now but at the time, we were very concerned. Mom was like our child, and we failed to protect her. It was then I realized what my brother meant. The Energizer bunny got away.
Tessa and I went in separate directions to look for Mom. The festival grounds were quite large. It was Tessa who found her standing "way down the other end", wheelchair in tow. Thankfully, Mom wasn't upset but by then, she was tired. We decided to head home. Before leaving, I notified a volunteer that we found Mom.
As I pushed the wheelchair away from the festival grounds, a police officer approached to verify Mom's identity. Word had not yet gotten around about our discovery. The officer verified my identity, too. I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn't abducting her, lol.
Now 90, my Mom is still a real trooper. Here she is last year when we spent the day boating. If she lived here, I bet she'd readily hang out with me at my art shows.
Next weekend beginning May 19 to 21, if you're in the area, I hope you'll
drop by Artsplosure, the Raleigh Arts Festival on Fayetteville St. I'll be in
Booth B-43, which is between Davie and Martin (in front of the Wake
County Courthouse).
Bring your Mom!
MOTHER'S DAY SPECIAL:
To celebrate my Mom and yours, I'm offering 30% off reproductions.
Offer is valid until Mother's Day, May 14, 2017.
Use code CORA30 at checkout.
Arts in the Park, Byrd Park. Consistently one of my favorite shows.
Except for last year.
It began during setup on Friday afternoon. I had purchased a new, used tent from artists who were also exhibiting at the park. They were kind enough to show me how the pieces all came together.
My husband, who is missing the Ikea gene, wandered off, and while being momentarily distracted, managed to trip over a booth marker. Ouch! He suffered a concussion and thought he had broken his wrist. We spent the evening at an urgent care center.
Very early Saturday morning, I hurriedly continued setting up but crowds started arriving before everything was secured. Suddenly, I realized my purse was missing.
Panic overcame me. I couldn't think, I couldn't see.
I asked my artist neighbor to lend me his senses and calm nerves. It turned out I had left my purse in the car. Phew. Disaster abated. But wait!
At Saturday's close, my husband returned to pick me up. Our hotel was a 20-minute drive away in Short Pump. He said the car, a small VW Tiguan with only 58K miles, started shaking uncontrollably on the highway. He was half-expecting the car to explode.
We called AAA but then immediately canceled. After all, no mechanic was open on Saturday night. More importantly, I realized that I needed a place to store my booth and paintings at teardown the following day.
By then, Byrd Park was nearly empty but for a small group of convivial artists gathered nearby. It turned out that one of them lived near our hotel. A godsend! He gave us a lift, then even offered to pick me up the following day.
It rained all day on Sunday.
It was cold, wet, and miserable. The area around my tent turned into a slippery slope. My husband, not wanting to hang around all day in the rain with his finger in a splint, remained at the hotel. Then at teardown, the fun began.
I packed up in the mud, hauled my gear across the wet grass in several trips, then picked up my sputtering car from artist parking.
I proceeded to load up the car but the new, used tent wouldn't fit. The poles were too long, and the bag was too heavy for me to lift onto the roof rack. I looked around for help.
Ah, an idea. I shoved the tent bag all the way to the front between the driver and passenger seats. It fit. Barely. Then loading continued but not without a whole lot of cursing. The car was too packed and the rear door wouldn't shut.
I recall having to give myself a pep talk, "1-2-3. PUSH!" I gave it all I had and more. Miraculously, the heavy pile inched forward. Thank you, Jesus! I also patted myself on the back. With my slight frame, I didn't think I could do it, but I did. Okay, just a little bit more. 1-2-3-PUSH! It moved only another half an inch, but it was all I needed to shut the hatch door. Another big sigh of relief.
Then I called AAA, thinking I still had 40 minutes to strap everything else onto my roof rack and back trailer.
I had requested a flatbed truck to prevent the platform trailer from dragging the concrete, which is what would've happened had the car been towed at an angle. But wouldn't you know, the AAA flatbed truck happened to be only five minutes away? The bungees started flying. It wasn't the tidiest strapping job I had ever done but I had plenty of straps to go around.
Exhausted, I hopped onto the truck with the very nice, lovely tow truck guys. It was a dramatic exit out of the park. Long truck, patrol lights flashing, with my poor, little car chained to the back, strapped to the gills with art.
So, Richmond, it's a year later and I'm returning to Arts in the Park. What can I say? I like Richmond. Beautiful, friendly place with good restaurants, a patient AAA staff (lol), lots of culture, with an educated population that appreciates art. What's not to like?
Does lightning strike twice? I hope not. But just to be safe, I requested a booth location closer to Rugby Road and away from that muddy, slippery slope. Also, I'm staying at a downtown hotel this time around. So rain or shine, Richmond, bring it on. I'm ready.
Please come by, say hello, and make my day. Booth #60, across the grassy aisle from my previous location. Hope to see you there!
]]>
Little Lies, 2015
When I was a teenager living in Toronto, I worked as a waitress at a restaurant that was part of a fancy fitness club. I got the job because I lied about experience. I had worked for two years as a busgirl, not a waitress, at another restaurant. Maybe the manager was complicit. After all, he knew I was only 18.
One of my first customers, a nice, middle-aged man, ordered what sounded to me as a "la-guh". I didn't know what it was, but I trundled off to the bar and, mustering confidence, asked the bartender for a laguh.
He asked if the customer was British. I nodded, then he handed me a lager. He might have also asked if I had ever waitressed before.
It's not the first time I pretended to be something I'm not. Maybe it's my way of overcoming fear. Leap and the net will appear. Or say you can do it, then do it.
I have to admit that it's gotten me into a pickle. Like the time I applied for my first juried art show before I had a body of work. I was both elated and horrified when I was accepted. Then I went into a painting frenzy.
Yet, this idea of pretense works the other way for me, too. For instance, even after having completed nine marathons and many triathlons, I still felt like I wasn't really an athlete. I was merely pretending.
Recently, someone asked what I did for a living. I replied, "I'm an artist. I paint." It sounded strange to hear myself say that. After five years of painting, I feel like I'm still pretending to be an artist... as if my 25-year graphic design career doesn't count.
I suppose that's okay. In a way, it's just wordplay. Maybe one of these days my brain will catch up with my heart that knows I've been an artist all along.
]]>Guernica, Picasso, 1937
Picasso's genius gave birth to "Guernica"; Degas, the ballerinas; and Banksy's graffiti (below) is clever political and social commentary.
How do artists choose their subject matter, and what inspires them?
Clearly, inspiration comes from many sources: war, beauty in nature, the human figure, emotions and more.
How and when inspiration arrives is equally diverse – while in the shower, while driving, during dinner – all suggesting states of relaxation.
This is what Elizabeth Gilbert suggests in her book, "Big Magic". What if, she muses, there are these big ideas floating up there, trolling for a human sponsor who is ready to take that big idea and run with it?
To which I say, "Well, hello, universe. Got anything for me?"
The fact is, I'm usually ready AND I usually get no answer. This is where my graphic design background kicks in.
Graphic designers can't afford to wait. They want the big idea. NOW. So how do you force inspiration?
Research.
As a designer, I'm accustomed to grabbing compendiums of the latest and greatest graphic designs, usually the American Institute of Graphic Arts or Graphis Annuals, and look. And look. Flip those pages while repeating quietly to myself the "problem" the client is trying to solve.
If it's a logo for a group whose theme is "mentorship", then that's what I repeat to myself as I flip those pages and look, and look, and look. Images and words stimulate visual metaphors.
For the next few days, I become consumed with "mentorship". I look for it everywhere – at interlocking tar patterns on the road as I run, at jigsaw puzzles that suddenly catch my attention at a store – even geese flying in a V formation while I wait for the traffic lights to turn green.
Here's the thing. I'm not waiting for the big idea. Rather, I coax the idea to come. It's more like a whisper. Psst, over here.
That's how I came up with this logo in 2002 for Golden Apple, an organization that works to inspire, develop, support, and award teacher excellence. I see an apple, hmmm, teaching. That works. I see two hands. Support.
No big magic here. I just flipped a lot of pages, looked around, and started doodling. Some things worked, many didn't. Word and image associations. It's exploring, and it's the fun part of being a designer.
Applying this technique to abstract art, at least for me, isn't easy.
Partly, it's because I don't usually start with a theme or an idea. At least not yet. And since abstract art does not rely on visual references in the real world, there is no A to B, because B does not yet exist.
I do begin with research and get inspired by what other artists are doing, especially those in the contemporary realm. I look at their use of color, the compositions, the mood, etc.
But when it comes time to paint, it's me and that blank canvas staring each other down.
And I always blink first. So I surrender. Some color and many layers later, something takes shape, a form emerges, or a color combination sings. I stand back, and marvel at the happenstance of it all.
I'm not sure it matters, then, where artists find inspiration, or whether we are inspired to create art. What matters is that we take that first step on a creative journey, even if destination unknown.
Photo (right): Jackson Pollock comes face to face with his canvas at his studio.
Loud Whispers, 2015
There are some days when my husband says I need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.
Funny how those days seem to coincide with my painting days.
Somehow, I always manage to get myself into a time crunch so when I paint, things need to happen, stat! That's when the dialog begins.
I say to the wood panel (my preferred painting surface), "Alright, give it up. 1-2-3. Gotta go. Let's go, let's go." The blank panel stares back at me.
"How about some chartreuse," I say to myself. That's one of my favorite colors. I reach over for some yellow-green and grey, and quickly whip them together while momentarily relishing the artist's workday ahead, no doubt filled with quiet and solitude.
Only to be interrupted by my painting substrate. < Again.? > I hear the panel complain.
"Yes," I say, ignoring it as I continue blending the mixture with my palette knife. Then I spread the happy color around the panel's surface using my favorite white drywall spatula.
Nice. Love it. Alright, now for some contrast. Dark brown, dark brown.... just spread it around that corner. Okay, good.
<< You have no idea what you're doing, do you? >> The panel is picking on me. It does that, especially when I'm in a hurry. If only it weren't right sometimes. I continue to ignore it.
Now for some blending action. Where's my transparent raw umber? I think to myself, "Ack, I'm almost out."
<< You're in big trouble now. >>
I reply, "Yes, and as for you, you're looking dull. I need a color to spice you up. Where's my color wheel?"
<< Don't you know this stuff already? Maybe you're no good. >>
The canvas is beginning to annoy me. Alright, orange, orange, where d'ya go? Ah, lovely. (Some momentary blending action, this time with the brayer). I'm beginning to think this might be going somewhere.
<< I think I hear your stomach growling. >>
And so it goes. Back and forth.
Once in awhile, l stand back and wait for the painting to call for more paint here, more splatters there. Sometimes it whispers. << How 'bout more scratches down my left side? >> Often, it likes to lead me down a wrong path. That's okay, I say. It's all good. The added layers enrich the surface, which I like. It's all good.
]]>
Since Forever, 2015
Quick. Guess what medium this is. Encaustics? Oil/Wax? Acrylics?
If you read my earlier posts, you'll know that I didn't begin to dip my toes in acrylics until 2016. So yes, this is an oil/wax painting.
And although I spent only a year painting in oil/wax, I had taken to it so quickly. I felt like I had been doing it since forever. Little did I know that I would leave it all behind.
Today, I have been painting with acrylics for nearly a year.
And truth be told, I took to it just as readily as I did the previous mediums, including encaustics in 2012.
With the need to fill wall space at art festivals and a few galleries, I painted like a madwoman, so that speeded up my learning.
Now, it feels like I have been painting in acrylics since forever.
I'm happy that I switched mediums for health reasons, and for anyone on the outside, I hope the switch appeared seamless.
In my creative journey, regardless of medium – digital graphic arts, encaustics, oil/wax, acrylics – the common thread in my artistic expression is a love for "negative space" evident in the vast skies and oceans, and colors that are anything but primary. I like painting in layers and animating the surface with various tools.
I like acrylics a lot. For now.
I may alter my medium again, or my style, but some things will never change: quiet paintings that can be enjoyed closeup yet move you from afar. Ones enlivened with little nuggets of interest, splatters, and scratches; paintings at first serene yet capable of unfolding with new surprises for years to come.
It's been my artistic expression, why, since forever!
[August, 2020 Update]
Ah, well, even with the best-laid plans, life came unhinged for me last spring, and I didn't have enough time to get to a comfort level with acrylics on large canvases. And with deadlines looming for art shows, I fell back on my tried and true medium, oil/cold wax medium. Now, I also make mosaic mirrors, but that's another ball of wax altogether. 😜
Sangria Love, 2016
I was up against time, preparing for a show and in a painting frenzy.
As is my usual custom, I wipe off excess paint from the canvas I'm currently working on, onto a spare canvas, which is how the next painting begins.
Sangria Love was that spare canvas, and it seemed to get off to a good start.
The painting flew through the fun, creative stages of possibility with ease. I thought, "Wow, this is cool. I am cool."
A base of creamy light colors and dark browns were quickly followed by reds. A little bit at first, some orange, then a little yellow, maybe a teeny bit more red, and so on.
Overall, I liked where things were going but the painting felt flat. Still, I was afraid of messing things up.
I became coy in my color use, and got stuck for the longest time in that agonizing phase an artist knows too well: This is shit. I am shit. Ugh. So ugly. This is hopeless.
And then, using lighter hues and with a swipe of the rubber spatula above the horizon, the painting started to sing. Softly at first. "Hmm. Look at that." A few more scratches and layers later, there was a duet. Can it be? I was loving that atmospheric look. A little more. Then trumpets blared and angels sang. Well, maybe not. But it was done.
The painting survived and so did I. I thought myself unique in this creative process – the push/pull love/hate – but I have learned since then this isn't so. It is simply the artist's way.
]]>Lesson Three, 2016
Lesson Three is another transition piece from oils to acrylics.
I was beginning to like acrylics. But my other foot was still solidly entrenched in oil/cold wax medium.
I had fallen in love with oils only a year before, and I was reluctant to let it go.
At first, I was skeptical that acrylics could even remotely simulate the effects I had labored to achieve in oil/cold wax. I was overwhelmed with the choices.
Too many bells and whistles: acrylic gel thickeners, molding paste, retarders, gloss-semigloss-matte, fluid medium, clear tar gel, course pumice gel, GAC!!!
And then, I discovered crackle paste.
To my fascination and utter surprise, crackle paste behaved as advertised. It cracked! I was so mesmerized that, for a short time at least, I wanted to apply crackle paste to everything.
I became a crack addict. Forget about watching paint dry. I was watching paint crack! Your honor, I present "Lesson Three", my third acrylic painting. For the child in me, it was magic, and I wanted more.
And so I turned my back on those lovely oils and plunged myself headlong into acrylics. Ah, well, another year, another medium. It was early 2016, and I found myself merrily skipping down another yellow brick road.
]]>
We all know oil and water don't mix, and neither do oil paints and acrylics. A big no-no. But being an artist, well, I couldn't resist. Besides, aren't some rules meant to be broken?
Broken Rules is a transition piece – mostly acrylic with a dab of oil. It was created early in 2016 when I was new to acrylics. I had developed a rare reaction of sorts to oil/cold wax medium, and in spite of much research and physician visits, the cause for my ailment remained a mystery.
As I had described in a previous post, I had been feeling poorly for some time. I had already switched mediums once before, from encaustics to oil/cold wax, and had gotten to a comfort level with the latter. But the more I painted, the more I suffered, experiencing what's probably best described as asthma-like symptoms. On particularly long painting days, symptoms ranged from soreness in the throat to sharp chest pains.
Reluctantly and with skepticism, I switched to acrylics. By force of habit, I started using the same tools and techniques to which I had become accustomed, and simulated oil/wax as closely as I could. I did this by mixing extra heavy gel to my acrylics. I continued to paint with a spatula, marking each layer with sharp tools.
My acrylic painting supplies were meager at this point since I was still experimenting with the medium. Quickly, I began missing the range of colors I had accumulated with oils – lovely seafoam greens and deep, dark blues – that taunted me from nearby. So like Eve in the Garden of Eden, I did it. I added a dab of creamy dark blue oil paint to my acrylic gel paste and whipped it up with my spatula. To my surprise, nothing happened. No thunder or lightning, no burning fires. They simply mixed.
This may be because I was using "Charvin Extra Fine" oil paints, which has a high pigment load, and therefore less oil for acrylics to resist. Even so, I figured that with my painting style, any cracking, flaking, and other fissures that reveal underlying colors would be a desirable outcome.
So, you may ask, did I repeat this with another painting? I tend to be a risk-taker but not knowing more, I played it safe. (Somehow, I can hear a sigh of relief, from paint manufacturers and collectors alike, lol.) Now nearly a year later, I can say that I have made the transition to acrylics and, once again, I have arrived at a comfort level with the new medium. As my work continues to evolve, I hope it will impart a richness that is a result of my experience in the various mediums.
Interested in buying a print? Click here: Broken Rules Giclée Print
“Oh no, not the living room, too!”
I had just flipped over a 3×4′ painting onto the rug so that I could apply hardware. It was the last bit of clear space left in the house, and my husband was feeling squeezed out.
Two days before my show at the World of Art Showcase I was, as usual, pressed for time and managed, yet again, to take over every square inch of walking space. I had temporarily moved my studio from the bonus room into the screened-in back porch, as well as the kitchen. For the volume of painting I planned to do leading up to the show, I wanted to ensure a continuous supply of fresh air.
I had also taken over the kitchen, which was once again a disaster zone. Because I was painting encaustics on large canvases, I needed an even larger work area. Everything was bigger: brushes were wider, the 4″ tin containers were now bread loaf pans, and I needed the stove to heat the wax while taking advantage of the kitchen’s exhaust fan. Other encaustic supplies and utensils were scattered everywhere. Beeswax, powdered pigment, muffin trays, mesh fabrics, scrapers, and trivets lay on newspapers and drop sheets to protect countertops and floors from wax drippings.
Canvases were leaned up against walls in the dining room and guest bedroom. As if this wasn’t enough, I was due to retrieve the remaining paintings I had on display at a local store, which were promptly stored in the laundry room and hallway. Then to top it off, my new dolly was still sprawled on the floor, awaiting a metal file to complete assembly.
The mess was driving me crazy, too. One morning, I reached for mango and found packaging tape, a jar of powdered pigment, and a soup ladle coated in wax in my fruit bowl. Later that day, a painting was literally getting in the way of making spaghetti.
Fortunately, there’s no telling when you look at my paintings of serene landscapes. So if you see a drop of red in my paintings, have no fear. Although it might be a little more than you bargained for, it’s just a little souvenir of the encaustic storm before the big day.
]]>When I worked in encaustics, my beeswax/damar resin mixture wouldn’t even budge until my heated palette reached a temperature of 150F. The wax was workable at 200F. Now that I work in oil and cold wax, a medium that’s also beeswax-based but is not applied using heat, I needed to find out for myself.
I leaned one of my paintings against a mirror above my fireplace and hung a thermometer on it. It’s your basic thermometer from the garden center at Home Depot. My fireplace is your generic gas fireplace with a switch on the wall. There’s also a knob behind the screen. It might be a high/low setting but we never touch it.
The painting received the most amount of heat at the bottom, where the temperature reached just above 120F. I know my photo shows 80F… you’ll have to take my word for it. I had just started this experiment and had originally planned a video post using photos only as a backup, but my new, fancy camera got the better of me. Learning curve.
Anyway, because heat rises, I thought the painting would receive more heat further up but surprisingly, this wasn’t the case. The middle of the painting measured 118F, and the top, 115%.
I left the painting on the fireplace for a total of 2 1/2 hours. Nothing happened to it. It didn’t melt or soften. It did get a little warm to the touch but that would be the case for anything above a fireplace. The closeups were taken at the end of the experiment, just before I turned the fireplace off. You can see the painting is just fine. When I touched the surface, nothing rubbed off on my fingers. The hot spots you see are just a reflection from the overhead light.
Don’t forget that, in reality, the painting would hang where the mirror is, i.e., closer to the wall and even further away from heat. Also, the painting I used here is a work-in-progress. The oil/wax mixture didn’t have the benefit of drying over time, which would only serve to harden the surface and make it even more durable.
In case you’re wondering, the size of the mirror is 3×4 ft. The mantle diverts heat away from the painting, so if you don’t have a mantle, that would be a different story. If you’d like to play it safe, take a thermometer and replicate my experiment. See how much heat your own fireplace kicks up. Beeswax alone, without the oil paint to further stabilize the wax, doesn’t soften until it reaches 144F (per Wikipedia). If you’re getting results below this, let’s say 130F to be safe, my guess is that my paintings will be just fine.
]]>Encaustic painting was practiced by Greek artists as far back as the 5th century B.C. Most of our knowledge of this early use comes from the Roman historian Pliny, who wrote in the 1st century A.D. Pliny seems to have had very little direct knowledge about studio methods, so his account of techniques and materials is sketchy. According to Pliny, encaustic was used in a variety of applications: the painting of portraits and scenes of mythology on panels, the coloring of marble and terra cotta, and work on ivory (probably the tinting of incised lines).
Wax is an excellent preservative of materials. It was from this use that the art of encaustic painting developed. The Greeks applied coatings of wax and resin to weatherproof their ships. Pigmenting the wax gave rise to the decorating of warships. Mention is even made by Homer of the painted ships of the Greek warriors who fought at Troy. The use of a rudimentary encaustic was therefore an ancient practice by the 5th century B.C. It is possible that at about that time the crude paint applied with tar brushes to the ships was refined for the art of painting on panels. Pliny mentions two artists who had in fact started out as ship painters.
The use of encaustic on panels rivaled the use of tempera, in what are the earliest known portable easel paintings. Tempera was a faster, cheaper process. Encaustic was a slow, difficult technique, but the paint could be built up in relief, and the wax gave a rich optical effect to the pigment. These characteristics made the finished work startlingly life-like. Moreover, encaustic had far greater durability than tempera, which was vulnerable to moisture. Pliny refers to encaustic paintings several hundred years old in the possession of Roman aristocrats of his own time.
The nature of encaustic to both preserve and color gave it wide use on the stonework of both architecture and statuary. The white marble we see today in the monuments of Greek antiquity was once colored, probably delicately tinted like the figures on the Alexander sarcophagus in Istanbul. Pliny says that when the sculptor Praxiteles was asked which of his pieces he favored, he answered those “to which [the painter] Nicias had set his hand.” Decorative terra cotta work on interiors was also painted with encaustic, a practice that was a forerunner to mosaic trim.
Perhaps the best known of all encaustic work are the Fayum funeral portraits painted in the 1st and 2nd centuries A.D. by Greek painters in Egypt. A significant Greek population had settled in Egypt following its conquest by Alexander, eventually adopting the customs of the Egyptians. This included mummifying their dead. A portrait of the deceased, painted either in the prime of life or after death, was placed over the person’s mummy as a memorial. Many of these pieces have survived to our own time, and their color has remained as fresh as any recently completed work.
In the great period of economic instability that followed the decline of the Roman empire, encaustic fell into disuse. Some work, particularly the painting of icons, was carried on as late as the 12th century, but for the most part, it became a lost art. The process was cumbersome and painstaking, and the cost of producing it was high. It was replaced by tempera, which was cheaper, faster, and easier to work. In the 18th century, the idea of encaustic painting was revived, initially by amateurs as a novelty to rediscover the techniques of the ancient painters. It was further explored in the 19th century, to solve the problem of dampness faced by mural painters in northern climates. The success of these efforts was limited, and encaustic remained an obscure art form.
In the 20th century, the availability of portable electric heating implements and the variety of tools has made encaustic a far less formidable technique. This factor has created a resurgence of encaustic painting, and it is once again taking its place as a major artists’ medium. Its effects, its visual and physical properties, and its range of textural and color possibilities make it eminently suitable for use in several different contemporary styles of painting that are not adequately served by our traditional oil-painting process.
– From “The Artist’s Handbook” by Ralph Mayer
]]>“What’s for dinner, wifey?” My husband was getting hungry. It was already 7:30 p.m., half an hour past when I normally start to make dinner, and I was still cooking up a painting.
“How about Beeswax à la Maison with a side of resin?”
I couldn’t resist. I was at it again, turning the kitchen into another disaster zone. This time, though, I was on a roll… literally. Another artist told me how she used rollers to create her gorgeous water-based abstracts. With the small scale, I could see how that was manageable. I wondered if it could translate into encaustics – at a large scale – and whether the rollers could take the heat.
I scoured the aisles of Home Depot and Lowes but all I could find were synthetic rollers. I chose one with a short nap for smooth surfaces, probably meant for latex paint. I feared the rollers would melt in the wax. I also found a restaurant supply store and bought some drip pans. This is a messy art.
As I painted, I made sure the wax didn’t get too hot by alternating between the stove and the trivet. I didn’t want to end up with encaustic soup spiced with plastic or bits of nap material. So far, the rollers are holding up. I’m pretty excited about this. Who knows, I may even be onto something…
]]>Those were my husband’s last words before he drifted off to sleep last night. I knew the kitchen was kinda messy but I didn’t think things had gone to hell. Besides, I always do a good job of cleaning up.
Every time I’m in “priming” mode (when I coat the surfaces of several canvases with white encaustic paint), I take over the entire kitchen. I need a studio. I need a place where I can melt beeswax and resin together, where I can make a mess with wax drippings and not worry too much about it, where I can lay out large wooden panels without the risk they’ll tip over, where I can spread out.
Not that I’m complaining… For the most part, I paint in the bonus room over the garage, which gets good light and happens to be, well, hot… in the 80s and to my liking. It’s just that encaustics is more tedious than other media. I need a stove, and a sink, and proper ventilation, and paper towels, and large tables… the list goes on.
One day, I say. For now, though, the kitchen is a mess because encaustics is da bomb.
]]>When I was a child, I liked to hold a flame under the stem of a lollipop stick, held sideways, until the plastic melted. Somehow, I was fascinated by the liquid flow of a once solid object. Ah, the stench of it all, and such mindless destruction. Fortunately, I graduated to beeswax and a blowtorch, and now I create works of art.
Encaustic paint is a mixture of beeswax, damar (a tree resin that hardens the wax), and colored pigment. The paint is melted at 200F in tin cans on a hot griddle and applied with a brush in 6–20 layers onto a stiff substrate like wood or tile. Each layer is fused to the layer beneath to create, in effect, a big ball of wax.
My preferred fusing method is a trigger-start Bernzomatic propane blowtorch. When I twist the blowtorch’s nozzle and press the ignitor, a steady stream of 3600F heat gushes with a rushing sound, not unlike an airplane before takeoff. I fan the flame in quick back-and-forth strokes over the painting, just enough to lick its waxy surface. As soon as the wax glistens, it’s fused to the layer beneath.
I began using a blowtorch because I got tired of tripping the fuse box repeatedly with a heat gun and craft iron. Occasionally, I light the canvas’ surface on fire when I want to create a lacy water pattern. I work from home where my husband lives in mortal fear I may succeed in burning down the house.
Encaustic painting begins by priming a wooden canvas, usually basswood, with three layers of white encaustic paint. I mix my own colors using powdered pigments. I do keep a small stash of ready-made encaustic paint cubes for those times when I need just a tiny splash of color. I also use oil pastels, but only sparingly, because it disperses less evenly than wax
when fused.
Occasionally, I embed materials in the wax-like sand, nails, stones, and tree bark. I also build texture by pushing the wax through various mesh materials such as cheesecloth, lace, and lemon bags.
I’m often asked about my trees. It’s not possible to paint fine lines with hot wax. I tried, but the wax begins to dry, or clump, on the bristles as soon as I lift the brush off the hot griddle. For smaller works, then, I use oils, which are compatible with encaustics. Sometimes, I’ll do a photo transfer. I’ve been loitering at Jerry’s Artarama lately, doing research on charcoal and graphite, which are also compatible with encaustics. I can’t wait to try them out on trees!
I like using the 97-cent 1″ chip brushes from Home Depot. It has natural bristles. Synthetic brushes don’t work because they melt in the hot wax. I tried the more popular “hake” brushes but the bristles are too limp for my brisk style of painting.
Unfortunately, chip brushes shed, so every now and then, a strand will embed itself in the painting. That’s when I reach for my sharp, pointy tool and fish out the wayward bristle. When I fail to spot one, the blowtorch – and my nose – let me know. Bristles singe in 3600F degree heat. After removal, another quick flick of the wrist with the blowtorch flattens any unwanted marks in the wax.
I build opacity through several transparent layers, allowing me to color “outside the lines” without too much consequence. The result is twofold: increased luminosity and blurred – or softer – edges, a desirable effect especially for distant objects. At times, I fuse the painting upside down to make the colors bleed into each other. Some paintings have 20 layers. That’s just a guess, though. After a while, I lose track.
Encaustic paint isn’t the easiest medium to work with: it needs a flat surface, it isn’t portable, and it ain’t cheap. But you’ve gotta love the results – the wonderful textures and luminosity – that make the paintings look like they’re glowing from within. I love this radiance, and although I’ve come a long way since the days of melted lollipop sticks, there’s a reason I continue to play with fire.
]]>In a recent NY Times article about white asparagus, the writer Elaine Sciolino confessed, “The first time I set out to harvest white asparagus, I was issued a harvesting tool that looked like a long two-pronged screwdriver and told to go out into the fields and feel the vibrations. I wanted to do well… ”
“Feel the vibrations?” I laughed. It reminded me of the time I enrolled in a Fine Art studio class at the University of Toronto. I had already entered the workforce as a graphic designer, a career where tight deadlines are the norm, creativity is on-demand, and the shortest route from A to B – whether concept development, layout, or production – is encouraged.
At the beginning of the studio class, my professor handed out tree twigs and x-acto knives. The assignment, for the next three hours, was to make something out of this meager piece of wood: write on it, carve into it, whittle down the edges… whatever we wanted. That was it. There were no other rules. There was also no goal.
I looked around skeptically. My classmates immediately took the knives to task and seemed engrossed in their carvings. “Surely, this can’t be all there is to this,” I thought. For the next three hours, I was incredulous with disbelief. It all seemed a big waste of time.
When the class finally ended, I approached my professor and confessed I didn’t understand the point of the exercise. “Isn’t it better,” I asked, “to decide what to make first, and then make it?” “That’s not the point,” he replied. “It’s about the process. It’s about developing a relationship with the twig.”
“Develop a relationship with a twig?” I asked. I was flabbergasted. “Yeah, right,” I thought. Try telling that to a client paying your bill. Needless to say, I dropped the class without too much afterthought.
Now that I paint, I have a little more appreciation for “the process.” This is not to say I begin without having an idea of where I want to go because that’s not my training nor my inclination. I do recognize, however, that the journey in between is where all the fun happens.
It’s nice to experiment, to lay a color down, change my mind, and scrape it back up, to make mistakes… all without the budget repercussions, the client pressures, and time deadlines. Often, I end up with a painting that has no bearing on where I thought it was going and yes, I like getting lost in the process of creating. That’s the place where I get into the zone and where time stands still.
The expression, “Let go, let God” provides a valuable lesson. There are instances when a roadmap comes in handy although sometimes, it’s more fun to simply let go and enjoy the ride.
]]>Encaustic painting supplies can be expensive. A pound of encaustic medium typically goes for $21, beeswax and damar resin can each cost $16/pound, and a block of pigmented wax roughly half the size of a Snickers bar varies between $15–25, depending on color. That’s for one color which, in art, isn’t going to get you very far.
When I first dipped my toes in encaustic painting, I was just beginning to dabble in fine art. Setting up an encaustic “kitchen” at home was a reasonable expense. I made do with a $25 pancake griddle from Walmart, which I still use, in place of the more professional $260 R&F hot plate. I also made my own encaustic medium (beeswax and resin), and added powdered pigment to make encaustic paint. I already had a heat gun, thanks to a previous failed endeavor, and with a trip to Home Depot and the Dollar Store, I stocked up on the remaining essentials: a box of 97-cent hogs bristles, soft rags, measuring cups and clothespins to handle the hot tins of wax. I was now ready for action.
Since then, I’ve become even more enamored of encaustics, and I can’t let it go. I love its textures and translucency, and the physical requirements of scraping, fusing, and wax applications satisfy my desire to work with my hands.
Today, I’ve created enough work to exhibit at a few venues but most of my creative output has been small in scale. I need to go big. I want to go big. I had already ordered large wooden panels months ago which have been propped up against the wall, waiting. The only thing holding me back was commitment.
Going big means more wax and more wax means more money. The only way I could make this affordable was by purchasing beeswax in bulk, and the minimum order was 55 lbs. Add to that 10 lbs. of damar resin, and I was left contemplating a $500 purchase.
“Do I really want to do this?” I asked myself. Indeed, could I afford to? Self-doubt began to creep it. Was I ready? Did I have enough gusto, talent, and ambition to fill a large canvas? I considered switching to oils and acrylics for affordability, if only for a split second, but deep down I already knew the answer. It was too late. I had become addicted to encaustics. The real question was, “Could I afford NOT to do encaustics?”
Even as I knew what I had to do, I sat with the indecision for months while the monkey on my back got heavier and heavier. There’s something to be said for deadlines. I had more shows coming up quickly, so I made the purchase.
This weekend, I happily primed a 36″x36 basswood panel with four layers of white encaustic paint. It was a big job, time-consuming and tedious. There was lots of fusing between layers, scraping of wax ridges to smooth the surface, another application of wax, more fusing, and on it went, hours of mindless bliss, and it was gratifying.
I’m now staring at a blank canvas… but hopefully not for long. Larger canvases are waiting in the wings. Encaustics has its grip on me alright, and I’m going big.
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