Filling the Sky

Home is where my heart is, where inspiration pours forth. I am a home person. My parents made me that way, They shared small things about where they choose to live. Sunday rides in my granddad's car out into the country. Delights of Dad or Mom pointing out things, like a rusted windmill that brought up water for the cows on my great granddad's farm. The house mom was born in, just blocks from where they raised us kids.

Home is in the little things I discovered for myself like the green leafy plants that catch the first snow falling at Fabyan woods. Drives to my uncle Chuck's I would look for those green leaves holding those delicate snowflakes. I wasn't thinking about art at the time. That memory came to me yesterday while doing a winter scene. I remembered those drives to my uncle's and those wonderful greens and that fresh white snow they held.

Main Street, west, miles from Batavia an old barn stands and the strong smell of pig manure alerted me to county life and the wonderful subjects life holds for me to paint. A dip in the road and a stone bridge were there waiting for my canvas. Three hours I sit there painting and dreaming. The new work securely in the back seat, I explore a bit farther and find a memory of riding with my Uncle John on his motorcycle looking for Easter eggs. Racing across a little wooden fence, dropping off the wooden eggs and racing back to the woods for more colored eggs. The bridge is for my next canvas. I will dot the bridge with kids and fill the sky with rich blue and silver clouds, a memory from a visit to my uncle Melvins.

Memories mix with an endless supply of subjects, wandering about in my head, each bringing out present-day scenes for painting.

Broken Colors

A warm grey wash of pigment and turpentine unlocks the white canvas, allowing the image locked in my head to escape. Touches of colors fade into the still fresh wash as I mark where shoulders will be. Another smudge of burnt sienna for her face & hair, hips, feet, and hands. So far, so good. Confident now, I open a conversation with my model.

The conversation builds a connection with her and I that is very important for mixing colors. The more enlightening the conversation, the richer the colors are. Which red in my box will do her justice, as I listen and trade ideas? I tend to look closer as I get to know who is posing for me.

Things like folds in a skirt cause problems for me because they seldom return to their same position after breaks. Sometimes they are better after a break and I spend time changing them. Doing nudes, I don’t have the folds to deal with. With nudes I have to think more about my brushwork. Too much brushwork for me takes away from the softness of a young lady, and I tend to prefer young ladies for my paintings. At the same time, too smooth a rendering of the nude is just not for me.

I like broken colors in my art. I can appreciate other artists' work for how they treat the nude. Some with rough, wild strokes showing passion, and others with tight renderings; all speak to me. Lately I have been pulling little color studies out and loosening them up with looser brush work. These little studies bring back conversations. One brought back the story of one model's journey of getting to America and learning English from classmates in her high school. Another color study reminded me how brave my models can be. One donated a kidney to her mother.

Painting is a process of looking and learning. Sometimes it is looking inside myself and finding a new person. "Why a nude?” is a question I ask myself and the answer is always in the painting itself. A painting of a girl stepping out of a shower, or standing on a scale checking her weight, are simple daily reasons for being nude. Watching her figure form out of the running wash on the canvas, hearing about the model’s adventures, like stealing her way to America, are all there in my art, and me, through the painting process.