From a Tea Service to Models

The tea service set used to sit behind glass in our dining room sideboard. One day I decided to do a painting of it. Nothing special about it other than it looked eloquent and that made it great for a still-life. Mom about had a cow when she found out I had it in my studio for doing a painting. Things did not mean all that much for me back then... Like taking my sister's doll apart for a still-life. Never did get that doll put back together. The things I put into still-lifes were just things. Indian corn was simply an interesting challenge that seemed to sell. Grandma’s tea service was different because Mom told me the importance of it to her.

Grandma Sachen got the tea service as a wedding gift. It was very important to mom, who only used it when special people visited and it was the one thing that us kids were told to keep our hands off, not even to dry it when it was our turn to dry dishes.  

Grandma Sachen died before I was born. I had to imagine her from how Mom described her. 

Instead of just painting away I found myself taking a bit more care about how I mixed just the perfect colors and putting the paint on with just the right stroke. I imagined a young bride serving tea with the tea pot. I even made tea and drank it from one of the cups. Slowly I began to realize the importance of having a real connection to my subject . 

When I teach, I tell people to make a real connection to a subject. That is why I engage in conversations with my models. 

Voices Become Wildflowers

The winter wind coming up the alley to the studio is the fuse I need. It cuts through my knitted face warmer, clearing my mind for the day of work. I'm taken to Arkansas, and to Adrienne, who knitted it for me, as I fumble for my keys. Only met Adrienne once, but in this way she is part of the commute I take each day. She has become a little part of my art, filling my studio with voices from my soul. Little things fuel me for the journey I am about to set out on .  Hot cocoa, fresh colors, my best brushes at hand, apron tied on, Miss Kitty and Festus with me, I'm set for my journey of the day. Color studies and Gunsmoke are today's tickets into the world on my canvas. 

Dad's favorite western, Gunsmoke, guides me through the past to the scene developing before me. A scene from a car window.

The voices from my childhood are the connection to subjects that I need with all my work, to do my best. It isn't about making a painting, it's about sharing feelings. The voices of Matt Dillon and Chester coming from the computer are voices from my Dad in a strange way. I mix the greens for the trees and grass with a smile, not forgetting the tint in the white flowers he picked for Mom. I still remember holding those flowers on the ride home from Uncle Melvin's farm and the ladybug sitting on the petals. The ladybug will have to wait for the next painting when I have a small brush at hand. Now I have just the brush I need.

As the day passes, the scene grows. Faces from the past fade to green and voices become wildflowers. The volume intensifies as the canvas swallows me. Only the brush laying paint can be heard. My mind races from memories, back to the canvas, giving glimpses of my life's past and present as I travel. A brush hitting the floor halts my trip. Looking at the clock, the trip is over, the painting rests, and I am pleased . Rolling up the car window I put things in order for the next day of travel.

Pulling on the face warmer and one last look, I switch off the lights, with a ticket tucked in my pocket for the next day's trip, I head to face the wind in the alley. Thanks, Adrienne.