Today, let’s review sunflower oil paintings.
I am painting them because they look happy. The category is Because I Want To.
Painting happens in stages.
These may now be finished, or may need a couple of touch ups before letting go.
Go ahead, admit it – they make you feel ever so slightly happy when you see them!
P.S. I have little bitty sunflower plants in my garden and am hoping they survive deer, drought, pill bugs and gophers so they can bloom and bring happiness.
Have you ever wondered how an artist decides what to paint?
Me too.
What I paint falls into 4 categories:
Category #1 includes Sequoia scenery, anything Mineral King, citrus, the Kaweah Post Office, the Kaweah River, the Oak Grove bridge and poppies.
Sawtooth Peak, 8×10, sold (Mineral King)
Category #2 can be flowers, fruit, an experiment, something with great light or a color that makes my heart sing, a gift for someone, or something so beautiful that I cannot resist.
Category #3 is anything a customer has requested, usually paid for up front, and sometimes working from his photos.
Sequoia painting in progress, sunflowers because I want to paint them, Buckeye Bridge as a commissioned piece.
Category #4 happens when I look objectively at a painting that’s been hanging around for awhile (literally) and decide that I paint better now.
Lake Kaweah, or perhaps Kaweah Lake, 16×20, $350, repainted, revised, and revisited more times than I can remember. The constant improvement is bound to catch the eye of a customer. Oh – it is called “Lake View VII” on my website!
While reading Jeff Goins’ The Art of Work, I received a bit of reinforcement and validation for my teaching people how to draw. (Thanks, Jeff!)
All along I have said that the only ones who don’t learn how to draw from me are the ones who quit too soon.
Jeff reinforced that thought with this:
An apprenticeship is designed to give you guidance from an expert, knowledge in a given field, and experience in a challenging environment . . . It takes a lot of courage and tenacity to not only find but to finish an apprenticeship.
It makes me a little squirmy to consider myself an expert at teaching people how to draw, but if I am not an expert after 21 years, then I must just be a poser. If that is the case, how did all these people learn to draw so well??
The End of the Trail, drawing in pencil by Kelvin Farris
It does take courage. Many people have come to me quietly on the side to say how nervous they are. I do my best to explain that I will help them in any way I can. The reason they are taking lessons is to learn, not to show me what they already can do!
I don’t teach drawing lessons the way P.E. teachers “taught” sports when I was a kid. If you “got it”, then you were praised and given extra encouragement, respect and perks. If you didn’t “get it”, you were yelled at. “Try harder!” is not teaching. “Don’t be afraid of the ball” is not teaching. “Run faster” is not teaching.
Teaching is breaking down difficult and complicated material into small and manageable steps, while explaining exactly how and why, and then giving ways to practice those steps until they make sense. It is showing the way, and when one approach doesn’t make sense, the good teacher finds another way to demonstrate. It is giving the student the chance to practice as much as necessary until he is comfortable and understands the process.
No deadlines, no homework (unless requested), no tests, no pressure and certainly no yelling (and no piano recitals either) in drawing lessons, just learning. Each student goes at his own pace working on the subject matter of his own choosing.
The Art of Work: A proven path to discovering what you were meant to do by Jeff Goins may be just what I need to validate my choice of art as a profession in spite of being in the poorest part of one of the least educated counties in California. I am a Central California artist!
Jefferson Memorial, pencil on paper, size forgotten, price undetermined, drawn because I love to draw, love this piece of history and love this architectural style. Any questions? Use the contact button above and I’ll do my best to answer.
The Art of Work by Jeff Goins is at the top of my current stack of books. I discovered Jeff’s writing a few years ago when he wrote about how words actually mean things, and then he composed a list of currently misused words, such as “literally” when the right word is “figuratively”. . . “He literally shot himself in the foot.” Oh yeah? Is he able to walk anymore? (That’s really gross, and I know it because I saw it on a slide in a CCW class.)
Besides enjoying Jeff’s writing, the subject matter of this book grabbed my attention. “A proven path to discovering what you were meant to do” sounds profound to me at a time when I am questioning the wisdom of pursuing art as a career. (This has been a regular question throughout my career – it’s part of a cycle rather than a real crisis.)
In the chapter about apprenticeships there are several sentences that really rang my bell (figuratively, not literally, because I don’t actually have a bell). He quoted Ellen Frank, a master craftsman (craftswoman? craftsperson? or “man” as in “human”?) from East Hampton, New York who runs an atelier.
They [her students} also acquire validation. It’s not teaching through critique. It’s not teaching through judging their own work. It’s teaching through saying, ‘Yes, and why not try this?’ and ‘Yes, can you push this farther?’
I show people what I know, how the tools work best, how to recognize what might make a good drawing, how to start, how to push through the messy parts. I help them make their own work better by sharing techniques, encouraging them to pursue the subjects that they love (not everyone is enamored by old architecture, shocking as that may be to realize) and cheering them on when they feel stalled.
I love to teach people how to draw. It feels a little weird to think of it as “apprenticeships”, but that is sort of what is happening, one hour per week and 4 students at a time.
April 15 causes me pain. In case it affects you the same way, here is something nice to look at. You don’t have to pay any taxes on it.
When we visited Cowboy Bert and Mrs. Cowboy Bert, the animals were all vying for my attention.
Remember this little Baby Cakes?
Look at her now:
Here: look at her where you can get a better sense of scale:
Still a bottle baby, along with the white one who is a bit younger and smaller.
There is also a short horse and a couple of tall dogs. Gets a person a bit confused about proportion and perspective. (short horse = pony?)
They wouldn’t pose for me so that I can show you the 2 over/undersized critters together.
New Hampshire Reds are beautiful chickens. This is a hen, not a rooster.
When the sheep all talk, they sound like people imitating sheep. There are bass, tenor, alto and soprano, and they make really funny sounds.
Scooter is my favorite of all 4 cats. Cats are my favorite of all the animals. The kind of farm I grew up on had trees, a dog or two, and always cats. No sheep talking like people, no short horses, and certainly no hens imitating roosters. Makes me feel like a city girl! I’ve often thought that growing up on the kind of farm I did only meant that everything was inconvenient, I got used to wide spaces without buildings, I learned to plan ahead for shopping trips (oh how I hated going to town unless it included a stop at the library), we were not dependent on neighbor kids for fun, we learned to drive young (ever driven a spray rig that has only a clutch and a brake, no accelerator?) and we ate as many oranges, olives, plums and walnuts as we wanted. Hmmm, maybe there was a pig on that farm who looked a lot like me.
P.S. I wrote this blog with my sweet kitty Perkins by my side. We weren’t allowed to have animals in the house growing up. Guess I’ve kicked over the traces of my raising in that aspect, but I still eat as many oranges as I want.
Beach Birds, pencil, size forgotten, sold
If you are a Central California artist, you may occasionally have times when: taking inventory is boring; ordering packaging supplies for notecards that aren’t moving very quickly feels like a waste of money, planning for paintings when one’s current body of work is collecting dust feels futile, writing blog posts is difficult when technology fails and photos won’t load; calling on stores and galleries feels futile when they don’t keep their posted hours or end up closing altogether.
So what?
One of my drawing students and friends often the line blurs) gave me a sign that hangs in the painting studio. It reads “Put on your big girl pants and get busy”.
Getting busy looks like this:
AHA! Tax season. Could that be the reason for the current state of mind? Thanks, IRS. Way to wreck the most beautiful time of year.
Guess I’ll just pretend as if someone has forbidden me to work on the business of art. That should light a fire under me!
How do you remain productive during your slow seasons?
Sometimes I feel like quitting.
Have you ever noticed that what one must do just holds no interest?
For example, if my job was yardwork, I’d be dying to paint. My job is painting, so I’m dying to do some yardening.
What causes this?? A lingering rebellion from adolescence? A streak of stubbornness? The thing called “resistance” by Steven Pressfield in The War of Art?
When sales are slow or studio tour visitation is low or attendance in drawing lessons declines, I wonder why I push onward. The work has no sense of importance and certainly no urgency. I don’t feel the press of any deadlines, so I dink around home, avoiding the studio.
It takes discipline, thought about what is ahead, planning, optimism, leaning into past experience and sheer determination to use my “down” time wisely.
What’s a Central California artist to do??
Come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have an answer or two.
What do you do when you feel unmotivated?
Rain is an event around here. In the winter, we hope it is accompanied by snow in the mountains. Alas, it was a warm rain, and the river turned muddy. But what a thrill to hear the river roar again!
Looking downstream, it was terrific to see the water actually reaching the measuring stick again.
Looking upstream when the sun emerged, the muddiness of the water really became apparent. Every little stream and creek and ravine up to about 9000′ dumped its contents here. It felt like an event.
Then, it stayed very springlike. A friend and I had lunch at Anne Lang’s Emporium, where the food, the companionship and the entertainment were all superior.
We sat on the deck overlooking the river, and this tree with its birds were at eye level. This guy had a fabulous song, and it was a trick to catch him in the act. However, we aren’t burning film anymore, so after a zillion attempts, I caught this:
The red-wing blackbird puffs up when he sings his beautiful song.
Big variety of birds visited this feeder, but I wasn’t quick enough to catch them on camera. (on disk? We certainly don’t say “on film” anymore.) I couldn’t catch the hummingbirds without major bluration.
See? bluration. Good word, eh?
A year or two ago, I ran a series of blog posts called “My Amazing Friends”. It was about friends who are remarkably creative and energetic. (That’s why I remarked on them.) There is Bob, Nikki and Barbara.
I have a new friend, Ron, who owns Visalia Granite and Marble Works. He wanted to be an architect, but somehow drifted or fell or perhaps even purposely dove into the monument business.
We met when a mutual friend asked for help with her parents’ headstone, as discussed in this blog post. While in his office, I looked at a glaring blank wall through his French doors and suggested a mural. (A pushy chick or an opportunist? Nah, just a Central California artist with her eye always scanning the horizon for work.) He asked for a bid, I asked for a tape measure, and we were off and running!
He asked if I could complete the mural while he was on vacation, and my response was something like, “COMPLETE IT?? I DON”T EVEN KNOW IF I CAN PAINT THIS!”
He was very encouraging and had tremendous confidence in my abilities. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I painted with laser-like focus and got it mostly finished.
When Ron returned, he was pleased. He also had a few suggestions for improvement, and they were spot on and very welcome.
I knew I was in the presence of an amazing person just from the time spent at his business, Visalia Granite and Marble Works. His employees have all been with him for a long time, they are kind and welcoming and happy at work. His business is beautiful, and when I looked at his website to see his work, I was very very impressed.
When Ron signed one of his emails to me with his name and the initials “CM”, I asked him what that meant. Here is his explanation, which really made me realize he is an amazing friend:
You are the first and only person I have ever had do a mural for me and the first person to ever ask me what CM stands for. Thank you for asking.CM – Certified Memorialist – It is a national recognition (MBNA – Monument Builders of North America) for Experience, Knowledge and Testing in the art of memorialization. It not only focuses on the actual art itself but also includes a lot of business acumen, marketing, accounting, leadership, grief counseling and all facets of business prowess related to our field. NOT AN EASY TEST. In the entire US there are less than 200 and in California there are less than 6 certified memorialist.
That’s amazing!