Letting Go

It's getting to be the time of year when leaf peepers are out in force, scoping out the Vermont foliage.  I know this because I saw all of them in the parking lot of the Ben & Jerry's factory on Thursday afternoon.  I, however, was the only one there who was waiting for the AAA guy to fix my dead jeep battery.  All in all it wasn't a terrible way to spend an afternoon, although Rabbit may disagree.

In other September news, I've got two more of my Aretha word paintings finished:

I've been posting these on Instagram and the Blues Brothers Official account has "liked" at least two of them, so there's a life goal achieved that I never knew I had.  Three more in this series to go.

Today I varnished the Best. Painting. Ever.  Okay, maybe not the best, but I really really love it.  I started out only knowing what colors I wanted to use - brown, red and something peachy.  The paint sat on my table for a couple of days while I thought about it, hoping a design idea would come to me.  I got nada so had to wing it.  Here's the final result:

And here's how it all went down:  staring at a blank canvas can be intimidating and since I had no idea how this painting was going to evolve I hoped getting the first bit of paint on there would spark something.  Anything.  I started with the brown (TMI side note: this particular brown paint is not as thick as my fave, which is like brownie batter, so after spreading the first layer around the sides of the canvas with my fingers I looked like a proctologist who forgot to wear gloves).  On went the rest of the brown, then the red, peach and a dark rose gold (the bits that look like copper in the photo).  Some blending, some texture and a sudden fierce desire to put a white hand print at the bottom.  The white circles came out of nowhere but as soon as they were on the canvas I knew the painting was called "Letting Go."

It's taken me a long time to be comfortable with having canvas texture visible in the final piece.  In fact, most of the time I still don't like it and with heavy body paint and a palette knife I can cover it easily.  Not so here but that's okay - there are places where you can see the weave of the canvas and other places where the paint is so thick I had to wait two extra days before I could add varnish.  Final shot, complete with professional photobomber:

Satisfyingly September

Today was one of those breathtakingly beautiful fall days in Vermont.  The sun was shining, the sky was startlingly blue, the temp was perfectly in the 60s, and none of the farms near my house have sprayed liquid fertilizer in at least a week.  So weird that five days ago the temps were in the low 90s and the humidity was unbearable.  Tomorrow is supposed to be more glorious weather and we're going to work on perfecting our hammock napping technique.

Today, however, we went on a road trip to Costco and walked three miles and painted.  Yes, we painted.  I started a new word series called Aretha - there are two so far with five more to come:

The background for the third one went off the rails yesterday and I thought it was a goner, but I fixed it today and now can't wait for it to dry so I can add the rest.  While I'm waiting, I finished this guy:

So right before I left on a 12 day family vacation last month, instead of doing all the millions of things I needed to be doing, I pulled out this canvas that had been sitting around for ages.  Seriously, I painted the blue background so long ago I can't remember when it was.  I made the template for the heron at the same time, then set it all aside.  Until the day before vacation when the last thing I should have been doing was mucking around in white paint.  Did it anyway.  In this picture the white is still wet, hence his almost non-existent legs.  I had to wait for the paint to dry before I could peel off the masking fluid.  Did that, went on vacation, came back, looked at it every day, a couple more weeks went by, couldn't decide what to do with it.  I left it to percolate and painted RESPECT.   Then painted the background for NATURAL but didn't like the way it looked so I transferred some of the color from that one to the heron (which helped both pieces) and let it percolate some more.  Several layers later, and today he's done:

 

I honestly thought he was going to end up as a blue silhouette with just the rough textured white around him but he felt naked.  Here's a side by side of mid vs end:

Yep, surprised me.  Looks a bit of a mess here but in real life there are layers and texture and shiny shiny and interference paint around the moon and in the bird -- it's all good.  Now he needs to tell me his name.

In other news, I planted some more color out front.  It was a weird summer - some things bloomed that I've never seen before, some things grew like weeds (maybe they ARE weeds) and I missed most of my lily season while away on vacation.  If I get my shiz together I will post some pics but in the meantime, always remember that everything looks better with a poodle in the background.

Or in the foreground.

There's a first time for everything

Have you ever woken up on a lovely spring day, rejoiced in the great green beauty of all things fresh and new, taken a zillion photos to post on your blog, and then had zero follow-through?  Yes?  Me too.  More on that at a later date.  First I want to show you something I painted and then go slather my elbow in Neosporin - I've got a bug bite the size of a nickel.  It's amazing.  And itchy as hell.  Yesterday was so unbelievably hot and humid and sweaty I thought for sure the mosquitoes would slide right off before they could get any traction.  Alas.  At least one prevailed.

Anyway, I digress.  Here's what I did a week ago.  It started with a re-do:

That's an 18" square and since it was never finished in the first place I guess it's technically not a re-do.  I think it was going to be a big word painting that said JUST KEEP SWIMMING but I never made it past the background stage.  So on goes a crap ton of white with a big fat palette knife.

Here's the WIP stage:

I paint flat - not on an easel - balanced on jars of paint (which you can see in the first picture) and this canvas was a pain in the rear because it does not have a center brace on the back.  I like to pick up the canvas and hold it or turn it, and it's a miracle this one did not end up on the floor by accident.  (I did get a giant blob of white paint on my leg, tho, which I didn't notice until later - that's par for the course.)  I liked the way this was looking lying down but when I saw it upright -- no bueno.  After letting it percolate for a few days, out came the whitewash.  Sort of.  For someone who loves ALL THE COLORS, I certainly use a lot of white paint.

Now I like it.  And if you know me at all, this next sentence will come as a complete shock.  I USED A MATTE VARNISH!  That's right, no shiny shine.  This is the first ever time I've finished one of my acrylic paintings with a matte varnish.  Craziness.

On another note, I told myself I was going to write a poem every day in July.  The day's not over yet so today is still in the running, but here is the first one:

Watering the Hydrangeas

An unexpected loss

of nature's maple canopy

reunites the earth

with sun-filled sky,

and shade lovers drink with gratitude.

In my Opinion

Yes, I have an opinion.  Normally I wouldn't share for fear of offending people with opposing views, but this time here it comes.  I think it's important to title your art.  And I don't mean something like "Abstract #47" - that's rubbish.  No offense to any artist who has a piece called "Abstract #47" of course, but what does that tell a buyer?  That you crank out your work one after the other after the other, and you don't care enough to put any thought into naming each piece?  That there are 46 other paintings that probably look just like this one?  Or - I've heard this a lot - you want the viewer/buyer to engage with the piece without any pre-conceived notions?  And you don't put hanging hardware on your abstract pieces because you want the buyer to be able to hang it the way they like best, right?  I won't flat out say that's lazy, even if it's what I'm thinking, but man - what a missed opportunity.

I am a firm believer that when you sell a piece of art you are also selling the story behind that piece.  People are interested.  They want to know how and they want to know why.  For example, the painting in my last post called "Shit Storm" has a whole long story behind why I chose that name, and it's interesting.  If I list it on Etsy I will put the story in the description.  The more information you give, the more ways a potential buyer has to connect with the piece.  You give them talking points they can share, which then helps even more people connect with your work, and with you.  Many years ago an artist we represented at Frame of Reference told us the blue splatters behind the heron in her painting were actually made when her cat dragged his tail through wet paint and accidentally flicked it across the painting.  It was a great story and a great talking point - people love those details.  Give them the story.

Here's another example - the reason for this whole post.  I've got a new alcohol ink piece curing right now and when I was custom mixing paint for the sides of the cradled board there was a moment when the yellowy gold color looked exactly like Dijon mustard.  I don't know this because I'm a mustard aficianado - I'm still trying to figure out how a bottle of the stuff got into my fridge - but that was the first thing that popped into my head and it stuck.  Hence, here is "Dijon Palm" -

HAHAHAHAHA!  Dijon Palm.  It's not much of a story, but it's a part of the piece.  FYI, I took these photos pre resin so I have no idea what it will look like in its finished state tomorrow.  The trunk of the tree started out a lovely shimmery copper and right now it's looking a little more green.  Unpredictability.  I am slowly learning not to get attached to anything until it is well and truly done but one thing's for sure - this piece will always be mustard to me....

Mess Making

Have I shown you this one?  I shared it on Instagram a while back but I can't remember if I posted it here:

I call this little pile of nonsense "Shit Storm."  When I pulled it out to varnish today I realized it looks like a shrieking skull so maybe it would be good cover art for a death metal band album.

Anyway, we're here today to take a quick gander at my art "stations."  When y'all come over to see my alcohol ink Valentine you can see this in person, but here's my first art space:

That's a door lying flat on top of a smaller desk.  When I moved back to Vermont and created this space I was SO EXCITED about how much room I had.  Graduating from a small piece of a kitchen counter to an entire DOOR - well.  I was beside myself.  And now look at it.  I did zero cleaning and/or organizing before taking pictures so this truly is what it looks like right now.  Opposite the table is a set of shelves that holds most of my art supplies:

When I started doing fluid acrylic work I moved to a room that could handle some potential paint splatter.  Not that any of the carpet here is precious, I just felt fluid paint needed to be contained.  So that's what happens here:

Yes, it's a bathroom.  Built-in seating for one.  And yes, this bathroom has a foyer.  I cannot explain it.  The dresser holds my cradled panel supply and the box on the floor is where my vortex paintings come to life - the banding wheel is in there.

Pardon the photo bomber.  The only thing you can't see is the shower stall over in the corner and yes, of course there are paintings in the bathtub.  Of course there are.

The third art "station" is my alcohol ink table, which is out in the living room:

Yep, what a mess.  Organized chaos.  And here's where I have some resin curing right now:

And here's my dining room table:

I am surrounded, there is art everywhere.  Happy happy happy.  And, because I couldn't wait another minute, I lifted up that white lid and pulled the tape off the sides of the piece that's not quite cured yet.  One speck of dust will need to be sanded out but here's my Palm and Moon:

HA!  Yeessssssss.

Through the Trees

Okay, my interwebs friends, get a drink and settle in - this might be a long one.  We're going to talk about alcohol ink.

That's part of a To Do pile I'm working my way through.  What you see is a stack of cradled wood boards; as a size reference the top two are 4" x 4" and the bottom one is 8" x 10".  The sides have been painted to match the image on the front.  Here are the finished pieces I sent out in a Christmas box:

Those were my prototypes.  It's funny that I love this art form so much - I'm an instant gratification person, and these art blocks have a zillion steps and take forever to finish.  Hence that To Do pile.  Here's how it works:

The background for each piece is alcohol ink on Yupo paper.  I should run next door and take a picture of my AI work table but that would require some effort so it's not gonna happen.  Maybe tomorrow.  I should take pictures of each of my art "stations", they keep multiplying.  But I digress.  Yupo paper.  It's not actually paper, it's "100% recyclable, waterproof, tree-free synthetic paper".  Tree-free paper - that's good.  It's plastic.  Made from polypropylene, it's perfect for alcohol inks which work best on a non-porous surface.  Alcohol inks are dyes that are basically suspended in alcohol; when the alcohol evaporates it leaves translucent color behind.  Unlike water based inks, they are not re-activated if you get them wet but they ARE reactivated if you sprinkle them with alcohol.  Isopropyl alcohol, not vodka.  (Fun fact - Sharpies are alcohol based.  You can make homemade alcohol ink with Sharpies.)  In the picture above the circles were made by dropping a different color of ink onto the already inked Yupo - it pushes away the color beneath as it spreads out.  I loved those circles so much I put that image on my Christmas card.

After I have several sheets full of fun colors and patterns, I pick one I want to use as a background, then custom mix acrylics to paint the sides of the cradled board to match.  A lot of artists who use cradled boards leave the sides as raw wood but for me that's an unfinished look.  So I paint the sides, wait for them to dry, then "glue" the Yupo to the face of the board with gel medium.  This process involves a palette knife, a brayer (or a stainless steel water bottle for those of us who don't have a brayer) and a stack of heavy books plus 15 pounds of barbell plates to weight it down while it dries.  Yep, more drying time.  Then I pick another sheet of inked Yupo that works with the background and cut out my trees.  We're almost done, right?  Nope.  But we are done next door.

Now that we're over in my kitchen, I use a glue stick to adhere the tree pieces to the background and let that dry under a stack of cookbooks.  Then I tape the sides of the cradled board with painter's tape and prep for resin.

Now, another side note.  When I started my '78 Series the end product was supposed to have a resin finish but, as I mentioned in a previous post, it's a fiddly process that requires a level surface and a dust-free environment.  I have neither.  Good lighting also helps, and I don't have much of that either.  Two other things that up your chances of success are warm temps and low humidity.  I keep the thermostat set pretty low next door in the winter, hence our transition to my kitchen counter.

Here's why I love resin as a top coat:

Isn't that shine yummy?  It's a glass-like finish.  I use Art Resin, which is a two part epoxy resin that is non-toxic with no VOCs and not much of an odor.  Some epoxy products are HORRIBLY STINKY and very toxic (if there's a skull and crossbones on the label just walk away).  Art Resin also contains a UV stabilizer and HALS - hindered amine light stabilizer - to keep it from yellowing over time.  It's also food safe, just in case you want to lick it.

So back to the kitchen.  I start with parchment paper to protect my counter; cured resin peels right off the parchment but would become a permanent part of the counter itself, like the drip on my dining room floor that I constantly think is dog drool.  I mix the resin for three minutes, pour it on, clean up my tools, use a butane torch to pop the air bubbles that formed during the mixing process, then cover the piece so dust doesn't land on it.  You have about a 45 minute window of working time before the resin has cured to the point where it's too sticky to futz with.  During that time air bubbles will continue to appear out of nowhere and work their way to the surface of the resin.  It is imperative that you babysit the piece.  I check mine three or four (or five) times looking for bubbles before I finally walk away, and the downside to constantly checking is you create more opportunities for dust to land in the curing resin.  Hopefully, 24 hours later, you end up with something like this:

I LOVE this piece.  Good thing, too, since I can't sell it.  No matter how well you babysit your resin, shit still happens.

Yep, that's a dog hair.  And there's this piece:

Cool.  I love how the background looks like an abstract landscape.  But I don't love this:

See that?  Air bubbles.  Here's another one:

It has a pimple.  That piece was a total experiment - the background is tinfoil.  I use a jelly roll pan lined with tinfoil as my work surface and one day I loved the pattern left behind on the foil.  I didn't know if it would work - some interesting wrinkles happened in the gel medium step - so I cut my trees out of Yupo that was in the questionable pile.  Turns out it worked fine, except for the pimple.  Luckily I can fix the bubbles with a little light sanding and a second layer of resin, but the dog hair is right on the surface of the Yupo so it has to stay.

Here is the metallic pink Valentine that looks so much better in person:

Seriously, you just need to come to my house to see how glorious the color is.  And here's what else is on my dining room table right now:

There are four more that still need resin plus a funky new one curing in the kitchen.  And I haven't mentioned that there's still ANOTHER step before they are finished:  I put two coats of a matte varnish on the sides to protect the acrylic paint.  I  like the contrast between the super shiny resin and the matte finish of the varnish.  The downside is the varnish takes two weeks to fully cure.  It's dry to the touch in a day, but full cure time is two weeks.  So all in all, each piece takes a good 16 days from start to finish.  Not exactly instant gratification, eh?

Everything about this process has been a fascinating learning experience, from figuring out what tools make the coolest patterns in the alcohol ink, to which painter's tape is best for taping the sides (there is a difference - learned that the hard way) to seeing how some of the inks react with the resin.  That last one is a bit of a crap shoot, and you don't know if it will happen until after it does.  Like this one, which I photographed right next to the piece of Yupo I cut it from:

Crazy, right?  It reacted within ten minutes of me pouring on the resin.  I'm adding an additional step to my process pre-resin, which is actually two steps because it's two products that seal the ink and also add another layer of UV protection.  Will this keep all the ink from reacting with the resin?  Who knows, but it can't hurt - I wish I saved the rest of that purple Yupo so I could do a test.  Will it make a 16-day process into a 17-day process?  Why yes, yes it will.  Good thing I love this stuff.