Afterglow

First Morning at Stone Creek Ranch. Mountain Home, Arkansas

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for people to dwell together in unity”

Psalm 133:1

The quiet of Studio Eidolons on a Sunday evening grants me this opportunity for silence and grateful remembrance for all the events of the past couple of weeks that time didn’t afford for recording and posting (wi-fi was also nil). My experience of making art with six precious souls who showed such warmth and reception to others filled me with feelings of beatification. Several times I heard remarks such as “doesn’t this beat sitting at home watching cable news?” Someone else responded, “At least artists are not hurting anybody or spouting negative remarks.” We truly felt the warmth of dwelling together in unity.

Over a year ago, I was booked to teach this watercolor workshop at the Women Artist Retreat. The day finally arrived September 7, and the picture above shows the lovely Stone Creek Ranch with the resplendent sunrise that filled me with gladness.

Lovely morning light

As I awaited the arrival of twelve artists and the other instructor (six students apiece for oil and watercolor classes), I strolled the grounds to seek out plein air subjects. It didn’t take long for me to select the one above, particularly because the separation of warm sun and cool shadows was equally attractive during the “golden hours” of morning and evening.

Oil Painting Instructor Sandy Arnault demonstrating

I found oil painter Sandy Arnault to be a genuine delight, and regret that I could not attend her classes, especially when I witnessed her demo the first evening. She will soon travel to Kentucky to pursue her equine studies. Her oil paintings of horses are superb, and she is still fervently studying this craft.

Everyone immediately set to work

It seems that every workshop has its “firsts”. This one was no different. My tenth-grade art teacher, Mr. Leo Hoeh, an ardent watercolorist, taught us to stretch watercolor paper on canvas stretchers, explaining that the paper would dry more quickly than if we used watercolor blocks or taped the paper to a board. When I returned to making art in my mid-thirties, I resumed this practice, assuming all watercolorists did. Boy, was I wrong. Every class I teach and every demo I perform before watercolor audiences brings surprise from everyone. They ask me where in the world I came up with such an idea.

I prefer 90-lb. D’Arches paper, not only because it dries the quickest, but because it is the least expensive, and proves to be a quality, sturdy surface that withstands all my abuse of masquing and scraping. So what was my “first” this time? That every single student, upon watching my demonstration, immediately got out her tools and began stretching one, two, and three surfaces for her own use, before the first class even got underway. Walking around, watching them work with such focus, brought back warm recollections of those (rare) moments in public school when an entire high school art class would enthusiastically pursue a new task.

First Session Underway

The first day scheduled a pair of three-hour sessions. I surprised the students when I presented my plan for them to create two 8 x 10″ watercolors by day’s end. Every single student completed that task. The paintings featured a lone bison and a cowboy seated under the stars, leaning back against his backpack. Throughout the day, we moved back and forth between the two works, allowing one to dry while picking up the other. It was amusing, watching the traffic flow out into the sunlit ranchland to lay paintings out to dry, and return to resume the other painting, then repeat the process. This assured that no one would overwork a watercolor by overpainting it while it was still wet. It also allowed them continually to put fresh eyes on a resumed piece that had been out of sight drying in the sun for 15-to-20 minutes. Without fail, each student presented a pair of completed, fresh watercolors by the end of the day.

All the ladies enjoyed Shiner, our studio assistant

Throughout the day, we were accompanied by an eighteen-year-old Siamese cat, the only Siamese that I have ever found to be affectionate and cuddly. The little fellow always sat in the chair next to me when I worked alone in the studio, often climbing on the table to shove his face into my hands and nuzzle my wrists and arms while I worked. I could never express adequately the gladness I felt at the women’s conversations while painting. Oftentimes, there would be silence for several minutes as everyone focused on the work before her. But then the comments would resume, and all of it was positive, engaging, and affirming. The bonding experience was one I’ll never stop recalling.

Plein Air Pleasure

The second day was plein air. As usual, several students admitted they had never tried it, had always felt too intimidated. I tried to take the sting out of it by reminding them that plein air was more about sketching, experimenting, information-gathering; many times our plein air pieces do not result in completed, frameable paintings. They help us turn corners, open new chapters. I gave about a five-minute talk, covering these points, and I could sense the enthusiasm beginning to percolate. And of course, they spread out over the acreage, forcing me to walk many, many steps in order to see their work and offer instruction. I’m glad my smart phone was able to record my steps; I went far beyond my quota on that day.

My own Plein Air Setup

My own Plein Air Experiment

Three Meals a Day

I doubt that anyone looks forward to mealtime more than I. But dining with this crowd was superb! Again, the conversations, the laughter, and oh, the jokes! But as I wrote earlier–artists don’t hurt people. The togetherness was great as was the food.

Dana Rowell Johnson, our Chef Extraordinaire, oil painter and leader

Debby Lively, our watercolorist and leader

Dana and Debby not only pulled together this complex event; they also participated in the classes, so every artist had the privilege of making art alongside a leader. Their confidence and positive attitudes kept the event lively and light-hearted. I’m very grateful to both of them for pulling off such a successful event.

And of course, Shiner

I cannot close out this blog without one last reference to Shiner, my companion in organizing and setting up our watercolor studio. He had no problem spreading his love around to all the participants, and was never bereft of attention and affection. I miss him (but don’t tell my dogs).

My notes for the plein air session

Today, while finally unpacking my gear, I came across this napkin on which I jotted my talking points for the plein air session on the second day. I decided not to throw it away, but keep it among my memorabilia on the shelves here in my Studio Eidolons. Every time I pass by this shelf I’ll be reminded of those special moments spent at the Women Artist Retreat.

Yes, today has definitely been an afterglow. My love goes out to the women artists of this retreat that I will never forget.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

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The Cabin

1902 home preserved in Flippin, Arkansas

It’s good to be back in The Gallery at Redlands again. Much of my imagination, however, lingers in Arkansas and Missouri, so it is likely that I’ll continue posting recent pictures from there.

While teaching the watercolor workshop in Mountain Home, we drove to nearby Flippin to take another look at this 1902 home. A railroad magnate built two of these homes when he lived here. One has disappeared, and this one was moved next door to Ozarks Realty Co. in order to keep a watchful eye on the property.

I have done a watercolor of this building four times and sold them all. My plan is to try again in the near future. Below is the second painting I did of the subject. I noticed from the recent photograph that they have replaced the four pillars in front, I suppose for better stability.

One of my watercolors of the subject

This cabin makes me think of the one Muddy Waters lived in when he worked at Stovall Farms and was discovered and recorded by Alan Lomax. Perhaps if I paint it again, I’ll put a blues musician on the front porch.

Thanks for reading.

Making Art does not have to be an Exorcism

Framed Watercolor 16 x 20″ $400

Painting isn’t an aesthetic operation; it’s a form of magic designed as a mediator between this strange, hostile world and us, a way of seizing the power by giving form to our terrors as well as our desires. When I came to that realization, I knew I had found my way.

Pablo Picasso, quoted in Francois Gilot’s Life with Picasso

With temperatures plummeting into the 20’s, we’ve built a nice fire and settled in for this Saturday night. I’ll be working late on my university syllabus due Monday with classes beginning Wednesday. But I wanted first to frame the watercolor that I finally completed and put it on the blog before returning to the school work.

I’ve understood Picasso’s theory of art as exorcism for about thirty years now, and always enjoy re-reading his testimony concerning it. I believe I understand his perspective, but do not myself follow it. But it gives me a chance to respond with my own views.

When I make art, I am reproducing the world I want to remember: my Proustian world with all its rich memories that delight my senses as I embrace, enfold and try to mold them back into visible form. Many people use memory, calling up mental images to hold their past, to bring their past back into their present. I draw and paint the objects, the narratives most precious to me.

In the spring of 2011 I had the privilege of judging a plein air competition sponsored by the White River Artists of Cotter, Arkansas. During that three-day venture, I was taken to this rustic cabin in Flippin, Arkansas, dating back to 1905. This was one of the first two homes built in that town. Currently it sits on the property of Ozarks Realty on U.S. 62/412 west of the town of Flippin. I spent a delicious morning sketching this cabin with watercolor en plein air. Once I returned to the studio, I created two additional paintings of it, closer to a 20 x 24″ scale. Both of them have since sold, but the image continues to abide with me. So I’ve decided to try and render a third one.

Plein Air attempt

First Attempt years ago

2nd attempt

I cannot describe every sentiment that visited me while I worked on this piece. I will happily join some of the artists from the 2011 event in September for a four-day watercolor workshop. I cannot believe that it will have been eleven years since I last visited this location. Another sentiment I felt while painting was the feeling that Andrew Wyeth was looking over my shoulder nodding his encouragement and approval as I worked. His masterful drybrush watercolor studies of rustic subjects always abide with me when I’m in the studio.

Monday night I’ll be conducting a live demonstration and giving an art talk for ARTIUM, an arts association in Mansfield, Texas. We’ll gather at the Chris W. Burkett Service Center at 620 S. Wisteria Street from 6:30-8:30.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Slinging Hash

In the morning sow your seed,

do not let your hands be idle in the evening.

Ecclesiastes 11:6

But lest I should mislead any when I have my own head and obey my whims, let me remind the reader that I am only an experimenter. Do not set the least value on what I do, or the least discredit on what I do not, as if I pretended to settle any thing as true or false. I unsettle all things. No facts are to me sacred; none are profane; I simply experiment, an endless seeker, with no Past at my back

Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Circles”

In the mornings when I read, I frequently find contrasting opinions and laugh. The first quote above was the sentiment with which I awakened; no sooner than I was sitting up in bed with coffee, I was journaling and plotting a trajectory for the weeks and months ahead, thinking all the while that it is already the second week into the new year, and I haven’t sufficiently set out my “business plan” for 2022. Then I read Emerson! I laughed because I had just finished sketching a bison in my sketchbook, and immediately asked “Now why am I sketching bison when I should be planning out my semester that begins next Wednesday at Texas Wesleyan University?” Hooray for Emerson.

After plenty of satisfying reading, I rose from bed and went to the studio to look for something to do next. I framed an Indian motorcycle that I sketched yesterday, then searched among my stored mats for something suitable to put around my Arkansas cabin. Now that I have it framed in an appropriately-toned mat, I’m ready to “compositionalize” the watercolor and tighten up some of the details I still haven’t addressed. It may be finished today, we’ll see.

Thanks for reading, and I hope that you have an “Emerson” kind of day!

5 x 7″ pencil drawing in 8 x 10″ frame $100

Not much work left on this one . . .

Morning sketching exercise

Need Solid Stone to Polish

Continued work on the Arkansas Cabin

Practice sketch of Chair

You write like you got no balls at all. You need some solid stone to polish. You’re not a Flannery O’Connor, you’re not James Joyce, forget it. I would like you for once to put some words on paper that actually matter to you.

William Cotter Murray’s challenge to Bruce Dobler, Iowa Writers Workshop

I’m thankful for this winter interlude to re-focus on what I wish to accomplish in 2022. The calendar is already filling with spring watercolor classes, a university Ethics class, a demonstration before an arts society, and two art festivals (between now and May 1). Meanwhile I’ve wanted to be like a farmer in winter who performs maintenance on fences and tractors, orders feed and supplies, and tends the daily feeding of livestock. The farmer works year-round; only the tasks vary. Same with the artist. Seasons and weather set the agenda for what we do, and when it is too cold outside and holiday shoppers alike cool off in January, February, March, I find it useful to make art and tend the calendar so as not to be hit broadside when the action arrives.

There are a number of painting and sketching projects already filling my portfolio and littering my studio. Before going back to The Gallery at Redlands on Thursday, I am hoping to get some more creative tasks accomplished.

The quote above from William Cotter Murray sounded in my inner consciousness while I was tentatively poking at this cabin watercolor. Suddenly I was tightening up on the watercolor, and voices from long ago began to invade: Murray chiding Dobler, along with my own painting professor snapping at me in class: “Loosen up!” Taking out some books of Andrew Wyeth and Edward Hopper drawings, I decided it best to take out the pencil and try to sketch loosely the chair I’m planning on inserting into the cabin watercolor. As I drew and later painted, I decided to put on the DVD of Stone Reader so I could listen to writers and critics discussing the dynamics of writing (much of it parallel to painting). I decided, “True, I am not Andrew Wyeth, I am not Edward Hopper. What I need to do is put something down on paper that actually matters to me.” Forget style. Just render the cabin. Remember the solitude. Recall the silence. And paint away.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

The Apple-Bug has Hatched

Everyone has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had stood in a farmer’s kitchen for 60 years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in Massachusetts — from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still, as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it; which was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the heat of an urn.

Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodness in the dead dry life of society, deposited at first in the alburnum of the green and living tree, which has been gradually converted into the semblance of its well-seasoned tomb may unexpectedly come forth from amidst society’s most trivial and handselled furniture, to enjoy its perfect summer life at last!

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Waking at 4:30 this morning, I lay in the darkness of The Redlands Hotel and allowed my mind to embrace the new ideas visiting in the pre-dawn. This precious story from Henry David Thoreau I have not read or taught for over twenty years, yet it arrived in my half-awake consciousness to punctuate the New Year meditations I’ve been scribbling in my journal for nearly a month now. I lay there in the darkness this morning, wondering what kind of heated urn had been placed on my consciousness to hatch this story. Finally reaching for the light, I decided to begin the day and head for the kitchen to sit at the table awhile and write while the ideas are still fresh.

When I think of the sixty years it took for a “beautiful bug” to emerge from the dry wood of the kitchen table, I cannot help but look back over my own sixty years of hacking through my own wilderness of earthly experiences. The voices of teachers, words from texts, co-mingled with sights and colors of my surroundings have combined their efforts to weave a tapestry that I survey daily with hope of a fuller undersanding.

As I write this at the kitchen table in suite 207, I think of a partial watercolor on the drafting table on the floor below me in The Gallery at Redlands. I worked on it till nearly 10:30 last night before turning out the lights and coming upstairs. Now I think of the painting lying in the darkness below waiting for me to come back for today’s visit, and I am ready.

Yesterday during a watercolor class in the Gallery, Vanessa, Jessi and I mused over the perennial question asked of us about how long it takes to create a particular work of art. We concluded that the answer corresponds to the years comprising our ages–the watercolors we were making at that moment have been “under construction” throughout our entire lives. So . . . if someone asks me how long it took to create this watercolor of an Arkansas cabin, my answer would be “sixty-seven years.”

Sixty-Seven Years and Counting

I’m ready to get back to work on this watercolor, glad that the morning is early and it is still dark outdoors.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Arkansas Cabin Study

Working in Studio Eidolons on Arkansas Cabin

Sagot: I’ll show you what makes it great. (He goes to the bar and picks up the Matisse. He takes it out of its frame. He holds up the frame.). This is what makes it great.

Gaston: The frame?

Sagot: The boundaries. The edge. Otherwise, anything goes. You want to see a soccer game where the players can run up into the stands with the ball and order a beer? No. They’ve got to stay within the boundaries to make it interesting. In the right hands, this little space is as fertile as Eden.

Steve Martin, Picasso at the Lapin Agile

This morning I was reading one of my favorite plays (above) over coffee before a nice fire (temperatures outside are rising, so it appears the fireplace weather will be suspended awhile). The text above leaped off the page at me, because I had been re-reading Heidegger’s lecture on Nietzsche titled “Rapture as Form-engendering Force”. In the heart of the lecture is the discussion of the ancient Greek conception of form and matter which always gets my attention as a two-dimensional artist. Recalling a painting I’ve done at least four times of a 1902 home in Flippin, Arkansas, I pulled the images this morning and decided I would take another crack at it, this time allowing the entire structure to be in the composition rather than just the right portion. I haven’t paid enough attention in the past to compositional matters and the picture plane. Part of my 2022 Resolutions includes addressing that.

Remains of a 1902 Residence in Flippin, Arkansas

(sold)

(sold)

The two large watercolors have been framed and sold, and I’ve since decided I want to create yet another one, this one in the structure’s entirety.

I’ve tried to put in extended time in Studio Eidolons today because yesterday burned up four hours of round-trip travel to Palestine. The good news is that the Tourism Bureau granted the $15,000 request for which the Dogwood Arts Council had applied for an upcoming public art event. the not-so-good news is that I put in zero time yesterday in the studio. I’ll try not to let that happen in the future.

The January calendar is already filling up. I have scheduled a watercolor class for two in The Gallery at Redlands Friday afternoon. Beginning next week, I’m on the calendar to teach Watercolor Wednesdays at Show Me the Monet Gallery in Arlington at Gracie Lane Boutiques. My dates are January 12, 19 and 26 from 1-4:00 p.m. If any of you wish to sign up for a class, phone Gracie Lane Boutiques at 817.468.5263. They are located at 4720 S. Cooper St., Arlington, TX 76017.

I will also be speaking and giving a live watercolor demonstration for Mansfield’s ARTIUM the evening of January 17. And I also accepted a contact to teach an Ethics class again at Texas Wesleyan University on Monday and Wednesday mornings. One class vs. three should be much more doable for me with everything else going on. I’m pleased also that I have been accepted to participate in Artscape 2022 April 29-May 1 at the Dallas Arboretum. This is one of my best festivals of the year, and I’m already gearing up to crank out as much fresh work as possible to frame and package for the booth when that date rolls up.

There is much that interests me as I pursue this cabin painting yet again. I have so much I want to learn in rendering the rusty corrugated iron roof, the rusty screens in the doors, the stained wood siding, the cut-stone steps in front, and finally the wildflowers and green foliage framing up the cabin. For several years I have wished to return to this cabin painting and am glad to be starting out 2022 on this project.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Continued Work on “Palimpsest”–Measure Twice. Cut Once

pal•imp•sest

noun

a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Home again in Studio Eidolons, I’m finally rested and refreshed and ready to return to painting. I did maage to get some work done over the weekend in The Gallery at Redlands on this building I discovered in Little Rock, covered with ghost signs. I am thinking about titling it “Palimpsest” because the layers of signage from early 19th to mid-20th century remided me of my earlier years of seminary studies when poring over photo facsimiles of ancient biblical palimpsest pages.

Ghost signs have been my passion for many years, and my dear friends the Darrs just gave me a very fitting birthday gift, an out of print book, Ghost Signs: Brick wall Signs in America, by William Stage an amazing author and photographer with a background in philosophy. I am nearly finished reading the entire text and am deeply touched by this statement from art critic John Brod Peters:

On ancient, peeling brick walls, these fading signs are the dying whispers of another age.

Reading that, I felt the hairs raising on the nape of my neck. This particular building in Little Rock, Arkansas is the 1891 O’Bryan building. The orginal painted advertisements were covered by an adjoining building in 1915. When the newer building was torn down in the 1980’s, the ads were visible again. The Coca-Cola ad barely shows beneath the Tom Moore cigar ad.

Studio Eidolons in the Morning

The day in studio has been soothing, and the watercolor is now slowing down considerably. The old adage “Measure twice. Cut Once” is in play as I spend more time staring at every square inch of detail than actual painting. The mortar seams in the brick work are slowing me down as is the parking lot and sidewalk just barely begun. When I am this deep in a painting, I tend to tighten up and sometimes lose the freshness and spontaneity that I love to see. I’m glad there is no deadline for this piece.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Sunday Morning Musings from Studio Eidolons

Glad to be back in the Studio for some Quiet Restoration

. . . finding you were able to make something up; to create truly enough so that it made you happy to read it; and to do this every day you worked was something that gave a greater pleasure than any I had ever known.

Ernest Hemingway

Today is restoration day. Sandi and I received our second COVID vaccine shots yesterday and are happy to experience no unpleasant symptoms. We’ve just been on the go for several days and are glad now to stop for awhile.

I’ve resumed reading Carlos Baker’s Hemingway: The Writer as Artist. I love the quote above, and that general sentiment of the artist–creating something out of the void. My life has been enriched in recent years by a mix of painting and writing. Last weekend while in The Gallery at Redlands, I met an author who invited me to join their writers’ group that meets once a month. The next one won’t be until May, but I am already leaning forward with enthusiasm to gathering with these writers and finding ways to sharpen my own vision of what to do with my own practice.

My latest watercolor has laid dormant on my drafting table for twenty-four hours, and I intend today to give it my next push. I’ve gotten bogged down with the bricks and ghost signage, so I may decide to return to work on the trees awhile. We’ll see.

Planning today to return to the Ghost Sign watercolor

I look forward to participating in Artscape 2021 at the Dallas Aroboretum April 23-25. Last year was canceled due to COVID, but I understand that there will be 80+ artists participating this year. This festival has been one of the highlights of my annual art schedule before last year’s cancellations. I am excited to bring out quite a stack of framed watercolors that have not yet been seen by the public. I guess that’s one positive to address concerning the lost year during COVID.

A new Greeting Card for my Inventory

Hank Under Oklahoma Stars

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Walt Whitman, “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer”

Reclining against his backpack, Hank savored the warmth of the fire that neutralized the chill of the October night. He had left Turvey’s Corner just this morning, but thanks to a pair of truckers, had managed to put nearly twelve hours between himself and the town he just left. Finding wide open plains west of the town of Vinita, he now rested his stiff body and gazed in wonder at the millions of stars filling the deep night sky.

The back of the Greeting Card (blank inside)

I have allowed my greeting card inventory to dwindle over the past couple of years. In The Gallery at Redlands, as well as my festival tent, I sell 5 x 7″ cards (blank inside) with my artwork on front and a descriptive text on back. They sell for $5 each, five for $20, and come with the proper envelope. A protective plastic envelope encases the assembly. Above is an example of one of my newest ones printed last week. Materials just arrived to print 250 new cards, so I’m excited to create new editions as well as replenish the ones sold out. Above is an example of one of my newest cards; below is a photo of another spread out.

(Cards are blank inside)

I’m ready to paint again. Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Thoughts in the Night While Painting in The Gallery at Redlands

After a four-day hiatus, it’s good to be working on this painting again

The celebrated biographies give us the sufferings and hardships of the great. But the sufferings and hardships of the unknown are often more eloquent. The tribulations of fate weave a mantle of unsuspected heroism about these lesser figures. To win through by sheer force of genius is one thing; to survive and continue to create when every last door is slammed in one’s face is another. Nobody acquires genius: it is God-given. But one can acquire patience, fortitude, wisdom, understanding. Perhaps the gretest gift the little men have to offer us is this ability to accept the conditions which life imposes, accept one’s own limitations, in other words. Or, to put it another way–to love what one does whether it causes a stir or not. Of the highest men Vivekananda once said: “They make no stir in the world. They are calm, silent, unknown.”

Henry Miller, To Paint is to Love Again

As the hour approaches 9 p.m., The Gallery at Redlands is quieter. My eyes are tired from working on the watercolor at the drafting table (bless you, Tim and Patty for that wonderful gift!). Sitting now at the desk I’ve taken up my continued reading of this beautiful volume from Henry Miller (bless you, Stacy and Leigh for that gift–I still cry when I think of opening the wrapping paper that night!)

I want to dedicate this blog entry to the Unknown Artist, the One who continues to work faithfully on his/her craft day after day, even when no one seems to notice. I salute the artist who realizes the world doesn’t need his/her creative effort; if the artist quits, the world will continue on its way. I still shudder at the memories, the Angst I knew in the 80’s and 90’s. I still remember those nights of sadness when I couldn’t sleep because I was mired in all that self-doubt that arose because of a general lack of recognition or appreciation for my artistic efforts.

The art world has changed profoundly for me since those days. Not that I consider myself successful or widely-known in the art world. I think what it boils down to is the reality that I worked a job for twenty-eight years, earned a pension and retired. Once my job supported my lifestyle around the turn of the millenium, I suddenly realized that I did not need the income for art sales, and I no longer expected to become famous. That turned out to be liberating. As I recall, somewhere around the year 2000, I found myself happy in the act of creating instead of fretting over marketing details or standards of success.

But our world remains filled with artistic, creative, driven souls who suffer, either because they cannot make a living and/or they create without any measure of success or recognition. I don’t know which is worse. All I know is that when an artist is unhappy, I feel guilty because my life has turned in such a way that I have the ability to make art, and love the work, and don’t have to depend on selling it.

I am still surprised to own a gallery now. It has been over two months since we turned that corner, and it is still quite new and quite surprising for me. As for The Twelve in The Gallery at Redlands, I just want them to be successful, and I want them to be happy in their creative work. I want them to know the bliss and fulfillment of having the strength and wellness to pursue their bliss.

I am turned off by art blogs that tell us how to become millionaires, how to market our work, especially the ones who solicit money from us for their packaged programs that guarantee financial fortune. I despise the unwritten sentiment that if we are not financially successful then we are just mediocre or lazy artists. From my perspective, this gathering of The Twelve in our gallery has shown me more love and compassion than I believe I’ve ever seen in social gatherings from my past. There is a wonderful vibe among this community. Something is in the air. And I truly believe that Palestine and east Texas are on the verge of artistic enrichment. I truly believe that The Twelve are committed to improving our community by celebrating art, by delighting in the act of creation. And I am proud to be numbered among them.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.