Posts Tagged ‘David Tripp artist’

David, don’t you ever finish anything?

February 17, 2018

St. Louis winter

St. Louis Snow Scene

David, don’t you ever finish anything?!

That’s exactly what a man said to me years ago when he walked into my temporary studio and saw half a dozen half-finished watercolors. Of course, he wasn’t present when I delivered all of those, plus three more a few weeks later to be framed. Long ago, I realized that if I continually start new pieces, especially when I get stuck on one particular watercolor, that I could increase my productivity. Sometimes I feel like Andy Warhol’s “factory”, especially when a show is approaching. But I consider it a luxury to finish several paintings in a day or two rather than linger two-to-three weeks on one piece, finish it, then lack the momentum to begin anew. With several pieces in progress, I can work on whichever one interests me at the moment, and anytime I get hung up on a particular composition, I can lay it aside and let it compost awhile before returning to it.

The painting above I finished after beginning it last Christmas. I just now framed it and hung it here in The Gallery at Redlands. It is an 11 x 14″ framed watercolor that I’ve priced at $100.

Little Ox

Here is the smaller “Oxbow” watercolor I began yesterday after framing the larger one. I’ve started and stopped on it a dozen times, continually questioning its direction and how to complete the composition.

Colorado

South Fork, Colorado

During one of my stops today, I returned to this piece that I began en plein air last summer in South Fork, Colorado.  The view overlooks the South Fork of the Rio Grande from the porch of the cabin I love to rent at Riverbend Resort. The stream is teeming with rainbow and brown trout and remains one of my all-time favorite places to fly fish. I just completed reservations for that same cabin this coming summer and already I am fantasizing over the adventures waiting there. This piece is also 11 x 14″ framed and priced at $125.

It is 48 degrees, rainy, dark and cold outside the gallery here in Palestine, Texas. I’m used to seeing people walking up and down the streets and sidewalks outside my window, but not today. It’s been a great day to paint.

Thanks for reading.

I paint in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

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Warm Thoughts in a Dark Morning

February 17, 2018

redlands finished oxbow

Completed Painting from Old Town Palestine

Paginini had a formula: toil, solitude, prayer.

Carl Sandburg, “Notes for a Preface”

redlands studio dark

It is Saturday.  Above me, the heavy sounds of the bells of Sacred Heart Catholic Church toll the six a.m. hour. This marks the second weekend I have spent in the basement studio recently completed at The Redlands Hotel, a place that has that warm feel of a second home for me. This still sanctuary beneath the Gallery at Redlands provides space to breathe when the daily round of activities begin to wear me down physically. And the spaciousness of this studio apartment suite with kitchen, bedroom and bath has given me a perfect place for quiet and reflection.

basquiat

For years I heard the repeated stories of Jean-Michel Basquiat in the 1980’s working in a basement studio below Annina Nosei’s gallery in New York City. Because he was African American, comments were made about his being locked in a basement to create paintings for the gallery overhead. He was offended at this, commenting that those remarks had a “nasty ring.” He argued that if he had been white they would have called him an artist-in-residence. For months I have felt deeply honored, being introduced here by Jean Mollard as Redland’s artist-in-residence. I’ll never find words to express my appreciation for being a part of this.

Almost a year ago, Wade and Gail from nearby Crockett, Texas had a dream of opening a gallery in Palestine, a town with triple the population of Crockett. They had already enjoyed their gallery, “Stories of Texas”, that they opened in their hometown, and wanted to open a second one. In March, 2017, they opened The Gallery at Redlands with my three-week solo show. Once the show ended, I was invited to remain, and have enjoyed this special place as my home-away-from-home ever since, spending most weekends here.

gallery at redlands

As 2017 drew near its close, Jean and Mike talked with me of all the changes they were about to make at this historic hotel. Now, less than two months later, I cannot believe my eyes when I enter the ground floor of this 1914 hotel.

Redlands

What used to be the hotel office has suddenly opened into a spacious lobby with comfortable seating areas.

redlands bar

A second office was reconfigured to allow room for a bar with a direct entrance to the Red Fire Grille which came under new ownership in January. Now, in addition to fine dining, patrons can move into the bar area, or into the new lobby seating area, or across the hall to The Gallery at Redlands.

redlands red fire

Redlands lobby

gallery

The change has already been dramatic. During weeknights, more people are showing up and moving about from the restaurant, to the bar, to the lobby and to the gallery. The Redlands Hotel is beginning to take on the aura it knew back in the years when it was an actual residence in the middle of a thriving downtown. And that is precisely the romantic narrative that flooded my being the first time I set foot in this building.

Redlands Wyeth

Tribute to Andrew Wyeth

Last night I said farewell to a painting that had been my companion for forty-two years. I painted this oil while a junior at Northeast Missouri State University. Throughout twenty-eight years of high school teaching, it hung in my classroom. I thought I would never sell it, as I had only two oil paintings remaining from my college years. This one was painted as a tribute to Andrew Wyeth, my patron saint. During the winter of 1975, I took my freshly-stretched canvas north of the college about fifteen miles to Queen City, Missouri, then west several miles out on Highway W to an old farm with a ragged fence line. Setting up an easel, I carefully painted one fence post with its single strand of barbed wire and crumpled mesh. Then I worked carefully on the dead grasses beneath. Returning to the art studio, I rummaged through Professor Unger’s still life objects in the store room, and settled on these remains of a nail keg, spotlighting it carefully. Once it was completed, I felt that I had turned a significant corner on my art endeavors.

Rearranging the gallery display, I decided to hang my oil to fill a large space, not really anticipating a sale. It hung for barely twenty-four hours. Amazing. Forty-two years on my living room walls from apartment to apartment, house to house, and then only one day in a gallery before it found a new home. I’m not feeling any sense of loss; I would not have hung it had I not been willing to part with it. I’m just moved at how the patron viewed it last night and continually praised it, even requesting to have it moved to a better-lighted area so he could view it more closely. The gentleman and his wife looked at absolutely every painting in the gallery, returning to several repeatedly. Seeing someone else like it so much filled me with feelings I cannot describe. I think I have always been that way–seeing someone else happy to look at something I made and wanting to own it is much more rewarding than my continued possession of it. I just hope the patron finds half as much pleasure with it in his company as I have known in the past.

Shakespeare wrote a certain amount of trash–because his theater had to have a new play next Tuesday. 

Carl Sandburg, “Notes for a Preface”

Out of the Steam

Out of the Steam

Along with the Andrew Wyeth tribute oil, the patron also purchased this original watercolor for his spouse. I completed this one just last fall for the train show I was putting together for the gallery. After the patrons departed, I was glad that I was able to go down to the basement studio and retrieve two more framed paintings to fill the gaps in the gallery display. I managed to frame and hang the Oxbow General Store painting yesterday (displayed at the top of this blog). I also have two smaller ones ready to frame and hang today. In 2010 I made a commitment to become more prolific in the event that I would need to meet an increased demand. I’m now glad I did that. Currently I have The Gallery at Redlands filled, as well as a solo show in the Hillsboro Public Library, along with two works at the Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts, and three more entered in a competition. One thing hasn’t changed–I get more pleasure out of making art than selling it. That’s why I’m happy now that some of my pieces are beginning to sell, because I cannot hang all these works in my own home, and loathe the idea of storing them in closets. I only hope that with the increase of quantity will come the increase in quality, because I only wish to get better at this.

The creative geniuses of art and science work obsessively. They do not lounge under apple trees waiting for fruit to fall or lightning to strike. “When inspiration does not come to me,” Freud once said, “I go halfway to meet it.” Bach wrote a cantata every week, even when he was sick or exhausted. Though most composers would kill to have written even one of his best pieces, some were little more than wallpaper music. Eliot’s numerous drafts of “The Waste Land” constitute what one scholar called “a jumble of good and bad passages [that he turned] into a poem.” In a study of 2,036 scientists throughout history, Simonton found that the most respected produced not only more great works, but also more “bad” ones. They produced. Period.

Sharon Begley, “The Puzzle Of Genius,” Newsweek, June 28, 1993

palestine herald

redlands little oxbow

As with the first painting, I’ve decided now to pause and let it “compost” awhile as I turn my attention to framing some other finished pieces. I need to make some compositional decisions on this one before it gets out of hand. I’m unsure at the moment how I want to finish it out.

I started this blog at 6 a.m. Now it’s 9:53, and probably time for me to go upstairs and open the gallery. This has been a nice, quiet, rewarding morning in the downstairs studio. Thank you for sharing the moment with me.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Back in the Hunt

February 13, 2018

ox

The Oxbow General Store, Palestine, Texas

 

The sketch hunter has delightful days of drifting about among people, in and out of the city, going anywhere, everywhere, stopping as long as he likes—no need to reach any point, moving in any direction following the call of interests.  He moves through life as he finds it, not passing negligently the things he loves, but stopping to know them, and to note them down in the shorthand of his sketchbook, a box of oils with a few small panels, the fit of his pocket, or on his drawing pad.  Like any hunter he hits or misses.  He is looking for what he loves, he tries to capture it.  It’s found anywhere, everywhere.  Those who are not hunters do not see these things.  The hunter is learning to see and to understand—to enjoy.

Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

A couple of weeks ago, I began this watercolor of one of my favorite store facades in Palestine, Texas. The watercolor began after a series of rough sketches and fumbled attempts. After I blocked in some of the major parts of the composition and added details, I got hung up on what direction I wanted to take compositionally, so I set it aside for about ten days. Today I resumed it and worked off and on throughout the afternoon and evening. I’ve decided it’s time to lay it aside awhile once again, and re-think how I want to finish it out. I am very attached to this subject, always loving the sights and memories associated with “mom & pop stores” of the 1950s that I frequented as a child. Every detail, every nook and cranny of this facade excites me, and I fear that if I paint everything rather than select an area of focus, that the entire work will be a monotonous congeries of details.

ox2

The greats in all the arts have been primarily romanticists and realists (the two cannot be separated). They interpreted life as they saw it, but, “through every line’s being” soaked in the consciousness of an object, one is bound to feel, beside life as it is, the life that ought to be, and it is that that captivates us! All great painting is something that enriches and enhances life, something that makes it higher, wider, and deeper.

N. C. Wyeth, letter to his son Andrew, February 16, 1944

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.

Honored by County Line Magazine

February 3, 2018

county line

I’ve been honored by an East Texas publication that I have known and followed for nearly ten years now.  The January/February issue of County Line Magazine published the following:

In its 14th year now, County Line Magazine’s annual survey keeps uncovering more and more local gems in the Upper East Side of Texas. Nominations more than doubled this year showing that our region continues to grow as a Texas treasure with delicious food, wonderful attractions and beautiful backdrops, one-of-a-kind shops, exciting entertainment, and many talented individuals.

This year’s winners represent a great selection of the Best in the Upper East Side of Texas.

. . .

Best Artist

David Tripp. Former Arlington ISD teacher David Tripp now enjoys spending time painting nostalgic watercolor scenes from small Texas towns and countryside. His latest endeavor had him spending most weekends working at The Gallery at Redlands in Palestine on “The American Railroad Odyssey” train exhibit during the holidays. See some of his amazing work on his website recollections54.com.

Plein Air Painting in Palestine

February 2, 2018

Shelton Hall

Shelton Hall, Palestine, Texas

It felt good to be able to get out of the house without feeling weak or tired today. The sun was bright and the air cold with snappy winds from the north. I made the one-hour drive south to Hillsboro to check out my show hanging in the library gallery and to schedule the artist’s reception (March 8). The library invited me to extend my show until April 1 which thrilled me, since I’ve been under the weather for such a long time and unable to promote the event (I hung the show the first week in January).  I’ll have more to post about it as we get closer to the reception.

hillsboro

Solo Show, Hillsboro Public Library

After completing the Hillsboro business, I pointed my vehicle east for another long drive, this one lasting two hours. Arriving in Palestine (my home-away-from-home) I unloaded my gear into the gallery as quickly as possible, then set out for Old Town Palestine to see if I could capture this old gin on paper, now known as Shelton Hall. The coffee shop across the street was kind enough to allow me to set up my easel under their patio roof, away from the winds, yet still in place to capture the sunlight. I worked as quickly as I could, until the cold finally convinced me I had been out long enough. Back in the gallery, I applied some finishing touches and signed off on it.

Thanks for reading. I hope to post tomorrow–exiting things have been happening and I’m looking forward to reporting them.

 

Recovery in Silence

February 1, 2018

All profound things and emotions of things are preceded and attended by silence.

Herman Melville

Attendant Not on Duty.jpg

Attendant Not on Duty, Watercolor on exhibit Feb. 15-Mar. 1 at the Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts

Proustian Memories of the Open Door

Proustian Memories of the Open Door, Watercolor on exhibit Feb. 15-Mar. 1 at Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts

In earlier blogs, I’ve explained that a lingering sinus and upper respiratory infection has sharply diminished my energy, and I’ve hardly been able to meet my obligations and appointments the past several weeks. Once I’m home, I seem to head for bed to sleep off additional hours. It’s taking a long time for this junk to clear up. I’m just grateful that it never degenerated into fever, flu, or other debilitating issues.

Today I pronounced for a district Spelling Bee, an event that began at 8:00 and ended at about 3:00 (with a two-hour break in the middle). Coming home, I crashed into bed and didn’t rise till 8:30 p.m. Now, at 2:46 a.m., sleep still eludes me, but I have no appointments tomorrow, and have been wallowing happily in these late-night hours of silence.

So much has transpired this past month that I am still very eager to report. One of the exciting events was being contacted by the Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts to submit two of my watercolors for their 14th biennial Art Auction. My two paintings posted above will be on display in the museum from Feb. 15-Mar. 1, and then will be auctioned. I’m providing the link for anyone interested: http://mmfa.org/support/art-auction/

Driving to Alabama proved to be a relaxing and satisfying road trip of ten-and-a-half hours, and in a future blog I’ll gladly report the pleasures I enjoyed during the return trip through Mississippi.

Again, I am grateful for all the kind responses I’ve gotten from readers and well-wishers during this lingering illness. When I’ve felt well enough to read, I’ve enjoyed thoroughly the quiet hours of thought. I finally finished Walter Isaacson’s Leonardo Da Vinci biography, and have less than one hundred pages left to finish his engaging work on Steve Jobs. The quote I posted above from Herman Melville was lifted from a fascinating piece I read just posted on my Facebook by a friend I’ve always admired. The piece is titled “Science Says Silence is Much More Important to our Brains than we Think”, written by Rebecca Beris. I’m sharing the link to this as well: http://www.lifehack.org/377243/science-says-silence-much-more-important-our-brains-than-thought

Again, thanks to all of you who care enough to read my thoughts and reports of things happening in my corner of the world.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

 

Flushing the Agenda

January 27, 2018

blind blog

I hate to seem greedy—I have so much

to be thankful for already.

But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.

And go to my place with some coffee and wait.

Just wait, to see what’s going to happen.

Raymond Carver, “At Least”

Carver’s poetic words were what my soul needed this Saturday morning. I’m in The Redlands Hotel in Palestine, my favorite home-away-from-home. My only gallery appointment is Sunday afternoon, so I’m in the building, with my phone if anyone needs me, but it’s so luxurious to sit in this lovely apartment space on the second floor and feel all the cares and anxieties of the world roll off my shoulders.

I’m still under the weather (as are most of my friends) with this lousy congestion that just won’t go away and stay gone, even with help from physicians. And outside, it is cool and rainy and dark–a perfect day for indoors, coffee, books, and a smart phone that is my link to whomever needs me.

For my blog readers, I just have this to say–I have a number of blog posts in the hopper that I am still revising before sending them up the flagpole, thank you for being so patient, those of you who look forward to reading and knowing what is going on in my corner of the world. Despite my illness, many things have transpired over this past month, and so many good things are in progress that I really look forward to sharing on this page. All I can say is Soon (I hope).

Thank you for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.

 

Taking Notes, on Paper

January 9, 2018

solo show

Take notes, on paper. Five hundred years later, Leonardo’s notebooks are around to astonish and inspire us. Fifty years from now, our own notebooks, if we work up the initiative to start writing them, will be around to astonish and inspire our grandchildren, unlike our tweets and Facebook posts.

Walter Isaacson, Leonardo Da Vinci

On Monday, I returned to the public library in Hillsboro to put the final touches on my solo watercolor exhibit which will hang till the end of February. Once the task was complete, I sank into a comfortable sofa at the end of the gallery and read for awhile, enjoying the perfect silence and rest. This marked a transition into my next enterprise–the Humanities curriculum for Texas Wesleyan University had just arrived via email, and I had only nine days till the start of the spring term. So . . . I sat in the soft light of the soothing gallery, surrounded by my art, and began reading and sketching out broad ideas in preparation for the new class.

That was yesterday. Today, Tuesday, I spent the entire day in my study, going over all my resources for the seventeenth-through-twentieth centuries of Philosophy, Art, Literature and Music. Once I laid out the scope and sequence of the spring semester and drafted a syllabus, I settled into writing an introduction to the seventeenth century, and then the reading of Francis Bacon’s Novum Organum, a treatise I had known about for decades but never actually read as a primary source. And as I read, I scribbled, in my journal, on index cards, on sheets of computer paper, sheets of legal paper and post-it notes. And the more I scribbled, the happier I felt, recalling the thrill of the search in college days and early days of teaching.

Humanities is a course I was privileged to develop for the public high schools way back in 1989, and then later was invited to teach at Texas Wesleyan University. But I haven’t taught the course for nearly ten years, and I am so enthused to return to the discipline. The history of ideas has always fueled my imagination, and now once again, I am granted access to these fine minds of history, with hopes of inciting interest in the young minds of our culture. A part of me is glad that I’m still a week away from the first day of school, as I’m still preparing, but another part of me wishes I could walk into that lecture room in the morning.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

Opening of my New Solo Show

January 8, 2018

show3

Today I put the final pieces in place for my new solo show that just opened at the Hillsboro City Library on 118 S. Waco Street. Below is a copy of the flyers I’ve placed at the entrance to the show:

Proustian Moments

Watercolors by David Tripp

How many times have you looked upon a subject and felt suddenly “visited” by a warm, primal memory from your past, a memory worth holding in your heart? And then, just as suddenly, that sensation is gone, yet you continue to hold on to the memory. French novelist Marcel Proust wrote stories about those sudden shocks of recognition from our past. Hence, we refer to them as “Proustian Moments”. 

With watercolor pad and digital camera at his side, David Tripp spends hours driving in his Jeep, poking around the sleepy Texas towns along county roads, searching for subjects to paint.  Every day presents a new opportunity for discovery of some artifact reminiscent of earlier decades of energy and prosperity.  Today, only the shells and husks remain of filling stations, general stores, movie theaters and other public buildings formerly stirring with conversations, stories and glimpses of life.  These monuments are disappearing from our landscape, but not our memories.

show2

The gallery space in the basement of the library is magnificent and I was able to fit eighteen watercolors comfortably around three walls. The reading room on the main floor and second floor balcony provide an excellent environment for study and reflection.

library

show4

This show will hang till the end of February. An artist’s reception will be scheduled for some evening in February. As soon as the date is set, I will certainly post it.

Thanks for reading. I’m finally well enough to be out and about . . .

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.

Excavating Layers of Creative Eros

January 1, 2018

desktop

Most of what we express creatively is prelinguistic. The deeper insights are obviously coming from somewhere. They are not logically structured in the mind, but it may take logic to get them expressed.

Ian Roberts, Creative Authenticity

As the initial day of 2018 stretches into the cold night, I continue to appreciate the warmth of my fireplace, an excellent biography (Walter Isaacson’s Steve Jobs), an illness finally ebbing, and good thoughts of past years as well as anticipations of the one dawning.

I’m glad that I managed to take up the brush awhile today and pick at an old watercolor never completed. Glad also to eat, nap, regather strength and enjoy a comfy chair. The New Year season has always been one of reflection for me, and this current one has not hit yet on all cylinders, because I haven’t had the physical comfort to engage my mind or imagination (medication as well as illness tends to dull my creative eros).

But I do want to take this moment to acknowledge the completion of one of the most amazing years of my life. In 2017 I experienced the luxury of retiring from a full-time job that set most of my agenda for nearly three decades. On the heels of the retirement came the opportunity to teach part time at a small, intimate university. This reduced-time schedule has allowed me to pour more meaningful preparation into classes that I never knew as a full time public school teacher. The passion I knew many years back when there was more quality time to prepare classes has returned.

This was also the year that I received the gift of a beautiful gallery space where I could showcase my work with a pair of solo shows and enjoy working weekends in its studio. This amazing gallery experience has opened several brand new venues that I look forward to sharing on the blog in the months ahead. I am deeply thankful for the gifts that life brought me over this past calendar year.

And now, leaning forward into 2018, I’m glad to have a little space between college semesters, space to peel back some layers of my creative attempts from the past and make some important goals for what lies ahead.

Thanks for reading.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.