. . . loved this guy

to pieces. This, of course, is Joey. He is two years old today. When I called him a while ago, he let me hear his new fire truck, which sounds exactly like the real thing and will drive his mama and daddy crazy soon. He held the phone up to the firetruck so I could see it. He and his mom and sister are getting ready to make birthday cupcakes. He is enamored with the color pink, but mom says the cupcakes will be chocolate. This is one smart little boy. He is already talking in complete sentences. His mother was like that, too.

. . .just slouched around

yesterday, did not even go to the basement/studio until late last night. I'm running out of art to show on this blog, and I am scraping the bottom of the barrel with this scan. It's another little experimental piece but it is on cardstock paper instead of foamcore. Maybe I can use this in future collages. I should have been hell bent to make new art after my exciting trip to the Crossroad area.


I guess I spent most of yesterday morning on the telephone chatting with friends and relatives. I was thrilled to hear that I managed to save my mother-in-law over $17,000 in income taxes by asking her tax preparer one question. To me, it means that I haven't lost my chops. . . I still know something about the work I used to do in my previous life.


The weather forecasters around here are predicting snow, maybe a lot of it, starting tonight and continuing through tomorrow. There are blizzard warning for places a couple of hours away from where I live. Usually when the weather folks get this excited, it all comes to nothing. We'll see. I think the stuff in the garden will be okay, because it's not supposed to get all that cold. I just wish it would freeze only the hedge trees, so that in the summer and fall I would not have to go around the yard picking up those nasty hedge balls.


Boring, boring, boring. . . I'm done for today.

. . . got a boost

Yesterday I met with Todd Weiner, the man behind this plan (above). I took all my canvases with me, and he took all my canvases from me. He loves my paintings, what can I say. . . He is holding this auction in a large warehouse-type building with white walls. The door to the place is painted red and framed, just like the image on the card above. The new sign went up this week, complete with what kind of looks like a bullet hole. Todd was full of energy and it was contagious. There were artists coming and going while I was there. There was a lot of art to look at. It was fabulous. Every size of painting. . . collages. . . sculpture. . . even furniture, the kind that is art. And he is just getting started gathering the stuff together. As much of a hermit that I am, as uncomfortable as I can get in unfamiliar surroundings, I felt like I had come home. Credit Todd, and oh, did I mention, he loves my paintings? He was extremely complimentary. Everyone needs a Todd in her life.

That being said, here is another card that he gave me after he asked me if I knew any other artists that might be interested in this auction. This is an oportunity for you to get your own dose of Todd. Send him a email with some jpgs or whatever of your art, and tell him I sent you.

Todd kept saying that my paintings were "controlled chaos" and that they were "feminine" paintings. The feminine part intrigued me. He said my choice of colors made the paintings feminine, that he couldn't imagine a man painting with those colors. Huh.

The other gallery that was at one time interested in showing my art is probably going to go out of business. I'm glad I stopped there before I met Todd, because I was pretty bummed about that, both for myself and for the gallery owners, who are just lovely people.

. . . answered third question

but I cheated: I could not figure out what Leslie meant when she asked "What do you give back to your creativity?" As I've said, I am not a deep thinker. So I went to the source. Leslie and I had a wonderful, telephone conversation earlier this week. I asked her to explain what she was getting at with that question. She pointed out to me that I do, indeed, give something back to my creativity: I give it my time and attention, for one thing. Which is kind of a big deal, when you explore that thought a bit more.








We agreed that everyone is creative, whether they choose to acknowledge that creativity or not. Every time you solve a problem, you are being creative. . . you create a solution. We talked about the plumber, the electrician, and the guy at the hardware store who are fascinated with what I do, intrigued by it, and always say, "Oh, but I couldn't do that, I don't have a creative bone in my body." We talked about how not too long ago, I would have said the same thing. I was always too practical to be creative, I thought. However, those two traits are not mutually exclusive. I choose to honor my creativity by giving it my time and attention, by making it a priority. That's what I want to do. If I didn't choose to do that, then it's because I would rather do something else, or something else is more important. But it's not because I am not creative.





I made these little 6" x 8" paintings yesterday, using up bits and ends of rolls of canvas. The were inspired by paint splatters on a couple of pieces of foam core that were on the receiving end of extra paint from other paintings I had been working on. Art guy called, business is dismal, he seemed a bit cranky, but who can blame him. At his direction, I am meeting with a couple of people today, showing them my latest work, including these pieces. I'm hoping they will be creatively inspired to buy something.


P.S. A little gem from the internet that has some bearing on this topic: http://www.jetsetlife.tv/robsblog/lifestyle/

. . . answered fourth question

One of two similar small paintings where I tried to paint exuberantly

My head hurts. I've been thinking too much. But today I will try to answer Leslie Miller's fourth question, "What are your biggest hopes and dreams for your creativity?"


My wildest hopes and dreams, the ones I didn't even dare hope and dream when I started painting, have already been fulfilled to a great extent, much to my surprise. I make art, I sell art. I can say "I am an artist" and that little voice inside me doesn't always chide me by saying "Who are you kidding?" So one of my biggest hopes is that this will continue, despite all the obstacles currently confronting me. Those obstacles deal mainly with making a living.


Okay, this next hope is kind of silly, and it may not have anything to do with my creativity, but here it is: I long for the day that my kids ask me for one of my paintings for their own homes. Better validation than any number of sales.


I hope that my painting will improve, that I never quit learning; I hope that I will discover new and exciting ways to apply my creativity to my painting; I hope that I will have the guts to stay the course and keep making art despite the obstacles; I hope that I will never quit experimenting. I would like to encourage others to recognize and utilize their own creativity, inspire others to explore and experiment. I would like one day to be a mentor to others, like Martha Marshall and Karen Jacobs and others are to me.


These are just a few, off the top of my head, which still hurts.

. . . answered third question

Yesterday I tried to answer Leslie Miller's first question for artists. I'm skipping her second question because I have to think about it more. However, her third question is: "What gets in the way and frustrates you in your efforts to create?"


For me, the biggest obstacle to creating is my own inner critic, which is very harsh and unforgiving. It's that voice in my mind telling me I'm a fraud, that what I do is no good. It's the voice that discounts all compliments of my work, telling me that people are just being nice, or that they don't really know what they're talking about. It's the critic in me that parses every comment on my work, choosing to ignore all the good things and magnify all the bad. It's the critic in me that even takes the lack of comment as a personal slap in the face.


And the biggest step I have taken to overcome this inner critic is this blog. On this blog, I post everything: the good, the bad, the experiments, what I have learned and what I want to learn. Nothing terrible has happened as a result of this . . . no one has told me to stop posing as an artist. No one has taken away my paint and canvases and said, "You can't paint." So I soldier on, keep trying, keep learning, keep posting. I can't silence the inner critic, but I can try to put it into perspective.


I am fortunate to be at a point in my life where I really don't have many obligations or demands on my time from outside sources. Unlike many artists, I don't have children to care for, nor do I have a career or job other than making art. Sometimes fatigue is an obstacle to creating; sometimes there is just no inspiration, although I think that is a big excuse, because there is inspiration all around if I just choose to see it. Sometimes personal problems or other everyday concerns obscure my abililty to see artfully. And sometimes the mere fact that someone wants to sell my art is daunting. So instead of going with my instinct, I will take the easier route and just make something I think will sell, instead of something that I want to make, and that never, ever works out.


Studying all different kinds of art on the internet and in person has taught me that no matter what I create, some will love it and some will hate it and a lot of people won't care, and it doesn't really matter because I'm doing what I love.

. . . answered first question

Leslie Miller asked four questions in her recent blog post. The first was "What do you get back from your art?"

In just concrete terms, I actually make money from my art, which obviously helps to support me. The fact that people actually buy my art gives me some validation and the impetus to keep making it. I consider making art my job, in a sense that it's something I have to do to keep the cash flowing in. Fortunately, it's also fun, so while it may be a job, it's not something I have to force myself to do (okay, sometimes it is.) I ask myself, "Would I still make art even if I never sold another piece?" The answer is yes. Because it's something I feel compelled to do. The monetary gains were of secondary importance until just recently. But here's what weird: I think I would make more interesting art if I didn't have the selling part of it in the back of my mind all the time. When money enters the equation, creativity and the sense of freedom required for creativity seem to skedaddle. Which is probably part of an answer to another of Leslie's questions, which I will address in a later post.


More abstract rewards are numerous. My art gives me an outlet for my creativity. I discovered that no matter how practical or pragmatic one may be, everyone is creative in some way. Anytime I solve a problem, I'm being creative. Many times making art is a matter of solving problems. I don't need instructions or a recipe; if I screw something up, I think of ways to either incorporate it or fix it.


For me, painting is a solitary experience. Since I am a hermit by nature, this usually doesn't bother me too much. But through my art, I have made connections, both personally and on the internet, with other artists. There is a community of sharing and mentoring artists that sustains me and encourages me and helps me every single day.


My art affords me the opportunity to learn new things every time I am in the studio. Maybe it's how two different colors interact; or how to use a medium of some sort, or what would happen if I put some sand in the paint; or how can I make this painting better; or why do I paint the way I do, when I really want to be able to paint like the guy in the YouTube video, flinging and splashing paint around and coming up with amazing art, when all I come up with a mess of mud. I'm still working on that last one.


Painting gives me a sense of accomplishment, of a job well done; or it whispers to me, "Mary, you have just mailed this one in. You can do better." It gives me joy, when things are going well, and it gives me grief when they are not. It redirects my attention, calms me down when things are upsetting, makes me concentrate on things outside myself. It teaches me patience. It has taught me to accept and enjoy many different forms of art and appreciate the efforts of every artist. And, perhaps subconsciously, it provides an outlet for expressing emotions that are hidden too deep inside myself for me to even recognize. And, like gardening, it's cheaper than therapy.