Advent Liturgical Art, 2025

For Advent, 2026, I worked with Kay Wolff and many wonderful people at First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley to create a liturgical installation. 

 

 

The theme was Christ's family tree, and we invited congregants to create book boxes that represented their stories as part of the vast family tree we are a part of.

 

We involved children and adults in the installation, using collage, assemblage, and paint in craft faux books to tell about their journeys. Then we suspended them from manzanita branches. We added old hardcover books, painted with the names of Christ's ancestors,  and suspended them with fishing line so it looked like they were flying.

Many thanks to everyone who contributed! 

The experience deepened my love of this community during these troubling times.

 

My Mentors

I have installed my show entitled My Mentors at my church in the Bay Area. It consists of 28 portraits of my students, each one 12"x12". 18 of them include statements that they wrote about themselves and are shown with their permission. I feel that their words really deepen the work and help to show their humanity.

My Mentors will be up until February 15, 2026. If you would like to see the show, or if you would like to exhibit the paintings, contact me at carol.aust.art@gmail.com.

These people have deeply impacted my life. I have learned so much from them about resilience and hope.

 

Painting my Neighbors

This entry is a continuation of the previous one. 

In short, I am teaching English to some of my neighbors, and they have very kindly allowed me to paint their portraits. In doing so, I'm trying to reflect their kindness and sweet directness and optimism. Take a look and let me know what you think. 

 

Portraits of Hope

 Before I was an exhibiting and selling artist, before I was an Artist, I was a teacher. I started with teaching first grade, which lasted two years, and then moved on to English as a Second Language, which I did for 5+ years.

So it was natural, when I heard of a need for English teachers in East Oakland, for me to sign my name on a clipboard and be standing in front of a classroom two weeks later. The room was vast and dimly lit and stiflingly hot, but the 25 students sitting before me stole my heart in an instant. Mostly young adults from Guatemala, they are learning the basics--pronouns, "to be" verbs, and what to say if a masked officer comes to their door. There's another class in the basement that's getting its instruction from a Spanish speaking teacher, and two classes above mine that are more advanced. Perhaps 50% of our students are very new to this country, and they feel safer attending classes in their neighborhood, rather than attending public adult school classes.The teachers and a dozen or so aides are all volunteers, mostly from my church. We gather two nights a week, and at 8:00 we take a break and eat sandwiches and tamales while their kids run around the playground.

It was also natural that their faces would start appearing in my paintings. I'm creating a series of small 12"x12" portraits in which I try to capture their sincerity and humanity. 

  

 So far I've made 25 portraits, but I'm nowhere near losing interest. I am so inspired by their hopefulness and optimism, and teaching and painting them has lifted me from despair in these troubled times. I am so grateful to them. They are my teachers.

I hope to exhibit these portraits in churches and public spaces. If you have any ideas on where I might show these, please, let me know. 

Art Postcards at a Retreat

I have sets of art postcards that I sell in sets of 50 and are used in all sorts of ways.

My friend, Jane, sent me these photos and wrote, 

I spoke at the Wayne Pres Women's Retreat this weekend (on Transitions) and we used your art cards.

The team purchased 100 cards and framed 50 and placed them all around the Chapel for the 50 women in attendance.

The frames were double sided, so many women chose two pieces.

Your art opened the women to understand, share and articulate what was stirring in them in astonishing ways.

I wished you could have seen the emotion, connection, epiphanies...

Lenten Installation

 For Lent this year I proposed an installation at my church, First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley, of Christ embracing a cluster of self portraits. In these stressful days, I wanted an installation to remind us that we are safe and loved. I worked with children and adults who painted themselves or someone they loved on small inexpensive canvases. I prepped the canvases with a common head size of 10" and a purple background that was consistent with Jesus' robe which worked to unify the portraits. 

To install these portraits against a wall that couldn't have nails, we lay the canvases face down, laid a raw unstretched canvas on top, stapled through both, and then hung the large canvas from above.

I learned a lot from doing it, especially that it's risky to paint Jesus! I was a little intimidated about painting Christ, so I copied a portrait that Rembrandt had done of a man in the Jewish ghetto of Amsterdam. 

The portrait of Christ struck a nerve for a congregant, who explained to me, "I go into many churches that are full of white Jesuses, but they don't bother me because I know my church doesn't do that. So when I saw the Jesus here, I couldn't stop crying." So I climbed a 10' ladder and darkened his skin, but it was still problematic. The person explained that Jesus's posture, hovering from above, felt dominating, and this person was from a tradition that didn't have any images of Christ in the sanctuary.  It was a delicate situation, so just in case other people were also having issues with the installation, we had a question and answer time after a service.

I love working on paintings in the privacy of my studio, telling myself that no one will see the finished work except myself, tricking myself to paint honestly. Doing this installation challenged me to dialogue and compromise at times, but I felt like I learned so much and felt a deeper bond with the member who struggled with the piece initially. And I love seeing congregants interact with the piece after the church services.

On Easter Sunday I added a dove.

It's Going to Be Alright

 Today I received this email from a collector named Justin: 

Recently, I acquired It’s Going to be All Right at the Studio Gallery auction for Marin Food Bank. It’s just what I needed in my life!

I became chair of the Department of Biochemistry at the University of Washington a few months ago, and now we are dealing with very scary and uncertain times with respect to scientific funding and the future of biomedical research. It’s a serious crisis, with many of my colleagues facing major disruptions to their research programs, and the mood has been bleak. I put your painting upright outside my office, and people have really appreciated it. It’s hopeful spirit, but in a clearly unsettled environment, captures the moment for many of us. I thought you’d like to see it in its new home, so I have attached a photo here.

Thank you for your lovely, inspiring work. I feel so lucky to get to look at both these paintings everyday.

 

Thanks, Justin, for all you do!

14 Days, 10 Paintings, 2 Cases of Covid

 

It's my last day at Dorland Mountain Arts Colony. 14 days, 10 paintings, 2 cases of Covid.

I am so grateful for the time here, even with all of its challenges. When there's nothing to do except hike and paint, I paint a lot! Some paintings are stronger than others, but by painting so much is such a short time, some solid pieces will rice to the top. 

Thank you, Janice, for facilitating this space. Thanks, too, to Rebecca, Gretchen, Emily and Jeff, for letting me join the sunset gatherings with my mask!

Two Weeks at Dorland

Dorland Mountain Artist Colony is a cluster of cottages and studios perched on a mountain overlooking Temecula, California. The area is dry desert, but there are hidden springs on this mountain that nourish oaks and ferns. They nourish artists, writers, and musicians as well, who come for a week or more to finish projects or search out new inspiration. It's very quiet here except for crows and coyotes, the hiss of cars on the highway, and occasional helicopters in training at Camp Pendleton.

I'm 11 days into a two week residency, but in some ways it feels like I'm just getting started. I was exposed to Covid before we arrived here and spent four days quarantining until the medicine kicked in. When I was able to paint, I felt intimidated by all of the wood panels that I had brought and wondered if I'd be able to create anything fresh and new with the time I had left.

Fortunately, there is a magic about this place. The high desert landscape feels remote and pristine, in contrast the the lights of Temecula that spread out below. There's not much to do here except hike and paint and perhaps watch the sunsets with the other residents. As I write this, rabbits and blue jays explore outside my window. I am so grateful for the quiet here, and I have no excuses for procrastination, so I am painting all the time.

I've been thinking about the story in the gospels about how Jesus fed 5000 people with a few loaves and fishes that a child brought to him. I look at my paintings here and feel like they are very meager gifts for our troubled world, and that's okay.

Slowing Down at 80 mph

 A road trip is a different type of creative journey. Unlike a residency, where I delve deeply into the quiet and paint without distraction, a road trip is all about distraction.

On October 22, Ed and I headed east with a car loaded with paintings, ice chest, suitcases, and books on CD. Our destination was Denver where my sister and her kids live and I have a small but loyal following of art collectors. We started at Yosemite, where the two main visual themes of the trip began, a fascination with cliffs and tunnels.

From there we drove on over the Tioga Pass and down across Nevada on a blue highway, only pausing to let the cattle cross. I continued pursuing cliffs and tunnels at Zion National Park, and then we were on to the Rockies. We got to the Mile High City the day before their first major snow storm of the year, but we we able to make a visit to Denver's Santa Fe art district and connect with some lovely artists there.

I had contacted my Denver collectors before the trip and was able to deliver three paintings and various art postcard orders while I was there. Thanks to everyone who braved the storm and got their art! It was lovely to have time with my sister and her kids and grandkids.

After four nights in Denver, we headed home. We stopped in Manti, Utah for the night, in a fascinating art house, a restored 150 year old cabin with the owner's art studio next door. Then on to Great Basin National Park, Nevada, with the most beautiful hike of the trip at the Bristlecone Pine Trail at 10,000 feet. Too amazing to paint, but I might try. Liz at the Stargazer Motel in Baker, Nevada, made us feel right at home. The next day we set the cruise control at 80 and breezed across Nevada on Highway 50, pausing just for an occasional coyote or jack rabbit or that elusive hot tea and scone.

We did the 3000 trip in 12 days. We wanted to avoid flying as a nod to the effects of air travel on our climate, but as we stood and watched navy fighter places circling over a desert base on our last day on the road, it felt like futility. Does one car on one highway do anything to help the planet? But there was an irony that driving on a lonely road actually slowed me down, gave me fresh eyes, detachment from the Bay Area frenzy. And there were such lovely interactions with people so different from myself--Airbnb hosts at Zion and Manti, my art people in Denver, and my beloved sister and her tribe.

The Evolution of a Painting

My paintings go through many stages.

This one started by discovering a 40-year-old canvas of mine in a friend's mother's house. We were there helping our friend to prepare the house for sale after her passing, and I eyed the 48"x60" stretcher bars greedily. Our friend was overwhelmed and was glad to let us take the wooden supports while his brother took the painting. When we got it home (thanks, Brian, for transporting it), we restretched it and I covered it with a pink base coat. We had just been at a friend's wedding, so the bride and cake quickly appeared. Big billowy clouds were soon replaced with the deep greens of a forest.

Next I projected a photo of Redwood Park onto the canvas and painted in the negative space of the sky, peeking through the branches.

I fleshed out the darker branches and fussed with the guests.

It felt like they needed a table, and I added a baby being tossed into the air; I didn't want the bride and groom to be the sole focus.

Details of the figures gradually appeared...

They needed a few more chairs, some softenings on the colors...and the painting is done!