tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14498965815080957812024-03-08T03:41:19.409-08:00Carol Aust's Painting a Day Blog<a href="http://www.carolaust.com">www.carolaust.com</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger391125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-2551579227070939052023-11-27T14:02:00.000-08:002023-11-27T14:02:39.781-08:00Slowing Down at 80 mph<p> 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.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP3CDfbODdIFoXdAAIU7-pEAb_X0giTMc5CHzUdVEemB_O5OV5r-NyBWFtZ5xy4CKkYDOdrEArHdfD3YSHm_tK4tnANof1wc695ucgkMtxfLbGYJeDltFhYBazphYhI7Wb2J1QADvlX_C5b6pvlRPgOLByMo6ccjsB3Y50Y6BoIgSncXiZRvpcwmx1A/s1000/the-light-at-the-end_53x38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="714" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP3CDfbODdIFoXdAAIU7-pEAb_X0giTMc5CHzUdVEemB_O5OV5r-NyBWFtZ5xy4CKkYDOdrEArHdfD3YSHm_tK4tnANof1wc695ucgkMtxfLbGYJeDltFhYBazphYhI7Wb2J1QADvlX_C5b6pvlRPgOLByMo6ccjsB3Y50Y6BoIgSncXiZRvpcwmx1A/s320/the-light-at-the-end_53x38.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>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.<p></p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9m0SDp4LugcrqKODvGzYCv_EqRe8E56CXN2EtqxlSLr4MSEOYgu57c7pbC5WjVn1hXwjggXMtlYB8ozhgsay5oxdP4ayXcLl9NXRlHCS_IGuxZ9FoQKlzyYsn4sfOyPGH2kSSRewxTYikgILOLI9y0OptNFDyT_hLIDDgIO-GND_Vh7IVM6t56Ipiw/s1000/river-rocks_24x30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="1000" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9m0SDp4LugcrqKODvGzYCv_EqRe8E56CXN2EtqxlSLr4MSEOYgu57c7pbC5WjVn1hXwjggXMtlYB8ozhgsay5oxdP4ayXcLl9NXRlHCS_IGuxZ9FoQKlzyYsn4sfOyPGH2kSSRewxTYikgILOLI9y0OptNFDyT_hLIDDgIO-GND_Vh7IVM6t56Ipiw/s320/river-rocks_24x30.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-3445085586795382832023-09-10T17:50:00.001-07:002023-09-10T17:50:07.831-07:00The Evolution of a Painting<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZpv9hNPt-zrDpmggl9qRTUQur5kSIURxUK6sGVEbtro4UT59uUBinRyHiPg5VElzc0j4fLKhMi7aMsZTvywYauIiXvrsMo0g4TZKUGDhPyb69Q_kSkeYdMFX-WAxmamGIkDriYSO7583fzLaxUHCPWtSKhSRb920p3H7QCUbv0PtfkpJ_aePKkobsA/s4032/IMG_3769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZpv9hNPt-zrDpmggl9qRTUQur5kSIURxUK6sGVEbtro4UT59uUBinRyHiPg5VElzc0j4fLKhMi7aMsZTvywYauIiXvrsMo0g4TZKUGDhPyb69Q_kSkeYdMFX-WAxmamGIkDriYSO7583fzLaxUHCPWtSKhSRb920p3H7QCUbv0PtfkpJ_aePKkobsA/s320/IMG_3769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>My paintings go through many stages.<p></p><p>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.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImkSVZM7slDyc_2bbW3fwE-25CMHclTwNrqKa7UH93ddRH__vBYDiSH_ZVrEu10DJ2Mm_MvDwHGm-elenXpQwYumtiuN9dIsd0_gyeOZdM-NpnJuppVcn9SqWTFadCxW2BzitalpKnMS2Yhe_-VF7tKkfXxAwphRKVWNZQWM2nc6vTfFDPa_ueJKbLQ/s4032/IMG_3770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImkSVZM7slDyc_2bbW3fwE-25CMHclTwNrqKa7UH93ddRH__vBYDiSH_ZVrEu10DJ2Mm_MvDwHGm-elenXpQwYumtiuN9dIsd0_gyeOZdM-NpnJuppVcn9SqWTFadCxW2BzitalpKnMS2Yhe_-VF7tKkfXxAwphRKVWNZQWM2nc6vTfFDPa_ueJKbLQ/s320/IMG_3770.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Next I projected a photo of Redwood Park onto the canvas and painted in the negative space of the sky, peeking through the branches.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtbtkSoosrQIbAkRWvFafcevPGSMb3BukS-Xe2KaSVlyPa4SRHPfLdgaj4aDUvy6GUR08avrgKwG97vagkpshpk0W4E754AkHxETq6OiAJ5gIuEYrDvOIWLBKjfO9TOkc7BPYayAXePGkCTdrTM0TZsyNKaXbUe8yEp5QKMLuCQTIuCLdBUGEBmPrjg/s4032/IMG_3771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtbtkSoosrQIbAkRWvFafcevPGSMb3BukS-Xe2KaSVlyPa4SRHPfLdgaj4aDUvy6GUR08avrgKwG97vagkpshpk0W4E754AkHxETq6OiAJ5gIuEYrDvOIWLBKjfO9TOkc7BPYayAXePGkCTdrTM0TZsyNKaXbUe8yEp5QKMLuCQTIuCLdBUGEBmPrjg/s320/IMG_3771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I fleshed out the darker branches and fussed with the guests.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnjOFH7g_8qz-w5M-GCWoFpnO1kH1mi9dK77Tn9hsqUMOBGRWFDwsnhd5SUYiyubdKeiS11EaCipWVFJsjPZFNHTrD8ptnABxCPMD2hgRPrHHuKd9DE5PUPOZuQZuphukaqE1vSXPMm50UFZxHz5PQyIRAOXWIfGko7fNklohEt2aD-_cEpsymJQuhA/s4032/IMG_3774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnjOFH7g_8qz-w5M-GCWoFpnO1kH1mi9dK77Tn9hsqUMOBGRWFDwsnhd5SUYiyubdKeiS11EaCipWVFJsjPZFNHTrD8ptnABxCPMD2hgRPrHHuKd9DE5PUPOZuQZuphukaqE1vSXPMm50UFZxHz5PQyIRAOXWIfGko7fNklohEt2aD-_cEpsymJQuhA/s320/IMG_3774.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>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.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlsG6e1xyRiQ-5c04IWV2onsZhe68W7sLREijnMPOiOpi0XkxEqWII4dyBLahICEhdbtBHksH-m7kzQS4PlkXIBBeCC_qRJZVVMXJG7WGuS0DUF9n3SxGsSPem9gUHsvFZGm9WLyqsLzuVEqBc8KfQdXirM2SUtoiKW8ruYIJ18C1LVdSg_3EVeisqQ/s4032/IMG_3775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlsG6e1xyRiQ-5c04IWV2onsZhe68W7sLREijnMPOiOpi0XkxEqWII4dyBLahICEhdbtBHksH-m7kzQS4PlkXIBBeCC_qRJZVVMXJG7WGuS0DUF9n3SxGsSPem9gUHsvFZGm9WLyqsLzuVEqBc8KfQdXirM2SUtoiKW8ruYIJ18C1LVdSg_3EVeisqQ/s320/IMG_3775.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Details of the figures gradually appeared...<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCLgqc2ExT5-H2AQ5ms8hoVTfj1N0ZADs9DPcInScdK7iDWRwrBypEAof5QRZRF1FNbWoKybU3gUHmWOKhnnglnFKo1IPbEoxVyIx70HfmdbsZq9RCLc8b-wZ1p3udo0vCNUOV-tbDw1d-HblsgbJZw-j9gWt1313i5oFF9exXoOYR5WHzvY5eqvYtA/s4032/IMG_3779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCLgqc2ExT5-H2AQ5ms8hoVTfj1N0ZADs9DPcInScdK7iDWRwrBypEAof5QRZRF1FNbWoKybU3gUHmWOKhnnglnFKo1IPbEoxVyIx70HfmdbsZq9RCLc8b-wZ1p3udo0vCNUOV-tbDw1d-HblsgbJZw-j9gWt1313i5oFF9exXoOYR5WHzvY5eqvYtA/s320/IMG_3779.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>They needed a few more chairs, some softenings on the colors...and the painting is done!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFOArEJZ0fawSC7wNod5LMLaS1hkZpLi-wK3lQq2xuRCexPKCBhKGlFYWDOXR4Do2HXikTq3cNY3UFupJ7Jjb4DezWIEODJoW9KTKWlLLQAr2AolCXSV0yVT1-E5ep1VHJo-LS7eSbWkbzRHNbFRzQjfD2qK__Z9ET0cM3d9kXqQCaKSJgchLC_XIn3g/s1000/wedding-day_48x60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="1000" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFOArEJZ0fawSC7wNod5LMLaS1hkZpLi-wK3lQq2xuRCexPKCBhKGlFYWDOXR4Do2HXikTq3cNY3UFupJ7Jjb4DezWIEODJoW9KTKWlLLQAr2AolCXSV0yVT1-E5ep1VHJo-LS7eSbWkbzRHNbFRzQjfD2qK__Z9ET0cM3d9kXqQCaKSJgchLC_XIn3g/s320/wedding-day_48x60.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-55247221407617591712023-08-14T18:37:00.000-07:002023-08-14T18:37:46.732-07:00Painting Truth<p><b> I recently had this article published in Radix Magazine.</b><br /></p><div class="thumbnail-wrapper single-big-section-thumbnail single-big-section">
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<p>I am an artist living and working in Oakland, California. I live in a
100+-year-old house on a street of old houses lined with dying magnolia
trees. My children have grown and left home, although the lure of
dinner and the washing machine can entice them back. We have an extra
bedroom that we share with a stream of young adults in transition. The
latest, a young sailor, sometimes needs a place to anchor when she is
studying for her captain’s license, or her money has run out, or she is
recovering from a broken heart.</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile is-style-default"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3288 size-full" height="400" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/open-hand_60x30-514x1024.jpg" width="201" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>So I paint a woman in a boat on a beach, hands open, no oars. The
painting is my prayer for our sailor as she embarks again. Many of my
paintings begin as prayers.</p>
<p><em>Open Hand, acrylics on canvas, 60″x30″</em></p>
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<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3291 size-full" height="400" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/bridge-in-torchlight_46x25-568x1024.jpg" width="222" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>I paint a bridge across a canyon. I paint a woman on the bridge, arms
open, eyes averted. It feels too passive, not right. I cover the woman
with blue. I paint a woman striding forward. I don’t like that either. I
paint a woman dropping her torch behind a night procession. My prayer
is that the young adults in my life, my children and my guests, learn to
separate from the world’s pressures when they need to.</p>
<p><em>Bridge in Torchlight, acrylics on panel, 45″x25″</em></p>
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<p>Every afternoon I descend to the basement of my old house, a cup of
tea in one hand, a plastic water carton with brushes in the other, to
where my studio waits under old redwood beams that creak and moan during
occasional earthquakes. Going down to the basement is like descending
into my subconscious. In the big dim subterranean space, the lights
focus on an easel. When I paint, I become completely absorbed. I step
back and look at what I’ve painted, and then I move in close to paint
more. The hours fly by.</p>
<p>To counterbalance my studio solitude I volunteer as a tutor with
children and young adults, teaching them how to read. Unaccompanied
minors, unhoused youth, teen moms from Yemen—it takes a miracle for them
to learn how to decipher the words on a page.</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3294 size-full" height="399" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/mother-and-child48_14x14-1-1024x1022.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>Later in the day, I put another panel on my easel and paint a mother
and child, another prayer. As I paint it, I put my students in God’s
arms. I rest in God’s arms, too.</p>
<p><em>Mother and Child #48, acrylics on panel, 14″x14″</em></p>
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<p>There’s a second chapter to the paintings I make. Creating art is
like raising children, and just as leaving home is a process, a painting
isn’t necessarily finished once I sign the corner. In fact, its life
has just begun. When a painting leaves my studio and elicits responses
from viewers, the art becomes a living force in the world. Viewers of my
work add the next chapter to the unfinished story, explaining why the
woman is traveling alone, why the couple is dancing in the clouds, why
the party is being held in the desert, what the particular painting
means to them.</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3301 size-full" height="400" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/no_visible_means_of_support-3-769x1024.jpg" width="300" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>Years ago I painted a couple dancing and floating high among lavender clouds. I titled it <em>No Visible Means of Support</em>
and hung it at an open studio. A couple approached me, and the wife
said, “We need to have that painting,” gesturing to the dancers. I
smiled and reached for my invoice book, but she stopped me and
explained, “No, we <em>really need </em>that painting.” So I put the
invoice book down and leaned in. She put an arm around her husband.
“Mark had cancer this year and we had no visible means of support.” The
painting changed and deepened at that moment; it became an instrument of
healing. </p>
<p><em>No Visible Means of Support, acrylics on panel</em></p>
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<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3311" height="213" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/out-the-window.jpg" width="400" /><figcaption class="wp-element-caption"><em>Out the Window, Acrylics on Panel, 24″x45″</em></figcaption></figure>
<p>Another time, a woman called me and said, “I want to buy <em>Out the Window</em>,
but you’ll need to deliver it to me because I’m in hospice.” I took the
painting to a brown bungalow in the East Bay Hills, and someone led me
to the living room where the woman who called me was reclining on a
sofa. I rested the painting against an armchair, and we sat and looked
at it together. It depicted a woman in a blue room, floating out of a
window into a white sky. The woman said quietly, “My grandfather died by
jumping out of a window after he returned from the war.” I paused and
asked her if she wanted me to take it away. She answered, “No. I always
thought that when I died I’d go into darkness, but as I look at this I
realize I’ll go into light.” </p>
<p>Three weeks later, her friend called me and told me that the woman
had died. I offered to take the painting back, but she said, “No, her
husband wants to keep it. It comforts him.”</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3303 size-full" height="396" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/no-worries_24x24.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>A few months later, a gallery director took some art of mine to a
potential client, including a painting of a woman and four children in a
flying boat. As she unloaded them in the client’s driveway, the woman
gasped and explained that her husband had died suddenly a few years
before, leaving her with four children and a large company to run. She
took the painting and hung it in her bedroom in order to focus on the
strength of the woman in the boat.</p>
<p><em>No Worries, acrylics on panel, 24″x24″</em></p>
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<p>Often, I don’t hear the stories; I just see the tears. People will
apologize as they dab their eyes and say, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
and I’ll respond, “That’s okay. It happens.” I know the art is touching
a nerve, bypassing a wall they’ve erected.</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3304 size-full" height="398" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/embrace-1024x1018.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>A member of my church bought one of my paintings of a mother hugging a
girl at an auction. The next Sunday she explained through tears, “My
mother died when I was eight. When I look at that painting I feel like
God is holding me.”</p>
<p><em>Forest Hug, acrylics on canvas, 18″x18″</em></p>
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<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3305 size-full" height="299" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/tell-me-all-about-it_9x12.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>A woman wiped tears as she looked at Tell Me All About It, a picture
of a mother listening intently to her child. “My mother listened to me
like that,” she explained, and then paused and went on. “I just realized
that today is the anniversary of her death.”</p>
<p><em>Tell Me All About It, acrylics on wood panel, 9″x12″</em></p>
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<p>As an artist, I approach the canvas humbly and honestly. There’s no
formula to follow. I’m not consciously trying to evoke emotions in the
viewer, and I can never predict what paintings will touch people.
Sometimes a piece of art will be unnoticed for years but then hit
someone very miraculously. All I know is that if I’m faithful to God in
painting my deepest truth, sometimes God uses the art to speak to
people. The invisible becomes visible in a way that bypasses language.
There’s a mystery here that I don’t understand.</p>
<p>In the dining room of our old house, I often extended the table by
wedging an artist panel in the middle. For the five years before Covid,
we would unlock our front door every Wednesday evening and put on a big
pot of soup or a casserole, and fifteen to twenty-five friends (and an
occasional delivery person) would come and dish up, laughing, arguing,
and pushing their chairs back to make room as more guests arrived. It
feels like a dim memory now. When the pandemic swept through our city
and overflowed our hospitals, we kept our doors locked. I begin a new
canvas, a canopy of trees with a golden opening in the distance. But
what should I put in that archway moving towards the future? I paint a
solitary woman carrying a suitcase. But I’ve painted her too many times
these past years, so I cover her with pink. I paint a solitary woman on a
bicycle, but I paint over her, too. I become so frustrated that I put
the canvas away, facing the wall. I feel like a failure, like I’ll never
paint anything good again.</p>
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3307 size-full" height="399" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/come-as-you-are_36x36.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p>I wait a couple of weeks and pull it out, and then the miracle
happens again. I paint a gathering of friends with suitcases piled
nearby—not a big group, but one that’s beginning. It’s good enough, and I
feel deep relief. But then I have to throw down my brush and run
upstairs to start the soup. People are arriving for dinner soon.</p>
<p><em>Come As You Are, acrylics on canvas, 36″x36″</em></p>
</div></div>
<hr class="wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity" />
<div class="wp-block-media-text alignwide is-stacked-on-mobile" style="grid-template-columns: 33% auto;"><figure class="wp-block-media-text__media"><img alt="" class="wp-image-3413 size-full" height="335" src="https://www.radixmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/carol-aust.jpg" width="400" /></figure><div class="wp-block-media-text__content">
<p><br /></p>
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-23323694806991882682023-03-31T17:55:00.001-07:002023-03-31T17:55:30.819-07:00WPA Art in Washington DC<p> When I was a girl, my dad would take me and my brother and sister to San Francisco once a year. It was a big event, worthy of white lace anklets and black patent leather shoes. We'd ride cable cars and buy tiny sea shell baskets at Fisherman's Wharf. Then, as the fog rolled in and the neon signs flickered on, we'd walk through North Beach to a cafeteria my dad had liked since college. Across one big wall was a large mural depicting life in the City back in the 1930's, and Dad explained to us that it was a WPA mural. He told us that through the Works Progress Administration during the Depression, the government had paid unemployed artists to do all sorts of projects all over the country, like the murals in Coit Tower and mosaics on the UC Berkeley campus. We went back a few years later and discovered that the mural in the cafeteria had been replaced by large photos. We were indignant. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtW3QGhxmJ3p46G_uzPDz-BzaBSUPiUroOwj0Ulbm2QlOo0mmF-jJyWaCb7oaEGNGMWRMkbf2-w-NHJ-K1VmV4KdF_qWFIjyDuysCWFWfReUJ1MS9WkS8Q8e1w8W4ByW47wFHR6_oVyYXxxkN0u3qunBB0U9GzdlTabtoGleFvZ-eiAvVCS1UCnmhz/s4032/IMG_3228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtW3QGhxmJ3p46G_uzPDz-BzaBSUPiUroOwj0Ulbm2QlOo0mmF-jJyWaCb7oaEGNGMWRMkbf2-w-NHJ-K1VmV4KdF_qWFIjyDuysCWFWfReUJ1MS9WkS8Q8e1w8W4ByW47wFHR6_oVyYXxxkN0u3qunBB0U9GzdlTabtoGleFvZ-eiAvVCS1UCnmhz/s320/IMG_3228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Ever since then, I've had a special place in my heart for WPA art. Last week in Washington DC, I saw these paintings in the Smithsonian. I love their accessibility, the way they captured real life.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEt0zf6UDpO7dcqja0Fsc0MGCwSrKH-H1aX2BOeDQB33aX1s9eZ0N--3wUV4lApyfk870ELW9RGjNocaons4lzVBIkJNgOcLVhSJgn7eUtJdHVdN0tv08Oeay6Kn0qBu_gHNRbF7husuKUWJfUavGxb6SAH5x53x3zBi10qs0GNcProz52IA92ISb/s4032/IMG_3223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEt0zf6UDpO7dcqja0Fsc0MGCwSrKH-H1aX2BOeDQB33aX1s9eZ0N--3wUV4lApyfk870ELW9RGjNocaons4lzVBIkJNgOcLVhSJgn7eUtJdHVdN0tv08Oeay6Kn0qBu_gHNRbF7husuKUWJfUavGxb6SAH5x53x3zBi10qs0GNcProz52IA92ISb/s320/IMG_3223.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1v6BaQ7bRIaHzl4TND-C6SD3mlQanVnueX3hGUEXxexgd9DwGu6lHp5MuUzejV8OtQH90cPOmOa5OiVwP_TR7-6VJRlJcb6hQ-8TrgrAbieqs-SaI9F-CilPsr2BjZeaDuYUerOyRGxK_Q2chCf7Oih-MolkW8_6ZkQiSN5NZ9h8pgiRbL3jUmyw/s4032/IMG_3222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1v6BaQ7bRIaHzl4TND-C6SD3mlQanVnueX3hGUEXxexgd9DwGu6lHp5MuUzejV8OtQH90cPOmOa5OiVwP_TR7-6VJRlJcb6hQ-8TrgrAbieqs-SaI9F-CilPsr2BjZeaDuYUerOyRGxK_Q2chCf7Oih-MolkW8_6ZkQiSN5NZ9h8pgiRbL3jUmyw/s320/IMG_3222.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgHC-mSFp2L2Ya01EW98VLO0Tbd7HNaIjALf5uLthdLfufOSIcCG7wcMXs5rh8NWfQJwn1na9Y8hzcJQqS6zkZZJvLeCHxsmE4Fmd7T_uTW7KKy1IBSD4u4bBl_SddJwKleh2TPqlonYTNmlHFrRaUOW6040dVUUfc-PKbNVNAFhMMK6ZY8KAyzkp/s4032/IMG_3217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgHC-mSFp2L2Ya01EW98VLO0Tbd7HNaIjALf5uLthdLfufOSIcCG7wcMXs5rh8NWfQJwn1na9Y8hzcJQqS6zkZZJvLeCHxsmE4Fmd7T_uTW7KKy1IBSD4u4bBl_SddJwKleh2TPqlonYTNmlHFrRaUOW6040dVUUfc-PKbNVNAFhMMK6ZY8KAyzkp/s320/IMG_3217.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>This last painting was done by Matsuaburo George Hibi while he was in an internment camp during World War II. It's entitled "Coyotes Came Out of the Desert".<br /><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-57163937941787373832023-03-22T16:34:00.000-07:002023-03-22T16:34:08.471-07:00The Prowl for New Inspiration<p> I am in New York right now. I am on the prowl for new inspiration.</p><p>It's been a whirlwind. We flew into JFK on Saturday night and were picked up at the curb by our dear friend, Doug, and his daughter, Hannah. They helped us check into our AirBNB in Harlem and then took us out for Thai food.</p><p>New York! It's been much too long! Sunday morning we wound our way through Central Park, photographing stone arches for future paintings, and gradually making our way to the Met. It felt so luxurious to have all the time I wanted to get completely lost among so much great art but also be able to find my old favories--Portrait of Madam X by Sargent and this painting by Illia Repin. This started the recurring theme of the art that has grabbed me this week: portraits with intense direct gazes, portraits that transcend time and place.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiljJvZ9XgzW6bAuIv0U6BjNu8qj3Pt6P8GX5v1bwHz9mIunah8GmiTj2q2bFkMifvCgXri8wT6kYk9rFpuqTDD4mKUYleysc0uyu_GN_LmD9Y81-V9Sr-D4ajDaxyWiGKi5PlM7vsrTCa8-2E9GMTQDnsLolt6ziikYfCqPHN6WjviyLcWEUQjaUk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiljJvZ9XgzW6bAuIv0U6BjNu8qj3Pt6P8GX5v1bwHz9mIunah8GmiTj2q2bFkMifvCgXri8wT6kYk9rFpuqTDD4mKUYleysc0uyu_GN_LmD9Y81-V9Sr-D4ajDaxyWiGKi5PlM7vsrTCa8-2E9GMTQDnsLolt6ziikYfCqPHN6WjviyLcWEUQjaUk" width="180" /></a></div>We started Monday at Cafe Sebarsky and then headed upstairs to see the paintings by Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele among others at the Neue Galerie. Then on to MoMA, where I sketched notes for future paintings. More wanderings through Central Park for more bridges and arches. Tuesday was our day to hit the galleries in Chelsea, including a show at David Zwirner where Gerard Richter is showing his final paintings. (How does an artist know it's time to put down his brush? What will my final paintings be?) Wednesday we hit the International Center of Photography for a stunning portrait show--more of those direct gazes.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilcdjoFjpU7zClm3J4YT1ZYoPXTHnpE9vXeapNLLbS278MegDkxzsUvlpUAbl-IJusT3ZwkEl858oxM1wbioGJW7auToxPQh68XEte6laWMEIeRZCMh8YtZteWSElpUH7NfuwsNnJWfeb75Epc-6iYjPPoBPFdiSxADqHCBQavHbsbL2iYMT2Yn5I" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilcdjoFjpU7zClm3J4YT1ZYoPXTHnpE9vXeapNLLbS278MegDkxzsUvlpUAbl-IJusT3ZwkEl858oxM1wbioGJW7auToxPQh68XEte6laWMEIeRZCMh8YtZteWSElpUH7NfuwsNnJWfeb75Epc-6iYjPPoBPFdiSxADqHCBQavHbsbL2iYMT2Yn5I" width="180" /></a></div>This has felt very much like a work trip, just what I need to do to keep my work fresh and strong. Exhausting but important. Tomorrow we will take the train to Washington DC and continue the prowl for new inspiration.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipqg3Zjse8xgnfPCBw7_SozGRYlqa1hOEEosYw_Do4uWzeGsq_06b9O0WTskhwAFNjzF5Ek3v6BroKmHSRPQa4pF9etvcxgj4k9zRuAiOK6P-C22nuTunccp30qoUb6_kwFEZKSh7gtkfYevedjbYxvlgqi0UKpwmNRTJ-zo5cIaQ8XuRH5MEJFXs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipqg3Zjse8xgnfPCBw7_SozGRYlqa1hOEEosYw_Do4uWzeGsq_06b9O0WTskhwAFNjzF5Ek3v6BroKmHSRPQa4pF9etvcxgj4k9zRuAiOK6P-C22nuTunccp30qoUb6_kwFEZKSh7gtkfYevedjbYxvlgqi0UKpwmNRTJ-zo5cIaQ8XuRH5MEJFXs" width="180" /></a></div><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-76987280215727622952023-02-12T19:12:00.000-08:002023-02-12T19:12:06.562-08:008 Steps to Getting an Out-of-Town Gallery<p><br />Getting gallery representation can feel overwhelming, especially when looking for places far from home. I was recently talking with some artist friends about my strategies, and I thought I'd share them here as well.</p><p>To get a local gallery, be friendly. Go to their events, and talk with them about the work they show. But if you already have a local gallery or there aren't any galleries in your community, how do you find representation farther away? I've been working with galleries across the country for 20 years, and I've come up with a system that works for me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Create a body of work. Put at least 20 paintings, preferably more, on a website. The work must be strong and compelling, images that stop people in their tracks and make them want to take a second look, art that would break your heart a little if they sold. Galleries want to see volume as well so they can know that you will be able to keep them supplied if their collectors get excited and buy the work.</li><li>If you can visit galleries in other towns, that's great, but it's not always possible. In that case, research galleries on-line. Consider second-tier cities or vacation destinations; don't start with New York. Google-search art galleries in a city where you have family or friends and could visit cheaply and where your people could be called on if you suspect funny business once your work is there. (I've called on friends to help me retrieve work when a gallery suddenly closed under Covid.) Visit the websites of artists you admire and see where they're showing; this might open you up to areas you hadn't considered. Type in "art galleries" on Google Maps for a place you'd love to visit. My sweet spot is finding communities 2-5 hours away from where I live, because I can transport the work in a day if need be, without paying for shipping. Keep in mind that what you're looking for are galleries that are showing art that has a commonality with your work but is different in some ways. Perhaps you do monotypes, and they show etchings or screenprints. Or you have a series of nocturnal landscapes, and the gallery shows landscapes but none at night. Don't approach any gallery that says on their website that they're not taking solicitations or that they only show local artists; they'll just be annoyed that you didn't study their website carefully.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam79aKAiRRCDYqZZEnasdMaWCtWRrsbzV0deqUYdtrTkJgG6QS6OA2vqVVmRGIGNxX7kQEuc9ct3I-ghg0AJdVUzKhWBT8u6lxtr-5ad9ezNuGetNb6llgJmY8PPO-QqHCyn9aAW-wo1jtItzIjhIWfpUUARps52dmwQtvMAd99MDIMJzJA8Mz0rH/s4032/IMG_3018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam79aKAiRRCDYqZZEnasdMaWCtWRrsbzV0deqUYdtrTkJgG6QS6OA2vqVVmRGIGNxX7kQEuc9ct3I-ghg0AJdVUzKhWBT8u6lxtr-5ad9ezNuGetNb6llgJmY8PPO-QqHCyn9aAW-wo1jtItzIjhIWfpUUARps52dmwQtvMAd99MDIMJzJA8Mz0rH/s320/IMG_3018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></li><li>Print a book of your art, a small catalogue of available pieces. I create a 7"x7" paperback on Blurb that has about 30-40 pages. I put my name on the cover and have my contact info on one of the first pages, with a great image and statement after that. After 20-30 images of my work, I include a CV that lists my show history and current representation. I order twenty copies for about $20/piece. (<a href="https://www.blurb.com/books/1133233-carol-aust-paintings-2010" target="_blank">See an example of one of my past books.</a>)<br /></li><li>Create a packet that includes a cover letter, explaining what stood out to you about their gallery and why you thought my work would fit well there. Address the cover letter to the gallery director; if their name isn't on the website, a quick phone call to the venue helps. In the packet include your book, the cover letter, a business card, and a stamped self-addressed envelope. I put all of this in a glassine envelope, arranged so my name on the book cover is visible from the outside. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWTmKIfsT706QQcE4QzR21n5fIV9OXhtJSk60KtvXGCe-acpvwQru3K6r2e2SQfUyyzvSMWHXktxLbTI3KWbKirMGh0RNMH_hheuWH3mxeBcafUv9ShmZ3DKFzEYpN1aa7TzTZ50BIWOkNjDiO57d2403rBKML-2RQIPg1P2IzE7uqkn3qsiotKDk/s4032/IMG_3016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWTmKIfsT706QQcE4QzR21n5fIV9OXhtJSk60KtvXGCe-acpvwQru3K6r2e2SQfUyyzvSMWHXktxLbTI3KWbKirMGh0RNMH_hheuWH3mxeBcafUv9ShmZ3DKFzEYpN1aa7TzTZ50BIWOkNjDiO57d2403rBKML-2RQIPg1P2IzE7uqkn3qsiotKDk/s320/IMG_3016.JPG" width="320" /> </a></li><li>Mail it out! I send out as many as 20 packets at a time, and from that I'm happy if I get one nibble. My studio mate thought that was too much; she sent out three packets and got two new galleries at the first crack. Another artist I know printed out 2000 catalogues of her work and shipped them all over the country and Europe. Keep a record of every place you send a packet to, and add to that record every time you email or call the gallery or hear back from them.<br /></li><li>Follow up with an email to the galleries a day or two after the packet arrives. Mention the packet. Include a couple of images of your work, a link to your website, and a phone number.</li><li>If you're feeling especially brave, follow up with a phone call to the gallery. Have an elevator speech prepared, a three minute explanation of your work, just in case they say, "Actually, we just lost an artist and are looking for a figurative painter..." (A gallery told me that once when I did my follow-up call, and I was completely tongue-tied!)<br /></li><li>Celebrate all responses. I print out the rejections and decorate them and put them in a file called "Closed Doors." In my art group, our goal is to get 100 denials, and we all cheer as we add to the tally. But sometimes there's a new gallery relationship. <br /><br />I have found 13 new galleries to show my work by doing these steps over the years. Some of the relationships lasted only a few years or less; the galleries closed or the work didn't fit with their clientele. But I have continued working with a few of the galleries for eight years or more.<br /><br />In general, I go through this process every year or two, generally in December or January. Even if a gallery doesn't accept my work, I still feel that it's important to educate galleries concerning what art is being created out in the world. As the books are returned in the stamped, self-addressed envelopes, I send them out again. If I have accomplished my goal of getting new representation, I sell the remaining books at an open studio.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></li></ol>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-89867294083187872782022-12-30T11:50:00.004-08:002022-12-30T11:59:33.076-08:00Postcard Sets<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQHaMcSoqewAFG0lqb-r_o9eRW-VE02yqyE8gFI6xGPTqQOyk9dpdH1xsHikZF9nGq3klQrwqh99ymW6RN18G7ag1ozc3Bb3dSK1EXxd6GsZLWb_J-WXNbioz397Fr4rV138YVrSg6qsmkvwhkW5fjDnmaC6fTvNiFKGsletT5jmqf05u41q_FYs/s1080/320451101_6314222767744_4926003522167900620_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQHaMcSoqewAFG0lqb-r_o9eRW-VE02yqyE8gFI6xGPTqQOyk9dpdH1xsHikZF9nGq3klQrwqh99ymW6RN18G7ag1ozc3Bb3dSK1EXxd6GsZLWb_J-WXNbioz397Fr4rV138YVrSg6qsmkvwhkW5fjDnmaC6fTvNiFKGsletT5jmqf05u41q_FYs/s320/320451101_6314222767744_4926003522167900620_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /> Over the years I have experimented with different ways of making my art accessible to the general public, art appreciators who might not have the wall space or cash for an original painting. I have tried mugs, canvas bags, calendars, and Christmas cards. I also made prints of favorite images. It all resulted in being on a first name basis with my postal clerk, but I never made a profit. Often I lost money, and I still have shelves of Christmas cards. (Just $25 for ten cards!)<p></p><p>Then about six years ago a friend, Cari Jenkins, suggested that I create a set of 50 postcards, each of a different painting. Cari and I were both hosting weekly open table dinners to draw people together, and Cari thought the cards could be community builders.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeiBcKN1DCYrFthUpQGu0W6-t_eejH0Sc3Ew0V8iqVjQc7pvGf4dPtm8Q_IAGkJU0Jh1NhFtWW76PsJDlq8QbYGLjijBqQ9HNsss-mHNkY6x40_sRJyaHRjQQR-ipNnw3kJ16HVAlXpAvgdOyOnNM5_r0PNXWb608RVCDxq3UyNAowwfBxDaecWc/s2206/set2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2206" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeiBcKN1DCYrFthUpQGu0W6-t_eejH0Sc3Ew0V8iqVjQc7pvGf4dPtm8Q_IAGkJU0Jh1NhFtWW76PsJDlq8QbYGLjijBqQ9HNsss-mHNkY6x40_sRJyaHRjQQR-ipNnw3kJ16HVAlXpAvgdOyOnNM5_r0PNXWb608RVCDxq3UyNAowwfBxDaecWc/s320/set2.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><p></p><p>I selected 50 paintings that depicted very different emotions--couples dancing, women escaping fire, parents embracing children, etc.--and I sent them off to Moo.com for printing. I ordered boxes for each set from U-line, and I printed prompts for using the cards at dinner parties, with team building, in writing classes, for small groups, and for journaling. Some of the prompts include:</p><p>For dinner parties:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Spread the
cards out on the table and invite people to select two or three cards
that appeal to them. Ask them to share with the group why. <br /></li><li>What picture describes a hope you have for the year? </li><li>Is there a picture you have that represents a desire you have for your life? </li></ul><p>Journaling prompts:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Flip
through the cards until one catches your attention. Pay attention to
what you feel as you liok at it. What memories come to mind? Does it
embody what you're feeling about life?</li><li>Lay out the cards in front of you. Is there one that feels like an invitation for the upcoming day or the future?</li><li>Close
your eyes and draw a card at random, and ask God to remind you of one of
his promises. Open your eyes and look at the picture. Is there a
promise that comes to mind? Write about it. <br /></li></ul><p>Team building prompts: </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Choose a picture of what it feels like to be a part of this team.</li><li>Choose a picture that depicts what it feels like to come in to work everyday.</li><li>Have each person select a picture that represents someone else on the team. How does that picture best represent the character of that person?</li></ul><p>For teachers and writing groups:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Draw two cards. Write a story base on the two cards from the perspective of one of the figures. Then rewrite the story based on the perspective of the other figure. Combine the stories with only quoted dialogue, no descriptions.</li><li>Draw three cards.Write a story. Next, write a completely different story based on the same three cards.</li><li>Draw a card. Write a monologue in which one of the characters talks about things s/he has done in the past and will do in the future. <br /></li></ul><p>For Christian small groups:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Choose a picture that best describes how you are feeling in relationship with others.</li><li>Choose a picture that describes what you think about God.</li><li>Choose a picture that best describes what you need from Jesus today or this year. </li></ul><p>I posted the postcard sets on-line and set them out at open studios, and they have a growing following. It has been an idea that has stuck. Word has spread primarily via word of mouth. They have sold all over the USA, and I've gotten feedback from as far away as Kenya and Australia. Someone in Bolivia is using them with women who have been sexually abused. Based on popular demand, I made a second set two years ago. I ship out a steady stream of boxes throughout the year and continue to be on a first name basis with my postal clerk. This year I hope to make a third set. </p><p>A heads-up to other artists who might consider doing this--these are not a big money-maker. I am breaking even, but I primarily sell the cards because it feels good to have the images out in the world and communicating. It's especially poignant for me to be able to revisit paintings that have sold.<br /></p><p>The cards are available for $39.25 if you order them on-line or $30 if you pick them up at my home in Oakland, Ca. Prompts are available for free upon request. To order, go to <a href="http://carolaust.com/carol/content/postcards">carolaust.com/carol/content/postcards</a> . If you do not want to do PayPal, you can mail a check to Carol Aust, 655 63rd St., Oakland, Ca, 94609. And if you have any questions, email me at <a href="mailto:carol.aust.art@gmail.com">carol.aust.art@gmail.com</a>.<br /></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-41521671422834775242022-12-13T13:51:00.000-08:002022-12-13T13:51:42.067-08:00Five Tips for Hosting an Art Salon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9LCS-DejrHLynu66VfHT9N63r9PpF06tGXXRkkI7qTr3-K4uZin1R6jVfaU7Q09mWZZcPw6yfoDMI9azE6aXspoYq-KOJNkZoeTPXNRx8K3LsMtp4fiM2hNTuF2M8mFTqiPttcx4x2K5GCXSbxARNEuFISnYZqzJHjU2LuUItilbvLwDGCSie9k/s640/art-salon-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="640" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9LCS-DejrHLynu66VfHT9N63r9PpF06tGXXRkkI7qTr3-K4uZin1R6jVfaU7Q09mWZZcPw6yfoDMI9azE6aXspoYq-KOJNkZoeTPXNRx8K3LsMtp4fiM2hNTuF2M8mFTqiPttcx4x2K5GCXSbxARNEuFISnYZqzJHjU2LuUItilbvLwDGCSie9k/s320/art-salon-02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /> We have hosted many art salons over the years. These have always been a little funkier than the slick salons posted on-line with women in pencil-thin dresses in vast New York lofts, and I don't think Gertrude Stein would see much similarity with her Parisian salons. Ours have always been held at our home with any and everyone on my mailing list invited for an evening of sharing what they've done creatively. <p></p><p>My favorite salon story concerns a dear friend who bought a new date to our salon, and when their turn came to share, we pushed aside the dining room table, and they danced a sultry tango to a recorded song. At the end of the evening, his date shyly asked to buy a romantic painting of a dancing couple, and a year later, another of my dance paintings was on their wedding program.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvo8Tgv3XQRQT39fBBqKTEBKFN7N111GaOU81NFSOUKp6eElKdBx4C-RlM_u-9SpbwmEqGIzvfGKkxPY2etII8P7peA6yA6bj_DqVZfUlqW0NTcc6evKN_P8nLk2RJKdDYKp-iG-ad9vxAbYsYs_IeytQ_pOfufQeNKXqWbfl3R4pgwCFFyMesjM/s640/art-salon-08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvo8Tgv3XQRQT39fBBqKTEBKFN7N111GaOU81NFSOUKp6eElKdBx4C-RlM_u-9SpbwmEqGIzvfGKkxPY2etII8P7peA6yA6bj_DqVZfUlqW0NTcc6evKN_P8nLk2RJKdDYKp-iG-ad9vxAbYsYs_IeytQ_pOfufQeNKXqWbfl3R4pgwCFFyMesjM/s320/art-salon-08.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><p></p><p>Last Sunday evening we hosted our first post-Covid art salon. Unlike our gatherings from 4 or 5 years ago when the house was bursting at the seams, this one was a sedate 13 people, but everyone here seemed to realize how wonderful it was to be together and sharing after years of isolation.</p><p>As an artist, I increasingly feel that relationships are as valuable or more so than art objects. Art is a precious way to bring people together. Our world right now is so thirsty for connection and a chance to embrace creativity.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NULvfF1PPZWkAmtSmRTznOFM_6Q1Dapckp_TdRZkjagdyosd99w-kTTOt9URH7nwob0l1_V2XP8duFEwP1p4CcUiPBqoCWeXtdy9h-nWUXGRIHQwxqPkdmT7cIrGi0ZK5TtEWy10Tr05udb77hIKB_w5W499TRpdVvNydAh-drMhRDr-mHjzEf8/s640/salon-July2019-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NULvfF1PPZWkAmtSmRTznOFM_6Q1Dapckp_TdRZkjagdyosd99w-kTTOt9URH7nwob0l1_V2XP8duFEwP1p4CcUiPBqoCWeXtdy9h-nWUXGRIHQwxqPkdmT7cIrGi0ZK5TtEWy10Tr05udb77hIKB_w5W499TRpdVvNydAh-drMhRDr-mHjzEf8/s320/salon-July2019-05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>If you are interested in hosting an art salon, here are a few how-to's:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Cast your net widely--make repeated invitations on Instagram and Facebook and even send out postcards as well as personal invitations to friends. Explain that everyone is welcome to bring food to share as well as a song or poem or story or visual art piece or dance to share. Request RSVP's by a deadline a few days prior, but hold that lightly and welcome everyone.</li><li>Start with a potluck dinner so people can get acquainted.</li><li>Gather and give each person a chance for a brief introduction, noting who has something that they've created. Explain that after introductions, you will set a timer for maybe 10 minutes per person who has brought something to share. If the group is larger that 15 people, split it into two smaller groups, if you have an extra room available.</li><li>If there's time, let people ask questions or make comments after each creative has shared. Applaud each participant!</li><li>Have a mingling/networking time at the end. Keep your feelers out for people who feel ready for more community, who might want to be in a new critique or writer's group. My latest Get Out the Art Group spun off from a couple of salons.<br /></li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY9Odll3a4iyYATS5tE2iNhxWMKRmNxRPu5vEhbrqzOee5C7kTD0l3IGtdd7NLwiRJgLz3yVc87nYNv97rw9c-LzjVB6-i8He1TWPxEHNHoqVlKIhnlbkcA6QorZp8dcPYwWp7nSpaEUsPrLSBTzQ7znhMZN68SVW6mU-izaAPaT0cMXB67ZCr1U/s640/art-salon-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY9Odll3a4iyYATS5tE2iNhxWMKRmNxRPu5vEhbrqzOee5C7kTD0l3IGtdd7NLwiRJgLz3yVc87nYNv97rw9c-LzjVB6-i8He1TWPxEHNHoqVlKIhnlbkcA6QorZp8dcPYwWp7nSpaEUsPrLSBTzQ7znhMZN68SVW6mU-izaAPaT0cMXB67ZCr1U/s320/art-salon-05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-337376340101912252022-11-29T12:34:00.001-08:002022-11-29T12:55:16.771-08:008 Strategies for Overcoming Creative Block<p> I wrestle a lot with creative block. When I'm going through it, I feel like a failure. I procrastinate and am hyper-critical of what I paint. I am the queen of creative block, but there are a few things I do that help.</p><p>The hardest part can be just getting to the studio. Reserving the time to create is hard! Sometimes I just go to the studio and clean.</p><p>Draw every day. Draw on scraps of paper and old envelopes. Draw when you're waiting for an appointment or for a friend. Draw at church or at concerts or plays. <br /></p><p>As a child, I couldn't leave the dinner table until I had eaten everything on my plate (which resulted in many late nights, eyeing a slab of cold liver). I sometimes harness the waste-not-want-not maxim by filling my palette with all sorts of colors and not leaving until the paint is all used up.</p><p>Put a microphone to the negative voices in your head. On a scrap of paper, write down the lies, the negative put-downs from people in the distant or recent past, the ragings of an internal monitor. Then next to the lies, write down the truths. My list might include, "My best work is all behind me," and my response: "God will guide my brush."</p><p>I need to remember that I am more than what I make; I am not earning my
salvation here. I am a beloved child of God, and my work is as unique as
my fingerprint. It helps to tell myself sometimes that what I'm
creating right now is for my eyes only. I love this quote by Phoebe
Waller-Bridge about writing: "Whenever I get stuck on something, I'm
like, 'What would I do if I wasn't afraid? What would I write if I
wasn't afraid? What would I say in this situation if I wasn't afraid?'"I
think the same applies to the visual arts.</p><p>Be around creative people who make it seem normal. In 1985, I went to a
Bruce Cockburn concert that changed the trajectory of my life. The music
was great, yes, but more than that was seeing the performer on stage
just being himself without apology, being creative in a unique way that
only he could be. I felt the permission that night to find my own road,
to let go of the pressures to conform and please others. <br /></p><p>Another tip for creative block: move your body. Crank up the music and dance in the studio. And then do crazy psychedelic base coats with big brushes and long strokes. And then paint over them, but let a little of their energy peek through. </p><p>Or paint pink.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjjl7cYDLRk2WJ5Q7lV6xDXgPJAIAYhv7HtN3A5RBuaMp4saWMgZkmDJoVAO03SmUht9Zmy9itPNc432VE4EWpspZiCo8jTmowGXu8cff-EdXv9ntec1RCjylHRXRzNaKqldjDnEkLCSfzwfs4xP0ZyPoshqHwHHus78LNDGe3pep0xtUV29t9-c/s4032/IMG_2802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjjl7cYDLRk2WJ5Q7lV6xDXgPJAIAYhv7HtN3A5RBuaMp4saWMgZkmDJoVAO03SmUht9Zmy9itPNc432VE4EWpspZiCo8jTmowGXu8cff-EdXv9ntec1RCjylHRXRzNaKqldjDnEkLCSfzwfs4xP0ZyPoshqHwHHus78LNDGe3pep0xtUV29t9-c/s320/IMG_2802.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-84060232010239479822022-11-20T15:26:00.001-08:002023-02-14T20:57:38.875-08:00Why Art?<p><br /></p><br /><br /> People who know me well know that I wrestle with this question--why, in this broken world, should people continue creating visual art and music and dance and poetry? I spend three mornings a week teaching children and young adults how to read; isn't that more important?<p></p><p>My answer is that the world needs both. The world needs radical acts of service, and the world also need art. Here are a few reasons why creative acts are so vital:<br /></p><p><b>For beauty</b></p><p>One day years ago I was stuck in heavy traffic on Telegraph Ave. in Berkeley. It was a hot day, and my car window was down. Just then a street musician began playing a beautiful melody on the flute. I was transported. At that time I was working full-time as a teacher, but the beauty of that song made it possible for me to serve another day.</p><p>When I wake up in the morning, this painting is the first thing I see: <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieRrZNGibUJ_k3U6jfSE7yLFXV4OsUTKFgMBnVOwybcrVAznKnfvNlpKOicNf1oEnt2gulWaxaajbNQaamZXvJjPt60Bb0eLC7L7JjA6RxAzQt2b_DZ_zEc3tjNVyI00uv1n9Q-VuYaFX-zjr3Y7-MEzB0CLSJ2jZVYG9qisiGr1Nu0w4Wz-rols/s1340/one-foot-in-front-of-the-other_48x36.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1340" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieRrZNGibUJ_k3U6jfSE7yLFXV4OsUTKFgMBnVOwybcrVAznKnfvNlpKOicNf1oEnt2gulWaxaajbNQaamZXvJjPt60Bb0eLC7L7JjA6RxAzQt2b_DZ_zEc3tjNVyI00uv1n9Q-VuYaFX-zjr3Y7-MEzB0CLSJ2jZVYG9qisiGr1Nu0w4Wz-rols/s320/one-foot-in-front-of-the-other_48x36.jpg" width="239" /></a></div> It's like a prayer for my day, giving me the strength to go out and do what needs to be done.<b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>For community </b> </p><p>Art draws people together. My roommate is struggling with chronic pain and a deadening job, but when she plays music with friends, she's transformed. Her laughter joins in with the melodies.</p><p><b>For the prophetic voice</b></p><p>This painting is hanging in an environmental law office. The person who bought it said it was to remind her staff of what they are fighting for.<b><br /></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFt_l9ZFcmeG3ii-rj5Lds9Ol18QD333IrgudsqCrLHPfxKMSKW9uziY35HlkBDn543MvDC1mPas35U-puGUpyRzxPx1XfjXCDY_mKFApIWch5Fn75uft5ZJblsDud7hqmeEKkO1SkTxzTT8tqgdlC5IWicQ3prGTx0Nk5wHwMf0ELFn2v9ju-9Hw/s1000/six-candles_36x48.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="1000" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFt_l9ZFcmeG3ii-rj5Lds9Ol18QD333IrgudsqCrLHPfxKMSKW9uziY35HlkBDn543MvDC1mPas35U-puGUpyRzxPx1XfjXCDY_mKFApIWch5Fn75uft5ZJblsDud7hqmeEKkO1SkTxzTT8tqgdlC5IWicQ3prGTx0Nk5wHwMf0ELFn2v9ju-9Hw/s320/six-candles_36x48.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p> </p><p>A hospice patient looked at this painting and told me, "I always thought I'd go into darkness when I died, but when I look at this I realize that I'll go into light."<b></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-J2Cis_qlSAJZDM5l8z6w-xI-ziVEkoT3GjUzv-59x57N73qs7JRTCH-1CWbtvyAa5hw8GUw_gOtleioMJbRPVUIYn-w4ToiLo_obD6_CB1stvTj_AWmLuYLm4suz33qNJdOM4o0bC0YmAD9aECsl_ot-Sq9t-2__9mhKHfoCS9sFG-66Qq4cH4/s564/out-the-window-small.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="564" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-J2Cis_qlSAJZDM5l8z6w-xI-ziVEkoT3GjUzv-59x57N73qs7JRTCH-1CWbtvyAa5hw8GUw_gOtleioMJbRPVUIYn-w4ToiLo_obD6_CB1stvTj_AWmLuYLm4suz33qNJdOM4o0bC0YmAD9aECsl_ot-Sq9t-2__9mhKHfoCS9sFG-66Qq4cH4/s320/out-the-window-small.jpg" width="320" /> </a></p><p>Sometimes when I create a painting, I don't realize its full significance until it goes out into the world.<b> </b></p><p><b>For the joy of creating </b></p><p>I bristle at the label of "consumer." </p><p>I am the most completely myself when I am creating. Even if what we make is never seen or heard or read by the world, the act of creating makes the world a better place.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie-rSBEXcFoQOMoaPD9Tc-owLSHk5EzH7F_D1TafFUXcQqtAb-s0liwFvNsPMNiVtoUSR9I-16eiauYD9FW4r5W20HViQCm6OPYiP14qdNJezp4KneKrcmE0UU5OlLqMNmwG10JnPDhMbxSOBP8coMJcjXD3ActxaEy4TAzxavyH7zBOt5THo0tA/s1000/milky-way_36x48.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1000" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie-rSBEXcFoQOMoaPD9Tc-owLSHk5EzH7F_D1TafFUXcQqtAb-s0liwFvNsPMNiVtoUSR9I-16eiauYD9FW4r5W20HViQCm6OPYiP14qdNJezp4KneKrcmE0UU5OlLqMNmwG10JnPDhMbxSOBP8coMJcjXD3ActxaEy4TAzxavyH7zBOt5THo0tA/s320/milky-way_36x48.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> </div><b>Do you have other reasons for creating?</b><br /><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-32891619762019158742022-10-02T13:19:00.001-07:002022-10-02T13:19:17.156-07:00Leaky Buckets<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNm011mJ6F3p5fYeBh_WtF3-Kjn53OooUd4FDM9QMcsFloJwpiDsjCHjW5u982xufDW2zrwE43uj5uZH62m6vL_ccdISs6GtPimTV16wC5IYrc-z7R_X9bIlQ0VeTyt-qSQAlXODTabOL2EQJ5nWpIVEOn6lqppf5UOKipze6NeN7WWt6mekLOlI/s1000/two-buckets_12x36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="1000" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNm011mJ6F3p5fYeBh_WtF3-Kjn53OooUd4FDM9QMcsFloJwpiDsjCHjW5u982xufDW2zrwE43uj5uZH62m6vL_ccdISs6GtPimTV16wC5IYrc-z7R_X9bIlQ0VeTyt-qSQAlXODTabOL2EQJ5nWpIVEOn6lqppf5UOKipze6NeN7WWt6mekLOlI/w400-h133/two-buckets_12x36.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> I was recently in an art show at my church on climate change. I showed this painting which is titled "Leaky Buckets." Members of the congregation found it disturbing. At a home open studio a week later, a couple looked at it and said, "We need hope. This is too dark."<p></p><p>So be it. Sometimes art needs to give us hope, but sometimes we need to be disturbed.<br /></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-77225322319840305702022-09-24T14:06:00.001-07:002022-09-24T14:06:39.442-07:00Creating a Portal to the Heart--Amplification through Simplification<p> When I paint a human figure in my paintings, I am attempting to create an entry point, a portal<br />where the viewer can become a part of the image.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk8UmN8dBYV4_evHd7ckVmUfzLhz6nc6ImojVzmDDkGmIBIxhRyGoLzHtJRbAuzOY627z1OQtQfiJqb_nqyHICFprsNsNzQ5ZtYpgGanmDCH2YQ479aA4x54yfZRWIur-AdiJeiLH-pUQxJbT0Qj3LdvcdRfQ375SR3jcEdvjCLvT1wqM3P4Ens0/s3635/cold-day_20x24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3036" data-original-width="3635" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk8UmN8dBYV4_evHd7ckVmUfzLhz6nc6ImojVzmDDkGmIBIxhRyGoLzHtJRbAuzOY627z1OQtQfiJqb_nqyHICFprsNsNzQ5ZtYpgGanmDCH2YQ479aA4x54yfZRWIur-AdiJeiLH-pUQxJbT0Qj3LdvcdRfQ375SR3jcEdvjCLvT1wqM3P4Ens0/s320/cold-day_20x24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>By keeping the faces simple, as opposed to a realistic or photographic portrait, I'm applying Amplification through Simplification, a common graphic novel technigue that I first saw in <span>“</span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Understanding-Comics-Invisible-Scott-McCloud/dp/006097625X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3648WR0KD3BX6&dchild=1&keywords=understanding+comics+scott+mccloud&qid=1595178775&sprefix=understanding+com%2Caps%2C313&sr=8-1" rel="nofollow ugc noopener">Understanding Comics</a><span>” by Scott McClud. McClud writes, "By <b>stripping down </b>an image to its essential meaning, and artist can <b>amplify </b>that meaning in a way that realistic art <b>can't.</b>"<br /></span></p><p><span> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtlfFOIxQwAss24FPmYrl3M61PH9tPyR6Xztr9pY8K1j-Y4AkM9K7lCuebhxwBZu_6dCkSY8-ll3jn8h1_AKH3FahM21fmi4W4Wsmq9F7Lttl7VVJ_cDi85GUH966si7d66ftT9DvR1mWVquE8qpRtuxNEYo44erlfXFMtuuS23eTndUU4eoGypA/s640/Amplification%20by%20Simplification.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="161" data-original-width="640" height="81" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtlfFOIxQwAss24FPmYrl3M61PH9tPyR6Xztr9pY8K1j-Y4AkM9K7lCuebhxwBZu_6dCkSY8-ll3jn8h1_AKH3FahM21fmi4W4Wsmq9F7Lttl7VVJ_cDi85GUH966si7d66ftT9DvR1mWVquE8qpRtuxNEYo44erlfXFMtuuS23eTndUU4eoGypA/s320/Amplification%20by%20Simplification.png" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span>When someone looks at my paintings, the landscapes might be realistic, at least more so than the faces. But by keeping the faces simplified, the viewer can superimpose their own face into the painting. Often at a show or open studio, viewers will tell me, "That's <i>me</i>!" Sometimes they'll wipe their eyes a little and say, "I really don't understand why I'm crying..." I feel that I've used a secret back door, bypassing language, that gets to the heart of things, at least if a painting is successful.<br /></span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD31FGd_ZSeXZlmnfFR-wvRDf2QY32KIUN2gVcMquKpiPXtyzt3ObaDxGqr4_hxl88XM5ol3mp9mEzuirRNE6Y-AVkcGI8kNe-0lPXxR6ufKELh8boZi3ntKDr9wDg96tY2ijbpYAIUJMkjdjQrmWzwdA6J6_tBRZ-m-wwWvbX65cHgwwU9J1VoFs/s1000/smouldering-wick_24x24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD31FGd_ZSeXZlmnfFR-wvRDf2QY32KIUN2gVcMquKpiPXtyzt3ObaDxGqr4_hxl88XM5ol3mp9mEzuirRNE6Y-AVkcGI8kNe-0lPXxR6ufKELh8boZi3ntKDr9wDg96tY2ijbpYAIUJMkjdjQrmWzwdA6J6_tBRZ-m-wwWvbX65cHgwwU9J1VoFs/s320/smouldering-wick_24x24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-67198888181382300122022-09-21T09:55:00.004-07:002022-09-21T10:17:42.941-07:00Shipping Artwork<p> I ship a lot of artwork. Many years, my shipping bill exceeds my material expenses. If someone purchases a painting that needs to be shipped, I usually contact Handle With Care on Piedmont Ave here in the East Bay, and they get me an estimate that I pass on the the buyer. They do a great job of packing and shipping. If I'm shipping a show to a gallery and have to foot the bill myself, I pack the work in computer boxes and ship it out via a friend who has a commercial UPS license. (Thanks, Doug!)<br /></p><p>I recently had to pack up a 44"x45" diptych to be checked onto an international flight to Australia the next day. Handle with Care couldn't get to it in time, so I packed it up myself. Airlines have a reputation for being rough on oversized baggage, so I had to be careful. I documented the process that I've come up with over time. Many thanks to Rab Terry at The Studio Gallery in SF for talking me through this system years ago.</p><p>I first wrap the painting in soft old cotton sheets. That goes with my preference of using recycled materials whenever possible.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzqonLYeWVdydYlYf_4NS35t1IGrWtcJI4m17yHyzvkToDcqCJHdS-XtMoeruapaO-kS5xluJREcNL2n3lvuQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Then I create a box within a box, cutting heavy duty foam core to fit inside the cardboard box. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxmmyI-VaC6fFhIE0_g7hp5ajsNNjknC_y_YLkSFZmth-E4r5JOgUHPfUV7XZqXGqaehtc64_VFHthZHq6rmw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>I wedge scraps of styrofoam and cardboard inside to further protect the painting.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwilXiZdyab9Hny0_K9xLeT2DdG_xcRIYZKwAVm4kWSHs4QDtLSLE8U-Q4HJt3bcEYP-QEPQRqOQVUon9GbUQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>At the time of this filming, I was still using plastic tape, but recently I found a great paper tape online that's biodegradable and has been holding up very well.<p></p><p>Here's a photo of the friendly baggage handlers.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6cDyaPTtKJfmjXoVnLb4MQJNrlgHJvPwVVxrhrrObT9D4vvO9kHLumrYtfiXxjKN5wjp7uCAVHVCTI6eWeZxL09mrRTkVZXGrO3DqIIYqQRHCFB8MsWqOEciQtCJeyhwGKh2urDCqpxAYsmVDbo30hV1bXO4e1sx9AIvpPiEJc-1PRNL0ZJIu1_8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6cDyaPTtKJfmjXoVnLb4MQJNrlgHJvPwVVxrhrrObT9D4vvO9kHLumrYtfiXxjKN5wjp7uCAVHVCTI6eWeZxL09mrRTkVZXGrO3DqIIYqQRHCFB8MsWqOEciQtCJeyhwGKh2urDCqpxAYsmVDbo30hV1bXO4e1sx9AIvpPiEJc-1PRNL0ZJIu1_8" width="180" /></a><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The painting arrived safe and sound! <p></p><p>This painting was especially poignant, because I had painted it right after I had a bad run-in with altitude sickness that resulted in a grand mal seizure and a 24 hour coma. The person who now owns this painting is a physically impaired dancer who is working on new virtual reality that will allow disabled people to "dance" while wearing headsets and making slight movements with their bodies. This painting is so deepened by being out in the world!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvVlpcttpQIubO30s_UjbFcwvZzzdxbEU6b5uDcm8Wla552Tc8MG4lcsijlpfhkrU280RvEzDrNNes99PUOZZomw1XLkyFvIdTwghhUJAoCb3K5fu-KG_GpapuFNt_Fl0frk_qRvP6394oPJQ21liwrZb5Nwn_fQpj5yHpbGQHP_7hOZduSp_aF4/s873/helping-hand_45x48_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="818" data-original-width="873" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvVlpcttpQIubO30s_UjbFcwvZzzdxbEU6b5uDcm8Wla552Tc8MG4lcsijlpfhkrU280RvEzDrNNes99PUOZZomw1XLkyFvIdTwghhUJAoCb3K5fu-KG_GpapuFNt_Fl0frk_qRvP6394oPJQ21liwrZb5Nwn_fQpj5yHpbGQHP_7hOZduSp_aF4/s320/helping-hand_45x48_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-65795458739133091762022-08-29T17:09:00.016-07:002022-11-26T07:24:14.049-08:00Sanchez Art Center 50/50 Show, 2022<p>The Sanchez Art Center's 50/50 show is herre! The show dates are September 9 and 10, 2022. for the ticketed fundraiser with open to the public dates through October 9. The Sanchez Art Center is at 1220-B Linda Mar Blvd., Pacifica, Ca.</p><p>All of the paintings below are on 6"x6" masonite panels and are $125/each or $100/each for two or more, plus tax. I have included some but not all of my paintings in the show.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HVl3IlAcuDTUVcNgCKQjIM-QP28x2D7VGbVLhl05jExZZUILS_7HsHWh0VeqPAiBps4_txgNY7NBreXzo384jHnYhy8R3-4EgGF_3GjEVY8m0FfXvopmA6bFDuAdIAUmc59bGzHWHG7zJcEKr0WzWD3mA6cUMNszWGe7mqgmN3nW6BV2aJE1eqY/s1000/50x50_5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HVl3IlAcuDTUVcNgCKQjIM-QP28x2D7VGbVLhl05jExZZUILS_7HsHWh0VeqPAiBps4_txgNY7NBreXzo384jHnYhy8R3-4EgGF_3GjEVY8m0FfXvopmA6bFDuAdIAUmc59bGzHWHG7zJcEKr0WzWD3mA6cUMNszWGe7mqgmN3nW6BV2aJE1eqY/w199-h200/50x50_5.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#39--"Connection Point #2"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyTQfUQpm334z9S1BGolbzGsdPfaS9xRPBH0VBy8TI87ID9frNa6uExS6AKyqUjIP1H8RNT6Ex9BJXQi5nFgCosvvhQVbkVIRDmY7eON4OyLNnXaSdz0-VI6IGIx3wpfd1bIJM80Sy6tdnkHhaZd8jbJZWjjoH8XPLdjBTL-UYsAZdH87RMt-Yyk/s1000/50x50_6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyTQfUQpm334z9S1BGolbzGsdPfaS9xRPBH0VBy8TI87ID9frNa6uExS6AKyqUjIP1H8RNT6Ex9BJXQi5nFgCosvvhQVbkVIRDmY7eON4OyLNnXaSdz0-VI6IGIx3wpfd1bIJM80Sy6tdnkHhaZd8jbJZWjjoH8XPLdjBTL-UYsAZdH87RMt-Yyk/w199-h200/50x50_6.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#12--"Looking at You" <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSZPDimc3q5RvysT7Hv0ILpPzPPG5ZPtwHYTL3Ag4mQtMfr9TzKGupqFYGY2Kz7Esc089sn7xHtYuL57x-NC34tdxh6w_-g6eXA35ZU61jFZc5HLxFYEnvbFCjjkhBymz5pfNsxxCH4TbOolJQoK9DX56ucfOs8SKgcPH-tCnp4OCEeW2hEwdgT0/s1000/50x50_15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSZPDimc3q5RvysT7Hv0ILpPzPPG5ZPtwHYTL3Ag4mQtMfr9TzKGupqFYGY2Kz7Esc089sn7xHtYuL57x-NC34tdxh6w_-g6eXA35ZU61jFZc5HLxFYEnvbFCjjkhBymz5pfNsxxCH4TbOolJQoK9DX56ucfOs8SKgcPH-tCnp4OCEeW2hEwdgT0/w199-h200/50x50_15.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#22--"Close" <br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnARLmYwgRJoxVZWfDVHQS5TFLS1geaYNRHAQEouMzSrEebUJl26FFDmQHtIlzolf1Hi_Dzvb_k9GbJYKPyayVjCWoqTe7-FQtR4yCKMlUskHu6yaDbf3Gt9pXy_niI6lFh3_hunZx7wYdBUmDpM4kYWgZnUocqBfITxEbYvFdqSTss8I5igz6gpI/s1000/50x50_19.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnARLmYwgRJoxVZWfDVHQS5TFLS1geaYNRHAQEouMzSrEebUJl26FFDmQHtIlzolf1Hi_Dzvb_k9GbJYKPyayVjCWoqTe7-FQtR4yCKMlUskHu6yaDbf3Gt9pXy_niI6lFh3_hunZx7wYdBUmDpM4kYWgZnUocqBfITxEbYvFdqSTss8I5igz6gpI/w199-h200/50x50_19.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#42--"Adored"<br /> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9YuH_DWXatR0HLz0AKI-vff81xhRiKyYPft1D1mxHqHHoYzoFwiDpm1u4ko3unTtiP9Funcm1VsHuW1rhNcc3C34IcmvMzlSSsTNCYpiED6sUyLQI82fidz6Maamj1RgAEW1nyF4wjLbdztpRSUPVpVeYo5PQmY_jlrIIwYGQCKmra6mr1Ese7M/s1000/50x50_20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9YuH_DWXatR0HLz0AKI-vff81xhRiKyYPft1D1mxHqHHoYzoFwiDpm1u4ko3unTtiP9Funcm1VsHuW1rhNcc3C34IcmvMzlSSsTNCYpiED6sUyLQI82fidz6Maamj1RgAEW1nyF4wjLbdztpRSUPVpVeYo5PQmY_jlrIIwYGQCKmra6mr1Ese7M/w199-h200/50x50_20.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#11--"Eye to Eye" <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEini3xYnbrYKCT3beSMbLCniP1tXzcZuKk0kdm6F1QHGbHrhlK77kddWJJvYh7uwKZ6eCHZV28XxYUqmWQuSWEetPljSwpiJ4sDfSRTbBWFulV8Xvn8GIXnurT6WxZJ00BRGeL7RJTYO150pjNOnWTUQyMMoTJe_lqct1REG6H3C5CMCbX0z5UYztg/s1000/50x50_25.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEini3xYnbrYKCT3beSMbLCniP1tXzcZuKk0kdm6F1QHGbHrhlK77kddWJJvYh7uwKZ6eCHZV28XxYUqmWQuSWEetPljSwpiJ4sDfSRTbBWFulV8Xvn8GIXnurT6WxZJ00BRGeL7RJTYO150pjNOnWTUQyMMoTJe_lqct1REG6H3C5CMCbX0z5UYztg/w199-h200/50x50_25.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#8--"Coming Home"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk72BVvnj6rrbiy2vE21ElHDXZfmBsXRRuOcQ3ih0NhvGq7jyUMZPRrRQMYWELdChCyqGv2TYfoHsAqBadFEgnkyaa0yn1B3FAJjxUsf1qVA1hgeWo9ZCpLF25dUKRqj2qjPeQJzGdr3C1Dxy6yeTjBOOB1H2AJGcjpwln0mP1xo1D7Wkwkoin_4/s1000/50x50_26.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk72BVvnj6rrbiy2vE21ElHDXZfmBsXRRuOcQ3ih0NhvGq7jyUMZPRrRQMYWELdChCyqGv2TYfoHsAqBadFEgnkyaa0yn1B3FAJjxUsf1qVA1hgeWo9ZCpLF25dUKRqj2qjPeQJzGdr3C1Dxy6yeTjBOOB1H2AJGcjpwln0mP1xo1D7Wkwkoin_4/w199-h200/50x50_26.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#9--"Backlit"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYdFJSci1fB2SrguenUFgAERr9VFaPOXXnISHw4rx6ciTSx3_La7eVCiatGj_w66Wo43Q5xZzIknCc_JpRJyBb0q3NUhfCuys3AwudscCl44Qo176Lsol9t-Pv4FksgK85llvwfU1MXdUm1gDTENzymjMg74cvB8e7kGqYRcr6ZhoUm7WLWiT630/s1000/50x50_33.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYdFJSci1fB2SrguenUFgAERr9VFaPOXXnISHw4rx6ciTSx3_La7eVCiatGj_w66Wo43Q5xZzIknCc_JpRJyBb0q3NUhfCuys3AwudscCl44Qo176Lsol9t-Pv4FksgK85llvwfU1MXdUm1gDTENzymjMg74cvB8e7kGqYRcr6ZhoUm7WLWiT630/w199-h200/50x50_33.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#44--"Connection Point #3"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv92RdxS3tWyYx_1jiKYnFOF1tQv3OhIrk1lF43vh6hs8RdqjBSc3dI5o8bMNZoSyRbaru4Y4ALSBfWbFnYzLzcgp9HSSytMSXVUdRBc-XQs0dmBYVLkv7z8mumAT98wlIcNBQl4UNXNcK0uTc3rw1ZLsJnWTm_3qmIs3Oa6gqbd_yxe-4jQukV6Y/s1000/50x50_34.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv92RdxS3tWyYx_1jiKYnFOF1tQv3OhIrk1lF43vh6hs8RdqjBSc3dI5o8bMNZoSyRbaru4Y4ALSBfWbFnYzLzcgp9HSSytMSXVUdRBc-XQs0dmBYVLkv7z8mumAT98wlIcNBQl4UNXNcK0uTc3rw1ZLsJnWTm_3qmIs3Oa6gqbd_yxe-4jQukV6Y/w199-h200/50x50_34.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#38--"Kiss #5"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3zB5QCMsbHODA49LdJvhnq1jVu-QugzLTgMDoqqgV98NCSygU4cUrhlhyuhnqkZVSilPkBQpZrRCWFSvcHxpw8rCZtyRPTJ1kfR7gis0yMYy7s4lfLUAyQ235Pgjf89_8cWSOFyY60eQcYKuckBklhfoWDfcDcX7eXEvmU88BU3oSXRHguDyzULw/s1000/50x50_42.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3zB5QCMsbHODA49LdJvhnq1jVu-QugzLTgMDoqqgV98NCSygU4cUrhlhyuhnqkZVSilPkBQpZrRCWFSvcHxpw8rCZtyRPTJ1kfR7gis0yMYy7s4lfLUAyQ235Pgjf89_8cWSOFyY60eQcYKuckBklhfoWDfcDcX7eXEvmU88BU3oSXRHguDyzULw/w199-h200/50x50_42.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#21--"Before" <br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPbLq37aLNuiyUNrsDxMYKoqaTmZkIR8gMzz9C2d013p2_K-J9cSMVhfh6pxkYrcflJ3qkNharp3I6AfICWM0kZATpMJxMnjH0GwIZw6ficEceR6FlH94WN3PCkP6BXIQhUz2bQdwKGf9PKlwWbUI5SGIJbbhISzMPM9Asv4S4b0xofzp3xYk0JE/s1000/50x50_39.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPbLq37aLNuiyUNrsDxMYKoqaTmZkIR8gMzz9C2d013p2_K-J9cSMVhfh6pxkYrcflJ3qkNharp3I6AfICWM0kZATpMJxMnjH0GwIZw6ficEceR6FlH94WN3PCkP6BXIQhUz2bQdwKGf9PKlwWbUI5SGIJbbhISzMPM9Asv4S4b0xofzp3xYk0JE/w199-h200/50x50_39.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#24--"Connection Point"</div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgEAX_ZsrZaxcY76wuGam7bTo0ynS331p8-DVkOd5ZYBZ9EUqviOrWNmq58Co_xARi-HqVLXjkREHARPxue8K1_X5QBZrQ9-jxt3ueA55X0ZsfBUUTCCT5NdW--IhQMsa0lo8xMQWhwmifw6WcBG8-tZQ_ww8pspHu50SOuFAuWj24fLep2krLyo8/s1000/50x50_43.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgEAX_ZsrZaxcY76wuGam7bTo0ynS331p8-DVkOd5ZYBZ9EUqviOrWNmq58Co_xARi-HqVLXjkREHARPxue8K1_X5QBZrQ9-jxt3ueA55X0ZsfBUUTCCT5NdW--IhQMsa0lo8xMQWhwmifw6WcBG8-tZQ_ww8pspHu50SOuFAuWj24fLep2krLyo8/w199-h200/50x50_43.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#38--"Kiss #4"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4paOweUA2eHdHuhta8ikK-bRu2UtXm_ez1SUqyFH8jiuS0G4rH2r-TqhndhrJWwW4FM45d3eCMAgab-fY_P05jFMieGbGfZN7NpIoDDsKqC0r_MxvW8AnGURPm7GL6RMh5S9uV-7Wtkma8kNHNrCrCpCh8n8iTFPBlBpiSh9NRYxdj_EaXim1Fo/s1000/50x50_45.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4paOweUA2eHdHuhta8ikK-bRu2UtXm_ez1SUqyFH8jiuS0G4rH2r-TqhndhrJWwW4FM45d3eCMAgab-fY_P05jFMieGbGfZN7NpIoDDsKqC0r_MxvW8AnGURPm7GL6RMh5S9uV-7Wtkma8kNHNrCrCpCh8n8iTFPBlBpiSh9NRYxdj_EaXim1Fo/w199-h200/50x50_45.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#13--"Look at Me" <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAsp8zs4zwiSPj66Zy0k75lMHKpZAhaUMvIJBZpHNSKb3YKt8Y3iYj-izsraUGEVQa-X6EQ3mS3HLL_Ms9p8Fav0FZY29yzaZaVHMsWGHAxCeKyLQjdLl8xFKczLN4BAoma81vyKzyIGutdSSh4AeVHDazHr9lVX8YSLjDj8L5Rfn10t5LdjtruY/s1000/50x50_46.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAsp8zs4zwiSPj66Zy0k75lMHKpZAhaUMvIJBZpHNSKb3YKt8Y3iYj-izsraUGEVQa-X6EQ3mS3HLL_Ms9p8Fav0FZY29yzaZaVHMsWGHAxCeKyLQjdLl8xFKczLN4BAoma81vyKzyIGutdSSh4AeVHDazHr9lVX8YSLjDj8L5Rfn10t5LdjtruY/w199-h200/50x50_46.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#36--"Pink Embrace"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDFk9sAU4ceUh04D6GpeI1Y1k7j3YkacpaIMx8sMTG9Pm3AzhMWA0H7TooFgnTF9t49sRNZjx07S2MAEpiIoFOc-26oGCF_yBz6d89_EgrzXNBFKzW7qWG80mbUQGjhR1TpWlswMnpYOGiNZ6MGh-xtR42KnUHrg0Ny4Xwe6jb0cEocs6OBNv9Bw/s1000/50x50_18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDFk9sAU4ceUh04D6GpeI1Y1k7j3YkacpaIMx8sMTG9Pm3AzhMWA0H7TooFgnTF9t49sRNZjx07S2MAEpiIoFOc-26oGCF_yBz6d89_EgrzXNBFKzW7qWG80mbUQGjhR1TpWlswMnpYOGiNZ6MGh-xtR42KnUHrg0Ny4Xwe6jb0cEocs6OBNv9Bw/w199-h200/50x50_18.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#4--"Comfort"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_SyJc8eTlbxOcqVl1T5cPXmNYEN4RKpZp8MHjEJC6CFPUT3lzAPPVoutOrAEB-0ARbAuARLYLsbBrPSVWGGcKf0zp593YNlVPTykGSzFr3K9sVUZp3wM3V1lFPpKnvMFGE56-3bZWrDEy7oz2KktLXoR2Q8Phw3KpTFo4W3F_gjvkl4rhPmgcQM/s1000/50x50_17.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_SyJc8eTlbxOcqVl1T5cPXmNYEN4RKpZp8MHjEJC6CFPUT3lzAPPVoutOrAEB-0ARbAuARLYLsbBrPSVWGGcKf0zp593YNlVPTykGSzFr3K9sVUZp3wM3V1lFPpKnvMFGE56-3bZWrDEy7oz2KktLXoR2Q8Phw3KpTFo4W3F_gjvkl4rhPmgcQM/w199-h200/50x50_17.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#5--"Comfort #2" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiudDbs1enkxZjD11fdQ8zUq58cpBgOxHAGmOX0PGcO7t9LxAUy5GwaInuygX34dxh57KbSYOa20_84csqWOIIo7W2ZQhfv7eSbLg9KHEFmlJcxlET2bB4-5XahBCCWrLxry2TDcDQyZIGOWPte5_r12KGAw8dbLT6jufqr3zEgPgIZ08UyGQp2c6M/s1000/50x50_16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiudDbs1enkxZjD11fdQ8zUq58cpBgOxHAGmOX0PGcO7t9LxAUy5GwaInuygX34dxh57KbSYOa20_84csqWOIIo7W2ZQhfv7eSbLg9KHEFmlJcxlET2bB4-5XahBCCWrLxry2TDcDQyZIGOWPte5_r12KGAw8dbLT6jufqr3zEgPgIZ08UyGQp2c6M/w199-h200/50x50_16.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#2--"Kiss #1" <br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyLkD8johKGEjTtW2uuGbJnl9I_yQ7e_rj7G7Q9H8qtUV_8ryGeX-VuRtmwMeiQkL6xmCQeSrCt4lK3MUitXZY5ioAU8sMihlxIpsSEH_Sbyvk37oJbG7TMVOFUjIuB-pSwsNC_AQNI5ajsmczT60gn10A3ZbrYMklRm_0H8N4L4O-UTN75MIphM/s1000/50x50_30.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyLkD8johKGEjTtW2uuGbJnl9I_yQ7e_rj7G7Q9H8qtUV_8ryGeX-VuRtmwMeiQkL6xmCQeSrCt4lK3MUitXZY5ioAU8sMihlxIpsSEH_Sbyvk37oJbG7TMVOFUjIuB-pSwsNC_AQNI5ajsmczT60gn10A3ZbrYMklRm_0H8N4L4O-UTN75MIphM/w199-h200/50x50_30.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#48--"Tribe #2" <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9oWTvGcg_9vx9tcEsRHCdiVaOUloiaVb6J0xlpAcejBbkht9lZh2AUNb1VMZ835I3TFZHclsBkLUoy7Baimi4BiEPt5Cw9_ExwPybPmlaqEwdQrEllGEAeOfmOyooosxrHiuY845LK3IxRWWrOjK4rRaTl2h20Lp8DjPAum2T5w7xRx9efq3jQ0/s1000/50x50_31.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="995" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9oWTvGcg_9vx9tcEsRHCdiVaOUloiaVb6J0xlpAcejBbkht9lZh2AUNb1VMZ835I3TFZHclsBkLUoy7Baimi4BiEPt5Cw9_ExwPybPmlaqEwdQrEllGEAeOfmOyooosxrHiuY845LK3IxRWWrOjK4rRaTl2h20Lp8DjPAum2T5w7xRx9efq3jQ0/w199-h200/50x50_31.jpg" width="199" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#47--"Tribe" <br /></div> <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3cnKMlcpLrkLt6YrfcQgAWmb0DoClSGnRSg9__vlMERxHHh-414RGmtLpLpDq85-Z45qpsEXGwOFij4hZfm0mHNIZwumkE5w-kSnnBAocPJFIGI9trxSt3Ot3tH6V2lb-avXYNOKdbbHU_lCbzLHlBnPsWKdutXeBkKZ7wbH_1llNW7hHY6BTIY/s1000/50x50_51.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1000" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3cnKMlcpLrkLt6YrfcQgAWmb0DoClSGnRSg9__vlMERxHHh-414RGmtLpLpDq85-Z45qpsEXGwOFij4hZfm0mHNIZwumkE5w-kSnnBAocPJFIGI9trxSt3Ot3tH6V2lb-avXYNOKdbbHU_lCbzLHlBnPsWKdutXeBkKZ7wbH_1llNW7hHY6BTIY/w200-h199/50x50_51.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#18--"Contact" <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-H94oxGB2MtAgeKHfjYhvAQueIp2jiDU86cSnq-PDqJTm6TttKjDF5_U1IvPCjXM7GD7n2kdJbi4zSuWmWWuX3N9h6QBuBLK-cVZaOwd-hPNCVJ-9dtAx6JSj8AxPhehBeuC4WtYxOIEIKnJcH4M_bsSWl-uc3sVXdLT4dQ04RnRn7-ncCQwvi9A/s1000/50x50_50.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1000" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-H94oxGB2MtAgeKHfjYhvAQueIp2jiDU86cSnq-PDqJTm6TttKjDF5_U1IvPCjXM7GD7n2kdJbi4zSuWmWWuX3N9h6QBuBLK-cVZaOwd-hPNCVJ-9dtAx6JSj8AxPhehBeuC4WtYxOIEIKnJcH4M_bsSWl-uc3sVXdLT4dQ04RnRn7-ncCQwvi9A/w200-h199/50x50_50.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#19--"Contact #2" <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /> <p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-62345752394249201342022-08-23T11:56:00.006-07:002022-08-23T12:02:08.863-07:00Where do paintings come from?<br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNyhXe63ZkiHPA-DWpMhkoX7_43i2pRf1z-GJjjjPcFPZeXCqyrk22JAlIeidG4I89XX7auK8lavpcrtk7OZogKYVunzU1uQgGsHM_De6aYFNgz9gS1V7KC_kilnd4QFfaJgdngE1qA5TQAVymOIjGNUpuUO-RnDvODOzKK31kTaqo7AJh_EeY8M/s4032/IMG_2244.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNyhXe63ZkiHPA-DWpMhkoX7_43i2pRf1z-GJjjjPcFPZeXCqyrk22JAlIeidG4I89XX7auK8lavpcrtk7OZogKYVunzU1uQgGsHM_De6aYFNgz9gS1V7KC_kilnd4QFfaJgdngE1qA5TQAVymOIjGNUpuUO-RnDvODOzKK31kTaqo7AJh_EeY8M/w150-h200/IMG_2244.JPG" width="150" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaT3aMpdjW0-V2EVFg995IzhaJlixOp5jRE7SWYsZQHU7Qji-z5OF-va1FtACpZ7CR4f3IFoOxaU60zBVJr-Blb33DfhxsSvt0OHtVnbe6jDGlQcz8c66yLLffzLczWd9-fvfUBVS6-rv-BhyOICYKxNwqPQWih2o349asn25AFuxKgCdptSDjsA/s1280/IMG_1197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaT3aMpdjW0-V2EVFg995IzhaJlixOp5jRE7SWYsZQHU7Qji-z5OF-va1FtACpZ7CR4f3IFoOxaU60zBVJr-Blb33DfhxsSvt0OHtVnbe6jDGlQcz8c66yLLffzLczWd9-fvfUBVS6-rv-BhyOICYKxNwqPQWih2o349asn25AFuxKgCdptSDjsA/w150-h200/IMG_1197.jpg" width="150" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YiIPLcwG3B48lUM-sAsBCz1j5_aZyOEz7OGVeov46kBR9cErNfB1isM8NqopKlnm9YYgAPtvb4p6lMb3h92dGbQ8rmWLC-3UsXBhn-6BsHpIkuENc4EUJkgUc-ND0u-A-JAzQ2YSMt1P0KMAWWuIVowVaLNA1sfxvoDowvrcia5rB3_gOn-v2To/s4032/IMG_2246.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZMZDGoFqg2MBuwlur4bPAMY5esqZHRw2U7jI6MYVCuxV2UpnmtqmutrQZFK9PA5FyHMb5DnvLXk8Si6lWHtOzq7DQUW9nUtddoNaXlhvvA66oFBhDA9Lf8p6_Y3akO7roHKvmy0EnuI2ciTbeuiOEQfRdLWnaEOSULQCcB2uAt_TXIlvd76oQYI/s1000/flying-high_12x12_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="991" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZMZDGoFqg2MBuwlur4bPAMY5esqZHRw2U7jI6MYVCuxV2UpnmtqmutrQZFK9PA5FyHMb5DnvLXk8Si6lWHtOzq7DQUW9nUtddoNaXlhvvA66oFBhDA9Lf8p6_Y3akO7roHKvmy0EnuI2ciTbeuiOEQfRdLWnaEOSULQCcB2uAt_TXIlvd76oQYI/w198-h200/flying-high_12x12_1.jpg" width="198" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am constantly on the prowl for new ideas. One of my favorite spots is the dry dock yard at the Berkeley Marina. I'll sneak past the Do Not Trespass sign with my sketchbook in the evening and draw the beautiful sweeping lines of the boats. I also have small wooden boat models in my studio that I can refer to.<br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUqh33DQr-_4nk380tenukYQ8q7I6PFH1EdEq2gzQjkQYd_DkG42ZmDfJ85imR7VzU7PP2SUFO4cVZSRK4-2US89pVdif764-ATHjFw-6J2Z1MRE4r4zKYxn45U6vRiv5n96gy7lJ-unf3mxVH9qnTj9JcFlmfkuj1YjgGmlT9sL3Eemw47jp0W8/s4032/IMG_2249.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUqh33DQr-_4nk380tenukYQ8q7I6PFH1EdEq2gzQjkQYd_DkG42ZmDfJ85imR7VzU7PP2SUFO4cVZSRK4-2US89pVdif764-ATHjFw-6J2Z1MRE4r4zKYxn45U6vRiv5n96gy7lJ-unf3mxVH9qnTj9JcFlmfkuj1YjgGmlT9sL3Eemw47jp0W8/s320/IMG_2249.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLZAaFWdglmRgoKLTJjrKN0apB2_g3FREJrWOmlIpnue-S_QR2e5zn23DTQltD2WV8XyNaz0Gb0KF-y3tYYPFCW25Ou_MW1-F8nYsiIMDCwLX7W2MBGeiIZ3pfcDSjhF3AFqmrTBgdo6rEnpsm2bYR6MGTY2rlAoSHJQEeLimWG6lbN5btQ62ULs/s1997/riding-the-waves_12x24.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1997" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLZAaFWdglmRgoKLTJjrKN0apB2_g3FREJrWOmlIpnue-S_QR2e5zn23DTQltD2WV8XyNaz0Gb0KF-y3tYYPFCW25Ou_MW1-F8nYsiIMDCwLX7W2MBGeiIZ3pfcDSjhF3AFqmrTBgdo6rEnpsm2bYR6MGTY2rlAoSHJQEeLimWG6lbN5btQ62ULs/s320/riding-the-waves_12x24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKy0VQf0U0F5onwbU2ofjQnGZakiR6OZiCn_FXZxV0kQIu5vd-LPs0hzrI7MUJRyQ2fpJ1UDpwT1UxyhbLWUWEMaYMZpjwXXi8ZLF8M6uFwcHLV2ie2X5c4Nb6OQ_ZQeFmur9WBaq0huYgC0MscJl63fFP5GIGMbbIoh8Uz4ELSymqoUYB8e1CDZw/s1281/fresh-hope_14x18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1281" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKy0VQf0U0F5onwbU2ofjQnGZakiR6OZiCn_FXZxV0kQIu5vd-LPs0hzrI7MUJRyQ2fpJ1UDpwT1UxyhbLWUWEMaYMZpjwXXi8ZLF8M6uFwcHLV2ie2X5c4Nb6OQ_ZQeFmur9WBaq0huYgC0MscJl63fFP5GIGMbbIoh8Uz4ELSymqoUYB8e1CDZw/s320/fresh-hope_14x18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I might start with one image in mind, but I change or my feelings change, and soon the children in the boat are replaced by a tree...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I feel that giving myself permission to draw quietly for awhile is the best source for new work. Also, getting out in nature and grabbing photographs of anything that gives me pause helps a lot. And seeing other artists' work gives me courage to take risks, paint big, paint small, paint risky.<br /></div><br /> <p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-78983769024740806112022-08-11T09:58:00.007-07:002022-08-15T12:17:13.726-07:00Being a Mom and Artist<p><br /></p><br /><p></p><p>Parenting is challenging and rewarding under any circumstances. Being a parent as an artist is doubly so.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQ6qLUg_oweZPcYgSnJ2cgNZCU4tUK5nuNYqwevjbQxqbcsb7uIOma1wnIoACe_gcMNWsTmr7vmrbb_1dPUMBATS3rkL3RHVOn0z8pCOM8Lt6IkP_TYlvdObqcxVoxLtN198B2yVCvEh97yw3eW8El0BS6NA-OUMkf7X6EYV9F6jO4Ha13R0qahs/s1000/my-daughter-sitting_16.5x21.5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="1000" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQ6qLUg_oweZPcYgSnJ2cgNZCU4tUK5nuNYqwevjbQxqbcsb7uIOma1wnIoACe_gcMNWsTmr7vmrbb_1dPUMBATS3rkL3RHVOn0z8pCOM8Lt6IkP_TYlvdObqcxVoxLtN198B2yVCvEh97yw3eW8El0BS6NA-OUMkf7X6EYV9F6jO4Ha13R0qahs/s320/my-daughter-sitting_16.5x21.5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>People who don't understand the artist's life think you're a mom with a hobbie, and why can't you volunteer? Relatives tell you of the necessity of two income families in this era, not realizing that you earned more than your partner that year. There's no boss insisting that you work when the kids are sick, which is quite wonderful, but sometimes you wish there was a boss setting boundaries. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fvOOso15bGU" width="320" youtube-src-id="fvOOso15bGU"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> <p></p><p></p><p>It was so challenging to reserve those few hours of painting time when my kids were small, but then when I got out to the studio, all I could paint was them.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhvhpAOD7jJw2-GQ_a5RmjC63F7qR1Xl_A0gh2KIx9TQ2HnpfdBSSOMnSYAC68xf1oaGiktn2tZ9lzx8iZ1dHxor60OgrLTThdUr6C_jBwj3pcMWp75Gb-8z69yuQWygTLzFcGICheuRJGkwXCtRs1rMitqHVkXsv5eCd3Knid3OYROm7j7ys-Yo/s1000/tired-mother_18x16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="814" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhvhpAOD7jJw2-GQ_a5RmjC63F7qR1Xl_A0gh2KIx9TQ2HnpfdBSSOMnSYAC68xf1oaGiktn2tZ9lzx8iZ1dHxor60OgrLTThdUr6C_jBwj3pcMWp75Gb-8z69yuQWygTLzFcGICheuRJGkwXCtRs1rMitqHVkXsv5eCd3Knid3OYROm7j7ys-Yo/s320/tired-mother_18x16.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><p></p><p>But all of these frustrations pale at the delight of having a tot perched on a stool by your palette, cooing, "More purple, Mommy, more yellow;" the thrill of chasing toddlers through an opening art reception, narrowly dodging neon sculptures; the comfort of having young adults come at the end of an open studio weekend and help load up the cars.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqF6J65LpDXfSOOun0u-e5dHev8rBxb0Po7eoSnPg9yIwbbCz3vMnPx2mp86_SPXPFe7WwTZnxxGFY_aPamogvFHSxzqoKcf0JUBMtKCsa2w67WXvdrtsBAFEzMo_6yWSEmjmKfg1LPE-Buek_yp0LJxMV0NAgllhgMmfrAOM-rdZV-Ld4eoy7l8/s1000/snatched-moment_32x52.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="684" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqF6J65LpDXfSOOun0u-e5dHev8rBxb0Po7eoSnPg9yIwbbCz3vMnPx2mp86_SPXPFe7WwTZnxxGFY_aPamogvFHSxzqoKcf0JUBMtKCsa2w67WXvdrtsBAFEzMo_6yWSEmjmKfg1LPE-Buek_yp0LJxMV0NAgllhgMmfrAOM-rdZV-Ld4eoy7l8/s320/snatched-moment_32x52.jpg" width="219" /> <br /></a><br /></div>My daughter remembers riding into San Francisco with me when she was very small and I had to deliver a show in a storm. Paintings were hanging out the back of the open hatch of the Honda, and the torential rain was blowing in. I held the steering wheel with one hand and gripped a tarp over the canvases with the other while my daughter cried. Upon arriving at the gallery, she happily buzzed about as I did the paperwork.<p></p><p>I remember bringing my children with me when I hung a cafe show after the business had closed for the night. They helped me carry the paintings through the urban neighborhood, and while they did their homework at a table, the staff brought them chocolate.</p><p>They have posed for paintings along with their friends, helped with painting titles, shared their opinions on compositions even when in preschool, and guided me throught the perplexities of social media.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3GFiRodMB1oWj7T3T-Z49SAzwGTfPJN62izStusDbCsWyP8mEULWWrdZeSUoK2QqXxUyMISDpgXttzSSAGti3-XK0fpdXqLCMl48ROmjAVdeGXl4WJv1Dgl_NN21hcjBBg2BIZspoIOLhJd98qgd3hwJKpSsv_mgD1fXujPIXi6Adm0z3a5JZ1M/s2592/IMG_0777.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1936" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3GFiRodMB1oWj7T3T-Z49SAzwGTfPJN62izStusDbCsWyP8mEULWWrdZeSUoK2QqXxUyMISDpgXttzSSAGti3-XK0fpdXqLCMl48ROmjAVdeGXl4WJv1Dgl_NN21hcjBBg2BIZspoIOLhJd98qgd3hwJKpSsv_mgD1fXujPIXi6Adm0z3a5JZ1M/w149-h200/IMG_0777.JPG" width="149" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOYswc18ptg7VqucCpWIW-2F9_kOvnqz3Xr95mgFofxXOXgj-8MQA67fT6cB8nwV5hwwbCZNx6XpwOczV2_rOZkMIYa2rNWYxwVRMP-f-uzw8Z718TTgNRhFgxp1iFyh6XQRbOwSXFhOE-64yKXN9N-hlOp115VpgLctHuHFPt65b62GmheQbrCE/s4032/IMG_0615.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOYswc18ptg7VqucCpWIW-2F9_kOvnqz3Xr95mgFofxXOXgj-8MQA67fT6cB8nwV5hwwbCZNx6XpwOczV2_rOZkMIYa2rNWYxwVRMP-f-uzw8Z718TTgNRhFgxp1iFyh6XQRbOwSXFhOE-64yKXN9N-hlOp115VpgLctHuHFPt65b62GmheQbrCE/w150-h200/IMG_0615.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpNIS2sNOFKKSY8dtTg_QisHlYHOLprBtFLtDMC1m7aaLdkCIFTn6ETNk-VM0Q0C7k5VaB3ltpMGRGZsVuuI3oysRV-O5CB2R95e8kcv3tRRMFOpoLOpjZFs8A830ct0JsYYnGN2GV2wF2rC82IAvN0LpobTLoI0PWid3p-s4x51XLsZtxG-c2mA/s4032/IMG_0953.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpNIS2sNOFKKSY8dtTg_QisHlYHOLprBtFLtDMC1m7aaLdkCIFTn6ETNk-VM0Q0C7k5VaB3ltpMGRGZsVuuI3oysRV-O5CB2R95e8kcv3tRRMFOpoLOpjZFs8A830ct0JsYYnGN2GV2wF2rC82IAvN0LpobTLoI0PWid3p-s4x51XLsZtxG-c2mA/w150-h200/IMG_0953.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>My grown daughter told me recently, "It wasn't until I got to college that I realized how unusual our home was. Growing up with artists, I just thought this was the way it was for everyone." It's so delightful now to watch then explore their own creative outlets.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br />art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-44202631129637166402022-08-06T13:10:00.000-07:002022-08-06T13:10:38.957-07:00My Canvas Family<p> 25 years ago I wrote an article for Radix Magazine, a journal on Christianity and culture. The article is an interesting look into my process so long ago when my children were small and I was wrestling with family of origin issues through my painting. It is also a very transparent look at my spirituality at the time. Many aspects of my process and my art as therapy have changed and evolved since then, but this is an interesting record of my early days as an artist. My apologies for the photos--they're scans of old slides.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My Canvas Family</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I paint in my studio behind my house, I can
hear my children, ages two and four, inside with their father or their Russian
babysitter. When they were tiny, I craved a chance to paint undisturbed, but in
the studio all I could paint was them, their tiny hands, their snuggly bodies.
Now my work had returned to more metaphorical and narrative themes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Often ghosts from my own childhood appear on
the canvases, uninvited. Often my mother’s face appears, twisted by mental
illness. Often my paintings are prayers coming from a deeper place in my heart
than the words can reside. I can put on a pretty good façade in my daily life,
but I can’t hide when I paint. Sometimes in these corners of honesty, God can
confront and heal me as well.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The paintings that follow represent some of
the surprises and transformations that sometimes occur in my work.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbQWfTJdDWYiH2Z61GMQOWj9G8ccc6rh2gQNK2AdML9dHvK-8PHXaUJOyffIDk1LKTZWzyTKk39JFzwbWBsPN3NYPh9qpB_g5b2uxMWFxuLZ5gZ-nwROaN6oEYzlVPzQyNCNgmf0I3vgxAvdzSQca04nUazXafkVi8VTBwVkXxW78b8XcS_bxZ6U/s1000/reunion_60x48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="746" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbQWfTJdDWYiH2Z61GMQOWj9G8ccc6rh2gQNK2AdML9dHvK-8PHXaUJOyffIDk1LKTZWzyTKk39JFzwbWBsPN3NYPh9qpB_g5b2uxMWFxuLZ5gZ-nwROaN6oEYzlVPzQyNCNgmf0I3vgxAvdzSQca04nUazXafkVi8VTBwVkXxW78b8XcS_bxZ6U/s320/reunion_60x48.jpg" width="239" /></a><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Reunion</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wanted to paint a reunion with dear friends
I missed. I remembered how, when I lived in the Sierras, the blue mist would
rise from the valley beyond my back door, and I put a new canvas on the easel.
I painted my friend, Nancy, on her porch, leaning toward me with her arms
outstretched, her little girl clinging to her knees. I began painting myself
running to her excitedly, but it was too effusive. Instead, I drop my suitcase
and look up hesitantly with my hands open but my arms at my sides.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Some people see the figure looking down from
the porch as a crucifixion. A few days after finishing the painting I recognize
my mother’s face on the woman leaning on the porch about to totter off the step
stairs and my own face in that determined child, gripping her knees and keeping
her balance. I’m also the visitor, dreading her embrace but longing for it at
the same time.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It’s a painting of yearning, longing, and
reluctance. It’s a painting of Christ. It’s a painting of my mother. Aren’t
they all intertwined as I cloak God in all the twisted definitions of who a
loving parent is?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnYUkRP3blxaEPNNeT_HkGd7t3E4Q6f0RxZMs33ASQx_6_kvS8Ol8x6TYX8MgLQXcp567P7y31pdiQgUm9HEUCXH9WTJLf_PEnWg1eBLuFdL-MS0yrPtZotIwsuZT4OQfURuZPbcWGSutAzareeqwZoyrstlwxYlY_l7qoiaRFabJCaZuvKqXFs8/s1000/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="1000" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnYUkRP3blxaEPNNeT_HkGd7t3E4Q6f0RxZMs33ASQx_6_kvS8Ol8x6TYX8MgLQXcp567P7y31pdiQgUm9HEUCXH9WTJLf_PEnWg1eBLuFdL-MS0yrPtZotIwsuZT4OQfURuZPbcWGSutAzareeqwZoyrstlwxYlY_l7qoiaRFabJCaZuvKqXFs8/s320/Untitled.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Inside/Outside</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Usually before I paint, I spend a half hour in
my studio writing in a prayer journal. My aim is to get to the heart of where I
am in my journey with God and to be as honest as possible about my need for
him. Those prayers and scriptures that follow often have a strong influence on
my paintings. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In an attempt to share with God exactly where
I was, I determined to create a painting firmly rooted in the present. There I
am, pushing a stroller, silhouetted in blue against the window of a popular
restaurant in my neighborhood. Some observers have commented on the whimsy and
playfulness in the piece, but one family shuddered and confided to me that they
thought it was of a child going to get her father out of a bar—an event that
had happened repeatedly in their family.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It took me two months to recognize the faces
of every member of my family of origin, both alive and dead, in that
restaurant, and myself in three stages of life, passing outside. For 11 years
I’ve tried to separate myself from the dance of my family—the entrenched
life-scripts we interrelate with—and have felt relief in the distance, but
loneliness as well.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9aWDaYLj4fr5lHzLMwNVYwbGotIbBRp_9UwQnaRVYku1IGPCEvXbhIY8HQXzoxFgIpuIbqQsYaW2nPDQHvCvwgzsliCE3nktd75mtkX5_V_CuQoqNi3A8zw8BNNiTiQlxCA2slCSlWAceZ3F2EV6aLeC0zbxVx9Yq-GKyPCd1PJOuPmIXhGlkfc/s1000/late_30x52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="1000" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9aWDaYLj4fr5lHzLMwNVYwbGotIbBRp_9UwQnaRVYku1IGPCEvXbhIY8HQXzoxFgIpuIbqQsYaW2nPDQHvCvwgzsliCE3nktd75mtkX5_V_CuQoqNi3A8zw8BNNiTiQlxCA2slCSlWAceZ3F2EV6aLeC0zbxVx9Yq-GKyPCd1PJOuPmIXhGlkfc/s320/late_30x52.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Late</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’ve created six paintings over the years of
people gathered around a table. Most have started as sketches drawn on napkins
when I’m surrounded by friends. In an attempt to prolong the experience of
their companionship, I recreate the dinner parties in paint. I can cover
canvases with friends, but invariably and involuntarily their faces swirl into
the ugly family confrontations of my childhood. Any time I open a woman’s
mouth, the others listen in surly, resentful silence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Make the woman talk. Make the others listen. A
woman can speak without being crazy. But the first woman I ever heard was my
mother, spewing out rage and anguish. I scratch and claw my way through a
painting of people in a restaurant. There I am, speaking calmly, telling a
story. Some figures are detached and distracted, but one person leans forward
to hear what I have to say. Can God be interested as well?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYt8-KQVKKUUUjqi4K3Bn7t6St9SbGw5aQJleCWkPSygwyRUJZ9zgZ8OCagjzRtlp1P4NROUWONY_p1UJoyPP_M1mSwDpK11e5mYNJ2DrSgO_NurD4PZ5_XomHqbPcFvkzpO-PMCrI418bTj4NWByUIaFo-MhCdI2bnEL3vQtz0IMLkd1P2R2q8_Q/s1000/putting%20out%20fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1000" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYt8-KQVKKUUUjqi4K3Bn7t6St9SbGw5aQJleCWkPSygwyRUJZ9zgZ8OCagjzRtlp1P4NROUWONY_p1UJoyPP_M1mSwDpK11e5mYNJ2DrSgO_NurD4PZ5_XomHqbPcFvkzpO-PMCrI418bTj4NWByUIaFo-MhCdI2bnEL3vQtz0IMLkd1P2R2q8_Q/s320/putting%20out%20fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Fire</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For months, even years, my mailbox flamed and
smoked with furious letters from my mother, writhing in her mental illness. I
felt creatively blocked by my own hyper-criticalness. I am on the verge of
giving up painting. I’m always on the verge of giving up painting. Why pay a
sitter to care for my children so I can go to a small room and be terrorized by
a white canvas? I go for a walk, put laundry in the dyer, go into the house for
a cup of tea. My children’s sitter, Mira, growls at me in her Muscovite accent,
“Why am I here? Go out and paint!” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I begin a new canvas of a woman waving a cloth
near burning books and letters. I think I am painting a self-portrait of me
faming the flames of anything that represents my mother, the voracious reader.
But the woman’s position is wrong. She’s too close. Is she trying to smother
the fire she’s started? And what am I to do with my own rage?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hgkthbPYGLN_b-OsGpmjbcd7YMXoV7uqjFwguRAwE8w5d9DVdp5zNFwlSIcbM6BRP5b-qnKkgO8lqYbKsekcSXIXhw4c6oNkhs994VDFruXMhQ0IgOwbbDSmVoqKiNYsEYg3-vPNTeAM1Hcm-peff9J6ION0xs1QO2volvyVOMwoSHty-hLuFTI/s1000/green-room_61x47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="772" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hgkthbPYGLN_b-OsGpmjbcd7YMXoV7uqjFwguRAwE8w5d9DVdp5zNFwlSIcbM6BRP5b-qnKkgO8lqYbKsekcSXIXhw4c6oNkhs994VDFruXMhQ0IgOwbbDSmVoqKiNYsEYg3-vPNTeAM1Hcm-peff9J6ION0xs1QO2volvyVOMwoSHty-hLuFTI/s320/green-room_61x47.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Green Room</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Three months ago, my mother had a medical
crisis that catapulted me back into close contact with the family I’d tried to
distance myself from for most of my adult life. Suddenly we were sitting
together in emergency rooms, detox wards, and retirement homes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My older brother arrives at 7:00 a.m., and we
drive together to my mother’s green house in another part of the state.
All the way, he talks about how multiple small strokes and medication have softened
her, making her gentle and dependent. We spend the day at the house, cleaning
and sifting through rooms of books and snapshots and angry letters. So much
violence in that house. I was always so afraid. The ghosts are still there, and
they cling to my clothes as we leave.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They’re still lingering when I go to the
studio the next morning. How can I paint? Five unfinished canvases are waiting
for me. Miserable failures all. The ghosts remind me, “You’re Carol Peterson,
really, and Carol Peterson is not a painter.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I put away four of the five canvases, saving a
5’x4’ surface. It’s faded green, the color of my mother’s house. Five birds fly
around the ceiling. My mother swats at them with a towel, my brother grabs at
her arm, my sister cries, and I watch from a crouched position in the corner.
Thirty years later, our roles are still clearly established in painful detail.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I cover them with dull green paint. Instead, a
lone girl reaches up her arms as if to imitate the trapped birds’ flight. The
room is still green. It’s still my mother’s house. I’d live to leave it, but
for now it’s where my heart is. I’ll just have to paint through the green.
There’s a mystery about this painting, perhaps a feeling of hope within my
mother’s compressed walls.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnv6CAfnnFyOkzwb_FKzL1pAIvD695XELviY9tsAIZiqz3GKAE_nWflL7H9nDnPhCJNilDEV9_dQwgYmhKDY0bB7DMBEi6CAeaOtbPWd4inrzdq8q8_Mam99GE_-HZrZAuc3j0bMIhzYSvTbbBSZZeGaA2rYpQJuarnF2Ot8vqygzU9QqEvjiCEM/s1000/imminence_46x76.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="1000" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnv6CAfnnFyOkzwb_FKzL1pAIvD695XELviY9tsAIZiqz3GKAE_nWflL7H9nDnPhCJNilDEV9_dQwgYmhKDY0bB7DMBEi6CAeaOtbPWd4inrzdq8q8_Mam99GE_-HZrZAuc3j0bMIhzYSvTbbBSZZeGaA2rYpQJuarnF2Ot8vqygzU9QqEvjiCEM/s320/imminence_46x76.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Imminence</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I painted another hide and seek game. But as I
painted it, it became a game gone wrong. Some of those children are really
scared. Is it a game at all? What are they hiding from? What thundering knock,
what thundering voices are fueling their panic?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.1in 0.5in; mso-para-margin-bottom: .6gd; mso-para-margin-left: .5in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This painting was too dark for me. Then, as a
seeming afterthought, I give the woman wings as she peers into the dark. OK. God
is there, even when I’m terrified. I add a child crouching under the bed, ready
to watch what will follow from a safe place. And I, too, am crouching in the
safe place of my painting, sensing God’s protection as he illuminates for me
those feelings I try to keep under cover, feelings of longing and reluctance
and rage and loneliness and hope.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-14330822016386775492022-07-24T15:05:00.000-07:002022-07-24T15:05:24.218-07:00My Birth as an Artist<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeZPOvI-Y_rNN0USd4L6pkfDnD04EaGfsU-hGLSU3IoVmeyjPkV5Gzr_VlJczFdLTO6W18sV1BsRlsPEO6f6fi0MqKfAGqt_vnNwWuPsdkEgHVAdNAEfY9_BpIQft7vcZicoBbMsVdA46ub3SeSBZ4m7in3grqhTf_up8Ja7wGJ-7jS7FsmdVl2c/s1280/faculty-class-photo-1987%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeZPOvI-Y_rNN0USd4L6pkfDnD04EaGfsU-hGLSU3IoVmeyjPkV5Gzr_VlJczFdLTO6W18sV1BsRlsPEO6f6fi0MqKfAGqt_vnNwWuPsdkEgHVAdNAEfY9_BpIQft7vcZicoBbMsVdA46ub3SeSBZ4m7in3grqhTf_up8Ja7wGJ-7jS7FsmdVl2c/w400-h268/faculty-class-photo-1987%20copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I never went to art school. Although I've taken lots of classes, I don't have an art degree. But I had two pivotal experiences that propelled me into painting and guided me into the work I've continued doing for the last 30 years.<p></p><p>Through a series of miraculous events, my husband, Ed, and I became English teachers at a Chinese university in 1986-87. We had been married two years and were greener than green, but we were also desperate for a new adventure and distance from our small town. We traveled to Zhengzhou, Henan Province,the People's Republic of China, and were provided with an apartment in a building for Chinese faculty. For the next 14 months, we taught English writing and conversation and traveled extensively throughout the country.<br /></p><p>It was a challenging time to be in a central Chinese city. Our apartment didn't get over 40 degrees for three months, and Ed and I each lost 30 pounds over the course of the year, subsisting on rice and cabbage and pancakes through the winter. There were more horses than cars in our city of one million, and I could create traffic accidents by letting my blonde hair blow freely as I walked down the boulevard (a rather heady experience).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdorhzsVx6Dp0fzWeW1fSkKG4vQCtqtq2R9JBn66ELsI6TwSe8jr--74g0vxsvKNpNAHyjYTC8HiGRMH0sR037cDW1unX4tnAvxixPVNN7aijrKseHV_8zK2q27B3WfS5I2s6VV3pg3F132Pg-1Jqy-y5HhlVxK7bj39F5ISZwlbX6XC8I9xJ51pg/s1280/carol-on-bus%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdorhzsVx6Dp0fzWeW1fSkKG4vQCtqtq2R9JBn66ELsI6TwSe8jr--74g0vxsvKNpNAHyjYTC8HiGRMH0sR037cDW1unX4tnAvxixPVNN7aijrKseHV_8zK2q27B3WfS5I2s6VV3pg3F132Pg-1Jqy-y5HhlVxK7bj39F5ISZwlbX6XC8I9xJ51pg/s320/carol-on-bus%20copy.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><p>On my first day of teaching, I skirted around puddles of standing water and past broken windows in the languages building. As I entered my classroom, 30 brilliant graduate students in khaki Mao jackets and caps rose and stood respectfully at attention. My life was never the same again. Over the next year, these students and another class of university faculty opened their hearts to us, told us stories of growing up during the Cultural Revolution, and shared their impossible dreams for the future. Ed's and my apartment was full of guests every night. I felt flooded with the strong impressions, like we were on a different planet.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVs-flxyTCCpWK2VxuLTs7VRseDug5ILAA-wiUnkOYFZsK3GlyW3R7w-GVuWefyJyyBlK6AeZ4y060AQJZ8Y-vPQdqCOhBSzd97MI6G03hl0Z5gOS-looruOF_FI-M2T9Iuh5BxF5eXxZsehGn8ak6xWi0IBruGClDkY_iStNHJ04T7E8cxuDlnQ/s1280/DSCF9603_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1003" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVs-flxyTCCpWK2VxuLTs7VRseDug5ILAA-wiUnkOYFZsK3GlyW3R7w-GVuWefyJyyBlK6AeZ4y060AQJZ8Y-vPQdqCOhBSzd97MI6G03hl0Z5gOS-looruOF_FI-M2T9Iuh5BxF5eXxZsehGn8ak6xWi0IBruGClDkY_iStNHJ04T7E8cxuDlnQ/s320/DSCF9603_1.jpg" width="251" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLxK0WTip--bVS_peUb44zND_6Qd38-25XWzZPsfgTW72kfjUTnThJNdzx5k2hESqcvsz5xootWB2Te174xuP5eY02t7Ur3LV6v-hRywbdxAnoD5u-sgZhc1goXqCre0yGNks1nonof737qsgJVraFywI8-TMgpVZ7YY-9Nn9OCt9nNvSYRqXHWE/s1280/DSCF9601_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="742" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLxK0WTip--bVS_peUb44zND_6Qd38-25XWzZPsfgTW72kfjUTnThJNdzx5k2hESqcvsz5xootWB2Te174xuP5eY02t7Ur3LV6v-hRywbdxAnoD5u-sgZhc1goXqCre0yGNks1nonof737qsgJVraFywI8-TMgpVZ7YY-9Nn9OCt9nNvSYRqXHWE/s320/DSCF9601_1.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ66lKNFRVbhD-Df0WgkXE8vvAAJSxGFYc37J17d_QRvF7KYqSRfitfognVrbyf1lS45U6DQPKBOhHvcpYwWNuyUqTRogq9b95Oqqqn8oRZ-_Y_REClYYJZC5oj9S8leF6q4YGjczxNF4LiZVSExcswlCBMH-08ZGGET-PDR46mVmsAq4ljHBx1E8/s1280/DSCF9602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1280" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ66lKNFRVbhD-Df0WgkXE8vvAAJSxGFYc37J17d_QRvF7KYqSRfitfognVrbyf1lS45U6DQPKBOhHvcpYwWNuyUqTRogq9b95Oqqqn8oRZ-_Y_REClYYJZC5oj9S8leF6q4YGjczxNF4LiZVSExcswlCBMH-08ZGGET-PDR46mVmsAq4ljHBx1E8/s320/DSCF9602.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div></div><p></p><p>How could I process all of these exeriences? I had packed pastels and watercolors in my suitcase, and I began illustrating our students' stories and my own gut responses. The word got around that I painted, and soon I was joined in my living room by several classically trained Chinese artists. They taught me that the drive to create transcends borders and that art happens even in unheated rooms with the simplest of materials. When we returned to the USA, I had refined a personal visual language, but, more importantly, I saw art as a vital lifeline for expressing burning, hard-to-resolve emotions.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeOgYgkAj_mIZLx17T3RYLAXDeHc2PcyY182O8OlSugvcaXfh9UmbTK8a6Z4oqxfA6MlCJOiNuGwh9ySrL42jDpg6u6UiyDMLLICe7oXI-qe0rlLhdm-XsNUVP4EoDD8OMXMw2l9vBHfR9XufKd2rrGX578B2q9evq1XTkMOLvNbw_WnNYp5M9q7E/s1280/DSCF9613_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeOgYgkAj_mIZLx17T3RYLAXDeHc2PcyY182O8OlSugvcaXfh9UmbTK8a6Z4oqxfA6MlCJOiNuGwh9ySrL42jDpg6u6UiyDMLLICe7oXI-qe0rlLhdm-XsNUVP4EoDD8OMXMw2l9vBHfR9XufKd2rrGX578B2q9evq1XTkMOLvNbw_WnNYp5M9q7E/s320/DSCF9613_1.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><p></p><p>Returning to the US was a bumpy transition for me. Ed and I moved to Oakland and struggled with new careers, tight funds, and my family of origin in crisis. I hit a major depression almost immediately and found myself in a therapist's office, pulling out a couple of watercolors and explaining, "I don't know how to use words to describe what I'm feeling, but it's a little like <i>this</i>..." For the next three years, I took her one or two paintings a week and we discussed the feelings behind them. Those three years became a kind of MFA program, and in the end I had a body of 300 paintings, the birth of my life as an artist.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff384Gssdc_fzcw9vGaCnEzZvciYJ3JrntRxSUWhdXa78nFqv3t1wmLeWMw_pE8BLfRozNpJAFvuuX8v7tcmNkw2DV_qcPYjPvvt40GxnZiNT6MLQMWcLDAcc15NBqPwycerQPs6uDNHNkmlosPQ0H5QPBfrTSEycjCElfFPHrYeL4E6dgtQOs_I/s1280/DSCF9616_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1280" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff384Gssdc_fzcw9vGaCnEzZvciYJ3JrntRxSUWhdXa78nFqv3t1wmLeWMw_pE8BLfRozNpJAFvuuX8v7tcmNkw2DV_qcPYjPvvt40GxnZiNT6MLQMWcLDAcc15NBqPwycerQPs6uDNHNkmlosPQ0H5QPBfrTSEycjCElfFPHrYeL4E6dgtQOs_I/s320/DSCF9616_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I am grateful for that Chinese experience and the deep friendships that happened there and the artistic expression was born in that unheated apartment. And I'm grateful for the therapist who helped me paint my way out of a very dark place.<br /><br /><br /><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-43680587922580779912022-07-17T16:48:00.000-07:002022-07-17T16:48:21.418-07:00Partners in Crime<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5o8iwaYJ0cIHPYtCqAx_DrIv35i4uy05jZW4bVmjILVUIpt1xWEHeolkWa6hlYKkC0J1PfRD-prGwp4ZpVIS6i0V4jg_1Fg-q50_tohEeEvA3IkfAUlc9iUrkRvsdXX-KKOMg3CTW6I0hp1foKBNDoRj7pkt50Hl8okZZniSYuiuD7Kh_lo2tQw/s3456/IMG_9269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="2304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5o8iwaYJ0cIHPYtCqAx_DrIv35i4uy05jZW4bVmjILVUIpt1xWEHeolkWa6hlYKkC0J1PfRD-prGwp4ZpVIS6i0V4jg_1Fg-q50_tohEeEvA3IkfAUlc9iUrkRvsdXX-KKOMg3CTW6I0hp1foKBNDoRj7pkt50Hl8okZZniSYuiuD7Kh_lo2tQw/s320/IMG_9269.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p></p><p>Ed and I met 41 years ago via a U-Haul truck. I was moving to the Sierras to teach first grade, and he kindly offered to help. After six hours in a truck cab, we were intrigued, maybe a little smitten, and after two years of letters and visits, we got married.</p><p>Fast-forward 40 years. It's late on a Sunday night after an Open Studio at Hunters Point in San Francisco. Our two Hondas are loaded to the roofs with paintings, lights, tables, and curtains. We are both dead tired as I pull my car up beside Ed's, roll down the window, and ask him, "Would you have offered to drive that U-Haul 40 years ago if you'd known you'd be schlepping art for the next four decades?" His eyes dart shyly to one side and then look back at me as he grins--the same look that grabbed my heart so long ago.</p><p>I couldn't have imagined a sweeter partner in crime. He stretches my canvases, photographs my paintings, poses when necessary, and listens to my kvetching. He participates in artist residencies with me and has transported paintings over thousands of miles. He has approached ever challenge with curiosity and a sense of adventure. </p><p>Once we loaded up a show into both of our cars and headed over the Bay Bridge. The Honda blew a timing belt mid-span and coasted into San Francisco in a haze of smoke and steam, our aging Volvo following close behind. We limped off the bridge and into a car repair shop, tied the canvases from the first car onto the roof of the Volvo, and sold the Honda to a mechanic for $100. <br /></p><p>Ed is a gifted photographer. To see examples of his work, go to <a href="http://www.edaust.blog">www.edaust.blog</a>. Perhaps you'll be smitten, too.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_XSXARddlD4_U3d5fnEi5N0A9zAK7ehEvldQ9vdHhhfCeJt11nLW0gJXNBUkNPYDGNJf2nRM9WX8MFG0p2fo4TiRaCgH6hzsk-26sxz6IbrdrVtqWujEh-N66GjDWZTwy8Rcp2zU72_aQyhuiv2cYMHa9Puls8xMWV0qpmgF0lA0J0KLZuMacNwg/s4032/Dorland-BW__2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_XSXARddlD4_U3d5fnEi5N0A9zAK7ehEvldQ9vdHhhfCeJt11nLW0gJXNBUkNPYDGNJf2nRM9WX8MFG0p2fo4TiRaCgH6hzsk-26sxz6IbrdrVtqWujEh-N66GjDWZTwy8Rcp2zU72_aQyhuiv2cYMHa9Puls8xMWV0qpmgF0lA0J0KLZuMacNwg/s320/Dorland-BW__2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-37415776578622823372022-07-09T16:21:00.001-07:002022-07-09T16:37:50.583-07:00Get Out the Art Group<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rVA-XYDuBBz2bJ-5UWJE0CRz42TLFjmQzq3V6r8o0WwbyM1bDXjJGSBvQIvRYs4Inl9r-XpWnDLdaMC9Uu2PLLA_ySR82tnqupYqCRkxttVDQ1EVX4Wrx1wVR2REisey7baDrY1Ke_sTJbaLW8BCPrMq1e9Vm6MFw3RaS538Z1vPeUKcmo0iF5I/s2048/IMG_0389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1371" data-original-width="2048" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rVA-XYDuBBz2bJ-5UWJE0CRz42TLFjmQzq3V6r8o0WwbyM1bDXjJGSBvQIvRYs4Inl9r-XpWnDLdaMC9Uu2PLLA_ySR82tnqupYqCRkxttVDQ1EVX4Wrx1wVR2REisey7baDrY1Ke_sTJbaLW8BCPrMq1e9Vm6MFw3RaS538Z1vPeUKcmo0iF5I/s320/IMG_0389.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br /> About six years ago at Laura Van Duren's birthday party, I looked around the room and was swept over with feelings of inferiority towards all the cool artists in their sophisticated clothes, gathered at the pizza table. In a burst of determination, I approached four of them, including the host, and asked them to help me start a Get Out the Art Group, where we could strategize about showing our work. Surprisingly, they all accepted, and we've been meeting every 4-6 weeks ever since, with some gaps due to Covid. One member left, and another has joined, and it's become a delightful and insightful tribe.<p></p><p>This group is not a critique group. We're more focused on overcoming hurdles to getting out work out in the public eye. We gather at each other's studios or at an outside table at the Paradise Park Cafe. Perhaps you have seen us there, laughing and gesturing wildly. Sometimes one of us will set a timer so each member can have a guaranteed 20 minutes to kvetch and strategize and share whatever they want. Through them I learn about museum shows and new galleries, and we compare social media tactics. They are a sounding board for finding new venues and discerning best practices with galleries. We have worked through shipping and pricing questions.<br /></p><p>We have listened to each other's artist's statements and crafted elevator pitches--short three minute explanations of our work that we can recite if we get the ear of Someone Important at an opening or studio visit. We have also become loyal attendees of each other's openings, so if the gallery is sparsely attended, there's someone to talk to.<br /></p><p>We keep count of the rejections. Whenever I get a Dear John letter from a gallery, I think, "I can't wait to tell GOTA about this!" We're aiming at getting 100 closed doors.<br /></p><p>In the past year, I have reached out to four new artists who do amazing work but are just beginning to show it to the world, and GOTA 2 was born. It's a kinder, gentler group, incredibly affirming. In this group more time is spent showing the new work people are making and sharing how to overcome creative blocks. <br /></p><p>This brings to mind a question I've been thinking about a lot since I turned 60: is art important for the art's sake, or is art important for the way it draws people together? I'll be sorting that out for the rest of my life. Right now, though, I know that I am very grateful for the companions I have for the journey.</p><p>Do you have an art group that has helped you to be creative? Are you interested in starting a Get Out the Art Group? Here are my suggestions: keep it small--no more than 5 or 6 people. Invite artists who are at a similar point professsionally as yourself more or less. Celebrate attempts rather than representation or sales. Perhaps set a timer so everyone has a chance to speak. Be loyal--go to each other's openings and open studios when you can.</p><p>If you would like to see the GOTA groups' work, follow them on Instagram: @leahkorican, @danazed, @laura_van_duren, @quitecontrarypress,@gretchendailydrawing, @wheatfield43, and @debraacollins. Their websites are <a href="http://leahkorican.com">leahkorican.com</a>, <a href="http://danazed.com">danazed.com</a>, <a href="http://lauravanduren.com">lauravanduren.com</a>, <a href="http://mvmarsh.com">mvmarsh.com</a>, <a href="http://BarbaraHaberart.com">BarbaraHaberart.com</a> and <a href="http://Debraacollins.com">Debraacollins.com</a>.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-50530213546418227202022-07-03T14:46:00.000-07:002022-07-03T14:46:52.965-07:00Open Studio How-To's<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDieHLhRvR7fS3ZoSIA8CK251rygXQ4LutGfbDeSC1nsAr8gt8ZH5qJB9ILOW8OPrTntDADGt7oqz85n7qZINfe0__tRtoMDqoTjx-Rfn0Et9M3GtaIR85tP0Z1YKEgXG-bG5iN1pKhuAMCSApsrILDsSN5-diJTVvBg9cwz9QnuEoFaBvhtnUU4/s400/no_%20visible_means_of_support.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDieHLhRvR7fS3ZoSIA8CK251rygXQ4LutGfbDeSC1nsAr8gt8ZH5qJB9ILOW8OPrTntDADGt7oqz85n7qZINfe0__tRtoMDqoTjx-Rfn0Et9M3GtaIR85tP0Z1YKEgXG-bG5iN1pKhuAMCSApsrILDsSN5-diJTVvBg9cwz9QnuEoFaBvhtnUU4/s320/no_%20visible_means_of_support.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p> </p><p>Guidelines for Visiting an Artist's Studio:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Greet the artist. If you're visiting a large artist building and decide not to enter a studio, but the artist catches your eye, wave.</li><li>Be polite like your mother taught you. Don't make a bee-line for the food. Don't ask how much the studio rent is. Don't talk about your cat. Ask permission before you photograph.<br /></li><li>Don't assume that the prices are negotiable. Don't come at the end of the weekend and ask for a discount. Art is a luxury, and if you can't afford it, don't go fishing for bargains. Don't ask for discounts unless the artist is driving a nicer car than you are. </li><li>If you've seen the artist's work at a gallery, tell them, and don't try to get a better deal by going around a gallerist. The artist will have to pay the gallery their commission whether you bought it at the gallery or their studio.</li><li>Share what the work makes you feel, what pieces communicate to you and why. Tell stories that they bring to mind, even if they are heavy.</li><li>Thank the artist when you're leaving.<br /></li></ul><p><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtB-a4V_ip7SHwGAoA1CiH3VeEJDNEVTSV9LQ8Z_L9RtV0x_6_8u4CniwsgqMqW2PdAjW0Z1iGbsUGoo5ftVcAvTRkPSf82y2kCeD0j4ADPTSz7QOxBu3F3rFn2Rv28i5bp6-vCFirhpCQISxAxQcbxUnP2qSZiLM2k893EixqJceT9Zl2Hd_8StE/s400/sudden-updraft-with-crutche.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">g<img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtB-a4V_ip7SHwGAoA1CiH3VeEJDNEVTSV9LQ8Z_L9RtV0x_6_8u4CniwsgqMqW2PdAjW0Z1iGbsUGoo5ftVcAvTRkPSf82y2kCeD0j4ADPTSz7QOxBu3F3rFn2Rv28i5bp6-vCFirhpCQISxAxQcbxUnP2qSZiLM2k893EixqJceT9Zl2Hd_8StE/s320/sudden-updraft-with-crutche.jpg" width="254" /></a></div><p></p><p>Guidelines for Hosting an Artist's Open Studio:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Send out postcard invitations, emails, Facebook notifications, and Instagrams. Be the squeaky wheel. There's a lot of competition out there.</li><li>Hang up your very best work, stuff that's personal and real, art that would hurt if it sold. Don't paint to sell. </li><li>Have good lighting and signs. Make a good music playlist, songs that deepen the art, and have good speakers. Label everything and have a guest sign-in sheet.<br /></li><li>Wear comfortable shoes and stand as much as possible. Don't read, and stay away from sugar.</li><li>Greet your guests as they enter, and let them know you are the artist. <br /></li><li>Pray for one honest real interaction and know that that's enough. Give yourself permission to not listen to the cat lady, but remember that everyone coming through is made in the image of God.</li><li>If the guests initiate conversation, then you can talk freely about the work.</li><li>Remember that the guests are not coming for the food or to see what you're wearing. Don't waste your energy on those things. They are there to see the art.<br /></li><li>Observe which pieces attract attention.</li><li>Never reduce your prices.<br /></li></ul><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPOXEiq9uzf4Bgvf-N8jV2SA-X5yxuRMtAgy8LXkfGJhTUwjAXgISmbe9V1lszwW5dWYhs89IcR4CJqONjbhsxtRaLbIGqfS4tIA2Rua3IL9sWkq-DXmuCHLzatRfW8qmsOeqLJRKY_4dKoGhkeTJeQSkMjs470VPqm-nJs19vslahOMh6LU2Bp0/s1008/Mother-and-Child46_12x12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPOXEiq9uzf4Bgvf-N8jV2SA-X5yxuRMtAgy8LXkfGJhTUwjAXgISmbe9V1lszwW5dWYhs89IcR4CJqONjbhsxtRaLbIGqfS4tIA2Rua3IL9sWkq-DXmuCHLzatRfW8qmsOeqLJRKY_4dKoGhkeTJeQSkMjs470VPqm-nJs19vslahOMh6LU2Bp0/s320/Mother-and-Child46_12x12.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><br /> I've written before in this blog that my paintings are like my children, that they aren't complete until they've gone out in the world. Open Studios are a place where they can speak and have a life independant of me, whether they are sold or not. I am deeply grateful for everyone who has come to my open studio and shared their stories, such as the couple who looked at "No Visible Means of Support" and told me about their cancer year, the man who saw the flying woman and told me about his late mother, the woman who cried when she saw the mother and child painting and told me how her mother had died when she was eight. Those are sacred moments. I am humbled when I see how art can transcend barriers between people, can stop us in our tracks, can catch at our throats and remind us what life is really about, that we all have souls. <br /><p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-14461927599464504592022-07-01T20:04:00.001-07:002022-07-01T20:04:11.924-07:00Sanchez Art Center--50/50<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGKcQ5flAZPN5RQlgxYUj90qiNuPkvqIvmoGc1NVSd1jxczfdgBMsphmvCNQXlY0VbqSysW7pGB67Y66mEeShc9JkE4K3Uxw0EYdBCzLRLLDtVbzU9Vp7R_5pdv3qvv8hHXHM54CcDRJRYK8VkdywD_UP40A0J_ubEA3psv4qalAcRfPOXRYcMTM/s1280/IMG_2081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGKcQ5flAZPN5RQlgxYUj90qiNuPkvqIvmoGc1NVSd1jxczfdgBMsphmvCNQXlY0VbqSysW7pGB67Y66mEeShc9JkE4K3Uxw0EYdBCzLRLLDtVbzU9Vp7R_5pdv3qvv8hHXHM54CcDRJRYK8VkdywD_UP40A0J_ubEA3psv4qalAcRfPOXRYcMTM/w150-h200/IMG_2081.jpg" width="150" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been invited to participate in the Sanchez Art Gallery's 50/50 show. Artists are invited to create 50 6"x6" paintings in 50 days. <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOTvDr0PZh4p4WqMR2pRrHwfDgHrFytfDMwSHUBV0KHlA-KaeCzyOC_tthDnv4sOfGebY25fP4TFQBwLjbQDJPVonRBHxVkIQTCDAGqotB9Rk3mZftQLz7pw4enihzcqBUfltTeep5UdBSRnAnCrBXPYG01ngwWehXb6WPevI-fCzAZgxW9vxp94/s1280/IMG_2080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOTvDr0PZh4p4WqMR2pRrHwfDgHrFytfDMwSHUBV0KHlA-KaeCzyOC_tthDnv4sOfGebY25fP4TFQBwLjbQDJPVonRBHxVkIQTCDAGqotB9Rk3mZftQLz7pw4enihzcqBUfltTeep5UdBSRnAnCrBXPYG01ngwWehXb6WPevI-fCzAZgxW9vxp94/w150-h200/IMG_2080.jpg" width="150" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">I'm going to do 50 small paintings of people touching and connecting. Here are images of the first rough starts, five days in. I'm excited about putting a lot of ideas out, fast and free.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 40px; text-align: center;"> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOcWrBu_Xtve6UJg91x0dS9JK6X4DzCLnlx-3ZZx1SvlQ1KaPrDlcJWk9j2ukjS8Xl1ZafPoJf18nVcvS_yTDYyKFb-wOpx7oQnfL_JffhXBkJvXpJCyX6X2EvCHq4gtOsqp73qP4cxHLyJo2dnAe3392huqLdVgZ49ll7CFbWueL6X2K0M-WOz8/s1600/IMG_2079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOcWrBu_Xtve6UJg91x0dS9JK6X4DzCLnlx-3ZZx1SvlQ1KaPrDlcJWk9j2ukjS8Xl1ZafPoJf18nVcvS_yTDYyKFb-wOpx7oQnfL_JffhXBkJvXpJCyX6X2EvCHq4gtOsqp73qP4cxHLyJo2dnAe3392huqLdVgZ49ll7CFbWueL6X2K0M-WOz8/w150-h200/IMG_2079.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /> <p></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-81741654227480122102022-06-26T17:04:00.000-07:002022-06-26T17:04:03.415-07:0010 Rules for Working Artists<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c3iF0vPdfth4MwcglW0svOuCX0uuOBLH92VWbMqTPTCS0hGzsycQvo_8qIFPmL8Da_T9bhTQ-H6f60o1nedmQPt4J9bE90Kcd5MALVJTd-lN8FSEdf9ptFwTfSqB8xgZPj3oKJtvAhpEKCNjDEzWi6e4v1FN1d_MQNJRVXq9wdh-lf-ZUcRCqpU/s4032/IMG_2068.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-c3iF0vPdfth4MwcglW0svOuCX0uuOBLH92VWbMqTPTCS0hGzsycQvo_8qIFPmL8Da_T9bhTQ-H6f60o1nedmQPt4J9bE90Kcd5MALVJTd-lN8FSEdf9ptFwTfSqB8xgZPj3oKJtvAhpEKCNjDEzWi6e4v1FN1d_MQNJRVXq9wdh-lf-ZUcRCqpU/s320/IMG_2068.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /> One of my great delights has been to get to know Michelle Fillmore--www.michellelizabeth-art.com/. We met at church 4 years ago, and when she told me she was painting in oils in her bedroom, I offered her a work space in my basement. Covid put a stop to that for awhile, but it's been wonderful having her back this past year.<p></p><p>Michelle is the same age as my kids, and we have many converstions about life as an artist. I recently thought I should make a list of some of the things we have talked about. These guidelines don't apply if you want to show at top-of-the-line galleries, but they've been helpful for me to create and move my art out into the world and pay my bills as well.</p><p>Here goes...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>10 Rules for Working Artists</b> </p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Paint (or sculpt or write...) as if no one is going to see it. I often tell myself, "This one is just for me. I am going to do a very personal piece, working out risky emotions or vulnerable places." Then when it's finished, I tell myself, "Surprise! Out you go!"</li><li> Guard your creative time. Create without apology, and don't hesitate to tell everyone, "That's my studio time; I can't get together then. Are you free afterwards?" Light burning sage and resist the sink of dishes, the piles of laundry, and the bills to be paid! (I'm reminding myself of this right now.) Do post your work on social media, but don't let it encroach on your studio time.</li><li>"Yes, and..." This is a fundamental rule of improvisational theater, like when one actor says, "Is it hot in here?" and the other responds, "Yes, and why are we in this handbasket?" In art, if an opportunity comes up, I almost always say, "Yes, and..." Can I mount a show next week in place of an artist who has just cancelled? Yes, and I'll invite a cellist or stage an arrival with suitcases of art or promote it on Instagram and Facebook.</li><li> An artwork isn't done until it's out in the world. Sohlzhenitsyn wrote all these accounts about the Soviet gulag privately for himself, but eventually he needed an audience. People all over the Soviet Union started typing copies of his books and passing them around. In a way, that happened for me, too. I painted privately for 2 years, but eventually the paintings felt like stillborn children. They needed to have a chance to communicate, and I said yes to some less than prestigious venues. The painting sales from a furniture shop on Hayes St in SF paid my mortgage for a couple of years. A basement that tended to flood was my primary source of income for two decades. Now a hotel in Anderson Valley has become vital to my survival. If galleries aren't biting, hang in cafes.<br /></li><li>Prove yourself to be a person of integrity with all the galleries and venues that you deal with. If they expect a commission from outside sales (people who come to you directly but first saw you at the XYZ Gallery), write the gallery a check for their commission. Never undersell a gallery--if the gallery sells a 3'x4' canvas of yours for $3500, don't sell that size for less at your open studios. Be on time. Keep meticulous records.<br /></li><li>Be everywhere at once. Go to openings. Enter competitions via www.callforentry.org. Apply to residencies. Follow artists you like and contact their galleries and apply to the residencies they've done. Hang at your church or synagogue. Make friends with other artists and go to their openings and get together for coffee and brainstorming. Invite them over when you're stuck on a piece. Find a life drawing group or join a printmaking collective.<br /></li><li>Create your own events. One of my favorites was when I rented a hall with three other artists and invited musician friends to perform Broadway love songs on Valentines Day. I also have loved opening up my home for art salons, inviting other creatives to share their music or dance or poetry or art, ending with a potluck dinner. Art is a connection point, a chance to draw people together in fractured times. Art is a way to give love back to the world.<br /></li><li>Never reduce your prices. Collectors need to trust you. Start with prices low enough that the work moves out the door, but when you can't keep up with demand, gradually raise your prices. If some work just isn't as strong, paint over or destroy it. It's rather exhilarating, like destroying the evidence.</li><li>Be impractical sometimes. Create a large painting for a church you love, free of charge. Donate something beautiful to a women's shelter. Paint a mural where it's needed. Take risks. I've had 5 paintings stolen from galleries and open studios. Four of my paintings were defaced in a lobby. I'm still glad I hung them there (although I won't do that space again).</li><li>Just because it's hard doesn't mean you're on the wrong path. Being an artist <i>is hard</i>. That's just the way it is. But look for companions for the journey, other artists who understand and can celebrate the victories and listen when you're discouraged.<br /></li></ol>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-49940002466389016662022-06-12T19:46:00.002-07:002022-06-12T19:46:50.045-07:00A Personal Artist Residency<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghNrm_T75wgpUDkEpEYLDHmPfmW24io_K1lNhTuBoTjO7x5p3q19AsIvJ5bLjnTQ-6RX58xOYJAsivyECOl8Dp6w7hpsR9ETFfAmcCWsu1DGdpQMiCApkYGcoQ-fQ0OvsMZv8T_01qKhFzWNvX7kd4OsTbpcmVajw-hwpBKLYXACpTKyAXuZ9kJRo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghNrm_T75wgpUDkEpEYLDHmPfmW24io_K1lNhTuBoTjO7x5p3q19AsIvJ5bLjnTQ-6RX58xOYJAsivyECOl8Dp6w7hpsR9ETFfAmcCWsu1DGdpQMiCApkYGcoQ-fQ0OvsMZv8T_01qKhFzWNvX7kd4OsTbpcmVajw-hwpBKLYXACpTKyAXuZ9kJRo" width="240" /></a></div><br /> I love going to established artist residencies, meeting other creatives, and working furiously towards some culminating event. But there are also advantages to just getting away and painting at a friend's cabin or beach house. The pressure is off, I'm free from obligations, and I can explore places for new inspirations.<p></p><p>Right now I'm in Pacific Grove for a week with my husband and daughter. Last night we snuck into Point Lobos after hours and watched the sunset from a bluff over a beach full of sea lions. This morning we had Garrapata Beach all to ourselves--white sand and aqua water. We've also prowled around lighthouses and up Mermaid Lane in the fog. It was great to stop by Jennifer Perlmutter's new gallery in Carmel and give her a hug. In between outings, I've been painting by the dining room windows. </p><p>I can't be an artist in isolation. Thank you so much, Chris and Dave, so sharing your home with us. The paintings that emerge from this place are dedicated to you.</p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1449896581508095781.post-85635277054066422902022-05-18T09:56:00.000-07:002022-05-18T09:56:29.806-07:00Color Recipies<p> Before Covid, I hosted a painting group once a month in my dining room. Last Saturday we had a mini reunion, and one of them asked me what I do if I just don't feel like painting. I told her, "When I was a child, I couldn't leave the dinner table until I had eaten everything on my plate. I use that memory in the studio. If I don't feel like painting, I put on some good music and fill my pallette with paint. I can't leave until all the paint is used up. After a few minutes, I am back in the zone."</p><p>They asked me about the colors I mix. I have some favorite recipies, using Golden's Acrylics.<br /><br />The first mixture on my pallette is 5 parts Zinc White to one part Titan Buff. This creates a warm mixable white.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjejIU86LXMSx70uq_GeJlUR6y7WVfjxyTMM_qBxFs2kNAfDZQp4XgiUPCjjgGdLTeXTCCIIp3xJMxoukh6CrDaOUsZUzpwG7gZEHORO9NUuE5PjNfHxOq0h74bcHr2H79Q1eDjQbDtaKK2lBmpG89dc4H4Bk5OBjTrUgBXquKO5jGn9FyhI_ykx3I" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjejIU86LXMSx70uq_GeJlUR6y7WVfjxyTMM_qBxFs2kNAfDZQp4XgiUPCjjgGdLTeXTCCIIp3xJMxoukh6CrDaOUsZUzpwG7gZEHORO9NUuE5PjNfHxOq0h74bcHr2H79Q1eDjQbDtaKK2lBmpG89dc4H4Bk5OBjTrUgBXquKO5jGn9FyhI_ykx3I" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p>Pink is very central to my painting (another hold-over from childhood). I use it as a base coat and also mix it for flesh tones and skies. I use 5 parts Zinc white, one part Titan Buff, two parts Naphthol Red Medium, and one part Quinacridone/Nickel Azo Gold.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiam3zbSEUoH5a11UypUQHGNCsHQpXdSt7kO1MbM14PsK2Yy2mvrHRr0kbD2F7MRHEfM6N-lLTG3RqjeOSJXoAkSOyTI0nfzkTCMx5nqQsfVLnBTTkLzScx0vIlI5oGQc8VKQW7Rc4aO_FPODcvP1WZFxAmJgAXX9p9nnkweiTAhhvH-qFdzUue-M0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiam3zbSEUoH5a11UypUQHGNCsHQpXdSt7kO1MbM14PsK2Yy2mvrHRr0kbD2F7MRHEfM6N-lLTG3RqjeOSJXoAkSOyTI0nfzkTCMx5nqQsfVLnBTTkLzScx0vIlI5oGQc8VKQW7Rc4aO_FPODcvP1WZFxAmJgAXX9p9nnkweiTAhhvH-qFdzUue-M0" width="320" /></a></div>Mix this pink with an equal amount of Cerlean Blue, and it makes a warm sky color. Lighten it with the white mixture.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkJtT2soUIEjCRfaH5Yr27B9Mki5LcM0PqXzzMxzBVKfQ8VQV6FElGNw4YCHUhUld6BBs0DUots3CXZMeuQvUvJyYFb7KN5uErJ1fqhduDwSieCYDlm6qjWiTvEE5scMi46FdgjE6htLOeYf6i6sHQKdqohU6SXx9wotbhi2Y7W1W5T93hdRuuhnU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0uEUZ_LNA5ez-H-C7hQl6fE-ddRVNTSmFduE_8N2rBhmDRAsHk14BNEIAVZoyjRHDJjP1NSfzRP6Ac2AkD3vt3Vy1h3mmQe5Jx55CXcp3sHrrM9vbcsEz6UJ62UDUuNJ2-QwE_lt1afo_3WkUaEFbGwMm_VKouqrftq07SF_8Ne2HptzPrJTNJjk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0uEUZ_LNA5ez-H-C7hQl6fE-ddRVNTSmFduE_8N2rBhmDRAsHk14BNEIAVZoyjRHDJjP1NSfzRP6Ac2AkD3vt3Vy1h3mmQe5Jx55CXcp3sHrrM9vbcsEz6UJ62UDUuNJ2-QwE_lt1afo_3WkUaEFbGwMm_VKouqrftq07SF_8Ne2HptzPrJTNJjk" width="320" /></a></div></div>Golden's Green Gold is a wonderful glaze. Mix it with Dioxazine Purple and it makes a dark, dark brown. Add some more green and some of my soft white mixture to make softer earth tones.<p></p><p> <img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkJtT2soUIEjCRfaH5Yr27B9Mki5LcM0PqXzzMxzBVKfQ8VQV6FElGNw4YCHUhUld6BBs0DUots3CXZMeuQvUvJyYFb7KN5uErJ1fqhduDwSieCYDlm6qjWiTvEE5scMi46FdgjE6htLOeYf6i6sHQKdqohU6SXx9wotbhi2Y7W1W5T93hdRuuhnU" width="320" /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiInRBNR5Qh_9ICY09_bvZqH1T6ll4mQQqeSKV-ipjZowpiURCkak4wyQCkyUEOBSbE9ScjEaIy0_gNfuYCnnk0xQibs5risYq_Iq1pHT6s4sFPzu3nlGPFDCaul8K5P2mHXpYm4tJXIduXiLeKvkoatdTCRUHEDlZKzGGXmi7VQTLugC9j_HX3OKU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Lately I've been having fun with grays. Mix one part Permanent Green to one part Light Violet and lighten it up with the white mixture to the darkness you want.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSmmGXN9tlcYj7zFJ6N2MSVNxghVgaphXxiWQG1UvYlii4oX8LEJ1k1CxwV3Gf312u6XzvntQTsEYgrSWmKsn9lXqxXV9ke7s8_hJ6fE3kaP6JBROUEa8BhAMZ-vNfF1PlyDRLpTpn_LUA44ESfs_ZGJmTxzgrMFwOLkrLO3tDQ_Q78N83Uu5kWuU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSmmGXN9tlcYj7zFJ6N2MSVNxghVgaphXxiWQG1UvYlii4oX8LEJ1k1CxwV3Gf312u6XzvntQTsEYgrSWmKsn9lXqxXV9ke7s8_hJ6fE3kaP6JBROUEa8BhAMZ-vNfF1PlyDRLpTpn_LUA44ESfs_ZGJmTxzgrMFwOLkrLO3tDQ_Q78N83Uu5kWuU" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Golden's Quinacridone/Nickel Azo Gold is another wonderful glaze. Add it to the white mixture for beautiful honey tones.</p><p>If you have favorite colors or mixtures, let me know! <br /></p><p><br /></p>art@carolaust.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11660226961719620204noreply@blogger.com0