Color Recipies

 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."

They asked me about the colors I mix. I have some favorite recipies, using Golden's Acrylics.

The first mixture on my pallette is 5 parts Zinc White to one part Titan Buff. This creates a warm mixable white.

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.

Mix this pink with an equal amount of Cerlean Blue, and it makes a warm sky color. Lighten it with the white mixture.

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.

                                 

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.

Golden's Quinacridone/Nickel Azo Gold is another wonderful glaze. Add it to the white mixture for beautiful honey tones.

If you have favorite colors or mixtures, let me know!

At Zoe's Cabin

 I am constantly on the prowl for new imagry, so I was very excited when my friend, Zoe, agreed to a painting trade for a week at her family's cabin. Adding to the sweetness is that the cabin is a couple miles from a school where I taught first grade a lifetime ago. I spent the week hiking through oaks and painting what I saw.

If you have a vacation home and are interested in a trade, let me know!

Lighthouse Inspiration

As an artist, I'm always looking for new imagry. One wayto get fresh inspiration is through travel. In February I stayed in the Assistant Lighthouse Keeper's Cottage at Point Cabrillo. It was magical. We could watch whale spouts from the dining room table, and at night the beams from the lighthouse would sweep past our windows. 

I love lighthouses but am cautious to avoid cliches. I hope in these paintings I've been able to embrace the metaphor without easy answers or platitudes.

I am excited to be entering a new stage of life in which I have the flexibity to explore places for new ideas.

 

Painting Dreams

One of the delights of painting away from home is painting little jewel-like panels, often 12"x12". They feel very playful to me. I can explore whimsical themes or darker ones that might be too intense for a large canvas. They feel like dreams to me.

 

Visual Gifts of the Dorland Artist Residency

At the Dorland Mountain Arts Colony a steep path leads to a patch of level ground overlooking a string of mountains beyond a valley with a stone spiral like a labyrinth. I returned to this spot almost every day and did two paintinggs of it (so far). Having a new spiritual symbol, another emotional landscape, is one of the gifts of my time at Dorland.

The green desert hills were another gift. They loomed up any time I turned around and will appear in my paintings long after I return home, a symbol of the journey.

I am excited about how going to residencies give me fresh inspiration and am eager to do more.
 

Lake Ticanu

Dorland Mountain has a spring that goes up its core. The delightful result is a couple of ponds on the grounds of the art colony there plus water for the residents. When I first found Lake Ticamu (actually the size of a small pond), I was so excited about a little blue dory on the bank. Ed grumbled that it was too heavy, but Chris was as enthusiastic as I was and photographed us for paintings. Thanks, Chris!

 

Old Ideas and New Ones

Dorland Mountain Artist Colony is our third residency. One thing I've learned from experience is to have some ideas sketched out and ready to go so I can hit the ground running while working out new ideas. These two bed paintings are a continuation of a previous series. Working on them freed me from the pressure while I was sketching out new ideas, like this one, Cairn, inspired by Joshua Tree boulders.

 

Privacy and Community

 Dorland Mountain Art Colony's primary purpose is to provide creatives with uninterrupted time for their work in a beautiful setting. Dorland stipulates that residents are not to initiate contact with other residents. Initially we saw more of Duchess, the German Shepherd, than the other artists and writers. I m so grateful for this time apart.

The exception is on Friday evenings when there's a meet-and-greet. The five of us gather with Janice, our host, and share what we're working on. David Gilette is focused on finishing a novel based in Colorado; he had us all riveted with the passages he shared. Edith Hornik-Beer is a journalist, writing an article about the interdependency of socialism and capitalism; be watching for it in the New York Times.

Natasha Harrison is a glass artist, suspending petals and seeds inside blown glass pods which she then suspends in clusters. 

Chris Allen is beading morning to past midnight, exploring a new line of bracelets as well as continuing her sculpture pieces. 

And Ed has been continuing refining old work and writing new poems for an upcoming collection.

The Poet, Adrift on the Antarctic, is Angry   

because the work he ends up doing

to pay bills and feed his family

is lonely beyond understanding,

and he knows he could have done better

had he known in the beginning 

what he knows now of the world,

but he has drifted too far on this chunk of floating ice

to start over, and time has whittled his face 

into the shape of a sphinx,

and for love he stays put,

and for caution he stays put, 

chest into the wind,

hands clenched and eyes wide open,

for with time comes wisdom

with its great green eye,

and with wisdom 

comes a kind of peace,

like the fluid in the back of the eyes,

and with peace 

comes a love so hot

no ice can hold it,

and so this story ends

with the ice finally melting

and the poet in flames,

strolling, to his amazement,

across the surface 

of the waters. 

Circling a Theme

 

Nearby the cottages here at Dorland Mountain Arts Colony there's a stone spiral, somewhat like a labyrinth at a spot called Sunrise Point. It's been a place to greet the day and to inspire new work. Chris Allen added her beaded rocks to the center, and I made this painting our first week here. Be watching for more paintings on this theme.

 

A Place Out of Time

 The Dorland Mountain Arts Colony was first envisioned and constructed in 1979 on Nature Conservancy land. The grounds were decimated by fire in 2004 and rebuilt over the next decade. There are 5 cottages for visiting artists, writers, and musicians, plus two studios and other housing.

There's a whimsy to the place--two tiny ponds (one with a boat), various trails, and a spiral labyrinth at Sunrise Point. Dorland is next to the Agua Tibia Wilderness, and there are multiple narrow trails that hug the dry hillsides. Sage, brush and live oak are all around us, and we've spotted coyotes, rabbits, lizards, hawks, and a bobcat.

Dorland is amazing for what it doesn't have, as well as the natural beauty. No traffic, no computer demands, no obligations. Ed and I go for an early morning hike, and when we return to the cottage, I indulge in playing the Steinway grand piano. Then the day spreads out before me--I sketch, I paint, I go for another walk, I stop at Chris' cottage and watch her bead, I paint some more.

My first paintings here was in response to our time at Joshua Tree:

Ed is using this time here to work on his poetry. Here is one that is clearly Dorland inspired:

Before Our Eyes

Black lizard with jeweled skin,

ostentatious on the porch.

Ten push ups, then—Voila!

Vanishes before our eyes.

Sage leaves giggle

in Santa Ana breeze 

like children

on a playground swing. 

Honeybees sing on

blue rosemary blossoms,

suck nectar, feet muddy

with pollen. 

Two crows, 

black as dreams

atop a dead live oak.

“Look, they’re kissing.”

Dorland Mountain Arts Colony

The first art adventure of 2022.

Early on January 28, Ed and I made our escape in a car heavily loaded with paint, panels, and an ice chest. We drove 8 hours to Joshua Tree where we were joined by Chris Allen, an old friend and bead artist from Rochester, Minnesota. Chris had just driven across the country in her daughter's Ford, the rust creeping up the bottom as a testament of the frigid temperatures she was escaping.

We spent two nights in Joshua Tree, hiking, sketching, and photographing, collecting images for the upcoming weeks. I was also inspired by Noah Purifoy's outdoor sculptures.

On January 30, we headed 2 hours west to the Dorland Mountain Artist Colony in the hills above Temecula. As we drove up the steep road to the grounds, I felt like I was entering a sacred space, a place out of time. A couple white cottages perched on hilltops covered with sage and brush, and other houses clustered inside a grove of live oak.

We were greeted by Duchess, the resident German shepherd. We parked and looked for a place to register, and we found 99-year-old Robert, sitting on a porch with his granddaughter and great-granddaughter. Chris and I introduced ourselves and asked where we should check in. He waved a hand dismissively and said, "You're checked in."

Ed and I unloaded our supplies at the Horton cottage, a sunny little white house with tile floors and a Steinway grand piano dominating the main room. On top of a bookcase was a sign that read, "We're all here at Dorland, and the magic has begun."

Preparing for a Solo Show

 

I'm getting ready for a solo show under Covid. Some things will be the same, some different. But it all starts at the same spot--at my paint table with a palette knife and jars of Golden acrylics. I often mix colors without being sure what I'll be doing with them, so I want lots of options. And as a good Swedish daughter with parents who grew up in the Depression, I cannot leave the studio until my plate is cleaned and all of the colors are used. I usually have a big mug of tea beside me, and I turn on a podcast as I work.

I do not take this for granted. I am so grateful that I get to work with color everyday. It's pure delight.

The show will be at the Shoh Gallery in Berkeley at their 4th Street pop-up space, starting on February 4 and going until the end of the month. Thank you, Julie at Shoh, for giving me a reason to fill my palette

The Logistics of Home Sales under Covid

 

This is how I show my work at home now. Collectors let me know what paintings they want to see from my site, and I bring them out on my front stairs. A little funky, but it works. Many thanks to Jim and Karen for coming out and supporting my work and sharing their stories. I really miss that interaction!

Social Distancing

 

Social Distancing, 25"x45"

 

There's no way around it--I have to paint what I feel.

Often in the evening, I go for a walk at the Berkeley Marina. Mount Tam and the Marin Headlands are blue silhouettes beyond the opalescent water. I see small groups of families there, and I miss my friends. But when I paint it out, it's okay.

 

Tiny Trailer #5, 11"x11"

 

We're all doing what we can to be creative in our little bubbles.

 

 

California Fires

 Big Basin 60"x30"

As I made this painting over the last two weeks, I listened to the news of California's fires on the radio, especially the fire in Big Basin. Big Basin has always been close to my heart; there was one of the best walk-in campsites there, a quarter mile from parking with amazing old growth redwoods all around. 

 

I remember camping there with friends when our kids were little. One of the girls was in that gangley growth-spurt stage and was constantly tripping over her legs as the kids scrambled across fallen logs; she'd hit the ground but bounce up and keep running. One night as I was trying to bed our youngest down in her sleeping bag, all of the other children started dancing around the outside of the tent, their flashlights casting magical shadows on the tent walls as they chanted, "Lions and tigers and bears--oh my!" 

 

Our last trip there was cut short by a surprise storm. We were determined to stick it out but ended up loading the car with saturated gear and heading home, but not before we had a beautiful walk through the rainforest.

I was sad to hear that the lodge there was burned in the recent fire, but what I really cared about were the old growth redwoods. It sounds like they have survived. The forest might actually thrive, what with the purifying fire cleaning up the overgrowth.

I thought about all of these things as I painted this portrait of one of my favorite forests. This painting was a prayer as the fire burned and is also a prayer for future adventures under the redwoods.

Five in the Bed

Five in the Bed, 24"x24" 

I love yellow legal pads. I buy stacks of them at Costco and always have one by my bed. Before I go to sleep at night, I write about my day, sorting through big feelings and trying to remember what I'm thankful for.

During quarantine, I've been writing my life story, going through the boxes of journals and yellow pads, finding gems and making notes. All these disparate parts of me come back, obediant, angry, critical, curious. The shy teenager, the first grade teacher, the world traveler, the new mom, the artist--they all climb into bed with me and influence my dreams.

Quarantine has been going on for six months now, and it's been boring and frightening and lonely. But I'm very grateful for these months of quiet reflection and getting reaquainted with these fascinating bed fellows.

Dreams of Escape...

 

We are approaching five months under quarantine, and my art is definitely finding a pattern...

 

 

I mean, I love my family, but woldn't it be amazing to just get away?

 

National Arts Drive

Today was the National Arts Drive, in which artists all over the United States and Mexico put their art outside for the public to see. I invited Michelle Fillmore to do it with me. We set up easles and put out work in my front yeard. I felt rather vulnerable and wondered if anyone would come, but it was wonderful to share my art with my neighborhood, and I deeply appreciated people who drove over from San Francisco and Lafayette to see my new work. Lots of children got to experience art in a breezy low-pressure environment. If this event happens again, I'd definitely encourage more artists to do it.

Curve in the Road

I have been lost in another world for the past three weeks. With my mortality starred me in the face every time I looked at the headlines, I decided to clean out boxes of old diaries. Family skeletons and high school crushes marched through my studio as I read, copied down important bits, threw them away, fished them out of the trash, reread, wrote more, and repeated the process all over again. I've ended up with a 70 page document and am ready to move on. Enough.

Sleep #1 and #2

Sheltering in Place... I'm healthy, I have a place to live, and I'm with people I love. So for me, this is a time of slowing down, discovering what it means to move slower, to not watch my husband leap out of bed in the morning for an hour commute. It's strange, but I think I'll miss aspects of this when it's over.

The Writer

We're nearing the end of the seventh week of shelter in place. A lot of people are approaching this as a time of contemplation, of pausing from the hyper busyness of the past couple of years. I'm pausing and reflecting in my own achievement-oriented way by writing a memoir. It's not something I'd want anyone else to read, but rather it's an exercise in remembering. Does my life have a meaningful narrative? What relationships contributed to the person I am now? What visual experiences led me to be an artist in a seemingly non-visual family? How much can I remember, and if I write it down, can I remember more? As a lover of color and form, can I be a lover of words, too?

Every morning I sit down to write for about four hours. As I progress through the decades, I toss old gilt diaries into the trash. When I leave my computer, my eyes won't focus on distance, and it's hard to readjust to face masks, lines at grocery stores, and unemployed friends. How the world has changed since 1963, since 2019! I rediscover my current self and reaclimate to the world I live in now by going to the studio and painting for a few hours in the afternoon.

Are you writing during this time? Would you like to? Let me know!

Floating #2

On Thursday evening, I felt so claustrophobic. I just wanted to walk on a beach. Ed and I jumped in the car and drove across the Richmond/San Rafael bridge and down highway 101 to the exit for the Marine Headlands. Everything was blocked. Back in the car, we drove across the Golden Gate and into San Francisco. So many apartments were dark, with almost no traffic on the streets. We went for a walk at Fort Mason; Alcatraz seemed close enough to touch. We drove home across one more bridge.

Now when I walk the Berkeley Marina, San Francisco shimmers inaccessible across the water.

What else is there to do during 2 months of sheltering in place? Read old high school diaries, of course! Which leads to looking up old boyfriends on Facebook. I found Sid, the dispenser of my fist kiss. It made me so happy to see him on my screen, big white beard, big belly, American flag T-shirt, still in the arms of the woman he married right after her high school graduation.