Today is the 4th anniversary of my husband’s death from a heart attack. If there is one thing that this event taught me, it’s that time is short.

I’ve never met an artist who doesn’t complain about not having enough time.
Even people at a stage of life with more flexibility never seem to have enough time for everything.
But I believe that the challenge isn’t finding more hours; it’s deciding what deserves our attention.

In my typical week:

• The garden needs weeding and planting.
• Family and friends are coming to visit.
• I’m planning a weekend trip.
• Studio work is waiting.
• Community and gallery commitments need attention.

The issue isn’t a shortage of worthwhile activities. It’s that there are so many meaningful ones.
Attention becomes an act of choosing. Here’s how I used to think about time management way back when.

Gardening teaches that growth responds to attention. It invites change, as seasons require moving, pruning, trimming. Each time I plant annuals I try to be a bit more creative, weaving in perennials and new color combinations. Sometimes a plant needs more sun or a drier spot.
A neglected garden quickly reveals what has been ignored.
Painting requires the same attention: ideas, skills, and unfinished work also need editing, evolution and innovation.
Though it takes time, gardening often nurtures my powers of observation, patience, and flexibility to change.

Some of life’s most important moments can’t be scheduled into productivity systems.
Family gatherings, conversations, and unexpected opportunities require presence.
Attention management means recognizing that relationships are not interruptions of work; they are part of life. This week’s creative family time involved making charcuterie teacups for the wedding shower for my nephew’s bride. They were both visual AND tasty treats! Being with friends and family in a beautiful garden on a Sunday afternoon was a very artistic experience.
The challenge is being fully present with family without feeling guilty about not being in the studio. I read a great article this week in the New York Times about guilt: Click here to check it out – It had several tips!

Travel often looks unproductive from the outside.
You’re not painting. You’re not finishing projects.
Yet travel fills the well:
Viewing New landscapes, different light,
Museums and galleries
Different cultures and sounds provide fresh visual experiences and ideas. Unexpected challenges like finding your way and dealing with delays often require creative problem solving, just like painting.

Despite the value of gardening, family, and travel, paintings don’t paint themselves.
Studio time requires intention.
Putting studio time on my calendar has been helpful for me. I also find that my choices for other priorities often help clear my mind and aid my focus once I finally get into the studio.
The goal isn’t perfect balance but conscious choice.
Sometimes the garden waits.
Sometimes emails wait.
Sometimes the studio gets your full attention.

As Grant reminds us, “Attention management is the art of focusing on getting things done for the right reasons, in the right places and at the right moments.”
Creative living is often the visible result of countless invisible moments: It’s a JENGA puzzle of fitting the right activity into each moment every day.
Time spent in the garden.
Conversations with family.
Experiences gathered while traveling.
Quiet hours in the studio.
Being prolific isn’t necessarily about working faster or squeezing more into the day. It’s about giving your attention to what matters most, trusting that each season contributes to the creative life

 Making a painting and playing sports share more than sweat and discipline—they share strategy, focus, endurance, adaptability, and patience. It always annoys me when non-artists see art as something that relies solely on talent. Below are five sports-to-studio comparisons that guide my process and taught me how to finish stronger. These habits recently played a part in the recent sale of my painting “Reflective Vessel” (below) and in receiving an award at the Watercolor Society of Oregon spring show, on view at the Linfield University Library through May 8th.

Lessons from the Sports Coaches

Football: Plan the play, then be ready to improvise
The lesson: You don’t start without a play. Sketching studies, value maps, and color notes are my playbook. They keep chaos at bay.
The pivot: Mid-composition surprises—unexpected color interactions, drying quirks—require quick decisions. A good quarterback adapts; so does a good artist.

Baseball: Watch the whole field, not just the pretty details
The lesson: Don’t fixate on one bloom or shape and ignore the rest of the composition. Balance and relationships matter.
The practice: Step back often, squint, and catch wandering lines or values before they dominate.

Track: Build endurance to survive the hard stretches
The lesson: Some passages are tedious or frustrating—glazing, lifting, or waiting for layers to dry. Endurance gets you through.
The practice: Set realistic session lengths and come back with purpose; training the stamina to persist improves finishes.

Basketball: Embrace speed, but accept near-misses
The lesson: Fast-paced decisions create energy, but not every attempt scores. Paintings can circle the rim and bounce out.
The practice: Try bold marks in quick studies. Learn from almost-successes—what could be nudged, preserved, or discarded.

Golf: Patience, practice, and lowering your stroke count
The lesson: You won’t hole every shot. Incremental improvement matters: better technique yields fewer “strokes” (corrections).
The practice: Focus on fundamentals—edges, values, temperature—and accept that mastery is cumulative.

Bonus: Teamwork! Be a good teammate when you exhibit

Putting work up for display is a team effort. Play nice with galleries and organizations by sharing publicity, attending openings, and volunteering. Treat gallery partners like teammates: help to promote the show, volunteer to help install or steward if asked, and contribute to the exhibition’s success. This cooperative approach builds relationships, increases visibility for your work, and strengthens chances for sales and awards.

Treat painting like a sport: prepare, scan the field, endure, act quickly when needed, and cultivate patience. These habits have nothing to do with talent. Instead they prepare both artist and athlete for success.

Play your plan, but be ready to improvise, show up for practice—and keep running toward the goal. You may find yourself making sales and winning awards!

There’s a certain kind of email that lands with a thud.

“Thank you for your submission…”

You already know.

But, sometimes—less often, but with a kind of electric surprise—there’s the other one. The one that begins almost the same way but bends toward something brighter. Acceptance. Recognition. Maybe even an award.

If you’ve entered art competitions, you know this rhythm well: the alternating current of hope and humility. Winning some. Losing some. Wondering, always, what it means.

The Illusion of the Scorecard

It’s easy to start keeping score.

Selections, rejections, honorable mentions, awards. You begin to map your worth onto a pattern that was never designed to hold it. One juror says yes. Another says no. One year your work resonates; the next, it disappears into the pile.

And if you’re not careful, you begin to adjust. Soften an edge. Brighten a palette. Lean toward what seems to be working “out there.”

But that path has a cost.

The Quiet Reckoning

At some point, after enough cycles of submitting and waiting and refreshing your inbox, a deeper question emerges:

Why am I actually doing this?

Because the truth is, even the wins don’t land the way you expect. They feel good—of course they do. They validate effort, time, risk. But they’re fleeting. The glow fades, and you’re back in the studio, facing the same blank surface, the same questions. What should I enter?

The losses sting, but they also clarify. They strip away the illusion that there is a formula you can crack, a code you can learn that guarantees acceptance.

There isn’t.

“Salmon Fishing” Acrylic on Terraskin, 27×31″ ©Ruth Armitage

Accepted into the National Watercolor Society’s Annual Membership Show

The Show will be presented online: https://www.nationalwatercolorsociety.org/ from May 1 – June 30, 2026

“Ethics Deficit” Acrylic on Yupo 26″x20″ ©Ruth Armitage

Accepted to the Watercolor Society of Oregon’s Spring Exhibition

On view April 12 – May 8, Linfield University Library, McMinnville, Oregon

Measuring Up?

Competitions are, by nature, subjective. Jurors bring their own histories, preferences, biases, and fatigue. Your work is seen in a particular moment, against a particular field, through a particular lens.

Which means the only constant—the only thing you actually control—is the integrity of the work itself.

And that brings us back to something truer than any acceptance letter:

“your art
is not about how many people
like your work
your art
is about
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it’s about how honest
you are with yourself
and you
must never
trade honesty
for relatability”

— rupi kaur

Staying Honest in a System That Rewards Trends

This is the real challenge.

Not entering. Not winning. Not even handling rejection.

It’s staying honest.

It’s continuing to make the work that feels necessary to you—even when it doesn’t align with what seems to be rewarded. Even when you suspect it might not be “competitive.” Even when it would be easier to pivot toward something more popular.

Because relatability is a moving target. Trends shift. Aesthetic preferences cycle. What feels current today may feel dated tomorrow.

But honesty—real, unguarded, sometimes uncomfortable honesty—has a different kind of longevity. It builds a body of work that holds together over time. It creates depth instead of scatter.

Winning Some, Losing Some And Clarity

Over time, you begin to see competitions for what they are:

Not a verdict. Not a hierarchy of value. But one small context in which your work is seen.

You win some. You lose some.

You learn which opportunities feel aligned and which don’t. You develop a thicker skin, yes—but also a clearer sense of your own voice.

And perhaps most importantly, you return, again and again, to the studio not because of the outcome, but because of the process itself.

Because that’s where the real work lives.

A Different Measure

What if the measure wasn’t acceptance, but rather:

Did you make something that felt true?

Did you take a risk you weren’t sure would work?

Did you follow a thread of curiosity instead of a strategy?

Did you stay?

Because in the end, the only enduring relationship you have is with the work itself.

The rest—jurors, awards, exhibitions—will ebb and flow.

Because that quiet moment, standing in front of something you made and knowing you didn’t compromise—that’s the reward that lasts.

“Totem” Acrylic on paper, 22×15″ ©Ruth Armitage

Accepted in 2026 California Watercolor Association’s International Exhibition

Awarded the Norbert Volk Award, Chartpak Award, Koval Award, International Arts Award, Flax Award

“Half Shell” Watermedia on Yupo 26×20

Rejected by 3 shows

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about comfort at home. Some of that is practical—I’m in the middle of a remodel and thinking about furnishings—but some of it is deeper. We surround ourselves with objects that calm us, stimulate us, and remind us of who we are. This is one of the quiet pleasures of living with original art: it becomes part of our daily rhythm, not just something on the wall.

As the sense of order we’ve known for much of our lives feels increasingly fragile, our homes matter more than ever. They become refuges. Personal sanctuaries. Thoughtfully creating a home sanctuary with art allows us to shape an environment that reflects what we value and what brings us comfort.

Recently, a collector shared something that stopped me in my tracks. She told me she’s taking the painting she acquired from my recent show with her to her hospital room while she undergoes cancer treatment. She described it as a positive and comforting reminder of beauty in the world—and of our friendship. That kind of connection is humbling beyond words. It’s a powerful reminder that original art doesn’t just live in our homes; it lives with us through some of our most vulnerable moments.

What are the important elements of a home (or any environment) that make you feel comfortable? Is your place eclectic or stylized? Are all the furnishings relatively new? Are they all old? I’ve been getting photos from recent collectors showing how they have displayed my work, and it is so exciting to me. I’ve included a few below.

Recently purchased work haning in the collector’s entry

How Original Art Shapes a Personal Sanctuary

This past weekend I helped my sister rearrange the artwork in her home. We began by solving the issue of the feature wall in her great-room. The fireplace divides the wall in a pretty symmetrical way, and really required a pretty balanced arrangement – we hung the sepia toned photograph to offset the large brown mirror on the opposite side. Notice how the scale and colors repeat. She already owned both pieces.

Next we turned our attention to the entry which had held the photograph originally. Because she couldn’t picture how her favorite pieces might look in her space, I brought a selection of paintings to try out. As you can see, it’s a very large wall. Here we placed a large painting from my recent show; “Desert.” She loved how the blacks echoed the color of her rug and the contemporary feeling. She has very eclectic taste!

Living With Original Paintings in Everyday Spaces

We moved a more traditional barn painting into her blue focused guest room and decided to hang this more modern painting of mine over the turquoise buffet.

Finally we hung this small painting by Donna Watson at the end of the hallway. This one does triple purpose: it holds the eye as you move toward the primary bedroom, covers an unsightly thermostat, and also ties in the dark framing on the large glass doors.

Art Placement, Balance, and Personal Expression

Hanging artwork involves very personal judgements about how much contrast, color, balance, repetition and activity make you feel comfortable. Making your home into a personal sanctuary by adding the personal choices of artwork reduces stress and creates mood and ambiance.

Most of all, it’s important to choose pieces that you love and want to look at. Spending money on furnishing your home not only makes it a more comfortable place to be, it helps create memories. I have artwork from my mother’s and grandmother’s home – a wonderful way to bring them to mind in my own home.

What are some of your most treasured art pieces?

Original art has a way of revealing itself slowly over time. If a piece speaks to you—if you find yourself returning to it again and again—it may already belong in your home. Collecting original art is less about filling space and more about choosing what you want to live with.

Persistence is rooted in courage – brave decisions in the face of uncertainty. The quote above made me laugh when I first read it—and then pause. Because when I look back at this year, procrastination clearly wasn’t the dominant theme. If anything, it was a year defined by showing up, again and again. 

This year I made 25 paintings. That’s 5 fewer than last year, but one was an extra-large commission – my biggest project ever: an extra-large commission measuring 9 feet wide by 5 feet high, spread across three panels. It demanded endurance, courage, trust, and a willingness to stay with uncertainty—qualities that feel increasingly central to my work.

The commission piece took up more than a month of studio time. And there were other pieces that didn’t quite come to a final resolution. Failure is always part of success. If you’re not failing, you’re not taking enough risks!

In between, I taught 4 workshops: San Miguel, Sitka, Oregon Society of Artists and Stone Soup. Each one was a reminder of how much I value sharing my art and how much I gain by watching students take risks and explore.

ing2025 was a year for professional milestones that had been a long time coming. After more than 15 years of trying, I earned my signature membership in the American Watercolor Society (AWS). I showed work at the Seattle Art Fair, mounted another solo exhibition at Waterstone Gallery, and served as a judge for Best of the Gorge in Hood River. Exciting and gratifying recognition included receiving Best of Show in the Watercolor Society of Oregon‘s Fall Show in Grants Pass, and having work included in juried exhibitions with American Watercolor Society, Watercolor West, and Signature American Watercolor Exhibition in Fallbrook, California.

There were also moments that had nothing to do with galleries or exhibitions. I welcomed a new granddaughter. Created murals in two baby nurseries. Marched in my first political protest—No Kings Day. And somewhere between all of that, I traveled to San Miguel de Allende, New York City, Napa, Charleston, Savannah, Seattle, and Tulum. Each place left its mark, sometimes visibly in the work, sometimes more quietly in how I see. All this activity encouraged me to write nine blog posts and twelve newsletters, building a habit of reflection alongside making art. 

One way I compiled this list was by scrolling through my photos. What struck me most wasn’t the paintings or the places—it was my four-year-old grandson. Last Christmas he looked like a toddler. Now he’s unmistakably a kid. The arrival of a baby sister may have made that change more visible, but it also reminded me how easy it is to miss our own transformations.

My art has evolved this year to include more overt political content, a shift that feels both necessary and honest. This change required courage: would viewers respond to the ideas? Would the work still sell? I’m happy to answer yes to both those questions!

I’ve also reclaimed my role as a reader. After my husband died, reading felt impossible—my focus fractured, my patience thin. That phase, I think, has finally passed. I’m finding joy in books again, and that quiet pleasure has fed my thinking and my work.

Choosing my next path

I’ve made more discerning choices about where I teach and how often I travel. Even though this year was full to the brim, my plans for 2026 are more minimal—by design. One challenge this year was finding enough time to paint. It’s been a persistent issue recently and has me re-thinking where to focus my energy.

And perhaps most surprisingly, I’ve become a consistent exerciser. Pilates three times a week has changed how I move through my days, and next year I plan to add more cardio. It turns out that discipline can be a form of courage.

Looking back, the changes feel cumulative rather than dramatic. But they are real.

As this year closes, I’m carrying that courage forward—into the studio, into quieter teaching plans, and looking forward to a future full of artistic (and general) adventure.

Who isn’t inspired by art materials? I still remember the thrill of a new school year — the shiny box of crisp, pointed Crayolas, that sweet waxy scent, and the boundless sense of possibility they promised.

Decades later, I’m still inspired by my materials. Perhaps that’s why I often begin a new painting by cleaning up from the last. The minimalists say, “Clean space, clear mind,” and while I’d never claim to be one, there’s truth in that. Tidying the studio opens up room — both literally and mentally — for the next idea to take shape.

Artists can make do with very little, but I’ve always believed we shouldn’t skimp on the tools that bring our visions to life. Maybe that’s why I’ve become something of a brush hoarder. Each brush holds a memory of a mark made, a color mixed, a discovery found in texture or gesture.

Seeing is Believing

You can see for yourself in the short video below (click photo to view video) — a glimpse into my ever-growing collection of brushes that seem to multiply when I’m not looking. Each one has a story, and together they tell part of my creative history.

You might even see traces of that collection — and the energy it inspires — in my upcoming exhibition, Between Certainties, on view November 5–30, 2025, at Waterstone Gallery. The show explores the tension between control and chaos, clarity and confusion — the same duality that often begins right here, at the edge of a freshly cleaned table, with a single brush waiting to make its first mark.

If you’re in Portland, join us for the opening reception on First Thursday, November 6, from 5–8 pm. Come see where all those brushes have led me.

Tell me — do you have a favorite material or tool that sparks your own creativity?

Here’s a related post about my brushes! https://rutharmitage.com/best-brushes-for-watercolor-acrylic-and-oil-painting/

I admit to being under the influence—artistically speaking—of many painters who came before me. At the top of that list is Joan Mitchell.

I can still recall the first time I saw her work. I was descending a stairway—at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, I think—and was suddenly transfixed by a riot of color: blues, golds, greens, layered in a storm of marks, brushstrokes, and drips. Far from chaotic, it held together like a field of sunflowers seen through memory. From that moment, I was hooked.

Since then, I’ve studied Mitchell’s paintings whenever and wherever possible. I’ve seen her work in major museums around the world, watched and rewatched this documentary, and pored over her books. Writing about influence is tricky—it’s not about comparison, but gratitude. By studying her paintings, my own work has grown stronger, more honest, more alive.

Mitchell herself was influenced by Van Gogh, Monet, Kandinsky, Kline, de Kooning, and Cézanne. If you were lucky enough to see the combined Monet-Mitchell exhibition at Fondation Louis Vuitton in 2022–23, I’m envious! Like them, she absorbed the world around her and translated it through gesture and color rather than realism. 

After painting in Chicago and New York, Mitchell settled in France, near Monet’s home in Vétheuil. She once said:

“I’ve tried to take from everybody. I can’t close my eyes or limit my experiences. Because I live now, I am more interested in art now.”

That openness—to influence, to emotion, to the energy of the present—is something I strive for in my own work.

Mitchell’s paintings were made entirely in the studio. Though inspired by the landscape, she never copied it—she painted the feeling of it. The studio, for her, was a vessel for memory and movement.

My own studio plays a similar role. It’s filled with brushes (yes, I’m a bit of a hoarder!), music, books, and things that make me want to stay and paint. An artist friend once told me: “Make your studio a place you want to be.” I’ve taken that advice to heart.

If you’re curious, you can view videos of Mitchell in her studio on the Joan Mitchell Foundation site.

Black Ice ©Christopher B. Campbell

On a visit to Switzerland, I had the chance to study a work by Christopher B. Campbell, one of Mitchell’s protégés. His brushwork and energy immediately reminded me of her influence. You can explore his work and process on his website.

And here’s a photo of me at SFMOMA, standing before one of Mitchell’s monumental canvases. It was thrilling to walk among her thoughts and feelings in paint. I wrote about how that experience inspired my own work in this earlier post.

That influence continues in my new body of work, Between Certainties, opening soon at Waterstone Gallery, 124 NW 9th Ave, Portland, OR, from November 5–30, 2025.

Join me for the Opening Reception on First Thursday, November 6, from 5–8 pm.

“The freedom in my work is quite controlled. I don’t close my eyes and hope for the best. I paint with emotion and with discipline, both.”
—Joan Mitchell

I couldn’t agree more. My new paintings explore the balance between intuition and structure—the space between certainties.

Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I’d love to hear whether you see Mitchell’s influence in my newest work.

Seeking Balance, acrylic on canvas, 30×36″ ©Ruth Armitage

Between Certainties: New Abstract Paintings by Ruth Armitage

“You can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at the picture for a second and think of it all your life.”
— Joan Miró

The Power of Artistic Influence

Art is rarely created in isolation. Every artist, knowingly or not, builds upon the work of those who came before. One of the most fascinating aspects of art history is tracing those lines of influence — from Hokusai’s impact on Parisian painters like Mary Cassatt, Vuillard, and Van Gogh, to the conversations between modern masters of color and form.
This New York Times feature on Hokusai’s influence is a wonderful example of that creative lineage.

A few years ago, I attended a lecture by artist John Seed, who discussed the flow of inspiration between artists. One of his slides—illustrating connections between Mondrian, Rothko, and Richard Diebenkorn—captured my imagination. It was a reminder that even the most distinctive voices in art often evolve through dialogue with others.

Discovering Richard Diebenkorn

Richard Diebenkorn has long been one of my artistic heroes. While my paintings are not geometric, I’ve always admired the way he divided space, using both soft and sharp edges to create tension and harmony. His subtle color shifts guide the viewer’s eye across the canvas, creating a rhythm that feels both deliberate and intuitive.

Understanding how Diebenkorn absorbed lessons from his contemporaries has helped me reflect on my own creative evolution. As Wilson Mizner famously said:

“If you steal from one author, it’s plagiarism; if you steal from many, it’s research.”

And as Ruth Asawa reminds us:

“When you put a seed in the ground, it doesn’t stop growing after eight hours. It keeps going every minute that it’s in the earth. We, too, need to keep growing every moment of every day that we are on this earth.”

From Inspiration to Growth

I first encountered Diebenkorn’s work at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., before I had even begun painting seriously. Years later, I saw his Ocean Park Series at the Phillips Collection, and it left a lasting impression. His luminous abstractions—suggesting landscape through planes of color and line—revealed how minimal form can still evoke a deep sense of place.

Even more striking was his willingness to reinvent himself. Diebenkorn’s transition between abstraction, figuration, and back again demonstrated a rare creative courage. That spirit of exploration and fearlessness continues to inspire me in the studio. I’ve included three works by Diebenkorn below to illustrate some of his different styles. You can read more about his career and see many more works at https://diebenkorn.org/.

• 

  Albuquerque #10 Oil on canvas 57x44" ©Richard Diebenkorn

• 

  Sleeping Woman ©Richard Diebenkorn, oil on canvas 70"x58 1961

• 

  Ocean Park #140 ©Richard Diebenkorn, Oil on Canvas 100"x81" 1985

Between Certainties: A New Collection

For my upcoming exhibition, Between Certainties, I’ve drawn on these lessons of structure, color, and risk-taking. This body of work explores balance, contrast, movement, and rhythm—the visual “music” that underlies every successful painting.

Unlike some of my earlier abstract works, which began conceptually, these new pieces were developed from digital sketches and compositional studies. I challenged myself to work within a consistent palette, format, and style, creating a collection that resonates both visually and thematically.

Like Diebenkorn, I am fascinated by how subtle color variations can shape emotion, and how composition can hold both order and freedom. My hope is that each painting in Between Certainties invites viewers—and collectors—to linger, discover, and return again.

Which of these two paintings do you think shows more of Diebenkorn’s influence?

• 

  Tenuous Threads ©Ruth Armitage, acrylic on paper 15x11"

• 

  Fragments ©Ruth Armitage, oil and wax on panel, 24x24"

Exhibition Details

Between Certainties — New Paintings by Ruth Armitage

Waterstone Gallery
124 NW 9th Ave, Portland, OR 97209

November 5 – 30, 2025

Opening Reception: First Thursday, November 6, 5–8 PM

Join me at Waterstone Gallery this November to experience this new body of work in person. Each painting in Between Certainties explores the dynamic tension between structure and spontaneity—the space where uncertainty becomes beauty.

Related Inspirations:

“Respond to every call that excites your spirit.”
— Rumi, The Essential Rumi

https://rutharmitage.com/artistic-influences-cy-twombly/ “Circus” Acrylic on Canvas, 40 x 40″ ©Ruth Armitage

How are art and spirit connected in your art practice? Putting ideas into practice requires art. Personal investment requires spirit. For me, weaving these two together becomes a puzzle. I love puzzles, but sometimes I want a hint. Today’s hint is a quote I saved from Robert Frost:

Days like today make me grieve summer’s decline. I know it is on its way out – maybe not next week, but soon. The pressures of deadlines loom. The rain is on its way. I can smell it on the wind, see it in the clouds. The birds are gathering last minute snacks and I have put a slow-cooking lamb shank in the oven. The smell makes me want to peel potatoes, sit under the blanket and read poetry.

I want my summer pleasures back: long weekends with friends and family, cooking, swimming, talking, drinking wine.

But…I’m appreciating the work I put in earlier: workshops presented, art fair accomplishments, parties thrown. But now it is time to buckle down to a studio routine. It is time to put in serious work on my OWN work. The time for gathering ideas is past – now I have to assemble those ideas into paintings.

How the ideas sift together and combine to form coherent expression is always a mystery. Beginning is the difficult part – getting something close enough to puzzle through. As I work to build a painting, I’m also building myself – my own self awareness.

Spirit in my Art

This week I sold a work that I’ve never exhibited, published or otherwise shown outside my studio. I didn’t show it with my last solo show because it seemed too different from the other work. Often when I finish a painting, I don’t quite know what to make of it. I try to allow it to rest without judgement for a while before I decide if it deserves a frame or a place in the show. Even though I didn’t feel this painting belonged in the show, it still had spirit.

This particular piece is titled “Where Does Spirit Live.” The title is taken from a poem by Seamus Heaney called Squarings.

When I read about the poem, a memorial lecture given by Bruce Stewart provided additional food for thought:

He said that Heaney had “a determination to see the physical and spiritual as ultimately dependent on each other, or at least to channel them together on the same plane of experience” That’s profound to an artist concerned with the physical and spiritual aspects of painting.

The painting process requires my investment – it requires my personal decisions on each brush stroke – my personal awareness and response to the subject. It requires my persistence and my spirit. It requires me to build myself anew in each painting.

Which do you think is more important in painting? Art or spirit? Join the discussion and leave a comment!