Roots and Rooster, 24" x 18", pastel on Canson

I have made a commitment to paint more impressionistically, since that’s what I enjoy in other people’s work, and much larger than my usual 9×12 or 12×16. To back it up, I had 10 sheets of 18″ x 24″ Wallis sandpaper mounted on acid-free foamcore which offers a tidy surface and the ability to make a watery watercolor underpainting, making more underpaintings being yet another steadfast commitment I’ve made in recent weeks. So here we go….

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Since I had a block about landscapes anyway, I let that frustration lead to panicked experimenting. I should have just stuck it on the wall until the solution came to me. Or started afresh. Good lesson there somewhere. This art stuff is hard. And you can quote me on that.

First attempt

Vain attempt.

I had very high expectations for my 3 weeks in northern New Mexico. We were renting a house in a beautiful spot and assuming the cottonwoods would be turning in September. We were bringing the dogs with us to soak up the environment with us on long walks. Thirty minutes from Taos, I knew I would have great food and glory in that rounded, understated architecture whenever I wanted. I never have a greater feeling of well being than when in NM, and I expected that to be the case once again. Most of all, I wanted to spend three weeks in my right brain, gazing at the world with greedy, arty eyes. Focusing on naturally perfect compositions and capturing them in pastel. Spending entire days of plein air bent over my Heilman box with a big floppy hat on. Oh, I had plans, big plans.

Things I learned on my summer painting vacation:

1. This art stuff is hard enough. Plein air is way harder. It engages a highly undeveloped part of the brain and gives it an Indian rope burn.

2. I thought to be a real artist you had to be good at plein air, but now I’m okay about going inside to paint. You don’t sweat or get sunburned or bitten by ants. You always have access to a bathroom and Diet Coke and Fig Newtons, and you can play MOG.com real loud.

3. Photographing a prospective landscape doesn’t really cut it. The camera flattens even the mightiest of mountains. Real life sketching in pencil or pastel to capture essential information is a very good thing. THEN go inside and put the MOG on.

4. For extreme mental health/artsy fartsiness, do not read newspapers, listen to the radio or watch TV. Therein lies the real therapy to vacation. Add art immersion to that, and you got yourself a life changing event.

5. It is good to periodically take the time to do absolutely nothing but what YOU want to do. It will feel weird and somehow not right (if you are a recovering Catholic as well), but by the end of three weeks you will feel you deserve nothing less.

6. Do not return home if you want to hang on to No. 5.

The Blue Bench, 9″ x 12″, pastel, Canson paper

7. I wish I could say I learned what makes New Mexican Mexican food so good, but it will require more research. Much more.

8. I learned that the feeling of complete relaxation and control over my time AND the illusion that I had all the time in the world made my painting better.

9. If there was ever any question, I would be very good at early retirement.

10. I’d go back in a New Mexico minute.

I posted the above on my Facebook wall and asked other artists if they thought it was an imperative. Full-time artists said absolutely, and I understand the drive and discipline, courage and inspiration it must require to thrive as an artist. Indeed, you would be frantic for a pond most of the time, I would think. However, for those of us doing other things to pay the rent, it’s a point of frustration. When I do have time to paint, I am always thinking, God, I love this. I don’t ever want to stop.” Even if my painting is crummy, I feel more myself in every way just in the act of painting it. Should I continue to pursue art if my hair is not on fire? What if my passion consists only in thinking of painting much of the time, collecting photo and ideas for art, mentally tracing outlines of interesting chins or trunks of trees, spending all expendable income on workshops and supplies, and painting whenever possible. If I do all that but without the urgency of a head inferno, does it still count as passion? Can one have a part-time passion, or are those of us disqualified for not risking all?

The Blue Door, 12″ x 12″, pastel

I took some dynamite photos (if I do say so myself) at Taos Pueblo in May on my visit there, and as usual my favorites involve doors and windows and dogs. I’ve decided to give in and just paint what pleases me and catches my fancy. So for the first time ever, I’m embarking on a series, and this is the first finished painting.

Pastel is especially suited to adobe walls. On this one, I blended parts with my finger for a softer look and for more textured areas simply layered differents shades of ochre and raw umber. The support is a buttery yellow Pastelmat, my new paper of choice, and it adds a definite glow behind the walls, despite the fact that most of it has been covered. I also completely smoothed out that famous New Mexican sky. The bits of yellow showing through the sky were distracting and brought the sky forward too much.

I was happy with the structure and the dirt and stones (these shapes are what attracted me to begin with), but felt it needed something breathing to complete it. And really, what’s sweeter than doggie breath?