Anna Rose Bain's Art Blog

New Painting: "Forces at Play"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Mon, 02 Mar 2026 16:21:00 +0000

"Forces at Play," 24x30", oil on linen (2024-2026)

This was one of the first paintings I started as I was moving into my brand new basement studio in October 2024, after seven months of construction. That year had been a challenge, to say the least.

My son was struggling with behavioral issues at school, and throughout the summer—after barely completing kindergarten—we had a steady rotation of behavioral therapists coming and going from our home every afternoon. Three hours a day. Five days a week. The sounds of his meltdowns, or moments of joy and play, layered over the constant hammering and construction noise, made for one of the most difficult working environments I’ve ever experienced. My studio was crammed into our dining room. There were no doors. No blockades. Constant interruptions.

So when I finally moved everything into my studio, I was chomping at the bit to get started on new work. I wanted BIG paintings. I wanted to stretch out, feel the space, enjoy having legroom again.

And yet—I was still recovering from a long and difficult season. Not even recovering, really. I was still in it.

That summer, I watched Everett sit at the dining room table, which was perpetually covered in his projects and hobbies. There was never any room for plates—we couldn’t sit and eat at the table because every square inch was occupied with paper, markers, globes, stickers, Legos, and bingo cards. But there were moments when he would look up from whatever he was immersed in, and his expression stopped me cold. It was all-encompassing love, joy, obsession. A whole universe contained in a single look. With the light streaming in through the glass doors, his face glowed with an almost otherworldly clarity.

I knew immediately: that was what I wanted to paint next.

I had already painted him as a wild thing. Now it was time to paint him in this next phase—more conscious of the world around him, equally absorbed in his outward fascinations (world geography, the solar system) and the inward world swirling inside that remarkable brain of his. I knew I didn’t want this painting to be about what makes him different. I wanted to hone in on what makes him gifted. On what makes him him.

This is Everett's drawing of the solar system, which I eventually incorporated into the painting.
Here you can see he was interested in painting the Kuipur Belt, and the dwarf planet, "The Goblin."
I was struck by his interest in "outliers," given that he might be considered one himself.

I designed the painting with those thoughts in mind. It is quietly cosmic—both intimate and vast at the same time. Everett, though often fully immersed in his own world, looks up from his play and meets us directly in the eyes. The world—and our world—is within his reach. The objects around him—the stars, the globe, the markers, papers, and paper airplanes—feel suspended in time and space, as if governed by a kind of personal physics.

But because I was still dealing with constant interruption, ongoing school struggles as Everett entered first grade, and the difficulty of returning to work after a long stretch away, the painting fought me from the start. I questioned whether I even remembered what it felt like to be in a true flow state. I spent hours painting stars, reworking his expression, rendering tiny place names on the globe with my smallest brushes. I tried to make it work.

How it started. My original design was very high-key.

I had hoped to enter the painting in the 2025 Portrait Society of America International Competition. I shared it with a small group of women artists I trust deeply. They were enthusiastic—but one of them gently suggested that the painting would be stronger if I shifted from a light background to a dark one. The moment she said it, I knew she was right. And my heart sank.

I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to make such a drastic change, especially with the deadline looming and my solo show already on the horizon. So I reluctantly shelved the painting. And there it sat—waiting in the wings—for eleven months.

It turned out to be a gift.

At that point, I couldn’t see the painting through anything but a subjective lens. Just a couple of weeks after setting it aside, Everett was asked to leave his school, with the threat of expulsion if we didn’t pull him out. We were heartbroken. We pulled both kids mid-year and began the search for new schools. Cecelia found a place quickly—my brave girl stepped right in and made friends almost immediately. Everett’s path was slower.

He stayed home with me for a month, and during that time I had the dark thought: What was I thinking, committing to a solo show? Autism moms don’t get to have spotlight moments. We don’t get to have successful careers.

That kind of thinking had to end if I was going to keep painting. So I painted anyway—often through grit rather than flow.

Eventually, Everett was given a place at a public school just ten minutes from our house, with a teacher I will be forever grateful for. She understood him immediately. She saw him. She considered him an asset to her classroom, not an inconvenience. And in that environment, he was able to thrive.

In the spring (May 2025), the Portrait Society accepted a different painting of mine, "The King of the Wild Things" (also of Everett!) into their International Competition and it placed in the top ten, earning 5th place overall. I couldn't have been more thrilled!

By June, my shoulders began to relax. My jaw unclenched. I could finally see the world through eyes that weren’t stuck in survival mode. And that’s when the paintings began to get better.

Fast forward to December 2025. Winter break. My show was a success. The kids were home. Everett had just completed the first half of second grade—a massive win. And I pulled this painting back out.

I was finally ready.

I repainted almost every square inch. The background, his face, the globe, the foreground—everything was reconsidered. I took to heart something I had read in Scarcity Brain by Michael Easter, about the power of removing and simplifying, rather than constantly adding. I eliminated an entire sheet of paper in the foreground. I added paper airplanes to reflect Everett’s most current obsession and to help guide the eye through the composition. The light/dark pattern strengthened immediately.

I still wanted to include his drawings of the solar system, but instead of suspending them illustratively in the air, I grounded them on a piece of paper in the foreground. I considered giving him a halo, but decided my child is no angel or messiah figure—his expression is enough. I subtly added constellations that would have been visible on the night he was born. I entered the painting deliberately, practicing a level of restraint that hasn’t always been present in my earlier work.

This may be the profound lesson I’ve been learning as an artist lately: restraint and discipline trump raw passion. Passion must be tempered.

Then there was the title.

I originally planned to call it In His Own Time and Space, but that felt too explanatory, too tied to his autism. I wanted the painting to speak instead about potential—about the gift he brings to the world simply by being a curious, engaged participant in it. So I chose Forces at Play.

I hope you enjoy this painting. My son may not be destined to be an artist (there's plenty of time to find out!), but he will bring something extraordinary into this world. He already has. He has opened my heart and mind to levels of learning and growth I never could have imagined.

Returning to the Same Shore: Reflections from a Week of Painting in Cabo

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sat, 21 Feb 2026 23:23:00 +0000

I’m home after six days of painting in Cabo with dear artist friends, and my heart is full — while my camera roll is overflowing with reference material for future seascapes.

Our Cabo artist group: Jen Starling, Raj Chaudhuri, Daniel Sprick, Anna Rose Bain, Emily Olson, and Tania Davis (not pictured, although I did paint her one day and her portrait is shown here!).

Over the course of the week, I completed ten paintings (plus two "scrapers," as we call them 😂) that I’ll be sharing gradually as I refine and photograph them. Two of my favorites were small studies: a 6×8 painted just before sunset and an 8×8 done shortly after sunrise. They feel like quiet markers of the rhythm of the trip — early light, late light, and everything learned in between.

"Morning Light, Cabo," 8x8", oil on linen panel (painted just after sunrise)

"Rocky Cove, Cabo," 6x8", oil on linen panel (painted before sunset)

Before arriving, I suspected I might grow bored painting the same rocks and beaches day after day. Instead, the opposite happened. Returning to the same location became the lesson itself. Subtle shifts in light, atmosphere, tide, and composition revealed new problems to solve every time I set up my easel. The ocean refuses to hold still, and learning to respond to that constant movement was both humbling and deeply motivating.

This trip felt different from the first time I painted here. I was more present — more engaged in the work, in the conversations, and in the shared experience of artists learning alongside one another. The days were simple: paint, rest, eat, talk, repeat. Sun, wind, and intense focus meant I needed a nap almost every afternoon, which felt less like indulgence and more like part of the creative process. Painting outdoors demands a surprising amount of physical and mental endurance.

One of the greatest gifts of the week was observing how differently artists work. Raj Chaudhuri arranged to have a 24x36 canvas shipped to our temporary residence in Mexico so that he could do a larger, more ambitious painting, right there on the beach. He brought a special easel for it, which was strapped down with heavy sandbags (in spite of choosing the windiest day to work on it!), and he produced a beautiful, dramatic seascape over the course of 2 days.

Raj working on his 24x36 masterpiece

Daniel Sprick, now in his seventies, painted longer and with more stamina than anyone. He too, produced a large 24x36, though his was done from one of his field studies painted on location the day before. While many of us rotated through studies, he stayed committed to a painting for hours, even as conditions changed. Watching him reminded me that patience itself is a skill — one developed through years of sustained looking.

Daniel Sprick painting in oil, and Emily Olson painting in watercolor from the terrace just before sunset.

Daniel Sprick and Jen Starling, in front of Dan's field study and larger painting in progress.

I tend to work differently. I’m faster, more responsive, often moving on after ninety minutes or two hours. Where Dan is the tortoise, I am very much the hare. Neither approach is right or wrong, but the contrast helped me better understand my own rhythm as a painter — and also where I might still grow.

Dinners were spent around the candlelit table in long conversations about art, identity, ambition, and the strange inner lives artists carry with them. Those conversations—which were very personal (and I will cherish them in my heart and memory)—have a way of deepening the work itself. Painting may look solitary from the outside, but growth often happens in community, through shared honesty, encouragement, and the willingness to learn from one another.

What the Ocean Taught Me

A few practical lessons from the week continue to stay with me:

• Observation and invention must work together. Painting convincing waves isn’t just copying what you see. The ocean changes too quickly. Skilled observation has to merge with imagination — or, as painters sometimes say, learning when to “make things up” in service of truth.

• Returning to the same subject builds understanding. Repetition didn’t create boredom; it created clarity. Each new attempt revealed something I had missed before.

When my brain was fried from so many wave painting attempts, I switched back to something more consistent: rocks! 4x8, painted before sunset.

• Light direction changes everything.
Painting into the sun produced softer, warmer color relationships and stronger atmospheric effects, though visibility could be challenging. Painting with the sun at my back revealed brighter, clearer color but flatter shadow patterns and intense glare on my canvas until it was covered with paint. Neither is better — only different problems to solve.

• Time spent matters. Watching a master stay with a painting long after conditions changed reinforced that persistence and imagination can extend a moment beyond direct observation.

Above all, the week reminded me why painting from life continues to feel utterly necessary. Nature never repeats itself. The challenge resets every day. And sometimes the greatest creative growth comes not from chasing novelty, but from returning — again and again — to the same place with deeper attention.

I came home tired, inspired, and deeply grateful for the chance to spend a week doing what artists have always done: standing in front of something beautiful, trying — imperfectly — to understand it through paint.

The whole gang (Jen, Dan, Anna, Emily, Raj, Tania)

So glad I got to spend some extra time with my twin sister on this trip!

One afternoon was spent painting our beautiful Tania's portrait.

“Little Kingdoms” — Reflections on My First Solo Show

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sun, 19 Oct 2025 22:59:00 +0000

I’m still processing everything that happened over the past week. My solo exhibition, Little Kingdoms, opened on October 10 at Saks Galleries, and to say I’m humbled and grateful feels like an understatement.

With my family on opening night! That's my name on the front window! 🤯

It’s humbling that people wanted to ask me questions about my work—and that they were genuinely interested in hearing what I had to say. Humbling to show my paintings in a gallery with such history and prestige, in such a beautiful space. And most of all, humbling that so many people who came to the opening truly wanted to be there.

I sometimes fear that my work will bore people to tears. But at my opening, I didn’t feel that insecurity at all. Instead, I felt seen—deeply and profoundly seen. And there were some tears, but they were tears of joy and knowing, not boredom!

One of the most moving things I heard from collectors last weekend was how many of them saw my vision for the show—without reading a single wall label or catalog page. They told me, “You’re helping us notice things in a new way… like the fall leaves. So much attention to detail!" I laughed and said, "I spent all of last October going for walks and looking down at the ground. I think when people passed me on the trail they thought I was just avoiding eye contact!"

"Meditation in Gold," 30x30", oil

Another viewer said, “These places feel so familiar. Like I remember that feeling as a kid, of playing in the ocean, or reading a book and imagining the characters were right there in the room with me.”

Those comments struck a chord, because that’s exactly what I hoped for. Little Kingdoms is about finding refuge and belonging in the small, ordinary moments of life—the quiet sanctuaries where we are most ourselves. It's about our own kingdoms that we build or discover throughout our lives.

My dear friend Erica, who has known me since college, drove up from Colorado Springs to see the show. Her daughter was the muse for my painting Castle in the Clouds. When she stood before my self-portrait, Stillness in the Swell, she began to cry. “I know what you’ve been through,” she said. “Seeing this expression of peace on your face gives me joy and reassurance that you’re healing—and growing, because of it all.” Her words brought me to tears too. What a beautiful thing it is, to be known so deeply by another person—and to have that understanding reflected back through art.

Studio shot with my self portrait, "Stillness in the Swell", 24x14", oil.
Photo by Sara Long.

This show feels like a culmination of many years’ worth of waiting—waiting to have the time, the courage, and the emotional readiness to paint certain ideas. Some of these works have been living inside me for years. It wasn’t that I lacked the skill, but that I needed to take some big, bold steps first. I needed to grow into them.

One of those bold steps was Lioness. This piece is about claiming space—in art, in life, and within ourselves. For years I played small, afraid to take up space in a male-dominated art world. Lioness became my declaration that I no longer need permission.

I first photographed the model seven years ago, when her confidence felt like something I could only aspire to. Over time, I grew into the very qualities she embodied. After visiting Africa and watching lions in their natural kingdom, I finally understood the vision: this painting would celebrate not only her strength, but mine—and, I hope, every viewer’s as well.

I found out after the fact, from the model herself, that her grandmother's nickname was "The Lioness." I guess it runs in the family. :-)

"Lioness," 36x24", oil on linen

Another piece that I had waited a long time to make—and my personal favorite painting in this show—was Red Balloon. It’s a painting about being different in a world that demands conformity. I’ve shared before about my son’s autism. The challenges of parenting over this past year were one reason I never wrote a blog post in 2024. Yet through those challenges, I’ve learned so much about what it means to parent a child whose brain is wired differently. I’ve developed greater patience and compassion, not just for him, but for myself.

In this painting, he stands quietly in a moment of stillness, caught between two realms: the intricate, complex world within his mind, and the blooming, vibrant world around him that doesn’t always make space for difference. The hydrangeas symbolize his inner thoughts—swirling, mysterious, all-consuming. The red balloon, a nearly forgotten emblem of childhood joy, floats lightly in his hand, on the verge of drifting away. It hints at both innocence and detachment.

Red Balloon is not about sadness, but presence—about beauty coexisting with otherness, and about honoring the quiet, brilliant lives that bloom just outside the noise of the “real” world.

"Red Balloon," 40x48", oil on linen

With my son Everett. He was about 3 years old when he modeled for the
photo references for this painting. He is now 7!

So now I’ve taken these steps—I asked for a solo show. I painted for the solo show. And I made it happen, in collaboration with Saks Galleries. It feels like a personal triumph.

Feeling like a boss babe in these photos by Sara Long.
I was lucky enough to get some studio shots with my paintings
before the work went off to the gallery.

Of course, I couldn’t have done it alone. My children aren’t just wonderful models; they’re my constant muses, inspiring me daily with their wild imaginations. My sisters—my best friends—showed up for me in every way possible, one of them even driving across states to be here. My art community showed up. My gym community showed up. And my husband… he’s been there from the very beginning, supporting me on the hard days, the long nights, and the seasons when it all felt impossible.

I’m so, so grateful.

And if you’re wondering—yes, the "giraffe painting" (as "His Highness" has been dubbed) was a crowd favorite! 🦒

Everett (my wild thing!), and I in front of "His Highness," 90x24", oil.
Framed by Bryan Smith.

Little Kingdoms runs from October 10-24, 2025. Select works will still be available for a limited time through Saks Galleries. You can visit their website to peruse the work, or purchase a show catalog here.

Adjusting Expectations: Autism, Art, and a 2023 Recap

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Tue, 12 Dec 2023 21:17:00 +0000

Oh... hi there.

This is my first (and last) post of 2023, and it's a big one, so I hope you're curled up with a nice warm beverage and a comfy chair! This year got away from me, but there was a whole lot happening...

A professional highlight of the year: winning the cover contest held by the Artist's Magazine. My work was featured on the cover of the September/October 2023 issue.

In many ways, 2023 was one of the most challenging years of my life. But it was also a year of incredible personal and professional growth, especially as I look back with some perspective on the year and realize that all the hard work and tears will eventually reap long term rewards.

Let me start by sharing something personal.

In December of 2022, my son Everett (who was 4 at the time) was medically diagnosed with High Functioning Autism Spectrum Disorder (formerly called Asberger's). We had suspected this for a long time, especially after he was asked to leave the very expensive preschool we were sending him to from the time he was about 2 1/2. When he turned 3 and entered a larger classroom, he began to act out in ways they didn't know how to deal with. Everett started to get physically aggressive towards teachers and other kids, making him a "danger" (all 3 feet of him) in the classroom. As a mom, I was mortified by this and didn't know what to do. The preschool directed me to ChildFind, a program that is available through the state, where I had Everett go in for rigorous assessments. The result was that he was given an IEP, which would give him access to special services such as speech therapy and behavioral therapy, during the next school year. They also recommended he get on the waitlist to be assessed for an official medical diagnosis.

With my children, Cecelia and Everett, spring 2023

I was proactive about all of this, but that meant that Everett became my full-time job. I hired a speech therapist to come to our house and work with him once a week, which she did, for about a year from the summer of 2022 to the summer of this year. In January of 2023, once we had Everett's offical diagnosis, I also hired an ABA (behavioral) therapist to work with him at our house, and she came four days a week, every morning, including during the summer. This gave me some relief and a bit of time to work, but the time always seemed to fly by and I'd just be getting into the groove when it was time for the therapist to leave, and I was back on kid duty.

In the fall of 2022, Everett started preschool at a public school, just 4 days a week in the afternoons, while our daughter went to a charter school 20 minutes away. Needless to say, the 2022-2023 school year consisted of a ridiculous amount of driving, accompanied constantly by a low-grade anxiety that I would be late to pick up my daughter, or that Everett would fight me on something, whether it was over what I'd made for lunch, or getting in the car, or not wanting to leave the playground. We were often late to things, because Everett does things his own way, in his own time, and I had to let go of a lot of my usual commitments. When he made up his mind about something, whether good or bad, he would dig in his heels. One of the hardest moments I had was one day when I tried to bring him with me to the gym. Normally I would set him up with an ipad during this time, but he decided that he wasn't interested in it that day, so he chose to stand there by the door, screaming during my entire workout. As a result, I did NOT complete my workout, but ended up carrying him out to the car, trying to hide the tears coming down my face. He could have his meltdowns any time, anywhere.

Cecelia is becoming a very gifted young artist!

Everett's chalk masterpieces, April 2023

Before I continue, let me clarify something: my children are my pride and joy. Cecelia (my nine year old), is a very talented artist, with an incredible imagination that blows my mind! Everett is extraordinary in ways I don't fully understand yet. From the time he was 18 months old, perhaps even younger, he became obsessed with letters and numbers. As a two year old, he learned to master writing them... in different fonts, including cursive! During the assessment for his medical diagnosis, he tested off the charts for his ability to solve puzzles and for visual problem solving. As a four and five year old, his most recent obsessions have been human anatomy, the solar system, and geography. If you ask him what the capital of Bolivia is, he'll probably be able to tell you! He is as smart as a whip, but his communication and social skills need work. He struggles with transitions, and needs to know what is going to happen next. Flexibility is a constant work in progress. And it seems like he and I are always battling over everything: bed time, meal times, getting out the door in the morning. It's exhausting.

That being said, learning to parent him has been like learning a new language. His brain is extraordinary and I'm just trying to figure him out, while loving and nurturing him, and also challenging him once in a while. It's a tall order.

So.. in 2023, I didn't stop going to the gym, but I definitely wasn't rigorously dieting or training like during 75 Hard.

I didn't stop playing piano for church (you probably didn't even know I did that), but I did have to pare it down to just once a month.

I didn't stop painting, but I had to adjust my expectations and the scope of my projects. I was greatly blessed to have a large number of commissions in 2023, but I had to tell my clients, "I can't do a hard deadline. It could take me 6 months to a year... or more." Thankfully, most of them were happy to oblige. After all, for me to find a large chunk of time in the studio, was almost impossible this year. Once the kids were home for the summer, I was constantly being interrupted, or, doing MORE driving, this time to summer camps, which always seemed to go by so fast!

But I was blessed beyond measure to have some incredible experiences this year as a professional artist. Sometimes, I just have to leave the house to remind myself that yes, indeed, I am a professional (d**n it!).

In February, I took my annual solo trip to a desert location, this time to Sedona, Arizona. It was magical because on my second day there, it snowed and looked absolutely breathtaking.

In May, I had the wonderful opportunity to teach my first international workshop, and it happened to be in South Africa with a fantastic company called Workshops in SA! I would like to write a separate blog post about this experience, because it was so special and life-changing for me. I learned a great deal on that trip, and I would like the chance to do it justice by writing about it when I have the time to really dig in with more details. So be looking for that post... soon. :-) In the meantime, I made a video about it that you can watch on YouTube.

I flew from South Africa straight to Washington, DC for the Portrait Society of America convention. Yes, it was a little crazy on my part, but this is one of my favorite events of the year and I hate to miss it! There's something truly special about spending a weekend with my art family. By God's grace, I was healthy and experienced no jet lag. My twin sister Emily (are you following her on YouTube yet?) attended the event too, and I got to catch up with many beloved artist friends.

I was willing to wait in line a LONG time for Judith Carducci's book signing at the Portrait Society. She has been a mentor and inspiration to me for years. At this year's conference she sat for a portrait demonstration by Jeff Hein and Rose Frantzen and it was one of the most memorable demos I've had the pleasure of watching. Sadly, Judy passed away in August at the age of almost 88. She will be greatly missed!

A bunch of badass women artists dressed up for the PSOA banquet
(left to right: Emily Olson, Mardie Rees, Anna Rose Bain, Tina Garrett, Adrienne Stein)

Emily and I couldn't resist getting our picture with the one and only James Gurney!

One of my all-time favorite artists and humans, the indomitable Rose Frantzen

Me (left) and my amazing twin sister and BFF, Emily (right) May 2023 (why does she always look taller than me??)

Less than two weeks after the South Africa trip and the Portrait Society, I participated as a faculty member in the Plein Air Convention, which took place in Denver this year and was just 20 minutes from my house! That proved to be more difficult than I thought, as I wore my "mom hat" in the mornings (packing lunches, driving kids to school, etc.), and switched to my "professional artist hat" in the afternoons. It was a bipolar way to live. Or, maybe I was just worn out. But I enjoyed being part of this event and had the honor of giving an evening demo.

In June I "relaxed" a little and started to dig in to my commission work a bit more. Well, I may have also participated in a Spartan race with some friends from my gym...

The biggest highlight was that after driving my dependable old Lexus SUV for almost 14 years, I finally traded it in for a brand new Toyota 4Runner! I've dubbed her "Jolene," and I can now call myself a proper Coloradan. Since this photo was taken, she's been outfitted with rock sliders and bigger tires with black wheels. Next will be the roof rack...

In July, I taught a 3-day portrait workshop in Lowell, MI, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the black raspberries were perfectly in season. I made a black raspberry dessert for my students and it was a very memorable workshop, if not for the great models and instruction, then at least for the dessert!

Steve, the kids and I took a couple of family road trips, one for a quick weekend in Colorado Springs, and another, for ten days in Wisconsin to celebrate my parents' 50th anniversary. My typical MO is to overcommit to stuff, but once I'm committed, I give it 110%. That's exactly what happened with helping my parents plan their big anniversary party. I volunteered to put together the slideshow. It took me all summer to scan photos and negatives, edit, crop, and color correct them, and compile them in chronological order to the songs my parents had selected. My mom and dad are both perfectionists (must be who I get it from?!), so it was very important that the slideshow be just right. When the day came and we all got together as a big group of family and friends to celebrate their commitment to one another, I have to say that it was worth it when I saw the tears in their eyes while they watched the memories come up on the screen.

My great big family! July 2023

I had the opportunity to take a couple of weekend art trips with my sisters Emily and Cara, and a dear friend from college. One weekend was spent in Moab, the other was in Grand Lake, Colorado, where we went on a ten-mile hike that had me realizing I'm no spring chicken anymore!

I was really happy with how this plein air sketch turned out of Delicate Arch in Arches National Park

My sister Cara (left) came all the way out from Wisconsin to hang with Emily and me, and she did some watercolor painting. I think art runs in the family.

Emily and I with our friend of 20+ years, Erica. She's that friend who's always up for things, including 10 mile hikes...

My sweet dog Bella gave us a scare this summer when she very suddenly came down with vestibular disease, a dog version of vertigo. She was so ill that she couldn't stand up and I spent two weeks attending to her day and night, often having to carry her outside to do her business. She eventually recovered and we just celebrated her 14th birthday! Meanwhile, our two year old puppy Elsa came down with a nasty abscess on her face, which had to be operated on. She is doing fine now and is back to her obnoxious self. She likes to jump with all four paws on our glass patio door.

As August came to a close, my daughter entered 4th grade, and Everett's ABA and speech therapy ended. We started him in Kindergarten at the same school as his sister. Unfortunately, it has been a very rocky adjustment. He wasn't used to full days at school, or wearing uniforms, or getting up early, or eating a packed lunch. We also realized over time that the curriculum, no matter how rigorously academic (it's a Hillsdale College charter school)... was TOO easy for Everett. His math skills are way above and beyond, and he's already reading and writing (in cursive, no less). So Everett started getting bored at school and would act out in terrible ways. It's still an ongoing process of us trying to impliment positive incentives and work with the special ed team at his school to help him succeed. At this point, we're not worried about him academically. We just want him to learn how to behave properly and be with people! Someday I hope he has friends, maybe even a girl friend! I love that boy so much, but oh... the heartache he's given me! I guess that's what it is to be a mother. The love and the pain are unbearable at times. I've been driven to my knees every day, praying for wisdom and strength in navigating these waters.

I continue the journey of being an artist, and even though parenting has taken center stage this year, the art is non-negotiable. Art--along with my CrossFit workouts--keeps me sane, and I'm thankful for it every day! In spite of the challenges, I've had many professional successes in 2023:

- Starting my own learning platform for streaming my instructional videos. I add a new video each month! Check it out at LEARN FROM ANNA ROSE BAIN.

- Teaching my first international workshop (May 2023) in South Africa, as well as my first workshop with the Scottsdale Artists School (November 2023). I must say, my husband's support was crucial in making these events possible!

- Winning the cover of The Artist's Magazine, Sept/October issue

- Leading a webinar with the Portrait Society of America on "Children as Timeless Subjects"

- Taking on numerous portrait commissions

- Maintaining my YouTube channel and social media platforms

- Hosting a successful studio sale via my newsletter and social media

How have I adjusted my expectations this year? Well, large scale studio pieces and passion projects have been pretty much out of the question. The best I can do is the occasional plein air painting or portrait demo. And sometimes I chip away at one of the big pieces in my studio, but there are lots of unfinished works waiting patiently for their turn in the spotlight.

Yes, I make things look effortless (ha!), but I tell you what. It's December, and I'm dead tired.

If you've made it this far, I thank you for reading this. Wishing you a very merry Christmas and happy New Year. I'll check in with you in 2024!

- Anna

Between Seasons - Turning Inward

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sat, 19 Nov 2022 16:46:00 +0000

"The Dance Between Seasons," 24x18", oil on linen panel, 2022

"The Dance Between Seasons" is the first truly quiet painting I’ve made this year. It conveys a sense of rest and introspection, even with the bright reds and "dancing" leaves. It's a slow dance.

In my previous post, I talked about being drawn away from the desert, and towards the water. Water gives life, and it is full of movement and music. The ocean is not quiet. After a year of making paintings that are overtly exuberant, outward-focused, colorful, and energetic, this new piece is a welcome change of pace. My personality is such that I am naturally inclined to turn inward. But even with this natural tendency for introspection, I'm realizing that I too often deny that part of myself in a valiant (?) effort to save face and to be everything for everyone--to put others' needs and desires above my own. It’s how I was conditioned, and it’s a good thing until it causes resentment or burnout.

I began "The Dance" during a season so frantic, I didn’t really have any business starting a new painting. Yet it was one of those times where I felt a deep compulsion--an actual need--to do this thing. If I didn't follow through, I knew I’d be missing out on a necessary piece of the "puzzle" that is my journey as an artist. I was between commissions and between travels. We had enjoyed a spectacular fall, but I was busy with kids and life obligations.

I started it anyway. One afternoon I cut the maple branches from a small tree in our back yard. I plucked the rogue dahlias from my dwindling garden, and set up a green pumpkin that I'd collected on a trip to the pumpkin patch with the kids. The candle was a necessary addition. I played around with several different arrangements, but the elements seemed to fall into place in a dramatic diagonal, and that composition just felt right.

In the afternoon north light of my studio, I began. It was so dark I could barely see what I was doing, but I loved the mood of the setup so much that I refused to alter it in favor of more light.

All too soon I was called away. I found out that my grandmother had passed away, and the funeral was taking place just one day before I was meant to depart for Rochester, NY to teach a workshop.

My travels were outward-focused. Time spent with family, reminiscing about Grandma Joyce, and grieving together. Then, going straight from there to my workshop, and teaching 15 eager students for three days. It was an incredible experience - in fact, my first workshop in nearly five years--and a smashing success.

But upon returning from the funeral, and the workshop… I came back to a family that needed me, bathrooms that needed cleaning, laundry that needed washing, a fridge and pantry that needed to be restocked...

...And this painting.

I didn't even know what I needed. But that intuitive side of me, that artist within, was quietly inviting me inward as soon as circumstances allowed, to sort through the thoughts and emotions still swirling around unacknowledged.

Over the span of several afternoons, this painting became a meditation. It was a conduit for me to process my emotions and to find peace. I listened to the soundtrack I had made for Grandma’s funeral—the one that ultimately never got played because everything seemed to happen so fast and in the blink of an eye, we were all driving away from the burial site--a picturesque little German cemetary, with the leaves all falling down and covering the gravestones like a burial shroud--and then we were moving on with our busy lives.

So I thought about her while I painted, I celebrated her life, and I rejoiced with her that she is no longer suffering but is home at last.

In Remembrance of Joyce Recknagel, December 29,1925 - October 22, 2022

I'm thankful for this painting because it gave me what I needed in this chapter of my life. I am so very thankful for art, and the surprising ways it can bring healing or joy without us even realizing.

After seeing "The Dance" on Facebook, a friend shared the following with me. I thought it fit perfectly and described my feelings about the work better than I ever could. So here it is.

The winter solstice time is no longer celebrated as it once was, with the understanding that this is a period of descent and rest, of going within our homes, within ourselves and taking in all that we have been through, all that has passed in this full year which is coming to a close... like nature and the animal kingdom around us, this time of hibernation is so necessary for our tired limbs, our burdened minds.

Our modern culture teaches avoidance at a max at this time; alcohol, lights, shopping, overworking, over spending, comfort food and consumerism.

And yet the natural tug to go inwards as nearly all creatures are doing is strong and the weather so bitter that people are left feeling that winter is hard, because for those of us without burning fires and big festive families, it can be lonely and isolating. Whereas in actual fact winter is kind, she points us in her quiet soft way towards our inner self, towards this annual time of peace and reflection, embracing the darkness and forgiving, accepting and loving embracing goodbye the past year.

"Winter takes away the distractions, the buzz, and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb like love, bringing fire & light to our hearth".

.. and then, just around the corner the new year will begin again, and like a seed planted deep in the earth, we will all rise with renewed energy once again to dance in the sunlight.
Life is a gift a Happy winter to you all...

Written by Bridget Anna McNeil

Reposted from Juno's Place

Painting the Oregon Coast, September 2022

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Mon, 03 Oct 2022 00:11:00 +0000

Once in a while, we artists need to get out of our studios and re-ignite our creativity with a bit of carefree adventure. I've written about many the solo trips I've done in the past (like Moab, Joshua Tree, and Death Valley), and why they were so beneficial for me, especially at this chapter of my life (aka mom of small children). But, I don't want these posts to come across as complaints about my life. Nor do I wish to brag about how often I travel. I am surely grateful for my life as a mother, and for the opportunity to do these painting trips whenever I can. I hope more than anything that they inspire my artist friends and followers to do the same. Art is taxing. Art making is the very act of pouring out oneself, and as a result, it is crucial that we refill our tank on a regular basis.

For me, I discovered in the past that going on solo trips to the desert was what I needed to recharge. I was drawn to the desert because I wanted to be completely alone, in places undefiled by crowds, where I could let my mind wander and where no one needed me, and where I could meditate, paint, and explore the wide open spaces.

This time was different. Maybe, it signals a shift in my life trajectory--a new chapter, of sorts. I don't know if it's because my kids are a bit older... or if it's because I dealt with a lot of my stuff through the summer with a mental toughness program I took on. Or, maybe it's because I'm learning how to manage my stress better every day, so I can be more open to the world around me without only focusing on one immediate crisis after another. Who knows...

Self reflection aside, the biggest reasons for this trip being different are obvious. First, I went with my twin sister and best friend, Emily Olson, who is an accomplished watercolorist and a professional Youtuber. Second, we went somewhere that was opposite those desert escapes: the Oregon coast. Third, instead of needing the first couple of days to "recover" from my life back home, I found that I had energy enough to paint, explore, and take in that inevitable sensory overload--every day of our trip.

Emily is the only person I can be with for six days straight and never get tired of. We just completely get each other, and because we were both on a mission to make art, it was easy to go with the flow, while helping and accommodating each other along the way. For example, Emily had centered this entire trip around visiting the Samuel Boardman Scenic Corridor and the many state parks that can be found along that stretch of Hwy 101. She had a couple places in particular she wanted to visit, and she had a self portrait in mind that she needed me to shoot the photos for. I was more than happy to oblige (and maybe will do a painting or two from that shoot, myself!). She, in turn, was willing to diverge from our plan a little bit when we realized our hotel was just half an hour from one of the redwoods state parks in northern California. Um... yes, please!

This time... I was drawn to the woods and the water. The atmosphere created by the ocean surf was nothing short of magical. The sound of the waves became like a familiar friend, and provided an unceasing soundtrack for our journey up the coast.

I came back with 8...well, more like 7 1/2 (long story...) paintings. I felt accomplished, rejuvenated, and excited for all the new studio paintings I will start, that this trip inspired.

You can view more pictures and videos of this epic adventure on my Instagram page, @annarose_artist!

Emily made a fantastic video highlighting her watercolor painting experience on this trip. I highly recommend you watch it, and subscribe to her channel! Meanwhile, I will have a full length instructional video of one of my coastal paintings coming very soon, so be watching for that. It's going to be FREE on my YouTube channel, so please subscribe to mine too, please! :-)

And let us know where you think our next epic twin trip should be... we are taking suggestions for next year. ;-)

75 Hard Days of Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Thu, 28 Jul 2022 15:16:00 +0000

I’m sharing a personal post today, and not necessarily art-centered (although really it’s ALL related). So bear with me!

Yesterday I successfully completed a 75-day challenge called “75 Hard.”

The rules are:

1) Stick to a diet of your choosing (I chose to do no dairy or gluten, and mostly meat, fish, fruits and veggies, plus no eggs because of current food sensitivities). Absolutely no alcohol or cheat meals are allowed

2) Complete two 45-minute workouts per day (one of them has to be outside, no matter the weather)

3) Drink a gallon of water each day.

4) Read 10 pages of a nonfiction book (audio books don’t count).

5) Take a daily progress photo.

Fail and you have to start over at the beginning…

You are probably asking, Anna, why would you do something so extreme? Well… I had a number of reasons.

First, both of my kids were home with me for the summer, especially my 3-year-old. So I knew I would have extremely limited painting time anyway. But with the daily workouts, I could include my kids, or take them with me to the gym. Having them with me in the studio is NOT so easy. And I knew the weather would be better this time of year than any other time, so why not now? Second, I’ve had a number of personal challenges to overcome this year, and 75 Hard presented itself as a chance for me to do something I could control, while managing my feelings over all the things I can’t control. Third, I honestly knew I could use improvement in all of these areas… although I felt that a whole gallon of water was a bit extreme for my 5’ 4” frame. And, I also thought the daily progress photo was dumb but I accepted the fact that it was all part of the mental challenge and learning how to develop a new set of daily habits. Fourth… perhaps it was a matter of pride. I overheard my coach (who was the first person in our fitness community to take this on, and is now doing it all over again!) saying to someone else, “Anna would do it.” He didn’t say, “Anna should do it”, or “Anna could do it.” He said, she would do it. That simple difference of wording implied that I had the capability and the strength to do this hard thing. It gave me that extra push to believe in myself because someone else already does.

75 Hard is a mental toughness challenge, not necessarily a nutrition or fitness challenge. Throughout, I did a lot of Crossfit, yes… but for my second daily workout, I did yoga or most often went for a walk around our neighborhood lake. I found that the hardest part of this challenge was staying consistent when I travelled—and I travelled a LOT this summer! During the course of the challenge we had two different week-long family vacations, and I had four different weekend art getaways/events that I went to. I’m not much of a drinker anyway, but it can be tough when everyone around you is sipping wine at an art opening, or when your own family and friends try to talk you out of doing the challenge. The were quite a few times when the family wanted pizza or takeout, so I had to make myself a separate meal. And, about two weeks into the challenge, I found that I was losing weight at an alarming rate (I don’t need to lose weight)… so I had to increase my calorie intake dramatically. I learned that I had to plan out each day in advance to figure out the best use of my time, and the best way to get it all done without imposing on my family. I didn’t do this perfectly, but as things progressed, my husband got better at supporting me and I got better at balancing my daily tasks.

Above: I spent a weekend painting on the grounds of the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs. Below: painting in Malibu during a trip to attend the opening of the California Art Club Gold Medal Exhibition.

Below: at the opening of the CAC Gold Medal Exhibition. I made lots of new friends… but did not drink any wine!

So here’s the part you guys want to know about. Was it worth it?

Well, I was pleasantly surprised by my results.

· Overall health: I’m convinced all the water and the sunshine prevented me from getting sick all summer. The regular movement through daily walks and CrossFit actually healed my lower back, which has been strained and limited for almost a year.

· Mental health: I solved problems while out on those walks and came back happier and more capable of being there for my family.

· Appearance and other: The progress photos… well, they were up and down (because that’s what it is to be a woman!). My appearance didn’t change that much, since I was already eating pretty clean and working out regularly before. I did get a bit more toned and lost some body fat, but the real transformation has been in how I feel. No more back pain, no more energy plateaus, no more stomach issues. My confidence has soared. I feel more capable of handling stressful situations. I look forward to the 10 pages of reading every day, and I feel mentally sharper and more educated because of it (duh).

While my body got harder, my heart gradually got softer, especially on those walks. During the second half of the challenge I ditched the headphones and the audio books I was listening to, and I opted to take in all the sights and sounds, and to use that time to pray and meditate. I saw so many things I would have not noticed before. There was a pair of white ducks, who swam around the lake together like a waltzing couple, inseparable and in love. I saw a kingfisher eating a fish up in a tree, and of course there were the numerous Canada geese who seemed to be my constant companions. The lake I circled each day became like an old friend as its many moods and changing expressions grew familiar to me, yet always exciting and beautiful. I found myself storing up lots of painting ideas in my mind.

Some of the many amazing scenes I saw during my daily walks.

I wanted to work towards a couple of personal goals: one being, to model as an athlete for my art group and take on a challenging pose. Another was to pose for photos (I collaborated with my friend Sara Long – she is a great photographer!). I am always doing photo shoots of other people, helping them look amazing, and finding potential paintings everywhere I go. But I wanted this just for me. I want my daughter to see these photos someday and be inspired to take on challenges of her own, to prove to herself that she is strong and capable just like her momma!

Above: I held this pose for 3 1/2 hours(with breaks of course… and eventually switched to a broom instead of a barbell). It was very challenging, but fun to see all the cool paintings and drawings that resulted by my talented friends!

I’m still blown away by these photos by Sara Long (Long Shots Photography).

So, when did I find time to paint this summer? Only occasionally. But I realize that it’s a season, and a short one at that. Before long the kids will be back at school, and I’ll be looking at our summer adventures in the rear view mirror. I’ve delighted in getting to know them both as they grow up before my eyes, so I’m glad that I could be present with them in body and heart.

Above: we took a 5-day trip to west Texas (Possum Kingdom Lake) in June with my twin sister and their family. It was so joyous seeing the cousins together making memories! This trip was especially hard for me to continue with 75 hard simply because it got SO hot everyday, but I prevailed!

The good news is, this time “off” from painting has only made me more hungry. I’m ready to get back at it with full gusto, as soon as I can. I’m also ready to go back to being the one behind the easel and the camera. Modeling was fun and all… but, I think I prefer being the artist. ;-)

Whether or not you take on a crazy challenge like this, I think it’s in our best interest and that of our loved ones, to be intentional about practicing mindfulness every day, and being fully present in every moment. Life is all about choices and the effort we put into cultivating our values. I’ve realized that taking care of my body has only benefited my mind my relationships and my art. There were a few workouts especially at the beginning of the challenge where I just checked out and grit my teeth, counting down the minutes till I was finished. I realize now that those were missed opportunities… or perhaps, just growing pains, and all part of the mental toughness piece. I’m thankful for the big and small lessons I learned from this challenge. But now, I’m ready for that hard-earned donut. ;-)

Books I read and/or listened to during this challenge:

Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage to the Antarctic by Alfred Lansing : if you think 75 hard looks impossible, read this book. Humans are capable of more than we know.

Short Nights of the Shadow Catcher by Timothy Egan – inspiring story about Edward Curtis, who set out to photograph ALL of the North American Indian tribes in the early 1900’s before they died off. This man sacrificed everything for the work.

Gifted Hands by Ben Carson – wonderful autobiography about an inner city kid who became a life-saving pediatric neurosurgeon.

Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow – I’m blown away by this guy’s accomplishments and how much he did to shape our country during his short life.

The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom – another book that gives us perspective; there is much to be learned from Corrie about faith, gratitude, and God’s awesome provision.

The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas are Setting up a Generation for Failure by Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt – I think the title says it all, ha!

Transformed into Fire by Judith Hougen – doing this book with my Bible study group and learning so much about what it means to take hold of our true identity in Christ.

Gold Medal Winner for "King of The Wild Things": Behind the Scenes and How it Feels to Win GOLD

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 06 Jul 2022 21:19:00 +0000

Last month, I was honored to receive two awards for my painting, "King of the Wild Things," at the 31st Annual Oil Painters of America National Juried Exhibition and Convention. Not only was my painting voted to receive "Members' Choice," but it was also given the highest honor: the gold medal! This year's juror was two-time gold medalist Johanna Harmon, who is one of my favorite painters and someone I look up to. And this award... well, it's one I've been chasing for quite a few years. It was one of those boxes I always hoped to check, but very few artists ever get to.

Needless to say, I've been on cloud nine for the past month.

Lots of you have been asking about this painting -- the inspiration and story behind it, how I created this piece, and of course, what it was like to win a gold medal!

So today I thought I'd share everything I can about "King of the Wild Things" and how this painting came to be.

"King of the Wild Things," 30x30", oil on linen (private collection). Frame by Masterworks Frames.

I started the painting last fall. It followed closely on the heels of a painting I had done of my daughter, called "A Child Will Lead Them." That idea had been strongly ingrained in my mind's eye for a long time, and so was the idea for "King of the Wild Things." Both images involved children as the central subject, and wild animals to help create a narrative. Both ideas were also based on children's literature. In this case, I was inspired partly by the watercolor paintings of Steve Hanks depicting children in Halloween costumes, but of course the larger idea is borrowed from Maurice Sendak's classic children's book, "Where the Wild Things Are." I felt like the story of young Max, who seeks to exert his independence and create a kingdom of his own, is relatable to all of us. On a more personal note: my 3-year-old son Everett--the model for this painting--is at a stage where he is doing just that. He pushes every boundary, fights me on every decision, and wants so badly to be his own person, or simply, to do whatever he wants! I love him so, yet this has been one of the hardest chapters of my life as a parent. He was actually kicked out of his preschool this past April, so I've had him home with me all summer. He is a special boy, with a journey of his own that we are navigating together. This painting was my own way of acknowledging the joy and the struggle of raising a son.

In my original concept for the painting, I envisioned him being full length, with a large bear looming behind him. The bear might symbolize both a protector, and the boy's own independent spirit. But after playing around with lots of compositional ideas in Photoshop, I concluded that it would be more personal and intimate of an encounter, if I cropped him halfway, placed him center stage looking directly at the viewer, and made the animals less prominent. They still have a "watchful guardian" quality to them which I enjoy, but you almost don't notice them until you've already spent some time examining the painting.

I wanted Everett's expression to be a mixture of audacity and vulnerability. I also wanted to show the beauty of letting a child be free in their element. Let them play with sticks, let them get dirty, let them be bored so they can use their imagination. These moments are gone in an instant. For the reference photos of Everett in his "Max" costume, we had driven an hour and a half into the Rocky Mountains last October. We parked the car and I just let him run through the woods. By the end of the photo shoot he was covered in leaves and dirt, and it was PERFECT.

I was fortunate enough to get some excellent reference photos among the mountain aspens, so thankfully I didn't have to change a whole lot in my composition, other than moving a few trees around, and adjusting some values. The bright sky gave Everett some backlighting, and helped create a design that was predominantly dark, but with the sky and Everett's body as the main lights.

As for the animals... I didn't have any reference photos I could use that I had taken myself. I ended up Googling "wildlife cam photos," and found lots of great--albeit mostly black and white, or fuzzy--shots of animals coming towards the camera. I didn't need them to be perfect; I just needed them to work for the pose and expression I was looking for. In the end I changed all the colors and values to suit the painting and to make them feel like they belonged in the scene. I also "reversed" a couple of them in Photoshop, so that they were positioned exactly how I wanted them.

After the painting was finished last fall, I let it hang in my home for a while. I knew I wanted to save it for something special. With so little time to paint these days, I have had to be smarter and more selective about the number of shows I enter. And as I mentioned in my last post... the deadlines tend to happen all at the same time! I decided to save "King of the Wild Things" for the Oil Painters of America National Exhibition. Sure enough... it got in, and it sold to a collector before they even hung it on the museum walls!

The exhibition and convention this year was held in Steamboat Springs, CO, just three hours from our home. My family and I spent the week out there and had a wonderful time; I painted in the wet paint competition, and got to see many old friends and acquaintances. I enjoyed giving a portrait demonstration alongside my dear friend Raj Chaudhury. I also got to meet one of my favorite authors, Ross King, who gave a delightful presentation about Monet during the four-day convention.

The opening reception and awards ceremony were held Friday, June 3. That was when I saw my painting in the museum for the first time, and I was stunned by how prominently they had displayed it, and how perfectly it was lit. The painting looked amazing!

With my painting, and my family, at the opening reception.

Everett was in meltdown mode...

Cecelia felt a bit jealous of all the attention Everett was getting...

OPA is notable for being incredibly generous with the number of awards they give out, and for their top awards being some of the most financially substantial of any American arts organization. They are also a group that unabashedly aims to give women artists plenty of opportunities to attain board positions, OPA Master status, or to jury shows and win awards in regional and national exhibitions. In fact, the top three winners of this year's competition were all women! You can see the full list of award winners here.

When my name was called to receive "Member's Choice," I remember feeling like I could truly go home happy, because getting voted for by my peers is the highest honor! I did not anticipate any further awards. However, when the very last award was announced and they said my name, I was completely overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.

As a mom, this year has been an especially challenging season of life to find time and energy for painting, much less for creating works of art that are exceptional. So winning the gold medal felt like the biggest affirmation of my career, and it was even better knowing that my children were involved in the process. I didn't win in spite of them; I won because of them.

Sporting my gold medal, alongside OPA President Suzie Baker, and awards juror Johanna Harmon.

That being said... if you are a fellow artist, I hope in reading this you will be inspired, not discouraged. Let's face it, most of us spend long hours in our studios, out of the public eye, with no real idea whether or not our work will resonate with collectors or awards jurors. But I think that's what makes being an artist so special - you do the work because you have to, you are compelled to -- it's an extension of yourself and your spirit. I want to encourage you, especially if you're an artist mama like me... to keep painting for shows and competitions, and to paint with intention. You never know. A painting that doesn't get accepted to one show, might win the top award at another. We have to celebrate our successes no matter how big or small, because art is a tough career choice. And a win for an artist is a win for ART and its priceless contribution to a world that is in dire need of beauty.

HUGE THANKS to all of you who voted for me, congratulated me, and celebrated with me. It means more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you!

Below: please enjoy this little clip from the Denver morning local news, which aired July 4, 2022. I'm so thankful for the opportunity to represent Denver artists, artist mothers, and Oil Painters of America!

Being an Over-Acheiver is Overrated

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Tue, 08 Feb 2022 21:48:00 +0000

"Taking Flight" - 30x24" - oil on linen (2022) by Anna Rose Bain

In these past ten weeks since Christmas, I have completed seven paintings… almost eight.

That's a lot. And they weren't just average paintings. I really needed for them to be great paintings (whether they are or not is certainly up for debate).

When people ask, “How do you do it all?,” my acheiver personlity kicks in and I might be tempted to say, “Oh, you know I love my job! Work is easy when you love it.” And that may be true, but it isn’t the whole truth.

To be honest, I have been stressed out of my mind. I’m frustrated with my work. I don’t even want to go back into my studio after spending so many hours in there lately (it's also cold... so my little space heater and the UGGs my sister gave me have been lifesavers :-)).

Last week there were three days when I needed to take naps and I mean… I crashed HARD.

In the midst of all my “achieving”, I’ve been dealing with:

A toddler who is having behavioral issues at school and home.
A husband who is also very busy and stressed right now
Hosting family over New Year’s.
Finishing several commissioned paintings
Cooking all our meals because I have developed so many food sensitivities.
Trying to get to the gym almost every day.
Celebrating my birthday with my twin sister (and feeling guilty for taking a day off).
Cleaning up countless piles of puppy messes, doing countless loads of laundry, negotiating with kids over food they refuse to eat and naps they refuse to take…
Side projects like video and photography for my gym (okay this is just fun, but it's also time consuming).

Yes, we got a puppy! She is a black and white English Springer Spaniel--currently about 15 weeks old and a major handful--but she has been a fun addition to our family. I love this photo I was able to capture of her with my son Everett.

I did cut out some things from my schedule in order to make more time for my husband and kids especially during evenings and weekends. I have stopped regularly attending my weekly painting group. This has been a hard sacrifice for me, as I can usually justify everything I do because they are all good and wholesome things.

But sometimes it’s all just too much. Sometimes no matter how busy you are you just need to take a long walk in the sunshine. Sometimes you need to sit down on the couch and snuggle with your toddler while they watch Elmo. Sometimes you just need to listen attentively to your daughter and entertain her long monologues about all the dreams she had the night before or how silly the boys in her class are. Sometimes you just need to call a friend or your parents or a sibling and catch up no matter how inconvenient the timing is. And sometimes, no matter how good you are at “doing it all”, you have to admit that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, and apologize to the ones you love who’ve had to suffer as you attempted to climb a mountain that was maybe just a little too high. That’s what the last 10 weeks have been for me.

All that to say…

If it looks like someone you follow on social media “has it all together”… guess what? They don’t! And that’s ok. Because each of us only has 24 hours in the day and it’s the quality that matters, not quantity.

"Fuschia and Pale Roses" - 9x12" - oil on linen mounted aluminum (2022)

Moab, Arches, and Canyonlands Plein Air Paintings

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 24 Nov 2021 20:30:00 +0000

Ahhhh... Moab!

I do love my solo trips to the desert. Seriously. If you've been following me and my work for a while, you already know that the desert is my happy place. In the past few years, I've visited several national parks such as Death Valley, Zion, and Joshua Tree, and each one has provided healing and solace for me in exactly the way I needed at the time.

Earlier this month, I took a four day trip to Moab. No, I don't camp. I love a hot shower at the end of the day, and I like to cook my food over a real stove. So I always rent a small Airbnb with a full kitchen and wifi, and I make that my home base for a few days. Because my desert trips take place most often in the winter or colder months, the sun goes down by 5:00 or so. In the morning, I get up extra early, hike and paint during the times when the light is the best, and then I use the evening hours to paint a still life or a self portrait. And then... I sleep! It's a very special time when I don't need to take care of anyone else--just me. Instead of nurturing the husband, kids, dog, and home, I can use this time to nurture my soul and my art. I'm very fortunate to be able to do this (thanks, Hubs!), and I don't take a single moment for granted.

This trip was much needed. I had some things to sort out. And, I had been itching to come back to Moab ever since we stopped by VERY briefly back in March with the whole family. My goal was to paint six paintings--I ended up coming back with 8!

Please enjoy these new pieces, some of which are available through my website or through Saks Galleries in Denver.

Oh, and a quick side note about my palette: in spite of Utah being a very red/orange/earth tones kind of place, I didn't have red on my palette at all on this trip. I got those beautiful rich warm colors by combining Sennelier's Chinese Orange with Michael Harding's Amethyst. It was a match made in heaven. :-)

Above: "Delicate Arch," 9x12", oil on linen mounted aluminum.

I had never done this hike before but I can see why it's the most popular hike in Arches National Park. It was a steep climb with beautiful views and the most amazing reward at the top!

Above: "Kane Creek Cliffs" 8x10", oil on linen panel. I had the pleasure of painting alongside the amazing Joshua Been one morning, and this was where we set up. It was freezing cold on that shadow side of the cliffs, but so worth it for that view! Josh painted an 18x36" in the time it took me to do this little 8x10". :-) By the way, Josh is the inventor of the Fly on the Wall and Daytripper easels, which I use regularly for plein air. Check out his website here.

Say hi, Josh!

Above: "Shafer Canyon Overlook," 8x12", oil on linen panel. I spent a full day in Canyonlands National Park (Island in the Sky district), and ended up doing three paintings that day. Here's one where I got a real strong block-in but the clouds moved in quickly and the light changed completely. Thankfully I took some photo references and was able to finish it in the studio.

Above: "Buck Canyon Atmosphere" - 10x10 inches, oil on oil primed textured canvas. One of my favorites from the trip. Loved every minute painting this one--and that view!

You can see more pictures and paintings from my trip on my Instagram (@annarose_artist). Here is a small 6x8" self portrait I did in my weird apartment lighting. :-) I kind of enjoy painting in unusual lighting situations because they present fun new challenges.

Anyway... it was a great trip. Where should I go next??

New Painting: "A Child Will Lead Them"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sat, 11 Sep 2021 19:57:00 +0000

I've already posted this new painting on social media but in today's post, I'd like to share a bit more the story behind it and also some of my painting progress shots.

While my son finally got into a full-time daycare this past April, I had my 7-year-old daughter home with me all summer. My ongoing struggle always seems to be how to balance motherhood with doing what I’m most passionate about: painting. If you’re the type who believes art isn’t necessary, then it’s easy to write off my struggle as ridiculous: of course family and home should come first. Why are you still painting at all?? But if you’re like me and art is as necessary as oxygen… then you know the struggle is real.

This summer, I started taking Cecelia along for more and more of my painting excursions. I thought it would be hard to let go of what I always considered to be "me" time, but it turns out, she's an excellent companion, she's always up for anything, and most importantly--she still thinks I'm cool! She is also quite the budding artist and I'm proud to say that the passion I've always had for painting, combined with a strong work ethic, is starting to manifest itself in my daughter. This makes it all SO worth it!

Aside from the struggle of balance, there have also been many times where I’ve experienced self doubt, frustration, and a sense of not knowing where I’m supposed to be going with my art. I’ve found over the years that I’m not alone in this; as I’ve shared conversations with other artists, it turns out, it’s pretty common amongst us all. And it turns out: this is actually a good thing. These feelings of being stuck, lacking identity, and being frustrated with where we are, almost always lead to a breakthrough of some kind. I talk about that more in this post from January of this year.

This spring I spent three solid months painting florals. I've never been satisfied with my skill level in that department and felt determined to improve. I did get better in those three months--enough to where I even made a new instructional video about it on MFA.studio .

But that still wasn't enough. They were "just" flower paintings. Time to dig deeper.

So I took an idea that's been sitting on the back burner of my mind for many years now, and decided it was time to make it come to life, using my little girl who has kept me company all summer long, as the muse.

"A Child Will Lead Them" - 20x40" - oil on linen

When I began this painting my objective was to create a “lion and lamb” themed artwork that had never been done in quite this way before. Originally it was just the little girl and the lion, but it evolved into so much more as I added in stuffed animals along with the wild, jungle-like surroundings (the tiger has showed up in some of my portraits of Cecelia -- it is her favorite "stuffy"). One could interpret this piece in many different ways. On the surface it appears to be a contemporary interpretation of the passage from Isaiah 11, or it could be Lucy and Aslan from C.S. Lewis' "Chronicles of Narnia", but on another level, it becomes more about the challenges that a young child faces as she transitions into adulthood. My daughter's intensity has always struck me and I know she will be a world-changer. Here, she faces the viewer undaunted, almost daring us to bring it on, and while the remnants of childhood lay cast aside, she embraces the strength of the lion and looks ahead with courage rather than fear.

I'm hoping to venture more in this direction.

Meanwhile, here are some of my process shots:

Above: I began with a general block-in, exaggerating some of the colors to create some nice base tones for subsequent layers. I wanted the foliage and background to be at a strong diagional relative to the straightness of the resting lion. This would also add a feeling of motion and energy, to uphold the motion of my daughter's pose, where she looks like she could pounce right at the viewer.

I wasn't crazy about the blue sky, so I covered it over with a coat of yellow, and some pink towards the bottom. I used a palette knife to load on the paint in these passages. I then started refining the lion and the girl with more realistic colors and lots of texture in the lion's mane.

I arranged the stuffed animals in the painting by taking pictures of them at various angles and moving them around the composition in Photoshop. This was also helpful in allowing me to lighten or darken values so that each stuffed animal didn't stand out too much. I wanted them to blend in a bit with their surroundings so as not to distract from the focal point (my daughter's face and the lion behind her). At one point I had a little blue rabbit in there (above), but that ended up on the chopping block (sorry not sorry).

Here's the final painting. I still wasn't convinced I liked the background so I spent a whole day completely repainting it, putting in simplified atmospheric mountain shapes instead. I liked that SO much better!

Here are some detail shots below. I hope you enjoy this painting. It is my daughter's (and my) new favorite!

New Places = New Inspiration. Oh, and traveling with kids...

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 07 Apr 2021 18:47:00 +0000

Last week our family of four took a 2400-mile round trip spring break vacay to San Diego! This was our first big trip since Everett was a baby, and we had some idea of how it might go but knew that it would be a gamble. How does one survive those long hours in the car with a 2 1/2 year old? (Aside from figuring out how to purchase six different Disney movies on Amazon Prime, our 6-year-old, by the way, was an angel!) We packed ALL the snacks, ALL the puzzles, ALL the activities, and of course, the iPads loaded with ALL the ABC's and Sesame Street games I could find. In spite of a couple incidents of Everett getting sick in the car (both times it was in Utah on those curvy mountain roads), Cecelia asking to ride every roller coaster we passed by, a few bouts of toddler tantrums, and Steve and I both starting to feel our age with sore backs from all the driving... the trip went surprisingly well.

I love to travel. I love seeing new places, experiencing new things, trying new foods, and of course, painting whenever I get the chance. On this trip I had to manage my expectations and simply take note of many of the beautiful places I went. They are places I'd like to revisit, probably either alone on a painting trip, or when my kids are older. Traveling with kids is the opposite of relaxing. And, as my husband and I pointed out to our daughter all the wonderful things to see and observe along the way, we realized that she was quite unimpressed. "It's not that beautiful," she would say. She was way more impressed with the games on her iPad (damn this digital world we have become slaves to!). Her apathy made me sad, but also made me determined that she just needs more experiences like this. I want to inundate her with the wonders of nature, sunshine, wildlife, mountains, the ocean, and the national parks. Seriously, if there is anything our government has gotten right, it's the National Park system. We were able to see four out of Utah's five national parks on our way to and from California. It was phenomenal!

I managed to sneak in a few very quick plein air sketches on this trip. It was just enough to fill my oxygen tank and keep me in my happy place in spite of the challenges of dealing with kids the whole time. I could happily hose off the sand covering every inch of Everett's body, or give the kids their second (or third) snack before lunch time, or deal with the absolute chaos of bedtime and nap strikes. It was all good.

Here are a few pictures and highlights from the trip. I took over a thousand photos and came back with lots of great reference images, so I'm excited for the inspiration and the resulting studio works you'll see soon.

We stayed in Moab on the first night and visited Arches National Park. I HAVE to come back and paint this place!

The kids handled the long hours in the car pretty well. I'd give them a B+.

So happy to play on the beach! We rented a perfect Airbnb right on the boardwalk at Mission Beach.

It's a good thing we drove. Cecelia's souvenir of choice would not have fit on a plane!

Traveling is exhausting...

Bryce Canyon National Park (above) and Capital Reef National Park (below). The kids had no clue how special these places are but don't worry... we'll be back again. :-)

Below are some shots of me getting in some painting. My 2 1/2 year old "posed" on the beach for me long enough to do a 20-minute color study.

I also managed to get a quick painting of the sunset one evening.

And some people on the beach...

Hanging out with our friend Ricardo. Funny story about Ricardo... he was my husband's college roommate, and one of the groomsmen at our wedding. Life got busy and we fell out of touch for a while. A year ago, when Steve and I took a weekend trip to San Diego for his job, I was driving along Highway 1 looking for a good painting spot, when I saw Ricardo jogging along the highway. He was wearing a hat, shades, and had grown a beard but I could have sworn it was him. I texted my husband to say I thought I had just seen his old college roommate, so he texted Ricardo and sure enough... it was him! Ha! I had painted his portrait from life many years ago, so I guess once I paint someone I really know their face. We've kept in better touch since then...

And on our drive back we stayed in Virgin, UT, just outside of Zion National Park. Before we made the last leg home, I got an early morning 4x8" painting in (about 30 minutes) of the views above the Virgin River.

I'm so grateful to have gotten away for a time. Views like this are always good for the soul. :-)

What Happens When You Get "Unstuck"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 27 Jan 2021 16:46:00 +0000

I thought I’d follow up my last post by sharing some of the positive results of having spent some time in the desert.

Recently I listened to the “Three Day Effect” on Audible. I highly recommend. It’s a 6-episode documentary that talks about the benefits of spending at least three full days immersed in nature. I have already known this about myself, that I need regular escapes to the outdoors. But what’s really cool is that there is now tangible evidence proving that extended time outside—that magical number of 3 days or more—can offer so much more than vitamin D! It can open new pathways for creativity. It can help you get “unstuck.”

Case in point: I started this 36x24” oil painting of my son Everett, at the beginning of August… so, about six months ago. I really hoped to get it done in time for his 2nd birthday on August 20. But I quickly discovered as I dug deeper into the painting, that there was no way on earth that was going to happen. The painting began to represent many of the emotional struggles I’d had that year (hello, 2020), as well as bringing to light some debilitating mental blocks that had been plaguing me without me even realizing it. I was able to paint Everett very quickly as I often do with the figurative element of a painting… but as soon as I began to tackle the surrounding space and design, I knew I was in for a long and bumpy ride. I thought I had a plan, but it turns out I was just stumbling around blindly trying to control the chaos and turn it into something that made sense. Oh, how appropriate for 2020, haha!

I’m sharing some cell phone shots of my progress here.

Progress 1 (above): This was the start of my block-in. The painting is on double oil-primed aluminum. I primed it myself to intentionally gave the surface some texture and irregularity. I didn't want it to look like a commercially primed surface because the premise behind this painting is disorder and chaos, a "beautiful mess". Because it is a large painting, I used a grid with vine charcoal to draw the main elements of the design.

Progress 2 (above): This was a couple of weeks later. As you can see, I had Everett pretty much locked in. But I was already starting to feel overwhelmed by the crayons, markers, papers, and plastic bins... as I often am when I see a mess like this in real life. Which is like... every day.

Progress 3 (above): I used a spatula to lay a bunch of paint down in the background but clearly didn't know what to do with that left side of the painting behind Everett. I liked the balloons that I added, but the blue ball didn't really work where it was. Meanwhile, I began to painstakingly paint the various papers and pencils and markers, trying to keep them loose and not too detailed. My hope was that Everett would be the "tightest" part of the painting without being the focal point. Unfortunately, I didn't have my focal point figured out yet (and that's something you should know before you put down the first brush stroke! Rookie mistake, ARB).

Progress 4 (above): this was around the end of September. I spent most of my time painting the foreground elements and decided I would figure out the background later.

Progress 5 (above): I thought, "Maybe I'll try simplifying the background while making it more colorful." It was worth a shot. At this point I was feeling kind of over it, and not sure if the painting was worth continuing.

Progress 6 (above): Early November. It was at this point that I sent a photo of the painting to a couple of trusted artist friends for a critique. They both agreed that it felt like the painting didn't have a focal point, or a plan. It was hard to hear this but I knew I needed to seriously reconsider my goals for the painting if I planned to finish it.

I set it aside for about two months to work on other things, in the hopes that I would have some kind of revelation once I had given it the time and space it needed.

When I got back from my trip to Joshua Tree, I realized that I was ready to tackle it once more. Not only did my trip help me get "unstuck," but it loosened me up enough to where I didn't feel like I needed to take myself or my art quite so seriously. I just needed to have fun and experience joy from it again.

The painting came together when I used the papers--the white ones in particular--to give it a stronger value structure. I darkened the background behind Everett's head, made the background elements a bit "messier" and not as tight, and did some glazing in various places to give the design a better visual pathway.

I adore my children and I love painting them, but I realize that this painting is, in many ways, another self portrait. There is so much that it represents about this stage of my life, not just as a mother who is constantly cleaning up messes, but as someone who is seeking to return to a place where wonder and joy are constant. My children are setting a great example for me. I want to be more like them, to see the world the way they do. 2020 was messy and chaotic, unpredictable, and full of bad and good moments that challenged us all. And yet there was certainly beauty to be found. Everett is perfection and his curiosity outweighs the mess and the hard. He is learning, growing, exploring, and the innocence and purity of that makes the mess all worth it. This painting represents my mess... but I learned and grew from it, and I am so thankful for that experience.

"Curiosity and Chaos" - 36" x 24" (2020-2021) - oil on aluminum

Hitting Reset: Desert Wanderings

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Tue, 26 Jan 2021 02:24:00 +0000

Three years ago, I fell in love with the desert. I took a solo weekend trip to western Utah, and became utterly mesmerized by the abstract patterns in the rock formations and the rich colors of the desert landscape. I quickly realized that in order to feed my soul, I would need to seek out the crisp air, solitude, and adventure found only in the wilderness--on a regular basis.

Why the desert? After all, I live in beautiful, sunny Colorado. In the summer and fall I get out frequently for day hikes or plein air excursions. But when winter rolls in, I have little enthusiasm for cold weather and snow (maybe it’s the childhood trauma of growing up in Wisconsin and being forced to shovel our looooong driveway in sub-zero temperatures!). The desert offers warmth during a season when I am most prone to depression and cabin fever.

But perhaps the biggest reason I keep returning to the desert is that I relate to the biblical stories of Jesus slipping away from his followers and the crowds to be alone in the wilderness. Though his public ministry was very short—only three years—he understood the need to find rest and solitude in nature so that he could pursue a deeper connection with God. I’m trying to learn how to do the same. I’ve already gotten more time on this earth than Jesus did, and yet I live in such a state of hurry and striving, that I seldom feel rested. Last year, especially, I was burnt out (you can read about that here). I’m trying not to let it get that bad again, so a couple of weeks ago, I took a 3-day trip to Joshua Tree National Park.

Mask on.

As I sat by the window on the first plane I’d boarded in almost a year, and watched Denver dissolve from view, I thought back to how I felt last February when I retreated to Death Valley to deal with the burnout. I had a different mindset back then, and it wasn’t even remotely healthy. I was trying to escape my reality. I wanted a different life, rather than learning how to win at the life I was given (I was missing the “art of living,” as Matthew McConaughey says in his wildly entertaining autobiography "Greenlights"). And on that trip to the wilderness, in spite of the demons I didn’t want to face, I was mercifully gifted with peace, adventure, and healing.

Since Death Valley, I have continued to grapple with difficult thoughts and feelings, namely because only a couple of weeks after that trip, COVID struck, as did the onslaught of disasters brought to us by 2020, including months of devastating wildfires in Colorado.

With quarantine and an incredibly strange, forced new “normal” (which I stubbornly decided would NEVER be normal), I experienced some of the most painful, lonely, and depressing months of my life. My children, both at demanding ages, made me feel crazy and want to quit, while simultaneously keeping me going. In early summer, our Crossfit gym opened back up, and I felt immediately better getting to work out again. Cecelia returned to in-person school in the fall. These things did help, but I still struggled to find joy in most aspects of my life. My husband was struggling with burnout too, and I tried to support him by carrying the lion’s share of housework, childcare, etc. I wasn’t happy about it, but I thought I could do it all. Duh. I was exhausted because naturally, this kind of life is exhausting. And perhaps most distressing of all… my art was really suffering. I found that whenever I sat down at the easel to try and create something new, I was hating every mark I made. I felt insignificant and small in the art world, like my best work was behind me and it was all downhill from here. I received a kind but brutal critique from a trusted colleague and realized that I still know nothing.

So… it was time for me to go away again.

Mask off.

I can breathe. I stayed in a remote, tiny Airbnb cabin outside of Twenty Nine Palms, about 15 miles from the north entrance of Joshua Tree National Park. The cabin had a kitchen, a washer and dryer, hot water, and wifi. The neighbors were all far enough away that when I stepped outside at night, I had a perfectly clear view of the Milky Way. The shooting stars were as bright as headlights.

I drove everywhere in a rented pickup truck. I listened to audiobooks, including the Matthew McConaughey book I referenced earlier. I loved some of his quotes, including, “Less impressed, more involved. Don’t be impressed with your life, be more involved in it. We must become more than happy to be here.” And, “All I want is what I can see. All I can see is in front of me. No more rushing ahead to the next thing, or waiting to see what’s around the corner.” (A timely quote for hiking).

I also listened to a challenging but excellent book by Brene Brown called “Dare to Lead”. I’m still thinking about what I’ve learned from this book and working to implement some of her wisdom in my day to day interactions and habits.

I packed snacks and made my own food. I didn’t touch alcohol or eat at restaurants. I wanted a clear mind.

An 8x6" study of some Joshua trees that I did on one of my hikes

I am never afraid when I’m alone in the wilderness, and I’m never lonely. Sure, I set myself up for discomfort. January, even in the desert, isn’t exactly bikini season. I get tired, hot, cold, sometimes I get off the trail and have to find my way back… but the thought of something bad happening to me? It doesn’t even cross my mind. I’m so busy thinking about how happy I am to be out there, setting my own pace, with no one to answer to except God above, and no one asking me for things. I use my time in the wild for introspection but also for long periods of time where I don’t have to think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other. And as I gaze around me at the display of nature’s glory, I wear a silly, stupid smile on my face.

I loved being surrounded by miles of sand, mountains, and those amazing Dr. Seuss-like Joshua Trees that are perfectly spaced to look like soldiers lined up for battle. It was a surreal place.

Work hard, play hard

Depression and fatigue can manifest themselves in many different forms, but as an artist I’ve learned that for me, it’s most obvious when there is an absence of curiosity. When I can no longer feel struck by the world around me and compelled to paint it, I know there is something seriously wrong. What good is an artist who isn’t curious, who doesn’t seek to create, play, and understand the world through their chosen medium?

I worked to change that on this trip. I had this cool app on my phone for national parks called “Just Ahead,” that doesn’t require GPS but somehow can detect where you are in the park, and tells you all about it. The app has all kinds of interesting details and historical or geological information. Learning about the spindly Creosote plants that cover the Pinto Valley, and the Cholla cactus, and many other interesting tidbits, helped re-awaken my curiosity.

Above: Hiking and painting is what I love! This was about a 4-mile round trip, and I did this 8x10 plein air painting at the destination, Forty Nine Palms Oasis.

This year’s desert retreat was very different from last year. It wasn’t an escape, it was a RESET, with the intention of coming back better equipped to serve the ones I love. It was about talking less, listening more. Being responsive and letting go of expectations and control. Being receptive to beauty, curiosity, and words of wisdom. Relinquishing control. Releasing expectations, worries, and past hurts to the wind.

In the past I’ve shared with you a chosen word at the start of each year. It’s my way of setting an intention for myself without being bogged down by a long, unattainable list of “resolutions.” My chosen word for the year is JOY. I want to choose joy over negativity, being present over obsessing about what I have to do, being kind over being right. If I can live each moment with “joy” as my filter, how transformative will that be not just for myself but for everyone I surround myself with? And in my art—well, I’ve always said that I “paint my joy”, but I wonder if maybe I lost sight of that somewhere along the way as I got bogged down by life. There’s something to be said for Bob Ross and his “happy little trees.” It’s pretty clear that he saw everything through the filter of joy.

Friends, I wonder what “hitting the reset button” looks like for you? Maybe the thought of a ten-mile hike with a 30-pound painting pack sounds completely awful. No one says you have to do that! But if there is something that really makes you feel alive – something that sparks joy and opens new pathways for creativity, then DO IT. Regularly!

Now that I’ve had a chance to hit my own reset button, I’m taking up my “happy little brush” with vigor and fresh perspective. Stay tuned for the resulting paintings!

Stay tuned! I was able to film the entire process of a desert plein air painting. Coming soon to MFA.studio!

Above: An incredible scene I got to witness: this coyote scored a rabbit for breakfast, while crows circled around for a chance at the leftovers.

The Man Who Loved Cats and Jazz Music

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Fri, 04 Dec 2020 21:00:00 +0000

On November 29, 2020, a beautiful soul left this world. His name was Amos Roe, and he was my high school piano teacher. He was also my mentor and friend.

It’s been almost 20 years now since my twin sister and I had our first piano lesson with Amos, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

Amos lived near North Freedom, Wisconsin, in an old weather-beaten white house set deep in the woods. He had several barns and a windmill, and a small pond that he liked to ice skate on in the winter. Parked in front of the garage was a small blue car with a bumper sticker that said in all caps, “KILL YOUR TELEVISION.” The long gravel driveway plummeted down so steeply that I always wondered if our car would make it back out. Whenever we arrived for our lessons, a warm light would be on in the kitchen, and smoke puffed cheerfully from the chimney of the wood-burning stove. You would walk in through the kitchen first, perhaps the tidiest room in the house. Then you would take a left and immediately get swallowed up by the music room. One might describe it as “obsessive genius meets hoarder.” In this room were two Steinway baby grands positioned back to back—one for everyday playing, the other he was fixing to sell someday. He said the pianos were worth more than his house. The room might have been spacious were it not for these two pianos, and the countless shelves and file cabinets crammed tight with tapes and CDs, sheet music and books. He had run out of shelf space long ago, so the overflow went into independent stacks of books and files, packed from floor to ceiling. He consumed music in a way I’d never witnessed before. When he wasn’t teaching, he was listening to NPR and had the entire weekly radio schedule memorized. He had every episode of Garrison Keiller’s “Prairie Home Companion” on tape. From the moment we met he was asking, “Have you learned… “ and would name some classical piece, or “have you heard the recording by… (insert Glenn Gould or Barenboim or some other classical artist), and Emily and I looked at each other in amazement. His wealth of knowledge was unmatched.

When we asked him his musical background, he replied, “I’m pretty much entirely self-taught.” Once upon a time he had been a classical guitar player, but when he discovered that the guitar has technical limits (which he had reached), he switched to the piano and quickly became obsessed. He loved to teach. His star student was a boy named Kyle, who once performed for the queen of Sweden. Even though Amos only taught classical piano, he immersed himself in jazz music for his own enjoyment and personal development. As 16-year-old kids, Emily and I knew nothing about jazz, but Amos would put a record on and play it over his booming, high-tech sound system, and patiently explain to us how jazz musicians improv and communicate with each other during a performance. It was all so fascinating.

In that cluttered, magical music room, you would sit down at the piano for your lesson and begin, or in our case, we’d take turns. While one had her lesson, the other would wait in the living room, which had a couch and more bookshelves filled with volumes of Amos’s many other interests, including animal encyclopedias, books on U.S. presidents, and Gary Larson’s “The Far Side.” Emily and I were both allergic to cats, but Amos owned two of them (“Jazz” and “Louie”) and they were constantly trying to win our affection by crawling into our laps or sidling up next to us on the couch.

Amos was tall and thin, with a mop of thick black hair that he kept trimmed in a straight line across his forehead, a look which only enhanced the youthful glint in his eye. At our first piano lesson, he was immediately able to tell the differences between Emily and me, which was a nice surprise (sometimes our “identical twinness” still stumped even the closest of family friends).

He was extremely intelligent, but also kind and insightful. He quickly developed a special relationship with Emily and myself, knowing that even though we were twins, we each had our own unique personalities and gifts. So he related differently to each of us. Emily took her piano studies very seriously (and was therefore always the superior player!); I was less motivated and found that sometimes, our philosophical conversations about other things like art, politics, and current events, were more interesting to me than learning a new chord progression or scale. Still, I was often hard on myself. Amos had very high standards and never failed to challenge me, using whatever tactics he could. Sometimes he would secretly record my playing during a lesson. As soon as he flipped the switch on the stereo system I knew what he’d done and I’d exclaim, “You DIDN’T!” With a huge grin on his face, he would retort, “I did.” And then he would make me listen to the recording, mistakes and all. But it wasn’t to mock or correct me. “You can always correct the mistakes. I just wanted you to hear how good this sounds.”

During high school, my sister Emily composed a lot of her own music. At our very first piano recital with Amos, he surprised her by having a musician friend of his (who happened to play for the Madison Symphony Orchestra) perform one of Emily’s pieces on the harp. He was full of these kinds of thoughtful and wonderful surprises. And his sense of humor was unmatched. I still don’t know how he put up with two obnoxious teenage girls. We often talked back, got emotional, or were just plain irrational, and he handled it with humor and grace. He called us “Maniac #1” and “Maniac #2.” Sometimes our frustration with him was justified. He had more than a few quirks. He talked to his cats and believed that they talked to him too. He couldn’t stand the sound of fingernails clicking on the piano keys, so if our nails got too long he would whip out the trimmers and cut them himself.

If I had a question about my lessons, I would sometimes send him an email and he would respond with a long, well thought out response. For example, here are some of his (many) opinions on various recordings of Debussy, who was my favorite composer at the time:

“Philippe Entremont playing Debussy? I think I have a tape of him wielding his butcher knife on this composer, but it would be too painful to listen to it again to refresh my memory. Unless I’ve totally lost it, he is an infamous example of a “modern” (back in the 60’s or whatever) school of playing French music with a detached dry tone. That was the “heartless” feeling you mentioned concerning the First Arabesque. (The parallel would be to Americans earlier in this century who imported priceless antique oriental rugs and then paid to have the rich colors bleached out). Entremont has absolutely nothing to do with the way Debussy conceived of his music, and this is especially inexcusable because A) there is first hand writing which documents how Debussy wanted his music to be played and B) even more important, the fundamental character and sensual beauty of the music is so completely ruined by this approach. Debussy’s music is the musical embodiment of Impressionism (albeit with a strong classical backbone) –washes of color, not Czerny-like exercises, and he suggested that the pianist approach the keys as magnets which pull the fingers down. (To get the effect he wanted, he also played his music with the lid down). The pianist who is in a class by himself when it comes to Debussy playing is Walter Geisiking. Totally amazing control of color through his pedaling and touch – someone actually wrote a full length book on the pedaling he uses in playing Debussy. He was a pre-WWII pianist, so the clarity of the recordings are not what they are today, but I’m sure they’ve all been reissued on CD. Anna, some listening to Entremont and check out Geisiking!” – Amos Roe, from an email on May 15, 2002

These emails became more like friendly conversation and I saved many of them, because they were wonderful insights into his thought process and personality. He would also bombard me with questions and make me justify everything I said in great detail. You couldn’t get away with anything around him... He would either demand an answer to his “why?” or tease relentlessly. When I shared the good news that I had gotten my driver’s license, he said, “Wonderful! But if you didn’t get a perfect score, I need to know why so that I can warn my neighbors.”

For someone who related so well to young people, he often surprised me with his cluelessness. “Ok, answer a question I have had for several years,” he said one time. “What the heck does LOL mean?!”

When I was applying for a summer student ambassador program, which would land me a 3-week trip to Europe, I asked Amos to write a recommendation letter. He said, "I'd love to! I promise I won't tell them about your jail time."

In one of my emails I was brazen enough to ask him his age (broaching the topic since it was my 17th birthday that day). To me he seemed eternally youthful. “How old am I?” he responded. “Are we talking in spirit, wisdom, knowledge, body, what? Ok…you guess and I will tell you next email. If you are right, I will give you some sweet tarts. Did you know that sweet tarts are my currency? I would have offered you and Emily these in lieu of $ for cleaning my house, but somehow I didn’t think that either of you would go for this. My student Kyle, on the other hand, has a price for everything as calculated in sweet tarts. Tonight I gave him one for every 3 moth eggs he found in the carpet (he was especially pleased when I said he could boil them in the water on the wood stove). A little later, he yelled in from the other room that his brother owed him some sweet tarts for making mistakes in his playing. This was during the time when he wasn’t trying to strangle me or hit me with the wooden mallet. Hmmm… is this how most piano students treat their teacher? I know that some parents think I’m nuts when it comes to how I teach… good thing they only know a fraction of the truth!” – Amos Roe, January 29, 2002

We stayed in touch for many years. Amos came to my wedding, and we continued to exchange emails every now and then. Although I did not pursue music professionally and went into an art career instead, he was always incredibly supportive of my endeavors. The last time I saw him was several years ago. He had married a wonderful woman named Cherity, and she had a son whom Amos adored. He had left the bachelor pad in the country and moved to the city with his new family. He was happy and healthy, the youthful glint still in his eye. His mop of black hair was turning grey but otherwise he had not aged one bit. It seems appropriate that he would go so suddenly, and not suffer a long, drawn out ending. With Amos, most things were black or white, like the keys on the piano... there was no in-between. Hot or cold, good or bad, right or wrong. He was a force. He was a great man and a great teacher, and he was my friend. May his legacy will never be forgotten.

For more on Amos, see also this beautifully written obituary by one of his former students, Clay Disney: https://memorials.fosterfuneralhomes.com/Roe-Amos/4441309/

Anna, Amos Roe, and Emily (circa 2002)

At our senior piano recital, spring 2003. I SOOOOOO wish we'd gotten a photo with our beloved teacher but as usual, he was bustling around making sure everything was perfect and never held still even for a second. :-)

Madonna and Child Painting on Copper

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sun, 29 Nov 2020 23:17:00 +0000

"Candle of JOY" - 12x12" - oil on Artefex copper panel

Luke 2:19 “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

Hello again, world... it's been a while. I have lots to write about, but for now I want to share a special painting of mine that is currently being auctioned off to raise funds for the Illuminated Messiah Bible, an outreach project by Tim Gagnon at Gagnon Atelier. Tim has interviewed me for his Modern Masters podcast a couple of times (here and here), and he is doing some really amazing things with his art and his ministry. So when he asked me if I'd be willing to participate in a fundraiser, to help get this brand new Bible printed and into the hands of lots of people around the world, I said YES!

The painting is one of four pieces created by myself and artists Michelle Dunaway, Joyful Enriquez, and Frank Ordaz, showcasing one of the four weekly themes of Advent. You can bid on these paintings for the chance to own the ORIGINAL by visiting the Gagnon Atelier Facebook page here.

Or, you can buy a limited edition giclee of my piece on my website here.

As an artist whose journey into motherhood vastly transformed both me and my art, it seemed natural that I should choose “Mary the Mother of Jesus – the Candle of Joy” as the theme for my painting. Before becoming a mother, I couldn’t have comprehended what it meant for Mary to “keep these things, and ponder them in her heart.” But conceiving, growing, bearing, and nurturing a child awakens you to an entirely different kind of love, one so deep and so true that you want to hold on to it with every inch of your being and never let it go. Now I understand.

When I began this painting, I thought, “This will be easy. I’ll just use some pictures of myself and my son.” I had a specific reference photo in mind. There is dramatic sunlight on my son, sprawled out asleep on my lap, and I am gazing down lovingly at him.

However, as I began work on my painting, I found that God had other plans for it. Nothing seemed to be working. It was as though He was saying, “This is not about you. Leave yourself (literally) out of this. Let me guide the process.”

I went back to the drawing board. I sanded down the work I had done on the copper panel already, and the remnants of myself served as a base for me to start again.

I found some old reference photos from a special time long ago, before I was a mother, when a dear friend of mine had just had her first son. I had been commissioned to paint a breastfeeding mother, and my friend graciously agreed to model for me. That was the first time I realized that the idyllic scenes of Mother Mary, looking flawless and refreshed as she holds the Baby Jesus, are just not real. Motherhood is messy, exhausting, and hard especially where you’re brand new at it (and especially if you’ve just given birth in a stable)! Mary had never done this before; she would have had the same struggles that any new mother has: trying to interpret her infant’s cries, hunching over while she learns how to nurse him, tired eyes from the sleepless nights. And yet… the love, supernatural strength, and sudden knowing that are gifted a woman when she becomes a mother—would have been just as real as the hardships.

My painting of the Madonna and Child became a slight homage to the past in the sense that Mary wears her traditional blue, which symbolizes purity, and the Christ Child exudes an angelic glow. But the work also shows the reality of motherhood. She is in wonder of her Son’s face, but also a bit apprehensive. She cradles His head with the gentlest of hands, yet hunches just a bit because this is all so new to her. Her dress is loose and flowing to make room for Him to nurse whenever He needs to. It is relatable. And the joy and the sorrow are so intertwined that they are almost indistinguishable. We’ll never know the exact thoughts that Mary kept hidden so deep in her heart. But I suspect that many of us have an idea.

Painting Peonies with Anna Rose Bain (Trailer)

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sat, 16 May 2020 01:54:00 +0000

Quarantine and the Stages of Grief

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Tue, 28 Apr 2020 22:39:00 +0000

After two months in quarantine, which I’ve experienced by going through pretty much all the stages of grief, you could say I’ve finally arrived at acceptance.

Trying to make good use of the time: My daughter sat for me a couple of times, although I did end up having to finish this from a photo. I filmed my process and will be making a new instructional video on painting children!

Let's face it--the world is a very different place than it was just a couple months ago. We all experienced the initial shock: over the daily and nearly instantaneous shutdown of businesses, schools, and life as we know it. We went through denial: over the seriousness of the virus or its affect on the healthcare system and the economy. Most of us felt some anger: over the loss of our usual routine, hangout spots, conveniences, etc. - and for many of us, especially small business owners, the loss of income or our jobs. I was frustrated to suddenly become a "homeschool mom," a role I never wanted. I also felt so much anger over the constant political rants and arguments on social media that I started limiting my screen time on Facebook to five minutes per day (so far I’m not regretting that decision).

Then there's depression: anyone else experience this? I'm definitely an introvert, but didn't realize how much I depended on being around other people to help me stay sane! Now I spend all day every day with two children under the age of six. I see other artists kicking butt and keeping their momentum going by teaching online classes and continuing to make sales, but my life as an artist feels like it's come to a screeching halt. I've had no motivation, no desire to smile or laugh. For weeks, Zoom meetings just made me sadder. All of my spring art events were cancelled, and with no outlets to display or promote my work besides the already over-saturated internet, my income has fallen flat. The Portrait Society of America conference would have been earlier this month, and I was really looking forward to it! It would have been my break from home life, and my chance to shine in an area of life I’m passionate about.

I might also add “guilt” to this list (as opposed to bargaining, though there’s probably been some of that too), since in my head I know that I’m still living an incredibly comfortable and blessed life. I still have food in my fridge, toilet paper in the bathroom, a roof over my head, a big back yard for the kids, a comfortable bed, running water, electricity, and internet. My family and I are healthy. My struggles pale in comparison to those of many others, nonetheless, my struggles are real. I’ve seen an internet post going around stating that we are all struggling, but we are NOT all in the same boat. That is true.

It is possible to have a myriad of strange emotions and reactions over this. After all, it’s history in the making, and it’s hard to say whether or not life will ever be the same. And I, like everyone else, am concerned about a lot of things, like the loss of my rights and the widening political divide in our country - while still being concerned about the spread of the virus. Believe me, my family and I have taken it seriously, to the point where we haven’t even seen my twin sister or her kids. I begrudgingly wear my mask to the grocery store, and sanitize everything that comes into our home.

So... what does acceptance look like? Even though quarantine life with little children is HARD, there are still many sweet moments in my day that perhaps I would have overlooked or missed in my busy life before quarantine. My daughter's literacy has really taken off and it is absolutely magical watching a child learn how to read! My busy 20-month-old too--though still not talking (I must confess, I really enjoy his incoherent jibber jabber), is a "book-pusher" and relaxes his whole body onto mine when I read him a book on my lap. My daughter loves to paint and "write" stories. I'm amazed at her ability to get lost in her imagination as she figures out her own ways to cope with being separated from society. We are all spending a lot more time outside. Cece and I started planting our vegetable garden and she has spent hours "rescuing" and relocating earth worms, which she considers to be very "cute." I've had many sweet conversations with family and friends over the phone or computer that may not have happened otherwise. Perhaps the biggest lesson from all of this is that I'm learning that I was starting to depend on the wrong things to bring me happiness or satisfaction, and quarantine has forced me to hit the reset button so that I can continue working on my heart and character.

I am still painting whenever I can and finishing up commissions and other projects that have sat in my studio for over a year and a half. If now is not the time to do this, then when?? I've started some paintings just for me and my soul. Instead of focusing on what would have been, I’m going to try and see how I can serve, live, and love fully, now. I know, I know—I’m sort of late to the game. I had to overcome all the hurdles in my head and heart before I could get to this point. My place, is right here. In the present moment, in my home, with my two little children who are becoming less little before my very eyes. I’m writing this post to remind myself to stop always striving. To lay it on the altar and let it be. Daily I have to relinquish control and allow myself to be FREE – not free in the sense that I can go anywhere I want without a mask, or be closer than six feet to someone else, or work out at a physical gym, etc. But free from anger, anxiety, the bondage of depression, or scarcity. Once those things no longer have control over me, then I’ll be able to handle quarantine for many more weeks, months, years even if need be, because I'll be focusing on what actually matters, and that is today.

More art to follow, but in the mean time, if you can relate to this post, leave a comment! I'd love to encourage you that everything you're going through and feeling is valid, and that we will get through this together.

Portrait Fundamentals with Anna Rose Bain (Trailer)

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 01 Apr 2020 20:50:00 +0000

How Coronavirus is Affecting Artists

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Sat, 14 Mar 2020 17:57:00 +0000

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. I had been dreading it all week. I knew the toilet paper would be long gone (thankfully, my Amazon shipment came a week ago, before the panic started). But I wasn't prepared to walk in and find that there were no eggs, no dairy products, no meat, no peanut butter (sorry, Everett... your P&J's will have to wait), no sweet potatoes, no bread, and barely any bottled water. The cold and flu aisle was stripped bare, as was the diaper aisle and most of the canned goods. I found most of what I needed, but as I stood in the checkout line, which wrapped all the way around to the back of the store, I felt like telling all the hard-working employees, "Thank you for your service." They had to do something they weren't necessarily trained or obligated to do, which was to manage all the customers' fears and concerns while continuing to be positive and friendly.

I am watching with sadness as people practice "social distancing", whether it be at the grocery store, work, or the gym. Many people are simply opting to stay home and practice living as hermits. Hermit life is usually fine by me... as an artist, you learn to be comfortable with spending long hours by yourself. But in times like these, you realize just how much we as humans need to be social. We are not meant to be alone, and this COVID-19 is a threat not just to our physical health but to our mental wellness and our societal need for companionship.

Here in Colorado, all major (and minor) events -- from concerts and basketball games, to small church gatherings and parties... have been cancelled. Worldwide and especially in big cities, museums are closed. Exhibition openings cancelled. Conferences, workshops, gatherings of any kind... cancelled or postponed until who knows when.

My favorite event of the year, the Portrait Society of America conference (which I referenced in my last post), was also postponed until August. It was a necessary call in light of everything that's been going on, but I know that I for one am very disappointed, and I can't even imagine what a difficult and heartbreaking decision it was for the event's organizers, who put so much heart and soul and hard work into planning this event every single year.

All of my art events are in the spring. It's an important time of year for many of us artists, as we paint for deadlines in January/February, then display and sell our work at various exhibitions and events around the country in April and May. This is a huge investment for artists, because not only are we focusing months of our time and energy into these paintings, but we are also spending a lot of money on expensive, high quality frames to display our work in the best possible light. We love to paint, but we also love nothing more than to see our work purchased by collectors and carried off to new homes where our creative offspring will be treasured.

A newly framed 35x16" painting
that will *hopefully* be heading to the California Art Club
gold medal exhibition at the end of April

For these events to all be suddenly shut down is catastrophic for artists. I learned yesterday that the Colorado ballet cancelled all of their events, and the dancers--people born and trained to PERFORM - are devastated. They already have to work incredibly hard for the little income they earn as artists, and now they are out of work for the next couple of months.

What I'm trying to say is... as this situation escalates, we must all do our part to keep the world turning. Yes, it's important to be aware of the virus as a very real threat, but we must also be aware of those who are going to suffer as a result of this global shutdown.

What can be done? As an artist, I'll continue hiring models, purchasing frames from my small business frame builders, and supporting the art materials manufacturers. And we can still be viewing and buying art online. Perhaps we can provide more options to ensure the collector is 100% satisfied with their purchase. We know it's a risk to buy original art online, but if a collector gets a 2-week "trial" period to see if the piece of art works in their home, or they can return it free of charge -- that might be a good incentive to collect more art without fear of disappointment.

Finally, I will continue to make instructional videos. I've been making about one a month for the art streaming platform, MadeforArtists.net. This month I produced a video showing how I problem solve while painting a self portrait from a mirror, and in April, I will have a brand new portrait demonstration available. So if you are hoping to learn more about oil painting, now might be the perfect time!

Subscribe here: https://madeforartists.net/register?promo_code=7I4ZXH

If you must stay at home, enrich your life with art. Now more than ever, we need this in our lives. Stay healthy and safe, but surround yourself with beauty, every chance you get.

Child of Spring - FINALIST in the 22nd Annual Portrait Society International Competition!

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Mon, 02 Mar 2020 20:12:00 +0000

"Child of Spring"
24x12"
oil on linen
2020 Finalist in the
Portrait Society of America
International Competition

I got the call last week. Having been a member of the Portrait Society for some time now (10 years, I think?), you eventually learn that you're either going to get a phone call or an email, and what you really want is the phone call! This is my third time being accepted as a finalist, but it feels monumental for me. This year, after battling a lot of depression and stress (see my last post, oh... and did I mention that last year we bought a house? and moved? With a 5-year-old and an infant?!), I had major doubts as to whether or not I would be accepted. Two of the pieces I entered were paintings that I had labored over for months, and the third was one that I felt like I rushed to finish in time for the competition deadline. So, when I got the call that "Child of Spring" had been chosen, I was stunned and humbled, and SO, so thankful! Guys, you will almost never see me do a happy dance. BUT... I performed an epic happy dance in my kitchen. And Cecelia stared at me over her cereal bowl and asked what was going on.

I decided to write about this because I want to share about the difference between this year's accepted piece and my first-ever finalist painting from back in 2016, called "A Fleeting Moment" (shown below with Cecelia, the model).

"A Fleeting Moment" was only 8 inches by 6 inches, and was painted in about 3 hours, all in one sitting. My then 2 1/2-year-old daughter was the subject of the painting, and I remember feeling like each brush stroke just fell into place, effortlessly, as though I was channeling some divine Creativity and it had nothing to do with me. Ask any artist, whether novice or professional - they will tell you that these moments DO exist, but they are very rare, even for the best of the best.

Fast forward two years to spring of 2018 when I started "Child of Spring". I was pregnant with my second child, already as uncomfortable as could be, and feeling like my brain was being consumed PacMan style by the little boy growing inside me. I couldn't focus on my work or make any kind of articulate expressions, whether with words or with paint. This, to me, was the single-most frustrating thing about pregnancy, winning out over heartburn and the 567 daily trips to the bathroom. It was frustrating because it felt like I--an Achiever--was being robbed of what I'm normally pretty good at.

Here are a few shots from the early stages of the painting.

It was when I got to this point (above)--where the portrait was pretty much locked in, but it was time to start focusing on the blossoms--that I "quit." I didn't know if I was going to finish it, because my excitement for the original concept and block-in fell flat. I set the painting aside and focused on other projects for several months.

After my son was born (August 2018), I picked up the painting again and worked on it some more. I thought that maybe it would be finished in time for the 2019 Portrait Society competition, but once again I became discouraged, and didn't enter it.

The deadline came and went, but I was distracted with the excruciatingly stressful, exciting and all-consuming process of buying a home and moving (Feb-March of 2019).

Almost finished... but, mushy.

Above: It sat in this state for months on end. I had called it "finished" (even signed it in the upper righthand corner), but never posted it publicly. I knew deep down that it wasn't good enough yet. The flowers felt flat and "mushy" to me, showing how indecisive I was in my paint handling. The portrait felt strong, but I wasn't crazy about some of the light shapes on the dress, or the shapes of the branches in the background. I would set the painting on my easel, look at it, and then put it back into storage because my brain was too muddled to solve all the problems that remained.

Almost a year after our move, I finally pulled out the painting again, and finished it, thanks to the advice of several artist friends, and my own renewed sense of vigor. I strengthened the shapes overall by creating more contrast and more interesting edge dynamics, and by repainting several areas altogether. Every inch of the painting was reassessed to see whether or not it was worth leaving or reworking. I realized that the time away was not wasted. I had learned things that could be applied to this painting now--skills that were not yet mature enough a year or two before.

So my encouragement to you, fellow artists, is to not get discouraged! It's okay to let a painting sit and breathe for months or years on end. You might come back to it with just the right solution if you can just be patient with yourself and the process. And don't get sucked into thinking that the only successful paintings are the ones that you whip out in three hours after being possessed by the Divine Creativity! If that happens to you, great. But more often than not, you just have to be willing to put in the work. Happy painting, friends!

The finished painting

Through the Valley of Death -- and Back

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 19 Feb 2020 20:19:00 +0000

This is an art blog. It’s also a blog about personal experience, parenting, and life. Once in a while, my posts are more about life than they are about art, but I think the two are inseparable. So… warning: this is going to be long and very personal but hopefully, if you are going through something similar it will inspire you to take action.

In the past month, I’ve learned a lot about stress. I learned about a thing called “adrenal fatigue”, about the importance of completing a “stress cycle”, and that it’s not “just stress”, but a physiological condition that if left unchecked, can actually kill you. I learned that in order for a hug to release oxytocin and dopamine (which alleviate stress), the hug has to be heart to heart and ideally last 20 seconds.

“What could you possibly be stressed about?”, you might ask. “You always look happy and calm and in control of your life.” I mean, yeah—I curate my image on social media. I don’t show you pictures of me with tears running down my face or with yogurt smeared all over my clothes, or groaning in frustration as my toddler squirms during a diaper change like he’s possessed. Kids can be stressful. Mine are 5 and 18 months… they’re still very little and very needy. But what else? Painting deadlines? Keeping up with the new house? Family tension? Over-committing to things? Crossfit? Unmet needs??

Maybe it’s all of above. Either way, since at least November–probably longer—I haven’t been myself. There was this feeling of never being fully awake or alert: a brain fog. No matter how much I cleaned up my nutrition, or how much sleep I got, or how I tailored my workouts, I couldn’t find energy for even the most menial tasks. The new house, already a mess (because, you know, THE TODDLER), succumbed to total disarray. My studio time, already dismal, became less and less as I couldn’t muster the energy to sit down at my easel and start painting. I had blood tests done. The doctor said I was “perfectly healthy” and that I was probably “just stressed.” My skin was breaking out like crazy; I had infections and rashes that wouldn’t go away. I was depressed, and no fun to be around. I had anxiety over seemingly everything, big or small. I couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep. People were asking me in January, what my goals were for the New Year. And I couldn’t give them a straight answer, because the reality was, I just wanted to feel better.

So I paid a long-overdue visit to my therapist. “Am I ever going to feel like myself?” I asked. “I don’t even remember what the ‘real me’ was like before this relentless exhaustion set in.”

“First of all,” she said, “It’s totally normal for mothers of kids your age to feel burnt out. Everyone will tell you that this is the hardest time. Secondly… it sounds like you have adrenal fatigue.” I had never heard of adrenal fatigue before. It happens as a result of ongoing, long-term stress, caused by things like trauma, PTSD, or hello—motherhood. “With repetitive stress, the adrenal glands can stay ‘turned on,’ putting out adrenaline and cortisol on a rather constant basis” (quoting my mom here since she was so succinct in her description of it). But since the “real” doctors kept telling me I was fine, when I clearly wasn’t, I was open to other ideas.

My therapist referred me to a naturopathic doctor, and I ended up testing off the charts for adrenal fatigue. He sent me home with some natural meds, and I experienced my first-ever session of acupuncture. When I arrived home, the “edge” was completely gone. I was able to be patient and kind with my kids, and not flip out over the little things anymore. It was finally a step in the right direction.

To help with my healing, I decided to go on a solo getaway. My husband fully supported this and stayed home with the kids so I could have my adventure.

I spent 4 days/3 nights off the grid in Death Valley National Park, and it was absolutely amazing.

Mosaic Canyon

This trip wasn’t really about painting. It was about being under zero pressure to perform, conform, or please. It was about not being needed by anyone for just a few days. About being silent and alone – which, as an introvert, I need regularly and haven’t been getting! It was also about losing track of time, so that for once I would be out from under its control. I was free to go to bed when I wanted, wake up when I wanted, explore to my heart’s content, and hike all the most dangerous and least kid-friendly places you can imagine!

Jeep Wrangler. Love this vehicle!

I had a lot of ideas about what I wanted to do, but I spent most of the time driving around, hiking, and breathing in God’s creation, while listening to audio books and music that fed my soul and affirmed my need for healing. I slept 10-12 hours every night! I did a little bit of painting too.

Salt Creek

My first painting using my brand new Fly on the Wall easel, made by Prolific Painter.
Colors for this piece: Alizarin crimson, Chinese Orange (Sennelier), Yellow Ochre (Michael Harding), Mentler Mustard (Rembrandt), Tit. White, Ultramarine, Cerulean blue (Sennelier), Ivory Black (Gamblin)

"Salt Creek" - 8x8" - oil on panel

"Zabriskie Point Diagonals," 8x10. Painted in about an hour and a half, mid-afternoon.

"Zabriskie Point Diagonals" - 8x10" - oil on linen panel

Painting an alluvial fan in midday light, 12x9" oil on panel

My favorite excursion was the 8-mile round trip hike to Panamint Dunes. These dunes were special because you have to really work to get to them. The gravel road that leads to the “trailhead” isn’t marked and requires a high clearance vehicle. So that automatically weeded out a huge number of tourists and ensured that this would be a more exclusive, quiet experience.

My rented Jeep Wrangler handled the rough, pothole-ridden road well, and to be honest, I kind of enjoyed it (like, a lot. Now I want a Jeep for Christmas…). I think in another life, I would have lived in a van or gone camping all the time. A life, perhaps, that didn’t require me to be always close to civilization and schools and pediatricians’ offices. And while I will never regret having children, this trip (and past hiking trips for that matter) has made me long even more for the independence I can’t have when I’m caring for my young ones. I’ve always said that Elsa is my “spirit” Disney princess. She is fiercely independent, and seeks after adventure and solitude. Something calls her “into the unknown,” and I relate strongly to that feeling. Of course, I wouldn’t really know about Elsa if I didn’t have a 5-year-old daughter who is obsessed with “Frozen…”

But I digress.

It took about an hour and half to walk the four miles out to the dunes. There was a kind of spellbinding rhythm to it. You could see the towering sand from miles away, and the trail didn’t need to be marked. All you had to do was walk a straight line through the desert.

Virgin sand

My tracks from there and back

When I got to the dunes, I met a group of four young men and women who had backpacked out there and were camping out for several nights. They were very friendly and we enjoyed some deep conversation as we sat at the top of the highest dune. I found out that they were aspiring artists (filmmakers) from LA. They were all very charming and I enjoyed their company for quite some time. After they left, I hung out at the top for a while longer, trying to hang on to every sensory experience: the 360-degree view for miles, the warmth of the sun, the sound of the breeze, the feel of the sand on my bare legs and feet. It was magical.

A couple of things that were brought to the forefront of my mind during my wanderings:

I was reminded about my purpose. One of the points in the book I was listening to (“Burnout” by Emily and Amelia Nagoski) was that people need meaning in their lives in order to make it through stressful situations. If you don’t have purpose or meaning, it can be easy to stop trying, or default to giving up.

Here’s where I find my meaning:

In my art

In my kids

In love and serving others (my husband, kids, others)

In learning new things

In honoring my Creator with my thoughts, words and deeds

What gets in the way? According to the “Burnout” book it’s “Human giver syndrome”: the false, contagious belief that women have a moral obligation to be pretty, happy, calm, generous, and attentive to the needs of others. Hmm… I might be infected with a touch of that. Anyone else relate? But I also think that turning inward and focusing only on yourself, can be just as damaging. More on that in a minute.

I was given a new perspective: There’s a place in Death Valley where you can stand overlooking a cliff over 5000 feet above sea level—straight down to the lowest point in North America, at 282 feet below sea level. That kind of view makes you feel small, and sometimes, that’s a good thing, because if I’m small, then my problems are too. Death Valley, and the Panamint Dunes especially, brought everything literally and figuratively into PERSPECTIVE. That was the word of the trip. The young people I met at the dunes were incredibly optimistic and wise. I heard one of them say, “Today should always be the best day you’ve ever had.” Such a positive outlook! From what he told me, one of them had met with trauma and came out on the other side a better person. Now he’s making a film about it. Wow. PERSPECTIVE. My stress, my issues, my frustrations… they should not be robbing me of my joy, optimism, or sanity. I should be dealing with those stressors a little bit at a time each day, while acknowledging that they serve a purpose.

Dante's View

A little painting at Mesquite Dunes

That person out there had the right idea

I also realized that I’ve been so stuck inside my own head that I have not been open to giving or receiving love. I’ve treated it like a commodity rather than what it actually is: a wellspring that never runs dry. Stress, fatigue, and depression left me retreating constantly inward instead of reaching out to the world and people around me. I hadn’t been open to interactions—such as the one at the dunes, or even simple acts of affection to and from my loved ones – because of stress. That is obviously a sign that I wasn’t okay! But now, I feel like I’m seeing that stress from the objective viewpoint at the top of a pyramid of sand. That stress is smaller than me, it’s smaller than my Lord, and together, we can take it on! We can also, as the authors suggest, “Close the stress cycle.” This trip is a start to that. Finally, some clarity! And I can start forming a game plan for “closing the stress cycle” each and every day.

This trip boosted my confidence. It was a good reminder that yes, I can do a thing. I am a grown-a$$ woman who is very capable, strong, smart, and able to go out on her own and thrive. I felt like I had been released from captivity.

Coming back home from a trip like this makes me a better mom and a better wife… and hopefully a better painter too. Already I feel a weight off my shoulders. I feel refreshed, calm, and ready to tackle the challenges life has for me. Thanks for reading, and I hope if you are going through something similar (ahem, I’m mostly talking to you, moms!) that you take some time for yourself. It’s not selfish – it’s necessary.

Onward.

Saltwater flats

Zabriskie Point

All the little people

View of the Panamint Dunes and Amargosa range from where I was staying, about 15 miles west

An artist at Artist's Palette along Artist's Drive :-)

2020 Vision

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 01 Jan 2020 03:48:00 +0000

Okay, that pun has already been way overused, but I couldn't help it. Everyone is talking about it: the start of a new decade. So much has happened in the last ten years! I went from being a world traveler alongside my husband, and putting in countless hours at the easel--to being a mom of two, and moving from Texas to Colorado. I made many amazing new friends and connections. I started a fitness and health journey. I found a great church community. I painted a LOT.

In 2019 there were a few huge personal milestones: We bought our dream home! Our daughter turned 5 and started kindergarten, and our son turned 1.

From a professional standpoint, there were a few highlights in 2019, including my first feature article in a magazine (the December 2019/January 2020 issue of Southwest Art Magazine, which you can read here), and joining MadeforArtists.net, an art instruction streaming service.

But mostly 2019 required learning how to be patient (there's that word again!) with myself and this chapter of my life. I am tethered to two young children and their ever increasing demands. The house, the kids... all of it took away from time in the studio and so, 2019 ended up being more of a year for character development and painful refinement--or, "The Year of the House and Toddler" than one of professional growth. I painted when I could, but it wasn't much, and my focus suffered.

However... it takes some grit to realize that it’s okay to step back for a time in order to do the right thing. On a daily basis I laid aside my heart's desire so that I could meet the needs of my most precious treasures. There is no guarantee that 2020 will be easier. I’ll definitely be taking on more commitments. But hopefully I’ll be going into it with a better sense of what I’m capable of and what I can bring to the world. Maybe what I have to offer is not so much an end product but some insight on the journey itself. In the past I’ve let anxiety build up as I anticipate “losing” out on painting time, or opportunities, etc, and I haven’t always wholeheartedly embraced this chapter of life for what it is. My children are in such a sweet spot. Everett is into literally everything, but he’s such a lover, and so stinking cute! Cecelia is talking like a little grown-up, yet she's still so innocent. Someday I’ll look back at 2019 and be able to more clearly communicate what it was that I learned, and how it made me a better person, but for now I’m willing to reflect with gratitude and look ahead with a kind of steady and quiet expectation. There are no jitters - I don’t get the butterflies anymore. I’ve graduated to a new level of anticipation, one of confidence and trust that everything will work out in the end. So... what is my new word for 2020? Wholeheartedness.

Whatever your goals or resolutions, I hope 2020 brings beauty, love, and joy to you and yours. Happy New Year, everyone!

On The Enneagram, Doing Things the Hard Way, and Eliminating Hurry

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Thu, 21 Nov 2019 16:17:00 +0000

Hey Internet. Sorry it's been so long. There's a lot of exciting stuff going on here, but for today I'm going to share some of the things I've learned the hard way.

I've probably mentioned this before, but I'm kind of obsessed with personality typing systems, particularly the Enneagram. If you're not familiar with this one, it's a system of nine types, all of which connect or overlap in some way. While the Myers Briggs system focuses on how people think and process information, the Enneagram is more interesting to me because it delves into what actually motivates us.

So, it should come as no surprise that I am a Three on the Enneagram. "The Achiever." We are known for our ability to accomplish whatever we set our minds to. We are extremely performance-driven and tend to get more done in a day than most people get done in a week. To see what a typical day in my life looks like, check out this fun little video I put together this past August:

There are plenty of downfalls to being an "Achiever". It's typical for Threes to cut corners for the sake of efficiency. We are less likely to do something perfectly (that's more the job of a type One...) if it's going to take too much time or effort. That's where this post comes in (I could talk about the Enneagram all day, but this is, after all, a blog about art). I'm sharing some of my mistakes--i.e. lessons learned the hard way--so that you can avoid making the same ones.

For starters, here's just an abbreviated list of ways I've cut corners due to my chronic lack of patience (and I suffered the consequences later):

- Stretching and preparing a canvas without making it perfectly square, painting a masterpiece on it (I say this tongue-in-cheek), then having to manually chisel the inside of the frame for it to fit. Not only is this annoying and messy, but it's dangerous (employing knifes and wood carving tools)... and takes way more time than making that darn canvas square in the first place. I don't recommend.

- Not waiting long enough for the primer to dry and risking cracking, plus tackiness while working. Friends, if you're going to prime your own canvases, make sure they are completely cured before you paint on them. I was in such a hurry to start on a project one time that I disregarded the obvious tackiness of the primer and dove in anyway. I ended up having to scrape off what was going to be a decent painting, because the paint was actually lifting up some of the under layers of primer. Yuck.

- Not letting a painting sit long enough for me to notice what's wrong with it before posting to social media or selling it. This is probably my best (worst?) example of being in a hurry... I want the painting to be done and move on to the next thing. But I'm learning that the best thing I can do for my art is to let it live in my studio for a while after it's "finished", in order to make small (or sometimes big) changes that will make it a better painting. Instagram can wait.

- Trying to spray a painting with retouch varnish when it's not quite dry to the touch. The paint will start to run or bleed into surrounding areas, especially if it's a slower-drying color, like titanium white or cadmium red. Whoops. I wasn't going for that "glow" effect.

- Overestimating my time to meet deadlines, or my skill set for certain projects. This leads to work that is rushed, or worse - disappointing a client because I couldn't make a deadline.

I'm writing this to continually remind myself of my chosen word for the year: patience. Ann Voskamp, whose blog I greatly enjoy, recently challenged her readers to make the most of the last 60 days of the year. I was moved by this reminder to live a wholehearted life of gratitude and being fully present. Her next post was about "How Love is Incompatible with Hurry," an excerpt from a brand new book by John Mark Comer called "The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry." Naturally, I bought the book immediately. It is changing my life, especially this little phrase: "Hurry and love are oil and water: they simply do not mix."

All things worth doing should be done with excellence and undivided attention. This is so hard for us in this day and age. It's hard for me when I have two small children constantly tugging at my sleeve. But during those golden moments when I am in the studio, brushes in hand, I am called to give nothing less than my best. My art should be made with love. And nothing can be done in a hurry that is also done in love.

That said: here's a recent painting that I gave plenty of time and patience to. I let it sit and breathe, and speak to me. I worked on other things during moments of silence. And if you look at the subjects... well, they simply had to be painted out of love.

"Morning Light" - 18x36" - oil on linen (2019)

Peony Painting Frenzy

noreply@blogger.com (Anna Rose Bain) — Wed, 03 Jul 2019 16:13:00 +0000

Each summer for the entire month of June, I drop everything to create paintings of my favorite flower, the peony. I'm not sure how it became such an obsession of mine. I suppose it started when I chose them for my wedding. But over the years they have become more than just a memory from that big day. To me, flowers--and peonies especially--represent life's transience. This is not a new idea. Artists have used flowers in vanitas scenes for centuries. At some point each of us has to face our own impermanence, but perhaps for artists, painting flowers can lessen the blow, because they are such a joy to look at. In their prime, peonies take center stage with their dinner-plate sized blooms and intensity of color, but their season is so short, and they leave us wanting more. They remind me that my moment on earth is a short blip in the timeline of eternity, and I must bloom as brilliantly as I can before my little life is extinguished.

So I enter what I call my "peony painting frenzy", and start many new paintings over the course of the short season. Sometimes I'm persistent enough to finish one; other times I start and abandon them as the flowers die, moving on to something new. Sometimes, as you'll see below in the case of "White, Pink and Coral Peonies", I let the painting evolve over the course of several weeks, using numerous flowers from different angles to create the composition I am going for.

When we moved this spring, I took my coral sunset peony with me. I had planted it in a large pot several years ago, knowing I would want to transplant it eventually when we bought a house. It's still in the pot, and gave me two blooms this year in spite of being trampled by snow and hail. I bought more bouquets of white and pink peonies from the grocery store than I care to admit... but I also made sure to incorporate the coral peony into as many of my pieces as possible. Some of them are still in progress - I'm sharing some detail shots below.

Above: the coral sunset peony. I can't wait to plant more. This flower is incredible - it keeps evolving in shape and color as it blooms, making for countless painting opportunities!

Above: Studies from a single coral sunset peony. The weather in June was crazy this year--so many clouds and thunderstorms! I was trying to work from natural light but the flower began to close up as it got darker and darker out...

Above: a work in progress employing my coral peonies, and some columbine and wild roses from my backyard.

Below: a timelapse of the start of one of my florals. You can see the blooms opening up throughout the course of the painting.

Above: a work in progress next to the finished piece from the timelapse video.

Below: Here is "White, Pink and Coral Peonies," 12x24", oil on linen -- and some progress shots of it in my studio (which is itself still a work in progress!). This painting was completed after several weeks of work. I added and subtracted blooms, or moved them as I saw fit for the composition. My goal was to have it read almost like a piece of sheet music. It should flow from one side of the painting to the other. I was thrilled to include the fading coral peony into this piece... the translucency of those petals was mesmerizing!

"White, Pink and Coral Peonies" - 12x24" - oil on linen (available)

More finished paintings coming soon. Also, I've been getting a lot of messages from artists asking that I create a floral painting tutorial. Email me at annarosebain@gmail.com if this is something you'd be interested in seeing! Meanwhile, here are a few of the colors I used to nail those corals and pinks:

- Quinacridone magenta
- Brilliant pink
- Indian yellow
- Cadmium scarlet
- Cadmium orange