(Pic #1) Household Mirrors: Reflective teachers. (Photo by Josh Kaplan)

Creatively stuck? Let the mirror do the work.

I swear, every time I work on a painting, there’s that point where I just don’t know if it’s a hit or miss.  I’m on track for a while, and then suddenly I think, “this really sucks.”

Next stop: The bathroom. Not for the reason you think – but for the aid of a 6000 year-old invention first discovered by the Turks. The typical household “looking glass” has become my most sobering art critic – and as a result, best friend. Many a night I seek her frank advice, and she always pulls through. All I have to do is hold up my work (painting, drawing, or sculpture) right in front of her – and look. You barely have to ask her a question – because her reflection tells you the story.

Mirrors give us a set of fresh eyes.

Reversing the image is almost like seeing a brand new painting because your brain sees it differently. This new view gives you some space and perspective. In fact, facing the mirror, you are doubling the viewing distance you’d normally have between you and the work. It is remarkable how that changes everything. You suddenly see problems with composition, a weak focal point, and flaws in technique.

Mirrors are also there to see if we are looking at the work the right way. I can’t tell you how many times I have flipped the painting upside down and discovered it is way better that way. I usually start right side up, and turn it to see all four angles. You may be surprised to see more than one painting emerge – and ideas for additional works or series.

Bottom line:  this is a really effective method of kickstarting your mojo in the middle of your creative hell. Watch how motivated you feel after seeing your “new” work. It’s a jolt right back to the drawing table where you can immediately act on the visual cues shared by your intuitive new best friend. It’s a simple, inexpensive way to keep the flow going and benefit from the direction of a pro — you.

Intertwining time and color: a glimpse into the mind of a synesthete. Acrylic painting on panel, “Skittles” by Crystal Michaelson, Los Angeles

It’s a condition I’ve had my entire life. I just didn’t know there was a name for it.

As far back as kindergarten, I can remember explaining to my parents that I saw the days of the week IN COLOR. I was very exact about which day represented a specific color – or combination of colors. The pairings have always been the same. The list rolls off my tongue as fast today as it did when I was just learning to talk.  And it looks like this:

I remember my parents asking me to recite the list of days and corresponding colors for friends.”Tell them, Lon” they would say. “Tell them how you see the days of the week in color.” I’d recite the list for whomever the audience was that day – making sure they knew that Tuesday wasn’t just any gray – but a very specific shade of gray mailbox. When they heard that Friday was a very exact striping of  black and white, they looked puzzled. And by the time burnt sienna rolled around for Sunday, they didn’t quite know what to think.

I’ve shared my quirky view of time and color with many friends and colleagues over the years – and I’m usually met with a quizzical face. Well, after a little research I’ve discovered I’m not alone.

What is synesthesia?

Synesthesia is a condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another,  i.e., the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color. It comes from the Greek words, syn (together) and aisthesis (perception) = “joined perception.”

Experts say the most common form –  colored letters and numbers - occurs when someone always sees a certain color in response to a certain letter of the alphabet or number. For example, a synesthete (a person with synesthesia) might see the word “plane” as mint green or the number “4″ as dark brown. There are also synesthetes who hear sounds in response to smell, who smell in response to touch, or who feel something in response to sight. Just about any combination of the senses is possible.

Over 60 types of synesthesia have been reported,  but only a fraction have been evaluated by scientific research. Of course it is possible that, as my husband suggests, we’re all just “a little nuts.”

So next time you see a city skyline, and you taste blueberries, maybe you hear a violin and you feel itchy on your left foot, or you finally come to terms with seeing Thursdays as lollipop red – call me. It’s lonely out here.

(Pic #1) Closeup of baby hummingbird eye. — nature’s perfect patterns. (Photo by Josh Kaplan)

Traditional whip stich used in leather-making and Native American arts.

We’ve had the sweet privilege of playing host to a family of hummingbirds hatching in the branches of our bougainvillea at our front door this week. The eye of one of the babies is pictured above. He or she has only been alive for 11 days. Yet the beauty in this (enlarged) half-inch square of a 2-gram creature has me spinning.

If you look closely, you see what appears to be a delicate whip stitch or traditional “Indian blanket stitch” around her tiny left eye. It almost seems artisanal — lovingly crafted and carefully spaced. It appears to be more creative, skilled handiwork, rather than some predetermined DNA design. In any case, I find it to be quite masterful.

El Castillo cave painting in Cantabria, Spain – dating back 40,000 years.

What strikes me about this is — for thousands of years, man has expressed his innate need to create art (from European cave paintings and ancient Egyptian sculpture — to the post-war abstract expressionists) — and often with some struggle and considerable angst. But great art can be found everywhere — with no struggle, no angst. It’s as simple as stepping outside, getting up close, and really looking. Nature makes sure we never lack inspiration.

Seeing our little baby bird’s face up close made me grateful, humbled, and awestruck — by the brilliance of an artist I’d really like to get to know better.

Landfill provides inspiration for children with a dream

The next time you find yourself whining about not having the right materials, instruments, or equipment for your current project, watch the video above.

Don’t be a brat. Get creative.

(Pic #1) Our house cat Ducky – bathed in negative space. (Photo by Josh Kaplan)

It’s called “negative space” — but there is nothing negative about it.

In fine art, a painter or photographer strives to draw you (the viewer) in to his world.  One of the easiest ways to do that is to “lose your center” — by focusing on something outside the middle of the frame. By doing that, you get to leave a beautiful space for the viewer’s imagination. By definition, negative space is the emptiness surrounding the subject – but if embraced, it can acquire its own sense of form.

The whole idea of an artist’s interpretation of a subject is to present it in a fresh way — capturing the familiar and transforming it into something radically different — making it uniquely his. Allowing negative space to breathe can create a kind of power through its own volume. As you see in Pic #3, American painter Franz Kline thoughtfully merges positive and negative spaces into the picture plane, and one effectively supports the other.

In the photograph (Pic #2) of my shoulder, my husband completely eliminates what traditionally would be my portrait, and instead gives way to the soft blurry background that creates its own weighty, curious abstraction. My face is almost irrelevant. (And that’s totally cool on days I’m not wearing makeup.)

Left: (Pic #2) My environmental portrait – faceless, off center. Right: (Pic #3) Painting by Franz Kline: Equally playing the power of positive and negative. (Photo by Josh Kaplan.)

(Pic #4) Close-up, tricycle handlebar. (Photo by Josh Kaplan)

(Pic #5) The ear of our 21-year-old house cat Marbot, swimming in negative space.

(Pic #1) Brightly colored pens, close-up, at Art Essentials in Santa Barbara, California. (Photo by Josh Kaplan.)

My surefire cure for getting unstuck:

It happens to all of us. That wall we hit when it’s not working. We’re dry. Scared. Frustrated and empty. The artist asks: When will inspiration come? Is there a chance it’s left for good? And if it has, how then do we define ourselves? At least that’s the rabbit hole I start sliding down, and maybe you do too.

Get to the nearest art supply store – it’s seriously therapeutic.

For me, just walking into an art store gives me a jolt of, “Let’s get started” or “Damn, I just have to work with those colors.” There’s something about seeing a row of Seafoam pastels juxtaposed with hot magenta… or a sweet shade of violet that reminds me of the miniature crocuses scattered in our front yard when I was a kid.

My eyes dart around as if I’m peaking on a sugar rush. The paintbrushes call out to be touched. I give in – stroking the red sables and the super-soft $75 brushes I’ll never allow myself to buy. But they are doing their job: they are getting me excited about making art.

I start “testing” colors in the French pastel section – checking their compatibility with each other. I remembered a woman in my art critique group pairing a pale dusty pink with an olive green. Those colors reminded me of the striped Danskin tops I wore when I was 10. That thought reminds me that (also) when I was 10 — I never got stuck. Give me a periwinkle Crayola and some free time, and I was good to go.

And now, walking out of Art Essentials in Santa Barbara with my new aquamarine oil stick and a receipt that shows I indulged myself to the tune of $3.89 — I’m good to go again.

An inspirational visit to “Art Essentials” in Santa Barbara. (Photo by Josh Kaplan.)

(Pic #1) Lonnie Lardner leaps into the New Year – with purpose. (Photo by Josh Kaplan)

Bend it, Twist it, Make it yours

It’s funny, I’ve been asked more times this year than in any other to share my New Year’s resolutions. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or my generation is starting to really care about its accomplishments and impact.  But one thing is clear to me: if we live our lives as artists do — everything we do will be better.

Consider this. Typically, artists:

(Pic #2) Acrylic and thread on paper by Raul de la Torre, an L.A. based artist who lets his paint surprise him (note bottom drips).

1) Thrive on happy accidents. Just watch an abstract painter slap an overloaded brush onto his canvas. The unexpected drips and rivers of color can invigorate, inspire, and lead to even more exciting work — but only of we are willing to trash the need to control every drop (See Raul de la Torre’s painting in Pic #2).

2) Know your passion is your purpose. You would be hard pressed to stop an artist from creating. Her mission runs so deep to the core that NOT making art isn’t even an option. Inspiration comes from the soul, and nothing is more authentic than that.

3) Genuinely savor every moment. This is crucial. If artists stopped observing and therefore stopped creating visual commentary, we just might find ourselves in a colorless, spiritless society. By examining the world around us, and feeling what we are supposed to feel — our lives are enriched.

My good friend musician/producer Andre Fischer (multiple Grammy winner and drummer for Rufus) once told me that his father, (jazz great) Dirk Fischer set him straight about the value of time, at an early age. Andre was late to meet his Dad, and Dirk told him to look at the second hand on his watch, because “every second you live — you die. And I hope those precious seconds of my life you wasted we’re not spent in folly son, because every second counts.”

In 2013, I hope to do things differently. I want to step out of my comfort zone at every opportunity. I want to appreciate more – and whine less.  And like a great artist, I want to embrace what I can’t control. The surprises could be spectacular.

(Pic #1) Emma, a young South Central L.A. artist catches me painting outside the lines. Photo by Anita Bartlett.

I just got back from South Central LA, where for the 24^th straight year, we held a Christmas party and art workshop for inner-city kids. More than 500 children lined up around Loren Miller park for a few hours of uncomplicated fun.  They all received toys and little goodie bags with some holiday treats they might not have gotten otherwise. Those who wanted, got a little face time with Santa, and everyone got to paint.

Every year, there is small army of volunteers that comes down to help. Invariably they tell me it’s one of the most rewarding experiences they’ve ever had. I know it is for me.

Except…

These days, as the number of kids we serve has steadily grown, I have to function as a sort of an organizational ringmaster, the one overseeing the project, supplies, and logistics – the big picture. I was lamenting to my husband this morning, that in some ways I miss the early days when the kids measured in the dozens and not the hundreds.

(Pic #2) Future L.A. Times art critic?

Those days, I got to sit with a table-full of little ones, side-by-side, and jump in – just making art. It wasn’t just rewarding, it was fun.  For a few minutes, that piece of construction paper in front of them, with paint and glitter slathered all over it, wasn’t just the most important thing in the world — it was the best thing in the world.  I used to think it was because those kids were from the most impoverished neighborhoods in L.A., and have so little in the way of material bounty. But that’s not it.

Earlier this year I was on a flight from New York, enjoying a rare first class upgrade. Across the aisle was a 7 year-old-girl with her mom. She wore designer clothes, and was watching a movie on her iPad. As I often do on planes, I took out some markers and started to play. When I noticed her staring, I asked if she wanted some markers and paper. Within 3 minutes, that little piece of paper in front of her wasn’t just the most important thing in her life, it was the best.  She reminded me of myself at 7 — begging my mom to postpone lights-out for just ten minutes, so I could draw one more silly monster.

I think it has nothing to do with race, or gender… or age or privilege.  I think we all have this overpowering need to create something that is uniquely ours.  It may be as essential as any drive a human being has.

Or…it may just be fun.

I could seriously go on about this for hours, but I just discovered an unopened box of colored pencils left over from our workshop  today…. and lights-out is still ten minutes away… so, I gotta go.

(Pic #4) Some came for Santa, others came to paint.

(Pic #1) Belleville bold: Paris neighborhood encourages art for art’s sake.

Capture it while you can, because the next day it may be gone.

The multi-cultural section of Paris called Belleville has a storied past – and a fascinating present. The iconic French songstress Édith Piaf grew up here, and according to legend, was born under a lamppost on the steps of the Rue de Belleville. It has since seen new waves of immigrants establish themselves — with an abundance of Tunisian, Algerian, Moroccan, and Ethiopian eateries tucked in among galleries and cafes.

(Pic #2) Outdoor diners blend in with the high-energy street art on Rue Denoyez

But if you’re a street art junkie as I am —  Rue Denoyez will stop your heart. It’s about a quarter mile of wall-to-wall, pavement-to-roof  paintings, in a kaleidoscope of colors and styles, executed with a wide range of sophistication and raw talent.

Why? It’s legal.

The passageway is one of the few city-approved locations earmarked for what would normally be considered vandalism. This freedom has inspired local artists, residents, and tourists alike to contribute to the street’s organic growth; passersby see planters decorated with poems and mosaics, and discover miniature vases, teapots, and frames stuck haphazardly into quirky little holes in the wall. There is little blank space left — and somehow it all works.

The overall feel is somewhere between early junkyard and classic Basquiat. You can’t stop exploring, and sensing the art is alive. 

Doubtful the Paris Office of Tourism will showcase this colorful section of Belleville in its marketing materials, but for an extraordinary visual jolt — it’s an easy ride on Le Metro.

Self-portrait on Rue De Noyez, Paris

(Pic #1) Sharp focus – dull image.

“Focus!”  We hear it from teachers, coaches, bosses even spouses.

“Focus!” Put all extraneous thoughts out of your head and concentrate on the task at hand.  Focus is that single-mindedness that allows us to achieve. Without it, the greatest of intentions often disappear into the mist of fanciful daydreams. Focus can be your best friend when you are vigorously attacking your to-do list. But it can be your worst enemy when it comes to creating art.

Don’t get me wrong, attention to detail is important in art, and I suppose that requires some focus, but the engine that drives the artist is creativity, and that often requires the exact opposite of focus. It requires letting your mind run free, tuning into the seemingly random, unconnected sights and sounds that inspire great art.

Often the focused, crystal clear view of the world can mask an incredible universe of beauty that emerges when we blur our vision a bit.

(Pic #2) Sparing the details: the beauty of losing focus

In Kindergarten, I remember asking my best friend Tana Klugherz if she could “look blurry-eyed” at something – and do it on command, as I could. It was such a thrill to shift the world totally out of focus – into a palette of soft colors.  It turned everything into a lovely abstraction. Now I get to explore and change my view with technology and a good camera. Maybe not as fun – but still pretty magical.

On top of the page (Pic #1):  a shot of a bougainvillea branch in our backyard.  Nice photograph, well composed, perfectly in focus. No interpretation necessary, no imagination needed. Picture #2 (above) is almost exactly the same shot, but purposely out of focus.  Suddenly the colors and shapes become ethereal, suddenly they invite — in fact demand  – the viewer’s imagination.

Lose your focus — find your inner artist.