Blue Velvet Bay

I'd come across this horse in a pen at the side of the highway and I was so taken with the amazing color of the horse and the brilliant red tin of the building, that I had to get some photos. Even then, I was picturing this horse with his glorious color and the red building in the background as a future painting. I posted one of the photos on my sidebar labeled (ha ha) Blue Roan? - making all the horsey people wince - and I wrote this about the photographs I'd taken.

I've been letting this painting percolate until this past week. On my Wednesday "demo day" I did two mock-ups (pictured left) neither of which pleased me compositionally. I felt the hues of the foreground were about right, but I wanted a more abstracted painterly look, not a classic landscape. In the mock-up, the red building was taking over - and for me this painting was all about the horse. I came up with the final layout while drawing on the panel in chalk, as I did not want to be doing a paint-over this close to show time.

I thought I'd finished - and even took photographs. And looking at the photos on my computer realized the eye, muzzle and head were too detailed and fussy, so I went back and changed them to the version seen here. It's another large one: 30 x 34, on deep cradle panel.

This is the last painting for the March show at the Heritage Center Gallery. The show will open Monday, March 1 and run through the 31st. Here's the original look at the horse and red shed.

Painting furiously... and saving on supplies...

Color Study # 109. 24x24 on deep cradle panel.

I've a show next month (March) at the Heritage Center along with my friend Carol. I wanted to have all "new" work for this show - and with that in mind I've been working away at several paintings at once - as well as panel preparation. Panel preparation you say? No - not sitting in on a panel presentation, but preparing panels for painting... wow... onomatopoeia.

I'm always looking for ways to save money - not because I'm cheap, but because I must. I discovered the so-called deep cradle panels several months ago at a nearly art supply center - and I love them - but even with my member's discount, a smallish 16 x 16 panel is around $30. That may not sound like much to many - but it's quite beyond my means as I like to work larger. The panels equivalent to a 32 x 36 or so sell for over $100. Ouch. It's only plywood and Masonite. Could I build them myself?

I set about to try this, cutting 3/4" plywood strips and mitering the corners. These would be clamped and glued to Masonite cut to size. I made up a jig on a large table in my shop with boards and clamps in order to assure square corners. With trial and error, I made up a couple of these, but it took a lot of precious time.

I came up with an alternative that works well for the frame-less contemporary look I prefer. I've done several paintings on hollow-core doors over the years for myself and clients. They're lightweight, easily primed and prepared to accept paint - and way cheaper than the panels offered at art suppliers. Why not substitute these?

You'll need access to a table saw with extensions to support the door, and a really good blade, as only sharp blades with small cutting teeth are suitable to rip the door without shredding the thin plywood skin into splinters. I measure and mark the door, making sure there are no nails, brads, screws, etc., in line with the blade. Recycled doors especially need to be carefully checked.











When the cuts are made you can see the cardboard supports glued inside. These will also help support the strip of wood cut to close the open end/s of the door. I carefully measure and cut strips to fit, then glue all sides and tap into place with a rubber mallet. Edges are clamped using wood strips to even out the pressure.

When the glue is set (I like to wait 24 hours), I use wood putty to fill any cracks or holes, or to even out edges. When dry, I sand the entire door, keeping square corners and etching any primer or paint that might be there. It's important that everything be pristine. Again I inspect the edges and fill tiny imperfections with latex spackle. This is lightly sanded and then the panel is ready for primer or gesso.

If the door has been previously painted, I sand thoroughly and use a liquid sander to provide a secure bond between the old surface and the new paint. Completed paintings are sealed with two to three coats of a satin protective coating.

To hang the panels, I use small screws partly inserted along the edges of the door where the wood strips give good support. I add the wire, then screw down the heads to secure firmly. Lastly, I add small adhesive felt pads over the screw heads and at each corner. An alternative is to accurately measure along the top support and then carefully drill two holes which will allow the panel to hang flush on screws in the wall. Or I suppose one could add a toothed hanger - but I don't trust these.

Cost? I buy unpainted (mostly) doors at Habitat for Humanity for $10 - $15 each, depending upon width and condition. From each door I make two or three panels, which take about an hour to completely prepare. I use gesso to prime the painting surface as I like its opacity and texture. There will be texture from the wood grain of the plywood surface - but it's no more noticeable than the weave of canvas or linen. It is possible to layer two or three coats of gesso or primer for a smoother surface, but I've not found this necessary as I usually paint in a "plastic manner" (thick, with brushstrokes showing).

And I've had help - Snoochie the glow-cat kept poking me in the thigh with her sharp little claw while I worked on a new panel. I don't think she approved of the subject matter (another dang bird) - but she caught the edge of the panel and the photo tells the rest of the story.

More finished, nearly done, almost...

Today I worked on "The Guest" (which is what I've titled the large Everglades painting) all day at my make-up day at the Heritage Center. It was interesting to go there on a different day from my regular Wednesday gig as there's a completely different group of artists on Mondays - all clay artists - who nevertheless had a field day giving me good-natured advice and opinions as to how I should finish. As it was a holiday for most, we had quite a few visitors, too, so rest assured I've had plenty of feedback. I enjoyed the repartee - and of course took it all in - but went on in my own way.

And last night after posting the drawing and photo of the newest Bird/Wind painting, I made several changes and here is the final version of Early Warning. The bill of the blackbird was too close to the far wing, and I made several color adjustments in the clouds. It looks " finished" to me now - and closer in spirit and energy to the original drawing.

I don't have time to be sick!

I'm finally feeling almost myself. Geez, that was a terrible virus. I think it was actually two different bugs fighting over who would have my head!
Here's what I've been doing when I could get up a bit of energy and enthusiasm...
My continuing fascination is not just those birds but tornadoes/cyclones/thunderstorms, the amazing clouds formations therein, and the fury and drama they create upon this planet. In a continuation of my Black Bird/Wind themes, I spent one wretched evening working on the drawing below when I was too ill to paint. Last night and tonight I worked on the painting (above) and I think it's finished though I'll have to look upon it with fresh eyes in the daylight tomorrow before I can be sure.




















A couple of weeks ago, I posted a detail of a painting in progress, promising to post the entire painting. Here it is - still in progress, but much further along. The sky and background are nearly finished as is the water. I'm going for a swampy Everglades sort of waterway; the kind that are navigated by those fan or wind-propelled boats. I've still much refining to do on the three white birds, the crowned crane and the foreground foliage. My camera has exaggerated the colors, the actual background being more subdued.




















I've not been the sort who plans out paintings; often not doing any studies beforehand; preferring to draw images or shapes directly onto the surface with paint. But for this painting, I actually did a small mock-up as the composition is deceptively simple and yet not at all classical. I knew I was going to paint it rather large
(it's 30x 35) and I wanted to be certain to get the proportions right - right being what was half-formed in my head before I started.
I'm working to capture a mood and to tell a little tale. Don't we all of us look askance upon an interloper - a stranger garbed in finery greater than our own?

I hope to finish this one tomorrow during my "make up day" volunteering at the gallery. Being sick for two weeks really put me behind.


And just for fun, look what sprang out at me from the thrift store: A bobble crow! Nothing sinister about this fellow. He's made of painted stuffed cloth, an old bedspring, and a block of wood painted with the pithy saying: A wise crow reaps what you sow... and images of corn and watermelon. I didn't know crows had a fondness for watermelon?

I had to have him. Pensive fellow, isn't he?

And February made me shiver...

It's been a long week here at home. Now that's something of a rarity. Mostly the time rushes by and away like wind slipping through your hair. Weird metaphor, but as I am still somewhat delirious with the mother, father and grandparents of a headcold, I can't

be held to accurate - or familiar - homilies.

So here's what I've been up to during the brief hours of consciousness, and between boxes (yes, literally) of tissues: Painting. Wow. Big surprise. Another in the Black Bird series, but this time the fellow is resting. Perhaps like me, he had a headache and just needed a break. I put this little painting together from various references - and the slightly surreal quality makes that apparent. He's not quite sitting down as my old art teacher would have said, meaning that either the shadowing was wrong or non-existent. But I liked the shape of the bird so much - so aerodynamic, even just sitting there - that I like it as is.

And someone else likes him too, as he was sold just minutes after being posted on another site! That's a first! Gave me a nice warm feeling - which I badly needed in my chillblained state. I think I may actually go out in public today; lifting my self-imposed quarantine to post her painting off to her. No wonder he wasn't really sitting there; he knew he'd be bound for the western skies.

Full circle...

I thought it might be interesting to post some of my older work to see how it compares, stands up to, resembles or differs from what I'm doing right now. Easier said than done, as I had to poke about my house for pieces I could photograph with my digital camera. I have old slides and photos - but I've not conquered scanning them into my computer.

The large ( 36"x48") painting: "Beadie's Back" was painted in 1987. The year before I had suffered a fractured skull and severe concussion in a riding accident which meant months of slow recovery. When I returned to my job (grants writer and program director for a NY arts council), I realized I was fast approaching terminal burn-out. I had made only three paintings in ten years! I couldn't stop thinking about how my life had nearly ended, and I'd never really been the artist inside me.

The summer of '87 I was able to spend two weeks at Penland School of Crafts in North Carolina having an art and life choices R&R. The class I wanted to take was full, so I ended up in a non-traditional basketry group, but I quickly learned that it didn't matter what the class was, however, because the entire atmosphere at Penland was charged with creativity. I never spent two more enjoyable weeks in my life. Everything about the experience was wonderful from the people I met to the fun of staying in a dorm to the food, to the breathtaking mountain setting. (There's a link to Penland at right under "cool sites." If you have the opportunity to go there, don't miss it. It's a magical place that I highly recommend.)

Back in New York, I began to paint and draw like mad. Changes were coming.

The bird drawing is the beginning of my black bird obsession. It's colored pencil and crayon and measures about 12x12". If I'm asked why I began doing them, I can't really say, but the urge to do them has stayed with me all this time.


I began to experiment with capturing allegorical happenings from my life, especially those I found disturbing. I had a Dwarf Netherland bunny named Ernie who was the most gentle of pets. Then one day when I went to pick him up, he bit right through the flesh between my thumb and forefinger and wouldn't let go. I literally had to shake him off. Poor Ernie, as it turned out, had developed a brain tumor. I couldn't get that image of him clamped onto my hand out of my head - so I drew it, painted it, and purged it from my psyche. Shown here is one of the drawings in colored pencil and crayon.

Looking at these twenty-year old pieces made me realize that personal style comes through no matter the subject, no matter the influence, no matter the size or medium. How 'bout that?