Deep in the Heart

As an artist, I love pleasant surprises. In my book, pleasant surprises are kind of like the salsa on top of your taco. Is it a taco without that salsa? Well, yes — but not nearly as fun to eat (in my opinion). So that as the background, I’ll continue with this story.

This story involves an experience I had a couple years ago while visiting my kids. Three of my four children live next door to each other (literally three houses in a row). I absolutely love that. Grandchildren run around from house to house in our “St.Claire Village”. It’s so awesome for Joy and I to trek out there and work. I pack up the car with all my panels and paint so my business continues. I love that because I love painting, but I also love these little people barging into my studio all the time asking to see what I’m doing. I love when they ask if they can have some paper and crayons so they can draw too. If this is describing a pretty idyllic setting, I would agree. The only down side is that it’s in Texas. Sorry Texas. I love you but when I visit, I’m comparing you to the natural beauty of the North Carolina mountains and well…let’s just be honest. Flat, hot and dry is (in my book) really boring. I hope no Texans ever read this. The way they talk, Texas may as well be the Garden of Eden. Texans crack me up.

So visiting my family in the Dallas area is always a mix of thankful joy (seeing my children and a grandchildren) and sadness (leaving the natural beauty of Asheville). So a couple of years ago, Joy and I were visiting in the late spring and we decided that once we hit the Texas border in Texarkana, we’d leave the highway and just drive the “gray line roads” (those really minor roads on the map that are depicted in gray ink rather than heavier black ink) just the the sake of exploration. Joy is so patient with me! This is what it’s like living with an artist — the experience (even if it adds two more hours on an already fifteen hour road trip) is sometimes worth it!

So once we got off the main highway and were driving around north Texas on a wonderful narrow road, we found ourselves meandering through what can only be described as a “freaking beautiful” landscape. The fields were verdant green and everywhere you looked, there were these diminutive blue flowers blooming on the ground. I learned these are called “Bluebonnets” and Texans are very proud of them. Honestly, I can understand why. They are absolutely beautiful, and I had to admit, the scene before me was very “Garden of Eden” like. It was such a pleasant surprise and so worth the extra time driving. For the next several hours, we just explored and everywhere, the flat landscape was covered with a carpet of blue. Texas can be exquisite. There. I said it, okay? it’s TRUE.

So of course, a couple of weeks later, when planning our route back to North Carolina, we decided to see it all again from the other direction. We were so excited. We were going to take even more time and pretty much spend the whole day on that otherwise three hour drive. (Do you sense a “but” is about to come right about now? Uh huh.) BUT, the bluebonnets were all gone now and the fields were less green. Definitely no longer verdant. So, we cut back to the highway and continued on the long, boring drive back to Asheville.

What strikes me about this whole experience was how thankful I was that we took that time to explore. That extraordinary beauty was real. Short lived, but real. Texas was amazingly beautiful. FOR TWO WEEKS. I’m so glad I saw it. Fleeting as it was, I had to paint what it was I saw that day so that I can remember not to take the beauty of this planet for granted…to drink in and enjoy the awesome people and scenery (the grand and tiny) during the course of every day I’m here. That lesson is worth dedicating a painting to I think!

"How do you know you're done with a painting?"

I love the balance between oil painting (a very introvertive exercise) and talking to various people that wander into my Asheville studio (a very extroversive exercise). I’m constantly switching between my introvert and extrovert skill sets. Though it can be exhausting sometimes, it feels very healthy because I’ve found that when I’m pushed and stretched, I grow. One of the ways I grow is by thinking through the questions I’m constantly asked. Most of the questions are the same “What am I looking at?”, “How do you do this?” ,“What’s the shiny finish coat on these”, “Are these photos?”. But now and then, I get a questions out of left field and THAT is invigorating! Those questions make me really think.

“…my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.”

One question I got recently from some really cool folks from Ohio was “how do you know when I painting is done?” THAT is a really great question! So for any other people interested, here’s my answer:

My paintings are created in many, many steps. They each take about a month to complete, longer if they’re large. The oil paint is applied to a many-layered textured background that I’ve covered with metallic leaf (ultra-thin sheets of metal). THEN I begin colorizing the metal surface with very, very thin layers of paint. Each layer of paint deepens and intensifies the color. Each painting may get at least ten layers of paint, sometimes more.

I keep applying the paint until two things happen:

1) The color is saturated enough. I want the colors to be intense in most cases, so I just keep applying the paint until I get the intensity I’m looking for. Every layer I apply intensifies the color of the painting by about 10%.

2) The values are correct. This means that there are areas that are VERY dark and areas that are VERY light. The very light areas get very little paint. The dark areas get many layers. Value is important, because value is what leads the eye around the piece. I always want to make it very easy to find the focal point of the piece (the first thing you stare at) and then my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.

I would love to say that when these two points are addressed, then I know the painting is done. But honestly, I usually get a second opinion. When my wife Joy (also an artist) concurs that it’s done, THEN it’s done. Getting the knowledgeable input of another artist can be humbling. I like to think I know exactly what I’m doing, but that’s a fantasy. I really need the input of other people. That’s the great thing about working with other artists. That’s why I love having my primary studio in Asheville (with over 220 other artists).

So basically, it takes skill you’ve developed over time and humility (that is constantly developing) to really be able to tell when a painting is “done”.

Does it Matter What Other People Think of My Art?

The question “Does it really matter what other people think of my artwork?” has been asked more times that I can count. And I hear where that question is coming from and I think it definitely deserves some time thinking through. As a full time artist, a big part of me says that it shouldn’t matter what OTHER people think of my artwork; the only thing that should matter is whether I as the artist think it’s good or not. That sounds right…doesn’t it?? To care what other people think just seems like it would completely destroy any wellspring of creativity, right? I definitely don’t want my creativity constrained.

Track with me here…does it matter if people like what I sing in the shower? Does it matter if people like what I made for dinner last night? Does it matter if anyone likes what I wrote in my journal last week? If any of these things matter, I probably need counseling for narcissism. Why would anyone even care?

But…

But caring about what people think about what I sing, cook or write is ridiculous because people are not paying me to sing (think God), cook or write. But since I am creating artwork to SELL TO PEOPLE, I absolutely HAVE to care about what other people think about my artwork. And I have never found that to be constraining my creativity at all. Quite the contrary, over the years as I listen to people and seriously take comments to heart as I’m selecting new ideas to work with or old ideas not to try again…the willingness to listen and let other people guide (not completely determine, but guide) my work has been so, so helpful.

I can hear some artist laugh derisively “Sell out!”. Maybe. I don’t feel like a sell out though. I’d be a sell out if I felt in my soul that I wanted to express this or that with my artwork and then did not because it would make me or my work unpopular. I’d feel like a sell out then. But I don’t have much of anything to express other than joy. That might sound so very sappy. I’m sappy. I absolutely love painting. I don’t remember anything I’ve been asked to paint that I didn’t have a blast in the process of creation. If that joy does not come out in a piece of art that I create, THAT will mean that I’m a sell out. I’ll leave the serious artistic subjects, the social commentaries and societal critiques to other artists. They’re valid and I enjoy their work, but that’s not who I am. And since I want studio visitors to BUY my work and not just stare at it, I think it’s rather important that I swallow my pride and listen to critique.

So does it matter what other people think of my art? No. Not at all (if I don’t expect to sell any of that artwork).

Creatively Inhaling...

“Broadway”, Arches National Park

One of the things I tell people that is really important for an artist is to “breathe in” emotionally and spiritually. Art comes from the heart and soul of a person, and if you’re creating all the time (exhaling, figuratively speaking) without “inhaling”, you’ll pass out (or burn out). So a week ago, I took my own advice: Joy and I took some needed time off. And this was my favorite kind of time off: EXPLORATION TIME. We spent time exploring southwestern Colorado and southeast Utah. Wow, what a contrast in geological features! We stayed a few days in the truly beautiful little town of Telluride, Colorado, hiking and wandering around the incredible Rocky Mountains (sometimes above the tree line), and then just a three hour drive west, we spent time in Moab, Utah hiking around Arches, Canyonlands and Capital Reef National parks. What an amazing and crazy part of the country! The landscape is so awesome, playful, grandiose.

…this was my favorite kind of time off: EXPLORATION TIME.

Walking through slot canyons in Capital Reef (see photo below), the emotions going through my head felt familiar. Then I realized what those awesome red sandstone cliffs reminded me of: Gothic cathedrals I saw in France. No, we saw no red sandstone cathedrals in France, but your eyes (and your heart) does the same thing. When entering a massive cathedral, your eyes are drawn up, up, up. I suspect that was on purpose. And you feel small and in awe of something powerful you felt even more than you saw. THAT was exactly what happened to me in those slot canyons. Eyes drawn up, up, up. The awe I felt bordered on worship (and maybe crossed the line a couple of times). Creation is awesome and amazing. If my faith tradition is anywhere near accurate, what that creation says about the mind that did the creating is unspeakably grand. I think it’s good to feel small sometimes. Awe is something I don’t think I feel enough of.

Capital Gorge, Capital Reef National Park

Joy and I back home now, and I’m happily finishing up (and starting several new) paintings. What a job this is! I’m so thankful. On the drive back, I started laughing out loud. I was driving back from an awesome vacation, all excited about getting back to painting. It's so amazing to be doing something I actually LOOK FORWARD to getting back from vacation to do!

More Fun than I Know What to do With

A few weeks ago, I posted that I had just gotten into a gallery in Sunnyvale, CA. They asked if I would consider painting vineyards. The plan was to send one original painting out there for the gallery, and then four prints of the other pieces. The thing is, prints of my work just have not worked well at all in the past. My art is sort of weird. All art likes light, but mine especially comes alive when lit, because the whole thing is painted on metallic leaf (a reflective surface), so the light reflects back through the pigment I’ve applied, “backlighting” the paint. Prints are nice, but they just look dead compared to the original. Well…I found a great source for high definition prints on metal and the quality is amazing. They too reflect light. So this changes everything.

“…these five pieces are the nicest pieces I’ve painted to date.”

So I’m having hi-def photos taken of all five vineyard paintings, sending one original piece and four metallic prints to the Sunnyvale gallery and the other four originals will be for sale (along with the prints) in my studio. That is the assignment, and…I’m almost done with the five pieces. It’s so, so tempting to show a photo of at least one here, but I’ve still got to pour the resin on the faces, and that will amplify the colors so…it’s worth waiting for. I’m so very pleased with how these are turning out. I feel like I’m going to pop. Vineyards are just really beautiful. The combination of undulating freeform hillsides with the linear layout of the rows and rows of grapevines makes a really interesting composition. And to me, vineyards are just romantic. They’re beautiful.

So honestly (in my opinion), these five pieces are the nicest pieces I’ve painted to date. That statement cracks me up though, because that’s how I feel about EVERY piece I paint. But these ESPECIALLY make me really happy. It makes me really excited about whatever I paint next, because lessons I learn from crafting these pieces are all put into practice in the next piece (no matter what the subject matter of the next painting might be).

Sorry. I’m kind of gushing here. I had to write this down just to try to get it out of my system. It’s not working though. And…I guess that’s a good thing.

“Are You Self Taught?”

I was asked the question the other day, “Are you ‘self taught’ or did you get training somewhere?” I’m actually asked that question a fair amount, so I figured I’d answer here: Yes and Yes. That’s my answer. Just as a rule of thumb, I think it’s a very good thing to get trained in a craft or skill by someone who knows that craft or skill better than you. That’s probably true of most things. The concept of being mentored, trained, even parented…that’s generally just how things work best in my opinion.

For artists though, there seems to be a personality type that wears that “self taught” label like a badge, and I think often times, that’s just because they are arrogant. Sometimes, I think that badge is code for “I figured this all out by myself”, “I don’t need anyone teaching me to do this better”, “I am above input from others”. Maybe. I have to grant the possibility that there really are geniuses out there who need no help or shaping by others. I don’t think there are many people like that though.

What I’m not saying is that if you want to be a professional artist, you should just find an art school and enroll. Not all art schools are created equal. Some schools are excellent, teaching technique and the rules of art. And once you know the rules, over time, you learn how and when to break them. But honestly, some art schools could be compared to a driving school that takes your sixteen year old and sticks them behind the wheel and just says, “okay, drive. There is no ‘right or wrong’ way to drive, just proceed as the spirit leads you.” Imagine the catastrophe.

“No one sees a strong foundation, but the higher you would like to build a structure, the more important a foundation is."

So, learning the rules and techniques are just wise, and can save a lot of time and frustration. “But” you say, “art schools are crazy expensive!” Yep. But there are lots of ways to get the cost down. I won’t take the time here to go down that rabbit hole, but feel free to email me if you’d like input there. The other option would be to find an artist whose work you admire and ask them to mentor you. That’s how they did it “back in the day”. Really, you just need someone to teach you the rules, and then give you input on your work. This takes a good deal of humility, but unless we really think that what we do and create is above critique, that critique is absolutely invaluable. I still get some folks visiting the studio who think it’s their God given assignment to critique my work. And sometimes, I gain something awesome by listening (not all the time, but sometimes).

I went to Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California. That was an awesome experience. What those four years gave me was akin to a foundation. No one sees a strong foundation, but the higher you would like to build a structure, the more important a foundation is. Since college, I’ve invented my own technique. No one taught me that technique. I made it up all by myself, which is very gratifying and it’s awesome when you invent a technique because no one can say you’re doing it wrong. :) Well, sales or lack thereof tell you if you’re doing it right or wrong. I’m constantly playing and experimenting now…”self teaching”. But that’s all based on the foundation of color theory, composition and basic painting/drawing skills I learned in classes.

So, those are some thoughts from me. What are some thoughts from YOU? I’d love to hear what you think (especially if you’re an artist!)

New Art Gallery on the West Coast

Downtown Pleasanton, California

What a weird, unpredictable couple of weeks! I usually do not like unpredictable at all. I like planing my life as best I can. I know that’s impossible sometimes, but still…I try. But I’m so thankful that “unpredictable” isn’t always a scary thing! Let me back up and explain.

A couple weeks ago, the phone rang and I almost didn’t answer it. I totally assumed it was a robocall. Instead, it was a real live, breathing human! It turns out this guy is an artist who'd visited my studio, and in the course of our conversation, he said I should get into a gallery on the west coast; that he sells very well in a few galleries there. I explained that it’s a very difficult thing to find a gallery that fits you well when you live across the country. For example, a local gallery owner friend of mine once told me that she usually gets over a hundred artist requests for gallery representation in her email every week. She just deletes them without even reading them.

So, it turns out this complete stranger said he’d try to hook me up with a gallery he’s rep’d by in Pleasanton, California (in the Bay Area). I mean, who does that? A week later, I got a phone call from the gallery owner who had spent time looking over my website and studying my technique and…he was really interested. After he had a discussion with the gallery manager about what he thought, they sent me a contract for representation. And…I signed it. This is exciting to me for several reasons:

1) I’d love to expand my reach to the west coast.

2) I’d love a tax deductible reason to visit the west coast.

3) I was asked if I could come up with several “vineyard” themed pieces. This TOTALLY excites me. I love the way the rows of grape vines add a geometrical element to a natural landscape. A vineyard is beautiful and peaceful. This theme totally fits what I love to be painting. I can even sell the pieces in my Asheville studio (we have vineyards here too — heck, they’re kind of ubiquitous, you know?)

“…I’d love a tax deductible reason to visit the west coast.”

4) What the gallery has asked for is one large original piece and several prints. So, because of this, I’m going to venture into the world of metal prints. These are a relatively new technique of dye sublimation on a metal surface, creating awesome colors and really emphasizing contrast. I like that, because my paintings are painted on a metal surface. The reason I’ve done very, very few prints before is that compared to an original, the print on paper or canvas is just flat, dead looking. These metal prints glow. I’m excited to try them out and see how it goes. This could open up a lower price point possibility for someone that wants one of my paintings but can’t swing the price of an original.

So, I guess the moral of this story is: When the phone rings, (unless it says “United States” or “Unknown Caller”, answer the phone! You never know who’s on the other end.

"Art from the Heart" vs "Commissioned Art"

There are really so few things that baffle and (to be honest) frustrate me as an artist. I am by nature a very “even keel” type of person, so when something stands out as “irritating”, it’s kind of a big deal for me. See, I regularly come across people that have a very set view of who and what an artist is (even before they meet me). No one likes to be pre-judged and I guess I’m no exception.

See, every now and then, I have people visit my studio and I can tell they like my work. For instance, they may hang out for fifteen to twenty minutes browsing slowly, leave and have lunch, then come back and browse even more slowly. That is usually a pretty good sign someone is genuinely interested in my work. Most of the time, behavior like this eventually results in a sale of one of my paintings or the commissioning of something specific. But every now and then, the couple at this point will look pained. Interested but pained. “Do you have all your work displayed or do you have something else in storage?” they’ll ask. I explain that basically, I don’t have storage. If I need to store paintings, my prices are too high. They smile, and then I explain that if they like something but it’s the wrong size, I can repaint it the right size for them. “No, we’re looking for a painting that is 36 x 48, probably a summer scene but you don’t really have anything that will work for our space”. “Well,” I explain, “if you have a photo you’d like me to use, or if you can give me an idea of something specific that you’d like to see, you can commission a painting based on that idea and size. I don’t charge any more for commissions, and I guarantee your satisfaction with what I paint and I do free shipping as a thank you.”

But then…

“Oh, we would rather just check in whenever we’re back in Asheville and see what you have available. We don’t want to dictate to the artist what they paint. We’d much rather have something that comes from your heart, not ours”.

“…my heart and joy are in every single painting I’ve ever painted.”

You may well think “Oh, that’s so sensitive! What a kind person that is!” Yes, probably. But that drives me crazy. It rattles me because that assumes that the art that comes from my own head will be of higher quality or have “more life and energy” in it than if it comes from the heart of the client. To be clear, the idea behind all the commissions I’ve ever done have come from my clients. But the heart and energy in the piece is from me. I don’t care at all where the idea comes from. I love to paint. May I just be honest? Look, if a client gives me a photo as inspiration for a painting, it saves me all sorts of time hunting down a good photo to use as inspiration for my next piece. No one who has commissioned a painting from me has received a lesser quality painting because it was commissioned by them. Honestly, my heart and joy are in every single painting I’ve ever painted. I simply love painting and I don’t care if that seed idea comes from my own head or from yours. The painting will always come from my heart.

Okay, time for a cup of herbal tea I think. I feel much better now.

More Questions and Answers

A few weeks ago, several of my Facebook followers asked questions about me and my art background. Since then, I’ve been slowly making my way through the answers. Here is the final installment (for now) of answers. But…if something I say here sparks another question, just ask. Thanks!

Did you grow up in Asheville? If not, how did you find it and why did you move there?

I did NOT grow up in Asheville. I tell people around here that I grew up in a town just south of Atlanta (look on a map...Los Angeles is latitudinally just south of Atlanta). I grew up on the west coast. After Joy and I married, we moved to Washington State (the most beautiful place we ever lived) and then crossed the country with our dog and four kids for an adventure...to discover the east coast. Over the next few years, we spent time in Virginia, North Carolina and Florida, but we kept coming back to the mountains of North Carolina for vacation. Several years ago, I got a job with a company that allowed me to work from home, so at that point, "home" could be wherever we wanted it to be, and that was Asheville. We the town because it has such a great vibe and because the people here seemed to celebrate everything outdoorsy. I love that. At that point in time though, I had no idea there was a River Arts District. Once I discovered that, wow...that changed everything.

How did you find your studio?

I was first offered (for free) a six foot wall space in the studio of a friend of mine (Phil DeAngelo). He had told me that if I sold something, I could kick in something for the rent, but if not, the space was gratis. Who does that?? Well, Phil did so I took him up on it and never had to skip a month of rent. A couple years later, I was making about half the $$ from art sales as I was with my "real" job, so I cut down to half time at my job. Within the six months, my art income surpassed the normal annual income of my "real" job, so I quit altogether and never once looked back. A couple years later, the studio Phil and I were sharing was just too crowded, so Phil helped me find my current studio in the Pink Dog Creative building. I love this studio. It's HUGE and it's so nice to be able to spread out and really make it mine. So I've been there for the last six years and am about to sign on for another five.

What kinds of other jobs did you have before you became an artist?

I was an industrial designer fresh out of college, then began a job painting backgrounds for Hanna Barbera cartoons (remember Scooby Doo?). That was an awesome job. But then the company had a fallout with the union and because I was the new guy, I was let go. Then I was a sign designer (which was a sort of nice combination of the design background I got in college and the art background I got at Hanna Barbera). It was a lot of fun really. When we moved to Florida, I became a project manager. At this point, may I interject a helpful suggestion to anyone hiring for a project manager position? Do not ever, ever hire an artist. My brain was designed to focus on one thing hard. Project managers (I found out) focus on several things simultaneously. That is impossible. I was the worst project manager. I felt sorry for my employers. They were kind enough to not lay me off, but I did quit after a couple years of job hell. I think they were probably as happy about my decision as I was. At that point, I went back to sign design because it was easy for me. It was at this point I found a national sign company that would let me work from home. Then I discovered Asheville. For the rest of the story, see the answer to my previous question.

That's it for now. Thanks for your questions! And if you ever have any more, please just let me know. That way, I don't have to wrack my brain regarding what I'll blog about! :)

What does Diversity have to do with honest artwork?

The photo above is my view as I paint. Not bad, right? So this morning, I took a moments break between art projects I was working on and stared out at these trees. And it occurred to me that there are uncountable varieties of foliage just right here in this one scene. They are all broadly the same thing (they are all plants). Most in this photo are more specifically similar in that they are trees (but several varieties). The trees do not make the shorter shrubs look ugly, and the shrubs seem quite comfortable growing alongside the trees without feeling insecure because they’re not as large. Pardon me please, I know I’m anthropomorphizing here, but it really hit me this morning: Diversity when living closely together is really beautiful. That’s at the heart of what makes nature so beautiful as opposed to a man-made garden. Beautiful, natural reality is incredibly diverse, and if what horticulturalists tell us is true, a diverse natural environment will be a healthier environment. If that is the key to real beauty as I suspect, it makes me wonder why we (why I) personally gravitate to people who are just like me. I find my tribe (of my own ethnicity, religion and culture) and then I “otherize” everyone else. Doing that seems so natural to us as human beings. But if there’s a lesson to be learned from nature; if the way nature “does it” applies to us humans too, then I suspect the more we maintain our differences but live our lives immeshed with people who do not look or talk or think like us, the closer results will look like real, natural beauty. But the more we huddle with people that are just like us, the closer we get to what is mundane, boring and even ugly.

“To the extent I mimic in my artwork what I see in front of me here as I paint, to that extent my artwork will be beautiful.”

Imagine a summer hillside panorama — mountains covered with trees. Got it? Okay, now imagine someone hands you a jumbo box of crayons to do a sketch, what color would you grab to depict the trees? Green? Really? Look again. To the left, those trees are in shadow and are almost black. Behind them, the sun is shining bright on something that looks almost yellow. Beside that is a bright green maple tree. As you look farther off in the distance, the more blue green the trees look and in the far off distance, the mountains look light blue gray (although they’re covered with the same green trees that are right in front of you). And everywhere, there are thousands and thousands of wildflowers and uncountable shrubs of various kinds. This is wilderness. And this is what actual, honest real beauty looks like: Awesome diversity of life, living closely together, maintaining their own individuality, all a part of the whole of exquisite beauty.

To the extent I mimic in my artwork what I see in front of me here as I paint, to that extent my artwork will be beautiful. So I notice the intricate differences in shades of color as it moves from left to right across the canvas, and grab different colors of paint to minutely adjust those colors. (As a side note, I never even use the same color blue in a sky — the color of the sky even on a crystal clear day, varies from left to right and top to bottom of what you see. To make my scene look “realistic”, I have to use a variety of colors even to paint something as simple as a blue sky.)

I long to live in a world that is really beautiful. And looking out at nature, I really think God left some clues how to create a society that is really beautiful: Diversity of life, living closely together, maintaining their own individuality, all a part of the whole of exquisite beauty. That sounds so awesome. I can’t make anyone go along with me but if I myself can keep this lesson in front of me for a while and be shaped by it, I think I will be a better, happier (and beautiful??) person.