Paintings as Bookends

 

I see these two paintings as bookends to my first year in Arizona, and was thinking on this idea when the word dichotomy came to mind. The standard definition doesn’t apply, really, but then I read on and found this additional definition:
Botany. a mode of branching by constant forking, as in some stems, in veins of leaves, etc.
This caused me to think back to these paintings and the work that’s been coming to me lately (I now have three canvases stacked on my easel, all at various stages of growth). We all start somewhere, in a seed, grasping at everything we can, copying the art we love, pushing through the soil. And now that I’ve gone through a few seasons of blooming, I’m ready to keep going, branching off what I’ve already learned and done to grow ever higher.

There is imagery that spans both pieces, but one is obviously more controlled, more focused, than the other. This has nothing to do with beauty, mind you, but technique, ability, and inspiration. I loved the first (and it hangs, proudly, above my bed), but adore the second.

And there are many more to come, and soon, I assure you!


"looking for paradise" 16"x24" mixed-media on canvas (available for purchase)

I'll be re-opening my Etsy shop in preparation for the holidays very, very soon. This piece, along with Be Brave (above) will be available as prints or postcards. 

 

A Few New Journal Pages...

This page started much differently, but one night, when I was angry at a page, I pulled out my oft-neglected gesso and slathered it on. And then I turned to this page and decided to just gesso over bits to create the appearance of a white page with paint and spray ink in the middle. You can see how this page started here (it's the one with the clouds up top). 

And yes, this is totally Dina-inspired! I was suddenly struck by the idea of using one of her stamps to create a star shape, and then cut it out from the page with my craft knife. Another one was cut from my supply of painted and sprayed papers and glued down. I added my own bits to make it inspired-yet-mine, and pulled out my chipboard letters to finish it off. 

If this page looks familiar, well, it's because I used it as the inspiration for my contribution to one of the Scottsdale Public Arts' 100+ Community Journals. You can also see where this page started. Basically, I used it as a drop cloth-y thing when spraying some chipboard wings while working on Becca's floor, and left it alone for the future. I do this a lot -- add a bit of paint or plunk down a sprayed stencil so I never really have to face a blank page. Having a jumping-off point is so helpful! 

I painted some green around the blue spray ink, then painted in the wings, shading a bit with different colors. I've always been captivated by faces with blue or green shading to show shadow, so I've been working with bright colors to add depth. I drew with an eyedropper, then went inside to watch The Mentalist while playing with soft pastels on the page. I think that's all I can say, because I really wasn't paying total attention to what I was doing! I love when things just...happen!

I've pulled my white sharpie paint pen because of Jodi's paintings, and did a bunch of layered writing (I'll have more on this soon...as part of a new thing I'll be offering soon!). 

Okay, this one isn't finished, yet! 

It started because I wanted to put that photograph in my journal -- I just adore it, and wanted it to become part of my journal story! The problem came when I started thinking too much; I had the photo and scrap of paper and sat there trying to figure out where everything was supposed to go... 

So I just put the photo down! And then the paper! And some paint! And some trim I colored with Radient Rain. Sometimes, you've just got to go with it!

 

Hope this helped! I'm trying to record the thoughts behind my process so I can share them with you! 

Getting Past the Blocks of Uncertainty

 

an in-progress journal page; she's gone through a few layers, but I'm still a bit uncertain as to where she's going!

Sometimes, we have no idea what we’re doing in our journals.
Ideas come to mind, and we rush to execute them, afraid that, if they’re left uncaught for too long, they will fade away, taken on the wind like a clearing mist. So we put them down, sit back, and wonder what the hell we were thinking. Why that color? Why is that image there? How is this going to work out?

There are a few things you can do when this happens:

1. Push through it.

This requires bravery and a silent critic. Just keep putting paint and paper and drawings down, collage a bit more, add another layer of paint, and work faster to keep yourself from thinking too much. I remember reading an interview with Teesha Moore where she said something like keep going until you hit some resistance, and push through it -- that’s where the best stuff comes from. Whenever a page seems to not be working, pushing through it and adding bits can help unlock magic you’d never have found if you simply let the page win.

2. Shift to another page.

Working on more than one page at once can help you keep the energy and art mojo flowing when the page you’re confused by throws a brick wall in your way. Switch to something else -- grab a collage bit from your stash, or a paint color you adore, and put it down on another journal page. Dina often has three journals going at once; when she’s in the flow, she’s working fast and switching between them so there’s no static moments while something is drying.
 
3. Take a break.

Sometimes, this is what you have to do. When you slam into that blockage, that moment of what is going on here? it may just be time for you to push your journal away, stand up, and move somewhere else. Go for a walk, have a conversation with someone near you, listen to music. Don’t, whatever you do, look online for inspiration. There are two reasons I warn you against this: first, because you may find something you love and feel you’ve no business even journaling anymore because oh, who am I to try when someone else can do something that amazing? and second, because the internet can really suck up your time, and before you know it, an hour has passed, the paint on your palette’s dried out, and it’s time to make dinner. Try walking away for maybe twenty minutes, then come back and try again.
 
You may want to give up. Shut your journal and ignore it for a few days. Wonder if you’re any good at all. Here’s what I have to say:

You are amazing, wonderful, and unique, and have every right to keep going, keep playing, keep creating. Being an artist isn’t about paintings in a gallery or being recognized for talent. It is a frame of mind, an outlook, and a willingness to run right up to the blocks and tear the thing down, brick by brick, because you want to know what’s on the other side.

 

I've also updated the Studio View gallery with several shots around my outdoor art space.

Journal Girl stamps have arrived!

Here’s a special day-early event just for you, my loyal readers & subscribers!

My stamps are here!!!

(Please excuse my exsesive use of exclamation marks!)

I am SO happy to be able to finally offer these to you! They were designed with art journalers in mind. They’re all cling-mounted rubber so you can use them with your existing acrylic block, but get the durability of rubber! And they’re cut out (unless you order the unmounted sheet of all of them, of course!).

Want to grab your own? Go on over to the Paperbag Studios shop to order yours!

Give-Away #1:

Mashed Potato Cloud Stamp + Date Stamp + Goodies from me! 
 

Give-Away #2: 

Sunshine Girl Stamp + Goodies from me!
 


Want to enter to win some stamps and goodies from me? Here’s how!

Simply leave a comment on THIS blog entry telling me what you’d love to do with these stamps. Are you going to journal? Make cards? Have you been inspired to create something already?

All comments must be submitted by 12pm on Friday, November 4, 2011 to be counted. Winners will be selected via random number generator.

 

the secrets of strangers (whispered in our ears)

 

We found a journal today.

It was sitting there on the table, alone. It belonged to no one -- there were no bags or papers or a pen or laptop sitting near it, the signs of someone claiming a temporary space. The journal simply sat there, a mystery wrapped in paper, waiting for someone to come along and notice it.

And I don’t think many did, as it sat on that table as the coolness of early morning turned into the hours of late breakfasts and confusion between greetings; a good morning or good afternoon that has no clear-cut line except the matched hands on an analog clock. There was a bit of hesitancy in the grabbing, in the touching, but as soon as the cover was opened, you couldn’t help but hear those secrets of strangers whispering in your ears. 
 


One spoke of a love gained and lost, of a year of trials that helped her to grow. She used markers in different colors and gave the paper her soul to borrow, if only for a little while. I felt like a voyeur, someone looking over her shoulder, and hated that there as no way for me to hug her.

Or the boy who wrote of ties bought for him by his mother, a square cut from each and stapled into the journal.

The one who travels the same route every day.

Or the creative layering of a drawing down to the abstract piece at the end.

I felt like I’d stumbled across something magical. I shared my story, my art, and handed it off to someone else to add to. And so on, and so on, until we’re all strangers who are not strangers if only between the covers of a sketchbook, mostly ignored, yet seen by those who most needed it.

 

{a year in the desert}

 

The photo above was snapped after a nice little chat with my younger brother at ASU -- he left for his biology class, and I walked back to the car via Palm Walk. I couldn't help taking a photo of the palm trees lining the walkway and the few clouds in the blue sky. 

October marks my one-year aniversary of living in Phoenix. 

One thing I've heard consistently since I began creating art out here is that the desert has transformed my artwork and sensibilities. And I'm going to tell you why this is true. 

When I headed out here, I didn't have a job. Or an apartment lined up. I had a few numbers of online friends who were here, as well as Twitter followers (a few of which helped find a dentist when my mother lost a temporary crown while we were driving down from Flagstaff). We packed what we needed into a little U-Haul trailer attached to the back of our car, put the dogs in the back seat, and headed out. 

It's scary. And daring. Everyone I've told my story to has been impressed or amazed that I would do something like that. It takes guts, they say. Bravery. 

I just knew I needed a change. 

I was being rubbed out, erased, or becoming stagnant where I was. I needed a shift. 

When I lived in Los Angeles, it was scary. I was across the country from everyone and everything I knew, with a few friends from college there and some old acquaintances from an anime convention I'd staffed a few years previous. I was petrified of the change. But I decided something while I was there, something that has stayed with me to this day:

You never know what is going to happen, so go with the change, do the move, the shift, and let it all work out. 

When you've jumped in a car and left your world, experimenting with a painting is child's play. 

What scary thing can you do today? What change are you resisting? Why? And what can you do to take that first step to a new you? 

{on-the-go journal kit}

In the comments for last week's impromptu vlog, sweetpyder asked:

I would love to know what's in your traveling kit for your purse.

 

 

Here's what I carry in my purse/on-the-go journal kit. Here's a list (that may be out of order of the video, but includes everything): 
Hope this helps!

 

 

{the confidence of a brush stroke}

 

It's always interesting to me to watch someone new at painting work on a canvas or journal page. Their brush strokes are always short and hesitant, as if they've never held a brush before (and perhaps they haven't!). There isn't much confidence; in fact, uncertainty dictates their movements. 

The same can be applied to how much water one gathers on their brush. A lot? A little? How do you know how much to use? How do you make those swirling lines? How do you mix colors properly? 

Practice, darlings. Paint more. 

I've been asked about water usage, and can't answer the question with anything else but practice. It will soon become second-nature. Soon, you'll be making long lines with confidence and strength, and will know exactly how much water to use in order to create the effect you're looking for. 

My mother came out and admired one portion of my canvas. She loves it. All I could think was, it has taken me years to figure out how to do that, and now, it is so easy to do. 

Practice. 

I worked on the patio again today, finishing the sketching on one canvas and playing around on the other. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going with anything -- I simply listened to music and enjoyed my time outside, a bit sad when the sun began to set so early. I've forgotten how late in the year it's become, fooled by pleasantly high temperatures. 

Sometimes, when I step back, I can't believe this art is coming from me. I wouldn't trade that wonder at my own abilities for anything.