Tag Archives: painting

WE ARE ART. WE ARE ALL ARTISTS.

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We express ourselves in different ways. One’s wild garden tending is another’s storytelling of memories, across the bridge someone walks along the river in deep introspection, another dreams as she looks at the sky, he hopes as he sprints down the road, they smile at passersby…this is art…the living choices we paint our lives with…the colors spilling over onto another’s path…some mixes go muddy…others create spectral arcs that seemingly touch the sky…if you think you can’t create art…you’re not looking deeply enough…we are all artists…each one of us the embodiment of art itself…🌠

My character, Hank Olin, began as a drawing many years ago. He was then slid into a plastic sleeve and clipped into a binder to join other characters who’d grown silent between black vinyl covers. One day he escaped to become an acrylic painting. His accomplice told him metallic paint would wake his spacesuit up too so he could fly. Hank Olin was happy – he no longer had to live in the binder. He was free.

Being the benevolent ele-space-ien he was, he asked for the immediate release of all those trapped between the heavy covers of that wicked black vinyl binder.

His request was soon granted by an accomplice on the outside, who looked at the sky that very day, appreciating their singular freedom to gaze upon such beauty in a world of madness. Hank Olin was lifted from his two-dimensional prison. Today Hank is free to stargaze, to whisper musings in the ear of anyone nearby, he’s dreamed below the afternoon sky and sparkled, he travels to regions real and imagined, he lives his best life while watching his friends grow into the free characters they were meant to be.

Graveyard

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I’ve been crawling through the basement of my creative left-behinds & freeing their souls to do as they will

A Little Girl Named Jess

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Jess’s story appeared in the local newspaper when I was a young teen. She’d been badly burned in a house fire. The front page image had been black & white. Try as I might, I couldn’t purge Jess’s pain or her image from my head.

I honored her in my way. The painting I did remains with me, as she always has, hanging on a wall in my studio, where I tell Jess how beautiful she is.

It was this painting that taught me the meaning of art.

Hot Dogs and Red Paint

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My mom loved hotdogs. A month after my dad passed, Keith and I took her to Dallas Hot Wieners, a charming little eatery in Saugerties, NY. A hotdog had made her smile that day. Afterward, we walked to Emerge Gallery.

Oddly enough, I created the image below in 2017, several years before Covid. This painting had been part of a group show, “Primar(il)y Red,” Emerge Gallery, Saugerties, NY.

“At the end of 2023 Emerge Gallery closed its physical space in Saugerties, NY, but continued hosting group shows virtually through the gallery shop on Artsy.net. The on-line shop offered a platform for the works of Hudson Valley artists to be viewed and purchased by collectors throughout the world.”

Jasper The Mad Jester – Sculpt no.8

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Jasper the Mad Jester & Universal Clown makes sculpt no. 8 for me. What a clay quest I’ve been on – each character brings their own set of unique challenges. Learning as I go – each trip takes my mind away from the real world. Jasper is 12″ tall from boot to tip of hat.

Jasper dances and sprinkles stars through many universes. When in our galaxy, he enjoys dangling the moon and placing a gold ‘disco’ boot upon the earth to quietly remind – the joke is on us – as we sometimes think we’re quite grand – we control nothing at all – the universe will always have the upper hand.

I hope you’re managing through this mess we’re in…
am:)

The Loveland Frogman

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This cryptid sculpt is the Loveland Frogman. I created collages of a few cryptid/creature illustrations for the UFO Fair (loads of outrageous fun- JUNE 7th – Pine Bush, NY).

My husband, Keith, requested the Frogman collage (orange bkgd painting shown) to hang over his desk. Now, as I’ve crashed into sculpting, he requested a Frogman sculpt to live as a silent desk-partner. I’m glad he asked for this critter. The Frogman was great fun to make.

Have a wonderful weekend🐰🪻I hope you’re managing through the madness.
For those who celebrate the day – Hoppy Easter🐸!

Something About Balance and Power

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I believe Art’s authentic value is held in the heart of the viewer. This large acrylic (5′ x 5′) work was painted decades ago. Over the years, viewers have given me the gift of their unique interpretations of this image.

I know why I painted this image back then, but today, for me, it has come to bear an entirely different meaning – one that I hold in my heart.

Feel free to share your interpretation if you’d like. (I’ll not comment on your thoughts, good or bad – swing away)

I hope you’re managing during this time of… (so many words I want to put here, but we’re being bombarded enough)

Peace,
am

Victorian Gills

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Yesterday’s post highlighted an artwork I painted for my son. The painting – Washington’s Last Cantonment – was created after I’d painted a canvas for his sister.

For the acrylic (above), I used several old reference images – some of the fish – like the large koi – were directly inspired from those images (apologies to the brilliant artists – I’ve been unable to locate their names to properly credit) – a few of the other fish swim in my head – and now – on my daughter’s apartment wall. She’d requested the specific water color…for interior decor ‘matchi-ness’:)

Both paintings are 4′ x 2′ – each a labor of love. As much as I don’t enjoy painting landscapes, water scenes run a close second. I find the most joy in creating cryptids and creatures. I don’t know why or what to think of that. Perhaps, I shouldn’t ponder fangs and claws too deeply. These thoughts might reveal lurking images in the sub-basement brain;)

Looks to be another cold beautiful day here in the Hudson Valley.

Keep warm,
am:)

A Poor Imitation

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Months ago, my son had asked me if I could recreate a painting for him. The particular artwork in question – he’d decided long ago – was his favorite of all time. Since I’d painted a picture of fish for his sister, I told him I’d create art for him too. The painting he wanted had been living as a blurry photo on his phone for quite some time. He’d seen the art – years ago – hanging on the wall of a restaurant.

Neither Max or I were able to locate a decent reference image – my son’s photo was so blurry in fact, I saw nothing but white in the air and dark lumps on the ground. My son’s description from memory was “men on horses and some cabins.” We went as far as returning to the restaurant (under new ownership for several years) and inquiring about the painting that had once hung on their far left wall.

Now I’ll tell you, I don’t like painting landscapes – I never have – meaning – I’ve avoided them my entire life – so my best attempts at recreating any are fake – I muddle my way through in an effort to get something close to the needle of credibility. The painting above is the result – my son – of course – loves it – because his mom made it for him. Any artist looking at this might smile and keep the honest review beneath the tongue.

And, as karma so often intervenes, months after I’d finished the painting, Max and I walked 2 blocks from the house to get coffee. The coffee-bar’s proprietor was a collector of books, art, antiques…and when we showed him the photo of my painting – he immediately knew whose artwork I’d been trying to recreate (in fact – the framed reproduction below was actually in another room of his coffee bar)- dang – was I off.

The Last Cantonment, 1783 – John F. Gould

John Fleming Gould (1906-1996) graduated from Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, NY, and later instructed at Pratt for 22 years. He was a prominent illustrator for the Saturday Evening Post for more than 8 years. Many of Mr. Gould’s works hang in private collections. He was partial to historical subjects, especially in the Hudson River Valley from the Statue of Liberty to Albany, NY.

I’ve provided more visual snow for some of you. who don’t really need to see anymore snow.
I hope you’re all keeping warm,
am:)

The Day I Stopped Believing in God

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Thirteen birthday-attendees ride the little train through the painted tunnel and scream when the tunnel turns oil-black. Afterward, the animated girls leap onto the spring-loaded playground.

I fix eyes on the ponies dusting-up the ring from the perch of a bouncing rooster. After a few minutes, the birthday girl’s mom, Mrs. Bee, leads us over to the ring. I take Parochial-school position for biggest girl — end of the line.

Each time a young handler instructs the next rider how to safely mount, my heart leaps. I bound up the wooden stairs when my turn arrives. Butterbean’s handler wears a cowboy hat. His broad teeth shine like the sun. His slim eyes are eclipsed by his hat brim.

Those darkened eyes look me over. Out the sunlit mouth, a question trots out, “What do you weigh?”

I haven’t yet perfected the art of the lie. The truth sinks me 20 pounds above my classmates.

The cowboy’s teeth vanish behind a cloud of smirking lips, “You’re too big to ride this pony.”

I swallow the screaming. I reverse-off the podium.

My cheeks brighter than the eyes of giggling classmates and the red balloons bubbling beside Sally’s birthday cake, I clod, head down, praying for my early death.

Today, I no longer believe in God.

(Misty of Chincoteague – painted when I was 13 – I remember being quite proud of this acrylic work thinking at the time)

I hope for those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving that you had a beautiful holiday. I had 24 family members in my home, and we had a wonderful day. Today, the little girl who was turned away from a pony ride, is heading to the gym. Later, she will run her three miles when the sun warms the land a tad more. She is always running, trying to stay just ahead of the little sad girl.

am:)