Author: JFL

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rays that shoot out from my eyes – Mercredi Express #10



I developed a super-power during the Miasma and I think you can too. It requires a bit of maintenance, though so far, it’s worth the effort.

My Amazing Origin story: In recent months, I’ve taken remote art classes from first-rate instructors several time zones away. One class was Quick Figure Sketching with Eric Gist at the Watts Academy. We practiced very quick sketches of different poses, from a few seconds to a few minutes, then got expert instruction on how to improve. Quick sketch trains decisive and bold mark making and it gave me hands on experience with how few lines are needed to suggest form. I was QUITE out of my league, incidentally, surrounded by atelier-trained students from all over, and it was still a great experience. The instructor Eric has a patient manner that I found really encouraging. He would take each student’s drawing and, using a digital onionskin, draw over top to show better lines. I found it very helpful to SEE what a better choice did for more expressive gestures and tone. 

Quick sketch isn’t much time, barely enough to get down the tilt of the head, the shape of the torso and the general flow of the limbs. And that is plenty to accomplish, at least at first. Gradually, I became able to sense how each figure balanced its weight and somewhat slower, I was able to suggest that weight distribution. Eric would demo different approaches to various poses and as the class developed, his demos included suggestions for indicating how light wrapped around the figures, turning 2-d shapes into the illusion of 3-d forms. Shadows, in other words and not even blocks of darker tone, just the line where the figure would break into light and dark areas, maybe a suggestion of what kind of edge that transition occurred. And gradually, I also found myself able to make the best marks I could for those structure and gesture indications, and then to start suggesting shadow value. There was just so much to see and draw in such little time.

Seeing value, the relative light and dark, is the super power I acquired, and like a bite from a radioactive charcoal stick, it was unexpected.

I discovered that I had this power — at least fleetingly — one day as was looking at a reference photo. I remember thinking, “Wow this is a REALLY good photo because I can really see all the value differences. I wonder if there’s a Photoshop filter that does this?” I continued scrolling through the site, marveling at all the wonderful value range of these incredible photos… and it was only later that I realized the change — the Photoshop filter so to speak — had been applied to my eyes. I was able to see value and edge, maybe not quite as sexy as seeing through walls but pretty amazing. 

It wears off, I find without diligent practice of a few minutes every day or a good hour or so once a week.

The ancient Greeks theorized about how eyes worked, partially because they were curious about everything in the world and had working theories about all manner of things. Empedocles, I believe, came up with the idea that rays shot out of our eyes, “illuminated” an object so to speak and then traveled back to the viewer. The emission theory of sight was like a visual version of sonar. Spoiler: This is not correct if we assume that these rays are light. Light comes from a source, bounces off objects then travels TO our eyes. Our eyes do not emit beams of light. At least mine don’t.

And still, there is a way that my superpower is a way of “shooting out” a set of ideas, a prejudice of sorts, a pre-seeing. I learned to look for blocks of tone and the subtle shifts between them, the edges. I suspect that my super seeing ability required gaining new words for those edges; hard, firm, soft, lost… And at least so far, my ability requires that I DO something with the observation, that I attempt to record the visions with marks on paper. With much power comes much responsibility, I guess.

Eyes are incredible and seeing can be difficult. There are many very different ways of seeing. We observe and track the kinds of data that is important to us and seeing is one of the most immediate ways we are open to our worlds. It’s not lost on me that as I was acquiring this super-seeing ability that there was a national discussion about “seeing race.” I am still learning that super-power, the one that helps me be a more compassionate and just human. Like learning value and edge, seeing white supremicist culture requires learning new words and it requires actual actions and practice or else it fades away. I’m still working on a sketchbook for that.

WHAT ARE YOU LEARNING TO SEE? And what are you learning to DO with that super power. It’s worth repeating that “With ability comes responsibility” no matter how great or modest is the power. Our practices can also be as modest as a few minutes spent with a stick of charcoal. What kind of a super hero are you preparing to be tomorrow?

In addition to the obligatory link to my ON-LINE ART STORE — I have a request. If you know someone who might get a kick out of these newsletters, who might be a member of the Tribe, PLEASE OH PLEASE forward it to them. And if you have received such a forwarded message, consider joining us with this subscription link: https://lp.constantcontactpages.com/su/jX0Ddba It’s my once-a-week reflection on what it’s like being creative during the past week, designed to help you spot more resources and opportunities you may have overlooked. You in?
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an amateur runner’s guide to long distance drawing – Mercredi Express #9

An Amateur Runner’s Guideto Long Distance Drawing
This drawing – which I’m calling “Demons and Clowns” – took me roughly 6 hours, which I think is the longest time I’ve ever spent on a drawing. There is more I could do and plenty I regret doing and it’s time to say good enough. This narrative self portrait is the last assigned drawing for the Community College class I’m taking and I’m writing down some what I’ve learned specifically about doing a long drawing.

And maybe because I’m gently training for a half marathon or maybe because I just finished Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk about when I Talk about Running – a memoir as much about novel-writing as it is about running – the metaphor of “long-distance drawing” seems particularly apt. As in longer distance running, there is a mental game just as there is to a long-session bit of creativity. There’s more to it than simply putting one foot in front of the other / making another mark; there is an overall shape, an architecture, a narrative structure… I suspect there’s a similar big story to many creative works, maybe to all human projects. When I was writing my first novel, I had the sense that my brain had to get bigger to fit a novel inside it. “To build a ship, build a shipyard.” Though the metaphor of running will go in and out of focus, I hope these ideas can be applied to whatever “big race” you currently find yourself engaged in.

Shout out to Stephen Bauman (here’s a link to his Patreon) an instructor at the Florence Academy of Art. He posts long videos of his drawing sessions which give a clear sense of the patient diligence to build up a drawing especially in graphite. And in particular, he repeats a phrase “Your assignment at the point in the drawing is…” which EXACTLY captures the sense that drawing is a developing adventure, more than heaping up a big pile of details, higher and deeper.

These following remarks are mostly about charcoal which we’ve been using in class for about a month. Charcoal is fast and rather forgiving. It builds up dark and can be knocked back quite easily. And it’s a mess! Wear dark clothes… or clothes that you wouldn’t mind becoming dark.

Pre-race) Assemble materials, the grades of charcoal and tools for blending. I used a chamois, a blending stump and a hard plastic eraser. Lace up your shoes, get a good night’s sleep, use the restroom.

1) Perhaps like choosing the course or registering for a particular race, refine the overall composition with lots of sketches. Play with cheap, small pieces of paper before you commit to the good stuff. Innovate hard. Fail lots and eventually feel pretty good about the general design.

2) Just like stretching and warming up your muscles, tone the background. It’ll give options to add lights with an eraser in addition to adding darks. It’s extra classy to leave a generous border around the edges. I used the chamois to made this background tone soft. Remember how much fun it is to push around black dust on paper.

3) At the starter’s pistol, begin making the first marks for this particular picture. Get the gesture. This is the moment for movement. It’s harder to add dynamic flow once more marks accumulate. Remember how your limbs feel as they interact with the surface.

4) For about the first hour, work on general proportions and contours. Draw very lightly. Measure and measure again. This is the “line” part of the drawing. You could possibly do this with very light graphite. Obviously include the contours of the shape and also indicate the termination line where the shadow wraps around the form. In running, “negative splits” refers to running your first miles SLOWER than your last mile. Save something in the tank. This stage is still serious drawing; no amount of detail layered on top can save bad proportions — and there’s a similar sense of regret that occurs later in the drawing or run when the realization dawns of a mistake in these early steps. In my experience, most quick sketch or gesture drawings get this far and excellence at this stage sets one up to win the race.

5) Settle in. Divide areas into broad light and dark areas. Add a bit of tone gently, using the side of the charcoal. Perhaps erase a bit of the tone you laid down just to coax a little light… though I am amazed at how just a little dark transforms this midtone ground into a light. With any luck, a sense of form will emerge like your figure is leaning out of the page. Take a step back and get a bigger picture — maybe even step away or get a sip of water at a refreshment station — the whole drawing, warts and all, will be easier to see after even a minute’s break. Correct any mistakes.

6) This is the real race, where focus shifts to blocks of tone. “Lines” are mostly now just the edges between those blocks and they can be hard, firm, soft, lost… It’s easier to make an edge harder than to make one softer so keep edges soft at this stage. Knock them down a bit with a chamois or blending stump. Postpone making mistakes if you can’t avoid them entirely. I start by working with the darks, possibly because that’s what I do with paint. Your mileage may vary, perhaps. Do the dark areas look good together? Try to get just two different values in the darks. Step back. Refine the shapes because I bet you’ll have lost the drawing by this point. No worry. Find it again.

7) Another mile. Try to get four different values in the dark areas starting with the darkest darks. Once the darkest darks go in, magically reflected light will appear, almost like how the form magically appeared when the first regions of tone went in. Are those shapes right? Probably not. Refine them and start thinking about whether you LIKE those shapes. You are the artist, dammit. If you don’t like what you see, you are free to improve it.

8) It’s halfway done, maybe a bit more, and some unique challenges still await. Unlike running, I did my 6 hour drawing in two sessions and, I find myself typically quite discouraged by the end of the first session. I consider starting over or taking up another past-time. This feels like “the wall” in running, though when I’m running, it seems to happen later in the process. In my first half marathon, it happened at Mile 10 of the 13.1 miles. Maybe it’s blood sugar / glycogen levels — in both cases, come to think of it. Address that. I don’t experience a runner’s high when doing creative work, not exactly and maybe that relates to taking breaks so I can be refreshed and better enjoy the work. Painters refer to a “messy stage” and maybe that’s around here. The only way out, is through.

9) Focus on the lights, more properly called the midtones. Get a couple values within the light shapes. These will really add a sense of form, how each shifting plane catches and reflects light. I’ve heard a painter say “I’m a realist which means I am most interested in what happens in the midtones” which has stuck in my memory because I don’t really understand what it means. Maybe you will. A truism that I DO understand and hold deeply in my heart is “The darkest light is always lighter than the lightest dark.” It’s possible that your midtones have gotten too close to the darks. Step back or step away, and then re-assess. Correct. Refine. (It is entirely appropriate to feel a little smug at how good your piece looks, at least in spots and that maybe those creative endorphins kicking in. Use them to fuel the last push.)

10) It’s maybe the last mile, too soon to claim victory or even for a last sprint. Focus on transitions and edges. That blending stump really shines at this stage. Is that a gradual shift in tone like around a curved form, or is it hard or firm? It’s easier to ADD a hard edge than it is to soften one so feel smug that you’ve waited until now to firm them up. A few hard or firm edges magically can make the piece feel like it comes into focus, out of that smeary haze of charcoal powder. Step back, consider each stroke, each step. No time for a twisted ankle now.

11) The last 10 minutes or that point when you can see the finish line or hear the crowd, use white chalk/conte stick to pull out the brightest whites. Our eyes find high contrast exciting so maybe concentrate the brightest whites near to the focus area of your piece. Don’t over do it. White chalk has a reputation for turning ugly when it’s blended with charcoal, so add the white areas to already bright areas. That reputation is useful, even if not exactly true.

12) Finish the thing. Adjust a shadow, bump a contour, soften an edge… and step away. Paul Valery (I think) said “Artworks are never finished, only abandoned” and I think that’s bullshit. It confuses “finished” with “perfect” and nothing in this life will EVER be perfect. I prefer a quotation from Seth Godin “Real artists ship.” Runners have the idea of a “personal best” or a “personal record” and it is GREAT to strive for high ideals. But each race has an end. So take the medal, enjoy your celebratory carbohydrates, stretch… and maybe plan how the next time it might be even better.

 WHAT’s YOUR “BIG BIKE RACE” right now? How are you putting one step after another? There’s a “Kids in the Hall” sketch about a nerdy child who abruptly cuts off a conversation with the phrase “I’m in the middle of a big bike race!” It still cracks me up. So often in life, and in many different contexts, I find myself in a “big bike race.” Sometimes it’s a creative work. Sometimes it’s repairing a relationship. Sometimes it’s training for an actual race. What are YOU working toward right now? Are there metaphors or mental games you use to keep you working? Share!
In addition to the obligatory link to my ON-LINE ART STORE — I have a request. If you know someone who might get a kick out of these newsletters, who might be a member of the Tribe, PLEASE OH PLEASE forward it to them. And if you have received such a forwarded message, consider joining us with this subscription link: https://lp.constantcontactpages.com/su/jX0Ddba It’s my once-a-week reflection on what it’s like being creative during the past week, designed to help you spot more resources and opportunities you may have overlooked. You in?
I mention sketches in Step 1. Here are a couple. Neither one took more than 20 minutes. The one on the right informed me that an underneath light can make me look lumpy as well as spooky!
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she called me silly – Mercredi Express #8


She called me “Silly”

A complete stranger called me silly last week. To be precise, she said my work made me look silly.

Her comment didn’t come unprovoked. My hometown celebrates a couple made-up holidays the first week of April. On the first Sunday, it’s FestiFools, a parade of large hand-made puppets made by children, art students and the general hoi polloi. On the Friday night before, a similar gathering happens after night fall, a gathering of luminaries, glow in the dark costumes and laser projections, etc. On a normal year, leading up to FoolMoon there are workshops where experts guide the process of wire armature and delicate colored tissue paper. On a normal year, there is dancing in the streets. Even on a normal year, most of the town doesn’t quite “get it” …and those that do have a BLAST.

I’ve made puppets and luminaries for many FestiFools and FoolMoons. I made a 10 foot tall Jack in the Beanstalk that I carried through a rainstorm while my companion handed out packages of pole bean seeds. Another year, I danced around a 4 foot tall glowing frog with my tadpole-toting dance partner. Other years there were a huge luminous slice of blueberry pie and a ghostly half winged horse/half woman nightmare. In other words, we don’t just attend, we ARE fools for Festifools and FoolMoon. It’s a long standing date.

Things changed for COVID, of course. Last year both festivals were canceled and this year, FoolMoon came back, dim and pale. I made headpieces for my partner and myself. Hers was an astronaut helmet with blue and green lights and I was a bright orange moon. More or less. I was rushed, perhaps. Much of the Moon was crafted on the day of the event and an hour before sunset, neither piece lit up properly. By sunset, though, they were good enough. We donned matching face masks, slipped on our headpieces and set out to see what a socially-distanced folk festival would be like.

There were crowds in town, mostly-masked folks eating and drinking at the outdoor restaurants. As the graffiti says we have no problem with tents on the sidewalks as long as there are no poor people inside them. VERY few folks carried glowing any-things, even in the areas designated for us fools. We were stopped by numerous people who asked what the heck we were doing. We enthusiastically told them about FoolMoon.

Then as we walked down Fourth Avenue, a woman exited an art gallery and as she walked past us she said clearly “You look silly.” My partner thanked her and I burst out in laughter.

I have thought about her comment WAY too much this week. If she had said we looked “Foolish” I would have taken it clearly as a compliment, that she understood what we were doing and that we fit in with the festival. Perhaps that’s what she meant to say and she has been regretting her choice of words all this week as well. It’s just as likely though that this woman lives in a world where being silly is so unacceptable that she has to critique people on the street to stay vigilant against such an outrage. Then again, maybe she meant that the workmanship of these pieces was lacking and I could take that as valuable feedback. These were NOT my best pieces, they were rushed and the lights continued to misbehave throughout the night… and it felt important that we “show up” for this event, that we participate.

Her comment arrived at the end of a week where I had done a LOT of soul searching about what it means to be playful. Playful, for me, means being in-the-moment, a generous give-and-take, a series of risks and low-cost failures followed by unexpected gains and successes. I had considered NOT making a costume this year, of pretending to be one of the “citizens.” And I convinced myself to play, and to even try a couple new techniques and to use a couple new materials with a spirit of “Let’s see how this works…”

Lennon supposedly criticized a post-Beatle McCartney for writing only silly love songs, which Paul replied by writing the song “Silly Love Songs.” 

I suppose we DID look silly. And what’s wrong with that?

 HOW DID YOU RISK BEING SILLY THIS WEEK? Did you experiment, attempt some stunt or play with a new material recently? Did you try something that might not have not worked? If it didn’t work, did you survive? How did you fare? What did you learn? What’s the NEXT project you might go for, even knowing you might end up looking silly? Seriously, I’d like to know how other folks survive being silly.
Some previous FoolMoons. I wear that leather top hat to ALL outdoor festivals since I tend to wander off and it makes me easier for my partner to spot me. You will NOT feel silly wearing one! https://americanhatmakers.com/
In addition to the obligatory link to my ON-LINE ART STORE — I have a request. If you know someone who might get a kick out of these newsletters, who might be a member of the Tribe, PLEASE OH PLEASE forward it to them. And if you have received such a forwarded message, consider joining us with this subscription link: https://lp.constantcontactpages.com/su/jX0Ddba It’s my once-a-week reflection on what it’s like being creative during the past week, designed to help you spot more resources and opportunities you may have overlooked. You in?
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art is not precious – Mercredi Express #7

I DESTROYED three drawings last week and it felt GREAT

I’m in the final weeks of a drawing class at Washtenaw Community College which has been a great experience. It’s all done through Zoom and it’s given me an opportunity to connect with other artistic humans a couple times a week during the Miasma. I’ve learned some new techniques and actually DONE techniques I only read about. I’ve also drawn a few pieces I really like… and created some rather mediocre failures. I comfort myself with the statistic that rough half of any group will be, by definition, below average. This week’s assignment was to DESTROY three of these lackluster creations and assemble the parts into a collage.

I had to double-check with the teacher before I cut into the first one. It’s REALLY okay to cut apart something I did for class, something I did for CREDIT? I needed explicit permission from an authority figure. Seems like there’s an insight there.

Then, I attacked my portfolio rejects with great zeal.

First on the chopping block was a contour drawing of a pumpkin. We did four on the same page, each from a different view. The page documented my learning process accurately, which is to say, the first two were horrible. Instead of describing a three dimensional form by wrapping lines around its contours, these looked like flat pumpkin shapes with stripes. The third attempt more or less worked though the angle made it difficult to identify the object. The fourth pumpkin popped off the page if only by comparison. I’m making it sound like M.C.Escher’s drawing of a reptile pattern that gradually gains three dimensional form to strut off the page with a puff of arrogant dragon smoke. Trust me, it was not. My scissors rescued the pumpkin that popped.

Then I grabbed an arm from a perspective drawing. This assignment was to draw a bottle, an arm and a shoe, all in foreshortened perspective. Hard-core geometric perspective is one of those techniques that I’d read about but never really attempted before this class. I have genuinely enjoyed using sight lines and vanishing points to make spaces appear to open on the page… and this assignment hit during a hard week. I was rushed to get my drawings in on time and it showed. The line quality of my foreshortened arm in particular was a skittering mass of scribbles, though the form effectively receded in space. Snip, snip. It was free.

The final image I sacrificed came from the beginning of the semester, when we practiced varying the thickness of a line throughout the same stroke to gain confidence using our pencils. The subject matter was up to us; we just needed to fill a whole page. The class uses a very skills-focused, Bauhaus-inspired curriculum and even so, every section features moments for whimsy, creativity and expression. I missed Dom’s Bakery doughnuts — which I haven’t had all through lockdown — so I made a doughnut floating in a weird, pseudo-perspectival background. The doughnut was solid… and the attempt at creating depth was flat out wrong. It had looked good enough at the time, and in a few weeks, I learned how to use true perspective construction to accomplish what I’d intended. I saved the doughnut with a few cuts.

The real fun started as I assembled these salvaged parts on a new page. Once I got a good dynamic composition and committed to it with a glue stick, I made the line quality more consistent. I added contour lines to the arm and I added tonal shading to the doughnut and pumpkin. By the end of class, I was literally humming with excitement at my absurd alien doughnut-based life form harvesting a jack-o-lantern. Or is it extending a divine spark of carbohydrate?

This assignment reminded me how much FUN the process of making art can be and the key was destroying previous attempts to make something better. I was getting stuck with the idea that “artists make art” — and “art” is work that is successful, competent, assured, confident, profound… which my work this semester was not.  I learned a better, less grammatically correct idea is that “artists do art.” It’s akin to Seth Godin’s expression that “real artists ship” which also conveys the sense of creation, of making, of getting something out the door, not waiting for perfection. What I’m doing does NOT have to be ART for me to be an artist. It can be horrible messy, disgusting, lame, poorly conceived… Getting beyond an outcome focus allowed me to be fully present and  in “flow” 

We “fail” for all sorts of reasons – we’re learning, we’re rushed, we don’t have enough information – and sometimes, we find chances to use bits of those “failures” in something entirely new.
 
WHAT IS SOMETHING PRECIOUS YOU COULD DESTROY?I As much fun as it was to create something new from the salvaged parts, I also know it’s freeing to simply let some work go. What’s a creative way you’ve gotten rid of work to clear room for more creativity and production? Giving it away is always an option. What’s your favorite way to “spring clean?”
There is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING new in my ON-LINE ART STORE this week, though I still have a few prints of the “Lemon Skull” painting shown here. I have an odd affection for this piece, partially due to the bright colors and partially due to that goofy grin. I painted it on particle board and the texture shows through even in the archival giclée print. I’ve been busy varnishing and framing a couple small pieces… and painting a portrait of a friend. I plan to have a full refresh of work by the first week of March so keep checking.
It’s halfway to Hallowe’en so I painted this 3″ x 4″ study of a pumpkin this week just to remind me. Boo!
I’m Looking for my Tribe – Did something in this newsletter ring true for you? Or fire up an insight? Or, egad, did I over-look something obvious or get something wrong? Let me know by using the “Email Me” button below.
And if you know someone who asks similar questions or thinks similar thoughts, please share this newsletter. You could also use the Facebook and Twitter links below. Let’s find the others!
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a trouble with bad – Mercredi Express #6



Friends of mine love bad movies. They enjoy laughing at failed special effects, improbably motivated dialogue, absurd situations. They gather on Zoom or in rec rooms to heckle the screen with commentary every bit as witty as Mystery Science Theatre. (I have some extremely clever friends, by the way.) And I “get it,” — please invite me to the next screening!  We are surrounded by crappy exploitation/entertainment products, swimming in them, drowning in them. They appear relentlessly and there is power in choosing how we react. What I hate is how our hip decision to read these works creatively has itself become a market and a reason to make more crap. Our mockery made possible “Sharknado.” 

It’s enough to make me cynical about being cynical.

Because there are many “bad” movies that I genuinely love. The picture above is based on Tor Johnson in Ed Wood’s “Plan Nine from Outer Space” which I kind of love. As a movie, it is not masterful or even successful on any level, but it feels authentic. What little I know about Ed Wood’s life and work come from the far more successful movie “Ed Wood” directed by Tim Burton. I watch it every year to renew my sense of naive optimism which I feel is essential to creativity. The closing line of the movie sticks with me. Wood is settling in to watch the world premiere of Plan Nine and he says to himself, with genuine satisfaction,“This is the one. This is the one I’ll be remembered for.” The irony of his statement is that Plan Nine was later named the Worst Movie Ever Made by a couple critics in the mean-spirited Hollywood old boys network. It gave Wood’s work perhaps undeserved notoriety. I probably never would have seen Plan Nine if not for that reverse publicity.

The trouble with “bad,” for me, is when folks call an artwork “bad” primarily to dismiss folks who like it. “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum” expresses this sense. There are many shades of yuck, too. From self-aware trolling to self-oblivious comments when viewers just don’t get it. Some works are weird, hard-to-classify or just out of their time. To really be doing art, maybe as opposed to exploitation/entertainment, means your work will be misunderstood at least some of the time. And some works – lots of them, maybe MOST artwork at any moment – is simply not meant for you. Instead of jumping to label it bad, maybe be a better use of time to look for artwork that IS meant for you. 

It’s never been easier to find.

 WHAT MAKES YOU GO YUM? I love getting clarity on what I love and then focusing in on the aspects that make it so yum-worthy. I like to believe that this clarity and focus will help me attract more delight into my life, or at least recognize it when it appears.
One astute reader last week noticed that my Blue Mama stickers and magnets were NOT YET available in my ON-LINE ART STORE — To make amends, I will send one FREE to anyone who emails me their physical mailing address. Just tell me magnet or sticker.And from now on, anytime I SAY that a work is NOW AVAILABLE in the store and it is not, the first person to reply to my email WINS THE ARTWORK. I may ask the winner to pay for postage. That should keep things interesting.
I promised that this month would be “Monkey March” and I simply did not deliver so here are a couple apes from my archives. The one on the bottom mashes up a 70’s Dirty Harry hairstyle, riffing on the “damned dirty ape” idea.”You feel lucky, punk?”
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losing my head – Mercredi Express #5




Losing my head
…to Find my Work

Long-time subscribers will know my fondness for painting “tiny goddesses” (Check out an earlier newsletter about them here) These small studies let me let me settle into the work of painting. They allow me to forget the concerns I have outside the studio and set an intention for my session. Technically, I can practice wrapping light and dark tones around a shape to give the sense of a form. And I remember what it feels like to hold a brush. More spiritually, when I’m painting these ancient sculptures, I feel like I’m connecting with an artist from eons past. I’ve painted dozens of these little pieces and this particular one, “Blue Mama,” is where it all started.

This little goddess appeared when I was just showing up to do the work, not expecting anything great to happen. I mixed a couple shades of blue and started painting on the back of a failed painting that I’d cut up, rather irregularly (!), into practice panels. I was still learning to start with the darks and gradually move toward the lights, and I remember feeling rather amazed when the process worked, when the figure emerged. It felt like she rose out of the panel.

Blue Mama arrived when I was painting, not when I was worrying about painting. It felt significant that she did not have a head — and not just a chill reminder that misogynist violence against women even extends to representations of women. Sometimes for me to really embody my sense of creative abundance, the generosity I need to create, I need to lose my head. I was doing the Work, not the Worry.

Peter Elbow in his book “Writing Without Teachers,” describes two “games” artists can play with their work, the Believing Game and the Doubting Game. The believing game is that first flush of creativity, the divergent thinking where everything seems to fit into the work. It’s like being in love in Paris in the Springtime, drunk on new relationship energy. The Doubting game is that of shaping, cutting out, modifying and refining, measuring and testing. It’s like the love of an elderly partner regularly counting out a week’s pills for their Beloved. The Believer takes the lead during a first draft; the Doubter gets one through revision. Elbow’s point, I think, is they’re best done separately, alternating on the path to a final draft. I find these games both useful, especially as descriptions of extremes on a continuum. 

When I “lose my head,” I am NOT advocating for Believing over Doubting. Both Elbow’s games ask deeply artistic questions. They are games to stay IN the work. The head I lose helps me avoid another game, a head-game: Worry. Worries range from the obvious to the insidious, and they ALL lead away from the work. Blue Mama reminds me that sometimes something wonderful happens when I show up and stay in the work. 

HOW DO YOU STAY IN THE WORK? I am no poster child for worry management though I do have a couple tricks for when I find it hard to leave life concerns at the studio door. When I’m painting, I currently find an audiobook works – shout out to long-winded epic fantasy, in particular. My critical worrying brain loves to keep track of character names and places. When I’m writing, I find listening to groove-oriented jam-band instrumentals effective – shout out to Ozric Tentacles, in particular. These tricks are working for me right now… and they might not work for you. What does?


Would you like a reminder to “Do the Work, not the Worry?” I have made STICKERS and MAGNETS of Blue Mama and I will gladly send one for FREE to any newsletter subscriber. Just reply to this email address with a physical mailing address, and your choice of a sticker or magnet.
Blue Mama stickers and magnet are also available in my ON-LINE ART STORE . Here’s a tip to Newsletter Subscribers: make a note about your favorite button, sticker or magnet when buying a print or original, and you might find one tucked in with your order.
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“There Stands the Glass” Mercredi Express #4

There Stands the Glass
There are LOTS of songs about drinking, and in honor of St Patrick’s Day, let me share one of my favorites, “There Stands the Glass.” Webb Pierce had a hit with it back in 1953… and I cannot write that title without hearing his lilting, plaintive voice. Here’s a link to Pierce singing it on the Grand Ole Opry, so maybe it’ll catch in your brain as well. Wanda Jackson did a more smoky, sultry version in 1968 and Wikipedia informs me that nearly a dozen other performers have recorded it over the years.

Though it is technically a song about drinking (or preparing to drink), it is also a song about looking and about projecting a future mental state. That first, full glass will “ease my pain” and “settle my brain.” I find the candor of the lyrics almost embarrassingly direct, possibly because I grew up in a household devoid of alcohol, let alone this particular mental state. Yet it strikes me as familiar.

There is some similarity between an alcoholic and a working artist. Both have a practice, something done regularly if not daily. The key may be a physical trigger. For me, the smell of the solvent – the allegedly “odorless mineral spirits” – has an effect of settling my brain or at least of helping me settle in to work. For some artists, it’s the smell of pencil shavings or even sense of place, of just being in the studio. I’ve heard that real alcoholics call St Patrick’s Day “amateur hour.” For a working artist, doing the work is not a special occasion; it’s just what we do.

I illustrated today’s post with a sketch I painted for this occasion; it’s 6” x 6” oil on panel and like the song, it’s my first one. I have MUCH to learn about adding life, not just detail, to a still life. Even more than this Emerald Isle holiday, I was inspired mostly by the small still life paintings of Neil Carroll. Carroll is a real working artist, who sends out a nearly daily email featuring a new alla prima depiction of the small joys of every day, say, a dish of flowers. My favorites are his depictions of alcohol, a glass of stout or ale in various stages of consumption, or a shot of whisky. They are loose, impressionistic and full of energy. The foam is often a thick dollop of impasto paint. Not unlike the standing glass from the song, Carroll’s alcohol portraits make me thirsty… for paint. What triggers YOU to get into your practice?

Or to ask the same question backwards, do alcoholics ever get “alcohol block” like writers get writer’s block? Are there activities that give you pleasure and fulfillment that you inexplicably find difficult to do on a regular basis? What could be the positive intent behind that resistance?

P.S. Let me share another favorite song about drinking, Mary Gauthier’s “I Drink.” Read about its backstory at this link.
I added three fun items to the on-line store this week; a sticker, a magnet and a button with more designs soon to follow. I think my favorite is the Blue Cicada magnet pictured here. The original painting now hangs in the home of a dear friend, but I think these crunchy little darlings would look great crawling across anyone’s fridge or any metallic appliance. I’ve got two on my car’s gas cap cover. Why wait for 17 years when you can have your own colorful infestation?

Check out the “Fire Skull” button and the “Smiling Sabre Tooth” sticker by clicking on my ON-LINE ART STORE . Here’s a tip to Newsletter Subscribers: make a note about your favorite button, sticker or magnet when buying a print or original, and you might find one tucked in with your order.
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Look Again, Listen Again Mercredi Express #3


The Small Wonders Detroit show of 2019 was the first curated, gallery exhibit where I showed my work. The opening was a great night that I shared with friends and loved ones, and my piece sold even before I arrived at the gallery. But the MOST remarkable part of the evening had absolutely NOTHING to do with me or my art, and it’s an experience I treasure to this day.


The Small Wonders call for submissions asked artists to produce a work that fit within rather modest dimensions (4” x 5” as I recall) AND to create a shipping box for it. I took as much delight crafting this box as I did in framing my piece! When drop-off day arrived, these dimensions were carefully enforced. The check-in clerk wielded a ruler and I quipped “Is it to rap the knuckles of artists who didn’t read the guidelines?” 

“You wouldn’t believe what folks have tried.”

In truth, I WOULD believe it because I’ve edited several anthologies and easily half the submissions wildly ignored our guidelines. Suffice to say, Readers are Leaders… or at least have a better chance of getting work accepted.

I find the Small Wonders concept delightful on several levels. As an artist, it’s a productive challenge to create works within fixed limitations. As a viewer, this change of scale presents an invitation to look closer at things easily overlooked. Furthermore, smaller scale pieces often are reasonably priced, and I am a fan of anything that gets more original art on more folks’ walls. 

The opening night festivities featured tiny works on the walls, extremely short movies playing in a small auditorium…

…And a live performer. A karaoke singer.

He was not a very good karaoke singer, from what I could tell. A passably good voice but he was so socially awkward I found him painful to watch for more than a few seconds. Spectators were even laughing at him! I spent most of his first set hiding in a different room to avoid vicarious embarrassment. While I hid, I had several conversations with other artists — which is one of my favorite parts of any gallery show. During one chat, the topic came up of Satori Circus, a remarkable Detroit-based performer. (Seriously, check him out: http://satoricircus.com/) Satori Circus performs clever and wise, physically rich, mime-based pieces, wearing a distinctive style of face paint.

The other artist said, “You know that’s him, right? Performing in the other room.”

I squinted, uncomprehending. “I thought it was Konrad Lee.”

“Yeah, that’s his alter-ego.”

My mind was quietly blown. The next set, I sat in the front row center and was delighted by Konrad Lee’s brilliant recital of social awkwardness and nervous behavior. He performed a wild and weird variety of songs, each with a collection of carefully acted tics and forced musical groove. It was hilarious and poignant and quite masterfully done.

And I almost missed it entirely! I brought enough of my own social anxiety to the performance to effectively block my ability to take in what was really happening. The chance comment gave me a new pair of glasses, in effect, and helped me see the show. This effect could be alienating, like an “in-joke” only funny to those “in the know,” but that’s not what happened here. I suspect if I’d actually taken the time to watch the act, using enough courage to be emotionally and aesthetically vulnerable, I would have picked up on Konrad Lee’s act. I still take delight at how I experienced two different performers that night, all due to the furniture inside my head.

When have you allowed yourself to be vulnerable while experiencing new work? Did someone need to coach you to try? Did it pay off? What did you learn about yourself AND the work?
I painted four pieces for Small Wonders 2019. They use a similar color palette and have the same scale as the one I finally exhibited (and sold.) The three remaining pieces – “Grin #2, “Grin #3” and “Grin #4” – are available in my online store. They are reasonably priced because they are unframed… and because they are small wonders.

I continue to add items to my ON-LINE ART STORE as pieces sell so check back frequently.
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Monkey See… Mercredi Express #2

Planet of the Apes (1968) was my Star Wars (1977), a science-fantasy epic that I watched WAY too young to understand fully but which continues to shape my worldview. I saw it all chopped up with commercials on broadcast TV and that still did not dull the effect of the wonderfully jarring, beautifully alien score by Jerry Goldsmith or that Rod Serling inspired script. At my first viewing, I’d not seen The Twilight Zone, so POTA might have been my first taste of a bizarre narrative twist, that shift in perspective that changes everything. I was hooked.

And I’ve stayed hooked, in one way or another. From my current interests in New Weird fiction and Imaginative Realist painting, back to my graduate work studying Bertolt Brecht and his alienation/estrangement technique (Verfremdunseffekt) to my home decorating aesthetic of Wonderful Oddities, I owe a profound debt to those “damned dirty apes” and the sensation of productive surprise.

Is a synopsis needed? – A human astronaut, Taylor, crashes on a desolate planet. He easily reconciles himself to his fate, never to return to Earth, stating “Somewhere in the Universe, there has to be something better than man. Has to be!” Taylor discovers humans on this planet who live wild and free without the strictures of civilisation or language. He soon finds himself captured by armed, horse-riding gorillas and subjected to scientific experiments by curious, somewhat compassionate chimpanzees. Taylor attempts to gain freedom through appeal to the administrative orangutan class, fails and uses force to escape… alas, only to find a bizarre realization about humanity and destiny in the film’s final moments.

Though POTA is best remembered for the final reveal — do I really have to warn of spoilers after half a century? — delightful turns are sprinkled throughout the movie. Even as a kid, I got the joke when the orangutan politicos adopt the pose of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” The scene where the gorilla hunters pose for a photograph with a pile a dead human “game” gives a more chilling punchline. In the image above, I sketched Zira, one of the curious scientific chimpanzees, as she herself experiences a shift of vision. It occurs in the movie just after Zira discovers that Taylor, a mere human animal, can talk. It’s a moment when her whole worldview is challenged, and Zira is presented with an opportunity to see things differently. Zira largely rises to the challenge and confronts the power structure of her simian world in order to gain rights for Taylor. (There HAS to be fan-fiction somewhere telling the whole story from Zira’s point of view — if you know of it, please share.) To twist the adage, “Monkey sees differently, monkey DOES differently.”

To this day, I cherish moments when a narrative turns radically and in a surprising direction; that is, I enjoy them when they appear in art. When such disruptions, such opportunities for radical change appear in life, I fear I react more like Cornelius, Zira’s partner, who as I recall, would rather keep such revelations purely on the level of scientifically detached knowledge. Cornelius, come to find out, has discovered archeological evidence of intelligent humans which he hasn’t widely published for fear of reprisal. Cornelius prefers to see… and not do. In my actual life, I suspect I’m often more like Cornelius, sometimes like Zira, and hardly ever been actually threatened existentially like Taylor.

I painted this sketch of Zira early in the Miasma of 2020. It’s 4” x 5” oil on panel. I was inspired by a challenge from Michell Avery Koncyk (https://www.michelleaveryart.com/  who’s on Instagram as velvetmush) She intended to get through lockdown by painting a picture of an eye every day, and she encouraged other artists to do the same. I painted over a dozen eyes, from Neil Gaiman, Bela Lugosi, Tor Johnson to friend’s selfies and the self portrait I use as a logo. As studies, some worked better than others, and I learned a lot, mostly about what I yet need to learn. I respond well to dares and challenges, so I’m setting myself a “Monkey March” for my personal artwork. Fair warning: there may be more simian smiles in coming newsletters.

Is Productive Surprise what you need for yourself and your work?

When was the last time your own work surprised you? Were you open to changing your perspective and work habits? If your current project turned to you right now and spoke, what might it say? What are other radically different ways to consider what you do, ways that could open it up to be more productive, more just and inclusive, more fun…? How many different ways of seeing could you list in, say, five minutes with a pad and pen? Come up with something great? Share it with the “Email Me” button below

I continue to add items to my ON-LINE ART STORE as pieces sell so check back frequently.




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Tiny Goddesses Mercredi Express #1

You could say I’ve been “into” older women recently… specifically Paleolithic women memorialized in carved stone. The subject of the paintings shown above is the “Venus of Willendorf,” though there are many similar figures dating from 10,000 to 30,000 years ago. They are frequently called “Venus figurines,” though they predate temple worship of the specific deity Venus by several millennia. The original Willendorf carving is 4.4” tall which is not that much larger than the 3” x 4” panels I’ve been using.

Though scholars continue to debate the original significance of these figures, they function as tiny goddesses in my work. I paint them partially as a meditative practice, partially to warm up for longer painting sessions. I use the largest brush I can manage on these small panels, in order to focus on simplification, on describing the form with the fewest number of strokes necessary. The original sculptures are small yet their gestures are fluid and eloquent, their forms convey a definite personality. Since my work in recent months has focused on the human form, I feel a spiritual kinship across the millennia to whomever crafted them.

Painting these tiny preparatory studies has helped me learn to look past the details to see the simple elegance in shape. I am reminded of the 80/20 Pareto principle, the notion that 80% of the impact often comes from 20% of the effort. Effective work is not always a matter of piling on more minutiae. And oddly enough, it’s taken me months of work to begin to approach that kind of elegant simplicity.

Would something similar work for you and your work?

Could you better grasp your “big picture” by “going small?” Are there details getting in the way of the overall gesture? Can you convey your current project in a single sentence? A single word? It might take an hour of writing and revising to capture it… and that work might be worth the effort especially if you feel stuck. If you try this strategy, send me a message, whether it worked or not.

I will be giving away “tiny goddess” paintings all throughout June 2021 to celebrate my birthday. Watch for details in future letters. To see work available now, check out my ON-LINE ART STORE.