The Burren Residency: One Week In

I arrived at Shannon Airport on Tuesday morning.  While I didn't get my bags until Thursday, I believe I'm finally settled and can reflect upon my first week here.

 The Burren is an incredible place. Ecologically, it is quite unique. There are flowers and plants that grow and live and grow only here, and others that are only else found in the arctic or the south of France. The village of Ballyvaughn, which is just outside the Burren, has a population of about 280...that's people, not thousand. Life is very quiet here. There are a few lights in the village, but when I leave the pub to walk 30 minutes back to my rented flat, most of my walk is in darkness.  On clear nights, I am able to walk home in starlight. The moon is so bright for the lack city lights, that when it is full, it actually casts a shadow on the path I walk.

This quiet walk I take to the studios and to town is my meditation and my prayer.  It is in that time I feel the potential in myself and the waiting wisdom in the earth below my feet. I am surrounded and coated in the Spirit at these times.  It is so close, I can feel that holy breath in my own heartbeat, in my own rhythmic footsteps.

I live, work, and eat simply.  I find I very much like the lifestyle.  The freedom from many distractions has allowed me space to clear my head and opened me to subtler nuances in the land and in myself. The songs of Ben Taylor have been repeating themselves in my mind:

"Love, surround me with all your reach
Now while we're here alone
Now our bodies are ocean and beach
Blessings of waves and stones

Floating a lonely sound
You found me
And now that the tide is finally down

Surround me

Surround me

Surround me." 

The college is a very small community of undergraduate students, MFA students, administative folks, a few resident artists, and professors.  The studios are quiet, and though all the artists here seem to thrive on communal discussion and an open workspace, they are all individual workers, and contribute to an environment that encourages focus and creativity.  There is an air of both production and freedom here... It is a combination that in my experience, is hard to find.  I was less productive in the studio than I would have been, due to my delayed luggage, but I was able to finally begin work on a few paintings, and also complete a few sketches. 

Yesterday, I was able to go into Galway with a few of the MFA students and did a watercolor study at the Bay.  It was wondeful to be back at some of my old favorite spots again. It was perhaps painfully nostalgic too, but also romantic to sit down at the dock once again.

I have much to do this next week, and find myself with a very Irish attitude towards it all: I am neither anxious nor excited. Rather, I am content, and open, and present. I am home with every step I take, whether it be in my studio or through the Burren wild. I feel the Spirit, the great wisdom and creator heart pulsing in every act. 

My Curran-t Obsession...

Two weeks ago, I spontaneously took a trip to Pittsburgh, PA to view the current exhibition at the Frick: "Seeking the Ideal," a collection of works by Charles Courtney Curran.  I first was introduced to Curran when I was working at Mary Ran Gallery this past summer, and we acquired a small painting he'd done.  The piece was tiny, practically miniature at 5 x 7 inches, and the scene was simple: it depicted a nude woman, half in moonlit water, frontally facing the viewer with her long and flowing hair.  

I was entirely captivated by this painting. During the afternoons at the gallery, I'd often prop it out where I could look at it from my desk while answering the phones or taking inventory.  I was obsessed with the beauty of the moonlight and delicate handling of the pale and illuminated features off the women's flesh. Her pale skin reflected the cool blues and murky greens from the water and foliage behind her, and I was absorbed in the boldness with which the painter had placed those colors throughout her body, so deliberately and so confidently. 

Naturally, when Mary, the gallery owner, purchased a copy of catalogue of the Curran show coming to the Pittsburgh museum (several months prior to the show's opening, at this point), I became obsessed.  The placement of his figures. The handling of his landscape. The unique color palette. The delicate rendering of backlit scenes in the garden and the fields. The careful attention to detail but effortless mark. Pouring over the pictures in the book, I vowed to attend the show as soon as I could make it, despite the several hours of driving or my hectic work schedule.

Sure enough, I found myself with an open weekend just two days after the show opened. I took my chance and was so, so glad that I did.

It is hard to describe the way I felt walking into the exhibit.  I was overcome with awe, more than anything.  I truly marveled, and found myself in such wonder that I seemed to stop thinking, stop analyzing. I simply absorbed, looked on, looked in. I feel a deep intimacy with Curran's work, and doesn't entirely have to do with the work itself. It has a great deal more to do with, as the title of the show suggests, a "seeking of the ideal."

I have a feeling I'll have plenty more to say about Curran in the future, so I may pause here, and offer more on the subject as I continue to discover my new relationship with this fascinating collection of works.

My Fellow Passengers and Park- benchers: A Series of Sketches

Since arriving in NYC on Saturday, I have already sketched a good dozen people or so, most of them being on the bus ride here, or the train in the morning to the evening. People are surprisingly still at these times of day, most often because social code conducts them to be so, but also because they're tired, from the night before or from the day they had.

In this city, it's easy to see why.  It's exhilarating and exhausting all at once.  I feel like a scientist on the train rides--analytical and calculating, trying to capture the light on that man's cheekbones, or the bridge of that women's nose.  There's so much to record, and I know that there is a good chance the subjects will move at any moment.

Despite my initial technical approach, I find that my drawings make me more interested in the people around me.  I find myself biting my tongue, keeping myself from interrupting their brief rest to ask them their names, their history.

As I trace the lines below their eyes on my paper, I yearn to know what these people do that had merited such a permanent trace of tiredness.  As I shade the wrinkles by their lips, I want to ask what has made them laugh, and who they kiss at the end of the day, or if they have anyone at the end of the day to begin with. Sometimes I wonder if they've even got a home to go back to or if their day is really just starting, rather than ending. I want to know what kind of work they do, and why they do it.  

These people cannot know that I am still thinking of them hours, or even days later, but I am.  Whether my drawing skills are actually improving for it, I can't say.  But I can attest to the fact that these sketches change the way I think about people, and if believe it's stirred a Divine curiosity and communal love in me, somewhere in my heart.

Preparing to Travel Again

In preparation for my upcoming trip to NYC to take a workshop with Ellen Eagle and visit my main squeeze (and by that I mean my boyfriend--although the Met is not far behind on that priority list), I've been getting some materials ready to go, the most important being my pastels.  I spent about three hours dividing them, sharpening them, arranging them and moving them until I was totally ready to pack them up and take them in a ten hour bus ride. 

I tried to save the shavings because I know I'll use them to make new pastels later on.  I had to find a new way to pack up my pastels, rather than just keeping them in the box like I do when working in my own studio.  I used an old ArtBin container (see similar here) I have, and placed thin packing foam on the bottom for my NuPastels and hand-rolled pastels (I tend to use a lot of binder when I make them).  I used these nifty pastel wraps for my softer pastels, generally Rembrandts. I tried to arrange my palette by temperature, as well as hue.  

It's not quite as perfect as I'd like, nor is my collection of pastels nearly as big as I'd like it to be, but traveling often means making compromises and I'm okay with that.  As long as I can put them in a backpack as I'm walking the streets of NYC, I'm going to be just fine.

Getting Outside: Working en Plein Air

I've spent a lot of the last few weeks making an effort to go and work outside.  The chance to learn new skills is always a motivator, of course, but there are other appealing aspects to working 'en plein air.'  

A late Sunday afternoon at the Nexus Community Garden by Xavier University.

A quick stop at Coffee Emporium in Hyde Park.

Painting outside is something very new to me.  I have spent a lot of time in the studio, breaking my back over tables and straining my eyes under fluorescent lighting, trying to perfect my colors and sharpen my drafting.  I finally purchased a couple easels for myself-- one Julian French easel, and one 6x8 Guerilla thumbox, for smaller works and trips.

Having the essentials sitting in my car trunk at all times, I really can't find any excuses to NOT be making art.  

I find that expanding my studio also means expanding my process.  My sensitivity to light and shape and composition are heightened, and I am always looking for a free twenty minutes to steal away from the rest of the world and work.  Coffee shops patios, nearby parks, community gardens and nature preserves have all become my workspace.

My view from a spot at Kelley Nature Preserve near Millford.

Maybe "steal away" isn't the best term.  Perhaps what I should say is that I'm leaving one form of consciousness and willingly immersing myself in another.  This other form of awareness encourages me to bend down and look closer, to first embrace and receive my surroundings, and then to work with them as I paint.

Emily Boutilier caught me in action.  Sitting in spotty lighting wasn't a great idea for painting, but it was a lot cooler.

There are so many things I'm learning about painting plein air.  So much of my training and usual process doesn't translate in this environment.  I usually like to layer my paintings, but when you are working outside, layering is the kiss of death.  With plein air, the best approach is to block in the entire painting at once--major colors and shapes.  Admittedly, I'm not very good at this yet.  But I do love working outside, and I've learned that passion and a willingness to learn tend to get you a lot farther than talent alone.  I may not be comfortable with my paintings, but I'm very much okay knowing that this is only the beginning of a very long relationship I hope to have with my outdoor easels.

Portrait Process - Trying Grisaille

It was my first time with this process, and this is how it went.  I used my friend Emily as a model for a portrait, and used Old Holland Zinc White (a little less transparent than Titanium White) and Ivory Black for my underpainting.  I also made sure my underpainting was thick enough to offer the glazes something to stick to for later on.  It couldn't be too smooth.

After that, I used a reduced French triad palette to glaze--Old Holland Indian Red/Flesh Ochre and Yellow Ochre.  This gave the flesh an flat and fake-tan look, but I had to be patient and trust the process.  The background was first thinly covered with OH Green Oxide, then I added some OH King's Blue Light, OH Yellow Ochre Light,  a small amount of OH Pthalo Green and Schvenigan Warm Grey for some of the darker areas on the right side.  Then I layered it up with Liquin and prepped for the next layer, hence the glare in the photo.

After that, I added some Williamsburg Cad Red Light and OH Yellow Ochre Light, adding in some OH Naples Yellow Deep for bringing up highlights. 

At this point, I began to use some higher key values in my highlights with colors like OH Nikel Yellow and Wmsbg Brilliant Yellow Pale.  They helped considerably in showing the protuberant areas of the chin, cheekbones and forehead. I liquined, as I had been doing between all the layers. I also went back in to correct a few drawing problems and go over the hair with copious amounts of OH Ivory Black, OH Sepia Extra and a little OH Raw Umber. Added some other finishing details, like the highlights on the pupils and the sclera, the highlights on small spots like the eyelid and fingernails, and the glazed shadow beneath the lips.

The past three months have been overflowing with change for me:  I've moved twice, started working three new jobs, left one job to pick up another, and have been attempting to paint in between all of them.  Amongst it all, I've been painting in an almost-set up studio, and finished a portrait in an ancient process that is new to me: grisaille.  Grisaille (pronounced gra-SIGH) is a French technique in which the entire subject is laid down in black and white at full value (making the under painting entirely monochromatic) and the colors are thinly layered in glazes until they fully cover it and bring it up to full color range.

After adding those highlights to the face to test the waters, I continued into the hands.  After doing that, I realized that I had lost some important contrast and added some Schminke Translucent Brown Oxide, along with some OH Sepia Extra to go back in on top of those darker areas, and even added some more OH Flesh Ochre to warm it up.  I also chose to add some OH Schvenigan Warm Grey to darken and warm the background corner, and threw some of it into the creases on the shirt to heighten the contrast there as well. 

After oiling it out with Liquin a few more times, it was finally ready for the frame. And voila! A finished portrait, grisaille style.  Maybe in a few months it might get a nice varnish.  But for now, it's getting prepped to hang in the group invitational show at Mary Ran Gallery.