I love Venice. So romantic even more so because my husband proposed to me in that magnificent city. Architecture, patina of the buildings, window designs, the mysticism of all those narrow alleys where John Singer Sargent's women once wandered. Magic which I would love to catch on campus. This is the beginning of this painting. Will give updates from time to time as I work on it.
It has been a while since I have written a blog. Time has been spent in producing art and marketing art in this dismal economic environment. Time spent in organizing for a Taos Studio Tour. Time doing what I felt needed to be done in order to weather the economic storm.
There comes a time, however, when one begins to ask questions: Should I resort to the "art of the times" and paint what people think one should be painting or should I continue to do what resonates with my heart and soul? Is there ever a time when an artist paints what sells versus what makes him or her alive with the act of creating? It is at times like these that I pick up Gerhard Richter's book The Daily Practice of Painting. Richter appears to be one of those artists who has walked to his own beat and continues to do so. He puts a realistic and at the same time cynical spin on the art business.
In the book the interviewer continues to talk with Richter re:his abstractions which he, the interviewer, has found not to be beautiful. In response to whether an artist has to be a great painter to "get away with painting such pictures," Richter responds: "A great painter–once I used to think I ought to paint like the "great masters’, and of course I couldn’t. I felt it to be a terrible lack in me, I thought I basically wasn’t a painter at all but a fraud, just pretending to be one. It was a long time before I realized that what I do–the desperate experimentation, all the difficulties–is exactly what they all do; that’s the normal nature of the job. That’s painting." (206)
His words express the struggle which painters go through regardless of style. I think it is probably more difficult for the painter who falls outside the "acceptable marketable genre" of the existing market. I am asked time and again whether I paint landscapes, a very marketable genre here in Taos. Sometimes, but not often is my answer. My paintings come from a different place, a place deep within my spirit that talks to something even I am not sure of, but which I know that I must continue to do.
Painting: Where are the Answers? Oil on Canvas, 38" X 38" (framed size), $2900 (USD)
The psychology of painting continues to intrigue me. What is it that makes an artist tick? In asking this question perhaps I am trying to find the answers to my own inner ticking. Some days I think I have the answer and then a strange form appears on the canvas with no where or why from whence it came.
Last night I turned to an article on Oscar Bluemner (1867-1938) in an old issue of Art in America (January, 2006). His life, unlike the vibrant colors of his paintings, was a story of penury, ultimate isolation, and subsequently suicide in 1938. Training as an architect in Germany and his emotional isolation in later life "appear" on the canvas side by side in his later works of the 30s–strong angular lines combined with curved swirling form almost as if depicting his inner maelstroms. According to the author, Richard Kalina, Bluemner felt that "art’s primary mission was not to depict the exterior world, but to illuminate the inner being of the artist." (99). And he seemed to do just that.
So what are my images telling the world about me? Several of my paintings focus on a woman standing alone or apart from peers. I have always felt a bit apart from most of my female peers. I would rather delve into issues of the world and solutions for problems than talk about the bargains at Costco. Then there are the medieval arches forming entrance into towns such as Avignon, one of my favorite towns in Provence. The Palais des Papes and I am not even Catholic. Long robed figures that could be religious icons from other times and places. I know that I operate from a spiritual place combining beliefs and values of other religions–more a compilation of parts of theological underpinnings instead of the theology of the religion I knew as a child. Just the fact that I ask these questions tells a lot about my past career as a diagnostic specialist working with learning disabled children. A PhD with reading and training in giving psychological tests, analyses of those tests, etc.
Regardless of what it is that makes me tick, I continue to paint, think, and write.
