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It’s that time of year that challenges painters who live in the snowy North. There’s not enough warmth or light to make painting outdoors a satisfying experience, while the possibilities of white views out the studio window are exhausted rather quickly. For this mostly-landscape painter, at least.

One artist I’m acquainted with uses her summer paintings as a starting point for new work (great idea!). Many others use photo references as a substitute for going outside to paint. As for me, I’ve tried some of both. This week I also opted for painting exclusively from my imagination, a strategy that might work better if I were more imaginative; alas, whatever painting gifts I may have do not seem to lie in that direction.

After several snowbound days spent flailing about in the imaginative realm, I started trolling the Internet for ideas. Scrolling through endless posts of other artists on Facebook inspired and depressed me in equal measure. I could try this style, I mused. Or that subject. Or that palette.  Or that format. And, on and on and on.

Finally, I happened (in desperation) upon an instructional You Tube video. Perhaps you’ve enjoyed, as I did long ago, the PBS programs offered by that fuzzy-headed painter of happy trees, Bob Ross. Well, this wasn’t a Bob Ross video, but it did feature another PBS art teacher, a painter named Stephan Baumann who paints a lot in the national parks. His title, “Painting Trash Calling It Fine Art,” caught my eye.

Like some other viewers, I thought the video might be a critique of all the less-than-great paintings that pass for art these days. Since I was in a mood to agree with this I decided to watch, even though part of me knew I was wasting my time. I was surprised, however, that this was not a commentary on contemporary art but actually, quite brilliantly, about literally painting trash and doing it beautifully.  It proved to be just the ticket I needed for getting me back on track with my work.  

In the video Baumann talks about an assignment he’d given one of his classes. He’d asked them the previous week to make 5 paintings of a crushed plastic bottle. Apparently only 2 people in the class had attempted the homework. One person had made one painting, the other one attempted three versions. Clearly, the assignment had not appealed. The subject was perhaps not romantic enough, not useful enough. It was, after all, trash.

For me, however, it was gold. After a few days spent mushing around with imagined flowers and bad interpretations of other people’s ideas, I was ripe for the exercise of painting something I could actually look at. A brief scrounge through the recycling yielded a (mostly) rinsed out ketchup container and lid. I set up a small table and started arranging a Still Life with Dead Ketchup Bottle.

Heaven! As I began to paint I was reminded of how I love looking at light shining on and through a transparent object. (I stomped on the container first so it would appear even more trashy/interesting.) I love how painting asks that I look more and more closely at the thing in front of me. I love how, if I look carefully and paint well enough, I actually begin to see what’s there, to feel its existence as a Presence in the world. It doesn’t matter if the thing before me is a crunched up plastic bottle with remnants of ketchup clinging to its innards – the point of the exercise is not to make a pretty picture. Rather it is to look – using paint as a medium – until I see.  

I’m grateful to Stephan Baumann for reminding me not to paint simply to bring more paintings into the world. Righteous painting, as in the studies he suggests, awakens something that can perceive what’s good and true and beautiful in whatever is right in front of me. On fair weather days, it might be a lovely landscape; on other, less clement days, it might appear as a bunch of trash. Either way, my assignment is to look and keep painting until I see the essence of what’s before me. And, if I’ve looked well enough, while there might not be romance or prettiness, something in what I've painted might hint at the Original Beauty of the Big Picture.

Three down, two to go.

Thanks for looking!

Ellie

I’ve been thinking a lot the past several weeks about what constitutes success for me as an artist.

When I received notice in mid-December that one of my paintings had been accepted into a show in New York City, I was understandably excited. After all, NYC is a kind a mecca in the art world and, as the song goes, “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” And, in a small way, I evidently have made it there. It seems important, however, to ask: What is that it?

For me, painting has mostly been about the sheer delight of creating. Success means having managed to allow an art idea to find expression through me. It means that I showed up, shoved distractions aside and then did the work of applying paint to canvas. Often, I love what results, or keep I working until I do.

Once the painting is complete, I do the additional work of making the painting available to be enjoyed by others. To me this is also part of the creative process. It’s not enough to simply make a painting; an important part of the job is valuing it and delivering it to the world. This involves a lot of stuff like writing blogs, making ads, accounting, applying to shows, hosting open studios and other non-painting activities.

I’m fortunate in that I enjoy most of the activities associated with making and selling my art and, over the years, I’ve gotten fairly competent at doing them. I’ve also grown as an artist and am able to make a living as an artist. In my day to day existence, all of this has been enough success to satisfy me, more than I’d ever imagined when I first started painting in 2003.

Some part of me, however, has begun to long for something more. The same part of me, perhaps, that wants to paint on large canvasses also yearns to bring those paintings to a larger audience. When I saw (on Facebook) the opportunity to submit for the Prince Street Gallery 8^th National Juried Exhibit, I didn’t think twice. I sent 6 images for consideration and didn’t think a whole lot more about it.

That was way back in October. As the time for learning the juror’s result drew closer, I did find myself wondering how my work might measure up in the eyes of a professional artist such as Graham Nickson. When I didn’t receive any notice from the gallery by the published date in mid-December, however, I was pretty sure I didn’t make the cut.  I was okay with that. I just kept painting—it’s what I do!

Although the notice came a couple of days late, it did actually bring news of the acceptance of one of my paintings. And, when I learned how many submissions there had been, it was easy to get a bit puffed up. This is success! I thought to myself, and gave myself a nice pat on the shoulder. And, then, I entered a long period of intense insomnia.

What’s this about? I wondered (when I finally thought to inquire). Without going into every detail of my ongoing introspection, I believe I’ve been experiencing a version of what’s popularly referred to as Fear of Success. As I don’t typically get bothered by fears, I would never have thought I’d succumb to this one. But, there it is!

I believe in my case Fear of Success may have to do with old family patterns (yawn!) that want to be healed (yay!). I’m grateful that the more I explore the origins of the insomnia, the better I’ve been sleeping. And, while writing this, I just received word that more of my family (the ones I was afraid might not fully embrace my success), want to come to the Opening in New York! Inner work wins the day again!

Now, it’s time to paint. It’s still the most satisfying thing I do and my greatest success. Please, if you want to celebrate with me, I’d love for you to come on Saturday, February 6 (3-6 p.m.) to Prince Street Gallery, 30 W. 25^th Street, NYC.  You’ll likely meet a lot of my family!