Ode To The Ritual

Before the phrase "What is this?!" or something of the like goes through your head, have no fear; this is not a painting of mine. In fact, it's not a painting at all.

You got it; the mishmash of paint above is actually a cropped portion of my beloved studio apron (Special thanks to Jason, my fabulous impromptu photographer. Also, please ignore the mid-laugh goober expression on my face; I was trying explain that walking outside one's studio to find a photographer out and about was completely commonplace).

This apron, nonetheless, has held an active role in my painting career for almost 6 years now. It's from Hobby Lobby, it cost me $2.00 (yes, that's exact. My lazy self never actually removed the price sticky from the inside tag), and probably has about $100.oo worth of dried paint on it currently. I bought it initially for my first painting class at UGA, and it has stayed with me ever since. And when I mean stay, I mean it has been used for nearly every painting since that first class. It is so covered in paint that it can no longer bend, and the pockets have been painted shut. Regardless, I wear it anyway.

I like to equate the apron to rituals and superstitions that athletes are often reported to possess. These rituals are often created by accident, often actions that an athlete notices after a pivotal performance, and then tries to establish a cause and effect. Whether the ritual truly works, it is certain that it boosts confidence, and without a doubt establishes a sense of control of the athlete's performance. However, I think this practice of establishing a performance ritual can be applied to any performance, especially fine art.

With that notion, my apron is my ritual. While I never had a pivotal performance that made the apron a requirement, it allows my creature-of-habit self to have a sense of control. I put it on before every painting, and in doing so it gets me in the "zone". I turn everything else off, visual what I want to create, and begin the game.

Diptych

"Salmon Roll", oil on canvas, 12" x 36"

A traditional diptych is defined as two panels that are linked by a functional hinge, to form an almost book like structure. Traditionally made of ivory or other precious material, these diptychs were often held in the highest regard, due to their rare material (obviously) and the skill it required to create such masterpieces.

Later on, the link between the diptych became more of a metaphorical presence, and often panels were placed next to each other, due to either their similarities or conversation that sparked between the separate panels.

Typically I shy away from diptychs, mostly because the ones I see today are often too open ended, or simply look like the artist should have just used one larger canvas instead of trying to make it interesting with two. However, the piece above and the piece from yesterday's post makes a perfect diptych in my eyes, for they form what we often see placed before us on a plate, but on canvas. The gorgeous rows of sushi I always admired, so I figured why not abstract and enlarge them to truly make a work of art? Just an idea, of course. What do you think?

$400.00 each (+ tax and shipping) SOLD

COMMISSIONS AVAILABLE EMAIL ME

With A Side of Ginger

"Nigiri", oil on canvas, 12" x 36"

Some paintings I create are not my favorite. Yes, I like them, but when I see them after I paint an overwhelming since of accomplishment, or rather an Emeril like "Bam!" does not go off in my head.

However, even if I sound vain, I must admit the painting above is a "Bam!" painting for me. What makes me enjoy the painting more than others is it's subject; I feel like I am painting something different. I also had several technical problems to deal with (white on white is not a fun game. If white on white was painted at the Paris Salon back in the day, you could bet that artist got an extra point. Google "Lady in White Painting" if you don't believe me), along with making a gigantic piece of sushi look appealing.

There will be more sushi to come, as I am preparing for the show in Atlanta in June. No pun intended, I'll keep you posted.

$400.00 (+ tax and shipping) SOLD

COMMISSIONS AVAILABLE EMAIL ME

Exposed

"Exposed", oil on canvas, 30" x 40"

You read that correctly. The piece above is 30" x 40", a.k.a. a giant one. I have been preparing for a show to be held at my cousin's home next week, and thus have been painting smaller paintings, to keep costs down for patrons and to ultimately make my work more accessible in a smaller, more private setting. My studio can not hold any more paintings for that show (once again, roommates are giving me the eye... my work is starting to spill out into the dining room) so I have moved on to the next big thing (no pun intended).

I'm having a show at Cherry Lion Gallery in June, and because of the fantastic space I have the opportunity to paint my large scale still lives I've been itching to do. The above piece is the first attempt, and I believe it was a successful one. What I like most about painting on such a large scale is the ability to give a subject more life, more energy, more variety (in marks, color) than I ever could on a small canvas. It is almost as if, when a starting with such a large blank surface it challenges me, saying. "What now?" And then I get to work, lost in paint and thought.

$700.00 (+ Tax and Shipping)

EMAIL ME

Inspiration

"Home", oil on canvas, 16" x 16"

"Good Artists Copy. Great Artists Steal."

(Pablo Picasso)

Picasso seems to imply that nothing is original, and maybe that is true. I often draw my inspirations and ideas from multiple sources, making nothing truly my own, even if the combination of ideas comes from only me. I am okay with this thought, because I feel obligated to respect the artists and work that came before me that lent opportunity to not only create work but allow me to see it a certain way.

My go-to inspiration are the Impressionists; the way they lived their lives, created work, and overall banded together to create such a movement that would forever change the way we see everyday life of their time. I discovered more about my beloved impressionists yesterday, by getting lost in a book on the subject at Barnes & Noble, and before I knew it I was 100 pages in. (I did feel a little guilty about this, since I did not intend to buy the book, so justified my stolen knowledge by purchasing a cheap paperback on Julia Child, another major inspiration and a subject for another post). I became so caught up in the vivid palette and work ethics of Mary Cassatt (if you are not familiar with this famed artist, go look her up. She's my re-discovered hero. Fabulous painter, considered a true impressionist, and on top of that a WOMAN, something that until not too long ago was considered very taboo) that I immediately went home locked myself in my studio, and painted whatever canvas I had available. The above painting, a gorgeous turning peach, is one result of such a powerful inspiration.

"Home" is currently available at The Gallery @ Lime Tree in Decatur, GA.

EMAIL ME

Let's Just Say I'm Going Green

"In Good Faith", oil on canvas, 16" x 20"

It has been said that the old masters of art used to scrounge trash bins for their students' old paint tubes to scrape whatever paint was possibly left to use on their own work (I have to admit I like to romanticize this thought a bit, throwing a little bit of a Sherlock Holmes setting in, picturing these famed artists creeping about in the shadows, capes on, grabbing what little paint they could and rushing back to their studio to paint all night to create the masterpieces we know and love today).

Trading in the cape for old jeans (covered in paint) and the trash bin for my beloved Binders, I feel the need to scrounge and save the precious medium that is my oil paint. Stressful at times, naturally, but such a dilemma of saving paint while still maintaining my love for a "Juicy" painting has lead to me constantly play with application and process.

Let's take today's painting for example:


In attempt to save paint from the previous painting I used what was left on my brush to paint the first layer of the background to the painting. It allowed a different color palette than what I normally would have chosen, and I enjoy the muted tone of the background that allows for the magenta swatch on the pear to really sing.

Painting the background first also allowed for the edges of the pear to automatically be softened, and provided little conflict with the overall marriage of subject and space. I feel like it is a common problem for a painter to get so wrapped up in the subject of the piece that when they get to the background it either becomes an afterthought or they struggle with what to paint. Painting the background first solves both of those problems and allows for more opportunity to let the subject shine.

Nevertheless, such a practice leads me to wonder: What masterpieces were throughly planned out, and which ones had traces of happy accidents due to the selectiveness of our precious medium?

Can't get enough of your pears: $300.00 (+ Tax and Shipping) EMAIL ME