Ancient Artist: Developing an art career after 50

Overcoming Creative Inertia

The internet is a wonderful thing - it provides immediate access to what artists and artisans around the world are thinking, doing, and writing about. For me, there seems such a high level of familiarity, similar experiences, similar artistic directions, and opinions that I begin to feel part of a larger shared human experience. 

Which sometimes isn't such a wonderful thing.

Because as soon as I settle in to that comfortable seat in the midst of this shared human experience, inertia sets in.

I can feel my creative juices draining away. 

My sense of having an individual unique voice drains away.

It's a feeling akin to crossing a mudflat, where the ground slowly gives way and you sink deeper and find it so much harder to move forward until suddenly you realize - you're stuck. 

This year I've put in almost as much energy resisting Inertia as I have in improving my painting technique.  I've tried many approaches, but here are a few that have worked well.

• I stopped painting small format and went big.  Really big.
• I started to study an art discipline completely different from painting - not with the intention of switching over but just to get my brain working with new thought patterns.
• I read books about subjects unrelated to art - right now I'm reading books about the Grail Legend and Alchemy.  
• I stopped reading Art Marketing books.

I realized sometime back that I had unconsciously slowed my art production because of the recession - I reduced the sizes of my paintings, I looked at the finished work that was slowly filling up my storage area, and I found it more difficult than ever to get truly excited about a new painting.  Inertia.  They say it's the natural state of the natural world.  Sort of like those brush hairs stuck in the dry paint. 

But artists have a solution to that. 

Don't they?

 

Sunday Salon: Growing Up on the Hem of My Mother's Skirt: The making of an Art Quilter/Fiber Artist Winifred Sanders, by Catherine M. Lamkin

I recently posted Sunday Salon: Sitting Down with Dawn Goldsmith, about a talented woman who "quilts" with words and marvels at the serendipitous way important connections flow into her life.  So it's no surprise another serendipitous connection came as a result. 

Catherine M. Lamkin immediately emailed to tell me about her mother, a traditional quilter who "kicked traditional quilting to the curb and became an art quilter.  At the age of 68 she had a two women show in an art gallery and sold over $1,000.00 worth of her work.  She is 77 years old now and I am very proud of her. Her work is featured in Quilting African American Women's History. I am in that book as well. If you go to africanamericanartquilters.com and click on Collaboration Quilts and click on Winifred Sanders you will see my mother's piece titled "Hair Hair Hair or Maybe Knot."

You will also see Catherine M. Lamkin's collaboration quilt, titled "Cotton Eyed Joe for Nina Simone." Another serendipitous connection, since Nina Simone has long been an inspiration of mine. 

I love celebrating the accomplishments of "Ancient Artists" and both Winifred Sanders and her daughter Catherine M. Lamkin are true inspiration.  So I contacted Ms. Lamkin to see if I could host her mother for a Sunday Salon.  She graciously replied by sending me this fascinating essay:

 

Growing Up on the Hem of My Mother’s Skirt: The making of an Art Quilter/Fiber Artist   Winifred Sanders

 

    When my mother came to Charleston for my father’s memorial service she presented me with the apron that I made in sewing class in l966. I can remember how proud I was when I brought it home and showed it to my mother, the professional seamstress. To me this pink apron with the embroidered tea cup on the pocket was a gorgeous apron. Looking at it in 2003, it seemed crude with its uneven stitches. This gift from childhood brought back so many memories of sewing and literally growing up on the hem of my mother’s skirt, poncho, evening gown, you name it. .... 

 

    Some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths and grow up in a life of privilege, others are not. My mother was one of those others. If she could have been born with anything in her mouth, I would have to say it would be a silver needle. The granddaughter of a quilter she was born in 1932 in Harlem Hospital. The daughter of Gullah Geechie parents who migrated north from James Island, carrying suitcases packed with southern traditions and the promise of a better life without Jim Crow. My grandparents did not find the hope and the promise they were looking for, but instead, found two broken hearts. Splitting up, when my mother was three, my grandmother returned to South Carolina leaving her daughter in Harlem. Two years later my grandfather died in the T.B. outbreak, leaving his mother Delia Deas Smalls and his sister Anna to raise my mother. 

    My great grandmother was born in 1886 and died in l980. Upon arriving in Harlem in the mid 1900 she worked as a domestic, her daughter Anna Smalls worked in a factory until she lost her right arm in an accident. Despite the loss of her right arm, Anna Smalls who learned to sew and quilt from her mother continued to do so throughout her entire life. It was these two women who taught my mother how to sew and how to create.  

    I cannot remember a moment in my life when my mother was not making something.  The hum of her Singer sewing machine was my lullaby, gently rocking me to sleep stitch by stitch as she sewed deep into the night. Stitching and mending, hemming, and sewing, but most importantly always creating. I believed sewing was her first true love, long before she met my father.  At times I was embarrassed by all this creativity.  As embarrassed as a teenager can get after spending one’s entire life shopping in Macy’s Department store for fabric. Macy’s elevator, back then made an announcement as it stopped on each floor. “Fourth floor women and girls department”. I always wanted to get off on the fourth floor, but we never did. Always departing on five, greeted by bolts of velveteen piled sky high. My dreams of shopping for real clothes, were buried deep inside pattern books.   As if the clothes my mother made were not real and beautiful. As if she did not pour more love than any factory worker could ever pour into the skirts she hemmed for me.  Of course my clothes were real but I believe everyone experiences a moment of stupidity in their life. And that was mine. Thinking my mother’s creations were anything less than real, and having the guts to tell her so. I hope she has found it in her heart to forgive the teenager in me.   Every now and then you will find my twelve year old daughter and I in Hancock searching through fabric and pattern books.

 

    My mother attended Central Needle and Trade High School now known as Fashion Industries High School. Today, graduates attend Fashion Institute of Technology; when my mother graduated in l950, girls went straight to the Triangle Shirt Factory. My mother went to work in a panty factory, and hated every moment of it. She quit that job when she married my father, but never gave up her first love. In the 1970's she began to work outside the home teaching sewing and crafts to seniors. This experience transformed my mother; she discovered the art within her soul. In l989 she began to make cloth dolls. Watching my mother create in this way was fascinating for me, but not as fascinating as what was to come. She joined Women of Color Quilters Network and began using her sewing machine as a paintbrush creating wonderful art quilts. Was this my mother the professional seamstress, daughter and granddaughter of traditional quilters cutting loose, breaking from tradition and her “sewing roots”?  Non- traditional quilter in the house! In l998 after learning of her niece’s death, filled with sadness, my mother turned to her art and created a piece for me representing the three most important women in her life. This is a delightful piece full of hope and love. The three women in the artquilt are her grandmother, aunt and daughter.   Each is wearing a black and white dress made from fabric from my great grandmother’s and aunt’s clothing.. We are all dancing.

    On June 20, 2003 my father died, two days before their 51st wedding anniversary. Throughout my mother’s artistic transformation, my father was her greatest supporter. In the last year of my father’s life, my mother put her art on hold. Every now and then she would say, “I can’t really do much with my quilting now that your father is ill”. The desire to create burned dimly during my father’s illness, bursting into flames months after his passing. Her first art quilt after his death was exquisite.  

 

    Often my mother would call me to share an idea, or tell me about a project that she was working on. Rarely did she ask me what I thought; clearly she knew where she was going and how she was going to get there. In 2000, at the age of 68, she had arrived; she was offered the opportunity to participate in a two-woman show. This was a major turning point in my mother’s life, the fiber artist. A point of validation, selling several pieces of work.  It was a proud moment for this fourth generation quilter. I too have cut lose, broken from tradition and consider myself a budding art quilter.  But as my mother would say, we all started off as traditional quilters, keeping a little bit of tradition close to our hearts, but moving to new heights, moving on.

    On Sunday, November 19, 2006 my mother and I attended the closing reception for “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around”:  Quilters of Color of New York exhibit at the Fuller Craft Museum, in Brockton, Mass. This is the first time that I have exhibited my work and the first time that I have exhibited my work with my mother. Like mother like daughter.

 

Catherine M. Lamkin, lives with her husband and daughter in Charleston., South Carolina.  She has written poetry and has been published in numerous anthologies

 

 

Staying Creative During Distracting Times

This is my favorite time of year. I love seeing friends, having family visit, preparing festive meals - except for one thing.  This is also the time of the year when I feel the most distracted from my creative work.

I've tried to carve out studio time - but that hasn't worked.  Trying to ignore my withdrawal symptoms  makes them worse.  I want to be relaxed, to enjoy the days without the nagging worry that I'm supposed be doing something else.

This season I've decided on a different approach.  I've set my intention to use this time to step away from what I normally do creatively and learn something new.  I've been researching methods of paper making, and find myself fascinated by handmade books as sculpture and ephemeral art objects.  I've spent peaceful and creative moments gathering leaves and twigs from my yard and evenings curled up with books such as Bookcraft by Heather Weston. I'm learning about end papers, binders board, and reading paper making recipes. I'm discovering new inspiration - and because I can fit this activity around family gatherings and busy times I'm not worried that I'm missing out on something important - be it family or creatively oriented.

Discovering this coping method has been a priceless gift.  When I find myself unable to create during distracting times it can affect my ability to enjoy the important aspects of life outside my creative space. 

But finding a way that allows me to both enjoy the distractions while filling me with a new enthusiasm for when I can get back to the studio is empowering. It allows me to be present in the moment. 

Nobody knows better than you do where your soft underbelly of insecurity resides.  For me it's the fear that if I don't keep running faster and faster I'll slip to the back of the pack.  But at some point, I realized that my fear of missing out on the true important aspects of life was greater than my fear of failing, of changing...I wonder if the caterpillar feels that same conflict when he starts to spin his chrysalis.

Sunday Salon: Sitting Down With Dawn Goldsmith

 

I recently connected with Dawn Goldsmith, a warm and talented free-lance writer who authors two excellent blogs: Subversive Stitchers: Women Armed with Needles, and WordsoGold.  She requested a guest interview with me about Ancient Artist for her Subversive Stitchers blog, and I agreed, but only if she returned the favor and let me post about what she is writing about, what inspires her, and how synchronicity plays such a valuable role in her life.  I think you will find her as warm, generous, and inspiring as I did. (Viewing Tip: you can easily enlarge the type on this blog by holding down the CTRL key while pressing the +  (plus) key several times.  To reduce the size, use the CTRL key and the - (minus) key.)

I'm a nut about synchronicity, and where it leads me. If I pay attention and ACT upon the messages that come floating into my life, I am enriched!

My Subversive Stitchers: Women Armed with Needles blog is an act of synchronicity. The title came to me for a piece of fiction I 'needed' to write. But the novel didn't come together. I didn't want to forget the name. I didn't want to lose the connection it gave me to stitchers throughout the ages. Madam Defarge, Ruth McDowell, the line of women on both sides of my family tree who made utilitarian quilts with their prayers and beliefs and messages stitched in them. The Red Cross Quilts and Temperance Quilts and Abolition quilts and myths of Underground Railroads, and the symbolism of quilts including Celtic quilts. Quilts have offered comfort in every war. Every disaster and illness. I like to be connected to that aspect of quilts as well as the beauty they offer. Even ugly quilts are beautiful. And then there is the community of fabric lovers, not just quilters; fabric and yarn seem to bind us together in a community of extreme caring and generous spirit of sharing.

I knew quilts and I were to walk the path of life together when I hung my grandmother's 'fish and baskets' quilt on my living room wall. My boys named it 'fish and baskets' because one of the baskets turned sideways and looked like a fish. It reminded them of a Sunday school story and reminded me of Grandma's belief that nothing should be perfect. I imagine she turned that square sideways to achieve imperfection. One night I could not sleep, it was a full moon and the living room was nicely lit. I glanced at the quilt and it was different. The fish and baskets were gone and in its place I saw Greek urns and a different pieced background. The moonlight reacted with the background fabric making it step forward and the baskets disappeared into the shadows. I awoke the whole house to see the transformation. None of us look at quilts quite the same way after that.

So the Subversive Stitchers seemed a natural progression after a few essays sold to Christian Science Monitor about Real Men knitting and going to quilt shows. These are still my most favorite personal essays. I would love to do a full series of real men essays - of course the 'real man' is my husband, Derrol. He's also frugal in a generous way - he has always been my best subject for profitable essays.

Let me just clarify that I don't see myself as a creative person, which may explain my awe and adoration of the things people are doing who are guest blogging at Subversive Stitchers.  I am, if you haven't figured out by now, not a very good maker of quilts. The one I actually made - an Irish chain quilt - was burned up in a house fire. My collection of finished projects is quite small, but my stack of UFOs has been growing since I started Subversive Stitchers. I get inspired and then I find another guest blogger and get inspired again. And again. Someday I may finish them.

I make things that serve a purpose or for gifts and those are for people who want things to serve purposes, so I rarely just create for the sake of creating. I took a class with Lyric Kinard about Playing with Paints and realized that I absolutely do not play enough. 

If we are talking about fabric creativity then I would say being an observer has been a detriment. Art is hands on and jump right in and do it. See what others are doing; get tips and technique help, perhaps. But the best way to get a feel for the materials and equipment is to use them. The more I do, the more I grow.

As I mentioned in the blog, I have very little of my own work. If I actually make anything I give it away. Or as with the one bed quilt - it burned up in a house fire. I've attached photos of several projects that are in various stages of construction. The only one finished is the red and white nine-patch/red-work little quilt and the table runner. My 'art' is more with words.

I'm a freelance writer. I’m always writing or thinking about writing. But my priorities are at a strange intersection. As my husband’s health threatens to make him stop working, I need to be finding a money-making line of writing. Yet at the same time, my need to focus on creative writing keeps pressing me to devote more time to fiction. I have not resolved this situation. Ideally writing a best selling novel would take care of both needs. In all honesty, as the situation with my husband’s health continues, it becomes harder for me to think of anything but him. It is difficult to summon the energy or the focus to act upon any inspiration that might hit me on the head.

Normally my inspiration came in synchronistic or random pairings of events, words, thoughts, things. For example a discussion with a distant cousin where we reminisced about Grandma Molly’s house and the plants that the kids brought from school – arbor day handouts. They planted these in her yard which reminded me of heirloom plants and that led to an essay about the heirloom ‘plants’ growing on the family tree.

A thing that motivated another essay was a simple knitted potholder. Another inspiration – the scar on my thumb reminded me of conversations while washing dishes with Mom. Another inspiration – the neighbor woman, in her 70s or 80s, on a winter day came to our house, dropped down in the yard and made a snow angel in the fresh snow. It was her last visit, she was dying. And how the snow angel connected to death and dying with dignity. Watching the shuttle launch from our back yard for the first time reminded me of how I’ve grown up with the space race.

 

Any advice I can give may only work for me. But I suggest finding the story of small things and how they connect to the most surprising things. The pot holder connected to gender roles. An early Christmas gift related to the change in the relationship between parents and adult children. Watching sandhill cranes chase the neighbor’s cat reminded me that I live in a Dr. Seuss world…. All of these thoughts were explored in essays that sold to The Washington Post, Christian Science Monitor, NBC News, Catholic Today, Birds and Blooms, etc. etc. etc. And as some of my favorite authors suggest: Butt in chair and write!

In writing, observation is part of the job since the majority of my writings are nonfiction for newspapers. But at the same time in writing the only way to become a great writer is to write. So there’s a balance between observing and doing.  

Now that I have reached a certain age and place in my life, I’m trying to find my way back to ‘play.’

 

Perhaps I just need to heed a poem by John H. Rhoades that I found on a very strong synchronistic day, titled Do More:

 

Do more

Do more than exist; live.

Do more than touch; feel.

Do more than look; observe.

Do more than read; absorb.

Do more than hear; listen.

Do more than listen; understand.

Do more than think; ponder.

Do more than talk; say something.

                                        ~by John H Rhoades

 

                                                                                       ~ Dawn Goldsmith, November 2009

 

Please visit Dawn's excellent blogs - you will find inspiration, laughter, camaraderie, and...synchronicity.  You won't be disappointed.

Subversive Stitchers: Women Armed with Needles

 

WordsoGold

 

The Creative Brain

This is an art test:

• Without thinking, clasp your hands together.  Which thumb is on top? 

• Hold a straight object ( like a pencil or paint brush handle) out at arm's length, upright and lined up on an object across the room.  Using both eyes, focus on the pencil and slowly pull it toward you until it's about a foot or less from your nose.  Now close each eye, one at a time and see which eye is dominant (with your dominant eye, the pencil does not move, with the other eye, the pencil will jump over a notch).

• Do you ever pick up a book or magazine and start thumbing through it backward, using your non-dominant hand?

• Have you ever considered yourself to be ambidextrous?

Actually this isn't an art test, but a creativity test to see how well your right and left brain hemispheres work together.  If you are more of a *mixed-hander* you noticed something odd in the above tests.  Do you write with your right hand, but your left thumb, your left eye, and your left hand thumbing through magazines backward all cropped up?  There's a possible explanation why and you can read about it here.

But this is only a test.  Just for fun.  If it were real... 

My thanks to ArtsJournal: Daily Arts News for the link in this article. 

Redefining Your Expectations

One of my goals this year has been to be ruthless when it comes to evaluating my own work. 

It's not easy to evaluate accurately, or summon the courage to take a moderately successful painting and re-work it.  But that is my challenge.

In a previous post I talked about my thought process as I worked on the painting "Early Light."  I had been focused on issues in the middle ground around a center of interest.  When I finished the painting, I thought I had achieved the goals I'd set for myself, but after studying it for several days I concluded that the painting, while pleasant, did not communicate the experience that inspired it.

Early Light, First Version

There were several areas in the first version of Early Light that bothered me. 

I truly felt the line of yellow trees appeared staged - which of course they were. 

I also felt I'd not achieved sufficient light in my shadowed bank, and had not left enough *air* in the painting as the trees move back into the distance.  Some of my edges were not skillfully rendered, particularly  where the water meets the rocks.

There was not enough variety or unity in the trees or the foreground, in that some surfaces were very uniformly painted (something I'd intended but which didn't work) and the trees - well, there were some beautifully rendered trees in the first version, but your eye jumps from tree to tree and they were so perfect they could have been painted at a tree farm.  I wanted to convey the wildness of the area.  In the second version I think you take in "trees" in one glance - enough information to inform while allowing imagination to take it from there.

The painting over all was cooler than I wanted, a consequence of my inexperience in painting on a very warm ground, and I hadn't captured the sense of light visually the way I remembered it emotionally.  I tried warming the foreground, but as we learn one way or the other, once you start messin' with the color you're messin' with the entire painting.  No *just one bravura stroke* in my bag of tricks yet. 

Early Light Second Version

So this is what I ended up with, after moments of complete doubt about my decision to repaint, as well as confidence in my ability to *fix things.* 

But, after letting go of my apprehensions and believing in my ability to do what I intended,  I am much happier with the second version of this painting.  The color is warmer, more earthy.  The water and the rocks along the bank create a sense of solid ground, while the edges (lines) help move the eye back into the painting. You can see into the shadows to find suggested form.  I hope I've captured enough mystery and unpredictability now to engage the viewer.  But what to you think?

Keeping It Simple

Okay, I admit it: I've tried to reinvent the wheel on more than one occasion.  Particularly when it comes to organizing the upcoming deadlines for submitting applications to juried shows or art associations I might be interested in joining. 

Last year I missed several important opportunities, so at the beginning of this year I came up with an elaborate system using one of those multi-pocket file folders plus a monthly calendar where I dutifully filed the applications and entered each date.  And then I stowed the file folder and calendar where they would be convenient and...

It's the out of sight, out of mind thing.

So, I've developed a new system.

It's called a clipboard.

And those little post-it flags. 

And a red pen.  

And a small nail where I can hang it up right where I can see it.

Now when I find something interesting on the internet I print it off and file it on my high-tech clipboard.  I list the date when the application is due on the post-it note and then put the applications in order.  

I am optimistic that this system will work better for me than the old system.

Progress.

Yes, sometimes it is hard to tell whether you are moving forward or backward.

But at this age, any movement is a good sign. 

Perception and Imagination Opening Reception November 6th, High Desert Gallery - Bend, Oregon

  

I hope those of you in Central Oregon can drop by and join in the fun.  For more information please visit www.highdesertgallery.com. 

A Peek Into the Art Studio

I thought I would give you a peek into my art studio as I work on a new painting.

I've planned carefully, doing my preliminary sketch in a moleskine sketch book so I'll know exactly what I want to do.  As I start painting, I remind myself to place single brush strokes over a warm toned ground.  (That's my reference photo at the bottom.)

I want to keep my palette organized - warm on one side, cool on the other.  Of course, as I need more colors I realize I can't fit them in the right order, so I revert to Plan B, which is to put the paint wherever I can find an open spot. 

Still under control, though.  This single brush mark seems tricky, but after a lot of work I'm starting to get the hang of it.  Oh yeah, that's g-o-o-o-o-d, I'm really on a roll here, yes-sir-eee.  I think I GOT that brush mark thing, except ...humm...something about it all being the same value.  Okay, we can deal with that.  But what about it being all the same color?  I was doing so well, really in the flow, that sky is pretty darn fantastic...

Okay...fine.  I'll scrape it all off, then will you be happy?  How could it have all gone so wrong?  Now I have to start all over, put out more paint, no, gotta wait for that surface to dry a bit or it will all go to the same color again.  And you know how I hate waiting...

okay, done waiting, putting on more paint how...eeegaad, it's worse!  What is happening to me...I'm melting...oh, sorry, that's from the Wizard of Oz, but something has happened to all my skills, maybe the studio gremlins threw invisible melting water on me or something....

Well, dang!  That wasn't so bad.  You just have to know what you're doing, and that takes ...oh, years of practice...that brush mark thing?  I got a handle on it.  I gave up on the brushes, you know, they were inhibiting my creative flow and all that, just took out my painting knives and went at it.  I felt the German Expressionists right there at my elbow the whole time...cool how that whole gestalt thing where dead artists from the past can put their influence into the ether and I can just, like, tap right into it and...it's an "over 50" thing.  Young artists can't tap into it.  Oh yeah, they'll just have to wait...a really l-o-o-o-o-g time. 

Early Light

 Early Light
Oil on Linen, 18"x18"
@2009

This painting is just off the easel and it's still wet, but I wanted to write about it anyway.  I've talked about my inclination to paint alla prima, all in one shot.  But work schedules being what they are, I started this painting a while back and could only work on it a few minutes at a time, which forced me to concentrate on each part of the painting far more intently than I might normally do. 

I'm using one of the linen canvases I primed with rabbit skin glue and oil primer.  I like working on the oil-primed surface and I'm learning how to layer on thin paint so that the initial toned ground shows through.  With this painting, I had toned my ground using transparent oxide red, which I discovered that - even though very thin- is an extremely dominant hue.  I tried toning the "glow" down with raw umber, which helped, but the red color made it more difficult to get the sense of "coolness" in the greens.(The red is most obvious in the sky, but that actually helped in creating the sense of light - go figure.)

These are things I'm learning , understanding, and trying to master.  I've always felt like I had a reasonable sense when it comes to composition, although I generally paint scenes that contain a great deal of visual depth.  I recently viewed some excellent plein air paintings and noticed that - like the daily painters - many plein air painters focus on a single element, usually placed in the middle ground.  I don't know if this is the influence of photography for the past 100+ years or not - but it's an approach used to masterful ends by many artists today. And becoming aware of this difference in the way I approach my compositions and the way others I admire do has helped me to stretch out of my familiar "box."

Well, stretch a little bit, anyway.  This painting started with the hillside and the top tree being the focal point, but then I realized I was using my typical approach, drawing people into the depths of the painting by placing my focal area along the back edge between the middle and the background.  I made a conscious decision to pull my focal point forward into the front of the middle ground, and that - in turn - required me to make the back trees less of a dominant element.  By challenging myself this way I had to work through middle ground issues that perhaps I've been avoiding in earlier paintings. 

Another skill I've been working on is being aware and deliberate with my brush marks.  In the early stages I start loose and slowly build up my forms, but I would like to improve the visual end result of my brushstrokes.  My goals have been to come back to an area and repaint it with thicker, fluid color, striving for a "freshness" in the marks.  Sometimes areas look too dry and "dauby" - which I know is the result of not having enough paint on the brush.  Okay when first blocking in, but now I want to create a balance between lush, smooth "one stroke" areas with a more layered, detail areas.  This is another element that I would not have thought about a year ago.  It's exciting to get to a point where I realize I'm thinking more like an artist and seeing small results - which is the consequence of painting a lot of paintings - and why as artists we strive to paint every day, even if it's only for fifteen minutes before leaving for work.

This scene is inspired by one of the streams on the east side of Mt. Hood, on a foggy morning, very early.  We had decided to drive the "back way" to Portland, because it was more scenic, but the heavy fog obscured nearly everything.  I was trying to capture the dampness in the air and the indirect light bouncing around in the fog that was just starting to burn off.  The bank was actually strewn with white rocks and boulders of all sizes from the heavy winter/spring washouts, but as I worked I realized the foreground rock pattern would compete with the tree pattern. There needed to be quiet areas to contrast and emphasize those areas in this painting that were important.  My subject was the atmosphere, the light and coolness of the fog, so the trees became a more important communication element than the rocks.  I took a very large hogs hair brush and just swept broad strokes of paint across my rocks, wiping out several days worth of work in this area, and I think the painting is stronger for it.  Again, a few years ago this is something I would not have recognized as important - creating a balance between active and quiet forms.  At least I would not have been able to articulate it in these terms, only wonder "what was wrong with this picture." 

So why do I paint every day, even if I only get 15 minutes in the morning when the light is good?  Because practice gives you understanding, which gives you control...which gives you confidence and ultimately personal artistic success.
 
As for the photograph, light reflections off the wet paint make the water look more choppy than it actually is, plus some of the rock edges look a little weird as the camera picked up the blue more intensely than the other colors. I really have to stop being so casual about the way I photograph my art...