I Know Something More

I Know Something More

Oil on canvas, 16x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

Our house in New York stood on a rise about 30 yards from the western bank of the Neversink River. Most of the time, this was wonderful. We swam and fished in the river, listened to its rolling sound, watched the birds and wildlife that lived along its shores.

But when the river flooded, it was a nightmare. It would come around in front of our house and cut off our access to the road, potentially trapping us there, on what would be an island surrounded by raging river torrents.

We were flooded out many times, and a couple of those times, the flooding was severe. One flood left 60 houses in our neighborhood condemned; we were a federal disaster area. Everything in the basement of our tiny home was destroyed that time. The river opened a crater in our driveway, deposited two feet of silt and sand, and pushed all the small trees over at an angle. Debris was caught in branches higher than my head, and we found dead fish in our yard for months.

I grew afraid of heavy rain. A sound I had once loved, rain falling on leaves, I grew to hate. I came to despise the Weather Channel and everyone on it. I could feel anxiety and even panic grow as the storms strengthened.

And even now, even though we are gone from the house, even though we live nowhere near a river, the fear still courses inside me. This heavy, heavy rain has reawakened anxiety that I thought was gone forever.

On another note, a sunny one, I made this painting last week - it's my third go at these tall trees on the reservoir in Groton, and I think it's not the last. I love the way the setting sun warms the banks, the trunks, the limbs, and how the reflections shimmer in the sunny depth of water.

On the excellent-news front, all three of the paintings I submitted to the all-animal show at the Schuler School of Fine Arts in Baltimore were accepted. All three! Yippee. I couldn't be happier. I'm going to have the chance to visit an old friend there, and I'm going to stretch things out a little and do some painting on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, one of my favorite places.

Thank you for reading!

Little Cat

Little Cat

Oil on canvas, 12x12. Contact Contact Lori at Center Framing and Art (860-233-7804) for price and delivery options

All sorts of good news to report this morning! 

First, the sales of the giant cow paintings have gone through. I think there were spouses involved who had not seen the paintings - but when they saw them, they loved them, and so, yay! And thank you to all who sent good vibes out there into the universe for me. 

Second, at least one piece of mine was accepted into a juried all-animal show at the Schuler School of Fine Arts in Baltimore! 

The first year I entered juried shows, I got into every one I tried. "Oh, this is easy," I thought. 

Yeah, right. Or as my 8-year-old self would say, "Like fun." 

The second year, I got into none. Not one. I was roundly rejected everywhere. 

I stopped trying for a while. And why not? I was having solo and two-artist shows, I was selling in galleries and on line, and every rejection from a juried show sent me into a spin, much as I tried to ignore it, and though I know (and still do) how absolutely arbitrary the selections are. 

But I've started applying again, and while rejection is still far more of the picture than acceptance, it's not the entire picture. 

And speaking of pictures, here is another in my "is it finished?" series. I got the painting of Audrey Heard's Little Cat to this point and stopped. At first, I thought it was finished as it is. But the response has so far been universally "no." Not finished. People want the rest of the face - and I think I do, too. And perhaps a dark blue background to help make those eyes pop. 

What do you think? 

Tiger Cat

Tiger Cat

Oil on canvas, 12x12. Contact Lori at Center Framing and Art (860-233-7804) for price and delivery options

George Carlin once said that when a cat looks at you, it's like he's testing a new set of eyes. This cat really looked like that in the photo I was working from - and I think that "new eyes" thing comes through in this painting, which I really love.

It's been an interesting and exhilarating week or so for me. My silence on the blog and in emails has happened because my old computer finally died. It was a seven-year-old Mac laptop, much loved, much abused, and very very used. It traveled the country with me twice, took me from one career into another, one place to another, one life to another. When it finally kicked, it was slow and creaky and covered with paint, and I felt quite a kinship to it.

So now I have a new laptop, and it is fast and clean and shiny - but probably not for long.

In the interim, I found that six or seven of my paintings at the Wallkill River School Gallery in Montgomery, N.Y., have sold, including two of the giant cow paintings! This news so stunned and amazed me that I was unable to sleep for one night, and barely able to have a conversation about it all with the curator.

I have to tell you all, though, that since that initial discussion, I have received an email through someone else at the gallery asking first if I would finish the bottoms of the paintings (sure) and second, frighteningly, asking this gallery person what the gallery's refund policy is.

I am not going to panic here. The gallery told me the paintings had sold, and I believe they have sold, and am just going to continue to believe that!

I never thought anyone would buy giant paintings of cows in the first place, but I was wrong. Every cow painting I've made has sold; well, one still hasn't, I think, but the rest have. So what does that say about us? I guess people like cows. I know I do.

Think good thoughts for me, and help me will these sales to fruition.

Pugster

Pugster

Oil on canvas, 12x12, $250

On Saturday, in beautiful, warm, May-like sunshine, I painted this painting, and one other, while standing in front of Center Framing & Art, the West Hartford gallery that represents me.

It was a glorious day, and West Hartfordites were out in droves, many with their dogs in tow - or vice-versa.

I talked with dozens of people, and dozens more who were interested in having me paint their pooches. Exciting, certainly, and when they show up with their commission checks, I'll really start dancing.

Meantime, the most exciting news in ages is the House of Representatives passing the health-care reform bill. For me, this news hits home, as I've been wrestling with insurance companies for months and months. If there is anything that's going to drive me away from painting and back to corporate America, it is that our health insurance costs more than our mortgage. So today, I applaud! I am sure it's not a perfect bill, but it has to be better than the nothing that we have  now.

I Know Something About Love

I Know Something About Love

Oil on deep-cradled canvas, 12x36, $200

These days have been a gift of spring, and I have come alive again. I have painted without a care, without a thought, warming in the sun like a turtle on a rock.

I worship in the cathedral of the outdoors, and pray with words as bright as colors, as loud as birds singing on the wind.

Here are some disconnected bits:

I got into the Mystic Outdoor Art Festival! This is very exciting for me, as it is a festival I've seen nearly all my adult life - and never dreamed I'd be accepted.

Also, the Paradise City Festival in Northampton, Mass., is fast approaching, and I received a magazine that the promoters send out. Yikes, the work is fabulous! That festival is May 29-31. I'll let you know more about both when I know more.

"Range Rovers," which many of you received as a blog post just a few days ago, I painted for the February show at the Lighthouse Gallery. I don't know why my posting was delayed for a month. On a similar note, three Christmas cards and a invitation to a January show, all dated Dec. 23 or 23, arrived in the mailbox just last weekend. The postmistress has no idea what could have happened.

Time warp, anyone?

Celebrating 'Celebrations'

 




The opening reception of "Celebrations," the show that Shawn Dell Joyce and I have at the Wallkill River School Gallery drew a lovely crowd, in spite of truly torrential rain. Many folks I'd hoped would attend didn't make it, but many I hadn't expected to see came out and enjoyed themselves.

When you're at my level, there is a tremendous range of work involved when it comes to mounting a show and hosting a reception. Some galleries do all the work, though those are few and far between. At other galleries (Wallkill River School among them), the artist does all the work.
We pay to design, print and mail the postcards, addressing and stamping them ourselves; we make and hang posters; deliver and hang the art; make the title and price tags for the show; make, buy and present the food and drink - and do the clean-up afterwards.
 
It's like putting on a big party and inviting all my friends. It's fun, it's exhausting, it can be expensive - but it's a joy to create an atmosphere of warmth and welcome, where people can meet and talk and relax, and look at the art that I've put heart and soul into creating.

So those of you who come to openings, who brave weather and traffic and all the million things of your lives to attend, thank you. I truly appreciate your presence and the effort that it takes. This most recent opening took more effort than usual, I know, because of the rain. Those of you who couldn't make it, we missed you - and you missed a fun time!

The show is up at the gallery (232 Ward St./Route 17K, Montgomery, N.Y.) until the end of the month. See the Wallkill River School website for directions and information.

In photo at top, Jim Douglas and David Munford are facing the camera. Jim is a gifted framer and artist, who works in Montgomery. David is a wonderful painter who has contributed to the Art for Shelter Animals Project.

 Left, the crowd at our opening. Usually, the two artists mingle their work; Shawn and I decided to hang our art in separate rooms. That worked well, and didn't seem 

to cut down on the viewing. 

Some of my paintings hanging together. This little grouping really worked well, I think. I like the way the colors complement each other.

That's me on the right, with my old friend Taryn Clark. 

We worked together at the Times Herald-Record, and we sure had fun. I miss her every day. 

Here is Shawn Dell Joyce, demonstrating her pastel technique. We each did a demonstration, and it was fun! 

Here's the crowd, watching Shawn.

Tuxedo Cat II

Tuxedo Cat II

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting.
  

I am always amazed at what it takes to get a show together.

First, of course, there is the painting. But that's just the start.

I drove to Montgomery, N.Y., last weekend with a vanload of canvases. At the Wallkill River School Gallery, I hauled my art inside and splayed it around the beautiful room where it will hang for the coming weeks.

I hemmed and hawed. I tried this and that. I weighed one piece against another. I talked to Shawn Dell Joyce, hanging her pieces in the next room. We looked at hers, and at mine (we had decided to hang our stuff separately, intead of interspersed) and we made decisions.

In the end, I hung about 20 pieces, and took another 20 home. I will bring a different 20 or so back, dog and cat paintings, mainly, to hang for one weekend in a room on the second floor of the gallery.

Today, the night before the artists' reception (5-7 p.m. at the gallery, 232 Ward St. (Route 17K, Montgomery, NY), I sit in my chilly office/studio and work to tie up a million loose ends. I'm printing cards (commission a painting of your pet!). I'm printing flyers (here's the Art for Shelter Animals Project!). I'm printing photographs of rescue dogs and cats (pet-portrait workshop on Sunday!).

I am remembering to bring business cards, and my framing stuff. I am remembering to load my  animal paintings. I am remembering to bring my share of the reception food, and my paints, and easel, and canvases, and to stop somewhere on the way and get sparkling cider. I have to remember my camera, and then remember to take pictures.

And I have to remember to chill out and have some fun, too. Because in the long run, that's what this is all about, this new life. It's about enjoying the tasks again. It's about loving the work and everything that goes with it. It's about loving the people I meet, and the chance I have to talk with them. It's about challenge and satisfaction and accomplishment, and in the very longest of runs, it is about joy.

And it is, so much, about joy.

Thank you for reading. Thank you, as always, for your support.