Ranger Gene Leads the Foreigners to Betatikin

I had lots of fun with this painting. It's from a snapshot taken during a hike down a very long trail, leading to a famous ruin. Navajo National Monument is one of my favorite places. Located in Northern Arizona, it's been the site of many of my birthdays. I'm not sure why–it just seems to have worked out that way. I love being there on my birthday because a major meteor shower happens every year on that date. And the atmosphere is clear, with virtually no light pollution, so you can watch the spectacular sky all night long if you can stay awake!

Back to the painting. We have taken this ranger-led hike a number of times. This particular guy (Gene) was a seasoned ranger, with a definitely quirky personality. I got such a charge out listening to him and observing the people from various countries. The people on this particular day added a dimension that I just had to capture! It's part of my series about tourists.

My Worst Nightmare

What is your worst nightmare? I actually have a series that occur depending on what's happening that is currently stirring up my personal phobias. When I'm teaching, I have nightmares about getting lost on the way to class, frantically trying to find art materials for a class starting in minutes, etc. This print refers to the nightmares I had when Mathew was in the hospital as a preemie. Don't worry, he's now 19 and doing fine. In this print, I'm peering into his incubator as rats threaten to do awful things to him that I don't even want to describe here.

I guess this image could be classified as art as therapy.

Which brings me back to the question of what does it mean to people when you say you are an artist. What is an artist, anyway? An article in the New York Times Book Review, June 1, by Marisha Pessl has a paragraph in it that addresses these questions. Here is the quote:

" 'Artist' can't make even the briefest public appearance without extensive baggage. The next time you're at a party and someone asks you what you do for a living, boldly say artist, then sit back and watch the jolting effect that little word has upon a conversation. Above 14th Street, the person will smirk, dutifully ask 'What kind?' or appear to start swallowing an egg, which is a disguised yawn. You'll get a hug in the Midwest. In Santa Monica, you'll get 'sweet' and an in invitation to go Rollerblading. In certain parts of the country you'll get tied up and thrown into the back of a pickup truck, and no one will ever hear from you again."

All of the above reactions could fall into my worst nightmare category. There really isn't any standard way to know you are an artist except to believe that you are. And confessing that you think you are an artist to anyone is totally different that being able to tell someone you are a doctor or banker or grocery store clerk. Who knows what their reaction will be.

Etching and aquatint, "Fort Benning 1950"

Where in the world have I been for the past month?

Well, I was in northern California, and no, it wasn't for a vacation. Jim, Mathew and I took on the monumental task of sorting, packing and cleaning out my parent's home in order to put it up for sale. It was a bittersweet experience, coming across so many things from my childhood. The hardest part was the paper trail my father left, which showed his organization and need for order gradually disintegrate as he battled to hang on to his independence as Alzheimer's took over.

The image you see is an etching/aquatint. I love making prints. It is such a different process from painting. This particular print is from a snapshot of my mom and me in Fort Benning, Georgia.

Like all families, I have boxes and albums of photos of my own children and some from my childhood. Now I have boxes and boxes and boxes and more albums from my parents' lives. At some point, I'm guessing some of this imagery will become a part of my work. In the meantime, I'm going to need to figure out where in the world to store it all safely.

Jack and David Attempt to Capture the Beauty

This is a painting from a series of snapshots I took while on a wonderful river trip, rafting down the Grand Canyon. The two guys here are my brother-in-law and my nephew. Yes, I took a few photos. My husband, Jim, took hundreds and hundreds of photos. This made sense because he's a professional photographer and consequently, was working. Jack and David were on vacation, but they took pictures non-stop on this trip. I'm not sure if they ever saw the Canyon except through the viewfinders on their cameras. It made me think about what the trip would have been like for them with no camera at all. It certainly would have been a different experience. Maybe we should all leave the picture-making to the professional photographers, use our vacations to enjoy our surroundings and purchase that quintessential image which really captures the place from the guy who makes his living doing this! For a look at Jim's wonderful current project which is chock full of photos and other exciting stuff, look at the US Route 89 project!

I'm not sure whether this painting is quite done, yet. It's definitely hot off the press, as I scrambled to get it to the point of entering it in an upcoming show in Tucson.

Which brings up a subject I'd like to tackle once in a while in this blog. How does the reality of being an artist mesh with what the public pictures as the life of an artist?

This interests me because I myself am constantly asked questions which I find annoying. It finally occurred to me that the reason people say things like "Oh, you're doing art full time. You must be retired" or, "Being an artist must be so much fun", is that the whole business of working in the arts is a big mystery to just about anyone except artists. And a lot of time, we shroud what we do in mystery or are defensive about it. There are a whole array of cliches about artists, many of which are negative.

So what does this have to do with entering an exhibit? Well, entering shows is one of the many things that professional artists do. Why? Good question. It's important for building a reputation, which is necessary in order to be able to justify what you charge for your work. You never know who might see the work in the show–which could lead to all kinds of wonderful outcomes, like a sale or an offer of another show.

However, entering shows is an expensive enterprise. There is the time spent in researching exhibitions. Most shows charge an entry fee of $25-35 for 3 slides. Having slides or digital images of artwork is expensive, especially if it is done professionally (which it should be in order to be taken seriously). There are application forms to fill out, resumes and artist statements to polish and print. The whole thing needs to be packaged. And then last but not least is the postage. Oh, and if you want those slides back you have to enclose an SASE (self addressed stamped envelope), so there goes more postage money!

There are always way more entries than there is exhibition space, so much of the work is rejected. Yet having that show record is critical to being a respected artist. And they have to be the right kind of shows. So every time you enter a show you take a gamble. Are you just throwing money away? Do you stand a chance of getting in? How long does it take you to recover from being rejected and move on?

Entering exhibits is only one very small, but important part of being a professional artist. Stay posted for more insights into the work of artists.

Update: This painting, Reed Calligraphy III, was accepted into the big ideas SMALL FRAMES exhibition at Dinnerware Artspace, located in downtown Tucson. The exhibition dates are June 7 – July 19. For more information on this show, see the Dinnerware website.

I was once a lukewarm shopper. Then I went into training. My friend Peggy took years to teach me the ins and outs of bargain shopping. I still function best when I'm with her. She just has an eye for the greatest stuff. I'm not too bad on my own, and I certainly enjoy the occasional spree, but my best times are with Peggy.

This is a new painting called Old Friends Waiting for their Wives to Finish Shopping (Again). You see here the long-suffering husbands, mine on the left, Peggy's on the right. Waiting yet again for us. We are late, having been caught up in the excitement of the hunt. While they are annoyed, they are also enjoying each others' company. Such are the pleasures of old friendships!

I'm back after yet another trip to California. My Dad died on May 1 at 2:20 a.m. Strangely, May 1 is my Mom's birthday. She would have been 95. Dad was 89 years old and then some. His passing was very peaceful. My sister and I were there, as was Lynn, a wonderful Hospice nurse and Sam Lee, the owner of the group home my Dad was at. I had moments of closeness to my father over the past few weeks which I had seldom experienced with him before. It was truly a gift to be able to be with him.

This painting, Reed Calligraphy, was completed recently. I hope the peacefulness and tranquility that I tried to capture in the work is what my Dad is experiencing now.