Where Am I?

It's been a crazy two days.

We are supposed to go up to Valatie NY on Sunday for my Brother-in-Law's memorial. Ron Kleemann. A true character and incredible photo-realism painter, and presence, which will be sorely missed.

I made the reservation for the hotel up there a few weeks ago, and yesterday I realized I wasn't exactly sure where I made it. There is no email record and the couple of places I think I MIGHT have made it say there's nothing there with my name. So...I'm flummoxed.

Meanwhile Sandy, my husband, has been incapacitated with a horrible neck spasm, so I canceled the dog reservation. But now the neck is better so we think we'll go if we can find a place. And the place I think we may be able to find a room allows dogs. This might work out better than before!

Ron created some incredible works of fire trucks and nascars and Macy's balloons. He was a master of puns, and oh so generous--with his time, with his hospitality, with his praise. He leaves a giant hole, physically, but inside my head he remains vividly alive and well. Farewell Ron.

Dog Days

They are here, the Dog Days of Summer and yet today is lovely. Feels almost as pleasant as Santa Fe. Meanwhile I've been working on a 48 x 48" painting which started out as a trio of horses, then morphed into a landscape of the Bonita Pueblo ruins, and has ended up a landscape of the fields of Aude, France.

Painting these fields was like coming home. Gone was the obsession that I had to change my style, do something new. Gone was the sense my work just wasn't good enough. Instead I painted from the heart, the fields merging into each other, vaguely separated by borderless color, scumbling intense hue over intense hue until the fields shimmer in the sun. I am liberated!

Westward Ho!

Northern New Mexican landscape

We are are heading West!

Well.

After our house sells, and it's only been on the market 9 days. But still...we will get there eventually. 

Santa Fe has always beckoned. Driving route 66 in the 50s and 60s, through the intense geology of the high plains and buttes, passed the abandoned ancient pueblos tucked into the bluffs and mysterious navajo indians walking along the roads in their velvets and heavy silver and turquoise jewelry. I can hardly believe I will soon be part of this enchanted area! And things seem to be lining up well with some friends introducing us to their friends in Santa Fe. Plus our excellent friends waiting for us there who have been incredibly generous already as we've looked for houses.

So the adventure begins!

The foot of snow from the past couple of days looks so much cheerier with the sun out. Instead of endless grey, color is back...on the brick walls, the evergreen ivy and pine trees, the blue sky. Hallelujah! Now I can go into the studio and work on the horses I've been working on without feeling closed in and troubled by the howling winds of yesterday. Here's another of my favorite artist, Elmer Bischoff. This one evokes the grey sky of yesterday, but there is still something to look forward to here. The colors of the rooftops, the bay, and yet it is a mournful painting.

What I love about this painting are the simple (seeming!) shapes and colors and how they remind me of my childhood in California. The subtle colors...the sometimes stormy sky. Yet even though, with the green trees popping up through the rooftops, it reminds of my home now on the east coast. Double melancholy!

To MFA or not to MFA, that is the question...

The past week I've been wondering about whether or not to pursue an MFA at 60 years of age. Should I? Is it worth it? Will it effect my art journey in any way? On the one hand it would be fun. I'd get to almost everyday, all day long. I'd get to attend classes, which I love to do. I'd be able to have my work critiqued by fellow artists and professors. I'd understand the 'secret' dynamics of the art world. On the other hand it would cost a lot of money and time. And for what? At this age is it worth it? The thing is, I want to show my work in decent galleries across the country. Mainly because I have so many paintings they need to go out into the world! Right now there are hundreds floating around my house, leaning against walls, stacked in the basement. Good paintings. Paintings people like! And yet here they are collecting dust. So here is my dilemma. What to do with the rest of my life! Meanwhile I search for artists, whose work I admire, checking their credentials, seeing how I stack up.

One of my favorite artists, David Park, didn't even finish college, yet wound up teaching at UC Berkeley. He so dedicated to painting that he couldn't stop himself, and that dedication was enough to be recognized. It wasn't about a degree, rather about the work. When did it all change? In the 70s, when I was getting my BA in Art, the work was the important thing. If it was good, said something, it was enough. Then all of a sudden, in the 80s, it changed. Was it at the same time when art was becoming a commodity? Um. Perhaps yes. And perhaps it's sour grapes on my end. If I'd only... So. What to do.