studio sale -- day 6

More hands! I used to draw my hands in Calculus class in high school instead of taking notes, so naturally I had to make a living at something involving drawn hands rather than advanced math.

This piece was inspired by my painter friend, Kozuki Watanabe, who does these washy fields of color with lovely contour drawing-esque linear shapes and figures... I gave it a go with some diluted paint and drawings of hands I already had, because of Calculus.

She also inspired me to be more thoughtful and deliberate about my titles, and this one captures my fascination with hands and their gestural intimate communication.

"A Human Instrument"

16 x 20 in

oil and mixed media on canvas

$550 $350 (+ $50 shipping)

studio sale -- day 3

This painting evolved over several years and many layers. I had thought it was finished, but I pulled it out of storage at one point and decided to go over it completely. I rarely work this way anymore -- nowadays I'd rather get something done in one or two sittings -- but I like that it's a documentation of my thought process. I like the idea of ideas accumulating and changing based on what's underneath.



The original layers contained lots of encaustic. I was learning, messily.

Collage, wax, oil paint, drawings of hands... it's a little bit of a lot of my favorite things.

"If You're Willing"

12x12in

mixed media and oil on canvas

Sale price $200 (originally $300)

+$10 shipping

SOLD

studio sale

I am clearing out the studio to make room for 2017!

Images on your screen are easy and abundant, but having original artwork in your home is special. Treat yourself, it's worth it!

"Then, Again"

12x12 in

oil and mixed media on canvas

sale price $200 (originally $300)

(+ $10 shipping)

(If you want to buy with a different currency, let me know! Happy to accomodate)

show-off

I'm excited to announce the opening of my art show this weekend, in the Churchill Hospital's South Street Gallery!

It is a huge long corridor, so I am throwing every canvas I have into it to fill it up... both portraits and abstracts, large and small. I haven't had a show for years, so I am tripping over my nerves and my self-doubt. But! Proceeding nevertheless, because this is how you learn.

Last month my dad & step-mom were here for a visit, and I tasked them with building frames for all my wonky imperial-sized canvases (custom frames would have been ridiculously expensive) (even standard frames are ridiculously expensive). 

They cranked out more than 10 in a few short days, but I still had a few more to finish after they left.

But the efoort was worth it: they turned out so simple and pretty.

There will be brand new pieces, and some from the vaults:

If you're in Oxford or know someone who is, come see it and spread the word!

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the seed of its own healing

This post has been languishing in my "drafts" folder for almost a year. I don't remember why I didn't post it, but I'm sure I meant to, because NEW FINISHED PAINTINGS, holy shit. I also don't know why I feel compelled to do things in chronological fashion -- vestiges from the perfectionism that is as stubborn as it is perfect? -- but all the sudden I can't go forward without catching up.

Last winter, in Providence, I had about10 different canvases going at once, all in this diluted wash-y experiment:

"The Seed of its Own Healing"

16 x 20, oil and mixed media on canvas

I was just dousing the surfaces with layers and layers of paint, seeing what would happen to the composition with every subsequent application, and more than a little inspired by my friend Kozuki Watanabe (whose work not only vibrates with color intensity and off-kilter compositions, but also bears the most poetically potent titles I've ever seen).

I loved discovering the interaction between the layers, seeing how far I could push the paint.

 "A Human Instrument"

16 x 20, oil and mixed media on canvas

I had tacked up a quote from Francis Bacon about "preserving the accident" in a painting, something I'd been mulling over for years but hadn't been able to actually do in practice. These pieces felt like such a relief to me for that reason -- they were a complete departure from my heavy-handed and overworked markings of the past.

 
And also I did not know how much I loved chartreuse.

The hands I drew years and years ago -- I found them stashed with some other collage material, and thought the spidery lines of India Ink fit nicely with the contrasting fields of color. I pasted them on with an oil gel medium, and the ink stayed true while the paper went beautifully translucent.

I marvel at the way hands are so immediately, humanly, expressive. Their language is intuitive, inherent, elegant.

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then again

Speaking of time capsules... all of my artwork is turning out to be an accumulation of years and bits of inspiration and ephemera. I do have a special fondness for geological phenomena, so maybe it's an unconscious nod to layering on a planetary scale.You know, it's like, The Way Things Happen.

This is the partner of piece I posted recently; I started them both together, so it's only fair that they evolve together, too: 

"Then Again" 

12 x 12 inches, oil and mixed media on canvas

I think it's done.

(But did you know the Himalayas continue to grow a centimeter every year?)

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if you're willing

This painting used to look a lot different. I think I started it when Auden was a baby, five years ago. (Wait, what? Rumination on time's passing, etc, etc) The last time I worked on it was a year and a half ago.

Mostly I'm of the mind to stop messing with a piece after a while, because IT'S DEAD ALREADY move on. But this step was not so much about resuscitation as it was about completely starting over in the spirit of total experimental abandonment. So for that it was okay to use a canvas that was already worked on and overworked on. In fact, it was sort of perfect for what I've been trying to accomplish, which is, of course, layers upon layers:

"If You're Willing" 
12 x 12 inches, oil and mixed media on canvas

I blotted out most of what was there before, which was extremely satisfying, but I like how you can still faintly see through to what's underneath. I collaged in those ink-drawn hands -- which I made in Japan years and years ago -- because they seemed to fit & give a little focus to the piece. And probably because the original had hands in it, too. I like them hovering near the periphery though; I've been wanting to explore with compositions that are a little off-kilter, with objects framing negative space in the middle instead of the other way around.

I feel pretty excited about the new directions I'm going in, so even if this piece & the others don't ever get resolved, it's been really fun to keep pushing them. If I am willing, indeed.

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there might not be a design, in certain cases

Body in knots, head in a muddle. I keep thinking I can get to the bottom of the thoughts -- if I just keep pulling them out one by one, I'll come to the end, or The Answer. It's faulty, to say the least. It's a trap.

I did a little of a lot of things today, nothing felt very satisfying. And of course I blow it up to be so huge that the daubs and swishes of paint that I put down today were NOT GOOD and VERY UGLY and WHAT DOES IT MEAN ABOUT ME AND MY FUTURE. So easy to get stuck there... then I go to the thinking, determined to think every last thought; to think an answer, to think relief.

I know I am ornery and tight and caught up on these same familiar snags. I wanted to do something NOT MYSELF -- how did I end up doing this utterly and completely MYSELF mark on the canvas? And I don't know how to make a different mark, so I'm stuck with this daub-daub, wipe-wipe approach that is maddening, and my colors are all wrong, and on and on.

I went to mess up the two encaustic collages I made years ago when Auden was a baby, because it had worked so well with the "There Is a Design" piece, and that felt so good.

 Now I've covered up too much with paint. Patchy calico paint that's at once too dark and too chalky and makes no sense and there's no sense of freedom in the brushstrokes, just that same dense willfulness, contrived and badly executed.

Struggling with each layer.

Struggling with painting in general. I feel as though I'm on the verge of breaking through something SOMETHING and this period before the breakthrough is agonizing. Full of doubt and distress, so uncomfortable to hesitate making any mark, to be dissatisfied with every mark. I mix the same colors in the same proportions and wonder why I get the same mud every time

.

Reworking these hand pieces, I'm baffled. What do I do next? Which color and where? I'm fighting with the surface, the composition. Trying to stay available to answers that are still unseen. Unseeable. So hard to comprehend that there could be any kind of resolution. How can I call myself a painter when I hate painting and don't know how to do it? So go the voices in my head.

Can I allow that each piece is important, even if it's never right or beautiful or finished?

I read a quote by Albert Einstein: "It's not that I'm so smart, it's that I stay with a problem longer."

So I'm trying to stay with the problem.

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unveil

This news is a little tardy, but I'm excused because getting ready to move out of state makes me preoccupied and forgetful.

It's exciting nonetheless, namely because it's been on my list of things to do, and even a few New Year's Resolution's lists, for YEARS. Yee-arrrs. Here it is: I now have my very own website!


My dad put it together for me, and I'm so pleased with how it looks. Go take a look and let me know what you think.

See you in a couple weeks when the dust settles in Providence!

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there is a design

Now I'm going to reach even farther back, to a piece I started in 2008. At that time I had considered this finished:

Tidy Little Boring Collage

But as it sat on my art table, leaning against the wall with other projects in various states of completion, I realized I was not excited about it at all. There was no sparkle in its eye. But it had potential! So I decided to mess it up.

I swished some paint on the surface, over the hand, to busy it up a bit and incorporate it into the piece -- I didn't like how it was just sitting on top, all pristine and static. When that dried, I scribbled "You could choose anything" on it, because I was feeling loose-ended and sometimes it's the vastness of available choices that stops me from starting.

Then I blocked out most of the detail from the collage and kept daubing paint here and there on the hand until I felt like it was interesting but not too "done."

Finally, I covered up the little silver pieces at the top with blue, and drew lines like little strings that the fingers are pulling.


The original title was "There is a Design," because of the sewing pattern paper I'd used in the collage. I still like the title -- maybe even more now because it perfectly contradicts my handwritten assertion of free will. Perhaps it's a painting for an agnostic.

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grandma jo

Ach.

I've been on the fence about whether to post this. But it feels like a gaping omission if I don't.

My lovely grams died last month, at age 92. We drove to Michigan in time to see her alive one last time, and I had the honor of doing this sketch a few hours after she passed:

The image isn't complete without this this poem that my cousin wrote, which she read at the memorial service.

My Grandma's Arms


Babies cradled, flowers tended
Arms made strong with years of stirring, kneading
Hands that spent years caring for others

Fingers and hands composed many cards and letters
Arms that prepared delicious meals
Hands that created blankets for children

Loving arms that kept us close
Many years of work and wear
Now held in her Lord's arms.



-Rachel Redman (April 30, 2010)

Grandma Jo, we love you and miss you.

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the middle finger

I took the rather silly step of adding a fancy traffic analysis widget to my blog. For this site? It's like putting steel girders under a wooden footbridge.

I am not at all savvy in these matters, and there's way more information available to me now than I can possibly use (bounce rates, anyone?), but it's kind of fun to see where my traffic is coming from. It's fun that I have traffic at all!

There's even a map overlay that shows me where my visitors are coming from. I have Japan and Colombia, even. In the US, the map shows me how many people from each state have stopped by. I realize that it's not a campaign to get all 50 states, since it'll be a looong time before Fingerfold becomes president. But I still get a little giddy when a new State shows up, nevermind that some of those visits are just an "oops" click from a wacky google search. Yes, the prying eye can even see what you googled in order to get to my site.

For example:

"thickening middle finger"

Some poor Joe went searching for advice for a serious medical condition and the first link he got was about me burning my middle finger and finally putting on some pregnancy weight!

Whew, the interweb casts a wide net.

Because, really, if you're going to look up middle fingers, you should go directly to this. Go.

Okay, but really. I'm only going to use google analytics for the power of good.

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i still make art

I've put up some new pieces on Etsy, head on over and have a look.

Okay, here's a peek:





And wonder of wonders, I've been painting again, too. When Auden sleeps, I get him snug in the sling, leave the dirty dishes in the sink and head to the easel instead. The four-panel flower piece is still evolving, here's how it looks lately:



Frankly, only a little less cartoon-y than when I started. It's hard to keep my focus with this piece, especially since I feel as though I'm flailing around in search of the right colors and composition... it's hard not to think I was on the wrong foot from the beginning. How will it resolve? Stay tuned for the next episode: "The Secret of Underpainting," or, "Palette Knife: Friend or Foe?"

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current mood: encaustic

After a day of being especially hard on myself for being "unproductive," I shall now post the results of said unproductivity, some small-ish collages that were really just an excuse to try out a new hot wax technique:



I have been meaning to try encaustic for what feels like years, and have always balked because of my utter lack of know-how. I love the look of it when I see others use it, a semi-transparent waxy coating that blurs what's underneath and makes what's on top look like it's floating.

I didn't quite get that look, but for a first try, these aren't bad.

And it turns out that electric stoves are good for something after all! I put the wax in a tin can and put the burner on simmer. Aside from the kitchen not being a good place to make art, it was a fine set-up.



I used a brush to spread the wax around evenly, and afterwards I didn't like the brush marks, so I took to the surface with my hairdryer. (You think I can wait until I have proper tools like a heat gun? No.) It melted the wax and pushed it around in interesting ways, smoothing it out how I wanted.

I guess it's hard to see in the pictures, though, being as it's clear. Trust me, it's there. It collected all kinds of fuzz and lint from the carpet.

I think next I'll try some smaller pieces and see what happens if I just pour the wax on. Back to the drawing board!

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I deal in possibilities

While I wait for my oils to dry, collage materials come out from tidy file folders and litter the floor of the studio in piles of potential.



This is usually a grounding exercise for me, to allow myself to be less cerebral about creating things. I can let the materials determine my direction, let each piece find its place in one of a thousand configurations. The sheer possibility of it all is invigorating, and somehow less daunting than painting.

If I listen to music while I make art, there is a point at which the notes and words and trajectories of songs start to mesh with the hue and composition of my own work. At least, I find myself noticing the substance of music -- the raw materials that musicians use to build something out of nothing -- and suddenly it's like there's no difference between the way music sounds and the way a painting looks.

My boyfriend in college was a musician, a guitar player. He had a natural, fluid talent that seemed to flow effortlessly through him, even his gestures and the way he walked. I remember being awed just watching him tune his guitar, his long agile fingers adjusting nuances in pitch that I couldn't perceive.

Now I think about that when I mix my colors: how is this orange? Too sour? Add a little red. Too flat? More yellow. Too hot? Temper it with some blue. My own hands are less than graceful most of the time, but when I'm weilding a palette knife, they have their own intuition; sublties of color emerge on my canvases, enchanting me. This piece is moody and layered, like Cat Power; that piece is bright and ironic, like the Magnetic Fields. See what I mean?

I used to wish I was a singer. Actually I still do -- I wish I had the kind of raw power in my throat, like Neko Case or Bjork, the power to carve a feeling out of a string of words and a swath of silent air. How do they do it? Do they make mistakes? Do they doubt their whims?

Once something exists, it's hard to believe it wasn't always there: this melody, this combination of colors, this baby growing in my belly. Something out of nothing, the ultimate act of creativity.

And so, before the piece is finished, it's all possibility. I am not the agent of choice so much as just another piece in the kaleidescope.

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fingers, folded

A postcard from J, to honor the finger-folds:




They're like gang-signs from the Buddha: mudras that convey the divine powers or emphasize the nature of a particular diety. They are an external expression of 'inner resolve' that give meaning to the sculpted images, communicating more powerfully than spoken language.

The name for this blog was taken from a letter written to us by one of our elderly Japanese friends, who always painstakingly translated everything into unwittingly poetic (and mysterious) English. I forget now exactly what he wrote, but it was something about how he was looking forward to our return to Kyoto, and would wait for us, finger-fold.

What it means -- prayer? twiddling of thumbs? -- I'm not sure, but am entirely captivated by the idea of it.

Also, I love to draw hands. I especially love the y-shaped crease the pinky makes when it's curled against the palm. I can't explain this, the satisfaction I get from rendering it, but I never seem to get tired of hands. These folds are so delicate and so expressive. Mudras for the lay-person.

I felt the baby for the first time the other night: lying in bed, reading, and suddenly a pushing from within. It felt like a hand or a foot, sweeping out from right to left. And again. And then some less distinct and fluttery motions. What are you doing in there, little one?

I read that babies will start to suck their thumbs around this time -- 16 weeks -- and it made me think of Italo Calvino's short story in Cosmicomics, 'The Spiral.' In it, he tells a story from the point of view of a mollusk, that is to say, not much of a view at all. Nevertheless, the mollusk is capable of a range of feelings, yearning, loves, with which it interprets its environment. (It eventually creates a shell for itself to express its love as beauty for another...)

I remember being struck by the vividness of that sightless world, and thought, Perhaps this is what it is like to become aware of yourself in the womb: warmth, movement, vibration, and, what's this? a hand to suck on.

Fingers, folded, sucked. Hands are important from the first.

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