painting every day

thinking of spring and the un-staged studio

2012-02-25T15:22:00.003-08:00

The weather has been freakishly spectacular in Napa. Over 70, warm, breezy. Beyond fabulous but there's a couple of downsides to this weather nirvana. One down side is that the plants, and namely fruit trees are being faked out into thinking it's time to swell and bud...no, no, I say. Go back into your sweet place of winter dreams and don't be thinking about blossoming now.
Problem with all the budding is that if we get a late winter or freeze, that weather can knock down buds, hence sending the fruit of the summer to the dirt of the early (fake) spring.

boo hoo.

Also, with a non wet winter some summer drought. Drought. Dry, parched, wetless, heatfull drought. (do I know how to make up words or what?!)
Born and raised in California, not far from Napa, in what is called the "inland valley", I was a child of the seventies. Yes, I am that old.
I'm not sure if the expression was born during my youth, but we came to practice the catch phrase suggestion: "yellow mellow, brown down"
Think about that for a moment.
eww.

Not to mention brown lawns, dried up hillsides, ripe for fires, guilt at the gesture of watering plants in the yard (wait till the sun goes down)

Geesh, am I going on.

Hope it rains. (that's what I could have said in the beginning)

So, spring cleaning....the studio. I recently delivered and shipped out paintings and was left with a fairly empty, between projects space and more importantly have recently added square footage to my space! About seventy square feet plus a window, which is soooo vital in an artists space.

Once again, pulling out the paint cans, I painted my bullet riddled wall panels (not really bullets~ nails and screws would be more accurate) painted over everything in a fresh coat of white and yes....
repainted my studio floor plus the main shared space of the studio.

The paint and dirt riddled disaster of a floor was really visually distracting and not in a Jackson Pollock-y cool way of drips and dribbles but in a what a filthy, paint-glue-varnish-dirt-coffee spills-mystery shmutz kind of way.

(if you can make it out, that mannequin bottom is the best paper towel holder I've ever had, and sassy too!)

Gone.
Now lovely once again.

When I posted about painting my floor in days of yore, about two years ago, I had a comment from a reader who said they'd never seen a blog post with the word "shit" in it so many times.

Uh, thanks.

On Art and Wine

2012-02-18T17:23:00.000-08:00

(that's my wee painting in the upper left: an abstraction of a napa vines, it measures 10x10")

Available through Ma(i)sonry Napa Valley Bespoke collection.

this week at the studio

2012-02-12T11:38:00.000-08:00

(ok, really lame photo but I'm too lazy to look for a good one)

Much on my mind this week.

-beginning a commission painting: 6 feet wide by 3 feet high. Terrific dimensions for drama. When one begins with a dramatic shape (the nature of the size even begins this painting with some edge) the image already has every opportunity to make a great statement.
-researching various mustards: that is it's mustard season in Napa Valley where the vines are dormant and darkly quite and the mustard plants are in full bloom creating an artists dream: dramatic color : grey sky, black vine, neon yellow flowers.

The old timey lore says that during the building of the missions of California, the Padres planted mustard to create a bright marker along the way. Mission accomplished. (no pun intended!)

Also, last week: shipped out a variety of small paintings including this perennial favorite: little birds

(these little guys are popular and I never tire of their expressions)

-Both Primo and Terzo (those are my kids) were sick last week: one legitimate, the other somewhat imagined. (I'm trying to be kind) Bottom line: sure puts a kink in all my many plans of productivity! Oh well, we know what's always said about plans: life is what happens...

Four Stars!

2012-01-28T11:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Universe,

I am busting my vest buttons (does anyone say that? and technically do women bust vest buttons? don't answer that)
Number one son is the lead in his middle school play, titled "Shakespeare is my father", playing the part of the bard himself.

Yes, I'm his mom, but I have to say after weeks of practicing lines with him, I knew the play pretty well and he nailed it! He's got terrific comedic timing and excellent voice projection.

So proud I am.

Here's the synopsis:

"It is the summer of 1596 and William Shakespeare's fame is on the rise in London, but he suddenly suffered from writer's block. While facing self-doubt, Shakespeare's three children come to visit, forcing him to learn how to be a father again as he searches for inspiration. Written and directed by Kara Wilson, "Shakespeare is My Father" combines romance, drama, and comedy to create a unique tale that is very loosely based around historical facts as well as some of Shakespeare's most famous lines."

(That's my son in the upper right corner of the picture, as William Shakespeare)

I'll be back with art soon....

I thought I knew me. Turns out I didn't.

2011-11-18T09:47:00.000-08:00

On another note...Look what's up! The big, bold, big cypress painting.

Officially titled: " l'ordre du chaos" , unofficially : "more order, less chaos"
6 feet tall, 10 feet wide.

Now installed at I. Wolk gallery in St. Helena, CA

Loving it's grandness in the gallery and I'm so happy it's getting "hang time" on the wall in this public space. Art should be seen.

Make more art

2011-10-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

No apologies for my lack of posts in the last six or so weeks. I've been busy. There. I enjoy posting on the blog, but when I feel like I'm not coming up with anything of particular interest to anyone but myself, I tend to stay away.

That is not to say that I am not frequently writing things down in my mind of subjects to post: "Change is good" morphed into "Change addiction". "Art as a business" morphed into "Shit, I'm busy !"

You might sense now where I'm getting stalled out.

But, shit, I am busy and that is grand. I love to be busy doing what I love.

The big 6'x10' painting is finished. Painting and leafing this bad boy was good fun. I will miss it in all it's largeness, but shall be happy knowing that it will be going to a good home.

That's what this is about:

art out-money in-make more art.

Not a very romantic or eloquent way of stating it, but I'm fairly pragmatic by nature.

thinking about today....

2011-08-20T11:32:00.000-07:00

image from art and lair

my big fat primed canvas

2011-08-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

Continuing on my theme this week, let me introduce you to my new best friend: Six by ten feet of cotton, gesso and wood with a healthy dose of wire for the stability every artist seeks in a new relationship.

These two images show me, first stretching the canvas onto the stretcher bars and the second image after priming the canvas with an undercoat painting.

The second image is likely a bit shocking as a contemporary painting is not my goal, but this base coat serves a purpose in the finished painting.

Of course I am not going to tell anything about what I have planned of the painting itself. You'll just have to follow it's progress.

Like me.

How does she know?

2011-07-04T15:01:00.001-07:00

She seems to know exactly how I am feeling...Not a chicken with her head cut off, as the common expression goes, but rather
a woman with a chicken on her head, albeit confused. "How is it that I have a chicken on my head?" , she seems to be saying.

I've oft felt these exact feelings, especially of late. My one true calm amidst the head chicken is making art. In the studio I find that it not only calms me (and the chicken?) but also takes my mind off of the constant round and round of worries and concerns, running lists and issues.

"How is it that I have a chicken on my head?" I say to myself over and over through out the day, but cannot find the answer to this question.

Some sage might suggest that instead of asking why said chicken is on head, suggest to oneself to remove the chicken.

Sometimes it's the simple answer that is so obvious.

work is good

2011-05-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

(passion series painting, in progress. 24x48")
Indeed. Work is good. Takes my mind off things, helps me focus on something other than me. The ID.

I am continuing my series of paintings begun last year at this time: the "passion" series.
People occasionally ask what the meaning of the passion series is about.

"uh...passion?"

I thought it was obvious, but what do I know..

Passion: (noun) 1. Strong and barely controllable emotion. 2. State or outburst of such emotion. (from dictionary.com)

1. a powerful emotion, such as love, joy, hatred or anger. (the freedictionary.com)

So much about making art is the act of making art. Not waiting for inspiration, reading books, grand life experiences.
In my opinion, so much about making art is the act of showing up in the studio and getting to work. Chuck Close said it best:
"Inspiration is for amateurs. Art is about showing up and getting to work."

Passion drives making art.

inspiration

2011-05-28T16:39:00.000-07:00

"order from chaos" kate salenfriend
The word inspiration or the notion of being inspired, here in my happy valley, if not the universe of art, tends to be a word of romance.

At one time or another, we have all learned the back ground of a particular work of art: When he lived in Spain and ....
during the golden age of Paris... in his home in the French Quarter...

Of course I would be foolish to say that art in general is inspired by the romance of our lives. So much of art comes from tragedy and loss, insanity, destitute(ness?), lost love, seeking.

When I participate in art shows I am always struck by how many collectors are very interested in the "story" behind the art.

At the beginning of my art career, I scoffed at this notion that there was a story or an experience that "informed" the art itself, but over the years, I've thought through this idea and have come to the conclusion that yes, I do paint from inspiration. Sometimes from joy, sometimes loss and sadness.

But that is exactly what might be a difficult pill to swallow.

If a collector is considering a painting, does it matter that the story or inspiration behind it is one of happiness or sadness?

Does a cloud of doom somehow follow that art with the collector into their home, only to remind them of this story every time they look at the art, or does the collector base his or her feelings about the art on their appreciation alone?

focus and inappropriateness

2011-05-11T21:34:00.000-07:00

(random image: "dancer" inspired by Degas. painting by me, photo by me)

So much happening in this wee land of Napa and my art business. Because I don't have an art subject to write about this evening and this is as a matter of fact, "my" blog, which is to say, a diary or journal, it is rather tempting to carry on as if you, fair reader are my "friend" or confidant. Just you and I and a cup of tea.

Skooch in closer and I'll fill you in on all the things happening in my, uh, personal life...

Or not.

I have, just behind this screen, another window opened wherein I am commencing online traffic school.
(I bow my head in shame)
I've been a successful and safe driver for over thirty years and I have always been quick to brag my chops. Not one ticket! None, never, nada.
Till two weeks ago: four way stop, on the way to pick up Q from school. Distracted, spaced out, lazy.
Rolled. Through. Stop.

The officer that pulled me over must have been seriously considering upping the ante when I couldn't stop giggling as I felt like this was a bonding moment between he and I: really, first ticket and all.

But alas, here I am, on the first leg of a alleged several hour course.
What can I not get out of my head in order to avoid writing inappropriate content in my blog?

I short song or ditty that I've known for many years, inappropriate from any angle.

(I dare say, I am unawares even of it's title)

Gee, aint it grand,
To have a girl so big and fat
That when you hug her,
You don't know where you're at.

Just take some chalk in your hand:
Hug a while,
Chalk a while,
see where you began.

Then one day,
As I was huggin and a chalkin'
And 'a askin her to be my bride,

Comes along a man
With some chalk in his hand,
Chalkin' up the other side.
Over the mountain.
Chalkin' up the other side.

My apologies to fat girls, chalk, brides and song writers everywhere.

As an artist, I should know better than to perpetuate such nonsense and I should be ashamed at least for having such a tune
still stuck like dried oatmeal spilled on cement pavement to my brain.

But there it is.

Art business is great, business is happening, art is being made.
No fresh posts tonight (unless you count this one)
Am hoping that by finally writing out that song I can once and for all purge it from my brain....?

If you see me at the studio, ask and I'll be happy to fill you in on the melody.

Well sing it together and it can be yours too.

no excuses!

2011-04-22T09:24:00.000-07:00

Studio beautified, floors painted, smaller work table installed?
-check.

Larger number of canvases purchased, primed?
-check. check.

Paint palette scraped and cleaned? Paint brushes pulled out of turpentine soup and cleaned?
-check, uh...not yet, but really, I will.

Inspiration?
-check.

Wonderful things are bound to happen.

Four Stars!

2011-04-11T20:24:00.000-07:00

The Saturday Gallery exhibition could not have been better! I.Wolk's staff was as professional and well prepared as ever, their enthusiasm and knowledge quite apparent.

Not only did all of the artists sell work, we also had a harmonious presence as each of us were able to talk with collectors about our work, explain the process of using metallic in the form of paint or leaf and generally inform and entertain the invited crowd.

Well done!

Sunday's "salon" at Ma(i)sonry Napa Valley (located a short fifty meters or so from the French Laundry) was equally impressive. The staff there as well was prepared, enthusiastic and welcoming. We had as great turn out as well as collectors who then made purchases so that the artists (including me) could sign or inscribe the paintings, take a photo and get to know the warm folks that came out to see the art and artists.

I truly adore the collectors who take the time to introduce themselves to me and are interested in what I have to say about my art. It also lets me inside their homes when they tell me what they have in mind regarding the placement of the painting, what led them to this purchase and what specifically drew them to my art.

It should be no surprise that most artists, myself included enjoy and have continued relationships with the collectors of their art.

what a difference some paint makes...

2011-04-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

not in 24 hours, but a few more than that.
I've painted at G studio for three years and from the feet down, my space has been looking sorry and sad.

Since our theme collectively as far as the tone of the studio lately can best be described as "manic on steroids", and since I'd completed and delivered all of my paintings for the gallery exhibit, naturally I looked to the paint brush.

What did I see? Filthy, dirty, paint dribbled (and not in a Jackson Pollock-y way) floors.

I hit the paint closet and blended a color as close to the floor color as possible and of course like a good painter, cut in the edges and began.

Half way through painting my space, on my knees, I lifted my head and looked at what I'd done: Oh, shit.

The painting of the floor: all good.

The fact that I'd begun a project that would absolutely have to be finished to the end: Oh shit.

Well, I was in.

And this is no small task: Approximately 3,000 square feet of creative energy.

I have only two more areas to go, the conference room and the small gallery.

The floors look fantastic. and more importantly, clean.

Busting out all over

2011-03-31T19:48:00.000-07:00

Spring finally arrived this week in Napa after a very rainy and stormy three weeks of March. In like a lion, out like a lamb?
It seems so.
The last two days: eighty plus degrees. Break out the dresses and skirts. California heat has a way of bringing a resident to it's knees.
I was born and raised in California, lived for six years in Hawaii and back to California again. I have a bit of experience with this type of weather, but what I know for sure?
When someone points out how hot it is? The temperature goes up a degree.
Really.

All paintings for the I.Wolk and Ma(i)sonry galleries have been delivered.

I lie: all but two which are still waiting to dry and get gold leaf.

But, and here's the real reason for this post: With the more or less emptying out of my studio, some furniture movement this week and a new artist moving into the studio to make us a group of six, I took advantage of the energy and space and begun tackling one of the biggest and also most rewarding of projects: painting the studio floor!

This afternoon I also self diagnosed: painters shoulder.

I'll continue this floor painting project this week and post images soon.

Stay tuned!

The working artists studio

2011-03-21T18:38:00.000-07:00

Well, for anyone who read the last post and the poetry of time, I feel that you needed to be rewarded with some visual content today with the likes of me returning back to the business of art.

I didn't leave the business of art, but as you can read by the last half dozen or so posts, I have been quite busy in my imagination and have been posting most anything but images specific to making art.

(my studio is hard at work this week)

As I have previously written I have a group show coming up at I.Wolk Gallery in St. Helena and Ma(i)sonry Napa Valley on April 9th and 10th. The art featured will be there for a month or so if you can't make the opening itself.

Beating dead horses is not something I savor, but I can go on about making art a business and todays post is no exception.
So often the lament in casual conversation with another artist is that "there is no time" or asking me the question of "where and when do you get inspiration?" "Do you ever feel uninspired?"

I cannot stress enough to anyone who will listen that inspiration is a bunch of hooey. Crap.

Sure, we all like to see the awe-inspiring sunset, the unique textiles of Marakesh, the colors of Taipei, the masterpieces of Europe.
Well, duh, who doesn't?
But the fact of the matter is that most of us have a day to day in the here and now.

But a walk around the block, a bike ride to the market or a favorite path,

a drive in the rain,

an hour on the internet, a conversation with an interesting person, a movie, a magazine,

a tree,

a plate of donuts are sometimes all you need.

Really.

Or maybe encouragement from another artist.

Making art is about showing up and doing it.

Give it a try.

Time

2011-03-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

Indeed the clock is ticking. Deadlines are looming and progress is being made on so many levels. My group show at I.Wolk and Maisonry Galleries is coming up on April 9th which leaves me a scant two weeks to finish up all the paintings that I've been working on.

Delving into the subject of time is an entertaining pastime in itself and within this diversion I was pulled in by what else? Poetry about time

A few stellar examples:

"On Time" by Milton

I journeyed Into Time" by Sri Chinmoy

"I could Give all to Time" by Robert Frost

"Sonnet VII, When I do Count the Clock that Tells the Time" by William Shakespeare

"Times Revenges" by Robert Browning

and my personal favorite for today:

"The Flight of the Duchess" by Robert Browning, in it's entirety. Get a cup of coffee, tea, or glass of wine and enjoy...

The Flight Of The Duchess by Robert Browning
I.

You're my friend:
I was the man the Duke spoke to;
I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;
So here's the tale from beginning to end,
My friend!

II.

Ours is a great wild country:
If you climb to our castle's top,
I don't see where your eye can stop;
For when you've passed the cornfield country,
Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,
And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,
And cattle-tract to open-chase,
And open-chase to the very base
Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace,
Round about, solemn and slow,
One by one, row after row,
Up and up the pine-trees go,
So, like black priests up, and so
Down the other side again
To another greater, wilder country,
That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,
Branched through and through with many a vein
Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;
Look right, look left, look straight before,---
Beneath they mine, above they smelt,
Copper-ore and iron-ore,
And forge and furnace mould and melt,
And so on, more and ever more,
Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore,
---And the whole is our Duke's country.

III.

I was born the day this present Duke was---
(And O, says the song, ere I was old!)
In the castle where the other Duke was---
(When I was happy and young, not old!)
I in the kennel, he in the bower:
We are of like age to an hour.
My father was huntsman in that day;
Who has not heard my father say
That, when a boar was brought to bay,
Three times, four times out of five,
With his huntspear he'd contrive
To get the killing-place transfixed,
And pin him true, both eyes betwixt?
And that's why the old Duke would rather
He lost a salt-pit than my father,
And loved to have him ever in call;
That's why my father stood in the hall
When the old Duke brought his infant out
To show the people, and while they passed
The wondrous bantling round about,
Was first to start at the outside blast
As the Kaiser's courier blew his horn
Just a month after the babe was born.
``And,'' quoth the Kaiser's courier, ``since
``The Duke has got an heir, our Prince
``Needs the Duke's self at his side: ''
The Duke looked down and seemed to wince,
But he thought of wars o'er the world wide,
Castles a-fire, men on their march,
The toppling tower, the crashing arch;
And up he looked, and awhile he eyed
The row of crests and shields and banners
Of all achievements after all manners,
And ``ay,'' said the Duke with a surly pride.
The more was his comfort when he died
At next year's end, in a velvet suit,
With a gilt glove on his hand, his foot
In a silken shoe for a leather boot,
Petticoated like a herald,
In a chamher next to an ante-room,
Where he breathed the breath of page and groom,
What he called stink, and they, perfume:
---They should have set him on red Berold
Mad with pride, like fire to manage!
They should have got his cheek fresh tannage
Such a day as to-day in the merry sunshine!
Had they stuck on his fist a rough-foot merlin!
(Hark, the wind's on the heath at its game!
Oh for a noble falcon-lanner
To flap each broad wing like a banner,
And turn in the wind, and dance like flame!)
Had they broached a white-beer cask from Berlin
---Or if you incline to prescribe mere wine
Put to his lips, when they saw him pine,
A cup of our own Moldavia fine,
Cotnar for instance, green as May sorrel
And ropy with sweet,---we shall not quarrel.

IV.

So, at home, the sick tall yellow Duchess
Was left with the infant in her clutches,
She being the daughter of God knows who:
And now was the time to revisit her tribe.
Abroad and afar they went, the two,
And let our people rail and gibe
At the empty hall and extinguished fire,
As loud as we liked, but ever in vain,
Till after long years we had our desire,
And back came the Duke and his mother again.

V.

And he came back the pertest little ape
That ever affronted human shape;
Full of his travel, struck at himself.
You'd say, he despised our bluff old ways?
---Not he! For in Paris they told the elf
Our rough North land was the Land of Lays,
The one good thing left in evil days;
Since the Mid-Age was the Heroic Time,
And only in wild nooks like ours
Could you taste of it yet as in its prime,
And see true castles, with proper towers,
Young-hearted women, old-minded men,
And manners now as manners were then.
So, all that the old Dukes had been, without knowing it,
This Duke would fain know he was, without being it;
'Twas not for the joy's self, but the joy of his showing it,
Nor for the pride's self, but the pride of our seeing it,
He revived all usages thoroughly worn-out,
The souls of them fumed-forth, the hearts of them torn-out:
And chief in the chase his neck he perilled
On a lathy horse, all legs and length,
With blood for bone, all speed, no strength;
---They should have set him on red Berold
With the red eye slow consuming in fire,
And the thin stiff ear like an abbey-spire!

VI.

Well, such as he was, he must marry, we heard:
And out of a convent, at the word,
Came the lady, in time of spring.
---Oh, old thoughts they cling, they cling!
That day, I know, with a dozen oaths
I clad myself in thick hunting-clothes
Fit for the chase of urochs or buffle
In winter-time when you need to muffle.
But the Duke had a mind we should cut a figure,
And so we saw the lady arrive:
My friend, I have seen a white crane bigger!
She was the smallest lady alive,
Made in a piece of nature's madness,
Too small, almost, for the life and gladness
That over-filled her, as some hive
Out of the bears' reach on the high trees
Is crowded with its safe merry bees:
In truth, she was not hard to please!
Up she looked, down she looked, round at the mead,
Straight at the castle, that's best indeed
To look at from outside the walls:
As for us, styled the ``serfs and thralls,''
She as much thanked me as if she had said it,
(With her eyes, do you understand?)
Because I patted her horse while I led it;
And Max, who rode on her other hand,
Said, no bird flew past but she inquired
What its true name was, nor ever seemed tired---
If that was an eagle she saw hover,
And the green and grey bird on the field was the plover.
When suddenly appeared the Duke:
And as down she sprung, the small foot pointed
On to my hand,---as with a rebuke,
And as if his backbone were not jointed,
The Duke stepped rather aside than forward,
And welcomed her with his grandest smile;
And, mind you, his mother all the while
Chilled in the rear, like a wind to Nor'ward;
And up, like a weary yawn, with its pullies
Went, in a shriek, the rusty portcullis;
And, like a glad sky the north-wind sullies,
The lady's face stopped its play,
As if her first hair had grown grey;
For such things must begin some one day.

VII.

In a day or two she was well again;
As who should say, ``You labour in vain!
``This is all a jest against God, who meant
``I should ever be, as I am, content
`` And glad in his sight; therefore, glad I will be.''
So, smiling as at first went she.

VIII.

She was active, stirring, all fire---
Could not rest, could not tire---
To a stone she might have given life!
(I myself loved once, in my day)
---For a shepherd's, miner's, huntsman's wife,
(I had a wife, I know what I say)
Never in all the world such an one!
And here was plenty to be done,
And she that could do it, great or small,
She was to do nothing at all.
There was already this man in his post,
This in his station, and that in his office,
And the Duke's plan admitted a wife, at most,
To meet his eye, with the other trophies,
Now outside the hall, now in it,
To sit thus, stand thus, see and be seen,
At the proper place in the proper minute,
And die away the life between.
And it was amusing enough, each infraction
Of rule---(but for after-sadness that came)
To hear the consummate self-satisfaction
With which the young Duke and the old dame
Would let her advise, and criticise,
And, being a fool, instruct the wise,
And, child-like, parcel out praise or blame:
They bore it all in complacent guise,
As though an artificer, after contriving
A wheel-work image as if it were living,
Should find with delight it could motion to strike him!
So found the Duke, and his mother like him:
The lady hardly got a rebuff---
That had not been contemptuous enough,
With his cursed smirk, as he nodded applause,
And kept off the old mother-cat's claws.

IX.

So, the little lady grew silent and thin,
Paling and ever paling,
As the way is with a hid chagrin;
And the Duke perceived that she was ailing,
And said in his heart, ``'Tis done to spite me,
``But I shall find in my power to right me!''
Don't swear, friend! The old one, many a year,
Is in hell, and the Duke's self . . . you shall hear.

X.

Well, early in autumn, at first winter-warning,
When the stag had to break with his foot, of a morning,
A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice
That covered the pond till the sun, in a trice,
Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold,
And another and another, and faster and faster,
Till, dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled:
Then it so chanced that the Duke our master
Asked himself what were the pleasures in season,
And found, since the calendar bade him be hearty,
He should do the Middle Age no treason
In resolving on a hunting-party.
Always provided, old books showed the way of it!
What meant old poets by their strictures?
And when old poets had said their say of it,
How taught old painters in their pictures?
We must revert to the proper channels,
Workings in tapestry, paintings on panels,
And gather up woodcraft's authentic traditions:
Here was food for our various ambitions,
As on each case, exactly stated---
To encourage your dog, now, the properest chirrup,
Or best prayer to Saint Hubert on mounting your stirrup---
We of the house hold took thought and debated.
Blessed was he whose back ached with the jerkin
His sire was wont to do forest-work in;
Blesseder he who nobly sunk ``ohs''
And ``ahs'' while he tugged on his grand-sire's trunk-hose;
What signified hats if they had no rims on,
Each slouching before and behind like the scallop,
And able to serve at sea for a shallop,
Loaded with lacquer and looped with crimson?
So that the deer now, to make a short rhyme on't,
What with our Venerers, Prickers and Yerderers,
Might hope for real hunters at length and not murderers,
And oh the Duke's tailor, he had a hot time on't!

XI.

Now you must know that when the first dizziness
Of flap-hats and buff-coats and jack-boots subsided,
The Duke put this question, ``The Duke's part provided,
``Had not the Duchess some share in the business?''
For out of the mouth of two or three witnesses
Did he establish all fit-or-unfitnesses:
And, after much laying of heads together,
Somebody's cap got a notable feather
By the announcement with proper unction
That he had discovered the lady's function;
Since ancient authors gave this tenet,
``When horns wind a mort and the deer is at siege,
``Let the dame of the castle prick forth on her jennet,
``And, with water to wash the hands of her liege
``In a clean ewer with a fair toweling,
`` Let her preside at the disemboweling.''
Now, my friend, if you had so little religion
As to catch a hawk, some falcon-lanner,
And thrust her broad wings like a banner
Into a coop for a vulgar pigeon;
And if day by day and week by week
You cut her claws, and sealed her eyes,
And clipped her wings, and tied her beak,
Would it cause you any great surprise
If, when you decided to give her an airing,
You found she needed a little preparing?
---I say, should you be such a curmudgeon,
If she clung to the perch, as to take it in dudgeon?
Yet when the Duke to his lady signified,
Just a day before, as he judged most dignified,
In what a pleasure she was to participate,---
And, instead of leaping wide in flashes,
Her eyes just lifted their long lashes,
As if pressed by fatigue even he could not dissipate,
And duly acknowledged the Duke's forethought,
But spoke of her health, if her health were worth aught,
Of the weight by day and the watch by night,
And much wrong now that used to be right,
So, thanking him, declined the hunting,---
Was conduct ever more affronting?
With all the ceremony settled---
With the towel ready, and the sewer
Polishing up his oldest ewer,
And the jennet pitched upon, a piebald,
Black-barred, cream-coated and pink eye-balled,---
No wonder if the Duke was nettled
And when she persisted nevertheless,---
Well, I suppose here's the time to confess
That there ran half round our lady's chamber
A balcony none of the hardest to clamber;
And that Jacynth the tire-woman, ready in waiting,
Stayed in call outside, what need of relating?
And since Jacynth was like a June rose, why, a fervent
Adorer of Jacynth of course was your servant;
And if she had the habit to peep through the casement,
How could I keep at any vast distance?
And so, as I say, on the lady's persistence,
The Duke, dumb-stricken with amazement,
Stood for a while in a sultry smother,
And then, with a smile that partook of the awful,
Turned her over to his yellow mother
To learn what was held decorous and lawful;
And the mother smelt blood with a cat-like instinct,
As her cheek quick whitened thro' all its quince-tinct.
Oh, but the lady heard the whole truth at once!
What meant she?--Who was she?---Her duty and station,
The wisdom of age and the folly of youth, at once,
Its decent regard and its fitting relation---
In brief, my friend, set all the devils in hell free
And turn them out to carouse in a belfry
And treat the priests to a fifty-part canon,
And then you may guess how that tongue of hers ran on!
Well, somehow or other it ended at last
And, licking her whiskers, out she passed;
And after her,---making (he hoped) a face
Like Emperor Nero or Sultan Saladin,
Stalked the Duke's self with the austere grace
Of ancient hero or modern paladin,
From door to staircase---oh such a solemn
Unbending of the vertebral column!

XII.

However, at sunrise our company mustered;
And here was the huntsman bidding unkennel,
And there 'neath his bonnet the pricker blustered,
With feather dank as a bough of wet fennel;
For the court-yard walls were filled with fog
You might have cut as an axe chops a log---
Like so much wool for colour and bulkiness;
And out rode the Duke in a perfect sulkiness,
Since, before breakfast, a man feels but queasily,
And a sinking at the lower abdomen
Begins the day with indifferent omen.
And lo, as he looked around uneasily,
The sun ploughed the fog up and drove it asunder
This way and that from the valley under;
And, looking through the court-yard arch,
Down in the valley, what should meet him
But a troop of Gipsies on their march?
No doubt with the annual gifts to greet him.

XIII.

Now, in your land, Gipsies reach you, only
After reaching all lands beside;
North they go, South they go, trooping or lonely,
And still, as they travel far and wide,
Catch they and keep now a trace here, trace there,
That puts you in mind of a place here, a place there.
But with us, I believe they rise out of the ground,
And nowhere else, I take it, are found
With the earth-tint yet so freshly embrowned:
Born, no doubt, like insects which breed on
The very fruit they are meant to feed on.
For the earth---not a use to which they don't turn it,
The ore that grows in the mountain's womb,
Or the sand in the pits like a honeycomb,
They sift and soften it, bake it and burn it---
Whether they weld you, for instance, a snaffle
With side-bars never a brute can baffle;
Or a lock that's a puzzle of wards within wards;
Or, if your colt's fore-foot inclines to curve inwards,
Horseshoes they hammer which turn on a swivel
And won't allow the hoof to shrivel.
Then they cast bells like the shell of the winkle
That keep a stout heart in the ram with their tinkle;
But the sand---they pinch and pound it like otters;
Commend me to Gipsy glass-makers and potters!
Glasses they'll blow you, crystal-clear,
Where just a faint cloud of rose shall appear,
As if in pure water you dropped and let die
A bruised black-blooded mulberry;
And that other sort, their crowning pride,
With long white threads distinct inside,
Like the lake-flower's fibrous roots which dangle
Loose such a length and never tangle,
Where the bold sword-lily cuts the clear waters,
And the cup-lily couches with all the white daughters:
Such are the works they put their hand to,
The uses they turn and twist iron and sand to.
And these made the troop, which our Duke saw sally
Toward his castle from out of the valley,
Men and women, like new-hatched spiders,
Come out with the morning to greet our riders.
And up they wound till they reached the ditch,
Whereat all stopped save one, a witch
That I knew, as she hobbled from the group,
By her gait directly and her stoop,
I, whom Jacynth was used to importune
To let that same witch tell us our fortune.
The oldest Gipsy then above ground;
And, sure as the autumn season came round,
She paid us a visit for profit or pastime,
And every time, as she swore, for the last time.
And presently she was seen to sidle
Up to the Duke till she touched his bridle,
So that the horse of a sudden reared up
As under its nose the old witch peered up
With her worn-out eyes, or rather eye-holes
Of no use now but to gather brine,
And began a kind of level whine
Such as they used to sing to their viols
When their ditties they go grinding
Up and down with nobody minding:
And then, as of old, at the end of the humming
Her usual presents were forthcoming
---A dog-whistle blowing the fiercest of trebles,
(Just a sea-shore stone holding a dozen fine pebbles,)
Or a porcelain mouth-piece to screw on a pipe-end,---
And so she awaited her annual stipend.
But this time, the Duke would scarcely vouchsafe
A word in reply; and in vain she felt
With twitching fingers at her belt
For the purse of sleek pine-martin pelt,
Ready to ptlt what he gave in her pouch safe,---
Till, either to quicken his apprehension,
Or possibly with an after-intention,
She was come, she said, to pay her duty
To the new Duchess, the youthful beauty.
No sooner had she named his lady,
Than a shine lit up the face so shady,
And its smirk returned with a novel meaning---
For it struck him, the babe just wanted weaning;
If one gave her a taste of what life was and sorrow,
She, foolish to-day, would be wiser tomorrow;
And who so fit a teacher of trouble
As this sordid crone bent well-nigh double?
So, glancing at her wolf-skin vesture,
(If such it was, for they grow so hirsute
That their own fleece serves for natural fur-suit)
He was contrasting, 'twas plain from his gesture,
The life of the lady so flower-like and delicate
With the loathsome squalor of this helicat.
I, in brief, was the man the Duke beckoned
From out of the throng, and while I drew near
He told the crone---as I since have reckoned
By the way he bent and spoke into her ear
With circumspection and mystery---
The main of the lady's history,
Her frowardness and ingratitude:
And for all the crone's submissive attitude
I could see round her mouth the loose plaits tightening,
And her brow with assenting intelligence brightening,
As though she engaged with hearty good-will
Whatever he now might enjoin to fulfil,
And promised the lady a thorough frightening.
And so, just giving her a glimpse
Of a purse, with the air of a man who imps
The wing of the hawk that shall fetch the hernshaw,
He bade me take the Gipsy mother
And set her telling some story or other
Of hill or dale, oak-wood or fernshaw,
To wile away a weary hour
For the lady left alone in her bower,
Whose mind and body craved exertion
And yet shrank from all better diversion.

XIV.

Then clapping heel to his horse, the mere curveter,
Out rode the Duke, and after his hollo
Horses and hounds swept, huntsman and servitor,
And back I turned and bade the crone follow.
And what makes me confident what's to be told you
Had all along been of this crone's devising,
Is, that, on looking round sharply, behold you,
There was a novelty quick as surprising:
For first, she had shot up a full head in stature,
And her step kept pace with mine nor faltered,
As if age had foregone its usurpature,
And the ignoble mien was wholly altered,
And the face looked quite of another nature,
And the change reached too, whatever the change meant,
Her shaggy wolf-skin cloak's arrangement:
For where its tatters hung loose like sedges,
Gold coins were glittering on the edges,
Like the band-roll strung with tomans
Which proves the veil a Persian woman's.
And under her brow, like a snail's horns newly
Come out as after the rain he paces,
Two unmistakeable eye-points duly
Live and aware looked out of their places.
So, we went and found Jacynth at the entry
Of the lady's chamber standing sentry;
I told the command and produced my companion,
And Jacynth rejoiced to admit any one,
For since last night, by the same token,
Not a single word had the lady spoken:
They went in both to the presence together,
While I in the balcony watched the weather.

XV.

And now, what took place at the very first of all,
I cannot tell, as I never could learn it:
Jacynth constantly wished a curse to fall
On that little head of hers and burn it
If she knew how she came to drop so soundly
Asleep of a sudden and there continue
The whole time sleeping as profoundly
As one of the boars my father would pin you
'Twixt the eyes where life holds garrison,
---Jacynth forgive me the comparison!
But where I begin asy own narration
Is a little after I took my station
To breathe the fresh air from the balcony,
And, having in those days a falcon eye,
To follow the hunt thro' the open country,
From where the bushes thinlier crested
The hillocks, to a plain where's not one tree.
When, in a moment, my ear was arrested
By---was it singing, or was it saying,
Or a strange musical instrument playing
In the chamber?---and to be certain
I pushed the lattice, pulled the curtain,
And there lay Jacynth asleep,
Yet as if a watch she tried to keep,
In a rosy sleep along the floor
With her head against the door;
While in the midst, on the seat of state,
Was a queen---the Gipsy woman late,
With head and face downbent
On the lady's head and face intent:
For, coiled at her feet like a child at ease,
The lady sat between her knees
And o'er them the lady's clasped hands met,
And on those hands her chin was set,
And her upturned face met the face of the crone
Wherein the eyes had grown and grown
As if she could double and quadruple
At pleasure the play of either pupil
---Very like, by her hands' slow fanning,
As up and down like a gor-crow's flappers
They moved to measure, or bell-clappers.
I said ``Is it blessing, is it banning,
``Do they applaud you or burlesque you---
``Those hands and fingers with no flesh on?''
But, just as I thought to spring in to the rescue,
At once I was stopped by the lady's expression:
For it was life her eyes were drinking
From the crone's wide pair above unwinking,
---Life's pure fire received without shrinking,
Into the heart and breast whose heaving
Told you no single drop they were leaving,
---Life, that filling her, passed redundant
Into her very hair, back swerving
Over each shoulder, loose and abundant,
As her head thrown back showed the white throat curving;
And the very tresses shared in the pleasure,
Moving to the mystic measure,
Bounding as the bosom bounded.
I stopped short, more and more confounded,
As still her cheeks burned and eyes glistened,
As she listened and she listened:
When all at once a hand detained me,
The selfsame contagion gained me,
And I kept time to the wondrous chime,
Making out words and prose and rhyme,
Till it seemed that the music furled
Its wings like a task fulfilled, and dropped
From under the words it first had propped,
And left them midway in the world:
Word took word as hand takes hand,
I could hear at last, and understand,
And when I held the unbroken thread,
The Gipsy said:---

``And so at last we find my tribe.
``And so I set thee in the midst,
``And to one and all of them describe
``What thou saidst and what thou didst,
``Our long and terrible journey through,
``And all thou art ready to say and do
``In the trials that remain:
``I trace them the vein and the other vein
``That meet on thy brow and part again,
``Making our rapid mystic mark;
``And I bid my people prove and probe
``Each eye's profound and glorious globe
``Till they detect the kindred spark
``In those depths so dear and dark,
``Like the spots that snap and burst and flee,
``Circling over the midnight sea.
``And on that round young cheek of thine
``I make them recognize the tinge,
``As when of the costly scarlet wine
``They drip so much as will impinge
``And spread in a thinnest scale afloat
``One thick gold drop from the olive's coat
``Over a silver plate whose sheen
``Still thro' the mixture shall be seen.
``For so I prove thee, to one and all,
``Fit, when my people ope their breast,
``To see the sign, and hear the call,
``And take the vow, and stand the test
``Which adds one more child to the rest---
``When the breast is bare and the arms are wide,
``And the world is left outside.
``For there is probation to decree,
``And many and long must the trials be
``Thou shalt victoriously endure,
``If that brow is true and those eyes are sure;
``Like a jewel-finder's fierce assay
``Of the prize he dug from its mountain-tomb---
``Let once the vindicating ray
``Leap out amid the anxious gloom,
``And steel and fire have done their part
``And the prize falls on its finder's heart;
`'So, trial after trial past,
``Wilt thou fall at the very last
``Breathless, half in trance
``With the thrill of the great deliverance,
``Into our arms for evermore;
``And thou shalt know, those arms once curled
``About thee, what we knew before,
``How love is the only good in the world.
``Henceforth be loved as heart can love,
``Or brain devise, or hand approve!
``Stand up, look below,
``It is our life at thy feet we throw
``To step with into light and joy;
``Not a power of life but we employ
``To satisfy thy nature's want;
``Art thou the tree that props the plant,
``Or the climbing plant that seeks the tree---
``Canst thou help us, must we help thee?
``If any two creatures grew into one,
``They would do more than the world has done.
``Though each apart were never so weak,
``Ye vainly through the world should seek
``For the knowledge and the might
``Which in such union grew their right:
``So, to approach at least that end,
``And blend,---as much as may be, blend
``Thee with us or us with thee,---
``As climbing plant or propping tree,
``Shall some one deck thee, over and down,
``Up and about, with blossoms and leaves?
``Fix his heart's fruit for thy garland crown,
``Cling with his soul as the gourd-vine cleaves,
``Die on thy boughs and disappear
``While not a leaf of thine is sere?
``Or is the other fate in store,
``And art thou fitted to adore,
``To give thy wondrous self away,
``And take a stronger nature's sway?
``I foresee and could foretell
``Thy future portion, sure and well:
``But those passionate eyes speak true, speak true,
``Let them say what thou shalt do!
``Only be sure thy daily life,
``In its peace or in its strife,
``Never shall be unobserved:
``We pursue thy whole career,
``And hope for it, or doubt, or fear,---
``Lo, hast thou kept thy path or swerved,
``We are beside thee in all thy ways,
``With our blame, with our praise,
``Our shame to feel, our pride to show,
``Glad, angry---but indifferent, no!
``Whether it be thy lot to go,
``For the good of us all, where the haters meet
``In the crowded city's horrible street;
``Or thou step alone through the morass
``Where never sound yet was
``Save the dry quick clap of the stork's bill,
``For the air is still, and the water still,
``When the blue breast of the dipping coot
``Dives under, and all is mute.
``So, at the last shall come old age,
``Decrepit as befits that stage;
``How else wouldst thou retire apart
``With the hoarded memories of thy heart,
``And gather all to the very least
``Of the fragments of life's earlier feast,
``Let fall through eagerness to find
``The crowning dainties yet behind?
``Ponder on the entire past
``Laid together thus at last,
``When the twilight helps to fuse
``The first fresh with the faded hues,
``And the outline of the whole,
``As round eve's shades their framework roll,
``Grandly fronts for once thy soul.
``And then as, 'mid the dark, a glean
``Of yet another morning breaks,
``And like the hand which ends a dream,
``Death, with the might of his sunbeam,
``Touches the flesh and the soul awakes,
``Then------''
Ay, then indeed something would happen!
But what? For here her voice changed like a bird's;
There grew more of the music and less of the words;
Had Jacynth only been by me to clap pen
To paper and put you down every syllable
With those clever clerkly fingers,
All I've forgotten as well as what lingers
In this old brain of mine that's but ill able
To give you even this poor version
Of the speech I spoil, as it were, with stammering
---More fault of those who had the hammering
Of prosody into me and syntax,
And did it, not with hobnails but tintacks!
But to return from this excursion,---
Just, do you mark, when the song was sweetest,
The peace most deep and the charm completest,
There came, shall I say, a snap---
And the charm vanished!
And my sense returned, so strangely banished,
And, starting as from a nap,
I knew the crone was bewitching my lady,
With Jacynth asleep; and but one spring made I
Down from the casement, round to the portal,
Another minute and I had entered,---
When the door opened, and more than mortal
Stood, with a face where to my mind centred
All beauties I ever saw or shall see,
The Duchess: I stopped as if struck by palsy.
She was so different, happy and beautiful,
I felt at once that all was best,
And that I had nothing to do, for the rest,
But wait her commands, obey and be dutiful.
Not that, in fact, there was any commanding;
I saw the glory of her eye,
And the brow's height and the breast's expanding,
And I was hers to live or to die.
As for finding what she wanted,
You know God Almighty granted
Such little signs should serve wild creatures
To tell one another all their desires,
So that each knows what his friend requires,
And does its bidding without teachers.
I preceded her; the crone
Followed silent and alone;
I spoke to her, but she merely jabbered
In the old style; both her eyes had slunk
Back to their pits; her stature shrunk;
In short, the soul in its body sunk
Like a blade sent home to its scabbard.
We descended, I preceding;
Crossed the court with nobody heeding,
All the world was at the chase,
The courtyard like a desert-place,
The stable emptied of its small fry;
I saddled myself the very palfrey
I remember patting while it carried her,
The day she arrived and the Duke married her.
And, do you know, though it's easy deceiving
Oneself in such matters, I can't help believing
The lady had not forgotten it either,
And knew the poor devil so much beneath her
Would have been only too glad for her service
To dance on hot ploughshares like a Turk dervise,
But, unable to pay proper duty where owing it,
Was reduced to that pitiful method of showing it:
For though the moment I began setting
His saddle on my own nag of Berold's begetting,
(Not that I meant to be obtrusive)
She stopped me, while his rug was shifting,
By a single rapid finger's lifting,
And, with a gesture kind but conclusive,
And a little shake of the head, refused me,---
I say, although she never used me,
Yet when she was mounted, the Gipsy behind her,
And I ventured to remind her,
I suppose with a voice of less steadiness
Than usual, for my feeling exceeded me,
---Something to the effect that I was in readiness
Whenever God should please she needed me,---
Then, do you know, her face looked down on me
With a look that placed a crown on me,
And she felt in her bosom,---mark, her bosom---
And, as a flower-tree drops its blossom,
Dropped me . . . ah, had it been a purse
Of silver, my friend, or gold that's worse,
Why, you see, as soon as I found myself
So understood,---that a true heart so may gain
Such a reward,---I should have gone home again,
Kissed Jacynth, and soberly drowned myself!
It was a little plait of hair
Such as friends in a convent make
To wear, each for the other's sake,---
This, see, which at my breast I wear,
Ever did (rather to Jacynth's grudgment),
And ever shall, till the Day of Judgment.
And then,---and then,---to cut short,---this is idle,
These are feelings it is not good to foster,---
I pushed the gate wide, she shook the bridle,
And the palfrey bounded,---and so we lost her.

XVI.

When the liquor's out why clink the cannikin?
I did think to describe you the panic in
The redoubtable breast of our master the mannikin,
And what was the pitch of his mother's yellowness,
How she turned as a shark to snap the spare-rib
Clean off, sailors say, from a pearl-diving Carib,
When she heard, what she called the flight of the feloness
---But it seems such child's play,
What they said and did with the lady away!
And to dance on, when we've lost the music,
Always made me---and no doubt makes you---sick.
Nay, to my mind, the world's face looked so stern
As that sweet form disappeared through the postern,
She that kept it in constant good humour,
It ought to have stopped; there seemed nothing to do more.
But the world thought otherwise and went on,
And my head's one that its spite was spent on:
Thirty years are fled since that morning,
And with them all my head's adorning.
Nor did the old Duchess die outright,
As you expect, of suppressed spite,
The natural end of every adder
Not suffered to empty its poison-bladder:
But she and her son agreed, I take it,
That no one should touch on the story to wake it,
For the wound in the Duke's pride rankled fiery,
So, they made no search and small inquiry---
And when fresh Gipsies have paid us a visit, I've
Noticed the couple were never inquisitive,
But told them they're folks the Duke don't want here,
And bade them make haste and cross the frontier.
Brief, the Duchess was gone and the Duke was glad of it,
And the old one was in the young one's stead,
And took, in her place, the household's head,
And a blessed time the household had of it!
And were I not, as a man may say, cautious
How I trench, more than needs, on the nauseous,
I could favour you with sundry touches
Of the paint-smutches with which the Duchess
Heightened the mellowness of her cheek's yellowness
(To get on faster) until at last her
Cheek grew to be one master-plaster
Of mucus and focus from mere use of ceruse:
In short, she grew from scalp to udder
Just the object to make you shudder.

XVII.

You're my friend---
What a thing friendship is, world without end!
How it gives the heart and soul a stir-up
As if somebody broached you a glorious runlet,
And poured out, all lovelily, sparklingly, sunlit,
Our green Moldavia, the streaky syrup,
Cotnar as old as the time of the Druids---
Friendship may match with that monarch of fluids;
Each supples a dry brain, fills you its ins-and-outs,
Gives your life's hour-glass a shake when the thin sand doubts
Whether to run on or stop short, and guarantees
Age is not all made of stark sloth and arrant ease.
I have seen my little lady once more,
Jacynth, the Gipsy, Berold, and the rest of it,
For to me spoke the Duke, as I told you before;
I always wanted to make a clean breast of it:
And now it is made---why, my heart's blood, that went trickle,
Trickle, but anon, in such muddy driblets,
Is pumped up brisk now, through the main ventricle,
And genially floats me about the giblets.
I'll tell you what I intend to do:
I must see this fellow his sad life through---
He is our Duke, after all,
And I, as he says, but a serf and thrall.
My father was born here, and I inherit
His fame, a chain he bound his son with;
Could I pay in a lump I should prefer it,
But there's no mine to blow up and get done with:
So, I must stay till the end of the chapter.
For, as to our middle-age-manners-adapter,
Be it a thing to be glad on or sorry on,
Some day or other, his head in a morion
And breast in a hauberk, his heels he'll kick up,
Slain by an onslaught fierce of hiccup.
And then, when red doth the sword of our Duke rust,
And its leathern sheath lie o'ergrown with a blue crust,
Then I shall scrape together my earnings;
For, you see, in the churchyard Jacynth reposes,
And our children all went the way of the roses:
It's a long lane that knows no turnings.
One needs but little tackle to travel in;
So, just one stout cloak shall I indue:
And for a stall, what beats the javelin
With which his boars my father pinned you?
And then, for a purpose you shall hear presently,
Taking some Cotnar, a tight plump skinful,
I shall go journeying, who but I, pleasantly!
Sorrow is vain and despondency sinful.
What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all;
Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.
When we mind labour, then only, we're too old---
What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul?
And at last, as its haven some buffeted ship sees,
(Come all the way from the north-parts with sperm oil)
I hope to get safely out of the turmoil
And arrive one day at the land of the Gipsies,
And find my lady, or hear the last news of her
From some old thief and son of Lucifer,
His forehead chapleted green with wreathy hop,
Sunburned all over like an thiop.
And when my Cotnar begins to operate
And the tongue of the rogue to run at a proper rate,
And our wine-skin, tight once, shows each flaccid dent,
I shall drop in with---as if by accident---
``You never knew, then, how it all ended,
``What fortune good or bad attended
``The little lady your Queen befriended?''
---And when that's told me, what's remaining?
This world's too hard for my explaining.
The same wise judge of matters equine
Who still preferred some slim four-year-old
To the big-boned stock of mighty Berold,
And, fur strong Cotnar, drank French weak wine,
He also umst be such a lady's scorner!
Smooth Jacob still rubs homely Esau:
Now up, now down, the world's one see-saw.
---So, I shall find out some snug corner
Under a hedge, like Orson the wood-knight,
Turn myself round and bid the world good night;
And sleep a sound sleep till the trumpet's blowing
Wakes me (unless priests cheat us laymen)
To a world where will be no furtiner throwing
Pearls befare swine that Can't value them. Amen!

all that glitters

2011-03-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

As you've likely surmised, I am back to planet earth from my trip to all parts fantastic. So much work to be done for the upcoming group show and one wouldn't want to shirk responsibilities.

Even if the trip is of the mind. (I think that would play worse, actually)

Yesterday I spent a few hours applying gold to some paintings: the upcoming group show is called "Gold Digger"
Several artists, myself included, showing work that has some element of gold.

After all, right now, gold reins.

Tomorrow at the studio I will continue this process and begin work on yet more art....

Stay tuned.

additional art show updates and general navel gazing

2011-03-03T17:24:00.000-08:00

The group art show in which I am so truly thrilled to be a part of has been pushed back by one week to April 9. Quietly I exhale whilst saying that the changed date works for me. Secretly very appreciative as this will give me several more days painting time.

Told recently that I could pull a dozen right out of the sky (actually, another word was used) I proved that observation right and the first bakers dozen or so of ideas and paintings have happened seamlessly indeed.

It's the last six or so that make an artist pause. Since there is a definite theme to this art show, that of gold leaf specifically, I cannot go randomly willy-nilly into the fantastical world of my imagination and pull out of my hat any which thing that might please me. No, no!

I have been charged with specifics: Landscape. Napa Valley Landscape.

It's what I do. I enjoy it. I keep painting it. The seasons continue to change and I never go tired of the inspiration I see daily here.

So, just when you are expecting a peek at one of my vineyard landscapes, I will leave you with a thumbnail of a tree painting.

Winter Birch (unfinished)
oil on canvas
2011
Kate Salenfriend

Lucky Me!

2011-02-25T20:56:00.000-08:00

surprise! Today it's Vienna!

My fantasy trip would not be complete without it as I am a worshiper at not only Mozart's slipper's but Gustav Klimpts remarkable work! Simply said: It takes my breath away.

" to take the ordinary and elevate to spectacular: Sublime"

Having a marvelous time!!

2011-02-24T14:41:00.000-08:00

First Paris, now Prague!

I'm certain there's no time to drop you a card!

I'll be gone for quite some time but don't fret, I'll be back for the group show on April 2nd.

air kisses to you!

Kate

Look where I am!!

2011-02-23T19:13:00.001-08:00

In my mind of course. But oh, what a lovely trip it is.

apropos of nothing

2011-02-21T08:41:00.000-08:00

I would like to displace this gent and live in this room myself.

image borrowed from here.

Previews

2011-02-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't love a preview? I not only like a movie preview, but I don't even mind a spoiler. I am so o.k. with spoilers, I've told friends to please tell me the end of movies. Yes, I still enjoy the movie too.

But would previews be suitable for everything in our lives? I have a group art show coming up on April 1 and will give you a few sneak-peak thumbnail type previews here and in the weeks ahead, but what of everything else?

How about life? What's my next car going to look like? What's happening next month? Or next year? Haven't we all experienced the feeling of watching a film or reading a book that we can barely stand not knowing how the story will end? Oh tell me?! How does it end, I say? Happy? Sad? Someone dead? Does he run away? Does she escape? or beloved Flora, throwing herself off the turret?

We can plan, strategize, organize and do our best to aim our personal intentions in the general direction of wants and needs.

Not every arrow can be pointed the way we want them. Agendas change, goals adjust themselves. Needs and wants are adjusted and battle it out. Oh, and have you heard? People change. I for one know that I have, do, and will again. Hopefully into who I am.

What I know for sure is that life is all about change. Oh...and I'm in charge of the decisions in my life. I'll work on that one.

so many...

2011-02-06T20:53:00.000-08:00

So, so many times, I have told myself in a somewhat sheepish voice, "oh, here's the subject for my next blog!" or, "ah, yes! a title!"
Only to fizzle once sitting down at my monitor, never quite getting to the point of articulating my thoughts.

Possible titles you ask? So, so many to name a but a few:
"Liz and Bret's adventure"
"Sabotage of oneself"
"When life goes south"
"My nutalicious life"
"Why people still move to California"

I will wait whilst you ponder....

Times up.

In the last two weeks or so, ahem, since my last post, many many things. Main focus has been L, her brother passing and all the fall out that death of a brother implies. Complicated would be an understatement, but she and dear friend Bret are off to N.Y. where they are headed into the "eye" of sorts of what's being called "Snowmagedden". Funny thing is, only thing worse than Snow magedden: Family Magedden, During a funeral.

The weather here in the beautiful Napa Valley has been beyond lovely. It's been freakish. Yesterday: 80 degrees fahrenheit.
At 10am.
Even in California, although it's true that our brains are half fried from the sun, the love and the weed that that kind of temperature in early February is just plain scary.

So, my mind and my heart are all pulled this way and that. I keep painting, thinking about my dear friends L and B, hoping their trip is not only eventless but that they come back to sunny lovin' California, unharmed, unscathed and feeling groovy.

Couldn't help it, I'm a native after all.

sunny and warmer expected

2011-01-24T17:39:00.000-08:00

Napa has been beautiful this last week. Not even the end of January and I'm seeing budding on trees, and gasp, mustard flowering under the grape vines on the many drives up and down valley.

When I first moved here three years ago, the rains fell, day after day. My bank, unfortunately enough, was located 25 minutes up valley in St. Helena, a community as yet undiscovered by me.

What I found was dirt black, gnarly vines, growing from neon yellow fields of grape vines under cool mist colored sky.

Sublime.

Thus began my vineyard paintings, sometimes "realistic" sometimes abstract. (Think vineyards at 60 mph)

Going back up valley a few days ago, the third year of my residing here, the vineyards did not let me down.

This week in the studio: Here's a look at me spackeling then brushing on a layer of gesso on a stretched canvas panel. It's like frosting a really big cake.

This week at the studio

2011-01-16T15:13:00.000-08:00

Have logged many hours at the studio this week. In order to sell art, I have to keep a rather large inventory of art at the ready at all times, and this requires me to be painting, researching and creating new work during all of my studio time.
It is time I enjoy immensely.

If I get a call from an interested client, I have to actually have paintings to show.
If I am contacted by a group that wants to show my work at their space, in multiples, I must have available paintings that are ready to go.
If a gallery I show in sells work, I need to have possible replacements and new work available.
I must always have new work in the hopper for upcoming shows, in anticipation of selling.

Indeed, I have about sixty paintings that are farmed out, in production, showing at a gallery or hanging at the studio at any given time.

The images today are paintings in progress. Generally taking two to four weeks or more of time from stretched canvas to the final varnish coat. Two to four paintings are being worked on at various stages.

The business of art is one that like fashion looks like all glamour on the outside, but is very dirty, scruffy, hard work. Much time and energy goes into a finished painting, exhibition, catalog, gallery, installation.

Heads roll, hands wring, teeth gnash, fur flies.

I love a good metaphor.

Oh happy day

2011-01-09T13:45:00.001-08:00

Finishing and delivering paintings is the second thing I like to do in the studio. This week was a fruitful one despite my children needing to be occupied on their third week of holiday (curse you unified school district!)

I finished two paintings and delivered each, albeit a wee "damp" shall we say? Not to worry: hang them on the wall and for God's sake, don't walk too closely as you'll brush up against the uh, "yet to fully set" paint. And get it on your clothes. Like (all of) mine.

What with february around the corner, I've been recently notified as to a gallery's upcoming show, themed around none other than "love". So this week, I will put my artists head back to the grindstone and figure out how I can make something that says "love". Birds? Frankly, I'm in more of a crow mood these days. Crows: fighting over a bloody heart?

A student of mine confessed that he found my blog somewhat autobiographical. Too much?
Why do I keep this up if not for putting shocking thoughts out to the universe? Undoubtably for laughs.

Shameless Self Promotion

2010-12-16T20:37:00.000-08:00

Indeed.
My paintings are now at the I.Wolk Gallery in St. Helena, California!

For anyone who doesn't know, St. Helena is one of the communities in the Napa Valley, and a very popular area not only for grape growing, but also for the variety of ways in which one can spend their money on Main Street. (Isn't that a nice way to put it?)

But really, it's a lovely town, surrounded by incredible California agriculture, nestled in the valley. The tree lined streets are straight out of any feature on "small town America" or "charming cities" as they are oft sited in the popular media.

But back to me.
So, the large plum painting is being featured in the front window (!) That's 21 square feet of plumalicious goodness. (3x7')
It's an oil painting on canvas with an overlay of gold leaf.

The persimmon painting, measuring 3x6 feet is equally ripe, featured just inside the door above that gorgeous farm house table. See how the ray of light coming down from the heavens is illuminating it?

I love the paintings with the sculpture.
If you're planning a trip or just want to burn time looking, the gallery link is here.

Thanks to my friend K, for generously taking these photos. Todays post would have looked a might different with out them!

This week at the studio

2010-12-08T21:24:00.000-08:00

Paintings delivered, projects started, events prepared... It's all good.

It's been busy week at the studio. One in which I could easily say that the hours were simply not enough. Even employing my sitter for two afternoons, when one has clients who want finished work NOW, time can become scarce. And scarce it seems to have become.

Stretched canvas onto, gesso'd and began three paintings this week for a gallery as well as finishing another for same gallery location.

I am able to have my stretcher bars custom built now and with the addition of extra lumber it now has a hefty depth of about 2 and one half inches. Very sexy indeed.

If you paint and stretch your own canvases and especially if you work in large format like I do, you can appreciate a meter square canvas with a two and a half inch depth, can you not?

To that I say, "ooh, la-la"

This saturday is our first "Second Saturday" event in which we will open our doors particularly to the tourists in Napa, staying at the various hotels. Everyone is looking for an alternative to wine tasting and G studio welcomes the opportunity to show a visiting art lover the inside of the artists studio. At work, making art.

I'll post photos next week as I anticipate a robust turn out and a productive afternoon of making and selling art.

Fearless or Ruthless

2010-11-07T16:33:00.000-08:00

I am in the middle of reading a book I recently checked out of the local library called: "Cezanne to Picasso, Abroise Vollard, Patron of the Avante-Garde" Rebecca A. Rabinow, Editor, Douglas W. Druik, Ann Dumas, Gloria Groom, Anne Roquebert, and Gary Tinterow.
The current chapter, "Bollard and Degas by Gary Tinterow, with research by Asher E. Miller", is of particular interest to me as I've been thinking quite a bit about how ruthlessness and fearlessness are used by the artist. This particular tome more so about the dealer of art, Abroise Vollard, and his relationships with the prominent figures of the french impressionists movement.

I must add that part of the conversation that I've been having with myself has been about the artists that I consider the game changers of art, not all individuals: the impressionists, Dali, Picasso, and Pollack are some of the last 120 years or so. This comment of course applies to the old masters, but for the point of this blog, I am merely focusing on the more contemporary. Feel free to comment on whom might be added to this list.

I recently watched a DVD about the art of Degas and although a interesting and visually lovely, I was intrigued by a section of the the film that mentioned how Degas had begun a new medium: pastelized monotypes as to generate up to three sellable prints from one original work. The film only touched on this fact and much to my surprise, the book listed above delves much more deeply. I regret that the following is not focused on the dealer Vollard, but rather the Durand-Ruels, also art dealers and promoters, contemporaries of Vollard.

"The Durand-Ruels, both father (Paul) and son (Joseph), had good reason to feel proprietary about Degas. Though they had no contract, their gallery had been the primary-though never exclusive- outlet for the works that degas wished to sell since 1874.
During the 1870's and 1880's Degas wished to sell almost anything he made (with the notable exception of sculpture), and he even developed a new medium, pastelized monotypes, in order to generate up to three works from the same composition and thus increase his salable "articles" as he called his commercial output. He needed the income because in addition to paying for an affluent bachelor's life, three to five nights a week at the opera, models, and a maid, he undertook, with his brother in law Henri Fevre, to redeem the debts accumulated at this father's bank by this profligate brother Rene. It was not uncommon for Degas to send his maid or a porter to Durand-Ruel, pastels in hand, with a note demanding that he dealer hand over 500 francs in cash to the bearer. Degas treated the gallery like his private bank, depositing work and withdrawing cash. He never never shrank from asking Durand-Ruel to pay his bills or to buy something-usually a a work of art- that he wanted."

Fearless? Ruthless? Or something else entirely?

All images shown are by Edgar Degas

Again, with feeling.

2010-10-22T19:56:00.000-07:00

I am re-publishing an image of my dear friend Igor. This time the picture taken with a high quality, knows what it's doing type camera, taken by a high quality, knows what they're doing type friend. I'll be delivering Igor to his new home here in Napa Valley and I'll truly miss him. I won't miss the daily stare down. He always wins.

Igor Stravinsky, final
64"x41"

Secondly, the painting "tuesday" sold this week (yay!) and will be shipped out of state. Taking advantage of above aforementioned high quality, picture taking friend, I was also able to get a picture of this painting before dismantling for shipping.

What? you say, art, ehem, taken apart?? Well, a painting of this size (5.6 feet by 6.8 feet) is extraordinarily expensive to ship to the east coast. Not for weight, but for size. Since the stretcher bars were custom made to the size specification I'd requested and not a canvas "off the rack" (I was on a custom size, build me something so large it may not even fit through the door kick. I know, I have a bit of an eccentric side)

I knew that it could successfully dismantled and shipped to the client, cutting the cost down considerably. (think one thousand dollars in if left on the bars, down to $230, dismantled) So, removed the staples and tacks from the back, took the canvas off of the bars, rolled canvas, protected by my handy kraft paper over a cardboard tube, unscrewed all the joints of the stretcher bars, took apart said bars, sanded the ends of the joints where the wood glue was applied (that's one of those mundane jobs that maybe I can skip, but someone with an evil eye for detail will notice my slacker naughtyness so I best not skip it) put all the wood pieces inside tube, cap off each end, wrap entire enchilada (no, not an enchilada, a canvas painting and it's components. I was once verbally diced for taking too many shortcuts in my language style. So here I am explaining myself to no one in particular) in bubble wrap, insert into 24"square, eight foot long box, send to client.

If you've read this far, congratulations. I'm up to the part where the bars are laying on the floor waiting to be sanded. If you must know. That would be the mundane step pointed out about five lines up. I already feel like I have eyes watching me.

"tuesday"

painting every day

2010-10-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

After a few small details added in with the valuable input of two artist colleagues, I am calling Stravinksy finished.
Since I am well before my deadline, I took the opportunity today to tighten up the canvas, will paper and wire the back, log it into my inventory and hopefully get a few really good photographs of it for my files. In case you have not noticed, the camera that I use is of not very good quality and duh, the images on the blog are dicey at best.
I'm alright with that. When I photograph something for my files or to put on my website, it is of the highest quality possible, but for the purposes of an everyday blog, the quality of the image is not necessarily the priority. Yes, I know any photographer out there reading this just had a small stroke in the back of their heads. I'm a painter. There it is.

Igor Stravinksy, final
So, yesterday and today in the studio I have begun to start using some small canvases that I've had on my work table for some weeks. Most measure about 12x14" or so and by comparison to what I can easily get caught up in by way of size, these are miniature.

"almost may" work in progress

art is in the details

2010-10-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

About 3 weeks left I suppose, to keep working on the portrait of Igor Stravinsky. It's a self imposed deadline as the clients who are commissioning this painting don't need it until into November, but I'd rather be finished sooner than later as it keeps me painting through the fall.

Throughout open studios, this particular painting did give me a good opportunity to determine it's accuracy as a portrait. In the portrait genre, likeness is key. The concept seems obvious to me as most clients, whether a portrait of themselves, a loved one or a notable person (in this case) should actually look like the person. Right?

Classical music lovers could all identify the subject of the painting as they entered my work space, so I was pleased and those that did not listen to/follow classical music were unable to identify the subject. Fine by me. At the risk of sounding elitist, those with knowledge of Stravinsky's music were really the opinions I was most interested.

Igor Stravinsky (in progress)

back to our regularly scheduled program...art

2010-09-28T18:45:00.001-07:00

Admittedly Liz and I have been sidetracked by the critter that seems to have taken over the bottom drawer in the kitchen, died and then sent another one of his kind. I could not resist the opportunity to channel rodent like attitude and since I have known Theodore Geisel on a intimate basis since my childhood and now Primo and Terzo's childhoods, I was compelled to rhyme and snark. I was so pleased that Liz felt compelled to respond and of course, I need very little encouragement to play...

The two weekends of Open Studios Napa Valley have come and gone... and what a swell party it was. Our total crowd numbered around 800 for the four days, art lovers were appreciative of our offerings, we sold paintings, glass and mixed media work.

As the studio owner, Liz also out does herself as hostess. We always offer wine as well as small bites; passed by a server. Never on a table to be pawed. Eww.
Our partime resident movie director Shahin is also a gifted chef and spent all four days sending out platter of bites; figs with goat cheese and honey, brie with organic pear, a roasted bell pepper mixture with goat cheese on toast... I could wax on about this but alas, I promised to get back to the art. But I must add that on the first day of the show, I counted 9 separate appetizers offered.
Oh, and not to be forgotten, Shahin also made a big pot of soup for the artists on each day of the show, so that we would not have to suffer (hardly) on appetizers alone, but had a nice, filling meal at mid day. Lucky us!

The following are images of my space, actually between weekends, as that is the time that I always rearrange, reassess and hopefully reap the rewards of repeat clients seeing something fresh on the second weekend, remixed.

What a swell party it was...

2010-09-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

Oh dear Liz, I speak to you from my cool grave
I regret what I've said, how I did misbehave.
You hate me, you loathe me, of that I am sure.
But intentions were honest, they were good, they were pure.

I thought we'd be friends if only you'd tried.
My feelings were true, but now they have died.
With some time to think from this place they call heaven,
It calls for some bread, preferably unleavened.

So bid me farewell, oh lovely, fair Liz.
But my friends are about, ready to give you their shiz.
I've told them about the abode they could storm,
How the drawer is still there, cozy and warm.

The dogs itty kibbles, available and tasty.
Just sit for the taking, oh my friends...they no wastey.
Once they're done with the kibbles, they'll want something more.
They'll be looking around, your home's a rat store.

I've already told them about your two hounds.
Both sleeping all day, like comatose mounds.
They're there for the taking, they won't even mutter.
Into the pot, a quick stir and some butter.

When you arrive home, feeling tired and spent.
Come into the kitchen, breath deeply the scent.
Of the stew that they've made you, I know that you'll savor.
It's tasty, you'll know it, but can't name the flavor.

Bon Appetit!,
Rat

'Twas the night before, the night before ( an open letter to Liz from the rat)

2010-09-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

'Twas the night before Open Studios
And all through the Nut
Not a creature was stirring
none except for the rat.

His evidence had been found
Though we'd used a trapper.
He'd left behind dog treats
And a fragrant brie wrapper.

"Oh, Liz," he'd say
If he could speak.
"I'm smarter than you
And I should now think,
That you would provide me
With things that are nutty,
Food that is juicy
And nothing too cruddy"

"I'm more than a rat,
I'm vermin, I'm weasel.
I'm plague and I'm icky,
I squeak and I squeezle"

"And if you can't meet
my demands in your lair,
Your dogs will be first
The one with the black hair."

"It's Pixie, I'm sure
She's the one that I want.
She's smelly and stupid
And no doubt piquant."

"Squeeze her into that trap,
I'll nibble her toes
She'll soon stop that yapping
When it's off with her nose!"

"I do like it here,
it's so fun, so artistic!
So exciting, so thrilling,
and sometimes quite spastic!"

"But the fun shall soon end
As I am a fiend,
Cause the one that I want,
Is the dog you call 'Been' ".

"I've seen her cavorting,
scampering and hopping.
Pooping and pissing,
All requiring mopping"

So if you can stand it
Or I'll take my leave,
Meet my demands and
You'll not have to grieve."

Chicken, potatoes,
Fois Grais and cheese!
Crackers and sausage,
Make it spicy, oh please!"

"Salmon and cupcakes,
Bread now and then.
I hear that you're able
to get some from Ken."

"My set up is good,
This drawer is ok,
I'm here when you're sleeping,
When you're up, I go play."

"So let me please ask
As the humblest of critters,
If you'd mind if I stayed
Or would you get the skitters?"

"I could mop, I could clean
I could wash all the dishes
I could be your best friend,
And fulfill all your wishes."

"We'll be happy, I swear it
With these modifications
Once demands are all met,
With quality libations."

"So let me please stay
I implore you dear heart.
And you won't hear a sound,
Not a peep, not a fart. "

signed,
Rat

It gets worse before it gets better

2010-09-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

Less than a week for Gstudio artists to get ready for Open Studios 2010. Our fearless leader, Liz L. is the brainchild of a rather genius (evil genius?) strategy: A few days before our Open Studios Event here in the beautiful Napa Valley, we at Gstudio host a "Concierge Party" on the wednesday evening prior to the first saturday of the show.
Genius? yes. Here's why: For concierge in the valley, we are able to offer them something to offer their clients... besides the obvious wine tasting. So simple. Also, it forces us artists to have our work spaces ready well in advance of the o.s. date and thereby, we are shiny and delivered this tuesday, rarin' to go with a bit of a dress rehearsal and with what? Wee gift bags for the lucky concierge that take the time to check out our motley crew of talented, albeit bohemian assortment of artists.
We're a good party and are getting a modest reputation in the valley for being able to offer good art, enthusiastic artists with genuine ability to convey passion for what they do and of course, an interesting, lively environment in which to share it.

It's all good.

Before the show, thought I'd share some of the images I took today of my space...albeit rough around the edges. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, right? I can embrace that.

So much to do, so little time

2010-08-31T19:54:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow being 1 September, this date marks the real beginning of crunch time. Igor will be slowing down a bit up until Open Studios beginning on 18 September. My self imposed exile from him will also give me a small bit of time to do more research on portraiture, devise the "route" I'll take to get to where I want to be and remind a friend of mine that they may have a book with a photo of Igor that may depict him in a color photograph. Because of the period of history that Igor lived, most images I find are in black and white or sepia tone images.

The studio is a bee hive of activity mixed with a very generous helping of mild hysteria and concern. Think: fire department, building department, building codes. Even to the uninitiated, these words are the makings of a healthy dose of lunacy.

But, we go on. There is an art show to set up, prices to determine, walls to patch and paint, individual studios to clean, postcards to mail, evites to generate, exhibits in which to hang and participate, floors to scrub, wine to aquire, food to cook, details to look over and over again. Decisions to make. Life is good.

"stravinsky" progress

Igor... a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

2010-08-28T18:24:00.000-07:00

I take quite a bit of liberty with the Shakespearean quote, I know. But with a name like Igor, well... the only other person I know of in history as well known as Mr. Stravinsky is the able bodied (yet wildly misunderstood) assistant of the body part collector, Mr. Frankenstein.

I am spending a portion of each day at the studio taking a break from my Open Studios preparedness tasks (O.S.P.T.) to work on Mr. S. He's a welcome break as the tasks and chores of big show preparation can make a lass a might cranky, and we wouldn't like that now would we?

So to have a an actual painting commission to work on and as a bit of frosting on the cake, a oversized portrait, which happens to be a favorite subject and format, I must say that I am tickled by it all. The cherry on top would be the fact that I have the luxury of time. The clients don't expect the painting until November which gives me a full two months to go back and forth, ponder, reassess and put not only my creativity but my best work onto the canvas. If only all projects could be this ideal, yes?

Igor's progress

"here it is, I say here it is"

2010-08-27T22:26:00.000-07:00

click on invitation to see a larger, more readable postcard for the Napa Valley Open Studios event. Hope to see you there!

If for some reason, you are unable to make one of the two weekends, contact me and I'm happy to arrange a studio tour.
katesalenfriend@gmail.com

not unlike his music

2010-08-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

Stravinsky's music, and specifically two that I'd cited, Firebird Suite and Rite of Spring. Abstract, bold, pushing the envelope. Just a few words of many used to describe his style. Not unlike the face itself. He is being depicted as a younger man, say around 1913 when Rite of Spring made it's Paris debut and caused scandal.

This may sound obvious, but when doing portraiture, it's all about the likeness. The artist either nails it or they don't and many times there's a single spot or subtleness to an area of the face that is the "thing" that captures the sitters or subjects essence.

I'm near there. Like walking on a path through a wood and knowing that the clearing that I'm familiar with is right around this corner... Luckily I have time to keep at the path for now
Stravinsky's progress
41"x64" oil on canvas

.

Passion to composer of passionate music

2010-08-19T15:54:00.000-07:00

Jumping off points, as they are, seem to be everywhere. My series that I've not officially ended but am stepping back from for a short bit called "the Passion series" has been replaced by a portrait of Igor Stravinsky, composer of passionate compositions such as "Rite of Spring" and "The firebird Suite"

Igor Stravinsky
oil on canvas
41"x64"

Artists on eccentricity

2010-08-18T17:55:00.000-07:00

*for the record, I did not make these up*

Creativity is a the heart of eccentricity.....David Weeks

What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?.....Theodore Roethke

Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence- whether much that is glorious- whether all that is profound- does not spring from sdisease of thought- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.....Edgar Allan Poe

I dare affirm that any artist...who has nothing singular, eccentric, or at least reputed to be so, in his person, will never become a superior talent....Michelangelo

holding back

2010-08-15T17:41:00.000-07:00

Out of canvas, out of money for supplies, not out of ideas. Head exploding.

So many times I have been in this place and time. Seven weeks or so before a show, much to do in the way of mundane studio work like papering the backs of paintings, wiring them, logging them into my inventory, pricing and then of course, show prep itself: scraping all the flotsam and jetsam off of the studio floor, cleaning and making pretty, but oh, not too pretty. It is a working studio after all. Clients love to see the gritty underbelly of the life of an artist in their studio. So, the filthy paint brushes swimming in a soup of paint and turpentine will stay, my coffee can of same that was Reuben's before he died will stay. (heaven help the hand that tries to screw with it. I'm funny that way) My ever growing inspiration board and all the weird artifacts hanging off of the birch branches (also Reuben's) will stay.

I will anticipate the usual questions: "how long did it take to paint that?", "where do you get your inspiration?" "what do all these titles of these paintings mean?"

But can't paint. Nothing will be dry in time for the show. But, but, and that's a big butt, I can. I have one commission that I've just begun. It's a painting of the composer Igor Stravinsky. Sized 41"x64" and will reside in a place in the clients living room that looks down on the couples grand piano. Never more appropriate of a location I think.

Started today in the style in which has turned into a signature of sorts: big, bold and oversized. Igor, straight frontal view 3/4 of his face only. Will post image soon-
in the meantime...

a couple of views into the studio, pre show, warts and all. Thanks to my friend K for consistently encouraging me to photograph this type of thing. Of special interest would be the palette that is loaded with two months worth of paint from the passion series.

"Passion" complete

2010-08-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

My series, "Passion" is coming to an end. If only to say I've run out of canvases to pilfer, I've run out of cash and I feel like I have a respectable amount of paintings to show a cohesive body of work during open studios.
Once a series feels as if it's come to a natural end, I need to move to the next idea and inspiration. Of course, that begs the question, what is the next idea and inspiration? From where does it come? Age old question. How does an artist answer?
Travel? sometimes. Life's experiences? Many times. Observations? often. Often the next series happens from the last jumping off point.
Liz, who owns Gstudio, is hard at work selling my paintings and has a client currently very interested in work that's available. This can sometimes be that jumping off point. Last fall, when I completed my portrait of Giacomo Puccini, that was a jumping off point to other portraiture. I know that the jumping off point is the passion series, but to where? I'm still in the midst of it, enjoying it but to where do I go from here? I could easily paint more of these paintings because I feel like I have many, many more in me, but I've run out of cash and run out of old canvas. Reality takes hold and I have to think practically.
Napa Valley Open Studios: You're officially invited but I have to figure out how to attach the PDF file so you can view the catalog. Stay tuned.

"definitely monday"
24x30
oil on canvas

All you need is gum...Gum is all you need

2010-08-03T06:40:00.000-07:00

Visiting my parents with my kids up in the great Northwest this week. Of course the trip is never complete without a trip to Pike Market and specifically Golden Age Collectibles, buried deep inside, two floors down, west stairway...who cobbled together this maze? I love it.
Bisecting the market is Post Alley, a bit of an underbelly approach to the market, as one enters into the market through a virtual tunnel, of well, gum. There's a giant gum wall located directly under the Post Alley sign, presumably to welcome visitors. My son Terzo was more than happy to oblige.

"I could while away the hours..." scarecrow

2010-07-27T05:56:00.000-07:00

I'm nearly finished going through ten years of unsold paintings that I have stashed, hid from view or otherwise shunned due to their supposed unsaleability. (this is doubtful as a word, not unlike impactful. So. not. a. word.)
What I've done with those ten years of unsold and unworthy paintings is to paint over them, using the canvases for this new series of "passion"
Collective gasp.
I know, I know, painting over another painting?! Is nothing sacred?!
It's actually what I consider a high form of reuse and recycling. As a sometime expert in both garbage/waste management and Feng shui practices, it is a near spiritual act of a higher calling to embrace the once cast off canvas with the new life and rehabilitative energies that lie within the pigment of the oils. Once this is done, new found energies emerge from the canvas in the form of a visual journey known as "passion".
Did I really write that? I am so full of shit.
It must be five in the morning, because I write my best (worst) at this early hour.

I am a virgo (yes, my birthdays coming, send all gifts to gstudio) and by definition, a die hard planner. The passion series is so out of character for me because of the spontaneous nature in which I began the series, painted the art and feel whilst I am in the act if you will, of painting them. I generally plan everything in my life, write lists, check off items and add yet more. But, I've been able to let go of some of that control with these paintings and it's felt good to go with my passions. It's been a long time since I've done something like this. Dare I say...never?

"passion"
oil on canvas
16x20

Into the home stretch

2010-07-21T18:13:00.000-07:00

And by that I mean to say that the Open Studios event is right around the corner here in the Napa Valley. The event is the last two weekend's of September and it's much sooner than one might think. I'm taking my boys to see their grandparents in Washington next week and then after that, it's all about open studios and getting prepared. I've begun to go through the studio and examining all of the paintings from the garden series or what I am beginning to call the "passion" series. I can't take credit: a friend of mine calls it the passion series and I must say that I think it fits. Passion seems to be what this is about...Or more specifically, following ones own passion...?
Are you following your own passion?

"dirty fun" final rendition

work in progress as a painting

2010-07-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

Back this week from a vacation in Mexico. Visited the area known as the Mayan Riviera. As has been the last seven trips to Mexico, the most lasting impression for me has always been the water of the Caribbean. I now have a solid mental snap shot that I plan to apply to a painting sometime soon, but for now, I am focusing on two things: finishing up the garden series that I'd started back in early June as well as a beginning a commission portrait of Stravinsky.

As a working title, "work in progress" is all I have right now. I went to the studio at 5:30, and usually am able to not let fatigue affect me through out the day after working in the studio that early, but I painted until about 12:00 pm, only having the distraction of sitting down for a short while. That time spent sitting relaxed me to such an extent, I am now feeling quite sleepy and can only wish for a nap.

With that, a title is born:
"afternoon nap" (work in progress)
36x48"
oil on canvas

this week at the studio

2010-07-02T19:27:00.001-07:00

In the last few days thinking about the beach, isolated stretches of sand, long moments of thought.
windy, windy days...I love the wind.
"breathless"
16x20
oil on canvas

who among us has found clarity?

2010-07-01T20:11:00.001-07:00

"breathing room"
12x30" oil on canvas

more from the studio

2010-06-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

"morning coffee" 20x20" oil on canvas

"lingering scent" 24x30" oil on canvas

this week at the studio

2010-06-23T15:51:00.001-07:00

"secret place" 24x36" oil on canvas

"no clarity today" 24x24" oil on canvas

things are not always as they seem

2010-06-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

I was struck recently by a statistic that I read within an article announcing Al and Tipper Gore's splitting up. The so-called experts were weighing in on the split as well as siting the statistics of success and failure for (presumably) straight, married couples. Of course, the "facts" were measured by the factoid that the Gore's were high school sweethearts and were married like, forever. Or about thirty or forty years. Can't remember and doesn't matter to make my point anyway. The statistic that was most shocking was that married couples that each partner has been married previously: odds of success: 10%. That's a 90% chance of failure by married couples that each come from divorce.

A painting that I worked on today is really a commentary about things not being what they seem. The thought that comes to mind first is when, after my son Noah died, how people wrongly assume that since I "looked like I was doing just fine" that things were fine. The truth is that I don't wear sweat pants, sneakers and old t-shirts. I always dress in presentable attire and I always put on lipstick. That's just me. I was dying inside and looked just great. Painful isn't it? But it certainly wouldn't have helped me feel good about myself to look like what was really going on. And would have been frightening to everyone around me.
We're all going through private and sometimes secret moments of some part of our lives. The Gore's are a perfect example of that.
"But she looked like she was doing just fine" oil on canvas, 44"x44"

another work in progress

2010-06-12T13:12:00.000-07:00

"the act of making art is a leap of faith. exhibition of one's own art defines an artist as true."
I included that quote today just for a chuckle.

"dirty fun" 24x36" oil on canvas

this week at the studio

2010-06-10T07:51:00.000-07:00

I'm noticing a definite trend in the paintings I've done this week. That's why we call it a series...
1. the composition moving toward the diagonal (I am drawn to the movement of this direction)
2. they look wind blown, all to the right. (it's been very windy here this week)
3. they all look a bit like my garden, at different times and from different vantage points

I like it in my garden. I'm content there because I'm enjoying what it's becoming and how far it's going to go. I think that to call something a yard is to conjure up a place to look at, all utilitarian and without much personality.
But true lovers of gardening are not yardworkers, they're gardeners. There is no work involved.

"secret place" 16x20 oil on canvas

and happen some more

2010-06-09T11:58:00.000-07:00

making art, that is.
Another productive morning.
I'm a admitted control freak and usually plot and plan my way through most paintings, knowing what the end result will be before beginning. I've been able to let go of that control this week and have been able to paint freely, letting myself find my own direction as it happens.
I've been getting and giving up control all week. Feels nice.

"blow a breeze towards me" 20x20" oil on canvas

sometimes things happen

2010-06-08T16:57:00.000-07:00

So many things in life come about that we have no choice in. Emotionally, mentally, physically.
Maybe a result of raging hormones within the crazy of perimenopause, but sometimes paintings just start happening.

My time devoted to painting was all planned out to work on portrait work, but plans get abandoned, emotions get followed and the palette knife will not be denied.

Since yesterday's "crazy making garden foreplay" needs to sit for a few days untouched so that the paint can start setting up and I can continue on it, I started "Grow a tree in my garden" 36x48" oil on canvas.

when is a painting just a painting?

2010-06-07T18:06:00.001-07:00

"crazy making garden foreplay" is on day 2 of it's evolution. Yesterday's post got me to thinking about a painting being a view into the soul of the artist. I am still having an internal debate about that but some might see things clearly.

I told a friend recently that sometimes I feel like my life is playing out in some sort of opera. The equivalent of an off-off broadway show to be sure, but an opera nonetheless and without the benefit of a working title.

I am old enough now that I have some serious history of my own life. Some successes, some failures and plenty of joy as well as sorrow along the way. The cumulation of all these experiences has resulted in right now, right here, where I am. The biggest lesson learned through my greatest sorrow, which was the death of one of my children: live now. Lesson learned through great joy( and I've had much joy in my life): live now. All that is in between the joy and the sorrow: pour a nice glass of wine and live now.

(I have always preferred and find plenty of reasons to live in the joy, lest you think that this blog entry is dwelling on the sorrow. it's not)

Occasionally I'll have a friend confide in me about an issue or problem that they're facing and my summarized answer in at least the last few years has been "live now". don't worry about tomorrow or yesterday. Find your joy in the right now of your life.

By contrast, in the opera of my life, I am hoping that I won't be the one jumping off of the turret. I just want to be the one with the amazing voice that convinces one in the audience that there might very well be a God if one person can have such a gift as that. That is to say, sometimes when my own troublesome thoughts take over, I am unable to find my own answers.

p.s. please don't worry, this is not a suicide note.

I hope that in this painting the viewer sees passion being played out. The way that I see passion.

post script: I found out this evening that my grandmother, Cicely Robertson Szabo, passed away yesterday. My grandparents, Cicely and Bill had a huge place in my life. I am the daughter of their eldest of ten, so my place in their life was more so as a daughter as their youngest children were my age. When my grandfather died of heart failure, they lived with me in my home in southern California and had both just graduated from college at the age of 76. Cicely's death will be marked by much grief, much laughter and memories shared. She was the mother of ten, wife of a hungarian commercial fisherman, daughter of a scottish artist.

art as a view into the soul

2010-06-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

A commenter recently wrote that a painting could or might be considered a view into the soul of an artist. That very large statement I am sure has been debated and pondered for generations. I am certain if for nothing else the sheer joy of debate.

I have been painting in what I describe as very "tight" style which is to say that some of the direction of the new work demands a very precise hand, very concentrated effort and much reflection on achieving the goal. The goal being a likeness of a persons face, but with the challenge of the face being five to ten times larger than a human face. The exaggeration was a natural step for me considering I do most of my favorite subjects (fruit) in large, exploded, outscaled size. How natural to do the human face then. As it is equal parts enjoyable and challenging, I need a release from the precision that it requires.

My release is to work through a landscape painting, largely using a palette knife. One of my absolute favorite tools to use, the palette knife allows me to work quickly, thickly and aggressively through the painting accomplishing in the case of this painting, a new work that has been rattling around in my head (not really, it was a spontaneous thought) as well as a release of sorts. From the restraint of the portraiture? From the various crazy making stresses that comprise my life? Both really.

This is painted on my favorite well built 44"square. Impressive and intimidating canvas heft.
"Crazy making garden foreplay" is it's name.
I am unsure what someone would comment on what this painting is windowing, but I do wonder what it says about me.
I think it's still a work in progress. As am I.

this week at the studio

2010-06-02T04:51:00.001-07:00

This has been an exciting week at Gstudio. With June 1st, we have two new artists moving in to a couple of vacant studio spaces.
I am very excited to have a "full house" again and these two, both being Napa residents, will be a fun addition to our space. One, an establish professional and the other, what one might describe as an "emerging" artist.

I am posting the latest version of "Tuesday" as well as it being an un-cropped image, so that you can see a small peek at the other paintings that I was eluding to in my last post.

And now for something a little different...

2010-05-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

This week was a good one, as I had a couple of revelations thanks to my studio mate Patti. Patti is a glass artist and works along side me so to speak, (actually just across the studio from me through a closed door as she has a kiln) I see Patti most often as I keep morning hours and the other artists that I share the studio with don't.

With another open studios show coming up at Gstudio in September, a few things happen right now: committing to the show through the Napa Valley Open Studios group, pony-ing up cash for the entry and a commitment to what may be in the way of art. That last item tends to be the hardest.

I am constantly striving to generate not just new work but work that is mine but fresh, better, different. But with an open studios show every six months, it's a real challenge to allow myself the time to explore what I want to be painting, to challenge myself to push myself as an artist, paint with abandon, take risks and produce something that is my next personal step.

Within that context, Patti and I agreed that we both have plenty of inventory to show that each of us consider "safe" and commercially successful. And that was when we had our simultaneous light bulb moment, knowing that we had all this inventory and instead of working on padding out that inventory, to take these few precious months and try something. Make the art that has been bugging me at the back of my mind, rolling over and over, trying to find a way out.

I have three beautifully built 44" square custom stretchers, and four additional canvases that are now earmarked for my something different. Stay tuned.

Thanks Patti. That's why I love where I work and what I do.

"Tuesday" round two

2010-05-24T16:23:00.000-07:00

As promised, working on "tuesday" and wanted to post an update as well as a photo that C took of me whilst at work.
Remember yesterday's post about being in this blissful place when I paint? Don't I look happy? Trust me, I am.

I love monday

2010-05-23T17:43:00.000-07:00

I love monday. Monday is the day of new of new starts, new ideas, fresh happenings. I don't know anyone else that loves monday. Most people I know only associate the weekends with relief and fun. I associate monday with fun, creativity, cutting loose and painting. Because I get to go to work. I wish everyone could say that.

Joseph Campbell's (whom I hope needs no introduction) books, about following ones bliss, came into play for me years ago, well before I knew what I was supposed to do or how I would find what it is that would make me so happy. It was at a time in my life that I'd left a relationship, moved to Northern California and found out that I was happy. By Myself.

Thank you Mr. Campbell.

p.s. the image posted is the painting "tuesday" that I explained in my last post. Please stay tuned, as my head is exploding, waiting for monday when I get to go to work.

Love, Kate

When there's a painting inside just waiting to get out

2010-05-19T11:58:00.000-07:00

Just started a new painting today. A large piece and because I don't have the funds to buy a new large canvas, one finished work had to be sacrificed. It's for the greater good. Really. Nary a tear was shed by moi.

I put in my C.D. of Tosca, turned up the volume (I noticed that it drove Caitlyn out of the room) and played it through four times. Four times Flora Tosca murdered Scarpia and then threw herself off of the high turret.

Sublime.

I have given it a working title of "Tuesday" and it measures 54"x79". Although I made some headway to start it this morning at the studio, I am going to give myself a specific time frame of say, a few weeks. The style of the painting is most definitely abstract but with a distinct sense of place- The ocean on a beautiful day when all the colors are amplified by the drifting fog and subsequent low light (much nicer to an artists desires in the way of inspiration), the grey/blue hues of the ocean and the cool weather as well as companions that have a calming effect (contrary to companions that aren't capable of sitting still, talking quietly, or enjoying the immediate moment) one can understand.

(I recall that I was known at one time for my run on sentences, and I can see by that last sentence, this charming quality is still alive and well. Sue me.)

I digress.

I attempted to post the first day of it here, but alas, the blogger has "internal problems" Must see someone about that.

In the meantime, I will be back at the studio tomorrow and continue work.
My only caveat is that with each layer of paint comes drying time of course and I am envisioning silver leaf involvement ultimately, all steps taking some additional time, (read: lack of posts due to the waiting) Whilst the waiting ensues, I will continue work on other ideas, namely my special brand of portraiture.

2010-05-18T04:58:00.000-07:00

I am in a period of time between art shows, but well aware of the task at hand which is to produce "new work" by September. I feel that as a professional artist, I am obliged to always try to be producing new work so that collectors can see an evolution and freshness to the art. To that end, I was inspired by the photos that I posted last on this blog of the view looking up at the trees. I am not a realist painter, nor strive to be, so I was seeking my own interpretation of the subject and my "view" or vision of the painting. Since my home can be a fraternity of sorts, I was also feeling the need to produce art that is overtly feminine. (yes, hammer and drill wielding me)

How do I know when a painting is finished? I was surprised at myself that I responded quite quickly: "I don't always know when I'm done, but I always know when I'm not."
With that, I'm done.
44" square Karena said...
Really love this painting!

Giveaway of jewelry by Beth Cosner Designs is up on my site.

Karena
Art by Karena

MAY 14, 2010 4:33 PM
Kate said...
thank you Karena, for the comment and for stopping by. I love this painting too- some paintings are all about pleasing someone else. This one is for me.
Kate

MAY 14, 2010 10:54 PM
Ken said...
A Artist can't escape what's going on inside them.......
it will show in their work like a view to there soul .

MAY 14, 2010 11:02 PM

Be still my heart

2010-05-17T05:58:00.000-07:00

My friend K left for Europe, ( Paris to start) last Saturday. To say I am wildly jealous would be an understatement but I am so, so happy to report that the DeYoung Museum and the Legion of Honor Museum are satisfying my need for viewing impressionist art by staging a block-buster extravaganza of a show: The Birth of Impressionism.

This is just the incentive I need to not only renew my museum membership which I had let go delinquent since moving to Napa but also to look at my near and far summer schedule to figure out how many ways (days) I can wangle more than one visit.

I will visit first with L, once alone (must) once with DH, once with my kids, again with a friend or two. Is that four? five?

This show, which I haven't yet seen has brought me back to, my first love which is impressionist art. These paintings posted can't be more obvious in their connection to traditional impressionist influence. Whenever I feel the need to see beauty, be inspired, or generally pull myself out of any malaise, all I need to do is glance at, think about, reflect upon an impressionist painting. The first painting above, is inspired by Edgar Degas' "Dancer on the stage". The original, approximately 24"x36" (I'm only guessing, as I'm too lazy right now to check my factoids) but, I'll just say that by my standards, it's not large.

I have always felt the need, quiet viscerally, to see more of that painting, specifically, the central figure, the dancer. What better way than to explode the image, creating (painting) her as I needed to: my painting as a whole measures 30"x40", and eliminates all of the foreground/background. Not that these were bad things, Mr. Degas. Just my own neurotic need to see so much more.

Sometimes this is what happens...

2010-05-05T17:20:00.000-07:00

when a girl paints on canvas.

I have that little bit of time between one open studios and another open studios where I try and spend some time in my head looking for that moment that I get when I see the picture of what it is for which I am looking.
Is it up in the trees? Likely yes.

Considering the fact that I am constantly looking up into the sky, trying to get my mind around the clouds and what makes them look the way they look and the out line of any particular tree and how it's profile is in perfect concert with everything above it.

Maybe because I am a Virgo. By definition, all things of the earth are of interest to me. No surprise to me. I am at my most happy when I am making art and at my most content when I am in my garden, pruning, picking, weeding, planting, cutting, smelling, looking and planning.

I think it shall be called "In the company of trees"

And then I go around the fence and see this:

Back in my garden, later in the afternoon, before I jump into the dirt with my bent shovel to plant a hydrangea, I must photograph these beauties

Depicted in art over and over again, no mystery as to why me thinks.

"What a swell party it was..."

2010-05-03T18:44:00.000-07:00

Nothing like an art show/open studios to get the creative juice juicin'. It was so lovely today to go into the studio and not to go down my check list of projects and tasks. With seven artists exhibiting through the weekend there are many details in which to take care.
One of my favorite bloggers, Lisa Borgnes in southern California also had a fantastic opening for her embroidery work. Take a moment to go here. I love the traditional textile meets irreverence in her samplers.
But I digress, this blog is about me
In true Gstudio style, we'd evited a thousand of our closest friends to our most current get-together and alas had a lovely turn-out. With this show, we've decided that Open Studios for us will be a semi annual event, featuring our resident artists (five currently) as well as visiting artists as this offers our clientele plenty of variety and a large amount of fabulous new work to view.

Of course, since this is a working art sudio, we are a wee bit rough around the edges. Can't be all perfect and gallery like, that is the concept of an open studio where the clientele can see where the artist works and makes their art.

You're invited!!

2010-04-22T17:14:00.001-07:00

a little more fabulous

2010-04-16T22:00:00.001-07:00

Took one more painting up to Ma(i)sonry, so I took the time to take some additional photos of the space where my art is hanging. The room is lovely and I must say, everything (meaning art) seems to look better on stone. How did I not know this? Has this been going on for a long time and no one let me know?

There is a natural richness inherent to stone and the myriad colors within and in this case sits beautifully with the colors with which I paint. I'm a changed painter.

this last image is the new work I dropped off late this week, called "order from chaos" It's an abstract palette knife painting of cypress trees. Again, the art on the stone wall. If there's a better combination out there, I haven't seen it.

Just a little slice of fabulous...

2010-04-08T13:30:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I arrived at Maisonry and was able to hang five paintings, all in their first floor main room. It's where all the fabulous people enter, look around and can't believe that they've arrived somewhere so...fabulous. I can't help it, this gallery is a show stopper of fabulosity.
I took a few photos whilst I was there, but really must go back to get some higher quality shots. And, get this, the owner was on his way in, expected for a magazine shoot there. I couldn't get any luckier, me thinks. Hopefully, one of my paintings will land inside of the magazine...Always fun to see ones own work in print. (with the fabulous people, of course)

don't you think this painting of the birch trees is fantastic with this chair and that stone wall? Oh, and that weird feret print on the floor is no longer there, lest you lose sleep...

Big News for me!

2010-04-06T19:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, big news here in my little pocket of art: I'll be showing art at Maisonry Napa Valley!
Prepare yourselves, cause the website gives you just a wee snapshot of all of the delightful experiences that are merely waiting for your presence in order to astound....
Intrigued? You should be.
Sexy, irreverent, approachable. No, I'm not referring to the online connection you've been thinking about- I'm talking about Maisonry itself: part tasting room, part gallery, part lifestyle seduction.
I'll be showing about five paintings and am very excited to be part of the experience at Maisonry. It is so worth your trip to Yountville. If you come to visit on the May 1 and 2 weekend, you can stop by to see me at Gstudio first, then straight up to Yountville for a lovely late afternoon at Maisonry. Plan a weekend of it. I hope you can.

this week at the studio

2010-03-29T15:09:00.001-07:00

paintings are beginning to show signs of being finished work...I hope you can stick around for the complete and total unveiling at our Open Studios at G.

The clock is ticking

2010-03-24T19:00:00.000-07:00

Open Studios, May 1 and 2....not far off now. I've got two more weeks of solid painting time and after that, about three weeks of cleaning up my studio, sanding and spackling and painting all of the holes in the hanging wall panels so that we look like a real gallery. Papering and wiring and labeling and logging all of my new paintings and then arranging and hanging and re-hanging. Preview party the few evenings before the event. Life is good.
Here's a preview of what I've been working on this week. So many things still not finished though... trust me, I will.

this week at the studio

2010-03-11T18:21:00.000-08:00

Thursday already. I won't be working at the studio tomorrow as I would usually, so I thought I'd post a few pictures of paintings either finished or in progress. These are all intended for our open studios show May 1 and 2, so this is acting as a sneak preview of sorts.
"Rainy day Napa" 3'x6' (or 7'? can't remember which now so i'll have to measure) Anyway, it's big. Perfect for a dining room. That's where it's going to go in my house if it doesn't sell at the show. But I'd much rather sell it.

Next up is "Beachfront Property" another in the Avalon and places I've lived on the water series. I keep coming back to water themes, so why fight it. Right?

vineyard scenes with gold leaf

2010-03-07T08:11:00.000-08:00

this week at the studio

2010-03-03T15:57:00.000-08:00

I'm doing more work this week on this painting. It measures 1 meter by 2 meters. (3'x6') In case you have the space.
This painting is done entirely using the palette knife. No paint brushes what so ever which is a nice change of pace as it creates a texture (which I'll later remove) that is as much sculpture as it is painting. Once the paint is truly dry, I'll go over the whole painting once more and "knock off" all of the high spots which create a topography of which I am not trying to achieve.

This is the first time I've had so many large canvases: 6 or so that measure a meter to three meters by same and up. A daunting task insofar as where or where to put them to paint and to hang once they are finished. I have adequate studio space, but for a show, I'll be needed to use all of my problem solving brain cells to make sure I can hang it all and hang it well.

Gstudio blog is being worked on and hopefully in top form by the May 1 and 2 show. In the meantime, you can go here and enjoy.

This week at the studio

2010-02-27T17:39:00.001-08:00

Working on quite a few paintings. At last count, I had nine paintings started, eight little bird paintings on my work table to finish off with leafing and finish the backs and about three more in my punkin' head to start. With a show coming up May 1 and 2, I really feel a crunch of time.

Last night went out and had a terrific time not only celebrating Liz's birthday but also the grand re-opening of IWolk gallery in St. Helena as well as Ma(i)sonry in Yountville. Afterward, onto Bottega restaurant to celebrate the birthday girl's big day.

How I love large canvases

2010-01-26T18:36:00.000-08:00

Another large canvas and I'm continuing my series of artists but instead of choosing another artist, coming back to the favorite subject of Beethoven. Sometimes this happens and I am actually known for this. If there was a signature for my art, it would be that I love to do and re-do and do again the same subject matter. I blame it on parochial school: I did have to wear that same uniform day after day after day, after day. What's not to like?

Today at the studio

2010-01-25T14:06:00.000-08:00

Feeling like I'm getting some momentum back after the long holiday break kept me at home. Dates have been set for our 2010 art shows at the studio and we have a new artist moving into our empty space in February.
Our first show will be May 1 and 2.
Here's what I'm working on:

a day in the studio

2010-01-04T10:43:00.000-08:00

I got to spend a few hours at the studio sunday. I write this way because my children are out from school for three weeks for the holidays and I can't spend my preferred time in the studio daily to paint. One of the galleries that shows my work in Burlingame, "Art and Soul" needed more little bird paintings and of course I was happy to hear that since I'd recently begun about five for an upcoming open studios show.

I was also able to do a little messing with our friend Ludwig. I was finished with him on his birthday, December 16, but have been thinking about the painting in wakeful moments at night. So, here he is again with some subtle modifications.

Lastly, I'd started up a new persimmon painting a few weeks ago. This image is what I would describe as the skeleton of the future painting. I've laid down the blue that will only be seen slightly in the end product, as most will be covered by the leafing. Stay tuned and I'll post additional photos as I layer in the paint for the fruit itself.

progress with Ludwig V.

2009-12-13T10:31:00.000-08:00

Slowly but surely making progress. It's the small things within the image that make a big difference, bringing out more of the details and nuance of his face.

Have had limited time to work on him lately as I've moved my studio space into Reuben's studio space which is traumatic and energizing all at once.

Order from Chaos

2009-12-02T19:01:00.000-08:00

you're the greatest Beethoven

2009-11-17T20:18:00.000-08:00

another installment of my friend. Stay tuned for the final, final. The changes are subtle I know, maybe not visible in this itty bitty size?

this is what

2009-11-03T20:38:00.000-08:00

"Birch Winter"12x36"
Call me. 415 992 1537

No, not yet

2009-11-03T13:26:00.000-08:00

It must be hard to tell when an artist is done with her work. No, Ludwig is not finished. I did move him to another wall in the studio so that I could get a longer view. Whilst the paint dries a bit, I can look at it and live with it so that I can formulate my next step of nuance and putting in the highs and lows, the lights and darks.

van Beethoven, in stages

2009-10-20T16:39:00.000-07:00

p.s. this painting is in progress... please stay tuned.

I've begun working on this piece- 4.5 feet by 6.5 feet tall. Quite enjoyable to get back to an oversize portrait again after my friend Giacomo left me.

So long, Giacomo

2009-10-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

This week, a few day after Open Studios, I sold the portrait of Giacomo Puccini to a lovely couple in Calistoga. And they had a truck. Truly, clients that I can appreciate.
The painting is 72" tall and 60" wide.
I'll miss him.

Weekend One: success all around!

2009-09-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

Yes- so much success on so many levels- I am so happy this week as all of the artists at Gstudio had a successful first weekend of open studios. For me, 9 paintings. For my oh so wonderful studio mate Reuben, selling some key paintings, wonderful.
So this week, following up with clients interested in commissions, payments and starting up and finishing up paintings before the next weekend. Just a snippet for now. I'll post again next week after I wake up from my coma of exhaustion sometime around wednesday with the final reflection of open studios. Weekend two awaits! Wish me luck!

Ready, Set

2009-09-16T13:37:00.000-07:00

Yes, we here at Gstudio are ready for our close-up as Nora Desmond would say to Mr. DeMille. We artists are definitely on that level of crazy, and in anticipation of a show like this one, a big art-palooza of one, we go a little further into crazy.
I wonderful friend/food blogger for winecountry.com did a blog on our group this week and Liz of Gstudio and I agreed: we knew we were crazy, but had never seen anyone actually say it. In print.
Oh well, at this stage of my life, um, at this, ehem, age of my life, I'm happy with me and I won't be attempting to change that part of me other than the natural evolution of myself. As it should.

Wish me luck on the show! Hope to see you there, K

Why do I paint fruit and vineyards?

2009-08-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

I am always struck by not the question itself, but rather the need for the question. The simple answer: The simple beauty and depth of the subject. Case in point: the plum. Buy one or pick one, take it home and for five minutes notice how many colors you see and how deeply the colors seem to go.

I don't think I need to write any more about that.

lisa's riva'

2009-08-23T18:10:00.001-07:00

this image is for my dear friend Lisa to see. So if you're not Lisa, please, avert your eyes.
It's called "Napa Riva' Summa' Yes, you read that right and you may interpret any which way you please.

a painter is a painter is a painter

2009-08-04T20:56:00.000-07:00

In washington right now, three weeks- extending my time out of my studio for virtually the entire lenghth of our "summer" In quotes because summer, when one has kids is the time period between the last day of school and the first day of the coming school year. Two months, quite unlike the summer of my youth: Three.
So, my brother, the local rockstar around these parts tells me he's putting a primer coat on a building that he's recently built on his property. I'm happy to desert my children, walk over at dinner time and paint in the corners on a coat of primer coat so Mike can continue with the roller and not stop and start like one would do if they were alone with the job.
I miss painting and really, primer coat, final coat, paint anything: I'm happy. It puts me in that state of mind that I am in the studio. A slight ache in my post surgery hand and sheer happiness.

2 months to go till open studio

2009-07-20T23:39:00.000-07:00

So, in preparation to open studios here in Napa, at Gstudio we're getting the ball rolling as they say. Talking postcards, press releases and oh, yes...making art.
What will I be doing this weekend? Flying to Washington to visit my parents. With my boys. To eat copious amounts of marshmallows roasted over dad's buick sized fire-pit. (the eating of marshmallows will be done mainly by my boys and my mother.
Yes, three weeks I'll be there, just away from the studio long enough to know that when I return, yes, the shit will hit the fan.
But there you have it. And I am looking forward to it.

more from the studio

2009-06-22T15:34:00.000-07:00

The very thing that makes these paintings luminous is the very thing that makes them the most difficult of models to photograph...
this plum painting is 36x48"

little bird, little bird

2009-06-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

I believe it is true when I say I've never posted these little paintings of mine. They're anywhere between 5x5inches up to 12x12".
A quiet and fun side subject that I started last year, I am a little bit touched every time I sell one. Because I find them charming, I hope others do to.
I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoy painting them.

And now for something a little different...

2009-06-03T18:11:00.000-07:00

I call it:
"Napa River Summer"

each panel is 36" high by 48 inches wide.