Back into the Studio

On Friday I got back into my studio to paint for the first time since February 10th when I fell and broke my painting wrist. Just getting into the studio was an intimidating task. I know all of the old tricks that I tend to do when I am trying to get to work but feel I have nothing to say...or when I have been away from work for so long that I have lost confidence that I will ever paint again. I tend to organize the studio first. I put away all of the materials I took out west with me for my workshops, rearranged some old work that is in the shelving system, looked at the work I finished up until the time I broke my wrist. I did that during the week. But by Friday I had no more excuses. So I finally talked myself into going in there about 10am, telling myself I'd just work over old pieces.

There is an excellent movie about Agnes Martin called With My Back to the World. In this wonderfully meditative film, Martin, like a wise Yoda, said that she waited for inspiration. Inspiration came to her as a vision of a small painting that she felt she was to paint. When she finished that painting, with all of it's exacting measurements, she would then simply wait for the next inspiration before she painted again. Once she had to wait for 5 months for the next inspiration to come along.

That's not the way it is for most artists, from the reading I've done. Most say to just get in there, start playing. Just begin. I have already been out of my studio for 4 months and I haven't had an inspiration yet. A few ideas perhaps, but not a clear vision. Agnes might think I hadn't waited long enough.

Shaun McNiff, in his book Trust the Process, says that " We do not have to know where we are going at the beginning of the creative act. Successful expression involves the ability to let materials and unplanned gestures lead the way. The purpose of the work comes from the act of doing it. Ideas emerge through the movement of painting."

It helped me to begin by pulling out some old paintings, scraping them back a bit and working on them. Something easier about beginning again when the painting I'm working on is already a failure. My thought was that I surely can't wreck a failure. It felt so good to be back to work. New ideas. New colours.

The American sculptor, Stephen DeStaebler said, "Artist's don't get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working"

Meet the Owners of a Scottish Castle

Anne Tristine Nguyen, Ali Orr Ewing, their children, Ava, Atticus and their dog, Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dunskey Estate, Portpatrick, Scotland Anne Tristine Nguyen and her husband, Alistair Orr Ewing are the owners of Dunskey Estate near Portpatrick, Scotland where I will teach a painting workshop in September. Dunskey is a splendid Edwardian castle on 2000 acres of ocean-front land with miles of walking trails. As well as daily workshop sessions in the studio on the top floor of the castle, our small group of artists will enjoy breathtaking hikes, superb accommodation and fabulous meals. Not having met owners of a castle before, I asked Anne if I could interview her to hear a little of their background story and that of the castle. Can you tell me a little of your personal story and that of your husband, Alistair Orr Ewing? Anne emigrated to America when she was ten years old, but it was at an art gallery in Saigon, her birthplace, where she met Al

The Importance of Silence in Art

Gathering Light 60x60" Oil on canvas © 2014 Janice Mason Steeves Michael David Rosenberg, the musician known as Passenger, sings, "See all I need is a whisper in a world that only shouts." In the workshops I teach, I find that one of the most common problems with paintings is that they shout. Most have too much going on: too many small shapes, too much texture, extremes of colour, too many lines, too much, too much. One thing I say most often as I walk around the classroom working with students individually, is 'make bigger shapes'. But not only bigger shapes. Quiet shapes. Where can your eye go and rest in the painting? That isn't a consideration in much of contemporary painting or much of contemporary life. Ours is a noisy world both visually and auditorily. Ours is a world that shouts. People are afraid of silence. I wrote a blog post 3 years ago about planning a retreat in my own home, where I shut off the computer and the phon

Liminal Time

The word liminal comes from the Latin, limen meaning threshold. an in-between place, a place of transition, a time of waiting and not knowing. Dawn and dusk are considered liminal places. Crepuscular animals, like foxes and coyotes are most active at this time of day, a time that is considered a magical time in Celtic spirituality and to Indigenous people which is perhaps the origin of their designation as tricksters. As I write this, the northern hemisphere has just passed the vernal equinox, where day and night are of equal length.We are in a liminal space between winter and spring right now, unsure if we will have one more storm or snowfall before spring finally settles in. We're also in a liminal place as we live through this pandemic with the anxiety and discomfort of not knowing. A time of great transition for the entire world, wondering what we've learned from this and what lessons we'll carry forward. Author and Franciscan friar Richard Rohr describes limi

Janice Mason Steeves

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