How Does A Journey Influence Your Work

When I return from a journey, I let the experience wash through me, not knowing what effect it will have on my work. I just begin to work, and after I have a few paintings under my belt, I stand back to see what's happening. Then I realize that it could be a colour I saw that influenced me or the lines on the standing stones, or even something someone said to me.

I always find that I am slow to really settle into a trip, especially when it requires that I paint. For me, painting is about place; my relationship with the place I am in. In his new book: The Old Ways, A Journey on Foot, Robert MacFarlane says that "the two questions we should ask of any strong landscape are these: firstly, what do I know when I am in this place that I can know nowhere else? And then, vainly, what does this place know of me that I cannot know of myself?"

I painted in the beautiful artist residency at Cill Rialaig in Ireland last November, but I also needed the second part of my journey-at the Abbey in Iona- to spend the time in contemplation rather than intensely working and trying to quickly digest the landscape as I was doing in Ireland. I learned that I just need to walk to feel the land where I am. I'm even wondering if painting during a residency is necessary for me, or if I need to spend time just walking, absorbing and thinking thoughts that I may not have at home.

The second part of my journey that I spent on the island of Iona, in Scotland-away from my paints-afforded me the time to walk up and down the wild beaches, collecting stones, listening to the surf and contemplating--thinking about my work and my life. How little value we put on this.

I remember reading a story about Joseph Campbell. My memory of the story goes like this: Campbell and his wife had rented a small country home for a few months. A neighbour looked over the fence to see Campbell reading and said to him, "Oh, I see you are taking a break from work". Campbell replied, "No, I'm not taking a break, I'm working". Another time the neighbour again looked over and saw Campbell chopping firewood and said, "Oh I see that you're working now". Campbell replied, "No, I'm taking a break".

When I came home from my trip in early December. I went into my studio to take a look at the work I had done before I went away. You look at your work with fresh eyes when you see it again after being away for several weeks. It felt clear to me that I should continue in the direction the work was going. As the series is developing since the trip, it has changed slightly. It has become even quieter and softer. And with the increasing chaos in the world -the drastic weather changes, noise, media-bombardment, the violence-in Syria, in India, in Sandy Hook and here at home as well, I am more committed to working in a way that speaks of finding a still quiet centre.

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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