art process, Body of Work, Inspiration for Making Art, My process, studio practice, Uncategorized

Linking studio to community

My last post was an exercise in reflection of the year just past, to find themes and threads that linked my art—or demonstrated its evolution—from January through December. (A Janus look at 2019’s work) Now it’s time to peer into the mysteries that lie ahead.

Of course, it’s impossible to see the future clearly. But I’ve found a helpful tool that gives me guidance, a signpost of sorts for life as I would like it to be. For several years now, I’ve chosen a theme for the New Year. The year my husband died, I chose “Simplicity. ” It was obviously a time of grieving, accompanied by dozens of details related to doing life without my soulmate. So many decisions I had to make that year were in uncharted territory. But “Simplicity” kept me focused on making healthy choices for myself as I navigated my changed circumstances.

“Practice” became my 2019 theme. (Putting the practice into my studio practice) Practice offers substantial rewards—confidence and opportunity come to mind. All the hours spent sketching, drawing, painting, taking classes—in general, putting in the studio time—meant that if I anchored myself in a student frame of mind, I couldn’t help but improve. It’s a natural consequence. Just as regular exercise benefits the body, regular practice of the artistic disciplines produces benefits as well. Through repeated effort, my style and voice would evolve and express itself more authentically. Through repeated effort, my skills would advance. Through repeated effort, the next stage of my life as an artist would reveal itself.

To think I’m done with practice would be self-destructive. A commitment to lifelong learning never hurt anybody, and the lack of it serves no one. But with practice as a given, where do I go now?

Practice is internal, solitary and quiet—at least when viewed from the outside. It’s time to balance that, an inner voice tells me. Yin needs yang. White needs black. Savory needs sweet. So after some consideration, “Community Connections” is my 2020 theme. Why? Because it faces outward. Because it’s not so quiet. And because it includes others. I already see hints of this motif beginning to animate itself in my life. I don’t know what’s in store, but I’m looking forward to where this year will take me. I can’t wait to experience the ways in which my community and I will interact in 2020. I’m pumped!

Standard
studio practice

Best moments of 2018

For the past few years, I’ve written an annual review of my studio practice. Having come to this career from one in marketing and graphic design, it appealed to my business side. Parts of it are pretty nerdy–stats on website visits, social media followers, works produced and sold, emails and blogs written, etc. Metrics are important. For example, I was happy to learn that sales for 2018 exceeded those of 2017. That doesn’t mean I’ll be taking a globe-circling trip anytime soon, but I’ve already signed up for a workshop from my favorite famous artist-teacher.

While metrics can range from disappointing to revealing to encouraging, they don’t fill the heart. Writing the annual review does bring other important things into focus, moments I may have forgotten until prompted. That’s what I’d like to share with you today. Here are my three favorite art moments from 2018:

Moment #1. Caught by Green Lines and Pink

Green Lines and Pink-lo

I’ve read several biographies of Georgia O’Keeffe’s fascinating life, and am familiar with her most famous published works. Having enjoyed exhibits of her work at Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Dallas Museum of Art, and Chicago Institute of Art, I’ve been exposed to her well-known body of work. I expected no surprises when visiting the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe, New Mexico, last summer. Yet, surprised I was when I encountered this painting, Green Lines and Pink, oil on canvas, 1919. I returned to it several times during my visit, wondering why I had never seen it before. Maybe it was just the novelty, or the sense of discovery. Her subtle gradations, the two sensuous  spheres caught in the folds, the simplicity of the composition, the mystery—all of this caused me to stop for a moment of reverence and wonder.

Moment #2. Practice Matters

practicing

I wrote about this in a previous blog, “Putting the practice into my studio practice.” It’s such a simple but profound concept, to grant permission to make mistakes, to try that same composition or concept again, to see what happens if I paint the same thing again and again. This acknowledges that not every work is wonderful, not every work is worthy of a slot in my inventory. Some will go in the trash or get painted over or end up on the collage materials stack. Some may never see the light of day. Practice must be a significant part of my creative journey. It helps me hone the craft, to be more discerning. I’m grateful for that moment of realization.

Moment #3. Art Builds Community

During the hubbub of one of my studio events, I was struck by the buzz of diverse conversations in the room. People shared their interpretations of the work, what they saw, and why they were attracted to it. Not all interactions were about art, but about everyday ideas and ordinary life activity. New relationships began, old friendships renewed, and guests from all walks of life united in this one social moment–with art the vehicle that brought them together. (Free wine may have helped.) Art has the power to create experiences to be shared by those in its presence. It was powerful enough to make it to my top three favorite moments.

Looking in the rear view mirror holds lessons and insights that inspire me to look forward. I wonder what 2019’s annual review will reveal?

Join me on Facebook and Instagram for behind-the-scenes peeks and first postings of new work.

All Laura Hunt’s art is copyrighted and may not be reproduced without express written permission. Copyright 2018 Laura Hunt

 

Standard
Body of Work, My process

Putting the “practice” into my studio practice

An online class led by an artist whose work I love and respect has turned my attention to the idea of practice. I found it illuminating that he warms up—practices–every day in the studio before turning to his serious paintings. After decades of being a successful artist, he still practices. Eight quick studies of a pear or a flower or a figure, each one different, but using the exercise to explore, to correct, to learn, casting off what doesn’t meet his standards.

That motivated some self-examination. How often have I plunged into a project headfirst, expecting the result to perfectly sync up with my vision, but wind up disappointed, not just in the painting, but in myself as well? My self-esteem plunges and I’ve squandered time and materials. My artist friend Betsy said, tongue firmly in cheek, “Well, every painting is a masterpiece.” That may be the intention, but how often do I fail to meet my own expectations? Calling it “practice” removes the pressure. Practicing on paper instead of pricey canvas helps.

18474 New Mexico Landscape Study 4-lo        18471 New Mexico Landscape Study 1-lo

New Mexico Landscape Study 4              New Mexico Landscape Study 1

Right now I’m on a practice binge inspired by my summer trip to New Mexico. (See previous blog: Why I took a class in textile dying.) I’ve immersed myself into abstract landscape painting. Although many of my previous abstracts have had a landscape heart with horizontal lines and shapes and references to the land, this is a road I haven’t traveled quite this way. I’ve been doing this for several weeks now, and there are some real clunkers (wa wa wa, descending scale), but I see something happening.

18469 Red Bluffs-lo

Red Bluffs

So why do we resist practicing? (Only speaking for myself here. Kudos to you if you’re already dedicated to practicing.) Is it because practice reveals weaknesses? Oh. That’s the point. Practice builds skills. Practice breeds confidence. Practice improves results. Practice closes the gap between so-so and competent, even awesome. And practice assumes I’m going to improve.

So I’ve vowed to practice more. I will give myself time to self-evaluate. I’ll allow—and acknowledge–mistakes. (Let’s hope I notice the worst ones–and learn from them.) I’ll toss out the losers—or paint over them–without looking back. I’ll look for where I need correction or development. I’ll allow the idea to mature and evolve. And I’ll aim less for the masterpiece that for excellence and the pure joy of creating art.
——–

Join me on Facebook and Instagram for behind-the-scenes peeks and first postings of new work.

All art is copyrighted and may not be reproduced without express written permission. Copyright 2018 Laura Hunt

 

 

Standard