A Place to Grow

Trace Ridge, ©Patricia Steele Raible, 20” x 19.5”, mixed media mounted on board

“There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend,” Bob Ross

It really wasn’t the 4-foot maple’s fault that someone planted it too close to the house, and we knew we were taking a chance. There was a chance it wouldn’t survive the move, but there was also the possibility that it would die where it was without room to grow.

Just like a piece of art, if you don’t take the chance it won’t be the best that it could be. In fact, it may not even become a piece of art. I sometimes get stuck on a painting that has “too much going on” or “not enough.” It is a case of rescuing a painting from the depths—making sure it can survive.

The lace-leaf maple in question was so beautiful on the side away from the house that we determined we would do this. It would, of course, be quite the project. Certainly, not a one-day affair, but multiple days.

The first step was lightening the load. That meant trimming anything that would add to its weight—but not to its potential to grow. This included not just limbs, but eventually roots.

Digging didn’t start until the second day, and it took half of the day digging with both a shovel and hand spade to free as much of the red clay as possible. This also happens with a painting.

You get so much on the surface sometimes that you lose sight of what the painting is hoping to communicate. Most of the time, less is more. The best way to determine what stays and what goes is to break the painting into quarters. Look at each area and find out what sings and what is just carrying the tune along.  You could also take a color photograph with your phone and a black and white to determine contrast. Both of these give you valuable information about how to proceed.

Don’t think that just because you’ve lightened the load it will be easy. You don’t want to bare root the tree, but you also don’t want it to weight 300 pounds. And trust me red clay weighs a lot!  Also, try to determine if the tree has a tap root. Usually maples do not, and ours didn’t. However, we missed a couple side roots that made it impossible to slide the root ball up on a board to get it out of the hole. At the end of the second day, we wrapped the root ball for the chilly overnight.

The last day was a must “get it out.” It was likely to rain that night. More digging, more grunting, more pulling—a couple hours in fact before the smart one in the family asked for help from our son-in-law. Now I can handle a paint brush with the best of them, but not so much a (now) 200-pound tree. Within 15 minutes of his arrival, the tree was out of the first hole and into its new home about 15 feet away.

Goodness I wish I could move a few paintings along with his help, but I believe I’m on my own there. It is really about taking the risk of changing something, rather than knowing how successful it will be when it is finished.

Only spring will tell!

Chow-Chow (Part I)

When I was young both of my grandmothers made chow-chow in the early fall. That was when here in the South they were harvesting the first cabbage and pulling up the peppers and tomato plants. Both grandmothers made a similar relish called Chow-Chow that my father loved.

My father’s mother died when I was seven, but I was fortunate to be able to watch my other grandmother cook. Having grown up terribly poor and having survived the Depression, she and her sisters, made pickles from almost everything imaginable: peaches, pears, apples, watermelon rind, cucumbers, green beans, cabbage, green tomatoes, onions and peppers. What my grandfather didn’t grow in a garden, she got from her family who lived in the country.

Using and Saving What You Have

I hadn’t thought about this pickled wonder in years because the squirrels typically eat all our tomatoes, but this year we got a few tomatoes and had a lot of green ones hanging when the temperature began to drop. That bit of luck and watching an episode of Vivian Howard’s “Somewhere South” (https://www.somewheresouthtv.com/) inspired me to can a few jars of this relish for the winter. Looking through my mother’s recipe box I found recipe that though unlabeled was clearly chow-chow. Of course, I set about changing it to my liking.

Howard noted in her episode that chow-chow or some version is made in many different countries, and that likely, it is about using and saving what you have. Whatever the pickled relish is called, it is colorful and flavorful, sometimes with a bit of bite. What struck me while I was making the concoction was that the process was similar to making art.

The “Gathering”

Not every artist does this first part of the process the same way. Some almost immediately begin painting. But for me, in this stage, there are no art materials. Those comes later.

What happens here is a gathering of ideas that will eventually mesh into something wonderful, but they must first be explored one at time as if you’re judging for ripeness, taste, or quality.

I am one who carries ideas in my head while I am doing other things. Often, I forget them. So, I try hard to jot them down on a sticky note or whatever is available. At some point my journalistic training will push me to research more. It is then that I might open my journal or a word file on the computer and begin to write.

Sometimes there are words, sometimes pictures, drawings or photographs of a place, or event. As the thoughts and ideas take shape, many get combined. Every once in a while, I know exactly where I’m going. Most often I have to put everything out there in front of me like a list of ingredients. It is then and only then that my ideas merge and coalesce.  

While it’s not a race, it almost feels like a starting pistol goes off.

(Stay turned for Part II. I will soon be transitioning to my website blog. You can follow me there: https://www.patriciasteeleraible.com/patricia-steele-raible-1)

Among the Trees

Her Place Among the Trees, ©Patricia Steele Raible 2020, 39.5″ x 29″, Mixed media on deep wood panel

“When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.”

From Mary Oliver’s When I Am Among the Trees

Trees are not cute. We don’t post pictures of them on Facebook or Instagram like we do cats and dogs and rabbits. Probably in conservation networks they don’t elicit as much donations as lion cubs or even bees. Yet we fall in love with neighborhoods or parks or cities because of their large tree canopies. I wouldn’t think of buying a house without trees in the yard. Obviously, many of you are like me: you feel that trees have a special quality—that they are somehow connected to us. Why else when we walk into the woods would we feel such familiarity, such calm, such simple joy.

I was fascinated to learn recently (Doesn’t everyone read a headline and start googling.) that scientist believe trees “talk” to each other via their root network. Scientists reason that they may use “chemical conversation starters” that might allow them to maintain a type of social distance called crown shyness, helping them avoid spreading pests and disease. There was also the discovery by the National Geographic Society of a tree on an island on the southern tip of South America. They believe the tree may be important to explaining where we are in terms of climate change, acting as a sort of “living laboratory” as they track how it changes and adapts in the years to come.

Artist have always painted trees. Emily Carr, a Canadian artist and writer, involved in the St. Ives group, painted “Tree Trunk.” Van Gogh has many famous tree paintings including “Cypresses, or “Olive Trees with the Alpilles in the Background”or “Olive Trees With Yellow Sky.” Egon Schiele’s “Four Trees” were painted in autumn as well as Paul Gauguin’s “The Tree-Lined Road.” And the once again popular Bob Ross’ first episode was “Happy Little Trees.” Perhaps artists paint trees just because they are there, but I don’t believe that. Humans have always been intertwined with trees, whether for fuel, housing, food, shade, or comfort. I think artists just recognize their importance.

On the other hand, artists are probably more like the late poet Oliver. They may have always painted trees because “they give off such hints of gladness.” And on so many days, especially recently, they save me as well.

Scattering the Night

Scattering the Night 4  7″ x 5″ one of four mixed media with cold wax that are studies for larger pieces

 

We get up early at our house: 5 a.m. It’s still dark outside with just a faint hint of light coming through the backyard. But depending on the season, within a half hour or more the light creeps through outlining shapes and structures.

Getting up this early is our choice. It is time to construct ourselves— to have an hour to ourselves before the grandsons arrive. Until this past spring it was just another hour before they headed off to school. Now, of course, during the pandemic we are school most days for the youngest.

One day they will not need a sitter (but likely I will).  I can only hope I still awake at an absurd hour: this absurd hour . This hour where I can glimpse the dark shapes of trees and houses and then stare in awe as the sun begins to “scatter the night and make the day worth living (F. Scott Fitzgerald).”

 

 

A Little At the Time

Continuous Thread, detail, 16″ x 20″, Mixed media collage on deep wood panel

It all started with a piece of hand-dyed fabric made during a workshop in Ohio almost 10 years ago. Months ago I pulled out the box of fabrics I had made and was immediately drawn to the pattern—lace-like, cellular-like, web-like. And then in one of my braver moments (since I usually hesitate about everything) I glued it down to a blank surface. From there the beginning, simple unadorned, but already connected.

A little at the time, I added paint, a piece of a torn calendar, and words from a newspaper clipping (remember those) about the weather. I don’t believe I thought about the time factor while I was painting, but subconsciously it must have been there, why else the weather and the calendar, why not Shakespeare. Oh yes, there is a tiny bit of him as well.

I added more paint and more texture to pull these elements together, but then I left it for months before returning to finish it just a week ago. I found some more of the fabric, a little different piece with circles that seem to fit my musing. Lately, I so often find myself wanting to pull everyone and everything together ( as I know they should be) or alternatively, to escape entirely perhaps using those tiny circles to skip away from reality. But no matter, “Continuous Thread,” is finished.

The title of the piece was borrowed from Eudora Welty’s One Writer’s Beginnings. In her book she refers to stories and novels following not chronology but rather “the continuous thread of revelation.”

That seems perfect for visual art as well.

Finishing A Painting: It’s Not Magic

Yesterday I spent four hours finishing a painting for a show—finishing a painting that some would say was already finished.  I’m not really complaining since I am delighted to have been chosen for the exhibit, but the task is certainly not glamorous and likely not one that a collector or even exhibit curator thinks about (unless they are also an artist).

By finishing a painting I don’t mean putting leaves on a tree (not to negate something I can’t do well). What I mean is checking the sides for marks, sanding a few spots, repainting those, repainting again when I miss one, waxing, then finally wiring (and making sure the wire is heavy enough for a large painting on board).  Our social media posts seem to only show us smiling with several brushes in our hands and painting with bright colored oils or acrylics —not furiously trying to match a paint color or see through dust spattered glasses with hair tied up on our head.

Finishing a painting is a pretty mundane task, and I’m willing to bet not many artists have assistants to do this. But it must be done and is part of completing a painting for a show or collector. Sometimes I fuss and worry too much over highly textured areas, wondering if I should smooth them down more. But everything most of us do is by hand so it will probably never look perfect. Of course, this isn’t the only routine task we perform. That’s for another blog.

But sometimes I wonder if we shouldn’t show more “real” work pictures (no I’m not brave enough yet) or at least put our glasses and work cloth in the frame (that I can do).

Show Your Art Love

Disconnected from Time, ©Patricia Steele Raible 2016, 12″ x 12″ x 2.5″, mixed media on deep wood panel

So how do we show our love for art? Is it as simple as producing good art or going to openings or events? Or is there something else that is required? I was reminded recently by a blog by Goda Smiligyte (https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/you-say-love-art-so-how-many-artworks-do-own-goda-smilingyt%C4%97/) that supporting the arts requires more than buying tickets to a play or going to a concert. It requires buying art that isn’t mine.

No Excuses

Because we have such limited wall space and storage, I admit, I don’t buy much wall art. Perhaps it is also why I have produced quite a few small pieces lately—no room (https://www.etsy.com/shop/PSRaibleArtMaker?ref=shop_sugg).

I have bartered for a couple pieces and bought one small original when we were in France years ago. Otherwise it is prints—and yes, early in our marriage signed posters. But we are better about other types of art. We have a decent pottery collection with inherited pieces and those purchased from places we have traveled (though we are trying to curb the habit). Still, I recently purchased several pieces from a Kings Mountain, NC, potter Renee Matthews. I have purchased numerous pieces of handmade jewelry over the years (the last piece from Lark and Key Gallery https://larkandkey.com/ ), and we also have a carved box from David Anthony Fine Art in Taos http://davidanthonyfineart.com/ ).

The Queen of Art Love

One of my artist friend Jen Walls (https://www.jenwalls.com/ ), who now lives in her beloved Portland, is wonderful about buying art from other artists.  Not only that, she always shows a photograph of the art and gives a shout out on Facebook. She is also great about commenting on other artists exhibitions, events, and publications.

Active Passion

So, if we love art and/or produce art, we need to find ways to support art beyond just buying tickets and drinking wine at a gallery opening. There are so many wonderful artists and craftspeople that produce not just paintings and sculptures, but handmade journals (Jackie Radford, https://etsy.me/2VQShWU), jewelry, carvings, clothes, and so much more.

And when we love a piece, it would be nice to let others know.

Elevator Speeches for Introverts…Like Me

“Seeking Warmth,” 20″ x 16″ x 2.75″, Mixed media on Deep Wood Panel,
©Patricia Steele Raible 2019

I really don’t like elevators with or without speeches. They make me nervous, and no matter how hard I try to relax I always feel like I’ve left my legs on the floor where I got on. So I tend to smile nervously, face the door, and think there is no way I can turn and talk to another passenger.

No Infomercials

Having read advice in books and blogs from quite a few marketing gurus, I’m always thinking about what I should say when someone asks what I do. If I say, “I’m an artist,” I am usually asked a follow-up question about what kind of artist. If I say mixed media and leave it there, I know I’ve missed out big time. I have learned that this is an opportunity to share myself and to get to know someone if only for a very short time.

If you listen to the experts, they would have you prepare a two-minute statement that tells someone “why you create.” Unfortunately, I have found that doesn’t work for me. As an introvert, I come across as stilted, pompous, or stuffy. What I’m learning to do instead is tell them something about my current work. Chances are I’m excited about it and that comes through in my body language. It doesn’t come across as prepared or memorized.

Curb Your Enthusiasm

I’ve got less than a couple minutes, so I have to keep it really short. Second, if I want this to lead to a look at my website, a visit to my studio, or a possible friendship, then I need to know at least one thing about this person. So after describing my most recent work, I ask a question. “Are you involved in art, who is your favorite artist, what kind of art do you like?” Then I have a real conversation that I can continue briefly when the door opens or I can exchange information for a later date.

In my excitement talking about what I am working on, I have to remember not to overwhelm them. They don’t need an artist statement or a curriculum vitae. I try to connect with them by using descriptive language they can understand. If they seem sincerely interested, I invite them to a show or just to my studio.

Being Real

While I believe in being as prepared as possible, a canned elevator speech just doesn’t work for me. I can’t make it sound authentic. I have found it is far more important for me to be genuine—to be myself and talk about something that I am passionate about. That makes me sound…well, like me.

“It’s Something Else Now”

After Time, © Patricia Steele Raible, triptych, 9″ x 24″ x 1.75″, mixed media on board

Space Is Limited

It’s getting crowded again, but not in a bad way. As I look around the studio, I see a lot of unfinished work, but I also see what may be politely referred to as “reworked paintings.” Does this say something about my current work habits (well perhaps) or does it also say something about many of us who just enjoy creating. Artists are finished when they are finished. But after living with a artwork for a while they may simply feel the need to change it a little, or change it significantly.

In a 2014 article in ArtNews, author Ann Landi wrote, “choosing when to stop altering a piece can be a highly individual decision, as idiosyncratic and personal as style, and there are instances in which a work is never fully done, at least in its creator’s mind.”

I lean in this direction, but I am also afraid of a painting being “overdone.”

Now You See It, Now You Don’t

In Landi’s article, she describes sculptor, Nari Ward, (http://www.artnet.com/artists/nari-ward/) who recycles pieces of one sculpture using it in another. He says “simply changing a venue for a particular work can mean it has to be re-formed to fit its site.” And he admits that sometimes the original artwork can disappear. When a gallery asks if a particular original work is available to sell, he often has to admit, “no, it’s something else now.”

Does the Art Change Or Is It the Artist

I believe that unfinished work and work that is being recreated  may actually be a sign of changes in our own lives—not just in our art, but in ourselves. We are not the same person at 30 or 40 that we were at 20 and different events change us. We don’t even stay the same when we are much older, so neither should our artwork. Our artwork would or should reflect who we are in that moment.

The artist is the real story here, that and their ability to put it on canvas, or metal, or wood, or whatever materials they converse with. And if that conversation changes over time (as surely it must), we the listeners are the richer for it.

 

Front Row Girl

Keeping A Promise, 18″ x 20″, mixed media

So 2019 is upon us, and it is time to make those changes, those new year resolutions. And I have decided to occasionally be a “front row girl.” Now this is a term I heard in yoga class, when I teased another woman about moving up to the front row. She replied, “I’m not a front row girl. I don’t like the attention.” (I go to the front row because I can’t see.)

Wearing A Hoodie Through Life

Now, if you look up “front row girl,” you will get blogs and stories about a Milwaukee Brewer’s fan named Amy Williams who comes to most of their home games and sits…well on the front row. That’s not the front row I’m talking about. I’m talking about a different type of “front row,” one that includes taking more risks and being more involved in the things that matter to me (or to you) whether it is art, education, affordable housing, or fighting those who insist on speeding and running red lights.

Too often I find myself not doing things because it makes me uncomfortable— even though I realize that it’s something that could make a difference in my life or someone else’s.  If it is a problem, I complain, but still take a back seat because I’m an introvert and don’t like making a fuss. And sometimes even when I believe I have a good solution to a problem, I don’t speak up for fear that it can’t really be that good or someone else would have proposed it, or even for fear of rejection. A hoodie is nice when you’re cold, but it may feel good to throw it off once in a while.

Peaking Through

But this is the year. At least once a week I will be doing something I haven’t done on a regular basis—whether it is as simple as introducing myself and talking to someone I haven’t met (but should have), or speaking in a more public forum. Already I am pushing myself to change my paintings, adding more contrast, more color. I am also pushing myself to write more, about art and about life.

While winter is just beginning, I’m going to pretend it’s spring and that I’m always a “front row girl.” Some of us are late bloomers, admittedly very late bloomers. But our flowers are just as beautiful.