Chow-Chow and Art (Part III)

Confinement I, ©Patricia Steele Raible 2020, 7″ x 5″, cold wax and oil on paper

My mother’s recipe for chow-chow calls for a pickling brine of vinegar, sugar, ground mustard, mustard seed, turmeric, and whole pickling spices. This is what will preserve the mixture if it is canned properly. The directions tell you to bring this brine to a boil and add the vegetable mixture. Cook for 10 minutes; then fill the jars and process for another 10 minutes.

Some days I feel like I need a brine to pull my art together, to bring the flavors together, to make it what I envisioned. So many days my art time is in snatches here and there. Also, since I usually work on at least three pieces at the time, I may be back and forth studying what I’ve done, what I like, and what I don’t like. I know I can usually fix what I do not like. I can add here or subtract there, but the “fix” doesn’t usually come quickly.

It is a struggle not to just throw the paper away or start sanding on a wood panel. But I always try to remember what one of my favorite instructors, Katherine Chang Liu (https://www.katherinechangliu.com/), advised: Don’t throw a painting away even if it is on paper. Keep working at it, keep painting till you get it right. It was her way of  challenging me and other artists not to give up quickly, to keep adding shapes, changing colors, making new marks, taking some away.

Sealing.

Once the chow-chow has been processed, you have to let the jars cool—first to hear the ping sound that indicates the jars are really sealed. (And trust me, if you have worked this hard, it is exciting to hear it.) But you also don’t want to store hot or warm jars

This is also the hardest part in art. It is especially true if you aren’t quite happy with the painting. If you believe a painting is finished, you want to show it to the world. But I’ve had more than a few “oh dear” moments when perhaps something appeared that I hadn’t seen before. Once my husband asked “why I put that face in the painting.” Don’t get me wrong; it’s not always a bad thing. But if that is the only thing your viewer’s eye focuses on, they will miss other parts of your creation.

Celebration.

Usually, we first had chow-chow on the table at Thanksgiving. It added a burst of color to the fall meal and reminded us of summer and harvest.

Hanging a good painting, whether in a show or just on the wall, is like that. It reminds you of your hard work and the feelings and emotions behind the piece. More importantly, it gives you the satisfaction of expressing yourself using your own type of language—art language. 

Over the next few weeks I will be transitioning to my blog on my website. Please continue to follow me there.

Chow-Chow and Art (Part II)

Disruption I, 5.25″ x 7.25″, cold wax and oil on paper, ©Patricia Steele Raible 2020

I am still fascinated with my family’s recipe for chow-chow. As I read it in my mother’s handwriting, I realize it is a bit heavy on the cabbage (one gallon), probably because it was easy to grow if they had enough rain. In the mountains of the Carolinas they would likely have added some of the August “pie apples” as my mother called them. These were small and very tart apples that were usually dried.

Ingredients.

What am I talking about? I never follow recipes. I already know to want to cut the amount of cabbage. I plan to add cauliflower. And since the mixture is processed, I probably won’t cook it in the brine—at least not as long. I want a bit of crispness.

With a lot of recipes I “follow” an ingredient might get left out or substituted because I don’t have it, or in the case of art it gets changed entirely because something else like a specific color makes more sense. I guess this is what artist and teacher Pam Caughey (Art and Success: https://www.artandsuccess.com) calls the “play stage.” It’s an opportunity to explore: taste, texture, color, form, composition.

 With the chow-chow, it is making certain that the flavors are balanced: You would not want one-half the mixture to be just onions or peppers (or perhaps not cabbage). With art (and I am describing my personal process) it is about a certain amount of balance as well. What I love about mixed media is that I can create using the entire crayon box along with their wrappers!

Preparation.

I usually start a painting by drawing, pasting collage elements on the surface, or building specific texture. My beginnings may just be running a pencil over the paper or board or building texture with tissue paper. It is almost always light elements unless I am already emotionally engaged. Then it may be charcoal or china marker (which I can still cover) or bits of hand painted paper.

 On some of the deep wood panels, I build texture with gesso or limestone. Other days I lean on collage elements to guide me into the artwork. If I am putting them down early in process, they are not usually placed precisely, but like the pencil markings are more tenuous like breadcrumbs on a path. When I do put down paint it tends to be either quite colorful or very neutral. In the end, most of my painting are more subtle and quietly expressive.

 For the pickled relish, color is not restrained. It is almost certainly a riot of colors: light green, white, dark green, red, even purple. Once all the vegetables for chow-chow have been chopped, my family’s recipe adds salt to the mixture and lets it sit overnight. While it’s true after the chopping a lot of the work has been done, before we cook and seal the mixture, we let it rest overnight to soften slightly.

Sometimes with a painting I am satisfied early on, but inevitably if I rush, I will be dissatisfied with the final piece. I will have this nagging feeling that something is left out or could have been better.  I have learned: It never hurts to let art rests as well.

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)

Slower Than A Three-Year-Old

Scattering the Night, diptych, 24″ x 48″, mixed media on deep wood panel based on smaller studies

I knew it would happen sooner or later. I just assumed later. But I now admit that I have definitely slowed down. About three months ago while caring for my young grandson I failed to get out of the way when he “helped me” close the cabinet door in the kitchen. The door caught my finger just at the base of the nail on my ring finger, and well I’ve been watching the colorful and disturbing changes since.

Of course, my daughters felt this slowness appeared a couple years ago when they noticed I was the only one driving the speed limit both in town and on the interstate. But I contended, then and now, that I am simply obeying the law and driving at speeds which are comfortable and reasonable for handling the vehicle.

Luckily, there has been one benefit to this slowness: I notice things more. I opened the curtains at daybreak one morning to see grey light turning pink and slightly blue. The light was in the middle of a landscape and seem to be pushing the trees to each side. It was a simple image, but the shapes stayed with me. Finally, I put them to paper in a series of small cold wax and oil painting and now to a larger diptych called “Scattering the Night.”

Andrew Thomas, Founder of Skybell Video Doorbell, says in an Inc. Magazine article (https://www.inc.com/andrew-thomas/4-reasons-why-slowing-down-will-actually-make-you-more-successful.html) that slowing down improves your chances of success. He says you will have greater clarity; you can’t hustle if you are dead; you will harness the power of emotion; and you will make better decisions.

I agree: I should have slowed down years ago. Especially if it means that I am aware of the small, but important things.

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).”

 

 

The Warmup

“Pre-game Warmup”, © Patricia Steele Raible, Mixed Media on Board, 36″ x 12″

Baseball is still on the brain as well as the color purple. You see we are moving. What’s the connection you may wonder. Well, renovation, and buying and selling houses has gotten to be too much. So, of course, I turn to art to soothe my mind and purple because it’s a diversion. And baseball comes in because  I am warming up for the big game—the move—and I want to be sure I’m ready.

Are We Ever Ready

Warming up is very important to both baseball and moving because you use muscles and joints in forward-backward movements. You may be jumping, twisting, or making forward lateral movements (hopefully), and according to the experts, it is important that your body be prepared.

Experts also advise arriving early, familiarizing yourself with the field and the equipment. Then they suggest stretching since your muscles will really get a workout. A few sprints (can I skip this one) they say will increase blood flow in the muscles. Okay, okay I’ll do a few.

It’s Always the Hip Flexors

Then there are the knee lifts which loosen the legs and hip flexors for better motion and movement. Squats (please no) they tell us will loosen up your ham strings, quads, and glutes. They even want you to add a few arm crosses. Finally, they suggest playing catch and fielding. Now they say you are ready for the game. I’m ready for a nap.

Soon But Not Yet

Luckily the move is not yet, but they keep telling me it’s just a few weeks away. I’ve had to pack up the brushes and paint (a bummer.) I am telling myself that collage in my journal will be perfect—just what I need, planning time.

“Pre-Game Warmup” is the last one on the easel for now, a companion to “Home Run.” When I first stood back and looked at it hard, I couldn’t tell if the game had started. Perhaps the bases were all loaded, and we desperately needed a hit. Or, did we need the third out?

Oh, well. You decide. You’re playing too aren’t you?

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Home Run, 36″ x 12″ x 2.75″, Mixed media collage on deep wood panel

Having spent my recent Saturday night at a minor league baseball game, I have begun thinking that as an artist I am no different than one of those players dressed in a striped uniform. I too must warm up, size up the opposition, determine how to play the game, learn from and correct my mistakes, and still pull off a win before the 9^th inning.

Play Ball

Last Saturday we got there a few minutes early and everyone seemed to be frantically throwing balls to each other. But I could tell something else was also happening. I knew that with every throw they were also checking out the opposing players as well. It’s what I do every morning in my studio. I look at what’s on the easel or table and hope I’ve left myself a note as to my thinking the day before. If not, I miss the ball and have to chase the grounder. Do I start by reviewing new art by artists I love? Do I write about the art I am working on? Do I sketch? Do I start with a collage or just random painting? Sometimes it feels pretty frantic, so I imagine it looks that way as well. And yes, at some point during the day, I will definitely check to see what other artists are up to, though they are not opponents since no one is keeping score. Are they?

Right Off the Bat

It is always important to determine direction—to know what to do next. Am I working on a new painting or finishing one that is not yet complete? If I have made mistakes (never…), can I correct them easily or will it stretch into overtime. Every once in a while, a painting will come together quickly. It is probably because I have carried the image around in my head subconsciously for days or weeks. You would think that such a painting would be my home run.

Out of the Ballpark

But my home runs are different. It not a hit the first time I come up to bat. It’s the third or fourth time with 3 balls and 2 strikes. It’s the painting that I struggle with the most and that finally comes together. The others are just base hits, a double or a triple. When you put hours and hours into a piece and it finally feels right—when you know it’s good, that is the home run. Then you really feel as if you’re floating around the bases to home.

Sometimes I do strike out. And every once and while, I give up on a particular piece. It seems overworked and tired. But I immediately start again, sometimes on the same piece with a different twist. You see just like baseball, art gets into your blood. It becomes essential to your everyday life. There is no season; it’s a year-round pursuit. You are always in training, always playing the game.

So when do I get the striped uniform?

The Color Purple

Leap of Faith, 30″ x 30″, 2014; Riverview II, 15.75″ x 15.75″, 2018; and Fight Song, 36″ x 24″,2017,©Patricia Steele Raible.

One of my favorite books in the 1980s was Alice Walker’s “The Color Purple,” and I was even more impressed by the movie. In this particular case though I am literally talking about Golden’s liquid violet dark. It isn’t a color I use very often, but I think perhaps I should.

Why Purple

What else can I say about say about the color purple? If it is dark, it is the color of eggplant. If it is pale it is the last wisp of sunlight on a summer evening. Besides the violet dark, you find both a light violet, a medium violet, and a pale (which I quite like). But as you know, it is just as easy to mix it.

So purple is a color that many believe is feminine. But I would counter that purple is also the color of bruises—bruises perhaps gained from athletic endeavors (and yes, plenty of women are athletes).  I would also counter that using purple requires a lot of imagination. 

The Advantages of Purple

Purple is becoming a color I turn to when I am not satisfied with what I see on my easel. When a painting’s too humdrum (For now, humdrum is still in the dictionary, still a word.) I also try to use purple when a painting starts to look too realistic. I am not criticizing realistic, I just don’t do it well. This is pushing me into a new habit: using purple in place of colors on what I call a “messed up painting.” If there is a dark brown or dark blue, I use dark violet. If it’s a neutral gray I mix an amethyst and if it is a light green or gray a light or pale violet.

Purple Has An Attitude

I believe it really helps to change to colors that you aren’t as comfortable using. After all, painting is about experimenting. For me, changing colors can mean that instead of an abstract landscape that leans toward realism (and not good realism), suddenly I will have a completely different painting, one that has a bit of an edge, a slight attitude. It’s smiling, wearing sunglasses, and also has a definite smirk.

Ah, the color purple.

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.

When Technology Goes Bonkers

I took this photograph of “Earthshine” with my telephone (not an iphone). It’s not what I would use for a juried show, but it’s fine for sharing. It shows texture and line—though the color is bit off. I love the ability to see what it’s going to look like when it’s finished.

How do we respond as artists when the technology we have been depending on goes a bit…well haywire? While most of my artwork is done by hand, the old-fashioned way, I do depend on my computers, various programs, and my printer.

When You Least Expect It

This morning I watched my husband as he dealt with the Bluetooth in our car. He said he was riding along when suddenly the Bluetooth announced that it was changing the language to French. He swears he pushed no buttons and even tried to fix it by calmly asking the “French woman” to change the language back to English. Instead, he got a terse, “Pardon?”

It was not quickly resolved. Even with manuals, the internet, two telephone calls to different car dealers, and a plea to a daughter fluent in French, no one could offer much help (though the daughter offered a few choice words he could say in French when it didn’t work). So like any good American he went out punching buttons. The first punch got him another language, but it was Spanish. No problem, our other daughter is fluent in Spanish!) All he had to do was figure out which buttons he had pushed in which sequence. Finally, on the third try he was able to get the car to talk to him in English again. And incidentally, the only car dealers that called him back wanted to know if he would like to trade the car in for another one.

Obviously, the younger artists are most comfortable with technology, but I have seen a few of them get frustrated when something didn’t work “as advertised.” I guess the reality is that when it works, it makes our life easier and probably more creative even if we produce primarily with our hands. I know being able use technology to view and discuss the work of other artists influences my work. Videos teach me about new techniques, and the simple means of communicating allows me to share my own work with thousands of people even in other countries.

Our Art and Soul

In some ways adaptation to different circumstances is the heart and soul of art. I recently discovered that Matisse began his “cut-out” series after cancer forced him to use a wheelchair. While the work was a departure from his large paintings, critics often refer to them as among the best works of his entire career. 

While I would miss technology, I believe artists are among the most adaptable people in our society. Perhaps it would be a good idea for all artists to develop their “other left or right hand.” By this I mean develop more than one method of creating, challenging ourselves to go beyond our daily borders.

Stepping beyond what has worked for us in the past might open the door to even better work in the future.