My son-in-law gave me this organizer. Crazy about it. And so now, instead of jumbled paints I know what I have at my fingertips and can more easily see what I need. I even have my hues grouped by transparency and opacity: something I’ve paid little attention to, but understand better now. We live & learn, AND gain help from others.

And here’s a new trick: I set up a 5 question survey about this blog and sent it out to my subscribers. My reason: so I could see what’s happening out there. Solomon said “ship your grain across the sea; after many days you will receive a return.” And I imagine that for King Solomon the Mediterranean Sea might have been as vast a wonder as the world wide web is to us. My stats on this blog indicate I have visitors from China, Japan, the UK, and even Israel sometimes. I’ve been writing here bi-monthly since 2008. Why? Words are seeds; I just feel I need to ship some out.

I get very little written feedback, but I can see that lots of people read. Am I hitting a target? What is the target? It feels more like grain going out on ships. I wondered about frequency: and find in responses to the survey so far that the timing of how often I post seems useful. I wondered about whether my writing is too abstract (like my paintings often are). One regular reader said “sometimes I don’t know what you mean.” Others: “I read because you make me think” “perspectives to ponder”. I gained from further comments some insight into what best helps folks and what is particularly of less of value. So thank-you to those who’ve taken the time. The survey is anonymous so to the 1 person who indicated needing to unsubscribe I ask you to do that easily when you get an email notice of a new blog entry. You’ll see the unsubscribe tab there.

And if you are one of my far away readers, I would love to hear from you too. Here is a link to a simple survey. I have adapted what I sent to subscribers as I learned the question grid on my first attempt was a bit confusing. This survey is simple check boxes, and you can choose to be anonymous. It is 5 simple questions and should only take you about 5 minutes to answer. I will definitely organize and use your input.

“Find our who you are and do it on purpose” Dolly Parton

So, I’ve been getting my water brushes moving doing simple ink drawings this week. I have a pile of source work waiting and ready for more intensive oil work. But the immediate impetus has been quickly recording what lingers on my retinal memory from some recent travel. I found a new gallery in Minnesota and will be sending him images of these drawings because we both want to test/have an expectation that these will sell. So, the natural question is “am I cheapening my aim by spending time making locale work just to try and sell?”

Here’s my answer to myself (and you): Maybe the most significant progress I have seen in my studio this year has been a change in my inner conversations as I work. I am checking the judging of myself in harsh ways. I look and evaluate, change and adapt for sure. All that takes critical judgment. But the self-critical part has been tamped down with an observed kindness which is freeing me to fail, to explore, to not care what happens as long as I keep at it. There’s something big about this that a short blog won’t be adequate to explain.

But, back to this “bread and butter” idea. I learned several years ago when hearing some other artists talk about their serious “out there” work that their quick saleable work is vital also because it keeps them fueled. Easily this tactic can be cheapened, I am sure. Bread and butter type work can become a numbing assembly line distraction. But there has to be something valid about making work which is accessible to a broader audience. For artists, this is often simpler, faster work which still has the genuine voice of the artist. And this avenue sustains and keeps fluid the more ponderous, ‘meaty’ idea-based work. And so, I simply enjoyed this week.

In fact, I am not making any work just to sell; my inner motivation ‘to make’ is not monetarily based. That alone is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because the dollar is not my driver, a curse because too easily I can excuse myself from getting going. I know artists who need to sell and they work a whole lot harder than I do. But I sometimes wonder about the integrity of the outcome when money has such a high place. The hunger that drives me, to express with brushes, is not for the bread and the butter. But if I make some bread and butter work, some healthy bread and butter work, with the same personal respect, I think observers will sense it. And I expect I am going to see ultimately more of what I am working for. So, I’m letting both be. And that’s pretty good.

Recently this piece was purchased, and it now adorns a dining room where a fine young family gathers. Their selection was carefully deliberative between this and other imagery. I was not asked about this piece’s conceptual intention. I was content to stay mum about particulars, while appreciating that somehow this visual spoke without words. They are pleased and so am I.

And so I use this also as a prompt for some further thinking about an artist’s intended impulse and how it might dovetail (or not) with the freedom of the receiver to respond. Partly this is curious to me because friends came to see my work in an exhibition recently and were so more able to appreciate the imagery once they heard my extended words about it. I guess the visual work itself only speaks dimly? Does it need more words? Then too, my husband has been researching Robert Frost’s poem about two roads diverging. That poem and some other ideas were the impetus behind my monotype here displayed. What he discovered, surprising to both of us, is that the typical understanding of that poem is very different from Frost’s intended meaning. Is that a failure on the part of the poet? Maybe not. But is the world’s love of a different idea than what the artist intended a different kind of fail? Or is it just silently informative. I’m throwing these questions out there because I‘m wondering.

To put it more simply: Is it the artist’s obligation to be explicit or rather to invite? What holds more value: directing to any certain idea, or allowing the viewer the freedom to reflect? And if a viewer’s conclusion is incorrect from the intention of the maker, is that conclusion valid? Is it just as valid?

I make work to communicate. But at the same time, I really dislike “being told” much about anything until I want/need to hear it. Are you the same way? Maybe that’s why my imagery is semi-abstract. Like poetry, it’s a tease; it’s an invitation into the arena of consideration. And the risk is always there that the world will type my visuals as different ideas altogether. This is why I put words down on this blog. Words explain more about intention, and may be informative to those who are interested. But your freedom to read — whether words or imagery — is even more valuable. This is where I end and you get to begin.

Recently, I had opportunity to work with artist Christine LaFuente in a workshop. The time and hopes spent to get there, be there, well worth it as she remains a generous teacher. The group of students gathered were each ready to dive in. Chris gave guidelines on composing with accuracy, and since we were all abstracting, that was an interesting conundrum to me. Is abstraction ever accurate? Does it need to be? One of the students is a professional photographer, and she often painted next to me; I loved her sense of humor. But it was really interesting to me how she needed her view to be perfect before she could start, before she would “click the shutter” into a set up. I may be way more sloppy then, but it seems to me that an artist’s job is to take the mess of stuff before me and rearrange into a new imagination of my own making. Back to Christine’s admonition about accuracy. . .

So, I worked on this idea, and gained some new tricks. Here is a shot of an under painting, begun with a grid for accuracy of proportions.

Then the finished result, painted within an hour or two on top of the under painting.

Christine says about this necessary beginning: “get it right at the start, take time there, or you will just be decorating your own mistakes.”