"Phosus"

18 x 14 x 1.5", acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas

I was fortunate enough at my workshop last weekend to create not one, but two paintings I'm pretty happy with. This is one of them, and it came about kind of by surprise. You see, I often paint in three steps: Step 1.) Apply the texture material. Step 2.) Add the foundation paint layer (this is usually a tremendous mess, lots of free form color applied any way I feel like). Step 3.) Take the tremendous mess and simplify it. I have to say, Step 3 can be difficult; Step 2 can result in wonderful passages where colors run into each other or trickle around the texture or whatever. But it's usually too busy. So in Step 3 I have to paint over parts of it, which can be heart breaking.

This one was a surprise because, at the end of Step 2, I didn't think it needed a lot of work. I figured it should need work, but I wasn't sure what to do to it. Eventually I did go in with some gold and pick out some highlights. And I had to go home that night and create another Step 2 painting for a demo the next day.

I have to say, though, that Step 1 and Step 2 are enormously liberating. You kind of put your logical mind on hold—well, after choosing your palette—and you enter the moment and just go on impulse. I should do something about that...

First workshop: How it went

I finished teaching my first workshop today. This was the title:

Painting Fabulous Textured Abstracts

(or why the hardware store is your best friend)

(Later it occurred to me that I shouldn't have used the word "fabulous." No man would take a workshop with that in the title.)

Two people signed up for the workshop. On the one hand, I'm bummed not to have had a full group. On the other hand, it was nice to have a small, intimate group, especially for my first workshop.

Both days were hot. Saturday, Day 1, the German restaurant next door was having a beer garden in the back parking lot, so there was a lot of oom-pah music plus partying people. It was also a local open studio tour. So, on the whole, pretty busy. In fact, a bit overwhelming. And I hummed polka music for hours. Sunday, Day 2, was even hotter, and we agreed to start a half hour earlier. It was much quieter, and I played some Hawaiian slack key music on my iPod (no oom-pah!). Mostly we all developed the projects we started on Day 1. I did a demo that actually came out well! This was one of my fears: I can't always guarantee that I'll be able to create something good. Both days, people kind of ran out of gas an hour or more before the nominal end time. I can understand this; I've felt kind of overloaded at all-day classes. And the heat was really hard.

I learned a lot. There's one explanation I know I need to improve. Like, it's really hard to estimate how long things will take. Also, even when I give students the composition and the technique for applying paint, they can come out with really different paintings. And we did a few group discussions: One of us would want to talk about a painting, and we'd set it up on an easel and gather round. I loved those. They weren't critiques, per se, since it wasn't about what was wrong, but rather about what they wanted. I don't want to give students a solution, but, rather, give options or remind them of the color or composition guidelines.

And nice students! Willing to share experience and knowledge and enthusiasm. One of the students said she'd been looking for a class like this for years, and wants me to tell her if I ever give another workshop. That's really encouraging.

I'm content. I asked the students if they had enough information to take home and work with on their own, and they said yes, they did. This was good to hear, since at the end of Day 1 I could tell that not everyone was feeling successful. That was a bit hard. I really want them to feel empowered by the class. But Joyce Faulknor, one of the other artists at my gallery and also a teacher, said something that helped: All you can do is give them all you got. Then, even if it doesn't work for everyone, you know you did all you could.

"Archulos"

SOLD 30 x 40 x 1.5", acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas

[UPDATE: I redid the picture of this painting. The earlier one dropped out a lot of texture, and the color was difficult, since I used metallic paint. If you want to see the texture, click the image. I also uploaded a larger JPG.]

It's been a busy time recently. I'm teaching my workshop this weekend, and also coordinating one with another artist for July. Specifically, I've invited Rececca Crowell to come to Northern California. Her wonderful paintings have amazing depth and texture, and I think I could learn a lot that might transfer to what I'm doing. Do check out her blog and web site. And let me know if you're interested in the workshop.

Meanwhile, although I'm probably in reasonable shape for my own workshop this weekend, I do need to finish up a few things. Got the syllabus in pretty good shape, the hand-outs either planned or done, detailed notes on supplementary information. Just need to finalize. So this post might be a bit short.

So, about this painting, remember my admiration for texture and depth? I keep finding new ways to use hardware store material to create that. In this piece, it had occurred to me that the textures I'm creating might look wonderful with metallic paint. So I used a flexible patching compound and dragged through it to create interesting bumps. And I added my beloved stucco patch. After a few interesting starts with bright colors, and a visit to Photoshop to play with composition, I developed it as you see it: lots of layers of paint, and lots of darker colors rubbed into the metallic color and catching the contours of the patching compound. I like how it looks old.

I'm also developing (or redeveloping) an interest in primitive symbols. This one seems sort of like Stonehenge. I have one in the works that has a circle. I'm looking into Hawaiian petroglyphs and ancient wall paintings, as well as patterns of water and totem symbols. They strike some sort of chord in me, and I'm listening.

"Flurry" and "Trickle"

I've noticed that I've only blogged once this month. Why? Two reasons. Well, OK, three: ramping up for my new workshop; having a few paintings that just don't feel finished even though I don't know what to do with them; and having some Life Events happen (nothing serious). Now, about point 2, having paintings that don't feel finished, I think I need to just hunker down and finish them. But sometimes it's more fun to start something new. That is, until the old things start to pile up.

However, at the same time, I seem to have started a series. Now, I believe in serieses (is that a word?). I believe that by painting something a few times, but only changing one thing -- or maybe two things -- you learn a lot. The trouble is, when I've done them I've felt kind of bored. But strangely, in this case, I've had a specific goal, and it's been more interesting. Not that it's terribly exciting, mind you. It's a very simple composition I've seen a number of artists do, which is to have a dark band at the top, then fill the rest with texture. Here's my first one:

"Flurry," 18x14x1.5", mixed media and acrylic on canvas

I kind of like it. It's both festive and pensive at the same time.

Here's the other one. What's different is two things: the color and the texture. The color is more triadic, and for the texture I decided to play with the surface for the drippies (or "Pollocks" as a friend suggested). In the first piece, above, I put the texture down with some diagonal troughs. You can see that some of the lines streak from upper right to lower left. I like it. It's a little like something in a storm.

But in the piece below, I tried a kind of X composition with the texture: It flowed toward the center, and then out towards the sides. I'm not sure it works as well. It's kind of splayed. Interesting in its own way, though.

NFS. "Trickle," 18x14x1.5", mixed media and acrylic on canvas

I have the next one queued up, but I'm thinking I should wait until I've finished a few semifinished ones first. And make sure I'm prepared for my workshop. It should be scads of fun! There are still openings, if you're interested. Hmm?

I'm teaching a workshop!

There's been quite a bit of interest in the techniques I'm using for creating my abstracts, so I'm teaching a workshop. I'm kind of new to teaching, so I could use any help you can offer for getting the word out. Here's my blurb (do you like the title?):

Painting Fabulous Textured Abstracts
(or why the hardware store is your best friend)

Do you love richness and texture in your paintings? Do you want to experiment with multimedia in a way you've never done before? This fun, lively workshop teaches you to use materials from both the art store and the hardware store to create amazing abstracts. No prior experience needed! Just bring your adventurous spirit! Expect to go home with a minimum of two (and maybe more) abstract paintings.

When: May 16 to 17, 2009, 9:30 am to 4:30 pm
Where: Gallery 2611, 2611 Broadway, Redwood City, 94063
Price: $130
Need more information? Click here.

To sign up, email connie@ckleinjans.com
or call Gallery 2611 at (650) 364-2611

The Fire Eater

30 x 40 x 1.5", acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas

12/2012 update: I first took this to a textured abstract class and mucked with it, then painted over it. It now looks like this.

---

It's been a busy time, getting myself settled in at Gallery 2611. I have some studio space there, yay!, but I needed to set that up. That meant a trip to Ikea, and two -- two! -- repeat trips to get missing parts. I also treated myself to a gorgeous new easel, and bought more paints, brushes, and texturing supplies. So I haven't made much time to paint.

However, I did this piece last month or so. I almost named it The Fighter, but the current title feels right (and almost sounds the same). But the reason I almost named it The Fighter is because it was one of those paintings that just had a mind of its own, and wasn't going to cooperate with any plans or concepts I had. I cajoled it, changed compositions, let it sit, revisited it, and, finally, here it is. I think maybe the struggle shows a bit, and I like that.

For those of you interested in art process, here's how I got to the final image:

Step 1: I wanted to play with my drippies (I really need a better name for those...), but on the diagonal instead of up and down. I played with a few compositions in Photoshop, along with a few palettes, and came up with this as my concept:

Background goes from dark to light, and the stripes are in a middle value, so they kind of merge with the background in the middle. I also looked at it the other way around:

That's a funny thing about abstracts: They are not glued to an orientation. I mean, seriously. Those of you who do landscapes or figure painting, do you ever rotate your work to see if it would look better oriented that way? Isn't that a bizarre concept? Well, kind of. Ultimately a work flies or falls based on the composition and we do often look at art from a different perspective to see what we can learn.

Step 2: I had a couple of nails on the wall, and I hung the painting so the drippies would go at an angle. I put another canvas underneath just to see what would happen with the drops that fell off this one. Here's the first version.

Frankly, meh! Not so good. The Photoshop version made promises I was unable to keep. (And if I'm wrong and you like it, tell me!) I think I thrashed for awhile at this point, and eventually decided I had to have a new concept.

Step 3: Now, one of my theories in making textured art is that no underpainting is wasted; it is merely source material and adds richness to whatever you put on it. Personally, I like success by definition. So, after "meh," a small explosion occurred and this emerged:

Kind of ghostly, kind of interesting, but, aughh! it still wasn't there. (Again, feel free to totally disagree with me. I'd like to think everything I touch is brilliant.) (Yeah, right. Maybe if I was Picasso.) You can see where the drip lines cross near the middle, though.

Step 4? Sadly, I didn't document the transition from the penultimate to the ultimate painting. But, like an earlier painting, I'm surprised at the iterations and how different they were. (And now, glad to have this record of it.)

End note: And interesting resource. I found a wonderful blog whose author talks straight to artists. It's Edward Winkleman's blog. He works out of Chelsea, New York, and gives wonderful, honest information, much of it useful to emerging artists. Here's a link to his excellent page on finding a gallery.

My new gallery: Gallery 2611

(Me, in scruffy clothes, posing between Scissure, on my right, and Red, on my left.)

Well, I'm in a gallery. And, yes, I'm pretty excited about it. It's Gallery 2611, in Redwood City, CA, and I'm sort of a partner. So I have some additional studio space, and I've found a group of fun artists to hang out with. Hey, they're a kick in the shorts! If "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" comes on the iPod, dancing just might ensue.

Now, I live high on a hill with a taciturn man, and I've got my Jack Russell Terrorist for company. But I've been missing the people contact I used to get at work. I've also come to realize that I want to interact with other artists. Gallery 2611 seems to fit the bill. Also, two of the artists are experienced teachers, and they think people might be interested in my texture techniques, so they're encouraging me to teach a workshop. I'm aiming at mid-May.

Thanks, Joyce, Guy, Gary, Jackye, and Dianne, for letting me join you. Here are Joyce and Guy's websites:

• http://www.joycefaulknor.com/ - Watercolorist, workshop teacher, author of Stunning Crystal and Glass, and has work appearing in Splash 10.
• http://www.guymagallanes.com/ - Also a watercolorist and teacher, and also appears in Splash 10.

"Rondus"

NFS. 30 x 40 x 1.5", acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas

The composition for this came to me while I was hiking, when I saw some cracked rocks. Of course, although I started with that notion, the painting developed a mind of its own. (Maybe they all do.) And as it developed, it contradicted a guideline I have that I've mentioned before: Mostly I find paintings are better if they're simpler. But when I had finished the textured underpainting, it was too simple. It needed something else. So I just added some shapes. I was a little concerned about them, since they're so, well, stark. But it felt right. One of my favorite parts is on the leftmost "rock," where I glazed in some yellow, then dripped the white paint through it whilst it was still wet. It picked up some of the yellow, and it's a cool effect.

So, I had an interesting discussion with a friend today (on IM). Two interesting points he made about abstracts were these:

1. People viewing a painting seem always to make figurative stuff out of pure abstractions.
2. And there's a strong desire to see something personal. It's the self-referential tendency.

Then he thanked all available dieties for the name Untitled. There was more, but I especially enjoyed those points. And the one where he encouraged me to trust my instincts.

Speaking of instincts, I used to be told that I thought too much. Could be. I have an obsessive streak. But I think that what came across as thinking was actually me trying to feel my way to an answer, and talking about it -- articulating my feelings -- helped. But the articulating seemed too cerebral, hence the "you think too much."

So, what, you might ask, does "Rondus" mean? I believe I found it in the derivation of a word meaning "round." And it felt right. I mean (and I kind of hate to admit this), my initial thought was that I should entitle this painting "The Jellyfish and the Moon." It's almost charming, but "Rondus" is better.

"Abyss"

30x40x1.5, acrylic and multimedia on stretched canvas

This painting instantly became a favorite. It has mood and depth. I named it Abyss because it reminds me of being under water, and the filtered light you see when you look up. Trite? Maybe. Was the movie long ago enough? Anyway, while developing it I had worked on a really textured underpainting, and it just wasn't right. Then I remembered the Keep It Simple, Stupid (KISS) rule. So I schlepped it up on my easel and had at it with my puddles of paint and rags and eye droppers, and even a brush or two. The more I simplified, the more I liked it. The orange and yellow parts left of center are about all that's left of the underpainting. Finally, not sure if it felt done, I rotated it to see it with different sides up (this is hard for realism painters to do). Once I got to this orientation I had that sudden "Yes!" feeling. Don't you love that bubble of excitement that rises through your solar plexis? (Of course, it doesn't do as much for my husband, which is useful to keep in mind.)

I haven't been able to paint as much recently. As I mentioned, I'm preparing to apply to a gallery or two. I don't have a lot of abstracts yet, but the number is growing. I've also been working on a web site; it will have a subset of the paintings here, since I don't know that I need to maintain two sites as exhaustively as I do this one. And I've been assembling an artist's statement and business cards and I'm working on a brochure. So, busy.

I had lunch with a wonderful plein air painter named Sandy Ostrau, who lives not far from me. Check her stuff out. It has great use of brushstroke and color, and she does that simplicity thing just wonderfully by doing a series of paintings in which she eliminates unnecessary detail. (Sounds like Strunk & White: "Omit needless words!") It actually makes me want to try redoing a few still lifes to see if I can simplify. This is a bit of a surprise, but not a shock. What I'm learning is that in making art you have to do what feels right.

If anyone has any hints on artist's statement, I could use them. Mine is a bit melodramatic right now.

"Lava"

SOLD 20 x 24 x 0.75" acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas

This one became lava pretty much by itself. I was looking at the work of Brian Rutenberg, who does wonderful glowing paintings, and decided to try the technique on warm colors. Yeah, lava is pretty warm. I'm thinking of doing another piece sort of like it, but in cool colors to see what they say.

Well, I've spent a bunch of recent days battling simultaneously with two paintings that were fighters (as I call them). I brought one to a reasonable conclusion and will post it in the next few days. The other is on my wall, girding its loins for another battle. Then, of course, I did something that painted itself. More later.

In other news, I'm considering approaching one or two coop galleries around here (Silicon Valley). Does anyone have any experience with those? They sound wonderfully participatory, once you're in (it's a jury process). They ask you to pay monthly dues, staff the gallery one day a month, and occasionally do other tasks such as hanging shows or whatever you're good at. In return, at least one of your pieces is on display at all times, and they do promotions and shows. If they sell something, they take 30% rather than 50%. It sounds like a good way to learn about galleries, and I also figure it would be good to meet other artists, since I keep whining about how solitary it is high up on my mountain. So, any input is welcome.