20 Kensington Gardens Round Pond Series, Part 1 Composite

docsusan — Sat, 26 Jan 2013 13:53:54 +0000

Kensington Gardens Round Pond Series, Part 1 Composite

docsusan Sat, 01/26/2013 - 08:53

The Round Pond

The Round Pond is an “ornamental lake” in Kensington Gardens, just west of Kensington Palace’s front entrance. It was created by George II around 1730, and despite its name being “Round” it is actually rectangular—with rounded corners. Measuring approximately 200 m by 150 m, it covers approximately seven acres and is up to 5m deep in parts. The swans. geese. and many other birds living there never fail to entertain.

The Round Pond Series, Part 1

When in London, my dogs and I are daily visitors to Kensington Gardens’ Round Pond. We’re fascinated by the creatures who inhabit it. Whatever the hour, day, or occasion, there is always something to witness at this historic sanctuary. I didn’t preplan this Round Pond series. It is observation and interest driven. My naturalistic, and whimsical painting style invites story and suggestions of what might be. All creatures portrayed are given personality and potential, conjure metaphor and meaning.

1. Swan Drip: oil on birch, 24 x 30 in, 2012 -13
2. Swan Lock: oil on birch, 36 x 36 in, 2012 - 13
3. Majestic Mother (Egyptian Goose): oil on birch, 18 x 24 in, 2012 - 13
4. Learning to Swim (Egyptian Geese): oil on birch, 12 x 24 in, 2012 - 13
5. Kensington Swan, Canada Geese: oil on birch, 12 x 24 in, 2012 - 13

Messages and Meaning from the Round Pond

From morning to night, the birds at the Round Pond make every day moments special. If you look very carefully, you’ll see how they show us what matters in life, and how the best things never change.

The Round Pond is a magical place. Believe it or not, it is hundreds of years old, so lots has happened there and around it. Visitors come and go, and people may have changed how they look and act, but its birds have stayed the same.   What the birds do now is what they did then. What delights humankind—and what we notice now—is as meaningful as it was in the very beginning. Animals have an amazing way of showing us what‘s necessary and when, and not to forget it.

Somehow, when we take time to notice what swans, geese, and other birds do, it can make us think and wonder. Rituals and routines pass from generation to generation. The simplest ones, happening right in front of us, make us smile.

Feeling peaceful, calm, excited, or relieved after a visit to the Round Pond isn’t unusual. That’s why many of us return. With so much happening in a fast-moving world, it’s nice to find a safe quiet spot where Mother Nature keeps things simple.

She reminds us of what’s important—shows how to:

1. Take quiet moments by oneself to reflect and let things out
2. Love and connect
3. Keep little ones safe and warm
4. Stay close and cautious when teaching or learning something new
5. Keep on moving, and feel beautiful, even if different from others

If we are patient and watch the birds long and hard enough, our heads fill with stories. Every living creature, young, old, or in between, has tales to tell—whether human, or bird.

Poem about the Series

Royal Feathers at the Round Pond

Color and quietude
Connection and clarity
Quality of life
Order of nature
Things as they should be

Not Just Any Birds  These have found their ideal setting—for life and in paint
Feel the love
Let them be
When all else changes
Rejoice that they’ll be able to stay the same

A Poem about Each Piece

 1. Swan Drip: oil on birch, 24 x 30 in, 2012 -13

Swan Drip

Your nose drips
And a puddle forms

Your nose drips
And you seem very human

We can relate

From your drip, circles form
Pools of possibility
Extending out from the point of impact

Captured in the moment
Off guard
But guarded

Nothing staged
Timing can be everything

 2. Swan Lock: oil on birch, 36 x 36 in, 2012 - 13

And Then There Were Four

The swans interlocked
Captured in the moment

Unsuspecting viewer and
Unsuspecting swans

Swans, they say, mate for life
So, are they in love?
At a glance, looks like it

They’r flanked by two others
The one facing in alongside
And the other facing forward fishing

What is their relationship?
Are they family?

Private moments
In public spaces

A theme that’s current
Ancient birds in a modern world

Special connections put under the scope
When they need to be left in peace

 3. Majestic Mother (Egyptian Goose): oil on birch, 18 x 24 in, 2012 - 13

Majestic Mother Love

She sits majestic
Keeping warm
Keeping others warm

Tending her chicks
Her chicks tending her

Personalities develop
From infant to youth
Nature’s truth

Innocence protected
Then set free

What’s ahead, not known
In the meantime, hanging close to Mama

 4. Learning to Swim (Egyptian Geese): oil on birch, 12 x 24 in, 2012 - 13

At Water’s Edge

We learn by doing
And do by learning

After watching these chicks grow
Day by day
Nothing more satisfying than seeing them
On their way

From round puffy balls
Little bodies developing

Poised to plunge

Camaraderie of siblings
Confidence from togetherness
Developmental rituals that all species have

All the more poignant when noticing others
Innocence, and witnessing of it, easily allure

5. Kensington Swan, Canada Geese: oil on birch, 12 x 24 in, 2012 - 13

Swan and Geese

Regal Swan
Canada Geese passing by

The power of One
Set alongside many

Home territory of the swan
Boldness of traveling geese

Each goes about their day
No one getting in anyone’s way

Cultures worlds apart
The Round Pond
A sanctuary for locals and visitors 

Narcissus

docsusan — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 22:00:58 +0000

Narcissus

docsusan Mon, 07/16/2012 - 18:00

In London, spring 2011, I was happy to discover that a long-time health food haunt from university days still exists: Food for Thought. A vase in the window, filled with Narcissi filled upstairs and down with a sweet and wonderful perfume. Individual blooms were small and delicate. Combined, they were potent and memorable. In this painting, I chose to make them larger than life (40 in x 40 in). The painting created was, originally, triggered by a juried show title: Ego. Narcissus for Ego, I thought. Clever! Maybe the judges didn’t get it. Maybe it wasn’t good enough. Whatever the reason, it didn’t get into the show, and ended up being my penultimate painting before deciding to take hiatus.

p.s. I did have another work chosen for the Ego show, Blue Torment, not painted with the Ego show in mind, but appropriate to the title: a portrait lacking in ego, ego-less.

Trouble-1, Siblings

docsusan — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 17:08:16 +0000

Trouble-1, Siblings

docsusan Sat, 02/04/2012 - 12:08

Art as Therapy Composite

docsusan — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 01:59:05 +0000

Art as Therapy Composite

docsusan Wed, 01/04/2012 - 20:59

A subtitle for this series is Everyday Feelings. When painting the individual works, reason, resolve, and relish became important personal themes. All seven images developed organically. Using wood as substrate, I let its grains influence line and direction, working “coloring book” style, initially. Later, I was ready to go with the flow, beyond what the grain suggested. Some colors were deliberate, others not. As each painting grew, messages came and changed. Eventually, meanings manifested, names and stories attached. The paintings are listed in the order in which they emerged:

• Puddles - Muddles - Possibilities (36 x 42)
  • Traumas - Truths - Roots (48 x 42 in)  
• Basic Grief ( 30 x 30 in)  
• Blue Ice (24 x 48 in)  
• Attention to Detail (24 x 48 in)  
• Oases of the Mind (7 x 9.75 x 9.75 in)  
• Black and White—Not Quite (30 x 30 in)

 Process

Significant sections of each painting were created vertically. So, turning the final pieces in different directions can prove interesting. Some viewers may prefer alternative orientations—and come up with different names and meanings for the work.

Whether painting the known and identifiable or not, I am always open to seeing magic happen: being able to grow, show, help. What I feel inside may not be the same as that manifested outside. On canvas, my inner and outer self tussle. They blend and bend, many lessons to learn, courage to ignite. Uncertainty is bothersome. Discovering and realizing can give relief. For me, whether I intend it to be or not, making art is therapeutic. Any frustration that accompanies is usually technical.
The process of creating artwork, as well as viewing it, offers messages and meaning—new ways forward or better ways to move back. It’s for individuals, artist or viewer, to be ready to see.

During the summertime, I painted outside, so the first two works may have garden influences (and colors)... Work number seven is black. Winter had arrived!

Back Story

The art therapist in me ponders life and its forms and cycles: what can and can’t be controlled. How do we cope with ongoing uncertainty? Can we ever really prepare to manage surprise, pain, doubt? What about relief and support? Will it be there when needed? Images, impressions, and feelings that count for one may be of little consequence to another. In some situations, we are together—feel supported and can relate. In others, we are alone, very alone... What comforts and heals, sustains and reassures? How do we ready and steady ourselves for the inevitable?
The constant and the fleeting, the impressionable and forgettable, the noticeable and the imperceptible, all cause wonder.

Maybe my age and stage put me in reflective mode concerning the world in which we live and sights seen there. What’s next, personally and collectively? All depictions in this series have definite precedents and antecedents. They show a sifting and sorting: acknowledgement of how the too oft unspeakable can stare us in the face, even if we don’t wish for it to do so. Painting processes like this one help make the unconscious conscious—expose private concerns publicly.

Regardless of how hard hard we may try, certain details cannot be changed or overlooked. Despite personal twists and turns, we share a common humanity, one that holds abundant beauty as well as upset. Everyone sees and is influenced and effected differently, conduit, catalyst, conqueror, or conquered. Perseverance, sensitivity, mindfulness, and self-expression don’t guaranty ease. Also, routes from A - B aren’t always fair, kind, or honest. Even if life treats some more unfairly than others, we are all in this (whatever it is) together. Social conscience and being able to take responsibility matter. Try to understand circumstances, then proceed with caution and care.

Piece By Piece

Puddles - Muddles - Possibilities
(36 x 42 in, oil on birch)

In Puddles - Muddles - Possibilities, I’m playing with paint, no plan—just happy to be able to start a new series of work, after hiatus Seeing where the grains in the wood might take me an early initiative, then selecting colors to match mood and environment. A feel good effect, a feel good spirit. Nothing’s perfect. Pondering and painting freely. Eventually, patch by patch, there’s a sense of direction and message. The words “Puddles, muddles, possibilities” present, repeat over and again in my head. Gotta think more about these. A good beginning for a new series, I hope. I stop painting while the going is good. Don’t want to overwork. The positive spirit in this piece has me wonder what will come next...

Trauma - Truth - Roots
(48 x 42 in, oil on birch)

Moving on from Puddles - Muddles - Possibilities, I am excited to welcome whatever will emerge next. Choosing a different color palette feels right. Also, moving the canvas around. Painting horizontally, but then flipping vertical. Right away, there’s a different feel and mood to what’s appearing: more serious and somber, I think. While Puddles - Muddles - Possibilities looks ahead, Trauma - Truth - Roots seems to look back. History is important. But, should we choose to dwell on it. What’s gone before may explain our behavior now. Some trauma doesn’t go away. Truth can hurt. Roots are deep, they may also be pulled. Lots to think about! And, for those who prefer not to think, there’s a “pretty picture” to enjoy... 

Basic Grief
 (24 x 24 in, oil on birch)

Basic Grief draws attention to uncomfortable states of mind—vulnerable and sensitive times that we all end up having. Even if we want to erase them, usually it’s not possible. Most of us have been there. Many of us anticipate with fear. Some will never let you know their pain. Others command a lot of attention. There’s the obvious and expected, and that which is not really known. Grief has many faces, but only some sufferers get attention and validation. Grief for what has been lost. Not for what has never been known. It’s okay to miss what was. Not okay to long for what might never be. Grief can come suddenly. Or, it might always be there. All pervading. Some talk about it constantly. Others never get in a word. Their ache is silent and all pervasive. If there was nothing there before, why the emptiness? Have to have experienced it to understand...

This image appeared by itself: took over the canvas when all else seemed to fail. At first, I painted between the wood grains, as for the other pieces in the collection. Nothing looked or felt right. That’s the beauty of having an art as therapy background—allowing for artistic process to take over rather than being product oriented. I gave myself permission to mush up already labored patches of imagery and go with whatever they might turn into next. Slowly, surely, delicately, a face started to emerge. I recognized her. She was painful to look at initially. Later, a feeling of peace and calm set in. Points had been made, messages given—reality addressed.

Blue Ice
(24 x 48 in, oil on birch)

For Blue Ice, I’m thinking of winter—painting in early fall. Don’t want winter. Don’t like it. Trying to find beauty in winter. Skating on thin ice, blue ice (not black). Mood changes, feelings are clear and strong—wrong. The closing of a year. Heavy care. The on-going desire for something better. A new chapter. The one that transforms landscapes and climate. Seeking warmth, an environment for growth. Pink tinges: happy little buds of hope. The frozen North. How did I get here (to Canada)? Why did I stay? Winter! Little mystery ahead. A time when folk are all bundled up, pretending they think this season is fun. Putting on brave face. Pondering change of place. Thin ice = blue mood. Short days ahead. Long nights of black. Important not to slip and slide, see the magnificence of nature, not dwell on (wo)man-made obstacles and upsets.

Attention to Detail
(24 x 48 in, oil on birch)  

Twists and turns, unknown lands.... In Attention to Detail, I was ready to start another new journey, hopefully to more positive places. Attention to detail, as is my tendency, slowed the process down. I also decided to work on a series of seven smaller canvases, simultaneously (Oases of the Mind). Going back and forth between this larger work and the smaller ones seemed to dilute my engagement with it. Between interruptions, I wasn’t chancing on deeper messages, just admiring color combinations. Nothing wrong with that, but I’d still like, when viewing the finished piece at a later date, to find something more to it. On completion, my main reflection was that life is complicated with many paths to take. Some lead us in circles, others up hills, yet others to rest spots. What looks pretty might not be. What’s pleasing to the eye can be comforting to the heart. We all need to find a place to stop. I am still searching for mine...

Oases of the Mind
(7 x 9.75 x 9.75 in, oil on maple)  

The pieces that make up Oases of the Mind don’t have to match or fit together, and that’s fine. I’ve given myself permission here! Sometimes you have to. Sometimes it’s important to quieten the mind, switch off the engine, find a place of comfort, get some respite. No destination is guaranteed to be ideal and it takes some time to discover the ones that are. These seven separate canvases are best viewed all together. Each helps make up the whole picture, literally and metaphorically.

Black and White—Not Quite
(24 x 24 in, oil on birch)

Black and White—Not Quite shows how nothing is all black or white. Gray is nice, but not usually fun or exciting. Contrast enables specifics to stand out. A few hints of color go a long way. A sprinkling of blue, yellow, green, or pink, strategically placed or not, gives cause for conversation. Even if shapes and juxtapositions aren’t obvious, answers may be found—and to questions not asked. Is this the last in the series, or will there be more to come? This piece has left me thinking... Do I want and/or will I be able to commit to paint (and share) what unveils next?

Love Composite

docsusan — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 14:06:35 +0000

Love Composite

docsusan Sat, 12/24/2011 - 09:06

After a spring/summer of creating series of atypically turbulent pieces, I returned to my comfort zone—and got back to painting what makes me feel good. Time spent with doggies, especially in their geriatric years, is precious. They are my strength and inspiration.

1. We, 24 x 24 in, oil on birch

"We" is set on Toronto Island. As many days as possible of summer 2011, we cycled there, doggies in bicycle basket, or running alongside. They were like pups and kept me going, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Just to see them enjoy the moment was uplifting. So much to learn, so little time... Our canine companions know what matters and how to fit it all in.

2. She, 18 x 24 in, oil on birch

She is a typical woman, prone to be a tad moody and emotional, but always has her heart in the right place. A very special alpha dog, she's the leader of our pack, or at least we like to let her think she is. Her name means heart in Hebrew and Lion in Russian and she is both. Lounging in her car seat is one of her favorite places to be. Even when you think she's not paying attention, she's always on guard. That glance from the corner of her eye is one that sticks with those who know and love her. She has your back!

3. He, 20 x 16 in, oil on birch

He is cheeky, always has been, always will be. He's also full of fun and light. A Sage by name and sage by action. This little dog makes friends with everyone and truly loves life. No matter the health issues he has had, he hasn't complained, and bounced back to love and entertain time and again. He's a true inspiration and guiding spirit.

San Francisco Gray Composite

docsusan — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 18:43:26 +0000

San Francisco Gray Composite

docsusan Sun, 07/17/2011 - 14:43

My Blue World Composite

docsusan — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 16:54:49 +0000

My Blue World Composite

docsusan Sun, 07/17/2011 - 12:54

As art therapist, I make extra effort to not have confession or catharsis be the raison d’être for my fine art I creations. However, critiques just prior to pasting this series were provocative. My depictions had been described as bland, bothersome for lack of technical skill, and not edgy enough in subject matter. Ouch! I had also been told that I don’t challenge myself enough. Double ouch! Unfair ssumptions like these seem to condone in an instant, no evidence of any desire to delve deeper or really understand. Critics who, themselves, don’t have the courage to pick up a paint brush have no right to deliver some of the feedback that they do. Constructive and sensitive criticism is great. There are ways to say things, and some things are better left unsaid.

Coming to the unsaid, I have lived a quiet torture for more years than I care to admit. Being shushed into silence and denial by close others who could have responded differently has me reeling. It, also explains, perhaps, why professional bashes by those who don't care to know what makes me tick prove disturbing. Ironically, the “pretty pictures” I create that critics so disdain empower and motivate regular folk. They end up on walls in healthful community settings, not galleries where shock appeal appears main attention driver.

Creating positive surroundings for others, when unable to do so for oneself is a survival mechanism that I won’t have put down. A raw nerve was touched at the wrong time. My Blue Truth is intensely private, but I now feel prompted to share it. I deeply regret if others are exposed through image content and/or descriptions. However,at the point of painting there appeared to be no other way to sort things through.

When goodness goes under-appreciated and dreams and natural milestones are quashed and lost, then what? May 2011 was full of anger, pain, and disappointment, and I wasn't able to hide this anymore. For one week, as this awful month came to an end, I gave myself permission to paint whatever came out. When there was nothing else to be done, I came face to face with images swirling in my head and from the unconscious.

Though it had incubated for a while, the entire series was painted in one week, a sleepless and memorable week. While my circumstances are deeply personal, I think the final work, B(r)other Paint(ings) (as well as series) holds universal messages and meaning. If one other person can be comforted in their pain and know they are not alone, so as to be able to move forward, my sharing, and the agony experienced in so-doing, will have had appropriate purpose.

Comfort Blue  ( 12 x 16 in, oil on birch, 2011)

A Tuesday afternoon. The agony was great. I hadn’t painted for a while. Didn’t think I’d be able to. Picked up paint brush and blue paint, just one color. Picked up small canvas, less ground to cover. I could do it.yes! Patiently and carefully, I became engaged, an engagement I hadn’t had for a while. Flowers started emerging. Flowers have always comforted me. Once they started to appear, I went with them, adding different shades and shapes. So many flowers in my head. My father instilled in me a love of gardening. I am preoccupied now with his twilight years.Things he has enabled and things he has not. I want to go back to when things were good, fleeting memories of flower picking... Eight hours of painting and contemplating. I am surprised by my ability to make something appealing when feeling so awful.

Devastation is Blue  (42 x 36 in, oil on birch, 2011)

Wednesday afternoon, the storm is losing its force and so am I. Nothing seems to work. Everything has been turned upside down and inside out. I have confessed, appealed, cried, begged. Stopped out, shut up, helpless and hopeless, I don’t like that state, but we all go there at some point. We never know quite when it will come on, what remnants will float around afterwards, where it will take us next. This piece came out quickly and provided much relief at the time. Looking back, I am peaceful when I see it. It enabled me to go where I had to next. I knew I had to paint some more, trust that answers of some kind would come in subsequent work—and they did.

Blue Torment  ( 24 x 18 in, oil on birch, 2011)

I painted this self-portrait Wednesday evening through Thursday morning and did some tweaking on Friday. It wasn’t in my planning. Just as for Devastation is Blue, I hoped that brush and canvas could guide me somewhere. Because I’d be performing in an Art Battle the following week, I thought about practicing: creating a face within 20 minutes (the time I’d have to perform). 20 minutes up, I realized that the face was starting to look like me. So, I grabbed a mirror, kept on working. Working and crying and seeking soothing. This painting, and the process of making it became pacifier-like. The more I painted, the more real my pain became. The more acute the pain, the greater the desire to paint and to get it right—make the best piece I possibly could. I looked at myself and myself looked at me. Not a self-portrait that I would really want to share or be proud of, but a self-portrait that had to emerge for the messages and truths it held--a reminder of horrible times before, as well as horrible times now, and ahead. Another tortured soul, but one who had given up, came into thought. In 2003, the morning after my sister-in-law killed herself, I painted my first self-portrait. It combined aspects of her and aspects of me. It was now hanging in a room adjacent to my studio. I put the two works side by side and gasped with quiet knowing. The person common to both our lives was the agony generator behind my painting (and pain).

Dove and Ghost  ( 16 x 20 in, oil on birch, 2011)

Friday afternoon/Saturday morning, I became obsessed with a little dove. I didn’t plan on painting her, but she wanted to come out. My canvases for this series are made from wood and when I looked at this one's grain before starting painting, a bird’s head spoke to me, “Please paint me, make me central to your piece.” No reason not to, I thought. Birds aren’t my forte, but what was one more challenge now?! As I started to paint, I thought of what has been shared by others about doves. Picasso’s doves have come to symbolize peace, when, in actual fact, they can be quite cruel creatures. My dove gave me quite a struggle. A certain ambiguity began to emerge with her and I found myself fighting against it. That she was looking more ghost-like than dove-like was as apparent to others as it was to me. Friday night, I left her in ghost-like condition. Saturday morning, I brought more dove back in. Afterwards, her background seemed to transform itself from blue wash to being heart-filled, and, I thought, a little more hopeful. I felt a sense of composure when looking at the final piece. It was like nothing I’d ever painted before.

Open Wounds and/or Light at End of Tunnel  (24 x 24 in, oil on birch, 2011)

Later on Saturday and through Sunday, I tried moving on from blue, attempting to paint a more upbeat piece—red and yellow roses someone had brought to cheer me up. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t do it, kept feeling my rhythm interrupted. There was more to emerge in the blue series and I needed to keep on going. Sunday p.m. I was too tired to paint, but the incubation didn’t stop. I had at least two more works in me that would be able to surface in the time-frame I could reasonably give myself. The first, Open Wounds and/or Light at End of Tunnel popped out Monday p.m. This was not what or how I’d planned to paint, but it was what wanted to be there. Things will never be the same, and sometimes there’s no fight left. I am no Jackson Pollock, but splashing paint onto wood felt right at this time. Red for blood. Pale blue between the red. Wood showing through creating interesting effect (and affect) between the drips. I would have liked to go on, but I realized, quite quickly, that it was time to stop. Points had been made and were very clear, as well as open to interpretation. The title came later on reflection. Like Dove and Ghost, another ambiguous piece.

B(r)other Pain(tings)  (12 x 24 in, oil on birch, 2011)

This piece had been incubating all week, and much much longer. By Monday evening, I was ready to commit it to canvas. I had never created anything similar and felt concerned as to who might view it and how upset close others could feel. I was tiredbof covering up the truth: terrorism and a legacy of hate passed to the next generation. Ever my priority: what others might think when my own life was in tatters and at risk. Irony and shame!
The statement that is central to the painting emerged spontaneously and concisely, summing up the key issue:

Dear B(r)other, You may not want me to exist, but I still do. The secret is out! My paint(ings) are in response to your terrorism. No, I am not your “problem!” Truth” You have been everyone else’s.

I am not a Scientologist, but, through the week, had found comfort in E. Ron Hubbard’s manual on Repression. When an anti-social personality comes up against a social personality there is a lot of danger and collateral damage from contamination. After a week of painting through the pain, I could finally admit that I won’t be victim anymore, and nor should anyone else.

My process in creating this piece was as interesting as the work that emerged (for me, at least).The final work might look a little regressive and child-like: have the appearance of chalk board writings or graffitied school desk. Some words are scraped out (with brush shaper). Others are highlighted in what could look like teacher’s chalk (but is actually paint). I am both tentative and outspoken in what I share. In bold: brother = bother, paintings = pain. The secret is out!. What I am more afraid to publicize, and is the crux of the matter, is a lot fainter. Viewers will have to look more closely to notice it: You may not want me to exist, but I still do. This image is a fear response. The reality: No, I am not your problem! Truth: you have been everyone else’s. 

Power of the Flower-Rose (Red)

Anonymous — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 14:03:46 +0000

Power of the Flower-Rose (Red)

Anonymous (not verified) Thu, 07/29/2010 - 10:03

Susan translated to Hebrew is Shoshana and Shoshana means Rose. This painting has circuitous essence. I photographed flowers on special travels or in my garden. then rendered digital depictions into mosaic designs using Artaic software. After that, came another translation with brush and oil paint onto birch. While painting, I let spontaneity and personal style take over, exactitude seeming to matter less than whimsy, color, and instinct. Getting back to nature is an important part of this process, wood as substrate intentional.

Snack Happy-Composite

docsusan — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 20:21:15 +0000

Snack Happy-Composite

docsusan Wed, 06/02/2010 - 16:21

I studied at SMFA (School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston) from 2003–6. And, like many peers, at that time, didn't get into the school's official landscape painting class. So, I came up with a landscape-making alternative, using food as subject matter. Having never really enjoyed creating traditional still-lives, the opportunity to turn food into landscape proved stimulating, challenging, and rewarding. Also, ultimately, it led me to develop new bodies of work not modeled on what others, whose work I knew, seemed to be doing, or had done. Snack Happy, a series of 16 oil painted eight inch square canvases became my 06 graduating piece—and precursor to the subsequent 07 Florence Biennale Exhibit, Buon Appetito!

Pansies

docsusan — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 20:10:07 +0000

Pansies

docsusan Wed, 06/02/2010 - 16:10

PANSIES, A Special Mention

Pretty, peaceful, and positive
Always Enchanting
New ideas in bloom
Season by season
Idyllic as daffodils
Eternal as roses
Sprinkled on salads—delicious

Pansies seem to be many people's favorite, and an early "trademark" of mine. Little did I know that how I first chose to paint them would become an identifiable style in later work, whatever the subject matter or media:

Background: No. It would only detract from what really matters, the flowers themselves. An all-over pattern.

Color: the colors of the flowers, themselves: bold, bright, and contrasting.

Paint: Not too much, nor too little—as much as feels right.

Size: Magnification from life—more impactful and engaging.