Previously Published February 2017

Everybody hates criticism, especially when it comes to something so personal as the artwork we've worked so hard to make. But without criticism an artist may have no incentive to improve. Many artists already possess a certain level of insecurity in regards to their own work. We are always our own worst critics, but when negative comments come from some unknown person we tend to let their words weigh heavy on our minds. For a lot of artists, this breaks them and completely destroys their confidence, but for others, it is just the ticket to taking an honest look at their own work and making the changes necessary to get to the next level.

This was demonstrated to me recently when I had some works critiqued. One of the comments I got back was that my landscapes lacked focus and meaning. Instead of getting upset and sulking around for weeks at a time, I took a good look at my work and tried to understand why the viewer had thought that. I could see in several paintings that the focal point was weak. I may have known what it was about, but it wasn't obvious to the outsider. I'd gotten too hung up on the references during the painting process, and forgot to use my own imagination and judgement to tell the story.

I decided to rework a couple of the paintings and see if I could 'fix' the problems. I no longer had the references images and worked from my imagination, letting go of accurate representation. It worked. I was able to strengthen the paintings and learned a thing or two in the process which will serve me well going forward.

One of the thoughts I'd had while reworking these paintings, is that I am not suited to alla prima painting. My works are always much stronger if I go back and rework areas when the paint has had a chance to settle, and the original reference image or idea has faded from my mind. I don't know what made me think finishing a painting on the same day was the way to go, because for me it isn't.

While it's always nice to have our work appreciated and lauded, never shy away from criticism for the important clues they can hold for advancing your work. Paul Arden said: "Do not seek praise. Seek criticism". I believe you will learn more from criticism than praise. Just make sure to consider the source before taking any negative  comments to heart.

A peer, or fellow artist, is a more valued source of criticism than your spouse or parent who has little art education. While the neighbour may be ready with an equal dose of good and bad comments, they are (unless experienced in art) responding to their own sensibilities, likes and dislikes, more so than the specific technical qualities of your work.
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Even though I know all of this, sometimes I have falsely built up a whole story about the outcomes and benefits of being involved in one event or another, that I’ve placed too high of value on it. Because I’ve built it up so much in my mind, when the rejection comes it hits hard. When that happens I liken the mental and emotional process I go through, being much the same as a grieving person in letting go of their expectations and hopes. Do these thoughts seem familiar to you?

1.  Denial: This rejection makes absolutely no sense. My work was perfectly suited for this event. There must be some mistake. Maybe someone has made a mistake and sent me the wrong letter. Surely they will sort it out soon enough.
2. Anger: Who was the jury? Surely they don’t know anything about art. To heck with them. I don’t need to be a part of their silly little event. I’ll show them and be successful without them.
3. Bargaining: Your internal conversation starts asking “what if I’d written a better statement (asked a higher/lower price) (submitted different work) (spent more time on those paintings)”. Next time, I promise to do …….. if I get accepted.
4. Depression: This is the most dangerous stage of the process; and it is the state where many people go first and then get stuck. The voice starts saying “I’m not good enough”, “I should get a real job”, “I’m never going to make it as an artist”…… Often, this is when we quit painting altogether at least temporarily. We walk around in a funk, our confidence so shaken we dare not even try to show up at the easel.
   
   It is here where you need to reach down deep and rationalize the effect this one (or in my case three in one week!) rejections really have on your career. This is where you need to honestly look at the story you built up in your mind about being involved in this/these events. When you wake up tomorrow will you be more or less of an artist because of this? Sure it looks good on the resume to be accepted into some prestigious event, but is that event prestigious to your collectors, or is it only prestigious in your mind?
   
   Will the next person that buys your art care if you were in this exhibition or that? Probably not. What they will care about is that you are creating art from your soul, and it touches theirs.
5. Acceptance: Only when you realize you can still have a career without whatever you were rejected from, can you move on and get back to work. This is when we set new goals, reprioritize our work, and take an honest look at where we’re at and what we need to do to reach that next level. This is where we get our confidence back. We form new ideas, work to improve our skills, and forge on with a stronger determination and resolve not to let future rejections shake us up so much. Until the next time…... 

​It is easy to say “do not take rejection personally”; but it is personal. It means you have tried. The easier saying is “do not take rejection to heart”. Rejection notices means you are taking risks. You are putting yourself out there. You are TRYING! Keep trying; and when success comes celebrate it for all its worth!

​Maybe for someone starting out the goal is “I want to learn to paint”. So the student goes out and buys paints, canvas, and brushes and begins to paint. But their goal is too broad and general, and they’ve failed to invest in themselves by building a solid foundation first. They haven’t identified where they want to go in their own work, or how they can get there.

For me, my investment in self takes many forms. There are the books – not technique based books though – those get put aside and forgotten quicker than yesterday’s failed canvas. But books about ideas, theories, and the thought processes of other artists. There are a few workshops. All carefully vetted to make sure it meets with my long (or short) term goals. I have a short list of artists I want to study with and I don’t sign up for a workshop just because it’s offered, but because it matches my goals. If you take every workshop ever offered all these different styles and techniques end up on your canvas, with the result that your work may lack focus and intent.

Not every investment is so serious. The biggest investment is a commitment to daily practice and play. For this I turn to the sketchbook. I occasionally look for fun workshops or lessons that are totally unrelated to the work I do on canvas, such as children's illustration. This is at once frivolous, but there is a more serious underside to this work. It is exercising the visual muscles – kind of like yoga for the hand and eye. One of the common threads I have identified in almost every contemporary artist I admire is that they came to painting through a career in illustration first. Every time I find a new artist I love their bio invariably says “illustrator”.
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Informal study (or even a formal study if one was so inclined) into an unrelated style or discipline offers an artist the opportunity to learn a different way of expressing yourself visually. This kind of no pressure play can lead to surprise discoveries which can be used in your more formal work, and opens doors for your own unique voice of personal expression. 

My artistic ‘yoga’ practice had taken the form of daily portrait doodles for most of the year in 2016. Why the human face when I’m focused on landscape paintings? The face offers the opportunity to easily judge accuracy and allows me to explore a variety of methods for creative expression. In this exercise I was not looking to produce laboured or artistic drawings. I know I can do good charcoal drawings of people. What I wanted was quick sketches to capture an expression, emotion, or characteristic of a person. My parameters were that a) they had to be quick b) small – just a few inches c) at least one a day. But I usually ended up doing several a day. I drew faces from a variety of sources; a couple of online portrait groups, vintage mugshots (my favourites), myself, family…. I drew happy faces, sad faces, goofy faces, young faces, old faces…. Some were good, some were downright horrible.

The investment of time and energy doesn’t really offer a clear progression of improved ability. That’s not the goal of this type of exercise. It’s to explore expression and to find out what factors contribute to likeness in an illustrative sketch or caricature. It also continues my exploration of the power of line. This year I am focusing my illustration and sketches more on the landscape and figure, working out ideas for expressing concepts and abstraction within a representational realm. It is a little more focused and serious than the portrait sketches of last year, but still offers some frivolity in that I can explore different ideas, styles, and methods of mark making within a small format that I can (hopefully) transform into poetry on canvas. 
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The artist's ego is a tricky thing. It tends to live at either end of the spectrum between "my work is garbage" or "my work is brilliant" - often it's both at the same time. It's no wonder artist's are often portrayed as flamboyant, flaky, and just a little bit crazy. 

While in the process of building this website, I was combing through some older works. Works like "Lead Thee Weeping" and "Song Sparrow" which have long since left the studio. I didn't have the confidence back then to know these were really good paintings. I kept working to create better paintings, taking the advice of many different peers, which steered my works towards different styles. More control, better or more accurate representation of the subject. Better composition. On and on....... But in my quest for betterment, I lost my voice. I lost the quality that made these paintings special. 

I look at these paintings, and many of my other earlier works today, and wonder what the heck I was thinking, and why I didn't have the confidence to just stay the course in this more impressionistic, or expressive, style. I love these early works now and wish I could paint like that today. 

The opposite is also true though. I look at some of my work that I thought was brilliant at the time, and wonder what the heck I was thinking. Some of those works are truly cringe worthy. So now, when I've finished a painting which I think I've done a really good job with, I wonder if it's just my artist ego. Is it truly a good painting? Why is it good? Maybe it isn't. I second guess and overthink my thoughts.

I hear so many artists expressing the same things, so I know this must be a common phenomenon within the arts world. I hear very accomplished artists, who I admire, express doubt in their own work. It's no wonder though. We artists can do a dozen really good paintings, and then the turkeys come out one after another, and we feel like somehow, overnight, we've completely lost our ability to paint. 

I think part of the lack of confidence in ones art stems from outside influences. How often do we observe ugly work being given high praise, and beautiful work being totally ignored? Family and friends will (usually) always like what you do, even if it isn't very good. Art instructors often offer lots of praise and encouragement rather than kind honesty, so it is very hard to have an unbiased, outside opinion of your work. How do we know if our ego is being over or under confidence? How do we know when it's telling us the truth? Does it even matter?

I have reposted an old blog post written at the time I made "A Dream Of Joy And Sadness".  See the previous post "Telling Stories". 

Last night we attended a Home Routes house concert with Kev Corbett, who is a folk singer and storyteller. There was a line in one of his songs which made reference to "a bunch of Group Of Seven trees on the shore". I instantly knew the image his song was trying to paint and how that tied into his story. The expressiveness of Corbett's songs and stories have a certain quality I want in my paintings. Some of his songs were able to reach down inside me to grab hold of my soul and give it a good shake....wake it up. At one point, I had a well of tears building in my eyes. If a story can do that to me in a living room full of strangers, you know it has real depth....serious expression.

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My main goal for 2023 is to get my online life organized. I have, for the past 10 years or more, tried to maintain separate websites for each medium and also some sites for specific purposes. For example, within photography, I had a general site with a small sampling of my work, but also a more extensive portfolio for art buyers. Plus a site dedicated to my painting career, and one for illustrations. 

The problem was, it became so overwhelming and time consuming I quit updating all of them. I knew I needed to consolidate, but couldn't settle on a single solution to cover all my needs. I *think* this site will be the answer. I am saying "forget it" to the advice about not confusing your audience with mixing the different mediums on the same site. It might make sense in a way, but as I am a one woman show......impossible to implement. 

This is who I am. I paint. I sell paintings. I draw/illustrate, mostly for the book cover market. I take pictures for wall decor and book covers. I license my images. I sell prints. But most of all I just love to create images that reflect my internal dialogue. Sometimes fun and lighthearted, sometimes dark and brooding. 

​Hello!

Republished from my previous blog. 

I get greater value from books about art ideas, theories, and other artists thought process. I want to talk a little bit more about that and how those kinds of books can have more influence on my work than technique or how-to based books. I have just started reading some of John Ruskin's writings which is opening up ideas for me, which have been sitting just beneath the surface but I wasn't fully coming to grips with yet.
He has a section where he compares painting to poetry, which really piqued my interest because I share this idea. While many painters compare the similarity between painting and music, for me I see it as more closely following poetry. What Ruskin was talking about was how art patrons seemed to favour paintings which portray the world exactly as it is, but if the highest ideal of art is to imitate what already exists, why not just have a mirror on the wall, or open the window and see what is there in front of you. 
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He further goes on to say how if poetry just stated what exists we would not be moved by it. Compare "the sky had an orange glow on the horizon with clouds building"', with "clouds billowed up in a crimson sky like the lust of new lovers". The first is just a descriptive sentence that may be more suitable for a news report - nothing to make it endearing and exciting. The second, poetry filled with emotive suggestion that engages the imagination.  Without the heart and passion of the author putting into words a simile of what he feels in his heart, rather than the facts before him, there could be no poetry. The same thing exists in art.
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Ruskin goes on to compare the paintings which imitate nature truthfully belonging to a class of historical documentation in painting. The other, where the painter embellishes the truth for emotive suggestion belongs to poetry. It is the artist trying to capture how the subject moves him, or makes him feel that leads to more meaningful art. This is the thing, the poetry, I strive for in my work. I am not in interested in having the viewer look at a painting and say "oh yes, this is Mount so and so painted from the third viewpoint in mid-September at 7:00 pm". I want them to think, "I remember that warm autumn day when my lover and I strode hand in hand along the mountain lakeshore, and the late day sun set the rocks aglow to which they mirrored a song welling up in my heart".
My husband is my sounding board and confidant for all aspects of my life. In art we do not always see eye to eye. He comes to art without any formal understanding of it beyond simply what appeals to him, and what he has thought the measure of excellency in art was - namely being the ability to realistically capture what exists. How many times have you heard someone in amazement exclaim the painting looks just like a photograph, as if that is the defining measure which makes it great. I have over the years been swaying his ideas on that aesthetic as a measurement of arts merit. 

My argument has always been, how hard it is it to reproduce that which exists? You look and put down a visual truth as it exists as surely as a child tracing the outline of their own hand (not to say there isn't considerable skill involve or to suggest the execution is as easy as tracing). But to translate what you see into the emotions and spiritual attachment you feel towards it is a far more difficult task. You have no roadmap telling you how to do it. Take all the workshops you can, read all the technique books you want, and you will be no closer to being able to put your emotions (as it relates to your subject) down on canvas. That is why painters like Degas can create such a strong emotion in me that I'm likely to fight back tears in the presence of his work. 
That is why contemporary painters like Carolyn Anderson, Michael Workman, or Quang Ho, who seem to capture the emotional essence of a subject without realism, can move and inspire me more than the highly realist approach of others.  High realism is easy to understand. There is nothing left for the viewer to do but look and acknowledge the faithful reproduction of that which exists. The familiar and known is easy to understand. Poetry and emotion, on the other hand requires engagement from the viewer. They need to apply themselves to interpret the image and fill in the story as it relates to them. In creates a deeper level of engagement, just as poetry requires a deeper level of thought to interpret what the writer is really saying. 

I do want to say that I don't discount the hard work of those artists working in the realist genre. The mastery of technique and the patience to work in this style is impressive; and I often think if I had the discipline to study this way of painting I may not struggle so much at the canvas to lay down the poetry inside. But then I think having any kind of calculated approach would be a barrier from that internal truth which I am interested in trying to portray. Perhaps it is the very struggle to express the emotion which gets to the heart of it in the first place. 

In just a few short pages, Ruskin has set to words what I am striving for; of what I understood in my heart but couldn't articulate well. There are other books, such as Robert Henri's 'The Art Spirit', which are able to generate a much deeper understanding of what I am trying to achieve at the canvas in a more profound way than technique based books. 

​I have had a block which has lasted for over a year, and almost derailed my entire career. I have beat myself up horribly over this fact. The more I stressed about it, the worse it got, until one day I just said, “I’m done”. But I knew in the back of my head that was the furthest from the truth. You see, I’ve always painted or drawn. Yes, I’ve had periods of rest where I wasn’t very active, but that deep seated desire to create has always been there niggling away at me, making me feel incomplete if I wasn’t painting. 

For me, before my slump hit, I had an empty nest and a husband working long hours, living in the country in almost isolation – too far away for friends or family to just drop by. I had tons of time to myself, and this made it easy to get studio time almost daily. (I took the weekends off.) Then my husband was laid off and transitioned to retirement. We got a new dog. We moved to the city close to friends and family. 

Suddenly all those hours of solitude had vanished. If I was in the studio, I felt guilty I wasn’t paying attention to the new dog, the at home husband, cooking, cleaning, or out visiting friends and family. If I was doing all those other things, I was getting frustrated at not finding enough time to be in the studio. I couldn’t seem to find a happy balance. 

Today, I’ve decided to give myself a break and quit stressing about it all. I do not have to produce 30 top quality paintings a month. I don’t even have to produce that many a year. I wonder what the storage rooms of some of these daily painters looks like. I know what my painting storage looks like! 

Even if I could produce a painting a day, I couldn’t sell that many. What happens is that I end up contributing to the environmental mess the world is in, by landing many of those paintings in the landfill. The realization of the environmental impact of needing to produce like I was a robotic factory, has helped me get over all the anxiety I have had over the past few years. 

Wouldn’t a dozen good, sellable paintings a year be better for the world? I know it is certainly more doable for what my life demands right now and has made it easier for me to relax and enjoy my painting time guilt free. 

Despite the message the only way to improve is to paint daily, I think the opposite has been true for me. A slower pace has given my brain time to catch up with all the learning I have done over the past few years. With fewer painting days, my skills have improved. I have more time to think about and plan a painting, rather than rushing in to get it done. Win, win!

We do not have to buy into this all or nothing scenario. If the message you are hearing over and over causes you anxiety, know that you do not have to adopt it. Define your own parameters for your artist’s life and create from a place of contentment.

Lately I've been doing a lot of questioning on why I'm painting what I'm painting. Part of it revolves around improving my skills and getting a good foundation in how to paint. Part of it is convenience, because that's what was there for me to paint or because it reflects my interests (nature, wildlife, birds, the land). Part of it is painting for the market, because it will sell. But this past year has really seen me questioning the why behind it all. Do the stories I want to tell really revolve around a pretty mountain landscape?

In a society where art seems to have a shrinking market and little interest from upcoming generations......what is the purpose of art? Why am I creating a product which most people don't want or care about, other than a fleeting "oh that's pretty" come across their screen? I don't know if I have a definitive answer to any of it. Going back to the basics, I believe art has 6 main purposes:
1. To generate conversation.
2. To aid in worship and ritual.
3. To document for future generations. 
4. To sway opinions, highlighting political or social causes.  
5. As a form of self expression.
6. To elicit an emotional response. 

The two main points that interest me are 1. and 6. To generate conversation and to elicit an emotional response.  

In my life drawing class, one of the fellow students introduced herself by saying "I am just an illustrator", as if the act of illustration is not really art. It is true the majority of revered or "serious art" is not whimsical, playful, or joyful. You'll probably never see a Dr. Seuss illustration side by side with the Mona Lisa. Why is this? Isn't art to entertain for fun just as worthwhile as introspective thought of a more melancholy tone?  

Is art that creates sombre emotions more worthy than paintings which brings a feeling of joy or happiness? Are the paintings created to entertain children through the pages of storybooks a lower form of art than that which hangs above the fireplace? 

I have done paintings on purpose to create a sense of loneliness or an awareness of our own fleeting mortality. I have had a couple of difficult years and one thing that is becoming more difficult to hold onto, for myself and a lot of other people, is joy and innocence. Yet, those are not subjects I've really tried to depict much through my work. Why? It's what I, and the majority of people need right now isn't it? Do we need to be reminded of the doom and gloom blasted from media outlets? Or do we need to escape into the merriment and innocence of our childhood?

​Is "Kings Who Have No Crowns" (above) more fine art than the illustration "The Welcoming Committee" (below)? Doesn't the illustration of the sad little mouse running away from home with the happy canary there to greet him, elicit as much of an emotional response, or more, than the painting?

The nocebo effect is a medical term which is the opposite of the placebo effect. Instead of having a positive reaction, the nocebo effect works through the suggestion of a negative side effect causing negative reactions. Although used as a medical term, the nocebo effect can be seen in all aspects of life.

After having one of my previous blog posts (Is A Bad Economy Good For Art) promoted to a bigger audience, I experienced a rash of negativity. The negativity, so often seen these days on the Internet, caused me to form certain impressions about the artists who made them.

I am shocked by the level of rudeness that gets displayed online, especially by other artists. Are you aware of who all reads the blogs and what effect your comments have on your image and career? If one can be accused of wearing rose coloured glasses with the people we love, the opposite is also true. The glasses are darker for people that have presented themselves in a negative fashion.

After reading rude or ignorant comments by someone, I wouldn't give that person the time of day. I certainly wouldn't buy anything from them, regardless of how much I loved or needed the product they were selling.  I prefer to support the people working to make the world a better place through their positive attitude and kindness.

I am a Canadian (and darned proud of it too!). Canada is not the same as the US, or any other country. Our economy is different. Our distribution of wealth is different. Our education is different. Our people are different. Our attitudes are different. Your reality is not mine, and what applies to you may not apply to me.

Maybe 10 or 20 years ago, you could stay in your studio and knock out the paintings and people were flocking to you (or your gallery) snapping up your work before the paint even dried. That's never been my reality. I have always had to work hard to improve my skills and sell my work. If it's not selling the only person I have to blame is myself. Not the economy, not the galleries, not the people. Me.

If you were once able to sell your work so easily without effort, I can see how that would be disappointing to you now. But what good is dwelling on the past and spewing your negativity doing for you? You can either talk about how things aren't what they used to be, or figure out how to forge a new path and get on with it. Do you want to be an artist, or do you just want some fairy godmother to come along and sprinkle dollar bills at your feet while you paint all day? (We all would like that but know it's never going to happen!)

One of the commenters said, "Auctions are totally irrelevant." Maybe in your world they are. Or maybe the fact you think that plays a part in your struggles today. Local art auctions are relevant to me. What aren't relevant are the big international auctions. In the local auctions, I pay attention to whose names I'm seeing and I pay attention to prices. This is a good way to get a feel for how the local population appreciates art and what they are willing to pay for it. It can teach you about what styles of art are in favour, and many other things.

I am probably classed in the middle class income bracket. I don't take fancy vacations. I haven't travelled overseas since I was a teenager and went to the UK on a school trip. We don't own a travel trailer, or many of the other toys most other middle class people do. I don't wear expensive clothes (I'd only get paint on them anyway!). Our house is modest and in need of repairs. We don't eat out often or enjoy many luxuries in life. But what we do enjoy is art, and buy it often, especially when the financial markets are performing poorly and it becomes far too risky to invest in stocks or other financial investments.

I am not buying Degas' or Monet's. I am buying art I love from living artists I like (who have good attitudes!). The work may increase in value, it may not - just the same as financial investments. If this is how I live and think, don't you think it's reasonable that many others like me are the same? Non-wealthy people who love and buy art. 

I watch the auctions because I won't buy art from artists who are regularly represented in local auctions. My thoughts are if that person has a lot of paintings in most secondary sales, it's a good indication there is a glut of their work out there which I think lowers the potential for future value increases. The fact I don't want to buy from an artist with a glut of work on the market, also influences me as an artist.

Though I try to paint daily, I won't join the daily painting movement, and try to keep my productivity in check. I guess this probably goes back to my education and economics classes with the law of supply and demand. Where supply is great, demand diminishes. I don't ever want to supply myself out of job! So I do other things from time to time that keep my creative skills sharp. Sketching, doodling, and other more frivolous play that keeps my observational skills and eye/hand coordination sharp. 

These tasks are a form of creative play totally different from the portfolio work I do for sale. I do learn things which eventually find their way into my paintings and improve the work I'm doing. That's kind of the point to creative play. But I'm also spending some down time sowing the seeds for future sales ensuring I can continue to lead the life I love.