Like everything else at this particular (and strange!) moment in human history, my upcoming art show is in a holding pattern. The original plan went like this: I’d hang my artwork somewhere at the end of May/beginning of June, then take it down (making way for the next artist) around September 1.
But you know what they say about the best laid plans….
Sometimes a pandemic intervenes.
And so I’m currently playing a game of will-they-won’t-they with my art show venue. They might open up on May 29, allowing me to hang my artwork… or they might not. And I can’t blame them. In the surreality of this pandemic and all its spin-off effects, I can sympathize with anyone’s erring on the side of caution.
But in the meantime, I’m painting in good faith–and hope. Because whenever those venue doors do open, I want to be ready with all 25 paintings. It’s taken a lot of prayer, beaucoup paint and time, and a serious workout for my brushes, but the past five weeks have seen me knocking out paintings 19-24 (no minor miracle, given that it usually takes me 4-6 weeks to finished one piece):
I don’t think I’m the only person doing some serious contemplating during this strange time of illness, panic, isolation. Everything appears so uncertain, unknown. And, of course, with so many now stuck quarantining at home–days once jammed-packed now jerked to a halt–there’s a sudden excess of time to think.
I’m not sure about anybody else, but my brain is not always a safe place for me to wander alone.
Yet, I find myself facing a sudden shock of revelation–in this time of upset, I am not as “upset” as I’d expect. Despite everything, I’ve mostly felt at peace. And it’s because of the strangest thing: old heartaches.
To explain: Those who follow my blog will know that I married into the Foreign Service. The lifestyle offered by my husband’s job has afforded us many wonderful adventures–amazing things I never imagined I’d do: Cuddle baby tigers. Climb castles made of ice. Sleep in the heart of the rainforest. I wouldn’t trade it…. I don’t think.
And the uncertainty on that point comes from this: the Foreign Service life has also caused me a lot of pain.
No doubt about it: I’ve been neglecting my blog. I’m a tad appalled that it’s been onetwothreefour months since I posted anything new.
But life off-screen has been a bit busier. There was Thanksgiving and Christmas and all the associated weeks of travel. My wonderful brother’s graduation. A trip down to the family ranch in Texas to celebrate my other wonderful brother’s engagement to a wonderful girl. A move into a new apartment (complete with sunroom/painting studio for me–squeal!) A slew of freelance editing and writing projects.
But perhaps the busiest bee in my hive is this: come June, I will have a gallery show in Rockville, Maryland–my very first. And I’m in a race to the finish line as I try to whip up 12 paintings in the space between December and the end of May. No small feat, given the fact that it usually takes me 6 weeks or so to polish off just one.
No one is more surprised than I am, but despite the constant, quietly humming anxiety of oh-my-gosh-what-if-I-don’t-get-this-done at the back of my brain… I’ve actually been enjoying this intensely packed painting time. It’s meant halving my writing hours, which makes me a bit sad. But it’s also provided a much-needed palate cleanse for my writing mind, allowing me to come back to my keyboard more clear-minded and focused because I took time to step away.
And I’ve even managed to knock out a few paintings along the way, three of which make up a surf/space series for which I have to thank my brother Hunter for inspiration.
(Almost) four down… eight to go!
*Cue nail-biting here*
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After a multi-year hiatus–peppered with rare, stolen moments of work–and half a year of concentrated effort, I’ve finished the rough draft of my speculative novel, NIGHT GARDEN.
Emphasis on the word “rough.”
A quick glance at my Track Changes application shows 119 comments sprinkled throughout the manuscript, indicating spots where I need to weave in world-building elements, affirm timelines, research further, fill in creative pits, and shore up plot points and character motivations. In addition, I have notes scrawled on napkins, sermon notes, and Post-Its–whatever I could grab before the thought fled.
Then there are the two notebooks (including one of those ultra-sexy yellow-pads) full of the most poorly organized notes imaginable.
I’ve got just a wee bit of work to do before this baby’s ready for prime time.
Still, it’s a major accomplishment, just completing the beast. I typed 112,632 words. I wrote 35 chapters. I hit the point where I could legitimately pen that final flourish: “The End.”
I should be skipping. Dancing. Celebrating with a glass of wine.
Society6 is, in my (slightly-biased) opinion, one of the coolest online shopping venues around. Artists can upload their original work, then see it transformed into all manner of lifestyle goods ranging from blankets to bar stools, cellphone cases to coffee mugs, shower curtains to stationary.
I was super excited to see what I could do with my paintings. But I was nervous, too. What if my work didn’t showcase well?
But thanks to my most faithful patroness (merci, Mom!), I recently got to road-test some products. The trio of beach towels she’d ordered accompanied me on a father/son/daughter surf session at one of my favorite beaches in the world–North Packery, in my hometown of Corpus Christi, Texas.
I can now report that the towels held up valiantly to the abuse of sand, sun, and saltwater. And Society6 did an excellent job ensuring every color was vibrant, every detail crisp. A pretty impressive feat, considering that it involved converting 11″ x 14″ paintings into 74” x 37” towels.
So if there’s a spot on your wall looking for its perfect match painting, I may have just the one sitting in my shop. Think of me as the Yente of wall art.
Watercolor is my medium of choice, because as a surfer/swimmer/life-long-aquaphile, it just seemed right. As for my subject-matter, it skews toward snapshots of the wild world. I aim for detailed, dynamic portraits of creatures great and small–a way to bring a little of the fierce, exotic loveliness of nature indoors.