Gratitude For Art Friends

 

Abstract limited Palette

The artistic journey often requires solitude. Most of my creative work happens in the studio, a space that can sometimes feel isolating. In these moments—whether celebrating a success, working through a frustration, or developing a new idea—I need connection. My artistic fulfillment would be greatly lessened without the support of my art community.

My art friends are truly the best people I know: kind, generous, and supportive. They form a unique circle that offers encouragement without jealousy. They are the kindred spirits who uniquely understand that my career is "Artist" and that making art is my central purpose.

I am deeply thankful for their guidance and expertise. They are an essential resource, offering invaluable advice and critiques on every aspect of my practice: from selecting the right supplies, recommending books, and finding workshops, to indulging deep conversations about color mixing, theory, and brush types.

This network of support is vital:

• I rely on my monthly critique group for thoughtful corrections that help me break through creative blocks.

• I have a friend I can call for immediate assistance and a fresh perspective when I am stuck.

• I am inspired by the friend whose studio focus motivates me during our chats.

• I have companions I can count on for shared plein air painting adventures.

• I cherish my weekly painting group, a space to gather, share ideas, and simply escape into paint.

To every artist in this circle, I offer my sincere gratitude. Knowing I can reach out to them when I feel lost or stuck is the greatest gift to my creative practice.

Absence of Expectation

One painting from the Midnight Series

Getting to sleep has, lately, become a nightly struggle. I lie in the quiet dark, a captive audience to my racing mind, where thoughts churn, refusing to let me sleep. Exhaustion settles deep, yet rest remains elusive, leading to hours spent reading, writing, and watching time pass.

One restless evening, as I performed a late tidying of my studio, a defiant thought took root: If midnight finds me still awake, I will return and paint. It was a spontaneous plan to reclaim the lost hours through creative action.

Now, I perform a small ritual before bed. I prep a canvas for an abstract painting, laying down the initial marks with Payne’s Grey and Gamsol. With a thin brush, I trace dark, searching lines, loops, and marks—a form of night drawing—allowing this foundation to dry overnight, ready for the infusion of color. I ensure a few clean brushes are waiting, ready to meet the fresh, residual paint often still waiting on my palette from the day before.

When the clock hand sweeps past the witching hour and the familiar restlessness persists, I rise. The walk to the studio is quiet and deliberate. Under the electric light, I begin to layer the color—a feverish, half-awake burst of action using oil sticks, drawing oils, or the waiting brushes. This intense, midnight session of creation rarely lasts longer than thirty minutes.

The profound benefit of these nocturnal sessions is the absence of expectation. In the deep silence, there is no pressure to achieve ‘greatness,’ no need for cognitive engagement in perfect design or calculated color theory. It is a pure, unburdened process of instinctive mark-making, allowing the materials themselves to guide the hand.

The following morning, I return to the studio, seeing the night’s impulsive gestures in the clarity of day. The chaotic foundation is transformed into the deliberate starting point for a finished work, turning a cycle of lost sleep into the beginning of an unexpected new series which I call The Midnight Series.

Questions and The Artist's Mind

 My Mind is a constant engine of questions about art. I am always exploring color, paint application, and the critical step of what to do next. The act of painting is driven by a strong internal dialogue. The core questions are persistent:

• Does this work? Do these elements connect and hold together?
• Will these colors harmonize?
• Does it need more or less? 

• Is it finished?

Watermelon Song 102725

There is a common misconception that art is effortless or carefree. I have found the opposite to be true. Art is demanding and deeply fulfilling work. As Artists, we don't just paint; we research, write, explore, and ask questions. 

Ultimately, the physical act of painting is my vital outlet; it is the concrete and rewarding work that finally addresses my mind's endless churning.