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Unseen Paintings AKA Thank you Dick Francis
by Jill Peckelun on 2/24/2010 9:51:59 AM
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(I'm) Just a Man
I really enjoy reading fiction. It's my preferred way to end each day. And, naturally, being an artist, I always enjoy reading an author's take on characters who are artists. It's impressive when the author gets the technical stuff right, funny when they don't.
Many authors give their artist characters superhuman artistic abilities. It's annoying. Who can compete with that? If they are a portrait painter, why their portraits are epiphanies of illumination into a sitter's soul. Overcome with emotion and stunned with the shock of such incisive character revelation, people weep when they view these paintings. Right. If the artist is a landscape painter, why then every other piece gets accepted into the National Gallery. Of course. They are forever prettily getting smudges of paint on their dainty noses. Their hair is artfully tousled with their efforts. What they can do with a cheap piece of charcoal and some inexpensive paper is amazing- having only had a glimpse of a dastardly criminal, they can dash off a portrait that gives no hiding place to the wanted for he is now known to everyone.
Obviously, fictional characters have a tremendous advantage over real life artists in that no one will ever see their work. The books aren't illustrated with their paintings, no reader can judge for themselves what these pieces look like. I can only hope that readers aren't disappointed when they look at real artwork by real artists and find themselves less than gobsmacked. (Of course, real paintings can move a viewer to tears. I confess that I did weep when I saw Bastien LePage's Joan of Arc at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the first time. It is such a painting... I can't even describe its presence.)
Mystery author Dick Francis died this past week. I will miss his presence on this earth. And, I want to say for the record that I think he got it right. He wrote two books with artist characters. To the Hilt about an acrylic painter, and In the Frame about an equine painter. Mr. Francis's artists were solid working artists with full lives who in the course of the novels did have a peak painting experience that was completely believable. And inspiring for those of us who are artists.
I'll think I'll re-read these both to celebrate his life and his life's work. Thanks, Mr. Francis.
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Steering Clear AKA Warning: Artist on Board
by Jill Peckelun on 1/25/2010 1:39:03 PM
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Cast Shadows
Now I like to think of myself as a responsible, cautious driver. I'm not at all aggressive. I refrain from talking on the phone. I keep my mind on the matter. But I admit that when I'm driving long stretches of highway when nothing much is happening except the turning of wheels, that I get distracted. I was driving to visit my folks this past weekend- 75 miles of mostly straight highway- and the traffic was fairly light as I studied the lovely hues of reflected warm and cool colors on the back of the shiny tractor trailer truck in front of me. For miles I watched the shape of the truck's cast shadow as it sloped away from the road and the constant changes as it curled around the embankments' brush at 65 miles per hour. You can learn a lot about cast shadows by studying the vehicles in front of you.
I've talked to other artists about their driving. From all reports, we're a pretty easily distracted group. Thank goodness the insurance companies haven't caught on to us. We've all taken photographs of sunrises and sunsets from the wheel of the car- well, they're so fleeting. And we're all drawn to either the shapes or colors or natural compositions of the landscape as we zoom or crawl by yet another scene that we wish we could stop and paint.
"Look how the red violet of that mountain ridge fade to blue on the horizon. I love the shape of that tree's arc in the wind. Did you see the stones in that creek and the sunlight dancing on the water?" And when there's nothing (but there's usually something) there is always the sky. The pale warm color near the horizon that's never a cool blue, the little sparks of light that shimmer through the depth of the sky if you look at it for a long time. I used to be afraid I'd fall into it, it looked so deep. OK, I still am. Clouds, clouds, clouds- especially storm clouds. I've painted in really windy conditions that was just nuts, frankly for the sake of those wonderful clouds. I have a friend who sat at home looking out his window painting clouds day after day. His wife told him to get out of the house and make some new friends.
It's not just when we're driving that we're distracted either. I was at a party, a very nice party- we were all sitting around talking at the table. Well, other people were talking. I was caught staring out the window at the lovely shape and color of a shrub's cast shadow on the back of a shed. It was beautiful. And, its not like they were talking about art.
I changed my mind. It's not that we're easily distracted by art. No, not at all. Everything else is distracting us from our art. So there. Now you understand.
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Words to Live by aka Sez you
by Jill Peckelun on 12/29/2009 6:06:28 PM
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Dancing with Clouds
The new year is upon us. A time for making resolutions, reviewing this year's work, considering the new year's goals. Do you think as humans we have a sense of yearning that makes us want to set goals? How could anyone answer that. I only know that I do. It seems I no sooner resolve one issue and am content but for a brief spell before I start to dwell on something else to change, improve upon, relinquish entirely, move forward. Pick any one of the aforementioned. It can be annoying, this restless yearning. Nevertheless...
I thought I'd take a moment here and share some of my favorite quotes to inspire us for the upcoming year. My parents had a 3 inch thick volume of Barlett's Familiar Quotations that I used to read when I was growing up. Good quotes inspire me because they concisely say things that I think about but aren't able to express. Sometimes they say things I'd never thought of at all. I am ever hopeful that the next good quote will be just the words I need to hear, just the words to give me a purpose for all that yearning energy.
Its grand to always have a sense of purpose. I want to clarify that I try to focus on the process, not the end result. It is my intentions that are the goal, not so much a particular outcome. I never, and I really do mean never, believe that I know what the best resolution to any circumstance should be. My focus is purely on having the most positive thoughts and actions I can in every situation. (Side note: I am not entirely successful in every situation.) What is down is sometimes up, what is up, could be down. Things are not always what they appear to be. Life is a mystery; get used to it.
But I digress. Back to those quotations that give me clarity and occasionally, a kick in the pants. Here are some of my favorites:
What do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
-Mary Oliver
No guts, no glory.
-Sir Francis Drake
When choosing wallpaper- if given a choice between one that's pretty and one that has character, always choose the one with character.
-My grandmother Lilian as told to her daughter Ethel
Painting. Its goals are undefined, the means are inefficient and the results are uncertain. I like that.
-Alex Kanevsky
Leave it as it is. You cannot improve upon it, not a bit. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it.
-Theodore Roosevelt
On living on less as an alternative lifestyle:
I'm not sacrificing. I live like a king.
-Jim Merkel
I make myself rich by making my wants few.
-Henry Thoreau
Its important to have an appetite for life. It shows in your face as you live longer.
-Sean Connery
Live Strong.
-Lance Armstrong
Live contented.
-Paul Revere
This above all: To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Its nice to be important. Its more important to be nice.
-Sarah Hughes
Do all that you can, with all that you have, in the time that you have, in the place where you are.
-Nkosi Johnson, a South African boy born HIV positive who died at age twelve
God first served.
-Joan of Arc
When you walk across the fields with your mind pure and holy, then from all the stones, and all the growing things, and all animals, the sparks of their soul come out and cling to you and then they are purified and become a holy fire in you.
-Hasidic saying
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
-William Blake
All of us insist upon our illusions, upon substituting dreams and distorted memories for the real thing. Delusion is the most natural of human states. Honesty is the aberration.
-Erin Hart, Lake of Sorrows
Life must be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.
-Soren Kierkegaard
Barn's burnt down...now I can see the moon.
-Masahide
Life is too precious to be upset.
-Walter Anderson
This will be your lucky day.
-Chinese fortune cookie
Sez you.
-Henry Lawson
Love love.
-Jill Peckelun
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My Vork Eet Ees Fabulous aka You should take eet all
by Jill Peckelun on 11/5/2009 12:29:38 PM
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Pine Trees
In the past couple of years the 5 galleries that displayed my work regularly have closed for business. I'm sad about that. Both for the business owners' relationships that have ended and for the gallery sales we've enjoyed. I've let a little time pass for everyone to adjust and adapt to the free market. Now I'm ready to begin again actively searching for galleries nationwide.
Its all about getting the right fit. I think in today's market the strongest and most likely to survive galleries will be those with both a vibrant internet presence and a steady glossy art magazine print profile to increase traffic and promote their gallery exhibition space. The web is here to stay and is an amazing promotional tool to pique the interests of those who enjoy art. Shiny-paged art magazines promote exciting exhibitions. Galleries that are knowledgeable use these tools to their advantage. The web page promotes the magazine article/ad. The magazine article/ad promotes the web page and both lead everyone to the gallery's knowledgeable staff and exhibition space itself.
This isn't anything new or profound- its obvious. But galleries- I'm letting you know now that I'm looking for you and hoping to find a good fit that will be to the advantage of both of us. I'm the artist who is the reponsible, reliable one. I'm always on time. I give every professional courtesy. I'm polite, friendly, organized, and honorable. I'm here to support you and help your business thrive because to do so helps me and my business. And, because its simply the right thing to do. I respect your professional expertise and acumen and hope to enjoy your support and guidance as we work together to find good homes for my paintings.
I applied once to a very competitive juried group exhibition. I placed my half a dozen pieces on the wall of the room and then left it while the jury looked it over. Afterwards, they opened the doors, I took my work and went home. I smiled, but said very little- my goal was to appear intelligent, responsible, and friendly and I didn't want to mess that up with too many words. But on the inside I said in my best Boris and Natasha Badunov accent: "My vork eet ees fabulous. You should take eet all." And they did.
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Fame aka Don't Fence Me In
by Jill Peckelun on 9/9/2009 2:53:06 PM
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Springhouse
Fame, fame, fame. Every artist wants it. Or, do we?
I have some experience with fame. No, not me, personally but in some circles my Dad is a famous person, an icon, a hero for a time that needs heroes. Dad acquired his public stature late in life long after I was grown.
After Dad got popular in a big way it soon became apparent to me that the public who read about Dad or saw a portrayal of him on television or even himself in one of his public appearances came to believe that they really knew him intimately. Having observed a portrayal of a small portion of a peak life experience they extracted that they understood the entirety of him. No one is that one dimensional. (I remember one photographer rushing over to me and giddily asking, "So tell me, is he really just like a big teddy bear on the inside?" I replied, "No." while I thought, "You must be insane.")
Dad's well respected and deservedly so. We as a people need heroes to inspire us. On a personal level though- I think it would be a burden to try to live up to a public persona. We are all human, and we need to be allowed to express the entirety of our complex and often contradictory natures. We need to be allowed to explore, to experiment, to evolve. And that is an ongoing lifelong experience that is the very best of life itself.
I'm writing about this because while shooting the breeze with other artists and other people about artists we invariably come to the point in conversation where we measure the success of ourselves as artists. To many, that means fame. Fame after they're dead. Fame while they are alive. Fame that brings financial success and personal accolades.
The trouble with fame is that its so constricting. Would we still feel free enough to experiment with new ideas knowing that to do so we're likely to fall down a few times? And that the people who think we're famous might not like what we do? What a fix. It's tough enough not to get boxed in while I'm distinctly un-famous. As a plein air painter I often paint with other folks, or I draw from life with other artists. I've heard a number of times: "That (piece) doesn't look like you. You don't paint that way."
And yet, obviously, I do paint that way.
I like to experiment. I like to play. I like to look at things with a fresh eye so that it never becomes formulaic. I don't ever want to get bored doing what I love best to do. And that means that as I continue to work, my work will continue to change, continue to evolve. I suppose what I'd really like is for my work to be well known, but not particularly myself.
Fame ain't all it's cracked up to be. This is good news for all of us who are unlikely to achieve fame. Most of us don't have the grand moment of public recognition in life. That's not a failure. Most of us have thousands of small moments wherein we make choices that affect others around us and ourselves. We make someone smile. Give encouragement. Reach out. Try something new. Laugh at ourselves. Work hard. Work well. Work better than the day before.
It was the end of a long day and my friend's husband was tired and clearly wishing all of us would just go home. Someone asked him about his plans for the future. It's been years, but I still remember his reply: "I just do the best I can today and tomorrow will take care of itself."
Doing the best we can is all we can do. And its enough. Because its all we can do.
And that is how I measure success.
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Life Drawing aka Get Real
by Jill Peckelun on 8/25/2009 4:28:40 PM
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Bob's Bridge
I was painting in the park by a fishing stream yesterday. The view was downhill of a little bridge over the stream, a house, some trees and a full figured man leaning over the bridge. (It was a very steep incline and I had to place a thick stick under my toes so my feet would be level for the 3 hours or so I planned to stand there. Then the stick started to roll and I got a little rug remnant from my car trunk to wrap around it and my engineering feat was complete.) The man- I talked to him later, his name is "Bob"- stood musing there a good ten minutes giving me an opportunity to quickly draw his gesture and estimate his relative height on my sketchpad so I could include him in my painting. He had his own agenda, of course, but I appreciated his presence. He was long gone as I was painting him later and I mentally talked myself through the set of his shoulders, the incline of his hipbones as he'd planted his weight on one leg. It was a small figure, loosely painted within the thick paint of the bridge and background, but I wanted it to have as much life as I could give it.
Later on as I was packing up my stuff a young fisherman came rushing up and asked to see my work. So we both admired it and I asked him if he painted too. He said no, but he liked to draw. I told him that you can't paint unless you can draw and that he was taking things in the right order. Then I pointed him towards a couple of my artist friends and told him to go talk to them as they were very skilled at drawing. (I do that a lot when I'm with other artists and someone comes up to look at my painting. "Hey, great talking to you. Did you know there's some more artists right over there? You might want to see what they're doing!") Which isn't to say that it isn't a pleasure to talk to people. It is. I just like to bug my friends.
My point is though, that drawing, particularly life drawing is like going to the gym for an artist. Gotta work out to maintain those subject/eye/hand muscle connections or else you lose it and lose it fast. I find that even just carefully studying excellent life drawings or anatomy books on a daily basis (my bedtime reading ritual) makes a tremendous difference in my ability to see and draw the figure and accordingly, anything else.
In September, I have four pieces in a show at the Sidetracks Gallery in New Hope, PA. Their annual "Naked in New Hope" exhibition of nude figures is wildly popular and I am delighted to be a part of it. It is a pleasure to be in the company of other artists who appreciate working from life. If you're in the area, I hope you have the time to take in the view.
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Homage to Kevin Dorfman aka Let's Talk
by Jill Peckelun on 7/29/2009 2:32:44 PM
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The Conversation
If you've been a fan of the USA network's Monk series, you are likely familiar with the character Kevin Dorfman, Adrian Monk's upstairs neighbor. This was during the non-Sharona episodes (Sharona, we still miss you). And, unforgivably, they killed off Kevin Dorfman during the last year- unbelievable! But that's another blog. Kevin Dorfman was a geeky type whose defining characteristic is that he talked about the minutiae of his life in extraordinary detail to colossally annoying excess, but still managed to be upbeat and sweet natured. He was a good foil for Monk's self-obsessed gloom.
I was talking about Kevin Dorfman with (or rather to) my husband Ed a while back. I was telling him about how one of my friends was a lot like Kevin Dorfman and really it would have been better if she'd married someone like him instead of the big lug she did because she is extremely intelligent but a bit daft and verbalizes pretty much every thought that ever comes into her head. (But, I still love her, as do we all, because you just can't not love her. Just like Kevin Dorfman.) Anyway, as I'm talking I notice that Ed has actually been paying attention to my conversation and is looking at me very strangely. I said, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" And then I got it. "Oh wait- you think I'm like Kevin Dorfman, don't you?" Ed inclined his head, which for him is an entire paragraph complete with wild gesticulations. "When do you think I'm like Kevin Dorfman?", I demanded. Ed paused and carefully explained: "When you talk about your art."
"Oh."
Because I think that's probably true. I'm often simultaneously bored speechless and struck mute with shyness in groups of people. Largely, because I've got nothing. No game at all. Nope, not a thing to say. Nothing, no matter how I much I search is entering my mind as a possible subject of conversation. Unless, of course we would be talking about art. Art in general, somebody else's art, my work in particular. The work itself, the toil in the search for subject, painting, framing, pricing, inspiration, archival techniques, varnishing, marketing thereof, etc. etc. etc. I could go on forever. And apparently, according to Ed, I happily do.
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Painting the Urban Landscape aka "Bottoms up"
by Jill Peckelun on 7/21/2009 9:00:10 AM
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By Moravian Schools
As of last month all five, count them, five, of the galleries that held my work on an ongoing basis closed for business. Egads. So its no time to sit back and let someone else do your work for you. I'd hunkered down and simply did as much plein air painting as I could for a few months. Then I realized recently, as I was taking stock of things, that I'd done a number of Bethlehem, PA urban landscapes.
I began doing urban landscapes during the winter because, as much as I admire him, I am not, no not at all, an Andrew Wyeth tonalist landscape sort of painter. I like color. And I couldn't find any in the bleak late fall, winter, early spring rural scenes that I've been accustomed to painting. So I started to explore the downtown and South side urban Bethlehem "scene". It was quite beautiful in the snow and I really enjoyed playing with colors and shapes and layers of depth in the vista. And now I find that its July and I'm still rocking the urban landscape. It's just so much fun.
Every now and then I find that suddenly, through much effort, but without a specific goal- only to paint "better"- I find that I've made a quantum leap forward in my work. Painting the urban landscape has led me to this latest leap in the quality of all my work. I'm working on layering those value contrasts for that illusive illusion of depth. What a blast.
Back to Bethlehem. So I contacted Evelyn Beckman from Ambre Gallery on Broad Street and told her I'd accumulated this body of work and offered her the opportunity to display it first because we knew each other from a couple of juried exhibitions that I'd been involved in at the gallery. I know. But she likes me and my work and will be showing about 15 pieces in the bay window and the "back rooms of the gallery" during Jan Crooker's solo Musikfest show. Yea!
PS. The "back rooms of the gallery" are two very very nicely styled smallish rooms with no natural lighting. They're....ok, they're the bathrooms. Be sure and drink lots and lots of fluids before you go see the show so you don't miss my work.
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