100 little paintings: a blog of their own

I had been working on several paintings, and came to the end (or what feels like the end) of a series. Then I took some time off to do some other things.  I was feeling the need to explore but didn't want to jump into another series yet. 

I read Robert Genn's newsletter to artists regularly, and it just happened that he posted one with a suggestion that was just what I needed.  Paint 100 small paintings, quickly, without references, over a period of 30 days or so.  Robert suggested  these paremeters:

• keep the paintings small
• use a limited palette
• spend only a few minutes on each one
• leave them unfinished
• paint like you are four years old

 
The last one has sometimes been the hardest!  But also the most important. 

Because there are so many little paintings, and the quality is all over the place, I decided to make a blog just for them. 
Here it is:  100 little pieces in 30 days (now called "Quick Little Paintings, Having Fun", same address)

Summer Remnants, Preserved

textured acrylic on stretched canvas

20 x 24 inches

I think this is finished now. Late in the fall, there was a frosty night, and toward morning an ice rain fell briefly, glazing the tops and stems of grasses and weeds along the edge of my garden. This week, I decided to capture the sense of wonder I had that morning when I went out. This is built up with layers of glaze overlaid to develop the stems and seedheads, and then with repeated thin layers of heavier, lightly tinted gel to give it dimension and texture.

It was cold and windy all week, and I was recovering from a cold with laryngitis, so I alternated short stints of painting with feeding the wood stove, fixing cups of tea or soup, and snuggling under laprobe with a book and cat. A good week.

Images of detail from painting:

Watching the Wind: still in progress, I think

Watching the Wind

textured acrylic on stretched canvas, 16 x20 inches

I laid down the base for this painting sometime in December, using a base color from another painting. Then I set it aside until the image became clearer in my mind. In early January, while I was at a spiritual retreat in the Catskill foothills, a massive, intensely cold stormfront covered the entire Northeast. We were at the edge of the storm, where winds were intense and randomly changing direction as the storm rotated. creating a layered whiteout that was constantly changing. I was entranced by the way the tiny particles of snow flowed with the eddies of the wind, making what is ordinarily invisible visible. and making what is ordinarily visible invisible.

At home, I pulled this canvas out, and began to paint what it felt to be in the midst of that amazing storm, using layers of tinted white. I'm not sure it is finished yet, but it is close. I set it aside while I worked on another painting, and each day look at it, waiting for it to tell me. I think it is asking for another layer. Tomorrow when the light comes, I will see.

Detail photos:

In progress: still unnamed

textured acrylic on stretched canvas

16 x 20 inches

I have two paintings in progress right now. I like working this way.

Stinkingwater Pass

Stinkingwater Pass 1

16 x 20 inches, oil on stretched canvas

Yes, that is a real name of a real place, and (of course) it is located in the western mountains I love. Where else would have a name like this?

The pass is in central Oregon, about 30 miles east of Burns on Highway 20. a narrow, winding, two-lane highway through the Strawberry Range. Elevation 4848. As I approached the pass near noon early in September, I was struck by the contrasting masses lit up by the sun, and found a wide spot to pull off on. I was tempted to set up my easel, but there really was no room (my car barely fit) and it would have been dangerous.

So I walked back down the highway to the place my jaw dropped, and took quite a few photos, some from the middle of the highway (watching carefully for traffic; fortunately, there was little). Back at my car, I made some rough pencil sketches, just blocking in the masses. And that was that.

Until a couple of months after I got home. On one of those incredibly dreary mid-Novermber days, I went through my photos, and found myself again drawn to those massive shapes. I had to paint them.

The first painting I did using the photos to help me place and shape the masses, but drew on my memory for the striking color contrasts that caught my eye. And then I found my little pencil sketches, and did another painting, smaller, imagining myself still there, with quick, loose strokes, plein air style. I like them both.

Stinkingwater Pass 2
11 x 14 inches, acrylic on hardboard panel

Expecting Spring (title pro tem)

acrylic on cradled birch panel, 20 x 24 inches

Paintings often go through a stage where it feels there is no hope for it. I just had one that seemed stuck at ugly. It just wasn't working, even though I could still see my intent in it. I couldn't figure out what it needed. Almost gave up on it, but set it aside for few days. Today decided to give something a try. Suddenly out of the mess the painting I envisioned emerged. What a joy.

I used glazing from the support up, letting the colors emerge and deepen where the various layers overlap. This was the first time I'd tried using light-weight molding paste to add both texture and a translucent white in my glazes, and I am very pleased with the results. This is a painting you can enjoy looking at close up.

Here are some detail photos: