Of Woods and Flowers

It has dawned on me that I paint the same things over and over: woods, individual trees, flowers, grassy meadows, mountains, water with an occasional boat, and sky with an occasional castle thrown in. Portraits escape me; I simply do not have that skill. I constantly try and fail to make a convincing portrait of my cat, Louie. (Meanwhile, Louie has a lot of fun chewing on my pencil!)

So I am happy with woods, and the rest of the list of landscape and nature scenes! But my goal is to render each tree, each mountain or whatever, different from the last. American watercolor artist Barbara Necchis warns against plagiarizing ourselves, and she is right on. I do try to reproduce techniques and methods I have used on work I’ve been pleased with—often to realize that whatever I did was accidental.

Above is a newly created mixed media 20″ x 24″ which I deemed suitable for framing. It hangs high in my living room, in a red frame. Similar from past work, yet different. Much redder. Meanwhile, I will keep working on Louie! Someday I may get him right!

Margaret L. Been — February 14, 2021

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Back Again, with Fractured Leaf Art

Almost a year — and what a year! I had decided never to blog again, as I so love NOT having to sit at my computer, when I have so many fun hands-on things to do. But in recent days, a current issue surfaced that I simply had to address or I would not have been able to live with myself. Yesterday, I posted that issue on my NORTHERN REFLECTIONS blog. Today, because an art blog is the most fun of all, I am here—back again.

Ever since I can recall, I have been besotted with leaves–especially those that drift from the trees in autumn. As a child, I colored fresh-fallen moist leaves with my crayons, and then pressed the colored leaves onto white cloth with a hot iron. For decades I have been gathering the perfect specimens of autumn bounty, and drying them beneath pages of heavy books. In recent years, I have made collages with these dried leaves on gallery wrap canvas panels, adding acrylic paints and a final fixative before hanging on the wall..

So for me, leaf art is nothing new. But this last fall, I was tardy in my gathering. By the time I was rustling and crunching around in the fallen leaves they were mainly dried, curled, and FRACTURED. Thus the idea of “Fractured Leaf Art” was hatched. The results were so intriguing, so nurturing to my voracious appetite for the abstract that I may never look back!

There are no two Fractured Leaf Paintings alike. And the process is so basic that any six-year-old, given the need for patience between stages, can produce a painting to be proud of. Since I have many young people in my family, I am eager and excited to share THE PROCESS!

I quickly discovered that the best Fractured Leaf Paintings (in my opinion) are achieved on Yupo Paper–that odd, shiny surface that is not paper but rather a “poly . . . . something”, in other words a kind of plastic. I spray the Yupo with clear water, and then spread 2 or 3 watercolors of my choice randomly around the surface, tilting the piece and causing the colors to merge. Then I press the fractured leaves or pieces of leaves onto the wet paint–again randomly. To this beginning I sporadically add more paint colors and salt, and press plastic food wrap (like Saran) over the entire surface. With my fingers, I crinkle and bunch up the food wrap, creating bubbles, creases, and a myriad of lines. This whole bit gets weighted down with heavy books, jars of brushes, or anything else with heft.

After a couple of days, I tentatively remove the food wrap to see if the surface is dry. Obviously Yupo takes longer to dry than normal watercolor paper, because the Yupo is not absorbent. When everything is really dry, I remove the leaves and scrape off the salt with an old credit card. Voila! Fractured Leaf Art.

At this point the painting may need a little tweaking, perhaps some more paint or the emphasis of a few lines or branches along the creases made by the food wrap.* Or the piece may be gorgeous as is. In the above pictured painting, I did not tweak. To me the painting was just right in its natural state, and realizing my tendency to overwork my art I decided to add no more.

Always, when using Yupo I spray the work with an acrylic fixative. While not striving for museums, I do want my art to last for at least a couple of lifetimes.

So you might have a go at Fractured Leaf Art. I definitely live in a four season zone. (Wisconsin: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter/Winter/Winter.) Different locales have different trees, and it would be fun to expand my leaf knowledge. Perhaps my Florida family members will bring me some palm leaves.

Margaret L. Been — January 14, 2021

*When adding branches or lines, I have discovered a trick of using a DERWENT INKTENSE PENCIL which has been dampened, rather than a paint brush. The damp ink pencil adds a soft, blurry line rather than a harsh one. I favor organic as opposed to the popular geometric style of abstract art.

**An excellent Austrian fine artist does amazing paintings using all kinds of wild materials gleaned from her nature hikes. You can check out this mixed media artist and her books by GOOGLING her name, Waltraud Nawratil. You will not be disappointed.

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Still Here!

Memories of Manitou Springs, Colorado

We have nearly made it through another Wisconsin winter. Not a rough one, simply a bit long!

I began the new year with a passion for creating texture in my art. The above was one of the first renderings of 2020. It hangs over our piano, beneath a huge painting of rugged cowboys rescuing cattle in a crevasse—a treasure which I found at a thrift store years ago for little more than the proverbial song.

The mountains in my (16″ x 20″) “Memories . . . .” were formed with heavy modeling paste on YUPO paper which is not really paper; it is a kind of plastic with a slick, shiny surface.*

Then I added—almost dripped—the paints in various spots, jiggled the YUPO around, made a “cuppa Joe” in our beloved Keurig, and sat down to spin beautiful silk and merino yarn on one of my two Jensen spinning wheels. (Fibers—as in spinning and knitting—are another of my many passions.)

I love just letting the surface and paint do the work, with very little interference from “moi”. The results are frequently more delightful than products of obsessive meddling with brushes.

But I do use brushes also, and they can do wonderful things, especially with florals. I begin with watercolor, paint the flowers, and then add the background.** When this dries, I go back in with GOUACHE.

The gouache builds texture and dimension similar to the effect of oil paints. Sometimes I get carried away and the textures are layered so deeply that I spray the finished painting with an acrylic fixative, as the chalky gouache is otherwise apt to crack and flake away over the years.

Probably that would not happen to paintings immediately secured under glass, but the majority of my renderings live in protective plastc sleeves until switched around with framed works, given away as a gift, or (once in awhile) sold. When I paint on gallerywrap canvas panels, I always spray with a fixative because these are never framed.

Below is an example of a floral done with watercolor and many layered gouache accents.

Again and again, I paint flowers. I think of flowers day and night. Soon we will actually see them, springing from the ground! 🙂

Margaret L. Been — March 19, 2020

* Artists either love or hate YUPO. Often the “haters” are the purists who seek detailed perfection. I do not care for detailed perfection, so I am in the group that LOVES YUPO. Good thing I don’t hanker after perfection; I am incapable of achieving it !!!

**Watercolor rules (which I am very fond of breaking) dictate BACKGROUND FIRST. I normally do BACKGROUND LAST, having been greatly inspired and influenced by fine artist Barbara Nechis who usually paints the background last, because until her piece is finished she doesn’t know what kind of a background she wants.

Good reasoning! The color of the background is most compelling when chosen from colors in the completed subject. Seeing is deciding! Plus, it is so beautiful when damp background colors subtly phase into the body of the painting—either a still life or landscape.

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Still Here

Regardless of the lure of my gardens, and the joy of spinning Merino wool mixed with gorgeous silk, I am making art. Trees seem to be stuck in my head. Oh well—Monet and haystacks, Been and trees. Not that the comparison goes beyond the fact of repeating subject matter.

In fact, I have a hilarious protection against the plight of the over-padded ego; and I have shared this with countless friends who, like me, are attached to their I-pads. Or phones. Or laptops.

Here is my protection. Just GOOGLE: “Pig Who Paints” or “Pigcasso”. This character never fails to make me smile. And she also appears to be smiling on the several U-tubes that feature her producing art. Which proves that art makes us happy whether we are a person or a porker! 🙂

Margaret L. Been — July 16, 2019

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In Keeping with the Season—An Irish Forest

My friend, Gini Waltz, took this gorgeous photo on a trip to Ireland. I have been inspired to paint the venerable old tree, but began with many unsatisfactory attempts.

Photo realism of a natural landscape is out for me. In one of her books, American fine artist Barbara Nechis wrote: (I will paraphrase) “If we try to compete with nature, nature always wins.”

That quote is etched in my head, and I believe it with both head and heart! I can only do “impressions”—the start of a term famously attached to artists far beyond me in excellence and scope.

After several pencil sketches and trial runs with paint, I sat down and contemplated. Exactly what did I want to capture in my rendering of this scene? I came up with two priorities: 1) the TREE-NESS of the starring tree, and 2) the GREEN-NESS of the scene, photographed in the land of “Forty Shades of Green”.

With that analysis, I was on my way—and here is the result:

Very predictably, I love to do TREES!

Margaret L. Been — March 9th, 2019

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Working through the “Block”

Glancing back over decades of freelance writing, I don’t recall ever experiencing that dreaded infirmity called “Writer’s Block”.  Perhaps that is because, as I am doing at this moment, I always wrote from real life rather than fiction–although I love to read fiction at well as documentary and other forms of non-fiction.

The term “Writer’s Block” amuses me because my writing has always been a form of talking.  I certainly have never suffered from “Talker’s Block”.

Art is different.  Frequently I have a spell where I think I can never again produce anything “suitable for framing”.  Many artists have similar periods when they struggle with doubts and a dearth of that nebulous thing called “inspiration”.  My antidote for Artist’s Block is simply to plow right through it.  There may be days of frustration over perceived failures, but I find comfort in keeping on and working through the block.

Oxymoronic as it may appear, my dual approach to the block is to:  1) try something totally new either in subject, materials, or methods and 2) try to bang out something that has worked before.  Above is a sample of both options–a sailboat in trouble, an often rendered subject but this time in acrylics, still new and challenging to me.

Our family had many years of pleasant sailing on local inland lakes where falling in the warm water meant a fun swim and turtling the boat made for uproarious storytelling in retrospect.  But one family sail was not so pleasant.  In our cub boat we foolishly set out from a quiet cove which was sheltered from the elements, with the plan to explore one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior–the Great Lake which allegedly “never gives up her dead”. *

And if you know the Great Lake–at least the two that I’ve experienced, Lake Michigan and Lake Superior–you are very familiar with the adjective “COLD”!

Anyway, we left that quiet cove, out into the immense lake (I believe the second largest inland water in the world–the first largest being somewhere in Russia) and horrendous winds bombarded us seemingly from all directions.  There were five of us in the boat–my husband, myself, our two teen-age sons Eric and Karl, and our lab/collie Duffy.

I praise God for my husband Joe’s Viking DNA.  He miraculously sailed us back to land with the help of the boys.  Duffy and I were ballast.  We huddled in the bottom of the boat, praying–at least I was praying.  I hung on to Duffy as hard as I could, and I think he was as terrified as I was.

So why in the world do I love to paint sailboats in trouble?  More than reliving an experience, I think the reasons are motion and water, since both make for interesting visuals.  Motion and water are easy for me to paint.  And due to incorporating acrylic paints which are still stretching me, the above painting titled “On the Edge” (part of a series) proved to be a complete therapy.

Voila.  Once again I’ve immerged from the block.  Three happy starts of paintings were produced in my studio this very evening.  The starts are happy enough that I decided to share my method of working through the block!  🙂

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*I knew the phrase about Lake Superior “never giving up her dead” came from Canadian troubadour Gordon Lightfoot’s classic ballad–“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” which helped to immortalize that historic 1975 tragedy.

Also I wondered if the phrase had actually been a traditional saying, perhaps passed down through Native American cultures in the region.

GOOGLE only reinforced the fact that the saying came from Gordon Lightfoot’s ballad, and I can find no extra specific info.  But the following Wikipedia quote indicates that Lake Superior’s reputation is well-founded since Superior is the largest of the Great Lakes:

“The Great Lakes, a collection of five freshwater lakes located in North America, have been sailed upon since at least the 17th century, and thousands of ships have been sunk while traversing them.  Many of these ships were never found, so the exact number of shipwrecks in the Lakes is unknown; the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum approximates 6,000 ships and 30,000 lives lost, while historian and mariner Mark Thompson has estimated that the total number of wrecks is likely more than 25,000. 

“In the period between 1816, when the Invincible was lost, to the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975, the Whitefish Point area in Lake Superior alone has claimed at least 240 ships.”

Margaret L. Been — October, 2018

 

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Back Again

Back after a long hiatus—time enough for a new hip, a lazy summer, and plenty of physical therapy.  But artmaking was a huge part of the therapy.  Standing is easier for me than sitting, no matter what.  And regardless of whatever this body is up to, if I can create something I am a happy woman!

Above is a 20″ x 24″ painting that should be titled, “Love/Hate”.  Being a bit vociferous about opinions, I have long claimed that I hate acrylics.  They have seemed so fake appearing and stupid to me—stubborn, inflexible, hard to shove around, incapable of producing those wonderful watercolor “cauliflowers”, and totally lacking in subtlety.  Especially when gouache can do the job of building depth and texture, although gouache needs to be preserved with glass or an acrylic (there is that word!) fixative–and acrylic paint needs only itself for permanence.

Then, amazingly, I came across books and a DVD by a new-to-me British artist:  Soraya French who has painted in most all media, but absolutely LOVES acrylics.  The material struck me as somewhere out there, to begin with.  But after reading, re-reading, viewing, and reviewing, “somewhere out there” closed in on me.  Soraya French has pried open my closed mind.

I recently completed “Love/Hate” and still was not sure which it was:  love or hate.  The piece went through many mutations, layer upon layer, changes of theme and subject matter, as well as variations of color dominance.  But hey, that’s acrylics:  layer upon layer.

While the painting was at its final stage of dampness, I truly thought it was tacky—like something one might win at the county fair for knocking off a row of mechanical ducks.  But suddenly the piece was dry and it took on a whole new life.  I kept staring at it, as it penetrated my psyche.  Hate disappeared, and Love became at least a “Like”.  The painting is now hanging in our dining room.

Love/Hate has a new name.  My original idea was to suggest autumn foliage.  The foliage changed to bare branches for winter, sailboat masts on a stormy sea, finally returning to the tree motif—but with an attitude more like spring than autumn.  So the new title is “An Autumn That Looks Like Spring”.  Fitting, as we have had a gloriously warm/hot September, and today is once again in the high 70s.

For me, trees are like lilies and haystacks to Monet—although repetition is where the comparison ends between Claude and me.  Rather ridiculous to mention the two of us in the same sentence.  But I am as genuinely obsessed with trees, as Monet was smitten with his favorite subjects.

Over the summer and my surgery-recovery-period I did some more trees, with a focus on texture and application of mixed media along with watercolors and gouache:  soft pastels, hard pastels, oil pastels, India ink, Derwent Inktense Sticks, and water soluble crayons (all of artist quality as anything less would prove disappointing).  Here is some of that harvest of trees:

In closing, I urge you to check out Soraya French’s website.  Another inspiring British lady—who has re-opened the doors to individuality, personality, and freedom in art.

Whereas from around the turn of the 19th/20th century right up to a couple of decades ago, freedom of expression in art was “trendy” (almost a given), in recent years there has been a definite swing back to photo-realism:  creating recognizable art such as “The Old Village Bridge”, “Apple Farm”,  “Country Church”, or realistic city scenes.

In our Wisconsin neighborhood, a familiar scene is the church with three spires high on a rural hill.  The site is called, “Holy Hill”.  It has been painted realistically more times than I can imagine, and a rendering of Holy Hill is recognized by anyone who has been around here for any time at all.

Beautiful!  Such art requires great skill, and deserves its place of respect.  But it is not, generally speaking, the art I desire to have much of on my walls.  More and more, I am drawn to mystery, unanswered questions, and the energy of abstraction–or semi-abstraction with a touch of realism, all with a focus on being as beautiful as possible.

In the arts, I see no value in trying to reproduce the ugliness of much of the world.  Art is a precious commodity, a timeless gift in keeping with great music and poetry—bestowed upon us to lift our souls.  Yes, we can and should portray all of life in terms of great sadness and poignancy as well as great joy; but the means of portrayal can be beautiful and the message behind the means, one of hope and anticipation of a better world.

Isn’t that why our Creator God has allowed us to reflect a token of His creativity, by making things with the gifts and resources He has provided for us—that we might in some tiny way attempt to fashion a better world?

Margaret L. Been  —  October 3, 2018

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