Except…

We have a slight problem.

Here, at the top…

We have a teeny, tiny problem.

Santa Fe painted panel and Dallas new in process panel are not quite in sync.

Hm.

Logistics can bite you in the butt.

And I noticed too that the painting from Santa Fe has a different quality to it.

Location DOES influence an artist’s work.

But the structure. The idea. The whole is sound.

Pat on the back.

And this can be fixed.

Artist looks again.

Hm.

These need to hold hands.

Each edge is a bridge  and was intended to be seamless.

Sometimes we don’t get seamless.

Sometimes we have to work a bit along the edges,

In the breaks,

in the fractures,

in the change.

Now what we do with that…

Becomes part of the story

Working the edges…

How do I paint my way out of this? How do I make this work with all the rest?

How do I  make these edges flow…

And belong…

How do I get them to hold hands?

Or do I leave some evidence of fracture?

Of disruption?

How rich do I want to make it?

Choices.

Choice,

Depends on intent,

Doesn’t it?

I need to reread my painting notes…

And see how what was intended, fits into now.

Because art is a living breathing thing…

We live it.

It’s not out there somewhere,

It’s here, right here

Working the edges,

Wondering which would be best for the piece…

Seamless…or evidence of fractures…

Well…the fractures…are more real…now,

But were they in the original drawings?

Now there is a very interesting question.

Paintings sometimes take on a life of their own…

Do we listen?

Or bend them to our will?

Yep. That’s my Friday.

Hope yours is going well. I could use some time at the Dragon Room for sure...a pitcher. Definitely a nice chilled pitcher of Naughty Margaritas all round. Save a seat for me will you?

Seeking.

Both seeking.

A sable loaded with sepia…a nose scenting water….

Seeking.

Nuzzling closer and closer.

Leaving footprints.

Leaving brushstrokes.

To mark their quest.

And what of those who come after?

To see hoofprints.

To see color.

Seekers too.

When this piece, the whole of it is finished,

And  hung beautifully on some wall…

by a tender lover of art

in some broad expanse of space..

There will be more seekers coming..

There already are.

The name,

look at the name of this painting…

Deer Tracks Nearby…

You won’t see me paint them,

they are just implied

But they were there.

They told me,

paint this,

bring this into being.

For the seekers,

For myself,

And for the seekers

I don’t know…

What are we after?

Not sure, only guessing…

but I am pushing into the mink, the mystery, the prize…

thinking of footprints of hunger, of thirst…

that needs to be satisfied.

But no. My feet hit the carpet, I set the kettle to boil and pulled out the panel to shoot a pic. Thinking hm…what will it be today…?  The minute I put the piece down and stood back, the ooh and the ahh jumped out at me.

Can you see the windows opening up? the bits of blues  in between and the pop of those in front of things?

Here’s a closer look. It’s just sticks and vines and a bit more water behind them, but it’s a window opening up. This, this right here is fun for me. Big fun, balancing not only the what’s up front, the now you can push this back or the don’t forget to leave a spot for that, but the colors start to interact. And the shapes. And the brown in the blue that is a horizontal stick in the water suggests a shore, hm…and the movement in the front  stands out with estuarine energy.  Another paradox you see. restful, safe, havens…on the edge, in between, that gives birth in every one of it’s layers.

I could stop right here and it would be complete.

No need to paint anything more.

But this is only one window, one drop…

in a very fertile bucket…

There are canopies and panels galore….

So this morning , I am basking in a bit of possible littoral haiku in paint, looking at it for a while…and

Relishing this edge, this pause, this glimpse of core.

The heart of the piece, has to show up this early on.

And it makes me ooh and ahh.

The whole of the piece in the paint you see here, as it stands…and I am smiling…to be on the right path.

So not so bad to be pulled from the warmth of my bed to spend some time with this.

To bask for a minute and look.

Reaffirm.

Yes.

And to ooh and ahh a bit.

And for those who asked… The paint, the paint drives the words…the paint drives everything…For those who asked me that this week…it’s a question that kept recurring all week long online and off…funny…that window?  That was my instinctive response, one without words until I looked at it this morning…not a bad question to be asked:

What’s driving what you do?

Now, around five? That would be the desire to see my friends around a pitcher of Naughty Margaritas, at the Dragon Room would be fantastic,  just to relish their energy and their hearts…You’ll join us right?

Brushing that into its place set in motion a subtle change to come in everything I’ve brushed already. Those warms, those gold ochres and browns, and Davy’s Greys will soon start to shift in your eyes, and come more alive. Any  bit of orange pigment hidden in anyone of them, will start to be more orange, and also try to balance the whole to neutral. And to… believable. It’s a paradox.

And it is physics.

Sounds kind of heartless doesn’t it?

Maybe sounds like a trick.

A manipulation.

Hm.

It is.

In a good way.

Here it is paint.

And it is feeling.

All good art is physics in the service of spirit.

To know color, to really know color, and how it behaves is to have its music, its dance,  its grammar work for you. To  know how you can use it.

Calling it into being, using it in ways it can be used to move, well that is purely the artist’s personal point of view. Why tell a story, or why paint anything, unless we are moved to do so? Unless there is something in the experience and the expression of it, that is compelling us to visit it time and time again? And to want to take you there too? Why bother?

It is the heartbeat we put into it.

It is the call we send out for your response.

It is the why, behind the how, that moves the paint, that’s where the artistry lies.

It’s the passion in the paint.

That calls the physics to come here, be right there at that moment to say this please. It is to set up seeming contradictions that actually work to make a whole.

Like putting the sky in the puddle. Not where you will expect it to be.

It serves what this is to become.

The idea.

The intent.

Behind the piece.

So this little bit of blue, the first of more to come, is in a puddle that contains a sky…..but it’s also part of something more…it’s there to shift your eyes a bit so your heart can sing or dance  or read its verse.

And be with me…

Let you believe in the place I am taking you.

And here, the sky is in the puddle.

Now why would I do that?

It needs to be rich and changing, shifting with tides and time….and yes…surges… but more because of this:

If you even say muddy waters in this part  of the country no one thinks of dirt.

It’s a sound.

Capital M. Capitol W.

Not one note.

Not one tune.

But a legendary, incredibly sweet,  American sound.

Rich and fertile.

Like this estuary ground I am painting.

So no.

Not one brown will do.

I want this ground to move you.

Yep.

I don’t have a slide guitar.

But I do have a brush…

and I know a thing or two about color…

So we want some browns that will slip and slide from cool to warm, from wet to dry-ish, from expected to surprise… from squish to a bit more firm..

Like that.

I have yet to find a way to separate the experience of walking this ground,

From the music of this ground….

And I am thinking…

Why should I?

I will be thinking of you all around fiveish…and hopefully having Naughty Margaritas.

Have a good weekend.

Lots.

Not done with all the background grasses yet.

But they need the same love and attention.

The same freshness as first marks.

How do we do that?

Careful, quiet persistence?

Sure.

A personal grass painting mantra?

Maybe.

Or

You could dance.

When shoulders start to tense. Or my sense of direction gets tedious or drifting…

I move away from the paint for a minute, and put on some music. One of those no way to stand still songs that you can move into effortlessly. Like this one.

Which came to me by pure chance.

I think.

While sitting on a bench at Kinko’s on Oak Street waiting for copies. You know, doing one of those detail things we all do when we work for ourselves?

The guy sharing my space on the bench turned out to be a musician.

Doing his little detail stuff too.

But he kept getting calls about an upcoming gig.

He would apologize, take the call.

Explain, “I have a gig coming up on the Costa del Sol.”

Then he’d sneeze.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

We were both knee deep in our allergies at the time.

My mind was half there, half on the painting I had left drying back at the studio, I needed to get back to it. But it was nice talking to a fellow artist . So I relaxed. Went with it.

Waiting for copies.

I could tell he liked making music.

He found out I liked  making paintings.

Just chat.

This and that.

Back and forth.

Just being. Two artists. A painter and a musician. On a bench in  a copy store.

Time out, taking care of business. Passing some time in conversation.

Then Kevin’s name was called and we took our leave, wished each other well and went on with our separate artist days…

But I asked the guy who was with him, would Kevin have any music out that I could listen to? He seemed like he would make good music and by the way  what kind did he make?

The other  man said, ” He does acoustic blues, do you like that?”

Yes. I do.

Then he said,”Well, Kevin has some out, but he goes by this….”

And he scribbled down a name, not Kevin, and said, “Here,  you might like this one.”

Then my name was called . “Oops, that’s me”

” Cartier?”

“Yes”, I said.

“We’ll keep an eye out for your paintings.”

I smiled. Thinking, nice guys. So…

I went to the music store and bought it.

Yes.

That’s how I found my loosening up song.

On a break, staying loose in my ” hood”,

Taking time to chat with  a fellow artist through tissues and sneezes and phone calls from the Costa Del Sol, talking about paint and travels and playing music..

I got one of my favorite dancing songs.

My shoulders visibly lower about two inches at the first notes on this one …and then I slide…

Yes slide right into it.

Glide.

Turn a bit and smile.

By then the music carries me away into pure painting territory.

Only it’s my body painting movement in space,

The rhythm shaking out all the tense…

Loosening up my bones.

Putting me back in the  zone.

And then…

The paint flows from unrestricted  muscles, from fluid rhythmic thoughts,

transported,

refreshed,

Ready to give those middle marks the same energy and feeling, the first marks got.

And yes, I always remember sitting there on that bench in the copy store…

With Kevin.

Who goes by the name Keb’Mo.

Muses and masters come from all sorts of places.

Just takes being a little open,

Sometimes just being open to a chat,

Sometimes just being.

and sometimes…

From just daring to dance.

How about you? How do you stay loose when you are into  really deep work?

But today. I need to be here. Right here in the cradle of those two trees with a brush full of color in my hand.

So that’s where you will find me,

Up to my elbows, exploring wet paint.

Comparing and contrasting.

And being back at home.

In the paint.

Listening for rustles,

Evidence of life,

Nudging a few ochres into place.

Some tinted with subtle green.

Some whispering a lavender lullaby .

Thinking renewal.

What color exactly is that?

And there are some gentle golds.

Shhh. It needs some quiet pigments here, too…

Gently receding.

Some hints of shadow,

but not too much.

I’ll try some not usual for me colors, some newly born combinations…

Explore a slight shift  to keep it fresh.

Brush those into place.

The birds outside this morning echo  the ones that were there on that November walk. And it  got chilly again here overnight.

That helps.

Cues.

And muses pulling me back into

… that cradle between two trees.

Yes… almost there.

The words recede…

only a few linger…

Just the important ones now…

and then the paint comes in…

intention set…quietly now…

That’s where you will find me today

Across that bridge …

Creating story with a little paint.

I’ll be back out around five. In time for  a Naughty Margarita. Some Patron and some Triple Sec. Yep. See you then?

Have a great weekend.

We want vibrance. We want to breathe life into something that is essentially paint and paper.

We want shimmer.

So same is made slightly different. Curve is opposed by straight line.  Warm is challenged by slightly cooler. And still is made to move. Just a little. This area is background. It needs to breathe, but not overstep its role.

But it needs to be as vibrant as the whole.

The essential parts need to work on their own and within the bigger picture.

And that’s a balancing act.

A consciousness of what the bigger picture is about while working in the small.

They exist in the same space and time and will be fixed, bound there in the finished piece.  But our attention…

Well that has to be kind of linear doesn’t it? One thing at a time.

So how do we do that?

In a painting, you hang everything on good bones, on the structure and intent that gave you enough incentive to paint the piece in the first place. The what and why of it. The thing you most want out of it. That. That’s what you hang it all on.

So that each blade of grass is born from that place. Not tacked on, not rendered in just okay. It’s not just a blade of grass. It’s not just a minor player. It’s an active part of an idea. Each part has to have some bit of that central idea in it. Each part has to know the whole. THAT’s what you’re painting.

The thing is to know what that bigger idea is before you even begin. To own that. Live that. Brush with that in mind. And then those blades of grass breathe it too.

So not just yellow, but golden yellow and cobalt violet added in. Not just grey, but Davies Grey with that same cobalt violet added here and there. Not just golds that go to red, but golds that go to green too. Make the lines. Here fat, here lean. Here long, here never having end. Compare and contrast.

Set up shimmer here too, while working in the small.

Breathe it into life.

Yes.

Do that.

Weave the big into all the small.

It’s Friday. And rainy here. I am going to continue painting blades of grass today ( LOL, Walt Whitman where are you? ), but I have to give a huge  thank you to Jonathan Fields for something he wrote this week on playing a bigger game. And, well, for being Jonathan. Go over there and give yourself a treat.

Almost time for one of those  tall, chilled, Naughty Margaritas. Yes? A Prickly Pear one for me I think. You?

And have a good weekend. Watch out for all this rain.

And last night, for the first time in a very long time, it happened.

The quickening.

Propped sideways against a wall, the painting framework just barely in place, bits of lightest colors scattered to set the stage, I walked by on my way to bed.

There it was, the fluttering.

I stopped.

And looked.

Really looked.

And felt happier than I have felt in so, so long.

You see I can see the whole of it right now. I can see where the shimmers go, where the deep dark loam holds the wet, the sticks, the random, the  grasses all circled round , the oasis that brought my deer there to sip …

And colors…I see colors, side by side that are so much more than what they are alone. This blue in the brown making that coral in the red  glow. That watery lavender bringing out the hungry gold to glow. And softness next to hard. Birth next to death. Vigor next to entrophy. Richness. Wealth in the wild.

My tidepool in a Mississippi puddle. The one I’ve longed to paint for forever.

A fluttering.

For just a moment last night as I got ready to sleep.

I stared for just a bit longer.

Smiled.

Went on to read my book a bit.

Turned out the light.

And smiled again.

Happy.

Finally.

And then I slept.

And  had a not so nice dream.

Not going to let that stop me.

We are going back to that puddle. And make it shimmer, just like it did on that day in November. We’re thirsty, that deer and I. And this one’s ours.

We’ll talk about the rest, later. Maybe when I start to paint the clouds in that water.

For now.

I just want to savor happy.

As THIS  painting comes to life.

What about you? Do you get that tickle of a thrill when you see a project take form? That little bit inside that says yes, this is going to be a bit special?

Gone painting?

The artist smiles.

Yes, maybe that’s what I ‘ll write.

It’s Friday after all. Just hang up the sign and go.

Weave that little web right there. It’s such a nice autumn day…

October, huh? Funny that. It was on a November day that I first spotted deer tracks nearby…yes…so nice to be painting it in the season of its birth on a little pine island near the Pearl River, leaves crushing underfoot, pine needles giving up their scent… following  the boardwalk with a friend to crossover to the first of these private sanctuaries…yes, I’ll reminisce as I work…

I can smile now, in spite of what came after. Remember one of many walks. On private land. Land kept whole by a devoted father.  An engineer. A builder. A man who gave so much, whose family now carries on.  It was a walk at this time of year, clip clop across the boards into the soft needle covered soil. Looking at evidence of wild pigs, the rustles in the grass, birds on the wing. Are there any lizards left this time of year? Tree frogs, are they still out?

I can smile now. Remember. Blue skies up above. Hm…What color is the scent of discovery? I have to put that in the paint.

It was just a walk wasn’t it?

No, it’s never just a walk there.

It’s what will we see next.

I found my handwritten note on the sketch of this panel.  I think this panel’s sketch was the second one I did of my original idea. But that’s another moment, those sketches…just the note for now…it says, “panel mystère” . Hm, “Only two words?”, I thought to myself when I saw them again. Some of the other sketches have lots more. And arrows. Painting plans. Intent. From then.

Ahh, yes, I remember. The web  to weave  right there, the window made by branches…a found echo of the experience….of walking on these paths …not knowing exactly what is coming up…but…thrilling to be walking…

Paint that.

Make sure the mystery goes in.

And now, maybe a hint of all the rest.

Because on these walks, not everything is revealed all at once. It comes in stages and you have to be looking, wanting to see. And seeing, wonder even more. Walk more. Maybe even marvel at how magical it can be. How surprisingly abundant.

Paint that.

Yes…

I’ve gone painting.

That’s where I will be today. And walking, in my mind, on a little Pine Island near the Gulf.

Smiling. Remembering.

Painting that.

And then? Definitely. A huge Naughty Margarita. If I get there first, shall I order us a pitcher?

Have a great weekend.