Excuse Me?

We all know that the more we practice our craft, the more we improve, and that an artist should commit to daily efforts, even if it is not a show-stoppin', earth-shakin', toad-stranglin' major undertaking.

I've come through just such a month. I let the business and busyness of events bring me to a dead stop. I didn't sketch. I didn't paint. Finally, I got into a terror that, if I didn't buckle down and start to work, I would lose what I considered to be a gift from God: my talent.

Although it doesn't take much to divert me, this was TMTW (The Month That Was). I lost two crowns to a chewy bagel and had to get dental work. A young man ran a red light and totaled my car. Because of that event, I was on the phone and meeting people I hadn't intended to meet for the last half of the month.

And today; the last day of a wasted month, I woke up with a healthy cold that made me feel wasted. The cold is vibrant, while the head and chest are in what feels like a final decline.

I decided, "Forget about waiting to feel better; I need to feel better now! Double!!" No waiting for a fresh month. February is too short to paint all I need to paint.

So I sat back down to my waiting portrait commission and started to paint, not as energetically as usual, but with a tired patience that evolved, as I worked, into a quiet joy as the sweet face took shape and I started her little dress. All the time I worked, my cold dissipated itself into quiescence, and I had enough energy left from the creative flow to post on my blog.

I still have the background to design and paint, the legs, and the trim on the dress, but I really do feel better than when I started this morning!

I wondered if other artists let happy or unhappy events get them so tangled up that they think they can't afford the time -- the self-discipline -- to work on their art. Even sick in a hospital bed, if you have a sketchbook, you have the world. When you realize that it really doesn't even take self-discipline, since art is our elation field, where we can dance without legs, and sing at the Met.

Get into it, right now, and see how good it makes you feel! No excuses allowed.

-- Nancy

www.nancyparkfineart.com

What a Dream World!

I sometimes wish so very much that you could see my artwork in person. I’m not much of a photographer. My digital images, though I work to balance color, chiaroscuro, and highlights in the photographic representation of a painting, there’s a certain dullness that creeps in when it appears on my website.

I suppose the solution is that I try to paint twice as well if I’m going to show it digitally. It has become a natural process that has been enhanced by the ability to capture huge images in my camera. Then I take them into Photoshop to try to reproduce the exact things I want while reducing it to 96 dpi for the web.

I find myself interacting between the two media: paint and photography, trying to balance everything perfectly so that it is a true representation of my art. That clear and beautiful red that I’ve finally developed doesn’t seem to come through in digital mode as well as the real thing. I need to work with the lighting for photography for different techniques and color masses as well.

How lucky we are with today’s technology; I have no right to complain! A short two years ago, I didn’t have the programs and equipment I have to work – and play – with today. My complaints are mostly about the technology lag in my brain. We live in a tremendously improved world for artists. To enter a show, I don’t have to lug my paintings across town for the professional slide photographers that specialize in art. Digital is king! Some shows want CDs and some want transmitted images, but either way beats getting slides made when everybody in town is going to the only place in town that can make slides. You always ended up sweating the deadline in that scenario.

Eight years ago, when I worked in the art department of The Oklahoman, I needed to visit the photography department to see if I could borrow some film. They grinned their superior grins, said they were almost totally digital now, but would see if there was any film in the refrigerator. Wow. There was one small roll. When I offered to replace it, they laughed. Not necessary, I was told. They no longer had need of film.

In six short years, I finally caught up with the times. I don’t even know where my old Minolta is. But there's still some black and white film in the refrigerator. It’s for the astronomer in the family!

-- Nancy

www.NancyParkFineArt.com

www.Paintslinger.Blogspot.com