The Big Picture

"Monarch Lake Summer"

Oil on Panel

30x24"

2013

I don't spend too much time worrying about what my art is saying. I just try to get out there, find something that inspires me, and attempt to paint what I feel. Nothing complicated, nothing all that profound - just trying to make something beautiful.

And if you were to ask me what my biggest goal for my art is, I would probably think for a few seconds and then tell you that all I want to do is paint some really kick ass paintings someday.

Sure, there are some shows I'd like to be in, places I'd like to paint, items I'd like to add to my resume, but those things are secondary to the big goal, which is just to eventually make some really good art. Take your breathe away good, you know?

But that sounds kind of vague. Like, what constitutes a really good painting vs. a mediocre painting, or just a sort of good painting? I feel like it's one of those things you just know in your gut. It's not technical, it's emotional. But it's also really subjective. So, my big goal turns out to be a bit nebulous.

I was reading a really good book this week - The New American Road Trip Mixtape by Brendan Leonard - and this quote stopped me in my tracks when I read it:

"All my life, I had listened to great songs and read great books and watched great movies, and some of them moved me to the point of tears welling up, chills, the hair on the back of my neck standing up, some sort of physiological reaction to incredible, created beauty. Some song by some band or section of dialogue in a movie, or passage of writing in a book that would resonate with me so deeply that I would think just for a second that maybe it was all about me, about all of us. And all I wanted to do in my life was make one thing, one piece of art, a book, that did that for someone. Maybe for everyone." 

- Brendan Leonard, The New American Road Trip Mixtape

And BAM! There it is. THAT'S what I want to paint someday.

Leave it to someone else to state it so much more eloquently than me.

(If you need something to read, pick up that book, btw - it's an excellent read)

Beauty

"Sun-Kissed"

Oil on Panel

9x12"

2013

I don’t know a lot, but it seems to me that this much is certain - life is messy.

No matter how hard you try, there are things that don’t go your way, things that don’t fit into a tidy box of how a perfect life should look. Some days – some seasons – are hard. And sometimes, life can be so heartbreaking that it’s overwhelming. But through all of this I find my life punctuated by moments of sublime beauty – moments of goodness that make me thankful to be a living, breathing part of this world.

I lost my sister a couple of years ago. She was far too young to die, and the whole thing was unexpected and awful, and I miss her. Since then, I've found myself more purposefully seeking out those moments of beauty. In darkness, I suddenly felt more gratitude for those infrequent glimpses of perfection that seem to make the messiness of life so worth it. I found solace in music, in art, in climbing the hills around my home, in the easy smiles of my kids. And as I immersed myself in those things, it seemed that things got better, bit by bit. I stumbled along, gathering up these happy moments like beads on a string, until I had created something that had started to resemble a normal life again.

It might be a piece of music that brings tears to my eyes, a masterful painting that gives me goosebumps, or a sunset that stops me in my tracks and makes me still. It might be nothing more than a good laugh with friends or my children’s warm hands in mine, trusting. It might just be the way raindrops ripple across the surface of a mountain lake on a summer evening.

I drink these moments up, greedy.

I wish I could capture these things in paint. Someday, I want to transcend the mundane details of sales and technique, and translate that gut feeling though pigment and color. I might be working on that for the rest of my life, but that challenge is what makes me love what I do.

Why Do YOU Paint?

"Monarch Lake Morning"
Oil on Panel
12x16"
2008

Sorry for my downer of a post the other day y'all. I was obviously a little bit overwhelmed! We're all still sniffling and coughing here in the Peterson household, but it's snowing out today (I KNOW, it's June!), so Aspen and I have been having a nice day snuggling on the couch. There's just nothing better than a good excuse to be lazy sometimes...

Anyhow, I've been filling out a survey for the mentorship program I'm doing, and one of the questions that I keep passing over is:

"Why do you paint? (Think about the answer, do not take the first thing that comes to your mind. Keep asking "Why" to your answer, until you get to the root reason)."

When I read this question, a bunch of things come to mind immediately. It's my job. It pays the bills. I want to communicate what I see in the landscape to others. I love the challenge. I find satisfaction in the feeling of a job well done. I like the process of creating. I love that art is an ever-evolving pursuit. I love the "idea" of being an artist. I love to simplify what I see into something that works as a painting. I love to paint.

If I keep going deeper and asking why to all of these answers, I get down to the bare bones fact that I just love the process of putting brush to canvas, or pencil to paper, and I always have. When I was tiny, I loved to color. In school, art class was my favorite hour of the day. Even when I got busy with college and a grown-up career, I always kept up with drawing and painting to an extent, because I just loved the process of creating a two dimensional image.

I've tried a lot of different hobbies - running, hiking, swimming, singing, piano, dancing, triathlons, acting, scrapbooking... Nothing gives me anywhere near the feeling of satisfaction that I get from the process of painting. Painting is fullfilling to me emotionally AND physically - I think this is why I enjoy it so much more than anything else I've tried. I know this sounds sort of touchy-feely-new-agey and all, but my soul just feels right when I'm painting. When I paint, I get into a flow where I'm not thinking about much of anything other than the painting in front of me. It allows me to stop thinking about life and about me for a period of time, and just focus on doing. And that seems to be something I need to be right with myself.

So, I don't know that I have a one-sentence answer to the question "Why do you paint?", but this is as close as I've gotten.

I'd love to hear the opinions of other artists on this subject. Why do YOU paint?

Why I Love My Job

"Crater Lake Cliffs"
Oil on Panel
12x16"
2008

This painting was SO MUCH FUN to do!!

I've been putting off painting these cliffs for the past three years, thinking I wasn't good enough to do them justice. I finally got to the point where I just couldn't resist, and tackled them on a relatively small scale. And I'm so glad I did, because they were so much fun to paint! Everything came together, and this painting actually looked like I wanted it to look.

The funny thing is, as much as I love this painting, I haven't had an enthusiastic response from anyone else who has seen it. So, like I said in my post yesterday, you can never tell which painting will elicit the most response from people.

The cool thing is that it doesn't matter. I always love to paint, but it's the paintings like these, which are challenging and fun, that always keep me coming back for more. I talk a lot about goals and business on this blog, but only because keeping track of those things makes it possible for me to keep on painting as my job. And seriously, I don't think there could be a better job to have!

Art as Something Deeper

"Morning, Monarch Lake"
Oil on Panel
9x12"
2007

I think that sometimes I get a little bit too cerebral about whether or not I’m doing what I’m supposed be doing with my life, or whether I’m doing enough or having enough purpose. I picked up a book last weekend that made me look at things a bit differently, and gave me a sense of peace that I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing right now, just by being who I am. It helped connect the dots between my passion for art and nature with my faith, and I thought I’d share it for anyone who might find it useful. The book is called "Wide Open Spaces", and in it, Author Jim Palmer says the following:

“I met a woman who enjoys photography. She said to me, “I meet God at the end of my lens.” She uses the lens of her camera as a reminder to become “more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him.” Her love for God is expressed as her love for photography. I hope you feel the freedom in that. God’s purpose is not fulfilled by doing a lot of religious things you may or may not want to do. The things you love doing, what you are most passionate about, are the most significant avenues through which God wants you to know him. You have a love for these things because God placed it within you. David wrote in Psalm 37:4, “Delight yourself in the Lord for he will give you the desires of your heart.” In other words, as you experience the joy and satisfaction of knowing God, follow your desires because God will be in them.”

I love it when he says, “I hope you feel the freedom in that,” because I do. I’ve always been able to feel the presence of God in nature, and it’s a strong component of my faith that extends into the subject matter that I paint. I love that I’m being reminded here that my art isn’t just about making pretty pictures, but that it’s a bigger part of who I am.

How do your beliefs shape your art?

Out to Prove Something

I wonder sometimes how many artists are occasionally motivated by the desire to prove other people wrong in their notions about what a career in the arts is all about.

I know I am, but sometimes I think that’s because I’m constantly surrounded by people who don’t take art very seriously.

I work full time as an engineer, and engineers (and perhaps accountants) should be placed at the very top of the list of people who think that art is not a practical career choice. The people I work with think it’s just plain odd that I paint – they don’t really know what to make of it. Apparently it’s unheard of for someone to be an engineer and into anything remotely artsy.

Because I went to an engineering school for college, most of my friends are also engineer types. When I tell people I plan to eventually drop engineering and paint full time, I get replies that fall into one of two categories. The first includes jokes ranging from, “Glad your husband has a good job,” to the oh-so-polite, “Well, there’s a reason they call them starving artists.” The second is the more positive response category, which includes any response that implies that a person approves of the idea of quitting what you tolerate to do what you love.

More and more, I find myself judging my friends by which of these categories their responses fall into. I’m very defensive – if someone who I consider a friend makes a snide comment about the money-making potential of art, I seem to unconsciously check them off of my list of allies.

Apparently this art stuff is really important to me. After all, you could make degrading comments about engineering all day and I would laugh along with you. I have no such lenience about art!

I’ve met plenty of artists who make a decent living and are able to support their families with their art. It’s damn hard work, and it takes some sacrifice, but it’s possible. And everytime somebody makes me feel like it’s not, it’s just more fuel for me to prove to them that it is.

It might take me a while to get there, but I’m working on it. I’m always up for a good challenge!

Wide Open Spaces

After college, Nate and I moved to Houston and bought our first house in what was most definitely suburbia. I used to go jogging on the streets of my neighborhood, and think of how I would be so much more hip if I lived downtown. I wanted to sell our big house with a pool and buy a cool townhome in Memorial Park or the Heights, and spend my weekends jogging around the Rice University Campus and hanging with friends at trendy restaurants and bars.

I thought that this would make me happy. I thought this was the type of life you should have when you’re only 22.

I wasn’t very honest with myself.

Seriously, what a joke. The person that I really am used to mourn every night that I couldn’t see the stars in Houston because of the humidity and pollution. I used to run at sunset on a deserted country road on the outskirts of our neighborhood, because it was the closest I could get to some open space and peace. I didn’t feel like myself for two years because I couldn’t sleep with the windows open and wake up to the smell of cut grass and rain. Sometimes I would jump in the car and drive and hour out of town just to remind myself that the world wasn’t all strip malls and highways.

I only lasted two years in Houston, and then I moved back home to Colorado. It wasn’t because I had a boring house in the ‘burbs and a job I didn’t like – it was because so much of who I am is wrapped up in wildness and the great outdoors.

I’m just not a city girl. I’m old enough now to be honest with myself about that.

I think I could live downtown for about week, after which time I would start craving the wide open spaces and red dirt trails that are home to me.

Being outdoors reminds me that there’s a whole world out there. Outside of the little sphere of my own life, the seasons continue to change and the stars continue to shine. The world goes on outside of my own drama.

When I step out the door and go for a hike, a trail run, a bike ride, or a backpacking trip, it’s because I have to. Sometimes I just need to be grounded. I need to be brought back down to reality. I need to be reminded that there’s lot of beauty in the world that we take for granted, and that none if it has anything to do with me.

And that’s why I paint. Because I want other people to see what I see, when they otherwise might not notice.

It’s as simple as that.

Creativity

I’ve been thinking about creativity a lot lately.

I think I buy into a misconception that engineering is a left-brained activity –devoid of creativity, the opposite of the arts. The reality is that my job demands creative thinking 40 hours a week. I’ve never designed a system that was just like the one I designed before, and it always seems to take the combined efforts of a room full of people to come up with a suitable solution for every problem. It’s tough for me to go to work all day, then go home and still have the energy to paint. I use up my creative energy solving problems at work, and come home with little left to apply to my art.

People who aren’t familiar with art think it must be a relaxing activity - a release, if you will. But it isn’t. Not for me anyways.

For me, painting is anything but relaxing. Painting can be exhausting. It’s one of the most difficult things I’ve ever tried to master. I’ve been oil painting for 5 years now and am just now starting to turn out work that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to hang in a gallery. And when I look at my best paintings now, I know with 100% certainty that I still have a long way to go.

I used to struggle with the reality that I didn’t have the skill to do what I wanted to do with my art. I think that society conditions us to believe that artistic talent is something bestowed on us by God, and that the greats were born with the ability to create masterpieces. When we fall short of perfection, it’s easy to believe that we just weren’t born with enough talent. It makes for an easy excuse – a reason to give up.

I’m starting to understand that this is a big lie. I’ve met a lot of successful artists over the past two years, and none of them got where they are without a lot of hard work. That might sound like common sense, but in the art world I don’t think it is common sense. People believe that creativity comes in great flashes of light, and only to an inspired few.

I believe that you might start with a bit of talent, but that it isn’t going to get you anywhere if you don’t know how to channel it.

When I was at the bookstore the other day, I picked up Twyla Tharp’s book, “The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life.” The title is kind of gimmicky and self-help oriented, but it looked interesting and I thought I’d give it a read. I’m glad I did – I got a lot out of it.

It’s not so much a guide to being creative as it is a thesis on the creative process and a view into the work habits that have turned Tharp into a successful choreographer. It talks a lot about what one needs to do to foster the right environment to support the creative process, and it’s not full of touchy-feely suggestions like you might expect. It all boils down to discipline and hard work. Again - common sense, but a refreshing reminder that art is not about staring at a blank canvas waiting for inspiration. It’s about deciding what you want, and having the discipline and preparation to get you there. I’d recommend this book to anyone who is remotely into the arts – whether it be music, writing, dance, or visual arts, I think the concepts in it are applicable, and it’ll get you thinking about what being creative means.