Manganese Blue Hue

My favourite colour, to paint with right now, is Manganese Blue Hue.

               Mmmmmm, juicy.

I happened upon this colour in a Gamblin starter set, and I suppose it's based on some old, toxic colour that disappeared for awhile. I had the same experience with my beloved Flake White (which used to be full of lead) and now I'm starting to think I am attracted to things which could potentially kill me one day.

The reason I am posting about some colour, is that people seem to comment most on the coloration of my works. 

I've always gravitated towards certain types of work with a juicy type of luminescence. I feel that pastels have a glow. All of my under paintings are done in a pale colour, very thinly, and I like to work up into the darks. I like to do this because I'm interested in the transparency of the layers of oil paint.

Without any technical understanding of colour theory, I began by looking at my favourite colourists and wondering how they worked. One artist who inspired me deeply was Mark Ryden, who isolated himself with white during the Snow Yak Show and used only bits of very pale colour. 

       "Long Yak" Mark Ryden, 2008.

I believe this lead him into his signature tonal style, which has shone through his work since. When I first saw his work, it was still beautiful enough to capture me, and as a preteen I obsessed over a CD cover he'd designed for Jack Off Jill- but I would say the Snow Yak Show was a discipline based exercise that created some of his best work.

For that reason, I am isolating myself (as a colourist). I have been for awhile, and I think it's working. I haven't forced myself into the same paleness as Mark Ryden, but I'm sacrificing things... I only really let myself pick a few colours and white. Right now my paintings are about the red family- a consistent mix of oranges, reds, and pinks that remind me of the sugary Kool-Aid I drank as a kid. Then there's white- and when I get to really important parts, I use Manganese Blue Hue.

    Angels singing, trumpets and stuff!

It's like magic. Wherever I place it, colour comes to life. When I mix it, I notice things I didn't notice before. It's the secret ingredient in an Italian grandmother's recipe (it's more Garlic). I am madly in love with a colour, but I know it's only sheer luck. I know if I use it too much it'll become tasteless like a favourite food- eaten too often.

It will be fleeting, I know my love will disappear one day if I ever leave this family of colours... But for now, it's a fresh new romance.

If my boyfriend reads this, I still love you, but can you be my Manganese Blue Hue?

Sincerely,

C.

The Artist as GOD

Are you an artist? Do you know an artist? Are you trying to think of the politically correct answer? Most people will know a safe answer- maybe DaVinci. How about Monet? 

                 "Can I be one?"

There is something to be said about "what is an artist?" and in my opinion it seems to bring some spiritual significance in that some people might think they're not "talented" enough. Maybe they don't make big waves, turn water into wine, invent things, or paint everything blind with just the stubs of their malformed arms...

But they're still artists, and it's still art. 

An artist is not a title. It is not knighthood, or sainthood, or superpowers. Artists aren't alchemists (although some are) and they don't all start sculpting marble with their chubby infant hands (although some do).

What an artist is, is anyone that makes art. For tax purposes, it's maybe anyone selling their work or working within the field of art. If you just read about art, or think about art (sorry, conceptual artists...) I don't think you're an artist.

I promise you I am just like a plumber. If plumbing was art, I would love to fix toilets. I would unclog, cleanse and drain sinks every day, and relish the sound of a leaky faucet. I would spend each night making complicated solutions for new types of drainage systems and create the perfect flush.

But you would never question whether I am a plumber, so why question whether you're an artist?

S.O.S. Venezuela

I bought two 3' x 3' canvasses knowing only two things. One of them, was that I wanted to paint my friend Rosaura, a fellow artist, and the other was that I wanted to use a certain shade of pink. When I think of Rosa I think of her pink backpack, her favourite colour, and her name "Pink Aura" in English. Yet she is no typical pink kind of girl. Even if she plays tennis and smells like flowers, she has a rare depth that few people I've met can match.

One of these many facets is Rosa's heritage. She is a Canadian citizen who was born in Venezuela. 

"Rosaura" (in progress), oil on canvas 3'x3'

In order to for my photographer (Hailey Logan) to takes the references photos I needed, I began to discuss the politics of Venezuela with Rosa. I saw a glimpse of her true feelings and that far off look told me she wanted to be there, fighting for the human rights her people deserve.

This spurned on my idea for the second painting. I asked a friend we had visiting from Venezuela if I could paint him. Once again, we used this process of discussing what he felt about his home, and through broken English, Manuel began to unfold just like Rosa had. 

I feel like the words of Venezuelan citizens are being silenced but the freedom of expression is here with them in Canada. They have the conviction of soldiers, and I hope my diptych will express it in the way I want it to. 

Thankyou to my soulful models and my talented photographer. S.O.S. Venezuela.

Inspiration

Inspiration is one of those things that I know a lot of artists struggle with. I see it especially frustrating when students are in upper level classes and suddenly face assignments without closed quarters. I know it scared me a bit as well, but I have figured out my personal formula. In that, I believe inspiration is something that never really comes and goes.

Yes, there are those days you will push out a masterpiece followed by a day of slogging through poorly drawn feet.

   "I hate when it comes to the feet."

In progress. 2014, 9' x12' pastel & pencil.

I think every moment, especially those moments where you find something your stuck on, is important to your work. The reason you can't do it is because you haven't learned it yet. To become an expert you must master all things, even feet.

For me, getting into a groove can be simple. I make a space for art. I always set things up the same way, and put on some music (usually the same kind). I burn incense. I draw or build. I look at art online. 

I think for me it's just setting aside this special corner for art in my mind, which isolates it and forces me to think. YES, it's work that I have to finish, but I want it more than anything so I'll do it.

In the scheme of things, each foot drawn is a challenge accepted. Each polished line, each piece completed is like an inch forward in the road to something I need. If you ignore these moments where inspiration is "lost", you won't see the leaps and bounds you're taking. Struggle, fight, be brave, and brace yourself. You will get through this and you will learn something from it.

Why I'm An Artist.

I can't remember when I started making art. It was just always something I did. I did it when I got up in the morning, while I watched TV and ate breakfast, while I sat in the car on my way somewhere, and in the margins of every textbook I ever owned. When my grandma asked me, "Where do you get all your ideas?" I said, "The pictures are already on the paper, I just gotta let them out."

I tried a lot of other things, tried to let myself work "creative" jobs, but nothing cut it. I'd get creative ideas and write them down on the back of my hand between juggling coffee cups, saving them for later. I couldn't wait to get home and slap paint all over the nearest flat surface I could find. I had to face what I always knew but was too scared to admit:

I'm an artist.

This sort of inner dialogue is what fuels my work. The expressiveness of a human being. What goes on in this somewhat flawed but beautiful evolutionary work of art that we walk around in: the blood, the guts, and most importantly - the brain.

"Symbiosis" 12x12 in, oil on canvas.

Money

I am thinking perhaps of participating in my first auction, but struggling to understand how to price my work. I've heard there are a few methods- hours worked + materials, square foot + materials, how much you like the customer...

          "How much should I cost?"

   "Sebastian" oil, 2014, 24 x 36 inches

I have only ever sold smaller paintings, 1x1 foot commissions at $70, and have found nothing but success with the accessibility of my pricing- but in the same vein, being a professional working artist is something my spirit needs to flourish, and for that reason I should probably start thinking about money.

"Consider this face permanently installed until I make some money."

I am wondering if, as an artist, it is wrong to think about money? In this generation of booming connectivity, of simple sites like etsy and eBay to forums tightening the gap between continents and generations, is it so wrong to present yourself as a business when you make "art"?

When for only a pittance, any artist could promote themselves in a never ending digital marketplace? With no consent of gallery curators (with questionable, self-gratifying agendas) nor galleries (who will suck 50% of your blood and still charge you a rental fee) can you make yourself into something... Recognized? Important? Profitable?

    "I hope so, because otherwise no smiling. Ever. Again."

I feel as if something big is coming, and it has to do with all of these ideas. I feel as if maybe my arms are strengthening in ready for a big climb. Hopefully... Up.

More soon,

C.