Day Two

Finishing up the second day of a three day workshop, I’m feeling like we really made some headway.

“I learned a lot,” one of my students said as she was walking out the door.

“Me, too,” I replied. She smiled broadly and laughed a little.

With teaching there can be a period of hours, sometimes days, when you are paddling the boat but can’t see the shore on the other side. You know its there, but you don’t seem to be getting any closer. And then, suddenly, you feel the tug of water against the paddle, the power of the stroke, the progress you are making as you slice through the current. And then you are there, pulling up onto the sandy beach. Yes, you have arrived!

That moment – the moment you know you are actually getting there – is a great moment, even sweeter than the victory dance when you are high and dry. It is the feeling of seeing the seeds bear fruit, feeling the surge of joy at accomplishing a difficult task.

That’s what I feel tonight. Tomorrow we will return to our canvases with the hard work behind us, and faith that we can tackle what lies ahead. That we have the right tools. That yes, we can do this thing. And we will.

But first, we will relish this sense that we ARE learning, that we can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it is a sweet sight indeed.

Planting Seeds, Harvesting Crops

Erin at her window, enjoying Sunday morning

Yesterday I worked an art festival in Carmel Valley, a place I love to spend time  and hardly ever do. 

How was the festival?  people ask me.  Which usually means, did you sell anything.

And my answer is always the same.  Sometimes you are planting seeds, and sometimes you are harvesting crops.  And sometimes you get to do both.  But if you take the long view, each art event (opening, show, sale, class) is about nurturing relationships with your clients, students, patrons.  It is about deepening your, and their, understanding of the art you do, and the meaning of art, and the value art objects and the art process brings to their life.

Sometimes that translates as a sale.

Sometimes that translates as someone signing up for a workshop, or passing your card on to a friend. 

And sometimes that translates as spending a day connecting, talking, laughing, listening, looking, being together.

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, either way.

Where do you go when you can’t go anywhere?

March 29, 2011 People keep asking, what do you do when the road is closed?  So I made a list of what I did this week: I read books, wrote letters (the kind that require paper, envelopes and stamps), baked cookies, made soup, fashioned fingerless gloves from an old sweater, embroidered a hundred roses, took naps with Miss Kitty . . . For the past few weeks Highway One has been closed, first to the north (even to pedestrians and bicycles) and now to the south as well.  With no way to get in or out, our daily routines have carried on but at a different pace. I notice the lack of electric lights at night, the increase of bird song in the mornings, the slowly dawning quiet. Life without highway traffic, delivery trucks, or 6 am garbage pickup allows other sounds to dominate, the sounds of birds, trees, water, and wind. And a growing awareness of something other than our own intentions. Yesterday I went for a run in Pfeiffer State Park, leaping around mammoth puddles and over streams that weren’t there just a few weeks ago. I haven’t leapt around anything much in years. It reminded me of fourth grade hopscotch, of tag and kick-the-can and hide and seek.  A time when we didn’t exercise, we played. And instead of the internal dialogue that seems never to quite go away, I listened to the roaring of the river, the rush of wind in the trees, the slurry of wet leaves tumbling down sodden hills. This is our symphony, our ballet, our opera, I thought.  Nature’s gifts that we are so busy protecting ourselves from or working around that we often miss them entirely. Dodging gusts of rain and following the scurrying of my wayward thoughts, thoughts like stones skipping across a pond appearing and reappearing, I thought about the road closure, how it affects us, and why we are always so surprised.  Living in Big Sur along 80 miles of jagged coast, we are used to mud slides, power outages, and the road closures that winter often brings.  But this time around the road slid out during a perfectly sunny day. The torrents of rain and 45 mph winds came later, wreaking havoc on Big Sur’s south coast, most notably at Lime Kiln and Alder Creek, closing the road for days at a time, trapping locals and visitors alike.  After all, unless you have a helicopter or want to strap on your hiking boots and knee waders and hike through the back country, Highway One is our only way in or out of Big Sur.  For me, this was a time I’d already anticipated being at home, relishing a hiatus from the incessant traveling of last year.  I had already planned to paint, to write, and to prepare for upcoming workshops (see below). Yet even though Nature was simply enforcing what I had already intended for myself, I was and am deeply affected, and reminded of how entwined our lives are with others, and with a primal force beyond ourselves. In many ways, this road is our life line, a major artery bringing commerce and connecting community, allowing a stream of new life and new energy.  While only 1500 or so actually call Big Sur home, three million travelers pass through Big Sur on Highway one each year, a tidal movement that cycles from trickle to flood and back again. Even the annual road closures – from a day to a week to months – are part of our normal. It is a common experience here to meet your neighbors for the first time during a road closure, to find that some feel trapped on the inside while others feel trapped on the outside.  Some of us revel in the solitude, others don’t.  This morning Tom and I walked 5 miles south along Highway One, and along with the rest of the daily list the topic of the road closure came up again and again.  Even though this is something we have planned for and even anticipated since the devestating fires of 2008, we all react to it as though it were an anomaly, an aberration, even a disaster.  It reminds me that our way of life here is incredibly fragile, and that each moment is precious. As much as we create routine, we have to be able to abandon it at a moment’s notice, willingly or otherwise. In other road closures I have sprung into action, organizing and coordinating, rallying and recruiting. This time around, I spent my time painting, reading, visiting with old friends, and sitting with my ailing cat, Miss Kitty, who is in her final days.  The time with her has been my silver lining. And I am reminded, once again, that all our plans are only suggestions. Erin For daily updates,  (Note:  Since I wrote this, pedestrian traffic has opened at Rocky Creek Bridge at 7am and 4pm daily.  Yippee!)   Wild Sur 40″x30″    Workshop Schedule 2011 Monterey, California, Sunday, April 17 Esalen, Big Sur, California, April 29-May 1 Mo’s Art Supply, Covington, Louisiana, May 4-5 Big Sur, California, May 25, 26, 27 On Halloween night, local photographer Rachael Short was paralyzed in a freak accident.  April 10 Rachael’s friends and family are throwing a benefit to help defray Rachael’s medical and physical therapy expenses.  100% of the auction price of this painting will go to support Rachael’s recovery.  Please go to bethelight.com and see how you can help!   Wild Sur, 40″x30″, oil on canvas     Passion of Painting - When we are struck by the awesome, the beautiful, or the extraordinary, we are compelled to express our feelings through making a mark, even something as random as a stroke of red crayon on white paper… Join me for a day (in Monterey) or treat yourself to a weekend at Esalen (in Big Sur.) Either way, you are in for unforgettable experience. Monterey Sunday April 17th Click here to reserve your space. Esalen, Big Sur April 29-May 1, 2011  Click Esalen to reserve your space.   Stolen Roses    Passion of Painting – Mo’s Art Supply, Covington Louisiana, May 4 & 5, 2011 I’m so happy to be coming back to Covington!  Using the still life, we’ll get into the creative zone right off the bat with mixed media exercises designed to have you immersed in color and composition in no time. Using the vivid colors and shapes of fruits and flowers as a jumping off point, this workshop gives the novice and accomplished painter alike the tools and techniques for approaching any subject – landscape, still life, figurative, even pure abstraction. You’ll learn to render more than what you “see” – not just what is before their eyes, but also what brought you to your subject in the first place. Go to Mo’s Art Supply and click calendar for more information.  Hope to see ya’ll there!    Oak Tree at Nepenthe      Painting Plein Air in Big Sur  May 25, 26, 27 2011 Winter rains have drenched the hills in emerald greens, and the purple lupine and golden California Poppy have never been more plentiful.  With daily indoor studio time, catered lunch, and a variety of spectacular out door locations with me at your side, this three day immersion in the plein air experience will introduce you to the essential skills for successful out door painting.    Click here for information and to register.

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Waking up in Roanoke

Week Four, Day Three:

Arrived last night the slow way – a gorgeous drive along the Blue Ridge Mountain Parkway, trees rampant with autumn color three thousand feet below us.  Yesterday was a day in the middle of a pause in our trip between teaching, showing, interviewing.   Now we were absorbing, seeing, relishing, breathing in deeply – replenishing the well.

We arrived in Roanoke, Virginia, at dusk, surprised to discover yet another thriving downtown scene replete with art and craft galleries, upscale restaurants, sidewalk markets, chic boutiques, a prosperous city that seemed to be in the midst of major downtown renewal.  

We took the pedestrian bridge over to the majestic Hotel Roanoke, passing walkers and bicyclists going in the opposite direction.

Wandering through the lobby of the impressive Hotel Roanoke we imagined ourselves guests, perhaps the California contingent of the just arriving RenewAmerica convention “dedicated to bringing a Christian education to every American child. ”

We ended our evening drinking beers, eating pulled pork and fried okra, and talking economic revival with the bartender, comparing notes on the various city centers we’ve seen on our journey, and heading back to our cheap hotel before the evening Karaoke began.

Asheville, North Carolina

Saturday, November  6, 2010

Week Three, Day 7

First stop, the River Arts District.  With signage on the sides of buildings, on sandwich boards on every sidewalk, its distinctive wheel and spokes symbol plastered on every conceivable surface, this uber-successful arts community is hard to miss.  One artist has even painted every inch of his Chevy Express van in his distinctive flamboyant palette.

Riverside Arts District feels like a reclaimed industrial wasteland, transformed by artists and artisans into a community, a marketplace, a paradise for creative souls seeking cheap space to live, work, and show.

Greg Vineyard, an artist, potter, and marketing expert who works out of one of the Riverside arts complexes, took some time to share with us his own story and the story of the revival of Asheville’s extraordinary arts economy.

Taking his work to an L.A. gallery many years ago, he was rejected by the gallerist out of hand.  “I was crushed – for all of a day,”  Greg told us. “Then I decided to launch my own regular art salons out of whatever space and budget I had,” …  from a tiny studio in Glendale, CA., with his wheel wedged into a closet-sized space off the kitchen, to more ample digs he could afford later on.

From being rejected  to creating his own solutions for showing and sharing his work to becoming an expert in the field of creative arts branding, Greg’s story suggests a kind of parallel to Asheville’s own history.  A key element in creating change is believing in the value of your vision and investing in it.  Having done that, and found success, Greg (and Asheville) serve as a beacon to others who are seeking to transform their own art/work and communities.

How did Asheville do it? Tom asked.

“It all began very organically,”  Greg told us right off the bat.  “Most of these buildings were bought up  by artists.  The artists then rented out  spaces to other like minded people, artists, craftspeople, or services they wanted – like cafes and brewpubs.” 

With ample parking, each space close enough to walk to, several different trolleys that deliver tourists to the area, and artists working in studios adjacent to their gallery spaces, the district is incredibly user friendly.  Over  100 local artists have joined forces to publish a comprehensive directory, organize a twice-annual Gallery Stroll, and work together on other marketing efforts. 

Sunday morning, Tom and I walked through downtown Asheville.  A very polite gay rights rally was in full swing (Tom noted that it was the first civil demonstration he’d ever seen that refused to jay walk.)  Though the downtown is prosperous and colorful, offering coffee houses and upscale restaurants of an astonishing variety of cuisines, and arts and crafts boutiques and bookstores on virtually every corner,  we soon found our way back to the Riverside Arts District. 

Smack dab in the middle of the district is the terrific Wedge Brew Pub. A pint of Abby ale, a shared sampler of their other brews, and a bucket of peanuts enjoyed in their outdoor courtyard under a blazing November sun made for one of the most memorable “meals”  we’ve had on this trip.  

Later in the day we dropped in on a weaver dressing her loom, interviewed Greg Vineyard for our You-Tube Championing the Arts series, and said goodbye to a wonderful city we hope to return to soon.

6 October, 2010 04:51

October. The change is in the air. Mountains steeped in sun gleam gold against a darkening sky. A little rain yesterday, a little wind. The sudden and prolonged heat of late September quickly turns to memory, a reminder that all things bitter and sweet are bound to pass.

For the next two weeks we are preparing for our cross-country Championing the
Arts Tour. In the midst of travel logistics I try to make space for painting and
find it hard to grasp the heart of the matter. Spinning, circling, dancing with
the paint and the brush, finding myself frustrated, hanging in there, giving up,
trying again. Sometimes the harder you pull on a knot the tougher the knot gets. My strategy is to work sidewise, keeping multiple canvases going so that no one
becomes too precious that I can’t change it. So out come old canvases to try new ideas on, each one a place in which to practice risk.

Being prepared to take a risk is a big part of doing something creative. Painting a blank canvas red is one way. No drawing skills required. No expectation: no stress. It doesn’t have to be red, by the way. Choose your color. It will serve, later, as the underpainting of your “real” painting. Setting yourself an assignment is another way. I will paint 100 roses, for example. Or lemons with their shadows. One day this spring I painted 100 little seascapes for The Surfrider Foundation and found my groove at #36. Settling in to do the assignment is a way of tricking yourself into working on getting to work without actually realizing you are now, actually, working. Rituals help.
I light a candle as a way of stating that now I am working on this (painting)and not that (you name it.) Carving out this period of time doesn’t always mean I put paint on the canvas, or that if I do it adds up to much of anything, but it does mean that I have set aside the time and don’t allow myself the other usual distractions. Sometimes it is only at the end of this self-appointed time that the idea begins to gel.

My uncle Kaffe says “art makes sense of our lives.” Showing up is important. Creative practices – writing, painting, singing, cooking – are the ways we connect the inner and the outer lives. In that personal connection we make connections beyond ourselves, bridging the gaps between our selves and others. Creating community. That matters!

xoxo Erin

Coming Home, Big Sur c)2010 Tom Birmingham

Carmel Art and Film Festival – Devendorf Park, Sat & Sun. October 9 & 10, 10am to 6pm

Looking for a creative conversation this weekend? Join us in downtown Carmel this weekend for a stimulating experience of art, film, photography, music, and more. I’ll be joining other artists in Devendorf Park while Tom has a beautiful piece in the festival’s juried photography show at Sunset Center. For more information go to Carmel Art and Film Festival.

October.

searching

I’ve been away and now I’m home, searching.
Searching for my subject. Searching for my method. Searching for my technique. I sit and stand and walk around.
I paint and unpaint, wiping off, scratching off, painting back on. Canvases pile up against other canvases, lemon yellow and ochre against pastel pink and sky blue, patches of color like patches on a quilt, but without pattern, order, rhyme, reason.
I am searching, and frustrated.
Out in my garden the Cecil Bruner is shooting out new canes, new growth due, no doubt, to more sun now the bay tree is gone. I see that I will have to tack
down this long thorny cane to the fence to give it some support. But today it is just growing, pushing out, reaching up.
Today I am pushing out, reaching up. I have a structure for working but haven’t found a structure for the work – - – not figurative, not landscape, not lemons rolling across a lacy cloth in morning light.
Just color, texture, drips, splatters, dissolves, thin over thick over thin, wandering, meandering.

I paint randomly, colors into colors into colors, allowing mud between pure chroma.
Then I get an idea and move up to a 4′x5′ canvas, all yellow – ochers, cadmiums, sheer, emergent, the suggestion off a horizon.
But within minutes I am bored, wanting more color, balancing impulse with restraint.
Pausing, I wash my brushes and am fascinated by the colors as they blend with
water and soap. I love these colors, all pastel version of the pure color notes I’ve been working with.
Back to the painting, now bringing in soft pink, sharp viridian moving into sky blue. The yellows dominate, but have given some ground.
I look back and see the cadmium yellow has dripped over the strokes of lavender, pink, transparent orange, but a horizon of viridian green has emerged. We are late for dinner, it is time to drop my paint apron and pull on a proper shirt, run to the car, rehearse my apologies.
But I see something emerging, there, behind me, the canvas at rest on the piano, waiting.
And out of frustration, I feel anticipation. Delight. Wonder. Where will it go tomorrow?

bay tree coming down today

The bay tree in the garden is coming down, roots grown too large for the space it was in. The air is sharp with the scent of bay. Fog pours through the wisteria vine, a moving curtain of white. Today, no canyon, hawk, redwood forest. Only bouganvillea branch, turning leaf, and fragrant air.

Fog is in

Fog is in. Roads are quiet. Grape vines so heavy they are dropping fruit. Tall pink anemones and tiger lilies arc over the garden path, heavy with dew.