Recently, at my DayJob, we’ve started to get emails about how far children are behind compared to themselves, or others, pre-pandemic. Test scores are being compared, and conclusions drawn.

Meanwhile, I’m left wondering, what about the adults? Those in the lives of these kids, but also the rest of the world *waves about* who went through the pandemic.

I know that I have been forever changed. The pandemic was not kind to therapists and behavioral healthcare in general. Hell, I’d say that everyone in a helping profession was impacted in a way that will stick around. We might be forever changed, only the next gen will not feel this. Or maybe they will in the same way I was impacted by my grandparents living through the tail end of the Great Depression.

Professionally, academically, we call this generational trauma. See also: vicarious trauma.

We pass it down.

​I see this in my art studio. 

The ugly middle stage of an art work is leaving kids frustrated and rushing through a piece instead of their more normal careful plod. Tears are more usual than ever. Fixing becomes frantic, and when it doesn’t work the first time. End game.

Meanwhile, I make a wonky sketch of a car or a truck. It doesn’t really look like that truck- another intimidating mass of blocks and sharp points, mashed together and coated in black, gray or white. I paint it in pink for giggles.

Through this all I wonder how it is that art has saved me from the same frustrations. Sure I work with kids but I see the frustration on instagram, on YT on videos made by new creators and in my comments, and also on posts made to other social media sites- the frustration is under the surface for adults too, we just do a better job masking it. Giving up is right there at our fingertips.

But in my art, I am able to push through, tolerate the mistake and ugly middle. I know that if I think a spot sucks I can scrape it down and build it back up. I know what to do when a painting turns to shit.

scrape it down

build it back up

It’s a metaphor for life.

I chose to sink into the art. The art process. The Making of art. The keeping of a sketchbook and a journal. For now my Every Thing Every Where Journal is in 2 pieces and my sketchbook is on loose postcard shaped paper. Sometimes based on experience is necessary.

Postcard and pocket notebooks. I’ve been here before.

I fear there’s more lurking to this change. There will be more research that will uncover more issues. Still I’ll think, “what about adults? where are we?”

I have written about art and creativity since 2001. Twenty four years is a long time to do anything. You might think that after 24 years of writing about art and creativity that I might find it a tad bit easier. To a point I do, when it is about my own creativity, but not about my own art, or the art and creativity of other people.Unfinished oil pastel painting of sunset over the city of Lynn. I’ve got a whole post about this process.

I have spent the last few weeks refreshing my knowledge and understanding of writing artist statements and project pitches. It’s very different than writing about art and creativity for my blog.

Today I have to rewrite my initial pitch for the art projects I’ve got my groups doing at work.

I had a month to rewrite these.Completed oil pastel painting of the Lynn skyline at sunset. 

The initial pitch will be altered to be the show statement posted in the gallery. I can be altered again later but this version is expected to be show ready.Another oil pastel painting of Lynn at sunset.

This is my least favorite part of my job. You’d think, hey Less writes for fun a LOT, that maybe I would like this or at lease wouldn’t mind it. But no, I hate this part. Most of the writing that I do on my own or for “fun” is minorly edited. It’s cleaned up for the blog, but it’s not endlessly tweaked, or talked about or over, other people don’t edit and add. It’s written, edited (not well*) and then I press publish.

The final version of these statements will have a core of my thoughts and words but will be tweaked to fit the narrative other people want.

In my own work I have control and say, “Done is better than perfect.” as well as “Good enough.”

Anyway, today I have to “lock in” and get this done.

* I have admitted here and other places that I have difficulty catching spelling errors. It’s even worse when I write on my phone. Especially now that I wear glasses.

​The oil pastel images in this post are examples I used in my groups where I showed kids how to paint with oil pastels. These were completed with Rubens and Lightwish oil pastels. Which are ENTIRELY different from Craypas.

I recently uploaded this video:

In it I explore making almost 20 images with different materials of the same scene. Since that video I have returned to a similar exercise. 

I have take quite a few images of the sunset over Lynn as I wait for the train. The late winter and early spring sunsets in New England are full of oranges, pinks, purples, brilliant yellows and dusky blue gray. They are stunning. Watching the sun set for 10 minutes over a city with an industrial past is fascinating.

The brilliance of the sun setting over ever darkening brick buildings and the glow of lights popping on is a mind altering dichotomy. One an unavoidable aspect of the day changing the other humanity’s unending march that alters the world.

Watching that interaction is simply cool. 

I snap a picture and think about the vibes of that moment. The camera never does the feeling justice. It’s a moment and it’s gone. When I return to my studio and set up my panel all I can do is try to evoke that moment and capture that feeling.

Vibes not realism, but the vibes are real. The feeling in that moment so very real. All I can do is try to capture it.

Continue reading →

Rolling* gesso onto a panel.

Taping off watercolor paper.

​Measuring off working area on paper.

Cutting sheets of paper down to size.

All of this is prep work. It sets the stage for what our actual art sits on. Without the prep the work suffers. A solid amount of gesso gives paint, pastels, and other mediums something to stick to. Taping off your watercolor paper gives a nice clean edge that looks good to buyers. Cutting sheets of paper down in advance means that you won’t scramble when it’s time to work.

I used to resent prep work. I thought it cut into my art making time. I skimped on gesso on my panels. I didn’t tear down sheets of paper in advance.

I regret skimping every time it ends up cutting into my art making.

I’ve had times when the lack of layers of gesso meant my surface wasn’t exactly where I wanted it. I’ve torn down paper for prints in the middle of a print session only to get ink on them. I’ve made so many watercolors without taking  off the edge only to struggle to frame it.

Now I not only accept prep as necessary and needed but I try to use the monotony of prep as a mindful moment. I roll out gesso onto panels and take deep breaths and listen to good music. I read while I wait for the first coat of gesso to dry. I then roll on another layer in a perpendicular direction to the first. I don’t sand. I usually do 3 coats. The great thing about rolling on gesso is that it lacks the directionality of brush strokes. I don’t need to sand it. It has a bit of a pebbled texture. But rolled on evenly and smoothly, it almost levels itself. The result is an even coat with plenty of tooth, ready for my paint or pastels.

When it comes to tearing or cutting paper down to size, I try to do a few more sheets than I think I’ll need or want. Better to have more than too few. I plan now for prints that don’t print well.

I write this as I get myself ready to do a mass gesso roll out. I have 12 wooden panels that need to be gesso. I have 24 8x10inch canvas panels that need some gesso love as well as *ahem* 30 more 5×7 inch panels that need gesso.

I have been avoiding the gesso roll out. Also it’s better to do this in a mass. I’ll spread out the panels on paper at work and roll out the gesso over all the panels at once.

These are part of my DIY Artist Residency that I’m crafting for myself this summer. More on this in another post.

*Or brushing, I like to roll mine.

The expensive pen or specialty distraction free writing tablet thingie is not going to make you a writer. Buying Golden brand acrylic paints isn’t going to make you a painter. Buying Blackwing pencils isn’t going to make you a draughts* person.

We have all at one point in time or another spent far too much on an art supply in the hopes that it would, somehow, inexplicably, make us a better artist.

While it’s true that a quality art supplies won’t fight you as you work they also don’t help you do your work. They don’t bring you to the page or get the work onto the page. They just don’t fight you as you work.

What does help is a regular practice. Routine. Regularly getting to the paper and making. It doesn’t have to be every day, just a routine. 

I think an art routine is akin to fiber for your creativity.** Making art on some sort of routine can only be beneficial. Mine is almost daily. I’m in a space in my life where I have a job that is about art, not everyone has that. Back when I worked corporate I regularly made art. For me back then it was several days a week. My day off was packed with more art than any other day. I often took my breaks in my car. I’d sketch in my small art journal or write.***

That was what I was able to do, or so I told myself. I look back and wish I had prioritized my art making more.

That said, when you see an image here, my instagram, or as I make it on youtube I’ve got YEARS of effort and experience behind making it. It looks effortless now, but it took me almost 40 years to get there.

It’s not the materials it’s the years of effort.

I began with kid’s stuff. Then move into student grade. Currently I buy professional grade materials.

There are ranges of quality within these materials. There are also personal preferences, some of these shaped by availability.

I prefer Liquitex paints. Why? They were what was readily available to me in college. Golden wasn’t around. I’ve bought Golden acrylics but my muscle memory and understanding of the paint is for Liquitex.

Anyway, buy what you can afford. Buy quality if you can, or build up to quality over time. A 5 color mixing set of a quality paint or pastel is going to serve you better than the 24 set of student grade.

Unless you won’t use the quality set.

Know yourself and what you will or won’t use. If you won’t use the $50 5 color mixing set, then get the $20 fifty color set and use the hell out of it to BUILD A PRACTICE/ ROUTINE.

*Drawing person and draw-er are wrong.

**I made a joke about regularity, I’m officially old.

***I fell for the early Moleskine marketing hype and I swear Moleskine got me through those early days of working retail. I filled a lot of them in a few years.

Knowing history is a good thing. But knowing you are history is another.

I don’t generally feel old, occasionally the kids I work with with make a joke about how I don’t get something because I’m OLD, but more often than not I feel pretty okay and not old.

But then I dive into research mode on something I realize that I haven’t kept up on that thing and everything about it has changed.

I wrote here (and spoke on youtube) recently about how I wanted to apply for grants and residencies and because of that I needed to figure out how to write an artist statement. I also mentioned using art jargon in that post (and video). I have never been so happy to find out that something I learned is considered passé. 

Using professional simple language is the way!

Thank jeebus.