Getting my most recently-completed painting, Promises, custom framed. The challenge of finding the perfect frame to add gravitas to my monkey portrait was very satisfying.
I’m very, very busy.
As I reach the cutoff point by which any paintings I produce will not be ready in time to show, I am also fully enmeshed in the “action needed now!” phase of booth planning. In the center of where those two meet and overlap is labeled AT FULL CAPACITY (especially when you consider all the domestic responsibilities that come with end of school year for my three young boys). I have so much to do that I reach the end of the day without knowledge of how I came to be there.
It’s an exciting ride, but the adrenaline is starting to fade. I look forward to looking backwards.
I had my first solo show in Portland in 2012. It took me a year to prepare for it, and 4 years to be ready to show again.
I think many artists live to show their work, but I am not one of them. For me, it’s an exercise into being excised, showing too much, shrinking from exposure. Which is really too bad, because I do think my dolls have to be seen and handled to be truly experienced; and oil paintings get flattened by photography when in life they change based on the light and one’s perspective, shifting to reflect your view.
Death frog, shown at Gallery 114
The support and encouragement gleaned from showing one’s work is invaluable. I always get such positive interaction and affirmation for my artist’s voice. It’s just me: I’m introverted, and I’m weird, and I’m shy. Sharing my work daily through social media has helped me to stretch, I think. I hope that showing in public won’t be such a trek through the Himalayas for me this time.
I have exactly two months to work it out. Ironically, I do find myself consumed with the notion of showing again. But I am proud of my work, and sit certain I will likewise make myself proud with the showing.
Work in progress: dahlias and hummingbird oil painting
The good part about having a huge, looming show objective is that you’re given carte blanche to create your work. There is absolutely no bad part (except that there is still, strangely, never enough time).
Portrait: rabbit in scarlet frock
More than ever, my head is filed with dreams and dolls. I scramble to get them realized before they dissipate. They also begin to compete with all the show logistics I’m struggling to understand: the commerce, the merchandising. The being in public.
I’m really hopeful to have a lot of new work to display come the end of June. I am juggling 3 dolls and 4 paintings at the moment, with thoughts and plans for much, much more. I paint and sculpt and sew and sand and seal in between everything else, then try to fit in a little bit more. I’m not going to lie: it’s heaven.
Three of my dolls, standing sentinel in the doll cabinet
On March 21, I found out that I’ve been invited to show my paintings and dolls in this 2016 Lake Oswego Festival of the Arts (I wrote about being in front of the jury in this post). I then promptly spent the next ten days or so completely overwhelmed and unable to form much cohesive thought.
Then I got back to work.
I’m very excited. Very honored at the inclusion. And very intimated at the prospect of standing with my work in front of an art-loving crowd. As someone who is most comfortable surrounded by dolls, covered in paint, and in the rowdy presence of dogs (in other words, within the walls of my art studio), this will be well outside of my comfort zone. But before I could deliberate, I signed the artist contract and sent it in. I’m committed.
In addition to creating new work, I am now deliberating things like branding and interior walls and merchandising. It’s a lot to consider, but luckily I have almost three months to get it together.
It’s Easter morning as I type this, and I have a busy day of domestic duties ahead. So in lieu of extrapolating some personal data into a post, I offer instead: a visual celebration of rabbits and bunnies.
UNTIL | 2015 | pen and ink art card, 3.5″ x 2.5″
NERVES | 2015 | Oil on canvas
Devil Bunny | 2016 | commissioned doll
SINEATER | 2016 | oil on canvas, 10.5″ x 8.5″
BRIARS | 2015 | 4″ x 4″, pen and ink on paper art tile
2013 | Gallery 114 | Portland, OR
JACKALOPE
MAGICIAN RABBIT
LONG-EARED HARE
RISE | 2013 | 20″ x 24″, oil on canvas
REX RABBIT | 2015
WAS | 2015 | pen and ink art card, 2.5″ x 3.5″
BLOOM | 2015 | pen and ink on paper, 4″ x 4″
WANT | 2000 | oil on canvas, 28″ x 14″
HARBOR | 2016 | oil paint and sculpted flowers on wooden tray, 7″ x 10″ x 3″
And the ironic thing is that I asked to be so. I have entered my dolls and oil paintings for consideration of entry into a prestigious local art festival. My application and portfolio is currently under jury review.
Applying for entry to this fine art festival has long been a goal of mine. My family is regularly in attendance, and I’ve always admired the outstanding art on display (and the artists brave enough to ambassador their work). And I would wonder, “Could I ever…?”
I am not a social person. I vastly prefer the sanctity of my insulated art studio to the chaotic world outside my window. And I have a hard time discussing my artwork: because I feel like I communicate honestly and sincerely through my work, it’s a difficult process to translate that in person; it oftentimes leaves me feeling bruised and vulnerable.
Plus I have a great fear of rejection. Perhaps the jury will think my work is not the right fit. Or, if I do get in, maybe no one will like my work. Maybe if I attempt to discuss my inspiration, a hole will open up in the ground and I will gratefully and graciously fall through it into realms unknown.
It is out of my hands
I mean, who knows. Anything can happen, and it can hurt (or not). But I took the important, brave, first step of putting it out there. I am willing to be scrutinized. I will stand with my art. I can face rejection. I dare to expose my neck.
I told myself I wouldn’t enter until I could accept a “no” without derailment. I’m proud that I was ready. And so I wait. But I hope it’s a “yes.”
