An Artist in Italy (Part 2)

Pacentro, Italy

I was talking to someone the other day and mentioned I’d just gotten back from visiting Italy, and he then asked me about the crowds. “It’s so touristy!” he said. “I want to go somewhere less crowded”. I get that, but the problem is not that there are too many tourists in Italy. The problem is that all the tourists are looking at the same instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

One awesome thing I tried when planning my itinerary was how to work around the “Instagram affect”. So I googled “Less visited parts of Italy”. I discovered one of the least visited regions (by American tourists) is the region just east of Rome: the region of Abruzzo. So I checked it out. It looked beautiful — Lots of cool hilltop towns and lots and lots of mountains begging to be hiked and explored. So then I googled “most interesting places to see in Abruzzo”. And that sort of planning made for a wonderful time for us. Planning the itinerary this way, we discovered one of my very favorite towns (perched on a mountainside) called Pacentro. It was a friendly place for tourists, but not overrun by tourists at all. I heard no English conversation at all. If there were visitors, they were mostly Italian.

The problem is not that there are too many tourists. The problem is that the tourists are all looking at the same Instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

This town is ancient, with narrow, stone streets winding their way up the mountainside to the castle. In the old part of town (where we stayed), there were no cars allowed on the streets (hard to fit a car on a 6’ wide “street”!) Joy and I loved this place. In the morning, we’d open the windows and hear the jovial conversation of neighbors. When we’d come back in the evening, we’d grab something to cook at the local (very small) grocery store and then go back home and cook dinner. But then — in Italy, after dinner there is a ritual: the passeggiata. This is when the whole town walks around and meets their friends at one of the cafe’s for a coffee or a glass of wine. Joy and I walked across town to the small park overlooking a large valley below, and then slowly made our way back home, passing the main piazza filled with people sitting, chatting, and laughing quietly. Understand, this is not a nightly “party”. They’re not at all being loud. They’re just all seemingly enjoying each other. In Pacentro, I heard no TV on at all. As an American, if I were home at 8:00 PM, I’d be watching Netflix. Instead, these people were sitting around the fountain in the piazza, sitting on doorsteps, sitting in outdoor cafe’s — all just spending time with each other. This seemed really beautiful to me. I’m an introvert, but even I could recognize the beauty in this ritual. I loved Pacentro.

So the first and one of the most important lessons on trip planning was this: find the most beautiful of the less visited areas of wherever you’re traveling to. Planning like that scored big time for Joy and I. The last week of our trip, we threw out all this reasoning and lived to regret it big time. More on that next.

An Artist in Italy (Part 1)

This is one of the photos currently becoming a painting! I took it on an amazing hike we took just east of Pacentro, Italy.

Five years ago, I visited Italy, and ever since, I’ve been trying to figure out how and when we could get back there. Italy is not for everyone, but it’s definitely for me. Upon returning from Italy in 2017, I begin learning Italian. I was serious. I began discretely passing on little news articles to Joy about Italian villages offering homes for 1 euro. Joy has become very good at rolling her eyes.

Despite the realization I would never relocate to a hilltop village in Italy, Joy and I were finally able to visit again in early September of this year. Upon arriving in Rome, we headed directly east to Abruzzo, and then south into Puglia. Oh, Italy did it’s work on me, and I’m so glad. I’ll never really be the same.

If you’re still reading this, you might have realized that this blog post has little to do directly with “art”, but my experience there had a lot to do with creativity and life in general, and that all informs the artwork I do. I feel the need to write down my thoughts. So if you’re reading this, be aware this is going to be more of a journal entry than a typical blog post.

So, here we go:

What I learned from Italy, Part 1

First of all, and probably most importantly, Italy completely confronts my tendency to feel like I’m in control of my life. In Italy, Italy controls your life. From the first moments after picking up our rental car and wondering how the heck to get out of the airport (the signage was not AT ALL clear on this), the American in me threatened to bristle and think “well why don’t they have better signage???” (i.e. “why don’t they do things like Americans?”)

Literally, countless times every day, Joy and I were confronted with the fact that life is just really approached differently in Italy than in the United States and that is exactly why I wanted to visit this place again. I can’t tell you how emotionally healthy it felt to just take a deep breathe, sigh, and say (over and over again like a mantra), “I want to do this or that, but…we’ll see.” You’d have to know me to understand that that just is not me. My kids would probably all agree I have a Type A personality (which is why I need to visit places like Italy). See, in Italy, all my plans had to be held very loosely in order to enjoy the place at all. I had every day pretty much all planned out, but Italy dictated that I hold those plans in an open palm, and to be open to practically anything changing those plans. At that point, I was confronted with a choice: I could either really dig in my heals and fight it and wish I’d gone to Germany or England instead, OR give into it and roll with it, letting Italy shape me like I was a lump of clay on a potters wheel and Italy was the potter. I chose the latter and I’m so glad I did.

Italy was absolutely exhausting and absolutely wonderful. I probably almost died there, and unrelated to that, I took home a souvenir that made me more sick than I ever remember being in my life. But I’m ready to go back. I love that place and have lots of stories and reflections I want to share.

Next time.

"What is it like being an artist these days?"

“Le Canal du Midi”

This week, I was talking to some studio visitors and they wanted to know a bit about my background and how I came up with my technique. I’m used to questions like that, but then they asked about what it’s like being an artist today. And I thought that was a really good question. Pre-COVID (remember those days??) that would have been a relatively easy question to answer. Being an artist is fun! I can (and have) done other jobs. This art thing is not a “job”. This is life. Painting for me is “life-giving”and I absolutely love it. Having a studio in Asheville, North Carolina where I can share my artwork with literally thousands of visitors every year is amazing. What an awesome privilege. How many artists around the country would love the chance to create their art within such an awesome community of artists here in Asheville? Pre-COVID, that would basically have been my answer.

Now, two years into the pandemic and feeling fairly hopeful about all that, my answer honestly is more contemplative and sober. These days, with wars and political discord and cultural polarization, I honestly have gone through weeks feeling really superfluous being an artist. I mean honestly, when the economy is tanking and all the headlines are depressing, it’s really easy to feel like what I do is unimportant and not really “necessary” to anyone but me.

But even during the darkest days of COVID and during this economically “uncertain” time, I make sales. I don’t understand, but I am still making sales and breaking my own records. I am confused and absolutely full of thankfulness. My clients are so, so encouraging and especially during the last couple years, I’ve really received that encouragement with a sense of thankfulness and awe. One 2021 client in Oklahoma said “especially now, I need artwork on my walls that makes me feel what your painting makes me feel. They take me somewhere else. Thank you!”

“I am confused and absolutely full of thankfulness…”

This is so encouraging and really humbling. I am feeling now like I need to take every painting, every creative project really seriously. This work I do isn’t just to create something that looks nice on a wall. What I want to do is to affect people. During times of uncertainty, grief, fear, frustration and anger…if I can, I’d like to create something that brings a sense of peace; something that will inspire imagination and curiosity in the viewer. I want to create something that will “take them away” to a peaceful place if only for a few minutes. If ALL of us did that, this world would be an awesome place to call home.

I can’t change the world for everyone. But if everyone changed the world for one person, that would really be something. I try to do that with the only thing I know how to do well…art. What do you enjoy doing? How could you use that to encourage the life of one person this week? You up for that? If so, I’d love to know any details you’d like to share. I think this planet, these people (broken though we are) are really worth investing in. THAT is why I do art now.

The Story Behind…"Gentle Showers on a Summer Afternoon"

Have you ever hiked in the rain? Well, we can now say that we have. Understand, this was not the original plan, but one thing about doing ANYTHING outside in the mountains of Western North Carolina in July is that those plans always need contingencies for an afternoon thunderstorm.

The morning was gorgeous. North Carolina is known for it’s blue sky, and the locals are really proud of it. “Carolina Blue” they call it. And in the mountains above most of the summer humidity, that blue sky is truly gorgeous. So that Saturday morning a couple summer ago, we packed our backpacks with sub sandwiches, lots of water and Pim’s. I’ve written about Pim’s before. Many thanks to the British for that wonderful, awesome “biscuit”. So good. It’s to the point now that it’s just not a proper hike without the Pim’s.

We headed northeast to a trail we’d not taken before (towards Roan Mountain on the Tennessee border) and began our walk. Wildflowers were EVERYWHERE and the air was perfect — warm but not oppressively hot and a wonderful breeze was coming from the west. By early afternoon, a few clouds began gathering over the high peaks and by the time we stopped for lunch, we were getting a few (just a few) rain drops. And then…

“…we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped…

And then the thunder started, so we spent about an hour hiding under some overhanging rocks by the stream we were following, rating the thunder on a scale of 1-10. We ended up wet and kind of cold (but we still had our Pim’s so all was not lost). After the rain shower was over, we decided to head back to the car as fast as we could because we saw more rain coming in the distance. When we got back to the car though, we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo. And then…I painted it.

I think the moral of the story is that even when something uncomfortable or frightening is happening, I need to look around and see the beauty around me even then. Sometimes it’s exquisite. Sometimes it’s worth painting!

Deep in the Heart

As an artist, I love pleasant surprises. In my book, pleasant surprises are kind of like the salsa on top of your taco. Is it a taco without that salsa? Well, yes — but not nearly as fun to eat (in my opinion). So that as the background, I’ll continue with this story.

This story involves an experience I had a couple years ago while visiting my kids. Three of my four children live next door to each other (literally three houses in a row). I absolutely love that. Grandchildren run around from house to house in our “St.Claire Village”. It’s so awesome for Joy and I to trek out there and work. I pack up the car with all my panels and paint so my business continues. I love that because I love painting, but I also love these little people barging into my studio all the time asking to see what I’m doing. I love when they ask if they can have some paper and crayons so they can draw too. If this is describing a pretty idyllic setting, I would agree. The only down side is that it’s in Texas. Sorry Texas. I love you but when I visit, I’m comparing you to the natural beauty of the North Carolina mountains and well…let’s just be honest. Flat, hot and dry is (in my book) really boring. I hope no Texans ever read this. The way they talk, Texas may as well be the Garden of Eden. Texans crack me up.

So visiting my family in the Dallas area is always a mix of thankful joy (seeing my children and a grandchildren) and sadness (leaving the natural beauty of Asheville). So a couple of years ago, Joy and I were visiting in the late spring and we decided that once we hit the Texas border in Texarkana, we’d leave the highway and just drive the “gray line roads” (those really minor roads on the map that are depicted in gray ink rather than heavier black ink) just the the sake of exploration. Joy is so patient with me! This is what it’s like living with an artist — the experience (even if it adds two more hours on an already fifteen hour road trip) is sometimes worth it!

So once we got off the main highway and were driving around north Texas on a wonderful narrow road, we found ourselves meandering through what can only be described as a “freaking beautiful” landscape. The fields were verdant green and everywhere you looked, there were these diminutive blue flowers blooming on the ground. I learned these are called “Bluebonnets” and Texans are very proud of them. Honestly, I can understand why. They are absolutely beautiful, and I had to admit, the scene before me was very “Garden of Eden” like. It was such a pleasant surprise and so worth the extra time driving. For the next several hours, we just explored and everywhere, the flat landscape was covered with a carpet of blue. Texas can be exquisite. There. I said it, okay? it’s TRUE.

So of course, a couple of weeks later, when planning our route back to North Carolina, we decided to see it all again from the other direction. We were so excited. We were going to take even more time and pretty much spend the whole day on that otherwise three hour drive. (Do you sense a “but” is about to come right about now? Uh huh.) BUT, the bluebonnets were all gone now and the fields were less green. Definitely no longer verdant. So, we cut back to the highway and continued on the long, boring drive back to Asheville.

What strikes me about this whole experience was how thankful I was that we took that time to explore. That extraordinary beauty was real. Short lived, but real. Texas was amazingly beautiful. FOR TWO WEEKS. I’m so glad I saw it. Fleeting as it was, I had to paint what it was I saw that day so that I can remember not to take the beauty of this planet for granted…to drink in and enjoy the awesome people and scenery (the grand and tiny) during the course of every day I’m here. That lesson is worth dedicating a painting to I think!

"How do you know you're done with a painting?"

I love the balance between oil painting (a very introvertive exercise) and talking to various people that wander into my Asheville studio (a very extroversive exercise). I’m constantly switching between my introvert and extrovert skill sets. Though it can be exhausting sometimes, it feels very healthy because I’ve found that when I’m pushed and stretched, I grow. One of the ways I grow is by thinking through the questions I’m constantly asked. Most of the questions are the same “What am I looking at?”, “How do you do this?” ,“What’s the shiny finish coat on these”, “Are these photos?”. But now and then, I get a questions out of left field and THAT is invigorating! Those questions make me really think.

“…my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.”

One question I got recently from some really cool folks from Ohio was “how do you know when I painting is done?” THAT is a really great question! So for any other people interested, here’s my answer:

My paintings are created in many, many steps. They each take about a month to complete, longer if they’re large. The oil paint is applied to a many-layered textured background that I’ve covered with metallic leaf (ultra-thin sheets of metal). THEN I begin colorizing the metal surface with very, very thin layers of paint. Each layer of paint deepens and intensifies the color. Each painting may get at least ten layers of paint, sometimes more.

I keep applying the paint until two things happen:

1) The color is saturated enough. I want the colors to be intense in most cases, so I just keep applying the paint until I get the intensity I’m looking for. Every layer I apply intensifies the color of the painting by about 10%.

2) The values are correct. This means that there are areas that are VERY dark and areas that are VERY light. The very light areas get very little paint. The dark areas get many layers. Value is important, because value is what leads the eye around the piece. I always want to make it very easy to find the focal point of the piece (the first thing you stare at) and then my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.

I would love to say that when these two points are addressed, then I know the painting is done. But honestly, I usually get a second opinion. When my wife Joy (also an artist) concurs that it’s done, THEN it’s done. Getting the knowledgeable input of another artist can be humbling. I like to think I know exactly what I’m doing, but that’s a fantasy. I really need the input of other people. That’s the great thing about working with other artists. That’s why I love having my primary studio in Asheville (with over 220 other artists).

So basically, it takes skill you’ve developed over time and humility (that is constantly developing) to really be able to tell when a painting is “done”.

More Questions and Answers

A few weeks ago, several of my Facebook followers asked questions about me and my art background. Since then, I’ve been slowly making my way through the answers. Here is the final installment (for now) of answers. But…if something I say here sparks another question, just ask. Thanks!

Did you grow up in Asheville? If not, how did you find it and why did you move there?

I did NOT grow up in Asheville. I tell people around here that I grew up in a town just south of Atlanta (look on a map...Los Angeles is latitudinally just south of Atlanta). I grew up on the west coast. After Joy and I married, we moved to Washington State (the most beautiful place we ever lived) and then crossed the country with our dog and four kids for an adventure...to discover the east coast. Over the next few years, we spent time in Virginia, North Carolina and Florida, but we kept coming back to the mountains of North Carolina for vacation. Several years ago, I got a job with a company that allowed me to work from home, so at that point, "home" could be wherever we wanted it to be, and that was Asheville. We the town because it has such a great vibe and because the people here seemed to celebrate everything outdoorsy. I love that. At that point in time though, I had no idea there was a River Arts District. Once I discovered that, wow...that changed everything.

How did you find your studio?

I was first offered (for free) a six foot wall space in the studio of a friend of mine (Phil DeAngelo). He had told me that if I sold something, I could kick in something for the rent, but if not, the space was gratis. Who does that?? Well, Phil did so I took him up on it and never had to skip a month of rent. A couple years later, I was making about half the $$ from art sales as I was with my "real" job, so I cut down to half time at my job. Within the six months, my art income surpassed the normal annual income of my "real" job, so I quit altogether and never once looked back. A couple years later, the studio Phil and I were sharing was just too crowded, so Phil helped me find my current studio in the Pink Dog Creative building. I love this studio. It's HUGE and it's so nice to be able to spread out and really make it mine. So I've been there for the last six years and am about to sign on for another five.

What kinds of other jobs did you have before you became an artist?

I was an industrial designer fresh out of college, then began a job painting backgrounds for Hanna Barbera cartoons (remember Scooby Doo?). That was an awesome job. But then the company had a fallout with the union and because I was the new guy, I was let go. Then I was a sign designer (which was a sort of nice combination of the design background I got in college and the art background I got at Hanna Barbera). It was a lot of fun really. When we moved to Florida, I became a project manager. At this point, may I interject a helpful suggestion to anyone hiring for a project manager position? Do not ever, ever hire an artist. My brain was designed to focus on one thing hard. Project managers (I found out) focus on several things simultaneously. That is impossible. I was the worst project manager. I felt sorry for my employers. They were kind enough to not lay me off, but I did quit after a couple years of job hell. I think they were probably as happy about my decision as I was. At that point, I went back to sign design because it was easy for me. It was at this point I found a national sign company that would let me work from home. Then I discovered Asheville. For the rest of the story, see the answer to my previous question.

That's it for now. Thanks for your questions! And if you ever have any more, please just let me know. That way, I don't have to wrack my brain regarding what I'll blog about! :)

Questions and Answers

A few weeks ago, I asked my Facebook followers if they had any questions regarding my work as an artist. Wow. Facebook peeps like questions like that. So…here are some questions from y’all and here are my answers:

Do you paint in any other styles besides landscape and an occasional abstract?

Well, no. I don’t paint figures anymore, and no animals. And I don’t paint still life. At this point in my career, I know what sells and I know what I enjoy painting most. Thankfully, it turns out I can make a living painting what I love best (landscapes and abstracts). I enjoy painting so much, but it’s so awesome to actually sell my work to someone that wants to make it a part of their home. What an amazing thing! So I’m always balancing what I love to paint with what I think will sell. Thankfully, they’re usually the same thing.

Do you have periods of artist block as writers often do?

Not really. Painting is so much fun. For me, it’s “life-giving”. That said, I am a huge proponent of taking time to sit and think, sit and feel, sit and pray, sit and do nothing. I am a “navel gazer”. I think that when creatives have a “block”, they need to take that really seriously and take some “down time”. I look at creative expression akin to “exhaling”. If you don’t inhale, you have nothing to exhale. And then you die. I’m not ready for that yet. So I encourage people to be thinking in terms of “soaking in” and “wringing it all out”. I make a living “wringing it all out.” But if I’m not “soaking it in”, I have nothing, and that doesn’t sound like much fun to me.

Is there a specific place you have yet to visit that beckons to you?

Well, funny you should ask.

Daily, I feel the desire to explore more of Italy. COVID has messed with my plans to return there but from the time I left Italy three years ago, I’ve fixated on finding a way to get back and really explore a lot more. I was so taken with the place that I began learning to speak Italian. It’s my hobby, and has become part of my daily routine. And after three years of learning, I’m about as fluent as a three year old! Woo Hoo!

I love Italy for two reasons: the landscape (cool ancient villages perched on hillsides) and the people. I’m an introvert and from what I experienced, I think you’d be hard-pressed finding an introvert in Italy. But rather than irritate me, I find myself fascinated. They’re are such a social people and I really love that. Americans can be so independent and disconnected from each other. It was a beautiful thing to see people interacted like I saw there.

Whenever I visit someplace new, I always come away with ideas for new artwork. I can’t help that. When an artist sees and feels something amazing, they have to express that amazement. We do that with our artwork, and then hopefully sell it!

So…I think I should be able to write the whole trip off on my taxes, right??

And the Next Blog Post is...

I’ve been blogging since 2016, and to me, that’s amazing. I had no idea I had that much to talk about. When I opened up my art studio here in Asheville, I was told in the beginning that blogging was important, so I’ve tried to be consistent but recently I’ve had a had a hard time coming up with an interesting topic. I’m an artist, not a rocket scientist or a biotech engineer, so what I do in my art studio (talking to clients, hanging new paintings in my art gallery, talking with other artists in Asheville’s River Arts District, coming up with new ideas for new creative endeavors), while a lot of fun for me, does not seem like it would be interesting to anyone but myself. Is answering another question about what the “shiny stuff” is on top of my paintings “blog worthy”? I don’t know. But I suspect that just because something is an “everyday” and “normal” task to me as an artist, does not necessarily mean those things are not blog worthy. So…

“…what would YOU like to know?”

So rather than wracking my brain for something that I think might be interesting to a reader, I’m going to just ask the reader what would be interesting to them. I am an artist…an oil painter…I made up a technique I call “Dialuminism”. Dear reader, what else would you like to know? I’ll still come up with topics I would like to explore, but I really do want to regularly be asking gallery and website visitors what THEY would find interesting.

Anyone want to start??

A Look Back to "The Dark Year"

Maybe it’s just because this is therapeutic, but I think I need to give a “Year in Review” as far as the strangest and scariest year I can remember: 2020. When it started, I was oblivious to what was to come. We were celebrating the New Year with our kids in Texas, and I was working on a dozen commissioned paintings. 2019 was my best year to date (sales-wise) and I was looking forward to what 2020 would hold for us.

Wow.

In late February, I left Joy in Texas to help take care of our newest grandchild, and I ran back to Asheville to finish up and deliver several of the painting commissions I was working on. But over the couple weeks I was back at my studio in Asheville, as February was giving way to March, the Coronavirus was ramping up and the governor ordered all businesses closed. I still had to work in the studio and was walking in each day, but it was kind of terrifying. The streets were empty and silent. It was like a scene out of “The Walking Dead”. When I got to my studio, I opened the door and wept. I thought this might be the end of my career.

After a couple weeks by myself in an empty, quiet city, I drove back to Texas with a new supply of panels for the next round of commissions. Texas (like everywhere in the world) was still scary, but at least I was not alone there. Our home there is right next door to my daughter and her family and two houses away from my son and his family, so I was painting and playing with grandchildren for the next few months as we waited.

In the mean time, rather than seeing my business shrivel, I was amazed: it was growing. People were ordering commissions from me like they’ve never done before. In 2019 (my best year so far), commissions were about 50% of my total sales), but in 2020, they shot up to about 80%. This amazed me. I figured that when people are worried about the economy completely crashing, who is going to buy artwork? But a client corrected me: “No Steve,” she said. “Especially this year we need artwork. We need to add beauty to our lives especially now.” I’d never actually thought of it that way.

My studio in Asheville really was empty until summer, but then summer was pretty busy. Foot traffic in September seemed “almost normal”. By that point, everyone coming into my studio (from all over the country) seemed fine with the idea of wearing face masks and socially distancing.

By the time the year ended, my sales were right in line with where they’ve been the last several years. 2019 was still the best year so far, but 2020 was not the worst and for that, I’m profoundly grateful.

Because of 2020, I learned that I love to paint at home. I spent the year painting under a couple big maple and hickory trees in my front yard and I found that to be really refreshing. Honestly, I’ve had worse work environments! I’ve also enjoyed the time with my wife and my family. As far as 2021 goes, we’ll see. But the time working from home, without the studio crowds, has given me time to think outside the box and dream and ask myself where I want to be headed and what I want to be doing. I don’t usually have time to ask big questions like that, but in 2020, we all had a lot of down time to think, right?

I’m looking forward to vaccines and truly praying for a return to normalcy in the world; a return to coming close to people again, of shaking hands, of hugging. In the mean time, I will keep dreaming and planning and painting.