The Enchantment of Art Nouveau

Art Nouveau is exciting in my opinion. I love this period of art. It is art that is whimsical , fluid and themed after nature itself. Art Nouveau speaks like a whisper from nature itself, a dance of lines and light that turns the ordinary into the extraordinary. Born in the late 19th century, it bloomed in defiance of the cold, mechanical world, weaving beauty back into life’s fabric. It was more than an art movement—it was a celebration, a rebellion against the rigid and the mundane, a return to nature’s embrace.

Its fluidity is mesmerizing — the way its curves seem to breathe and flow like vines reaching toward the sun. Alphonse Mucha’s women, draped in golden light and cascading hair, feel like ethereal muses of a forgotten dream. Gustav Klimt’s shimmering canvases, rich with gold and longing, seem to pulse with hidden magic. Even Gaudí’s buildings twist and turn like ancient trees, growing from the earth with wild, organic grace.

“Its fluidity is mesmerizing…”

But what I love most is how Art Nouveau makes art part of life. No longer confined to fancy gilded frames, it spills into the world—etched into wrought iron balconies, swirling through stained glass windows, carved into the very wood beneath our hands. It reminds me that beauty is not something distant or rare; it can be found in the smallest details, in a curve, in a pattern, in the way light filters through glass.

Art Nouveau is a reminder to slow down, to look closer, to breathe in the poetry of the world. It is nature’s art, forever blooming, forever alive.

Graceful curves unfold,

Nature’s whispers in the lines,

Beauty’s breath entwined.

How do you determine the best size artwork to purchase?

I have found that about half the people who wander into my studio don't seem to be too worried about the size of the artwork they're considering purchasing. They have a general idea of what might look correct and from photos they send me of my painting installed on their wall, they're often spot on when it comes to the size of the artwork. The other half of my clients go home and measure their walls. That may be really helpful to avoid a mistake. I've had people tell me they've cut pieces of cardboard to different sizes and tacked them up to the wall. That's a great idea. The other option is to enlist my help with sizing. In this case, my client sends me a photo of the wall in question along with some basic dimensions, and then I take the photo into Photoshop and insert different sizes of gray rectangles on the wall, so my client can see a variety of proportions and sizes.  Either way, cardboard or Photoshop can help you visualize exactly what a specific size painting would look like on your wall.

So how do you figure out what size is really best for your space? It kind of depends on a few things. First of all, how big is the wall and what other art is already installed on it? You might consider a small piece of art as an accent piece. An accent piece works best when it contains the complementary color of the main color in the room. It can also be much brighter in color than you'd want in a larger piece. Think of a gemstone on a black velvet background. An accent piece can scream at you "LOOK AT ME!" and that works because it's small. 

Or you might need a stand alone piece above a bed or couch. In that case, the size of the bed or couch would determine the optimal size of the painting installed above it. I always recommend choosing artwork that's just a bit smaller than the width of the piece of furniture it's hanging above. If it's too large, it will look ridiculous (see above photo). 

The other (and uh...my favorite) option is to choose a very large "heart stopper" piece of art on a large wall. This sort of artwork should be a real "statement piece". Where the accent piece can shout at the viewer, the statement piece should sing (very loudly). The size and the subject matter should work together to produce an emotional response. I once had a 6' x 8' painting hanging in the back of my studio, and I could always tell when a studio visitor rounded the corner because I'd hear things like "Oh...my...gosh" followed by silence as they just stood there. I love that! That's exactly what I wanted when I painted that piece. 

So what do you want? What do you need when you consider artwork for your home? Whether it's small, medium, large or gigantic...talk to me. We can figure something out that works best with your specific wall and color scheme. 

Question 7: "How do you price your work?"

I am currently in a blog series proposing questions an aspiring full time professional artist ask a current full time professional artist so that they have a better idea of getting from where they are to where they want to be professionally. It’s a really tricky and sometimes difficult thing to make it as an artist. That’s the bad news. The good news is that there are people out there somehow actually doing it, so…don’t reinvent the wheel — TALK to them. Every artist I know personally would be very happy answering questions. So find the artist you’d like to grill, make and appointment and get some advice.

Among the questions I’m proposing is this one I’ve been asked a lot: “How do you price your work?” If you’ve read my blog here, you know I’ve talked about this a lot, so I won’t wax on too long here but some points need to be repeated.

Just last week, I was approached by a gentleman that offered me just over 20% less than my posted price on one of my paintings. This doesn’t bother me at all when people do that. I know a lot of artists set a price for a piece of their work and hope they can get as close to that price as possible. This has trained people to view an art purchase the same way they’d buy a car or a house (i.e. you make a low ball offer, then negotiate). But that means the posted price means nothing and is just there to start the conversation. That is not the way I price my artwork because it feels really arbitrary.

The way I was taught to price my work way back in the day is to let sales themselves dictate the pricing. I price according to the size. So I take the square inches of the work, multiply it by my going rate (and that rate is solely dictated by my sales).

My goal is to sell my work as quickly as I paint it. If I get a big backlog, I know my prices are too high. If my work sells too quickly (I can't have empty studio walls), then my prices are too low. This year, I needed to slow down sales (just slightly) in early spring so I bumped up the price per square inch just slightly. That slowed sales down a bit, but I've actually had to raise prices again in June because they were still selling too quickly.

So that's how I price my work. I don't really take offers because I have a very good idea of what the paintings will sell for. Again, different artists handle pricing different ways, so it’s definitely worth asking around and seeing what works best for you. This works best for me because it’s really easy to defend the prices I have posted when that price is actually based on something concrete like sales rather than something arbitrary like “this is what I’d like to get for this piece”. As a client, I can disagree with what you’d like to get for that piece, but…I can’t disagree with sales.

"How do you Price Your Work?"

I remember when I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist and so, like a lot of would-be artists, I went to art school. They taught us about art history, how to create a dynamic composition, color theory and pretty much everything an artist needs to go out and create a masterpiece. “Pretty much everything” is the key phrase here. The one thing they never mentioned was how to price and sell our artwork. I totally understand that you can’t cover EVERYTHING an artist needs to know in an art school but uh…that little detail seems kind of important.

Over the years, I’ve worked with artists that set their prices based on different criteria. I’ve worked with one artist that set a price of $500,000 on some of his pieces. To him, that’s what it was worth. Then he’d tell people not to be intimidated by the price on the tag, that he’d work with them. He’d follow them out of the studio asking “What do YOU want to pay for it?” I am not making this up. I didn’t see him sell many paintings by the way, which is too bad because I thought he was an excellent artist. He just was never told how to price a painting. His prices were completely subjective.

I don’t price my work that way. I was taught in the beginning of my art career to price by the size; by the square inches of the piece. This way, the only subjective point is at the very beginning — where you start. The first piece I finished for sale in my very first studio in Asheville was at $2.25 per square inch, and I was really excited because my paintings started selling. Then they were selling TOO fast. I couldn’t keep up with it so…I raised the prices to $2.50 per square inch and that slowed sales down just enough. A year later, I had to raise prices to $2.75. I’m now at $3.35 and inching toward $3.50.

The important thing to note is that the ONLY time I arbitrarily set my prices was at the very beginning. But even then, I looked around at what other artists were charging for their work so I had SOME idea of the ballpark to be in. Since then, sales entirely set the price. If sales slow, I keep prices steady, and I’m not above lowering the rate. When, over some months, I see that I’m selling faster than I can paint them, I bump everything up slightly. Understand, I am not bumping prices so I can make more money. I’m bumping prices because a professional artist HAS to have paintings on their wall that are for sale. I pay a premium on studio rent, and if I have empty walls, you might think that’s a good thing because I’m selling my work. But empty walls is ultimately disastrous to an artist’s career. New studio visitors will not consider buying a piece of art that is not there. I HAVE to have a studio full of paintings in order to make a living in this profession. And that means I simply let the rate of sales dictate the price.

Pricing this way is also the easiest way to defend my price to someone who questions why the heck I think this or that piece is worth the number I have on the tag. But really, I DON’T “think” that piece is worth anything in particular. My sales are what set the price on the tag. You can argue with me, but you can’t argue with sales.

So if today, I were to complete a painting that has a price of $500,000, the size would be around 25’ x 42’. Dear reader, if you by chance have a wall that is crying out for a 25’ x 42’ painting (and a 500K budget), please contact me today! Short of that, I will keep painting sizes that I can sell. :)

An Artist in Italy (Part 3)

Alberobello, Italy

I’ve mentioned that one of the things I learned from my time in Italy last September was to look for the most popular places (most likely to be overrun with tourists) and NOT go there. For the most part, that was the rule. But…with every rule, you can make exceptions. We just really tried to make those exceptions with some wisdom. Sometimes, that worked. Like…Alberobello.

“…with every rule, you can make exceptions…”

Alberobello is an amazingly weird little town in Puglia (the heel of the boot of Italy). It’s filled with all these little beehive houses called “Trulli”. And let’s please get it right…when speaking of one of these, it’s “a TRULLO” and when you’re speaking of many, THEY are “TRULLI.” So the town is filled with trulli. They’re everywhere. Many of them have been converted to shops. We stayed in an Airbnb about five kilometers outside of town and IT was a trullo. THEY ARE COOL. The artist in me was so excited seeing these odd, old little stone structures.

“Gosh,” you say, “If I were visiting Puglia, I’d want to see Alberobello!”. Yes, you would and you should. You and thousands of other tourists. Thousands. But like I said previously, this was an exception worth making. I knew this awesome little town was super popular with tourists. So we stayed five kilometers away just outside of another little town called “Locorotondo”. IT was amazing…winding, narrow little streets and all the homes inside the ancient city walls were whitewashed. It was beautiful. AND see, here’s the thing…being so close to Alberobello was awesome for Locorotondo because all the international tourists filled Alberobello and left Locorotondo to Italian tourists (and Joy and I). See how this strategy works???

Locorotondo, Italy

So one thing that I learned in Puglia turned out to be really important to file away in the “never forget this” folder in my brain. Here’s the rule: Never, ever eat a melon without first washing it. I had no idea you were supposed to wash a freaking melon before cutting into it but that’s what happened. It was absolutely wonderful — one of the sweetest melons I’ve ever eaten. And…apparently was covered with salmonella. This kind of wrecked the next day, and the next, and the next. I’d read that usually, symptoms resolve themselves for most people after five days. Well, seven days later I was on the verge of going septic. I don’t ever remember feeling this horrible. Thankfully, I got onto a regimen of Cipro and within about twelve hours, I was feeling mostly normal. We went on to visit Pompeii and then had the last two wonderful days in Rome. I loved Rome. What a charming and beautiful city. But, that two day visit to Rome changed the next couple months of my life. See, after two years of being careful to wear masks in crowded public places (you know where this is going now, right?), and since everyone around us in the trains and buses weren’t wearing masks, all signs were that COVID was a thing of the past. YAY! I was lured into blissful complacency. Two days after arriving back home, both Joy and I tested positive for COVID and folks, it was NOT like a bad cold. Now (two months later), I am finally feeling normal.

“Never, ever eat a melon without first washing it.”

So I can’t wait to go back to Italy. I’ll be avoiding the overly touristy areas, washing melons (washing EVERYTHING I EAT), bringing a mask and eating the most amazing pasta anywhere on earth. Io amo l'Italia!

In my next post, I’ll share three of the paintings I’ve completed now, based on photos I took on this trip. I’m sure there are a lot more painting possibilities amongst my photos but they’re a good start.

What Makes a Painting a Good Piece of Art?

What I do is typically done by myself. I’m an artist and I paint. But the WAY I do it involves regular contact with people who visit Asheville. That keeps me psychologically balanced I think! One of the great things about my business model is that I get to hear all sorts of questions from visitors. Some of them crack me up. Some of them test my patience. And some of them make me think.

One really good question I got a couple weeks ago was from a couple visiting from New Jersey. They love looking at artwork but I could tell they had no confidence in “judging” art, so I had a really great time explaining to them that like it or not, they DO judge art all the time and that that’s okay. That’s a topic for another day, but the question they asked was “Just because I like a painting, does that make it good art? What makes a piece of art “GOOD” art? Is it entirely subjective?”

It needs to adhere to the rules of the craft, or break them skillfully.

Oh, that’s such a great question. My answer took about thirty minutes to explain and I still only scratched the surface. What makes art “great” art IS subjective, but it’s also objective. That combination is what makes it tricky. What makes a painting a great painting is determined the same way as determining what makes a song a great piece of music; what makes a poem a great example of poetry, or what makes a rendition of Beef Wellington a perfect “Beef Wellington”. All art can be judged. I’m not encouraging people to be “judgmental”. I’m just saying that judging all these things is natural and we all do it and that that’s absolutely fine. But just because I personally like this chef or this poet or this musician or this artist does not make what they produce “great”, right? What is that standard something has to meet in order to considered great?

Well, in my opinion…

1) ATTENTION TO DETAIL. It needs to be well-crafted and that well-craftedness should be obvious. There needs to be that mystified “How’d they do that?” asked. Great skill level counts and will be obvious.

2) INNOVATIVE. It needs to display a new take. There is nothing new under the sun, that is true. But to be considered “great”, I think there needs to be something unique about it. Otherwise (even if it’s well done), if it’s just like the next song, poem, plate or painting, what’s the big deal about it? Why does it matter? There must be something that grabs attention. There needs to be some obvious imagination involved in its production.

3) RULES, RULES, RULES. It needs to adhere to the rules of the craft, or break them skillfully. Like it or not, there are rules to art. There are mathematical rules that determine pleasing proportions. There are spelling and punctuation rules used in writing. There are rules that dictate pleasing intervals of sound when one writes a piece of music. There are rules that dictate great or horrible results in cooking. Rules are everywhere. And they can be skillfully broken, but you really need to know those rules intimately, inside and out, before you know how and when to best break them.

The thing is, if there is artistic expression that adheres to these three points, people respond to it. You can’t help but respond to it. It creates pleasure.

At this point in my talk with my studio visitors, the gentleman said, “But when I go into an art museum, half the stuff there just looks like crap to me. I mean, my two year old could do a better job.” Yep. Sometimes I think that good artwork ends up on people’s walls. Artwork that can’t be sold (i.e. no one wants it in their home) ends up in an art museum. Perhaps that’s too cynical. Probably. But there’s an old Dutch saying that probably applies here:

“Just because a mouse lives in a cookie jar does not make it a cookie”.

I think I’ll leave it at that.

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!

Your Opinion Please...

Okay so, I have a question and I’d be really curious about YOUR answer (ALL OF YOU READING THIS). True confessions…I love to explore, and then I love to paint what I find on that exploration. Most of what the visitors to my Asheville studio see on my gallery walls is the result of me painting what my wife Joy and I discover while exploring the western North Carolina mountains.

I was told years ago that what I paint and display in my Asheville studio should be (since it’s western North Carolina we’re talking about) Western North Carolina scenes. If that is really the case, I can be happy with that guideline probably forever. I love this part of the country. I love our gentle mountains. Places like Grandfather Mountain, Gorges State Park, Smoky Mountains National Park, and pretty much any vista seen from the Blue Ridge Parkway — there is far more than one lifetime of potential paintings right here. But…

In your opinion, should I stick mostly to local scenes or when I travel to various parts of the country (or various parts of the world), would you like to see paintings inspired by those places? I love painting. Period. I could probably paint my navel and be happy (but it would not sell). Trust me on that. I need to paint sellable paintings since selling my paintings is what I do to pay my mortgage and buy food to eat. And I like food to eat. I need what I choose to paint to (eventually) be sellable. So do I paint what excites me even if it’s a scene that is set far from an Asheville, North Carolina locale, or should I play it safe and continue to mostly paint local scenes?

That’s my question. And your response here would be SO much appreciated.

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??

How to Create the Perfect Painting

“Your compositions seem…comfortable,” said a recent studio visitor. He went on, wondering out loud, “I’m not sure what I even mean. They have nice proportions”. Little did this gentleman know, but he just wandered into one of the subjects I truly geek out over: the Golden Section. Look it up. You’ll probably geek out too. It’s the secret to perfect proportions.

This is not just some ancient and obscure math formula. It is literally the language by which the universe was designed.

As a kid, I hated math. It was dry, dead and boring. But as I grew up, I came to realize that math was handy. You can balance a checkbook (if you really need to) with math. I had no idea that math could actually be elegant and beautiful. With math, you can construct perfection. With math, you can design using the the Golden Section (also called the Golden Mean and Divine Proportion). What is the Golden Section? Imagine a line (C) that is cut into two sections: a longer section (A) and a shorter section (B). When the ratio of the whole line (C) to the longer segment (A) is equal to the ratio of the longer segment (A) to the  shorter segment (B), THAT ratio is the golden section. It is the ratio: 62:38 or 1:1.618.

This is not just some ancient and obscure math formula. It is literally the language by which the universe was designed. That’s a really big deal. Let me illustrate. 

If you take the average height of a human and divided it into two (using the golden section), you locate the navel. 

If you take the average distance from your shoulder to you fingertips and divide your arm into two sections (using the golden section), you locate your elbow. Divide the distance between your elbow and your fingertips (using the golden section) and you locate your wrist. Keep dividing and you locate each knuckle all the way to the end. 

If you take the length of a dolphin, and divide it into two (using the golden section), you locate the dorsal fin. 

The Golden Section was used to design the footprint for the pyramid complex of Giza as well as the actual shape of the pyramids. See, if you draw a ling straight down from the tip of the pyramid to the ground, and then from that point to the outside edge of the pyramid, THAT is the golden section. This ratio was used in the design of the parthenon and the Arc of the Covenant in the Bible, and innumerable cathedrals constructed over the centuries. 

This ratio is even found in nature. If you take the distance from the sun to the orbit of Venus, and divide that distance in two (using the golden section), you locate the orbit of Mercury. If you take the distance from the sun to Earth and divide that distance in two (using the golden section), you locate the orbit of Venus. This works clear out to the orbit of Venus. You can even see the Golden Section in the spacing of the rings of Saturn. 

So what? Well, for some reason, that proportion is the “gold standard” of pleasing proportions. The closer to that proportion you get, the happier your eye will be. And so, knowing that, find a painting or photo you really like. It could be depicting nature or architecture. If that photo is “pleasing to look at”, chances are, the Golden Section is all over it like an invisible scaffolding holding up the visible artwork (or edifice). 

Because of all this, I am regularly using math to plan my compositions. Take the height of my painting, say 24”. To locate the horizon, I’ll calculate 38% of that total distance, and draw the horizon line 9-1/8” up from the bottom. To locate the tall tree I want as the focal point of the painting, I’ll draw a line over from the edge that is 38% of the overall width of the canvas. Using this ratio as a guide, I’m sure to design a painting that will eventually be proportioned as close to perfection as I can get it. The rest is just slapping some paint in the right places and voila, a perfect painting! Easy, right?