Sometimes, just "having fun" is a good enough reason

“Into Mystery” (36” x 28”)

If you’ve read much of this blog (THANK YOU!), you’ve probably heard me talk about why I paint what I paint. If you are an artist and you want to do that as a full-time job, you have to sell your work. This is not rocket science, right? There definitely is a place in the world for art that shocks and disturbs, but that doesn’t sell easily to tourists visiting my studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, wanting to bring home something that reminded them of their visit to the mountains of North Carolina. So, MOST of the time, I paint either generic scenes (that could remind the viewer of ANYWHERE) or scenes that are reminiscent of this part of North Carolina.

So, if you were to visit my studio (and you’re welcome to do that!), you’d find landscape paintings that are set in various themes having to do with our area. That said, about 10% of what you’d see would not fit that criteria at all. I have some seascapes and some underwater ocean scenes. Why? Because they were fun to paint (I like the ocean too). And then this week, I just finished a piece called “Into Mystery”, which is based on photos of Arizona’s Antelope Canyon. The challenge of painting a location like Antelope Canyon is that I had to figure out some way creating the thousands of lines that have been carved into the sandstone by immeasurable years of wind and rain. My goal here was to create those sweeping lines with texture. This piece was carved, smoothed, covered with metallic leaf, colorized with oil paint and finished with a single layer of resin. Personally, I’m really happy with this one. It was a real challenge but I feel happy with the results.

This painting, if nothing else, highlights my skill

because it was really difficult.

So, how does this piece appeal to some random visitor to Asheville, looking for something to bring home as a souvenir of their time here? Well…it probably doesn’t, and that’s okay. This painting, if nothing else, highlights my skill because it was really difficult. And if putting my skill out there front and center is all this piece does, that’s fine. It’s done it’s job. And who knows…we do get Asheville visitors from out west! So hey, if you’re from Arizona, give me a call! I do free shipping!

Where Does it Take You?

By way of confession, (it’s good for the soul) I admit it’s been way too long since I’ve blogged. This period of time is just really irksome. I’m tired of this virus lurking around. I’m rattled at how divided we’ve become as a country. It just seems like whatever we talk about with our neighbors and/or Facebook “friends” is so often framed in an attack or defense mode. I’ve been coping with the stress by just trying to ignore it all. Writing helps. Painting is my thing though. Anything creative will capture my whole attention and I then don’t think about politics or deadly disease or racist comments from various personalities on the radio. I have found that writing, creating an oil painting or listening to music will carry me to that place of focus and brain-rest. 

One of the things I have remembered during this really weird and stressful time is something my dad taught me when I was a kid and though it had to do with music (he was a musician and piano teacher), it very much affects the way I process all the arts. When I was around twelve years old, I was listening one afternoon to a tape of a collection of classical music (yes, I was a classical music nerd) and he asked me a question that I didn’t know how to answer. “Where does that take you?” I had never thought of that before. He asked me if I knew anything about the piece of music I was listening to and when I said no, he felt it was his God-appointed duty to enlighten me. He explained that the piece was entitled “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn”, by Claude Debussy. He had me rewind the tape to the beginning of the piece, and told me to close my eyes and imagine the scene Debussy was describing with the music, then he turned the tape back on again. 

“Where does it take you?”

I’d never, ever listened to music like that. I usually just listened and decided whether or not I liked the piece simply based on my personal preference. I never thought in terms of “where does it take me”. My imagination was ignited and it was so much more fun than just listening to the piece. It became almost a meditation tool. I saw a fawn by itself int the dark woods, rays of sun stretching through the dark foliage. I saw streams of water, heard the birds, felt the breeze. It was amazing.

That afternoon affected the way I listen to a lot of my favorite music now. I once painted my version of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, listening to it over and over and over again, until I imagined what it “looked” like, not just what it sounded like. Where does it take you? This question changed how I listen to music and how I view artwork. When I look at a painting now (and it could be almost any painting — landscape to abstract), I really want to take the time to just stare at it and allow it to draw me in. And I ask that question: where does it take you? 

If you know anything about the way I paint, you know I purposely design an oil painting to draw people in, to engage the viewer. I don’t want it to just look nice on someone’s wall. Especially in these stressful days, I want every painting to take the viewer somewhere, somewhere nicer than here at the moment.

So take the time. Let the art — music, poetry, painting, whatever — let it take you. Where do you go? Where does it lead? Try it, and if you have a minute, comment right here and let me know. Thanks!!

Story Behind the Painting: Autumn Day on the French Broad River

“Autumn Day on the French Broad River”

In my art studio, I usually just quietly work on this or that oil painting. Some of the pieces have no story behind them at all. Some paintings are just based on an idea from my imagination, and some are based on a nice photo provided by a client seeking a commission. But if you were to visit my studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, some of the paintings you would see would have stories behind them and I’m taking this opportunity to share some of those stories.

This painting, entitled "Autumn Day on the French Broad River" is one that always puts a smile on my face. Joy and I love to tube down the French Broad River in the summer months. We park one car in the River Arts District and then bring our picnic (bagged watertight) in our second car and drive up the river about five miles, blow up the inner tubes and shove off. Talk about an utterly relaxing way to spend the afternoon. When I say "relaxing" I mean truly bordering on boring, as the river usually seems to be flowing at about a mile an hour. I love it. 

By the time I painted it, “summer” themed scenes would be harder to sell, so I “autumn-ized” it.

So, we were floating down the river and there was this really cool tree overhanging the water and I knew I needed a photo of it. But by the time I realized that fact, I was almost past it. Thinking very quickly, I grabbed one of the lowest branches and stopped our ponderous progress down the river. After wading out into the water, I got us to shore, then walked back up the river (with my iPhone camera safely ensconced in it's ziplock bag) and put in the river again. This time I was ready, and I got my shot. I was happy. Joy was rolling her eyes. 

I loved the composition but the only problem was that it was nearing mid-summer. By the time I painted it, "summer" themed scenes would be harder to sell, so I "autumn-ized" it. Easy. Rather than the greens, I applied golds, yellows and deep siena browns. The result was a piece I was really happy with. And it takes me back to that pleasant day in the river with my wife Joy. :)

Q&A: SESSION TWO

“Pointe de la Cuisse”

So, this is the second of probably three posts answering random (REALLY RANDOM) questions I’ve been asked. By you. Thank you!

Questions and Answers:

Question 1: Choose one place in the world to travel to for inspiration.

Oh, I so love that question. It’s really easy to answer: Venice, Italy. When I was there, it was (surprise!) packed with tourists, but honestly, all we had to do was to walk a couple blocks away from the main streets (filled with tourists) and we were all by ourselves. It was amazing. It’s a winding maze of awesome 3’ wide “streets” with laundry draped like prayer flags over each tiny street. And at the end of each “street” was a little courtyard flooded with light, so no matter where we explored, we were lured through dark narrow “streets” by the light just beyond. Because of this, Venice is a city that inspires curiosity and exploration. And…they have awesome food and wine. :)

Question 2: If you could write a book about your life, what would the title be?

“Where Are My Keys?, by Stephen St.Claire. How’s that?

The big issue is that I have to work hard and very deliberately to think about something deep enough to etch it into my mind. Like “okay, I’m putting my keys on the dining room table” (and actually say it out loud). If I don’t do something like that, I’ll just shed the keys and not give any thought at all as to where I shed them. And it’s not just keys, it’s everything. And it’s not just recently, it’s since I can remember. I think my problem is a “focusing” problem.

I remember my parents saying things like “THINK! Steve. Think!” That assumed that I wasn’t thinking, but I’m ALWAYS thinking. My mind is always turned “on”. I’m dreaming, pondering and creating in my head. I don’t know how to stop. There are places I go and practices I employ to help my brain slow down and that’s really helpful. But it doesn’t “stop” it.

This trait (I think it’s pretty common in creative people) is irritating but it’s also helpful to me. My artwork comes from this churning brain of mine. I’ve learned to love this trait actually (though my wife is not quite there yet). Because I’m an artist, the fact that I’m always thinking, dreaming, debating in my head, planning and creating makes my paintings the natural and logical outlet for what’s going on in my mind. That’s why I love artwork. I’m sure I’d go mad if I didn’t have that way to get it all out of my head (at least momentarily).

Entertaining Angels Unawares

A couple days ago, something really beautiful happened to me. Before I explain it though, I need to give you some background. Asheville is now pretty much a ghost town, with everyone staying in their homes afraid of the coronavirus. The entire River Arts District is closed, though I’m still in my studio (alone) because I have painting commissions I’m finishing up so they can be shipped. My wife Joy is in Dallas, Texas with three of our four kids and eight of our grandchildren because my youngest daughter is expecting a baby any hour now. Joy wanted to be there to help after the baby was born, so I ran back to NC to be here for the spring tourist crowds (HAH!) and to, like I said, finish up some paintings.

“I don’t want to take that if it’s all you have…”

So that’s the background. All that to say, everyone I love is in Dallas, Texas and Pittsburgh, PA and I’m feeling really, really alone and kind of creeped out by this whole virus mess and what is happened to the economy. This is really bad. So at 5:00 last Wednesday, I walked across the completely deserted streets of the River Arts District to where my car was parked, and as I was locking the studio door, I heard a violin playing. It was Chopin if I’m not mistaken. It was really beautiful. I figured someone was playing a radio or something, but it sounded “live”. I literally just stopped for a moment and listened. It had to be live. But it was 5:00 in a ghost town. No movement at all on the streets. No people. No sound at all except this lonely, lovely violin. So I followed the sound down the street, and sure enough, there was a black gentleman playing a violin on the corner. I stood reverently across the street (I LOVE Chopin) and as he finished, performing for an audience of one, I clapped. He asked if I had a dime or quarter for the song. I checked and all I had was a dollar bill. I explained that the dollar was all I had and that he could have that. “I don’t want to take that if it’s all you have,” he said. “Do you want some change back?”

Who says that? I told him that I wish I had more in my pocket. I told him that what he was doing (adding beauty into a silent, dark and scary world) was really important and very much appreciated. He smiled and kept playing while I walked back to my car.

Then I remembered out of the blue, a verse from the book of Hebrews (in the New Testament of the Bible) that I learned as a kid in Sunday school. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” No, I’m not saying I think I saw an angel. Although…who knows. If so, I pray God sends many more into our world right now in this dark time.

And so what his me was that I needed to imitate this man. We all should.

Create beauty now, even now, especially now. And share that beauty with people. That’s recreating Eden and we need a bit of Eden at the moment.

From Point A to Point Z

I remember years ago, as I was teaching a group of aspiring artists, the main problem I had with students was not their level of artistic skill or creativity. The main problem can be illustrated by the exasperated comment I heard over and over again: “My painting doesn’t look as good as yours!”. This statement usually was followed by them just giving up entirely. I felt like half the time, I was teaching art technique and the rest of the time, I was playing psychotherapist, and I’m not a very good psychotherapist.

"My painting doesn’t look as good as yours!”.

Really?

NEWS FLASH…if your painting looked as good as mine, you would not be taking an art class from me now, would you? (See, I really stink as a psychotherapist.) You might think their problem is self confidence, but it’s not. Their problem, over and over again, is a complete misunderstanding of how long it takes to perfect a skill. How long does it take to be able to sit down at the piano and play your favorite Katy Perry song? How long would it take you to reach the point where you would be able to run a marathon? How longs does it take to learn enough math skills to be an accountant? How many years of medical training does it take to be a brain surgeon?

Honestly, the common conception that “well, ANYONE could be an artist” is not only ignorant, it’s insulting. Don’t get me wrong. Everyone can pick up a paint brush (and would be psychologically healthier if they did) and create something, but to create something really well takes time and practice and lots of patience and stubborn persistence. It takes time to get from point A to point Z.

Honestly, the common conception that “well, ANYONE could be an artist” is not only ignorant, it’s insulting.

The common push-back I get to the above paragraph is that a lot of people look at a lot of the artwork out there and conclude “Heck, my four year old could do that!” so they assume art takes no skill at all, just good marketing. Looking around at a lot of artwork, I totally understand why people would feel that way. But, can I respectfully respond to this notion with a question? If I called myself a neurosurgeon, would that make me a neurosurgeon? If I called myself a concert pianist, would that make me a pianist? If I called myself an auto mechanic, would that mean you’d turn me loose on your Lexus?

Skill. Look for the skill. Art is visual, so the skill is there to be seen, or it’s not art. It may be color, it may be expressive, it may even be interesting to look at, but if there is no skill, there is no art.

Skill takes time and patience and persistence to develop and the willingness of aspiring artists to expend that kind of energy is what will make them a master of their craft. And honestly, when someone (no matter their present artistic skill level) who has the fire inside their heart that drives them to keep creating and developing their craft, it’s nearly impossible for them to fail.

"How did you know you wanted to be an artist?"

It’s easy at this point in my art career to take a lot for granted. I have an amazing job. I have an art studio in Asheville, in the heart of the River Arts District, just a few hundred yards from the mighty French Broad River (just kidding — it’s not all that mighty except for after a good thunderstorm), and I get to paint all day long and welcome people into my studio who are interested in artwork. It’s awesome. But as I said, it’s easy now to forget the steps I took to where I’m at now.

Yesterday, a gentleman from Toledo, Ohio was asking me about that artistic path, and it was good to remember. He asked, “how did you know you wanted to be an artist?”

The answer only took a moment to consider. I explained, “Well…do you remember that kid when you were in third grade that was always chosen last for the football, basketball or baseball team? :) That was me. At the time, it was really hurtful and shaming, but looking back now, I admit I feel sorry for the team that got stuck with my athletic skills. I really did stink. It’s not that I was uncoordinated. I liked individual sports, like skiing, running, things like that, but I crumbled under the pressure of team sports because too many people were depending on me and then I cracked. So, picture this insecure little kid who every day during P.E. wants to disappear. That was me. But then after lunch was art class, and the same kids that insulted me on the baseball diamond would regularly come over to my desk during art class and ask “Wow, how the *%$##@! did you do that?”

So very early on, art was a savior. But art makes a horrid savior, because it only saves you as long as you perform…as long as you’re the best. But when you’re not, it leaves you desolate. So after several years of wrestling with that, I began to create art just for the joy of it, not to prop up my sagging self image or try to prove something. I stopped “using” art for a personal (selfish) motive and being experiencing a real release in what I created and experimented with.

So how did I know I wanted to be an artist? It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve ever been really good at, so that makes the choice easy. I love my job. I love working as an artist in Asheville. I love the mountains of North Carolina. I wouldn’t trade this gig for anything in the world.

How do you know when a painting is "done"?

With all the people strolling through my art studio in Asheville, I am asked a whole lot of questions. Usually, they’re pretty much the same questions like:

• What’s the shiny stuff on your paintings? Answer: it’s solar resistant resin.

• Do you HAVE to paint on aluminum leaf? Answer: Define “HAVE” to.

• How long have you been painting? Answer: Since I was four.

• Are you St.Claire? Answer: Yes. You wanna kiss my ring?

• Are these all local scenes? Answer: Not all, but mostly.

• What are all the circles? Answer: What do YOU think they are?

• Is there a restroom nearby? Answer: Yes, the blue door over there on the right

Last week, I was asked a question I don’t remember ever being asked before: “How do you know when a painting is done?” Hmmm. I’ve never really thought about that. My first thought was “well, how do you know when your dinner is done?” It’s just done when it’s done, right? But then I started analyzing that decision and realized the answer is pretty complex.

It’s just done when it’s done, right?

There are at least twenty steps each painting goes through to bring it from beginning to completion and I know from experience when a painting is getting close to that end point. I’m working with layer on layer of texture underneath a thin layer of aluminum leaf. And then I begin applying thin layer on thin layer of oil paint. I’ll first apply the paint on the piece per the different color families I’m using. I’ll apply the warm colors first, let them dry, then apply the cool colors (or the other way around), and work from the farthest background (usually the sky in a landscape) up to the foreground, letting each step dry before working on the closer section. Then I repeat, and repeat and repeat. Each time I apply another layer of paint, the colors are enriched. The very end of the process is just working with contrast so that the piece “pops”, so I’ll darken the darks and lighten the lights in certain areas so that the eye is led by the contrast of those two elements.

And then…I ask Joy if it’s done and she gets the last word. There’s a life lesson there I think.

The piece I had to paint: "Côte d’Azur"

“Côte d’Azur” NFS

When my mother-in-law passed away a couple years ago now, she placed some money (aside from what was in the will) to each of her children and asked that it be used for travel. For Joy and I (especially as artists), this was an amazingly generous gift, and the choice of locations to travel to was a pretty easy decision to make: Provence. I say it was easy because so many artists (like Cezanne, Claude Monet, Paul Cezanne, Henri Matisse, and Pablo Picasso) were drawn to this place and we wanted to see if Provence lived up to all the hype. It did.

As painters with an open art studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, we are constantly dreaming, creating, sketching out ideas (and throwing some of those ideas out) and painting the best of those ideas. And especially in the summer time, (our busy tourist season) it can become exhausting. By the end of July, I always start to feel the need to recharge. I absolutely love the fact that my job requires me to visually express my response to the natural beauty all around me. I’m mostly a landscape painter, and there is so much natural beauty here in western North Carolina. But as I said, by mid-summer I am beginning to feel drained. When we feel that way, we know we need to take some time and get out of the studio (if just for a day) and go hiking; to recharge that creative battery.

So when the opportunity arose for us to take an extended break from reality, we took it. For three amazing weeks, Joy and I wandered around Provence, exploring hill-top villages, bike riding, sketching, and sampling a lot of local bread, cheese and wine. :)

One of the absolute highlights for us though was to explore the Côte d’Azur (a fancy name for the French Riviera). I just think “French Riviera” sounds ridiculously snooty, whereas Côte d’Azur sounds exotic. It was. One of Joy’s goals was to swim in the Mediterranean (pretty much on her bucket list I think). So I read up on the best beaches in the area and it sounded like finding a small or secluded beach was impossible. But…

One of the days, I found what looked like a foot trail around a peninsula just east of Nice, France (where we were staying). There were no write-ups about it but on Google maps, you can zoom down and explore on “street view” to see what it looks like “on the ground”. It looked like a great place to spend the day on a six mile walk, so that’s what we did. What we discovered though was blue heaven. It was amazing. We found a little beach where we had our picnic lunch (all by ourselves) and then later, a little pebble beach for our first swim in the Mediterranean, again, completely alone. What I saw once diving down was unbelievable to me: the blue. I’d never seen water look like that. Never. I thought I knew what ocean water looks like…kind of a grey green color. But this was absolutely crystal clear, and when you dove down and looked out into the deeper water, I was met with the most intense blue I’d ever seen. The thought struck me “I HAVE TO PAINT THIS!” so I began diving down…over and over and over (probably 30 times or more), just trying to permanently engrave the colors into my head. And then, as soon as we got back state side, I began painting.

Today, that painting is done. And…it is going to hang in my home, because it (as closely as I can remember) depicts what I saw on that day in the south of France in the waters of the Mediterranean: perfection in blue.

Contentment vs Restlessness

It seems that one of the goals of every world religion, philosophy and self-help guru is the propagation of inner contentment. I love that all too seldom cherished inner quiet. The search for that illusive contentment is why I go hiking as much as I do, but it honestly seems that the world, though preaching the value of contentment, is dead set against us actually experiencing it. I mean really, turn on the TV or listen to the radio or go to the mall and we are constantly and ruthlessly bombarded with the message “you are not content! But…THIS will make you feel content!” The thing is, nearly EVERYTHING is sold with the promise of contentment, and because we’re so desperate for it, we buy “it” (whatever it is). Then we feel a moment of bliss (maybe) and then in moments, “it” gets old and no longer delivers any contentment at all.

In no way do I want to diminish the longing for contentment. I could not do that even if I tried. My faith informs me that every human being was created for absolute contentment, but that the whole system is broken now and humankind currently is cut off from the very source of contentment. And so we long for the very thing we run from. This is the ultimate conundrum.

Restlessness has fueled every quest and exploration and is responsible for all the innovation of our race.

However, I don’t think the concept of restlessness is the opposite of contentment. I think ingratitude, entitlement and greed are the opposite of that inner peace we value and search for, but I don’t really think restlessness qualifies as the opposite. Honestly, my opinion is that restlessness is to an artist what life blood is to a living creature: it feeds and stimulates the creation of something amazing and beautiful and life-giving. What I’m most afraid of is to become too “comfortable” and “complacent”, that I stop longing for something new, dreaming of something better and pursuing something of greater value and beauty. For the most part, I think restlessness has fueled every quest and exploration and is responsible for all the innovation of our race.

So, we may well sit and think of all that we have, all that we’ve achieved (or have been given, depending on your own outlook on such matters) and we can feel a sense of immense gratitude, peace and contentment. And the next moment begin wondering “but I wonder what would happen if I tried THIS?”. Can restlessness and contentment become friends? I believe so. I don’t think one negates the other at all. In fact, I think that true contentment and gratitude creates a quiet place in our minds and in that quiet, dreams are born and imagination can explode.

As an artist, as a painter, I paint mostly landscapes. I love my studio in Asheville’s River Arts District. I love creating artwork in that context, amidst such a great group (over 220) of artists with open studios. It feels tempting to just get comfortable with what I do; to get comfortable with what sells and to become predictable. But then I’d never feel restless, and though comfortable, I’d stop truly creating. And I would more closely resemble an assembly line worker than an artist.

I’m an artist, and I long for contentment. But I am trying to experience contentment in the context of a sublime restlessness that never seems to stop looking around the next turn in the road. What’s there? Is it the same as here? Let’s go and see. That mindset fuels all my creativity and I think compliments the inner quiet I (sometimes) truly experience in life.