The Best Painting Delivery Ever...

Hitting the “reset” button

A couple months ago, I was commissioned to paint a rather large painting. Because I normally pay for shipping charges for my clients (a tangible way to offer my thanks for their business), I knew this piece would be pretty expensive to send to it’s new home in Denver, CO. When I actually checked the FedEx website for pricing, I was pretty shocked at the several hundred dollars price tag for shipping, and so…I looked at Joy and asked if she was up for a road trip.

I don’t know about everyone else, but this year especially, with all the stress of a business that was closed down for three months, trying to stay clear of Covid-19, and constantly dealing with the chaos of the upcoming election…e really needed a rest. Creativity demands to be fed with peace and adventure. You cannot expend what you don’t have inside your heart and mind. Well, that was my way of justifying taking a road trip to Colorado (and adding a few extra days onto said road trip, as long as we were already there!). So we packed up the painting securely and strapped it to the top of our car, then headed three days west.

After helping my clients install the piece, Joy and I headed north a couple hours to Laramie, Wyoming, and we spent nearly a week exploring the mountains, canyons and lakes in the area. Our daily routine was to hike a few hours and then scout out a cool place to plant our camping chairs, have a picnic and spend several hours just sitting and reading. Enjoying the absolute quiet. Listening to the autumn breeze as it rattled the leaves of the golden aspen trees all around us.

It was amazing.

We talked about it afterwards and we both could actually feel ourselves soaking it it. My gosh. I felt like a dry sponge immersed in sweet, clear water.

So whether or not the need for peace and adventure was actually a “need” or a “want”, I don’t really care. I’m content to let someone else figure that one out. It felt amazing. And by the time we were headed back home to North Carolina, I could hardly wait to start painting again. I’ve never felt that way about any other job I’ve ever head, so I think the time in Colorado and Wyoming was definitely worth it.

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. :)

What I'll Miss When This Pandemic is Over...

“Isolation artwork” is filling my floor. Keeping busy keeps me sane!

Last night, I dreamt that this whole wretched virus thing was over. I remember feeling a complete sense of relief, but I also felt some regret. Don’t judge me — it was a dream. But I remember feeling regret. When I woke up and realized I was just dreaming, I spent some time analyzing what my brain had been processing. I realized there are certain things and habits that have become part of my daily rhythm that I don’t think I want to give up when this is all over. 

As an introvert, I relished the idea of forced alone time the first few days of isolation. That elation lasted about thirty six hours and quickly turned to loneliness. I realized that even introverts need people. I found myself smiling and striking up conversations (from six feet away and mask on) with people I’ve past when I go on my daily walk around the neighborhood. When I see people now, there’s actually joy inside. As an introvert, this is a new experience for me, and I don’t ever want to lose that. I want to celebrate each time I can be in proximity to another person, because each one is a gift when you’re otherwise alone. 

I like the thankfulness inside for small things.

Because my art studio in Asheville is currently under lockdown, I’m not there at all. I miss my studio a lot but I really like the forced slowdown in my creative pace. Yes, I’m busy but I’m spending a lot more time now (because I HAVE a lot more time now) in dreaming and thinking and planning new paintings. I’m not just cranking out as many oil paintings as possible, but I am experimenting (again, because I have lots of time on my hands) and I’ve found myself learning and growing a lot as a result. I don’t want that to end. 

I like the thankfulness inside for small things. Who’d have ever thought I’d say a quick prayer of thanksgiving for toilet paper? I mean, really! I’m convinced I’m an amusement to God sometimes. :)

During this isolation (and because of this isolation), I’ve found myself thinking of someone and firing off an email or text message just to let them know I was thinking about them and thankful for them. I’ve rarely thought of doing that before now, but I miss the contact with people I just always took for granted before. 

And also, during this time alone, I’ve rediscovered the joy of meditation and prayer. Just to be clear, by “prayer”, I’m just mean that I talk to God like someone talks to their beloved friend. I find that this time of intense “apartness” leaves me longing for intense “with-ness” with God. Personally, that’s very helpful for me. That time with Him is the only place in my head I can go and get a sense of being filled back up, and my creativity is simply an overflow of that filling. I could never create if I wasn’t constantly attentive to being filled. 

So amidst the fear I feel these days, amidst the frustration that my Asheville studio is empty and dark now, amidst the sadness that walking around Asheville’s River Arts District (which should be busy with spring tourists now) is like walking around a ghost town, I feel a real sense that there are actually some really good things that have happened precisely because of (and not in spite of) this horrible virus. For that, I am profoundly thankful and hopeful. This pandemic will end one day and but it does, I want to keep some of the treasures I’ve dug up in the dark times. If they’re treasures in the dark, what the heck will they look like in the light? I would like to see. 

In Celebration of Art

As I was drinking my coffee early this morning, I was thinking about my day and what I had planned for it. I’m an artist; a painter specifically, and I work with oil paint. So thinking about my day meant figuring out which piece to work on first, and kind of plan in my head what I want to do with it. I went through each of the paintings I’m presently working on, poured another cup of coffee and thought, “you know, this whole “art thing” is really amazing. As a painter, I’m participating in a primal and ancient rite. Primal, because you give a one year old child a paper and crayons, and they know exactly what to do with them. Ancient because we’ve been creating since we identifiably became “modern” humans. As a species, we can’t seem to help ourselves. We have to creatively express what’s inside our heads. To me, that’s fascinating. And I call it a “rite” because that word evokes something mysterious and holy. A “rite” is the gate into the spiritual. And I absolutely believe art is spiritual. Art touches a part of us that is not just cognitive or physical. Art awakens a part of us that is the realm of the spirit and the heart. And that’s really incredible. How does art do that?

As a painter, I’m participating in a primal and ancient rite.

Art doesn’t so much make us think this or that as it evokes “feeling” in us. When you walk in through the doors of the Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence, Italy and walk down the long hallway toward Michelangelo’s David, you are captivated. You can’t help but feel it. David is extraordinary and he commands respect. Anyone who as been there and seen that incredible sculpture knows exactly what I’m talking about. When I visited Giverny, France and walked through Claude Monet’s home and garden, I felt it there too. The garden isn’t just plants, it’s artistically created, and it’s truly beautiful. It evokes calm and peace. Why does something I see evoke emotion? I don’t know how that works but I know it does and to me, that’s utterly fascinating.

I remember as a kid being taken to the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion to listen to Zubin Mehta conduct the L.A. Philharmonic orchestra. They were performing Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony and I remember crying. How does music do that?

We are incurably artistic beings, known for our intellect but really marked by our emotion and spirit. As I see it art is an ancient gateway, and whether you’re a year old kiddo with a red crayon, a poet, a gardener, a painter, a gourmet chef or a musician, you’re sort of entering another world when you create. You’re entering Eden (that paradise, that “better” place) and as you depict what you see or feel there, you bring Eden into this broken world. What a wonderful thing that is.

So close your computer and go grab a red crayon, a pen, a spade, a paint brush, a KitchenAid or guitar and let’s create something. Let’s bring Eden down, and walk there again in the cool of the day! Or you can fixate on coronavirus or the upcoming election. I’ll choose the paint brush. Care to join me?

Regarding the Selection of an Artistic Theme

I was recently asked by a visitor to my Asheville Art Studio how I decided what to paint. He explained that he was an aspiring artist and had trouble deciding on the “theme” or “subject mater” for their work, and I thought that discussion was worth recounting here in this format because I think they were asking a good question. Deciding on the subject matter for a piece can literally take months.

“…Why landscapes? Because that’s what moves me…”

In selecting a theme for subject matter or artwork, I asked him why he was painting in the first place. In other words, “are you painting for the joy of painting or are you painting to ‘say’ something with your artwork? I.e. are you painting still life pieces because you love flowers, or are you painting something that addresses the problem of race relations or climate change? I explained that one motivation and goal is not better than the other; that it’s completely valid to paint from either or both.

Most of the pieces I paint are landscapes. Why landscapes? Because that’s what moves me. I love nature, and I love depicting the majesty or stillness or joy that nature inspires in me. So, most of my work doesn’t say anything profound in that it makes no political or moral statement. I say “most” of my artwork because there has been the occasional piece I’ve done that tackles some relevant issue head on. But for the most part, it’s safe to say I’m just trying to depict beauty, not “say something” with my artwork. But that’s just me. I have been deeply moved by other artists work (like Goya) that have something truly profound to say regarding an issue of the day. I remember his painting “Saturn Devouring his Son”. It’s an awesome and well executed piece. And it shocks and sickens me. I assure you, that’s precisely what Goya intended. In the painting, you have the god Saturn devouring the body of his son. Why depict that? Because everyone knows a father should love and protect his son, just like the government (of Spain in Goya’s case) should love and protect the citizens. But just as Saturn is despoiling his own son, the Spanish government was despoiling it’s own citizenry. That painting and so many others like that are very dark and very serious. They have a lot to say. I sometimes wish I was more like Goya, but…I am not (for the most part). But I’m happy with that.

"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.

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.

Lessons I've Learned as an Artist

I love Asheville and I especially love painting in my studio in Asheville in the summer time. Yes, it’s hot and muggy, but there are so many visitors wondering through the River Arts District — it’s really a fun environment to create artwork in! So many people and so many conversations! Some of the questions I’m asked are hysterical, and some are really deep. Last week, I had a couple visiting with me who asked an interesting question. And as I was answering them it occurred to me I should blog about it. The question was “what has being an artist taught you?” That struck me as a really huge (and very personal) question. I could probably write a whole book on that subject, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll condense my thoughts to five points.

1. Thinking outside the box is what creativity is all about.

When you learn art techniques in school, you study the “masters” of art history and in a sense, you copy their techniques in order to learn them. In a sense, this places each modern artist in a wonderful place...you are standing on the backs of people like Monet, Renoir, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, and on and on back to the first cave painters. You learn the rules (yes, THERE ARE RULES TO ART). Once you learn the techniques and rules, then (the fun part!) you learn how to remix them into something brand new and unique. This is where rules (some of them) are broken. Learning how and when to break the rules...that takes a life time of playing with art and composition.

2. Mistakes are necessary for growth

My whole technique was developed through many (and on-going) experiments. Some of those experiments work out well. Some of them fail completely. How you respond to a mistake is crucial I think, and I would guess this applies to all of life. If you let them crush and discourage you (and I have let mistakes do that), then that's the end of the story. But if the mistake prompts you to ask questions (like, "why did that happen?", "how did that happen?", "how can I make it do this or that?") then a new experiment takes shape. This is play. This is how play works! Very few mistakes in life are utterly crippling. Most of the mistakes we make can and should prompt serious questions, and as we search for answers...play happens and life goes on.

3. Marketing is really important if you want to be a full-time artist

I wish I could paint all day. I wish I didn't have to take the time to work social media (or write blogs :) but that is not possible. If people do not see the work of an artist, they won't appreciate it, and if they don't appreciate it, they won't purchase it, and if they don't purchase it, you can't be a full-time artist (unless you've won the lottery and can blow through the winnings for the rest of your life). Connecting to people and marketing what you do is really important. How to do that best is a complete mystery to me, but I’m learning. I'm not wired that way, but I know people who ARE and I ask for advice or pay them to for their help.

4. Rest and rejuvenation is crucial for creativity

For me, creativity and moments of epiphany happen when I'm quiet. That's why I walk a lot. Almost every day off, we're hiking -- getting out into nature and breathing in the peace and quiet. Being in nature is like a baby being in it's mother's lap. It's just where we belong. Something almost magical happens sometimes when I'm hiking and enjoying the beauty of creation. The experience creates in me a wonder; it takes me back to being like a child. In that place, my own creativity is excited. I have likened all this (quiet time) as "breathing in" and my own creating as "breathing out". One is necessary if you want the other.

5. People are more important than art.

I work in a public forum. People walk into my studio all day long and ask me what I'm working on and inquire about my technique. It's tempting to wish them all away so I can quietly enter "my creative zone" and paint in undistracted peace. But I'm always reminding myself that the people who come into my studio are infinitely more important than any piece of artwork I create. Artwork only lasts so long. People are eternal (that's my belief anyway). And according to my faith system, people are created in the image of God, so if I love God, I should see him in the face of every single person that enters my studio (and treat them accordingly).

St.Claire Art Opening at the AC Hotel, Asheville

The rooftop of the AC Hotel, Asheville, North Carolina

As a full-time artist, I hear a lot about the importance of "self-promotion", "putting yourself out there", and "getting noticed". And as I've been doing this art gig full-time for some years now, it's occurring to me that it's a really easy thing to start believing that success is measured by how much attention I get. That sounds really arrogant. Let me explain what I mean.

A few months ago, I was asked to have my artwork displayed at the roof-top bar of the AC Hotel in downtown Asheville in August. This is a real honor, as this hotel is truly amazing. Honestly, going to the art opening and reception, I will be so out of my league. But there's something really intriguing about "schmoozing" with the elite. If you do it enough, you begin to believe you are part of "the" crowd. I remember when I was an "emerging" artist, I'd look at more accomplished artists and see what they were doing to promote their work and my head would swim. "How do they get all this attention? What do you have to do to get that?" are questions that continually ran around in my head.

…”self-promotion" is different than "art-promotion".

One is toxic and the other in not.

In the last couple days, I've been doing a lot of planning for this upcoming art opening at the AC (which is August 15th by the way) and it occurred to me that this is a fine thing to do, and it's necessary for an artist to promote their artwork (if you want it to sell). But "self-promotion" is different than "art-promotion". One is toxic and the other in not. I really do want people to value and enjoy my artwork. That feels awesome, and I do seek that. But having what I do valued and validated can NOT be confused with having my person valued and validated. If "I" am seeking value and validation with the attention "I" get, then I become really ugly. Everything becomes about self-promotion, and whatever attention I get will never be enough. Not really. And because of that, I'd always be looking for more and bigger and better ways of self-promotion. The bigger the event, the more attention I garner for my work, the more valuable I'll feel as a person.

I've decided to repudiate all that. What if value is not found in doing the big things that get all the attention, but in doing little things well…by adding beauty to the mundane chores of life? When I look out at a local mountainside, I see beauty everywhere: in wildflowers that will be wilted next week, in small pebbles with pink crystals in them that maybe no one will ever (EVER) notice again, in the random cardinal flying overhead, in the sound of the breeze through the leaves. Beauty in nature completely permeates the mundane. My faith tells me I'm created in the image of God, and if God infused even the mundane with beauty, then maybe that's how I reflect that Image. Maybe as a creator myself, maybe THAT'S the "biggest" thing I can do to express who and what I really am. This means that maybe by adding beauty to the smallest of things: to washing the dishes for my wife, to smiling at the person in front of me at the grocery store, to letting someone cut in front of me on the freeway, to playing with my grandchildren, to doing things no one will notice or care much about...maybe THOSE small things are really the biggest, most satisfying things that "real" life is all about.

So I'll got to this art opening at the AC Hotel, and I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun. But I'm there to promote my art, not myself. Now excuse me. I'm going to do the dishes. :)

"How do you decide what to paint?"

One of the questions I regularly get asked from visitors to my art studio in Asheville is “where do you get all these ideas to paint? Have you been to all these places?” My answer varies but basically, I explain that no, I have not necessarily been to all these places, though I have been to some of them and I’m always taking photos. “Oh,” they’ll respond, “so you work from photos then?” Yes. About half the things I paint are inspired by photos I’ve taken or received from a client. I find I especially lean on a photo if it’s a commissioned piece of art from someone who has something specific in mind. The rest of what I paint basically reflect the happy places in my head.

“Because this is my job, I have to paint

mostly what I think people will purchase…”

Because I’m a full-time artist, I need my work to sell so I’m always listening to the people that visit my studio (even when they’re whispering to each other — yes, I can hear you sometimes!). This is SUPER helpful to me because I know what is really resonating with people. When I paint something new and hang it on the wall and it gets a ton of attention, loud sirens and blinking red lights go off in my head: PAINT MORE LIKE THIS! So I do. Because this is my job, I have to paint mostly what I think people will purchase in my River Arts District art studio by visitors coming to Asheville for a vacation. So most of my paintings are local or generic scenes. That said, I’m most excited right now about two really impractical pieces of art I started thinking about last winter: A 3’ x 6’ single crashing wave and a 3’ x 5’ scene featuring a composition of towering, jagged Himalyan mountain peaks.

What does a crashing wave or jagged mountains have to do with Asheville, North Carolina? Nothing. “Don’t you want these to sell?” you ask. Well, yes I want them to sell but I don’t care if these two sell or not. See, every now and then, I think it’s important that you express something really personal and distinctly “you”, whether or not anyone else ever appreciates it. Maybe these paintings won’t sell, and that’s okay. That said, these two are thankfully getting a ton of attention as I’m working on them, so that’s really encouraging. I’ll post the completion photos here when the time comes.

Close up of silver leaf wave.

Interior shot of my wave (with the first layer of paint) and the mountain scene.