Success is a Lonely Walk we must take by Ourselves

"Siesta"  8 x 10 original drawing (reminds me of Key West!)

Being an artist is a lonely pursuit. Remembering what you know and putting it into practice requires self-motivation, skill and continued study. I’ve known artists who are professional students. They constantly take classes, but never quite get beyond the stage of exploration. They think that the next great class will surely make the difference between success and failure and in their ability to paint that perfect painting. Sadly, it never happens.

Only you can develop your brush strokes and style. You may learn value and color, you may understand another person’s technique and recommendations, but unless you continually practice your brush strokes and develop your own process for painting, you’ll be stuck.

"The Neptunes -- Octoband"   http://etsy.com/shop/anfinsenart

Plugging away and working while everyone else is at play is difficult. In order to climb, you must put in the time. It is by doing that we learn. We can read every book on the planet, and take all the classes available to us, but if we don’t put into practice what we have learned, our dreams of success remain in limbo.

"The Neptunes -- Trumpeteers" http://etsy.com/shop/anfinsenart

The biggest hurdle for most artists is finding time and space. Don’t wait until all your ducks are in a row. Don’t put off painting until you have the ideal space or allocated chunks of time. Delays are excuses. They keep us from making commitments.

Robert Genn’s twice-weekly newsletter is being done by his daughter, Sara, in his absence. Sara shared this gem a few days ago:

“Here's my version of English author and illustrator Neil Gaiman's Eight Rules for Writing. I've modified them for painters:

1. Paint.

2. Put your first stroke down and move on with another stroke. Work your strokes and let your strokes work you.
 

3. Stop the painting before you think you should.
 

4. Put your painting aside and start another painting.

5. Always keep in mind that you are your own best critic.

6. Perfection in painting is probably not possible. Excellence in painting is for people who appreciate the poetry of your soul.
 

7. Your style is what you're doing academically wrong. Radicalize yourself -- you only have one life to show you've got style.

8. You need to paint with enough assurance and confidence to know you can do whatever you like. So paint your story and make painting your life. Be honest with yourself about your progress. Always try to do a better job than you did the day before. I'm not sure there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.”

And finally another quote from Gaiman’s book: "I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes," says Gaiman, "Because if you're making mistakes... you're Doing Something."

That’s all we can really do, friends. We can keep on making mistakes, and sometimes we may get lucky. (Below: work in progress "Fuchsia Fantastic #1, #2)

Cyber-rattling – the Skeletal Remains of Abandoned Blogs

"All that Jazz" acrylic on panel in red boxed frame

 (repeat of a blog from 2012)

We’re all eager to start them. We want our own public space in the sun to share our personal trivia or our hopes and dreams. Millions of blogs attest to that fact. But what happens when the enthusiasm fades, a blogger moves to another space, or just leaves his or her audience hanging as weeks turn into months and months into years?

The search engines are clogged with the skeletal remains of countless blogs hanging in the pathways of cyberspace. I was amazed as I searched for viable art blogs how many of them have not been updated in months; some for more than three to five years!

"Lucky Lady" acrylic, mixed media on panel in red boxed frame

Amongst the casualties were new mother blogs, created by first time mothers who wanted to share the miracle of birth and their amazing adventure into motherhood. Others wanted to share a wonderful vacation with humorous stories and full-color photos. But when the vacation excitement fizzled, the dazzle of motherhood wore off, so did the blog.

Many blogs are started with good intentions, but they fail miserably when the blogger realizes there is no substance. There are no long-term goals. There was a beginning, but no ending. The blogger had no vision for the purpose of his or her blog or the discipline to finish it.

Clanking around this wasteland, I still found some good information, an interesting fact or two; but it required an investment of time to find that juicy fruit, that bright star among the scattered bones of defeat. Some bloggers move frequently from space to space, leaving their old blogs behind like bread crumbs to lead their followers back home. Some links failed, leading me on a wild goose chase.

"Shimmy Shake" mixed media on panel in black boxed frame

With all the apps and gizmo's out there, I sometimes have difficulty uploading my own updates, especially in the evening hours. The large sites like Facebook and Twitter become unpredictable and double tweets or failed tweets happen on occasion.

Abandoned bytes and cyber debris join other waste materials in the heavens. Our Satellite Station over the years has dropped scraps and junk that still circle the globe endlessly polluting the atmosphere. Our oceans are filled with garbage and the ghostly remains of plastic bags. Japan’s Tsunami debris floats around the globe, butting up against foreign shores and introducing them to alien species.

"Vamp on a Ramp" mixed media on panel in gray boxed frame

Our “throw away” society continues to add to our mountain of debt and our growing landfill piles. Wouldn’t it be great if someone could find a way to clean up this wasted space or manufacture things that would last? If our economy is so bad, why do so many people throw thousands of pounds of food in the trash each year? Solutions not rhetoric is what we need. Suggestions anyone?

"Yes, Sir, that's my Baby!" mixed media on panel in black boxed frame
(All Retro prints and originals are on http://www.etsy.com/shop/AnfinsenArt)

A Red, White, and Blue Salute to Our Veterans

"With These Hands -- Wonder" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

I remember vividly where I was on 9/11, do you? I stood with my fellow co-workers in front of a large-screen TV and wondered what was happening to our country? We watched in horror and disbelief as the replay showed a plane plowing into the first Twin Tower. In shock, we witnessed live another plane crashing into the second building. This couldn’t be happening.

At the time, my two sons were in New York. One lived in lower Manhattan with his wife; they both worked on Broadway. The other son worked between the Twin Towers and CitiGroup. Where were they now? Cell phone use had been cut off due to the emergency. My anxiety was in overdrive. I prayed.

"Hey, Coconut, Mon" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

Eventually, one son managed a communication from NY to California. The person in CA called his wife who lived in CT and I learned that he was okay. He was scheduled to meet that day on the 8th floor of the second tower, but the meeting had been moved to another location. We later learned there were many small but mighty miracles going on all over the city that limited the usual number of people who were supposed to be in the Towers that day.

Thankful that my boys and their families were safe, I rejoiced with other people who had been spared, and offered up prayers for those who hadn’t. Americans joined hands and hearts, praising God and showing their patriotic colors, but not all. Even in those dark hours, there were some who ridiculed “those flag wavers,” and blamed American Imperialism for the event. It was our fault. We deserved it for allowing such desperation and poverty in the world in the first place.

Unfortunately, those naysayers are still with us. The hate-America-crowd never seems to get tired of bashing the success and hard work of others or demeaning American values held dear by many.

(This is what I'll be doing on the 4th of July!)

My own father was a welder who took pride in repairing the ships that were damaged during World War II. He worked on the Arizona, the Missouri, and many of the ships prior to and after Pearl Harbor. As a child, we lived in government housing in Bremerton, Washington. Sailors, soldiers, and patriotic workers were part of our everyday lives. We took pride in their service and in their accomplishments. 

My Danish grandfather and his Swedish wife traveled all the way to California during World War I to work for the war effort. Papa worked in a factory as a welder, and Mama sewed clothing and uniforms for the soldiers and their families. They kept America’s factories running while the men were away fighting a war to preserve our freedoms. God forbid that Hitler should come here! People everywhere worked together for the good of America: the last bastion of freedom on the earth!

Papa and Mama came to this country via Ellis Island. They were proud, hopeful, and legal. They pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and carved out a life for their posterity. When you put down my flag and put down my country, you’re trampling on everything my ancestors fought and died for. These freedom loving people would give you the shirt off their backs, and they often did because it was the right and honorable thing to do. They earned their success through their own blood sweat and tears.

(Two beautiful red pears I plan to paint)

Several years ago, I was between jobs and feeling down and out. I had a medical background, so I managed to get an interview with the VA hospital where I lived. I was unprepared for the feelings that overwhelmed me when I walked through those double front doors. 

People in wheelchairs, old people, people on crutches, many with limbs missing coming and going down the hallway and gathering in the foyer. Flags and photos were everywhere. A feeling of reverence, and yes, despair, permeated every smell, every corner, every water-filled eye. I didn’t get the job, but I left a changed person.

I was so overcome with gratitude that I wanted to shake every hand, kneel at every knee, and hold every trembling, frightened person I passed and say: “Thank you;” but it seemed so inadequate! I was living my life with the hope of opportunity; whole, well, and free because someone here in this hospital and elsewhere in America gave up an opportunity, a limb, a loved one, a life of security for me.

God bless the men and women everywhere who serve our country! Thank God for the men and women in past generations who sacrificed their lives so that you and I can hope, and breathe, and choose our dreams. Freedom lives because somebody died—for you!

Are You a Neat Freak or do You Thrive in Organized Clutter?

"Kelly's Rose" oil on board 12x16

I used to pride myself on being organized. I had to be with six children! I prepared meal plans so I wouldn’t have to think about “what’s for dinner?” A monthly meal plan gave me an edge. Shopping smart and planning ahead kept our meals on time and within budget.

Over time, I did give up on having our home look like “Better Homes and Gardens.” I learned to tolerate a lived in look; cleaning only once a week. I ignored what happened in between because I valued my time, and it was impossible for me to do anything more.

I became an avid list maker. I found that once I put it on a list, I could forget about it. The worry and the guilt were “out of sight and out of mind.” It cleared my head. I looked at my list at the start of each day and checked off my priorities. No worry. No fuss.

"Hibiscus Glory" Oil on 16x20 canvas  SOLD

Of course, there was always the unexpected pushing some items to another day. For the most part, these lists kept me in line. I took classes, I was a free-lance writer, and I was active in my church and community. I have found over the years that too much neatness can kill creativity

.

I’m not knocking organization. I’m just saying that organized clutter, for me, is the best way to manage stress and to meet deadlines. Take my desk. It’s never clean. There are small piles (organized piles) everywhere. Each one represents a different project. When someone comes to visit, I arrange the piles in orderly fashion, but they stay! Like fingertip files, I know where to look when I need something.

"Jack's Roses" oil on canvas  SOLD

My guest room/art room is the same way. I have organized piles on the bed, in the closet, and behind the door. The difference between the desk and my art room is that everything disappears and is moved to another area for the duration of guests when necessary.

My palette is no different. To another painter, it may seem sloppy and disorganized. But to me, I know exactly what I need and want at any given moment. When I use acrylics, I put out only the paint I think I’ll need for a specific purpose or it dries out. With oils, I’ll put out more paint. I don’t organize my palette as well as some artists do. I place light colors on one side and medium to dark on the other; that's it.

By the time I’m through painting for the day, there is no definition left, anyway.  I mix and match. I take swipes of different colors, mixing on the canvas when appropriate. I have watched other artists paint; their “neatness” is amazing. Their clothing or cover-ups, their arms and faces are clean. During their painting session, they wipe their palette of residue and to separate piles of paint. Neat. Neat. Neat.

"He Lives"  oil on 16x20 wrapped canvas

When I’m through painting, I may have splotches of color on my nose, my arm, and my clothes.  I lose myself in painting. My imagination soars when I’m unfettered by rules and restrictions from the “how to” experts.

Some people may see a big mess, a desk in disarray or an unworkable palette. I see organized clutter ready to be turned into something magnificent and memorable.