It's been so long since I posted any words on my website I almost need a tutorial on how to do that. It's not because I have had nothing to say. It's not worth the lame excuse that I have had no time, goodness knows out of the 24 hours in a day, there would be times I could jot down a few thoughts on here. Not sure why I haven't, not sure why I am choosing to do this now, other than maybe because it's the last day of 2023, yeah, that could be it. Anyways, I will open the thought sharing with a photo of a recent painting I did before Christmas.
Yes, a familiar subject I like to paint, Goldstream. I didn't title it that, no. I've run out of variations of titles that include the actual park's name. This time I titled it " Emily's Place ", because Emily Carr lived here from time to time in her small trailer. Along with her many pets she'd load up the truck and trailer, then set up camp and spend weeks braving the elements in an adventure to create art. I've never done that. I go and take millions of photos, then come home and make supper on an electric stove. I do feel a connection to this magnificent place, tho. When we lived in Bamberton, which is situated a little further up the Island Highway,( just north on the side of the Malahat ), we'd visit Goldstream a lot as kids. Dad used to take us there on hot summer days to experience the feeling of swimming in cold water from the mountains. You read me right, we didn't think of it as a protected estuary in those days. We thought of it as a great place to play and swim (if the run off was good) instead of trekking to the ocean, which was also close. Totally different experience than the beaches with salt water. Not better or worse, just different. So Goldstream has given me a giant storage of senses in my subconscious collection that I enjoy tapping into often. Every time I go to my collection of photos, I go to Goldstream, and wonder if I've done that place enough times, move on. But again, when I need to feel inspired, I go there anyways, and paint what comes out of the subconscious collection. Then it sells, so I'll probably be painting it again, and again, and again... why not, eh.
Tomorrow will be a new year. I don't make resolutions. Never did, and consider the whole idea of resolutions on the brink of changing our calendars to a different year number as a silly idea even more so now. If I am to change anything about how I live, it should have nothing to do with what day it is, just do it. I know I don't paint enough. There are a lot of things I don't do enough, I wonder if I can change that. Change, ever changing this life is, yet so much remains the same. I have so much to be thankful for in all those areas. Thankful that I can weather the storms of change. And thankful for understanding how wonderful the simple unchanged things in life are.
Christmas came and went like it always does. I decorated this house to the max because that's my December muse, and in this house, that makes Christmas for everyone. My subconscious library was busy. So many senses surfaced. Sensations of childhood dreams coming true, memories of Mom and I in London Drugs buying Christmas decorations with her saying... " You're not buying those, are you?... don't you have enough?? " Well, yes Mom, I think I do, but I do enjoy the remembering putting them into the shopping cart on our mad shopping Saturdays. I didn't appreciate those days as much as I do now. I used to hear people say how old people just live in the past when I was young. Now, I understand why. Those collections in our subconscious minds are more valuable than I ever imagined. I may be an old person just living in the past sometimes. I feel pretty lucky about that, it's a good place to enjoy.
I don't resolve to do anything different tomorrow. I may have to undecorate the bare branched tree that stands in the window, or leave it, decide tomorrow. I may start a new painting tomorrow, or organize the studio back to an artist's haven instead of the multi purpose room. I may do a lot of things. Whatever I decide, I know I will take time to breathe in, and just say THANK YOU!! for another day that offers lots of places for my muse.
Happiest of joys to all in 2024!!!
Mary Ann
Hello blogland,
I figure since the house is empty for a bit, Gerry has gone out with a friend for a drive, cats are asleep, Mariner Spring Training game on the TV, why not post a bit of new news " from the studio ", been some months since I did this. I won't count on my fingers how long because that will remind me how many new paintings I should have done by now. I paint every day. it's not a unique challenge to brag about, just my routine, midnight to 2am, paint. Of course, when I have a deadline that I am painting to meet, cramming in other times can happen, but since I am on a less pressured lull, I am back to midnight to 2am, every night, there I am. I prop my iPhone beside me and pretend I am performing in some amazing concerts I find on Youtube, and rather enjoy the pretending thing. Back when I was trying to learn music works for a choir in the real world in my past life, listening had a very different vibe to it. I miss much of those things I could do in my past life, but the deep appreciation I have now for the kind of music I learned there is a tremendous gift.
So, this is my studio, what a mess, eh. I splurged and bought myself a new chair with wheels and adjustable seat. I love it, the only down side is, so does Bonnie. When I stand up to step back for a look, there's always a little battle to get back on MY chair. Then I have to suffer her snit with her back to me. I'm thinking of buying another chair for her, hate it when she's mad at me.
Since the new year began I've been a bit unfocused on what to paint. I tackled a difficult piece that is now facing the wall behind a lot of stuff. I'm trying to forget our star crossed relationship. It was one I hoped to have for my show in November 2022. I put it aside because, well, because it sucked like thirsty prunes. It was of a field of wild sweet peas in a long horizontal format canvas. Heaven knows the world has enough fields of flowers. I don't know what caught my interest in tackling this subject. My photo reference was from my childhood place, Bamberton, so lots of stirring senses in my subconscious I suppose. Photographically speaking, tho, not a great photo. Strange source of light in it. Bamberton is placed on the east side of the Malahat at sea level, so we always lost the sun by late afternoon. Was a big shock when we moved to Victoria and had full sun late afternoon beating on our house in Gordon Head. I didn't really understand this revelation until more recently in life. Anyways, as usual, I am digressing and making a short story very long winded. Where was i? Right, failed painting against the wall that took pretty well all of January. It became a battle alright. I hate losing, but then again, finally giving up and listening to my brush skim across fresh untouched canvas was a very healthy feeling for my subconscious senses. I'm not sure what I will do with that terrible mess. I probably could do a lumpy painting over it, lots of texture there. I imagine Vincent had lots of paintings with arbitrary lumps from paintings underneath, didn't seem to spoil his reputation. It isn't that the field of flowers beat me, no. I learned from it, sure I did. This is why, as you can see in the photo, I am painting what is very familiar of who I am. Lanes and paths in woods. I had to follow my senses in my recovery from the failure, like Scarlet O'Hara, I had to go back to Tara. Ah, the walk in the woods on a sunny day, aaaah, yes. These three are almost done.
The paintings are like this very "real" unplugged photo. The end of the day, the start of my painting time, what will come out of my subconscious head? I know many of us were given the chance to spend a lot of time in our own heads during that horrendous pandemic. I'm still in mine, trying to solve and understand so many things. The fun part of aging is being able to look back and take in different understandings with different perspectives. I'm always able to admit regret, I have a lot of them. Mostly my regrets are over my own stupidity. As a person I once knew long ago said to me while I was wringing my hands over a family situation that was frustrating me, she said.. well, it's your own fault for being so stupid. She was wrong in the context of where the comment was made. But overall, I really was stupid a lot of the time. I was slow and gullible and stupid. I think there's a really good Mark Twain quote there about age and wisdom and stupidity. It's okay, a lot of my stupidity makes me laugh. I'm not stupid anymore, I'm a genius now, right.
I better wind this up before the boys get home. This blog is just an update to let any interested site visitors know, yes, I am painting. No, I haven't switched to doing collage or sculpture. I'm still very much in tune with my life collection of senses in my subconscious. I have to paint what makes me feel good, pretty simple rule in my living choices. I will probably leave the fields of flowers to those who have the feel for it. The paths and rivers and streams and glorious sunlight calls me, I must follow the call.
And, on a final note of high A, next time I grace this blog stage, I will be posting a finished painting that I feel good about. I better mark that down.
Mary Ann
IT'S HERE!!!
It's late-ish, I'm still on December 23rd but officially it is Christmas Eve. Whatever we call this holiday, it really is a year end inventory on our lives. I started decorating first day of December, only because I enjoy decorating. Like making a painting, it evolves from original ideas that remain stuck in my subconscious mind since childhood. I do believe those of us who had a happy childhood do love Christmas right through our entire lives. Reflecting on the most difficult ones, I recall moments of pure joy and excitement. Mom loved Christmas, too. Even tho her later years were really tough at this time of year, she claimed she loved Christmas. She also claimed it was way too much for her and she wasn't going to do it anymore, then we'd carry on and just do it. I have had moments of saying Christmas has become a memorial service for things in our lives that just don't exist anymore. I haven't felt that was an accurate description of Christmas this year. It all still exists. I can feel "Christmassy" by good triggers that happen from looking at bedraggled items I pull out of the giant boxes of decorations. The inventory list still exists. All of it. The hard times, the happy times, that sudden burst of energy to want to stage another beautiful day where we share our gratitude for each other, it's real and still exists.
It is much easier now in so many ways. Michael J Fox says that Parkinson's is the gift that keeps taking, he is so right. Getting through events like Christmas is a huge challenge when Captain Parkinson's is in charge. Yet, at the same time, there is this lovely calm in knowing what we have to do, and are doing, is important and only bringing us all in our family closer together. I don't call myself a caregiver, never have, in fact, would get irritated at people telling me I need to take care of myself now that I am a caregiver. I call myself a co-pilot, really, on this giant Star Ship Parkinson's. Much of the time I can relax because the Captain is in complete control. There can be turbulence, tho, and without his co-pilot, we both would be in trouble. Acceptance and willingness to adjust in order to adapt is also key. I did all my shopping online. All my gifts are wrapped. The house looks beautiful, if I do say so myself.
No matter what we are dealt, life does go on. After spending this month of feeling the effective triggers on my life inventory list, I know I was born from a long genetic line of survivors. Can't help but think about Mom all the time this time of year, but I think about her all the time all year long. Lot's of " I wish I didn't say that " to lot's of " I wish I could talk to Mom about this right now " to... " I wonder what life would be like if Mom were still alive ". I'd probably be on the phone with her right now instead of tapping this keyboard at 1:35am. The inventory list is long. I've also had lots of HALLELUJAH moments because Christmas is much easier now in so many ways. I may not be good at that "self care" thing, but I am intelligent and sensitive enough to realize how lucky I am to be able to figure out what life really is all about. Only took me 69 years.
It will be a calm and beautiful and chaotic and tiring and wonderful Christmas. It will bring peace to our exhausted bodies, a sense of hope for new beginnings, and reminder of all we are so lucky to have in our lives, the strength of love that gets us all through most anything. I am excited about our new year ahead, lot's of ideas being brewed in my painterly subconscious now, not being able to paint for a month is hard, but good to take a break.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!
Mary Ann
" The Colour of Life "
Mary Ann Laing
West End Gallery Victoria
November 19 to December 1, 2022
" Sunny Day " 48x60 oil on canvas
Well... I made it, or, the deadline date arrived and whatever I have painted and ready, will be the solo show. I don't know how other artists feel about these experiences, for me it's complicated. I wanted to have a dozen paintings for it, I have 8. I wanted to be present at the opening, I couldn't be. I wanted to avoid stress, I didn't. I won't make excuses, tho, I will carry on and try to make sense of all the feelings and file them away to ponder again and again. My studio feels empty, do I miss those paintings? It seems that way but I rarely attach that deeply to them. I can let them go. Perhaps it's all of that energy we generate in the "dream state" of having hope. Ambition is also complicated. The older I get, the more I realize the true sense of ambition, and what importance it has in what we do. I am less consumed with ambition and image now as an artist. I am more consumed with the importance of putting paint on the end of that stick with hair that leads me to follow intuition for my own sense of " spiritual " health. I tend to steer away from that S word, however, whatever that S word covers, it is very much a part of what we do when making art. For most of the passing year I was able to paint and just follow the impulses without any panic. I was able to find a therapeutic affect on my mental health through painting. It makes me think of a fellow singer some years back ( when I was once a chorister myself ). While we were waiting and fidgeting pre performance, surrounded by nervous chatter in the washroom, this gal, a soloist with incredible talent, said to us.. " Sometimes we just have to get on that stage and remind ourselves to enjoy it. We've done the work, we know what we are doing, now, just enjoy it." I've thought often about that day in my past, and thank her "spiritually" for that important reminder. I miss my choir, but am so thankful for so many wonderful memories.
A big THANK YOU to West End Galleries for having me as a feature artist November 2022. Thank you to Amy, and Cole, and staff at the gallery for making me look good, for always encouraging me and making me feel confident about what i do. Thank you to the Hudon family, Matthew, Dan and Lana, for taking me on as a gallery artist almost 7 years ago. I am forever grateful for all they have done for me.
Please take time to see the show, and if anyone wishes to ask me anything, feel free to message me here!
Now, what playlist will I go to tonight.
Mary Ann
Yes, I am painting. I'm not sure why when we think about what other artists are up to, we even wonder if they are creating new works. Do we ever stop doing that? Even if we go for short spurts away from the easel, the act of what might be in a painting never ceases to play over and over in our mental visual. I'm posting a blurry and dark image of what is being worked on right now. Nothing finished, lots with hope of being masterpieces. Canvases leaning and laying and waiting. Painting for a date of being featured in a gallery brings on a whole new momentum. So far, not stressed.
I thought I should check in here with some more current news since last April. I'm feeling a bit sad I missed the summer, where did it go? Oh, I know, it's still here officially, but the hint of fall is in the air. Stores and news screaming from the rafters Back To School is near. Such advisories still cause a slight tension in my gut brought on by nerves over the unknown we must march forward into. I think sending our kids back to school was more anxiety inducing than me going for myself. I just wanted them to be happy. Not such a big request in life, eh. It's still number one on my bucket list.
I also am constantly thinking about what I could write a book on, or an online blog, or journal, or word share, etc. In a few ways, I miss being a member of the online social site world. In many many ways, so glad I don't use my precious and limited time doing that. It's an addictive way to cultivate my already hard to control glitch called procrastinator. Instead of getting to what I had to do, I'd scroll and find ways to distract myself. Especially if I had a deadline I had to meet. I remember when I was in high school, I'd sit in the kitchen and whine and belly ache over the anxiety of a massive ( to me ) project I had to do. Mom would say, " all this time you've spent sitting there grumbling and complaining over what you have to do, you could have it done by now. Go do it. " I can't imagine how those years would have been if I had social media at my fingertips. Makes me shudder to think, bad enough to find it during my Bucket List age. Which, in a way, is very similar. Instead of during my teenage hormonal age, I found social media during my menopausal hormone age. Both of those phases that graze my memory banks bring a lot of shuddering and saying to myself, what the hell was I thinking?? I don't think we give enough credit to how extensive an influence hormones have on our sense of practical thinking. I should write a book on that.
Or, I should write a book on my life. Not sure who would want to read it. Do people buy books anymore? I know they write them, I read that online. I hope anyone reading this will smile at my sarcastic sense of humour. Seriously, tho, do we not all have a story? All artists use their medium in sharing their story. Music composers give us songs that come from a personal part of their soul. Even if it's a fictional song, it reflects something very personal about them. Since I discovered a radio station in Sequim that I put on Alexa everyday, I've learned more about music makers. This station plays EVERY genre of music. I have become a scholar on recognizing who wrote songs. I have become a scholar on recognizing styles, signatures that only that individual could have written. Okay, Professor Google in my hand held device helped me along the way. I so wish I got onto the smartphone thing while Mom was alive. She would have LOVED us being able to look up artists and celebrities on those Saturday after shopping evenings. Sorry, I missed the beat on that one, Mom.
Or, should I write a book on how to be an artist. I think it would end up being more a story on how to not be one. I've tried. I have announced my retirement, done, can't take the stress, just can't do this anymore. My husband waits until my rant is over, then tells me to go paint, and I say okay. I couldn't write a book on how to paint. I could never teach, not in me to take on telling people what to do. I do admire those who teach. In any subject, teaching is a huge responsibility. Perhaps I feel this way because I have learned since Professor Google came into my life, and Sara and Robert Genn letters, I am an HSP. This is why I sing better in the car alone than I do on stage, I'm an HSP. This is why I paint better on my own and not in a crowd, I'm an HSP. HSP stands for Highly Sensitive Person, by the way. And, this is why the thought of teaching absolutely terrifies me, I'm an HSP. I'm so glad I don't have to teach.
If I were to write a book about living as an artist, it wouldn't be a how-to book, no. It would more likely be about perspectives on being a human being. The common thread that sews us together in ways that makes us all of the same material. Thinkers and dreamers. Riders on metaphorical rides of highs and lows. My perspective today is optimistic, even though I do have a civilian cold, nothing fancy, just a cold, I feel somewhat enthused that today will be a great day. Sun is shining, it's not TOO HOT, Gerry is having a day without too many horrendous OFF times ( Parkinson's sufferers will understand that one ) and I'm excited about what I am painting.
Okay, on that optimistic note, I shall go and paint.... and maybe start that book :)
Ah! Sunflower!
24x24
Oil on wide wrapped canvas
West End Gallery Ltd
Painted for the people of Ukraine. Featured in an online fundraiser exhibition at West End Gallery Ltd.
Ah! Sun-flower!
by William Blake
Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travelers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
In true character, I am coming here far too late to post photos of my house decorated for Christmas. Or my optimistic wishes for a best-ever New Year for all. Time heals, but it also slides by so fast I can hardly catch up to my own thoughts in one day. I have photos in my camera still of ideas for my festive blog. It is, and was, always such a complicated month, December, full of triggers. The season of traditions and triggers. Decorating for me is not a chore. It's very like painting. A fresh canvas waiting to be filled with all the good senses born out of those triggers. It occurred to me while decorating, every ornament I have ever bought I was with Mom. Saturday was our day to shop, my fun shopping that is. My husband did the practical shopping through the week. Stock piles of food products on sale. Five cases of Campbells Soup to cases of Green Giant kernel corn, whatever the sale, he was on it. I used to say he must have had a past life during the 30s and was very poor. No, I don't believe in such things. His parents lived those years in the prairies. I suspect he learned his shopping habits from those who understood the necessity of making every cent be productive. Anyways, those days are gone. I do all the shopping. Without Mom, practical or fun shopping, I do it. It's not so bad, really, we eat T bone steak more often than we did 30 years ago.
Oh, the digressions of writing, eh. I don't think I intended to sit and blab away our shopping habits over the years. This word space is supposed to be about what is happening in my studio, oh right. I have been asked by the gallery that represents my work ( West End Gallery) if I would be interested in doing another solo show in the Fall of 2022. I was happily surprised to be asked. Two years ago, I was in panic mode over the need to produce a body of work for Fall of 2020. At that time, I was still in a choir that was gearing up for a big concert in March. Rumblings of a dreaded pandemic hitting the world was beginning. Gerry's Parkinson's was forcing it's ruthless wrath of terrifying symptoms he, and I, were not handling very well. I was painting, but I was not in anything close to a stress-free creative mode. By the time Covid was HERE, things really got crazy. Lock downs, cancellations, daughter moved home, Parkinson's and all the changes due to that, and painting for a show in the fall. I made it. I was satisfied, if not surprised, with the works I had for the show. It's amazing what we can do if we stay the course and just do it. But I was stressed and shared that with anyone who asked how I was doing. I'm surprised the gallery asked me again after all my whining. I'm surprised I happily said yes. There again is that mystery of life. We go through some of most difficult struggles, heal, then can't wait to get right back on that struggle ride.
I am planning for it now. Part of my plan is to keep this one stress free. Stress, it really is an unruly thing we all have trouble keeping in check. One of my best strategies in dealing with anxiety is to look back where I have been, and do an analysis on what I did wrong where the stress won. I know two years ago much of the stress around here was fear of things that we were perfectly capable of surviving quite well with. I think of 6 years ago almost to the day of right now, I found Mom dead in her home. That was my worst day, and subsequent few years of the absolute worst stress ever in my life, but I survived. Look back on what you've accomplished, Mary Ann. Look at today. You're here, healthy and surrounded by the strength of love of family. Painting for a show in 10 months is really a piece of cake. Bought from Whole Foods cake, I can't bake, and yes, I miss those cakes, Mom.
What I will paint will be what I paint. That's another strategy I use when the pressure of anxiety hits me, deep breath and simplify the idea. I have stations all round the house where I can take time to add more paint to a canvas. One spot where there is a BIG canvas, one where there is a medium sized one, and small ones in the dining room. There are also a lot of other projects going on, re-framing Gerry's lifetime collection of sports photos and memorabilia. This past year I have painted rooms and left the walls paintings free since, so I resurrected a lot of my older works that got stuffed into closets with piles of frames. It's surprising how many flowers I painted along the way. I never considered myself a floral painter. They aren't bad, kind of fun to return to my older works and do some critiquing. I have put them into nice frames and they look lovely on my newly painted walls. And, I have a nice big closet to store all my Christmas decorations so I don't have the physical chore of putting them up into the attic. Every year the challenge of embarking the journey of stuffing me, along with big Rubbermaid tubs, through that hole in the ceiling was getting more and more difficult. Ah, won't have to do that next time.
Keep busy, keep busy, and take moments to look back. Today is looking like a pretty good day. Sun is shining and I have lots of projects and plans I feel excited about. I may have many moments of anxiety and fear ahead, but I'll get through them, and while I do that, I can paint. I am always amazed at that, and of course, COMPLETELY GRATEFUL. These are times where so many have had to side line what they love to do, or give it up. I miss a lot of things, but with my super storage memory banks, I enjoy most of the triggers, and keep going. Life is good.
Oh, heck, why not leave a picture anyways... My blue room, Mom's drapes she made me go perfectly, she'd love the new colour.
Christmas 2021
And, my most recent finished painting at West End Gallery, Victoria...
" Walk This Way" 30x24 oil on wide cradle canvas
Now, where was I....
Mary Ann
Just dropped this very large painting in to West End Gallery this afternoon. I had planned to write an "in progress" write up with it, but instead I'd just like to say it's done. I amaze myself every time I finish a painting and call it done. It's a huge sense of accomplishment no matter how many times it's happened in my life. Done, never get bored of signing them and calling them done, very much a high five kinda feeling.
I don't often commit to doing a series but I am thinking I have been in a series of street scenes in my neighbourhood for a while. Saying I am going to do a series of street scenes is not me. Saying I think I'll paint street scenes until I break down and must go to a path in the woods again is more me. Don't commit, just paint. I enjoy painting the streets of our beautiful city a lot. This is what I live, this street in the photograph, I drive their almost daily. We drive it that is, my husband as co pilot, the tour guide actually, tells me where to turn, if he doesn't I panic, where should I turn?? Funny the things we adapt to, eh. I wasn't able to get out to photograph the essence of fall in Victoria this year. I may still but I think the tree jewels are mostly fallen and have become that dark sludge on the street. I'll decide next time the sun shines if it's worth a gathering of 100 photos or so. I have thousands of photos I plan on turning into paintings eventually. How old am I? I better get going...
On the easel now is another scene of fall in Fairfield, smaller, tho. This giant one (for me) in the above photo was painted on a black ground. My jury is still out on what ground colour is best. I'm not certain if the ground is to impact the artist or the viewer. The viewer doesn't know what ground colour was used, it does get very well covered. Now, the one I am working on had no ground. I was in the mood to paint colour directly on white. I was intrigued by the idea of sketching straight onto the canvas as if it were a piece of paper and I had crayons. A different experience and I must say, I am enjoying the build up of colour over the white ground. Love those little pleasing moments that would go unnoticed by everyone else.
So there is my brief catch up since I last posted way back in the summer. After I finish the painting on the easel right now, I bet I end up in Goldstream again, in spirit, how lucky is that? Very!
Mary Ann
Do I start this blog entry with another... " ah, two months since I left an update " ?? Seems to be the schedule for me right now. Paint daily but nothing gets finished for two months. I am not a fast painter. I used to believe if I didn't bash them out in a few days I was not a good painter. Now, after bashing for some decades, I realize how an artist approaches their work is part of their personal signature. To bash and leave it alone and sign it is a fantasy, really. I also realize those works done by artists that appear to have been bashed out in record time most likely took weeks as well. Like the dancer who appears on stage to be natural and dancing perfectly with ease, there's a lot of hard struggling time involved before they take to the stage. The work behind making a viewer feel the painter created with ease is a whole other store.
ANYWAYS... there's my opening paragraph after thinking I forget how to write. Yes, I have been painting daily. Since I changed this page title to From The Studio, I will focus in a non-digressing format on news from the studio (try to anyways). After a nice reward of selling three BIG paintings in one week way back in February, I was inspired to hit a big canvas again. Ordered a 48x60 aka 4ft by 5ft, and a 36x48 aka 3ft by 4ft. As usual, the waves of inspired enthusiasm waned by the time the canvasses arrived and I had started covering another painting shot in the wait time. A canvas that had been toned black with the beginnings of a flamenco dancer on it. Some years back I took a workshop in acrylics where the artist teacher had us working on 30 by 40 inch canvasses, our choice of subject to paint, but the focus was on painting the figure in dramatic lighting and form. I did one of a trumpet player I was very pleased with, then I started one of a flamenco dancer that the teacher had us take photos of to get the jest of drama and lighting. It was a fun class. But like most classes, I take from them bits of what I might keep, and quickly slide back to my own way of painting again, which is what is expected, not supposed to walk out of a class cloned into someone else.
Here is the beginnings of the paint over:
You can see the image of her shoulder and neck disappearing into another artist's idea. It was fun to work on a different ground. I have been painting my canvasses with a cad red ground for a few years lately. I am still not sure what my favourite coloured ground is yet. The black ground does give a quick sense of drama with light to dark contrasts, but black is black, and I am an addicted colourist. Hence, my new canvasses are still virgin white waiting for a ground colour. Take note of painting over flamenco dancer with ungrounded canvasses in the back against the wall in this photo.
During painting phases I have made the mistake of posting works "in progress", only to be told how disappointed people are that the finished work changed, they liked it better "in progress". So I don't do that anymore. If I am to share to the public an "in progress" shot of my work, I better have the finished product involved in the same share so I don't get any hate mail. Kidding, just kidding, I don't get hate mail, I exaggerate, but you get the idea I am making. I'm always curious how a work evolves that artists create, so maybe one of those site numbers are people who will enjoy such things on my site.
The lost flamenco dancer has now become another mental visual from our daily drives. Of course, I use a photo reference to capture the essence of a sunlit day in the fall, I'm addicted to colour. I've tried to detox and do summer greens and gardens. I don't know, just not the same as that heart stopping fall palette that makes me fill my memory card with hundreds of pictures. This painting is now of a well known corner in Fairfield. If anyone has taken a drive in Victoria along Beach Drive, ending up at Inner Harbour downtown, they would have come along this corner. It's just before reaching Ross Bay, and if I am to do any local tourism prompting here, the construction is pretty well done and we can now park at Ross Bay again. However, I suspect another phase is planned and people holding slow/stop signs will make your drive last a little longer. Can't argue infrastructure updating, tax dollars are meant for that. No digressing, oh right.
Here is the pretty-sure finished painting:
There have been lots of peaks and valleys along the way. The truck is blue in my photo, but it looked better red. The red car is white in the photo, I like it blue. I'm still in pondering mode of... ugh, I'm not sure, but then I look at all the paintings on my site and remember me feeling that way about them, so I'm thinking that's just me being a chronic self doubter. I think the painting says what I felt about that moment in time in my life. I think I found my way to communicate a sense of wonder over our beautiful city. There may be very few things I am sure of in each day I am given except that of how I feel, I know that one for sure. And I think I shared that one, I think. I will sign this and get to West End Gallery as soon as my feelings tell me to "put it in the car and take it for a drive, Mary Ann." Okay.
Good bye flamenco dancer, hello Hollywood Crescent. Good title, no, too long. Maybe.. Even The Cars Change Colour... naaa. Maybe Fairfield Drive Number 46... naaa. I'll think of something...
And so... what colour ground for those virgin white canvasses??... hmmmm
Thanks for stopping by!
Mary Ann
Ah, over two months since I left a few words here. I always have grand ideas for a blog entry, I wish I could remember one of those right now, no grand ideas on what might make an interesting thought meander. It's getting onto midnight soon, my painting time, and since there is no good time to write a blog, I'll do it anyways right now. The dragging gray months called January and February are over, thank goodness, not my favourite months. Grim reminders of death of loved ones, trying times I recall thinking I'd never survive, but I did. We mark one year since we were ordered to cancel most of the good living things we like to do due to the wrath of Covid 19. Life is tough, and we keep on. Yes, we keep on.
My last entry here was about nothing probably, but I do recall posting a canvas I was working on. Well, that painting is done, and now down at West End Gallery, on the wall. Happy story, we had our errands to do on Friday, a schedule, first stop the gallery. I'm tired, oh big surprise, when have I ever said that before, when have I not is more the question. Anyways, luckily our spot was vacant for us to park, so I quickly grabbed this painting I am going to post and ran into the gallery. I rarely go in so it was nice to see Amy and all the gorgeous artwork IN PERSON! Not knocking the glorious ease of online exposure and shopping, but gosh I miss so many of the in person things we used to be allowed to do. After chatting for a bit, short catch up, a woman came over to me and asked if I was Mary Ann Laing who did the paintings on the wall. I said yes, and she said they had just bought the one she was pointing to. I nearly swallowed my face mask with a gasp of joy, HOW WONDERFUL!! The painting they bought was 36x36, the one I brought down, 36x36, it can fit perfectly in that spot. I'd say the timing gods were with me on Friday. I rarely get into the gallery in person, if I painted quicker and had more new work that might help, but what are the chances for me to bump into clients buying one of my paintings, very slim.
So here is the new painting I took down on Friday, the final product from the canvas in the photo I posted in my last blog. Gerry and go driving every evening, some days both daytime and evening. I know this is what many others are doing during this pandemic, but we have more reasons for doing so because it helps him when he's having his horrid "off" times with Parkinson's. At first, being asked to go for a drive every evening was not easy. This isn't a very big city, it can get rather boring, empty streets of Victoria, especially during the dark winter time. We've found some good radio stations that play music we love, it's really not the worst ordeal in life, in fact, we've turned it into adventures. My family members are pretty well pioneers of Victoria, Gerry's aren't, his family arrived in 1951. I found archival Victoria directories that go back into the 1800s online, and have found addresses where my grandparents lived when they arrived in 1910. I also remember so many stories Mom would tell me about her childhood days, so it's been fun to put those stories to the addresses we drive by that I found in the directory archives. I suppose, in a way, this is a form of stalking, but it's fun.
Imagine these streets once being walked on by my grandmother as a young woman who just arrived from Scotland. Imagine my grandfather labouring on those houses he built. Imagine my mom playing with her cousin Vera who lived on Toronto Street in James Bay. Imagine Aunty Audrey as a young girl with her sisters running out of that gorgeous house on Government Street. Imagine them seeing Emily Carr walk by, which they did. I know it's only my imagination carrying on from the stories Mom would tell, but it's so much fun. I'm thinking I should paint the houses that remain, some of them have been demolished. How lucky for me to have this endless history to visit right outside our door. So many stories, so many memories, those are the foundations in all of my artwork. I don't go on sight to paint, plein air painter I ain't, I think I could make a poem, or song, out of that. No, I gave up on that effort, but that doesn't mean I have nothing to paint. I do, and I doubt I'll live long enough to get them all done.
The above painting is from St. Charles Street in Fairfield, in the fall, obviously. The horse chestnut trees that line the streets of Fairfield are MASSIVE, and so beautiful. They have been carved into odd shapes over the decades to make paths for power lines and structures that have invaded their growing space. Some of them live for 300 years. Not sure if any of these ones are that old, but maybe Mom walked by them when she was little, or rode her bike by them. Or maybe my uncle climbed one of them. Dad grew up in Bamberton, I know which trees he climbed. Is it silly for me to gone so like this? Good, I was worried I'd lost my sense of silly.
Nearly midnight, time to paint. A blessed life it is!!
Mary Ann