Something I wrote in 2015 about being an artist

Every time I paint, I paint a masterpiece. It’s true. I am completely in love with most of my paintings as I’m painting one and right after I finish it. Then, with few exceptions, I’m not in love with it any more. Sometimes I’m on to the next one, sometimes not. 

Maybe the reason I’m not a “master” is because I never got serious about painting. The pity there is that I’m not good at a lot of things, and I approach the surface not knowing what’s going to happen. Maybe no artist knows what’s going to happen. 

There’s a wildlife artist whose work I like very much, Greg Beecham. His work is amazing. He offers lessons — I’d like to learn some things about his technique. I’m pretty sure he uses glazes, something I’d like to try, but haven’t figured out. I watched a segment of one of his lessons and what intrigued me wasn’t him, what he was saying, or how he was painting, but how he’d literally drawn everything onto the painting surface somehow. It resembled the surface of a paint-by-number kit from back in the day. 

I approach the surface with colored pencils. Depending on the painting I’m imagining, I might have a small version in water color like this one for a BIG painting I started two years ago and that now overwhelms me. Usually I just block in main areas of color and that’s it for “drawing.” (Voiceover from the future: this big canvas ended up being an immense painting of a Sandhill Crane, no mountains at all…)

Sometimes I draw elements of the painting and then take my painting from the drawing, but I don’t normally draw much on the painting surface. In my mind there’s a difference between a drawing and a painting. I think most artists have their ‘approach.” 

I drew this painting on an envelope at a conference. There are a lot of strange things in this painting. First, I painted it in California in 2012, but it is a painting of the San Luis Valley down to the contour line of the San Juans as you see them from the 160 between Monte Vista and Alamosa, pure accident. I had never been here. It’s eerily prescient.

Second, it was inspired by the stranger than fiction tale of having written about my own family in Savior without knowing it at the time. When I did genealogical research later and discovered that, I realized that all I’m ever going to find as a writer is something about myself, and the entire planet is an immense graveyard of bones and stories. 

I integrated a quotation from Goethe as the bottom strata of the land where “I” am digging. It says: “How all in a single whole doth weave, one in the other works and lives.” This painting hangs in my living room along with another that is more mysterious, even to me. 

The World is Out There

I didn’t fully understand this painting until I’d lived here for a year. I painted it in California two years before I moved. It began as a painting for my stepson and his wife, a street scene of New York I started in oils and realized it would be better as a watercolor. Quite a distance from one to the other…

How the Watercolor Turned Out

In school, I got encouragement from some teachers and outright discouragement from others. Over the course of my life, what this gave me was freedom. I didn’t even try to make a living as an artist. I didn’t believe I could, I understood the competition and the difficulty, and art went into the “garage,” the “shed,” and now the back room. It’s good that it did. Most of us are not going to be “great artists.” I’ve had some work hang in juried shows and sold most of my bigger paintings which is good because they take up space, but I think the best I can do is enjoy painting. 


12 thoughts on “No Where Near Being a Master

  1. It’s good to see this post today — I’ve been wondering what has happened to you since your last post, and hoping that you’re ok! I think every artist, no matter what their art is, has a unique way of approaching a new piece, and the end results are often different than the beginning. Fall is beginning to happen here, with a week of cooler weather — but it is supposed to warm up again by midweek! I’ll be happy when it cools down a little and stays there!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Here’s my regular blog — I think that’s the one you lost or lost you??? In any case, I’m happy to see you here. I was incredibly discouraged about being any kind of artist at all when I wrote this post. It was interesting to see it tonight. It was tucked away on the blog/website I made for my books.

      We’re supposed to be having freezing temps tonight. I covered my tomatoes and had a long talk with the beans. They had seeds ready for me to take for next year. I just hope it doesn’t happen. I’m ready for cooler temperatures and winter and all that, but I really hate it when I have to say goodbye to the beans. Silly, but…

      I keep looking at Air BNBs in San Diego for January when I turn 70. I don’t think I’ll do that, but I would really enjoy a walk on the beach and a ramble in the “friendly mountains.” ❤


      1. Thanks for the link — I’ll try again to ‘follow’ you, and will make a note of the URL in case I keep losing you! If you do get to San Diego, do let me know — I’d love a walk on the beach with you, and I should be ready for it by January! Chemo now done, radiation to start in a couple of weeks, bruises (including black eye) from a fall a week ago are healing well, and I’m feeling pretty good! I hope the beans last through the night so you can harvest the seeds for next year!

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I got about fifty beans from the plants already, so next year looks OK (but given the last two years I’m very paranoid about saying that). I’ll definitely let you know if I go to San Diego. I miss it, but maybe I just miss being 50. 🙂 Don’t fall! ❤


  2. Everytime I paint I feel the same. I think I can do better once I have looked at it after a while. I think I know what I’m doing then I spot my mistakes! I think it’s natural, otherwise I could do one painting then never feel pushed to do more xxx

    Liked by 1 person

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