The Colors of Western Skies

"Western Skies, " 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel, palette knives, brushes

"I love mixing paint," I told a friend recently.

Long ago in my first watercolor class, one of the first lessons was that you don't need many colors, that you can mix the ones you need.

Then an artist in an oil painting workshop I attended said he could have entire lessons on mixing colors.

When I started trying to teach myself acrylics, mixing colors became essential, but there was a difference--palette knives.

I've always admired palette knife paintings, but picking one up and mixing colors became a new tactile experience. You can get lost in trying to get the colors you want, and feel for a painting, even before touching the canvas..

Just as when you're painting, the rest of the world goes away. These are problems to be solved, to my satisfaction.

Those a some of the stories behind this painting, trying to capture the mood of the skies in my beloved Southwest. And then, something else happened  that I didn't intend, but came from mixing colors because you never know exactly what you'll get. . As with previous paintings, I ended up using complementary colors, emphasizing opposites--yellows and purples, blues and oranges.

This has resulted in brighter colors and contrasts, and will also influence my future watercolors as well. No wonder I love mixing colors.  

Season of Change--November and my art

Acrylics and oils

My November art show at @Inyoureyestudio&gallery in @PaseoArtsDictrict in OKC opens tomorrow, and the title is no accident. November is a season of change, but I'm in the midst of change too.

I've been experimenting, teaching myself, learning, and having fun with acrylics, branching out from watercolors, where, according to my wife Susan and god friend don Drew, I was stuck. Time to try something new.

Mini-Acrylics--5 x 5

 I've learned much in the  past couple of months, most of it fun and challenging, but also daunting and sometimes frustrating because I'm not sure what I'm doing. Advice from other artists has helped but mostly, it's been trial and lots of errors. 

Watercolors ....from Oklahoma and the Great Plains

I will not forsake watercolor, because acrylics have added to my appreciation of them and taught me much about letting go, trying new things. And watercolors have taught and influenced my work in acrylics. The differences are many, in techniques and properties, but composition and light and color apply.

Watercolors...To New Mexico and beyond

So the show at the gallery, where I'm one of 11 member artists, features more than 50 paintings, most of them watercolors, but also several recent acrylics and a few oils. Season of change indeed.

368 pages in a plague year

Yesterday marked a year since I started a daily journal of the plague year--not knowing if I'd survive the pandemic, or if I could keep up a routine. 368 pages later, the answer is "Yes."

I've never been disciplined enough to keep a diary, but the uncertainty of these times, I wanted to start keeping a personal record of our ordeals.

Perhaps the model was Samuel Pepys' 1660 personal diary which also covered the plague in London. It was certainly the idea for this old repentant English major.

When the pandemic first hit us in mid-March, I determined to start almost daily watercolors, hoping to bring some color into a darkening year. My slide shows of those watercolors are complete on this blog, through February, and March has slacked off. But the idea for the journal began in March a year ago.

Here's the record of the pages. April 1 to July 31--168 pages; August 1 to December 31--127 pages; January 1 to April 1--73 pages.

Obviously, I wrote more earlier than I have of late, especially after vaccination. Some pages have only a fraction of a page, others run for two to three pages. What is remarkable is that I've only missed about five or six days in the entire year.

It's changed over the year as well, as I keep track of temperatures, weather, my weight, and the books I've read and paintings. Early writing included the multiple pandemics--biologic, the political nightmare and racism, as well as the ice storm and other worries..

I've started  going back and reading a few pages at a time, and it's like going back in time to what we've endured and survived. 

How long will I continue? Don't know. This morning's notes were brief. I may add some later...it's almost a compulsion now, like this blog, because there are books to read, and paintings waiting to emerge. And Like Pepys' diary, its personal, not meant to be shared. His was discovered and has become a classic. Mine won't--besides, nobody can read my scrawl..

February slideshow--story of a year of watercolors

February Slide Show--turn on volume

This month's 12 watercolors close out a year of paintings during the pandemic pandemonium that descended on us in mid-March, a year ago. 

Trying to learn and survive the unknown, wondering in a daily journal of the plague year, I turned to trying to bring some color into my life and by sharing, to others with art to offset the gloom.

So this month's watercolors --I just noticed that most of them reflect my yearning to start traveling again--bring to 270 completed in this past 12 months. I'm amazed, and thankful, and blessed. 

Some are pretty good, a few are very good, many are just so-so, and others, not so much. But, I pushed myself, took on ideas and subjects I hadn't attempted, and had fun, and therapy. 

When working on art, the rest of the world goes away, and I, and we needed that between the viruses of pandemic, political insanity, racism, hatred and everything else, including violent weather.

I also learned how to put together slide shows of my work, for this blog, and on social media, such as this one today.

The total number of watercolors rescued and  changed my 2020 blog to a record number of posts, the third highest in its eleven years. They also pushed my imagination for subjects, and my writing, as I attempted to pair each painting with almost thoughtful mini-essays.

My annual holiday greeting card tradition boosted the total, with 38 posts in December. Most of last year's watercolors were 5 x 7s, especially in December and in April through July when I was attempting a painting a day, requiring quick work. But many are 8 x 10s as in February--all 8 x 10s except one greeting card, which is dated,  and a few larger.

The first slide show, of 18 March paintings, didn't get online until September. Here's that link if you wish to look back a year. March, 2020 Watercolors, as I caught up. 

Here are the other totals and links, if you wish to travel back in time

April through July--98

August--15

September--31

October--16

November--25

December--38

January--17

Red and Ready

Today I hung my red-themed watercolors at In your Eye Studio and Gallery, getting ready for our group February show at Paseo Arts District, opening First Friday, Feb.5.

Here's what it looks like. You can also see the paintings up close and in person, and even purchase them, this Friday and Saturday, noon to 5. 

From left, at top, Oklahoma Red, Amazing Grace, Oklahoma Sentinel.

Second row, Attention Getter, End of the Line, Seeing Red, Red Hot.

Last row, Irish Eyes, Passion, Red and Green, Windy Day, Rock and Roll, U.S.S. Arizona.

The watercolors of January--a story

Red. That's the theme of February's show at our gallery, In Your Eye Studio and Gallery in Paseo Arts District. I'll be hanging mine today, getting ready for First Friday art walk, Feb. 5.

There are 10 of us member artists now, and we meet once a month--via zoom for the past 10 months as the pandemic has disrupted every one's lives and businesses. We've been fortunate that we've not suffered as much of the rest of the world. That's when we chose the red theme for February.

It's been my goal ever since March to try to bring some bright color into the world to offset the darkness,  and it spurred my creativity, with many, many paintings...some good, some, well so-so. But I painted...more a gift to myself than others, I suspect.

I count myself fortunate to be such a member,  but when the theme was suggested, I thought I had nothing red to show. So I got to work.

As I did, and began assembling them, getting them framed at Pirate's Alley in Britton, I also found a few earlier red ones to be included.

And in this process, this appropriate poetry from by readings in Rumi just appeared this week:

Here is the slide show, beginning with my best, the round barn at Arcadia. It ends with the first painting of the new year, the only non-red one of the month, "Manzano Moon Shadows."

Here's the information on those paintings, most are 5 x 7s, unless specified otherwise, size not including mat and frame. Those from earlier than January are included:

"Oklahoma Sentinel" (8 x 10), "Attention Getter," " Everybody needs flowers," "Seeing Red,"  "End of the Line" (8 x 10), Granddaughter's birthday card, "Rock and Roll" (earlier), "Hold on to your hat kind of day" (earlier), "Red Hot," "Redhead," "Irish Eyes" (earlier), "Passion," "Amazing Grace" (8 x 10, earlier), (U.S.S. Arizona" (earlier), "Great Plains Winter" (earlier),  "Manzano Moon" (8 x 10).

Splintered year, and paintings of a year

"Splintered Year," 8 x 10 brushless watercolor, 140 lb Canson cold press

 The brush pile from the October ice storm----splintered trunks,  twisted branches, decaying leaves--still looms in our front yard, and will probably for at least another month, as it will all over Edmond.

It seems an apt metaphor for 2020  around the world, and especially in America, as I close out this year in painting.  The pandemics of disease, outright hatred and violence, intolerance, fear, and political chaos  from a wanna-be dictator have splintered this country more than ever, since the Civil War.

Today's watercolor, 8 x 10, closes out a prolific  year for my painting, which for me at least has been something positive out of the mess we're in. I think this painting is probably about 244 of those attempted since January. 

"Dance," a 3 1/2 x 5 favorite from July, teenage memories

Most have been small, most haven't been very good--and that doesn't include the many attempts I consider failures--but they've all helped me cope and survive quarantine, stress, worries and the splinters of this country. And they don't include numerous sketches.

The number of paintings has certainly been boosted by about a little more than 100 greeting cards during the holidays and for special occasions. 

There has been a lot of experimenting on my part--including painting with sponges--as with today's. I've developed monthly slide shows. I've read and watched videos from watercolor masters, and tried to adapt. 

January had the fewest paintings, five. December, the most at 39, followed by July (World Watercolor Month) with 32, and April at 31. These were days when I was determined, almost daily, to bring some light and color and joy into the world to offset the darkness.

I hope they helped. They did me...including today's.

Mountain Magic

"Snowed In," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

Snow is  forecast this weekend, while it's already snowing on two of my children, one in Colorado, one in Iowa. They get real snow.

Unless it's a blizzard with strong winds, in Oklahoma we probably won't get snowed in. The main danger in getting out will be the drivers who don't know how to manage a half in of snow on the ground. Far better than the more common ice we've endured.

But I remember, especially in New Mexico and Iowa years ago, literally being snowed in. As a kid or younger adult, those were special times...times of beauty, silence, warmth, fun. And rarely as a photographer in Oklahoma, a time of beauty, especially with black and white film.

So today's watercolor, memories of the magic of being in the mountains, snowed in, a fire in the fireplace, chili on the stove, coziness.

"The colors of cold"

"Northern Lights," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

I've only seen the Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis perhaps twice in my life, but what I remember is how cold it was outside, and how eerie they were.

Some artists are really good at capturing their essence, and I'm not one of them, but I know about the colors of cold.

Today's watercolor, and of course, a barn, upper Midwest on a cold, snowy, clear night. 

Christmas tree season wish

"Christmas Tree Season," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

On a cold winter night in December, almost nothing is more fun than driving around showing your young children the bright Christmas lights on trees and other decorations, watching their eyes light up. 

Remember? The heater turned on high, the defroster working to keep the windshield clear? Wiping the side windows to keep them clear so the kids could see better, dimming your car lights in neighborhoods as you slowed down?

This year the decorations have gone up earlier than usual, because we need that color, that spirit, those memories more than ever. 

We should treasure them even more for those of us still healthy, as  we think what a terrible year this is going to be for millions who have had their holidays darkened by disease and death.

I hope these watercolor cards, and the memories, help lift all our spirits.

A November record

"November Stroll," 8 x 10 watercolor

This post marks the 31st this month, but more than that for me, blogging since May, 2009.

It's my most posts in any November. The previous high number was in that first year, with 26, and for some reason November has never been a strong blogging month for me.

The first year of any blog is usually one of the strongest, and many fall into oblivion as people run out of inspiration--unless of course it's a niche blog that manages to make money. I wish it did, but never really figured out how.

It's amazing to me that this blog is still going, because it doesn't make money, and after retirement, as the journalism bent dwindled, it was almost comatose, even missing two months in recent years. Until...

Watercolors have saved it, and me too for that matter in these last years, especially the tradition of holiday greeting cards that I sort of stumbled upon. 

The cards, and my other watercolors, will boost the blog to another record at the end of the year. It will become fourth highest in blog posts  when it surpasses 2013 at 252.  That also  amazes and motivates me.

Now, back to watercolors.

Gloom, and Hope

'Gloom, and Hope," 8 x 10 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches rough press paper

The gloom of late November has set in, yet...

My mood deepened as the gray skies and weather ended beautiful sunlit days, seeming to fit the deepening gloom of  personal issues, the out-of-control pandemics of disease, racism, threats of violence and a petulant president.

Having completed my annual Christmas card projects, gloom found me unable to pick up a paintbrush, because I couldn't think of what I wanted to paint what I felt. 

Two desperation attempts were disasters--they were not how I felt, or had a story to tell.

"What do you feel," asked Susan, and I responded gloomy, to match the weather, the times. "Then paint gloomy weather," she answered. 

Once I would have blamed the muse for leaving, but I know better now. If you want the muse  to help, just start work.

As this idea came together from an early try at "happy" colors, the rainy, gloomy November day became a journey. There is gloom indeed, but there is also hope as the holidays come, as change comes to the nation.

I have also been experimenting with rough press paper, rather than cold, and found the extra texture intimidating to begin with. But today, it worked, adding impressionist touches, the first larger watercolor I've been satisfied with in quite a while.

Which means, in spite of the gloom, there is also hope. I think the painting tells that story, rain, gloom, but hope in the window.

Holiday hope

"Decoration Dawn," today's 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

 I won't gripe about people putting up holiday decorations early this year. I don't think there can be an "early."

I'm not talking about the holiday music already playing in stores, trying to sell more merchandise. "Black Friday" has already become a month-long endurance tests for unending ads, which does make sense as merchants also struggle to survive.

But I wouldn't be surprised if some people are more than ready to hang some wreaths, get out holiday lights, and more. In the biologic and political disease ridden year of 2020, we need some holiday hope.

I saw these fence posts in the Texas Panhandle a few years ago, and  thought it would be appropriate to hang some holiday hope on them. It would brighten my day to see them, no matter how early, this year.

The October Watercolors

October...still a favorite month, in spite of a raging pandemic, raging racism, and a  raging president.

A month for beauty, for hope, and for this blog, a record, thanks to watercolors, more posts than any other since it began in 2009.

Thanks primarily goes also to beginning my holiday greeting card project, something that rescues me from doldrums, and in this year, depressing events.  

While I didn't accomplish a watercolor a day, there have been more than that accomplished. What you see here are the 20 posted on this blog, and the snow scenes are the greeting cards. All of them, except perhaps the Halloween Horror, are part of my effort to bring beauty and color into this negatively charged year.

Warm Memories on a cold day--a milestone

 

"Warm Memories," 5 x 7 watercolor greeting card

When winter arrives  early, it's good to cuddle up with warm memories.

Today's cold front, rain, freezing rain, ice, snow sweeping across Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico makes my imagination wander...to bundled up walks in the snow, to rural countrysides, or to cozy cabins or farmhouses, the smells of cooking being prepared, a fireplace perhaps, a cat or dog on your lap.

Another journey...today's watercolor, tracks in the snow, and a discovery...this is one of the best I've done.

P.S. And a record, a milestone,  for this blog, thanks to watercolors. After this blog's life dwindled in the past few years, it then seemed to rescue itself  from journalism through seasonal watercolors. Thus post marks the second highest in October since the blog began back in 2009. And the total posts this year now have made this the fifth highest year since then.

A journey indeed. Now back to the palette and paint brushes.

 

Pandemic paintings, positively

Deadly as the pandemic is, and has been for six months, it has also spurred creativity around the world, in poetry, writing, in music, in all kinds of art including painting--reactions to quarantines and hard times. 

These are times when art is needed more than ever, to be antidotes of humanity to gloom, doom, and insanity.

 For me, it was a personal challenge, a fight against depression, against powerlessness, against being cooped up. Thus in these months, I've found solace and meaning in trying to paint consistently, rarely negatively, but positively, bringing color and light into these dark times.

Beginning this Friday, and through October, at In Your Eye Studio and Gallery, where I am one of 10 member artists,  in the Paseo Arts District, you can see, enjoy, and perhaps purchase, 28 of my watercolors and three oils, of my beloved New Mexico. But it's free to look. They're not all new, but many of the most colorful are, landscapes of Oklahoma and the southwest, and some whimsical ones of cats, birds, barns and more. There's a special corner where framed 5 x 7's are priced from $69 to $89.

I'm sharing the monthly show with Jim Reznicek, terrific photographer, and the back part of the gallery.

The gallery is open from 5 to 9 Friday Oct. 2 , and from 5-9 Saturdays. If you want a personal appointment, you can contact me starting Oct. 5 at tmclark@gmail.com. View much of my art also on my webpage: www.tmclarkart.com.

Here are some photos of the show, hopefully to  whet your appetite. Hope you enjoy.

In the Autumns of our Days

"In the Autumn of Our Days," 8 x 10 140 lb d'Arches cold press paper 

Favorite season? 

For me autumn, and as get older, there are more intense reasons than before.

In earlier years, the cooler temperatures, the changing light, the colorful foliage, the end of summer, and more. 

These days, I identify, and notice,  more with the brilliant colors, the crisp air, the shorter days, the inherent necessity and promise of change, the coming of death. Metaphors and more.

Thus today's watercolor.

Centuries Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series no. 9

"Centuries of Calm," 5 x 7 Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series no. 9

"This too shall pass."
We don't know how, but the  pandemic, racism and t-Rump will pass, as they have for thousands of years.
Impatient homo sapiens is just to short-sighted and impatient to keep that in perspective. We think we're important, when against the ages of time, we're just a blip.
That's one of the lessons of cats. Four thousand years ago, they were gods in Egypt. Ask yourself why? What was it that caused the ancients to worship them? I suspect that their calm, relaxed and in control aura was part of it. And don't cat owners still worship them, in a sense, today? Why? 
And unlike inanimate gods, idols, these gods know they're regal, and demand our obsequities (I've wanted to use that word a long time), which we willingly offer.
Judging by history, cats don't have just nine lives...essentially, they're immortal.
So for the ninth  Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series  (could this be the last one, matching nine lives?), here's today's watercolor 

Magic mountains

"Mountain Magic," no-brush watercolor, 8 by 11 1/2 cold press paper 

"The mountains are calling and I must go." --John Muir

Alas, I'll have to wait, given the pandemic and all, but not quite. Because mountains are magic. They have called people, become sacred, throughout history.

Manzano  Morning, Terrence M. Clark

Every day I travel by magic to a sacred place for a conversation with an old friend, a place inspired by my Dad's oil painting of the Manzano Mountains new our cabin in New Mexico, that hangs over our mantel.
Mountains--I read about them, I travel to them in reading, in my memories and my imagination, in my paintings.
I have some favorite mountains, the Manzanos on my top ten list because of memories. I can add the Truchas, the Tetons and more. Where are your favorite mountains?
Today's no-brush (sponge) watercolor, "Mountain Magic."

Why I paint barns--stories from The Depression

"Eastern Oklahoma Dawn," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb. cold press paper

Why do I enjoy painting watercolors of barns? 

Erle Thweatt Clark locked the doors, and picked up his paint brushes.

My Dad's portrait of my Grandfather

Have you ever painted buildings—not pictures--for a living? I have, but never thought too much about where that came from. Could be genetic, when I consider my family background.

The first summer I taught high school, two other teachers and I formed a painting crew in northwest Iowa, amid rolling hills covered with soybeans and corn, where farming is serious business. Because of the severe weather, and their European ethnic backgrounds, and their pride in their way of life, farmers on those prairies keep their barns, hog houses, sheds, and houses painted on a regular basis. Rare is the farm building that's not given a new paint job every four years.

That's what we did--renting scaffolding we transported in an old pickup truck. We were contract painters and kept busy all summer, going from one farm to the next.

We were good and we were fast. We would set the scaffolding up on one side of the two- and three-story farm houses early in the morning. We’d race the sun around, starting on the east and ending up on the north late in the day. We'd start at the top, with our tool boxes, paint and brushes, and come down the side of the house before moving to the next side.

We carried scrapers, hammers, nails, caulking guns, and we started under the eaves.

Worst part were the wasps that you had to fight off every day. As a joke, one friend stuck a straw in my ear  and yelled "Wasp!"

My reaction was immediate, and I jerked my arm around with my paintbrush full of white paint. It slapped him across the face, and almost knocked him off the scaffolding two stories above the ground. He didn't do that again.

Painting the towering barns and the  hog houses were the biggest ordeals.

For the barns, you’d have to haul a ladder to  the top scaffold,  precariously perch it there, climb and  stretch way up to get to the overhanging peak with your paint brush, several stories above ground, on guard for wasps..

For the hog houses,  we’d put the scaffolding up beside the building, but it usually had pig manure stacked up against the foundation, and the feet of the scaffolding would sink into the muck. The smell was awful. It attacked you and clung to your hair and skin. When you got home in the evening, you'd have to strip outside on the porch rather than take the smell in the house.

Granddad and Dad's graves, Comanche, OK

So what has all that got to do with Erle Thweatt Clark?

I learned much on one of my visits with the last Clark years ago--my uncle, the late Uncle Mike, in Santa Fe. My Dad was his oldest brother, and he’d tell stories about the Clarks I’d never heard.

I also learned the value of The Depression. The Clarks were the poorest of the poor in Comanche, Oklahoma. Five boys came out of that home, and rather than staying in the red-clay town--Terrence, Lewis, Rex, Mike, and Champ all escaped to various successful careers around the world. I never understood how some people would take such abject poverty and survive, rather than being trapped there for the rest of their lives.

Mike said they had no place to go but up, and that to get up, they all fled Comanche.

That's when he told about Erle T.--my grandfather--locking the doors and picking up his paintbrushes.

He owned a grocery store when The Depression hit, and soon his customers couldn't pay their bills. Finally giving up, Erle told everybody to come in and clean out the shelves--giving the food away to the hungry. Then he locked the door, and picked up his paints--going back to his original trade as a house painter.

All my life, I heard about the Clark boys--Terrence, Lewis, Rex, Mike, and Champ--coming home to help Grandma, Cuba Jon Miller Reasor, paint her house in Whitesboro, Texas.

Through the years, I've done my share too, even beyond those wasp-ridden, precarious barns and gagging hog houses.

Mike said a preacher told him once that in order to understand something, you had to get down and look up at the underside. He figured being the poorest people in a poor town put him underneath, looking up.

That helped prepare him for  successes, based on a compassion and understanding of humans in need. That, and house painting--which must be genetic.

Maybe that’s why barns fascinate me. Now I settle for painting watercolors of them, though. Even my business card has one on it, and I've painted special ones for family members and friends.

(This has been revised from a newspaper column I wrote more than 20 years ago.)