Cake

                         "Donuts and Cake" oil 20 x 20 private collection copyright BonnieParuch

You’ve probably heard the expression about success, as “having one’s cake and eating it too!”  I’ve been thinking about that lately. This is my first season in Door County as a fully independent artist.  For the past twenty some years I’ve been represented by wonderful commercial Fine Art Galleries both here in Wisconsin, and in the Southwestern States.  When I first stepped into the national arena, I held the perception that to be a successful artist one had to enter the “big leagues” of commercial representation.  Over time, I’ve re-thought that perception.

 I am situated in a vital artist colony and collector destination. Like many artists in this area, I benefit from the collective and cooperative art spirit that flourishes in the art scene here.  Historically, collectors and artists alike have been drawn to art engaged communities such as this. Provincetown, Cape Ann, Taos, Santé Fe, Old Lyme…these are a few examples of many special places that began with artist exploration and vigor.

I’ve discovered that there are two distinct types of collectors, those who enjoy “finding” and meeting an artist to establish a personal relationship and those who seek the anonymity and cache of a commercial gallery. 

I’ve benefited from both situations.  As I’ve matured as an artist and grown more comfortable in my “skin”, I have found that I enjoy my personal space and studio more and more. Sharing my work within this framework simply makes me happy, is more personal and frankly, is more profitable. 

Many artists have been successful role models for those who seek independence. Locally, painters Gerhard Miller, Jim Ingwersen, and Emmett Johns are among this group.  I suspect that we share common purposes to create what we want, to share our creative process and to make a living. Fame is not a common goal. Occasionally, I work with a student or artist whose professed desire is to be famous. I know this is a slippery slope, not for the unwary.

My new space is perfect for me. When I walk into my studio I’m greeted by a beautiful display gallery which is alongside my working space.  It feels like home, like “me”.

It’s been a long road to this place and we’ve put in lot of hard work along the way.  Right now, I feel like having some cake.

 www.bonnieparuchart.com

 

Leave a Light On

 

                                             "Night Lights" plein air and studio pastel 12 x 16

 

While I was growing up I could always depend on the porch light. It was a little beacon that never wavered and was never forgotten if I came home after dark.

Last night we spent some after- hours’ time in my studio. We were trying to keep ahead of the handy man who is working on a project to create more display space for me.  As the daylight faded I briefly glanced up the hill toward our house and saw the warm glow of light coming from our kitchen.  It said welcome, come on in, and I’m waiting for you.

I realize that the sight of a light in the darkness has always brought me home and made me feel safe.  Vern and I continue the tradition that my parents started. We always leave the light on when we expect our kids or guests to arrive at night.

When I teach, I often talk about the value of light in my work.  Perhaps what I really want to share is the meaning of light in my work.

We are in a time in history where the constant, swift dissemination of news has created a feeling of both instant gratification and instant dread. We know every detail of every conflict in the world as it happens.  Sometimes the world seems to be a dark place.

 Last year a brilliant poet came to interview me about my creative process. He was gathering information for his research study of the differences that might be found in the creative design of writers, musicians, painters, choreographers … 

He asked me what role an artist played in society. I responded by saying that an artist plays a role as an entertainer, magician, educator, among other descriptions. He was very distressed that I did not immediately include social activist in my assessment.  I have thought about that conversation quite often. Some art is obviously motivated to provoke or attack societal mores. Other artists choose a quieter path to share their unspoken message.

As for me, I leave a light on.

 

Diesel the Doberman - and Other Amusements

"Winter Willow" 8 x 8 oil

My studio is under attack.  Everything is under wraps and stuck into the back third of my space while we begin a small remodeling project.  As a result, my painting opportunities are confined to the great outdoors for the next week or two.  One day last week, I headed out. After driving around looking for both a subject and a safe parking place amidst the snow banks, I settled on a grand barn near Europe Lake.

At a quiet crossroads I found precarious spots for both me and my trusty van. They consisted of two patches of asphalt "kitty corner" from each other, each plowed a little wider than the rest of the roadway. Not quite legal parking, but, safe and quiet in winter! So I thought.

I had just parked and was walking from my van with my gear when a guy drove up and stopped.  He rolled down his window said, “I was just thinking how great some of these old barns are and then I see you with your camera ready to take some pictures!” My painting set-up includes a tripod for my portable paint box so I guess he assumed I was a photographer. “Nope”, I said, “I’m going to paint the barn”. “Yup” he said “You’re going to take photos to paint from”. 

“No” said I, beginning to mime painting with a brush. “How often do you come out here to shoot photos, what kind of camera do you use?” said he. So it went…I finally gave up trying to explain and he gave up on me with a perplexed shake of his head as he drove down the road.

Finally, happily set up to paint, I concentrated on my drawing and began blocking in the shapes of the barn. Suddenly, directly behind me, I heard a door open followed by a loud growling and deep barking. It was a huge Doberman, confined in the chain link fence surrounding the property I was pitched next to.

 

 Okay. I admit to being a bit nervous, but, there was that fence. I kept painting till I realized that the snow banks were high enough for the fierce sounding fellow to climb over!

Just as my common sense and survival instincts kicked in, a door opened and I heard “Diesel! Diesel! Down! NO!”  And “Don’t you worry he’s just a big baby!” GRRR….Growl>>>>Bark!

The kind property owner did bring Diesel in. Three more folks in cars stopped to see the frozen woman painting. The animals in the snowy yard disappeared and called to me from the warm confines of their barn. The light changed. A rooster crowed.  I painted a golden willow and red barn and …had a blast. Get out there.

 

Handmade

Handmade

Just recently I had a conversation with a good friend who was bubbling with excitement about an idea. Lori and I have painted together many times. One day, I showed her a new oil painting palette that I had made from an old light weight frame and a birch panel.  I am more comfortable if I don’t have to look down and twist to mix my paint. One studio day I had an “ah-hah” moment.  I glued a 16 x 20 birch painting panel into a simple frame. I attached a small stabilizing board with a receptacle for a quick release plate and voila! - I have a nifty, large and light weight palette that I can attach to a tripod.  Lori plans to take this palette idea a step further and make a lightweight panel-holder-palette to lighten her plein air painting load.

 

Making the things you need (or want) is an amazing and  satisfying endeavor. It is totally engaging, fun and challenging to create a tool. My dad, Alex, was a maker of things. I must have gotten his handwork gene watching him make jigs, carve and design his woodworking projects. Our youngest son, the metal craftsman in our family, was on his grandpa’s lap helping with his woodworking long before he could see the top of the workbench. Our academic son has embraced the art of building things. His experience building a deck with a friend has lead to a workbench, chicken coop, and home brewing!  A handmade project can make life more entertaining and a bit more meaningful.

Last summer I shared a handmade project, a small paint box, with a group of workshop students. They loved it. The small pochade box is assemblage of a thrift shop wooden box, an inside out bracket and a few “what’s-its”- and-fasteners from our hardware store. It works great and has become my favorite tool for painting from my car.

 

One day in early fall two of the students invited me to see what they had “made”. In a room full of their new plein air paintings they proudly showed me the plein air boxes they had made from, an old drawer, a cheese box, a pile of nuts and bolts, and of all things…a sprinkler tripod!!! Both of these folks could probably well afford a store bought plein air box but the joy they had in making them is priceless.

 

 

Ingenuity is the mother of invention. Invention is the soul of creativity. Creativity is the foundation of a handmade life. Make something.

Many thanks to Kathy Hart and Phoebe Howard for sharing their creativity with me!
www.bonnieparuchart.com

Making connections

                                     Boca Beacon 9 x 12 oil all images copyright Bonnie  Paruch

                                                            www.bonnieparuchart.com

 

When you are out painting everyone is your friend.

These words were spoken to me while I was standing on a beach as inconspicuous as a five foot seven woman in a big hat with an easel can be. I get pretty intense when I paint and the observer who said these words went un-noticed, slightly behind me, until she broke her silence. When I then glanced around, I found that she was part of a small crowd assembled just behind me!

When they had my attention, the group quickly clustered in.  Suddenly,  virtual strangers began to chat about art, about the beauty of the day at the beach, and about desire. One individual confided that she had always wanted to paint and draw. With her retirement coming close at hand she wanted to know if “regular” people could take art classes and not feel out of place. An elderly gentleman shared his knowledge of the historic old light house I was painting. Two very cute teens said it was “cool “to be out painting. A young mother and daughter shared their unique businesses –cooking and blogging about food- and left me with their email addresses. It was a perfect day made more so by these new friends.

Studio painting is generally my place to develop more “serious” work.  Obviously, more time, less interruptions and comfortable surroundings make it easier for an artist to work up a major piece. But the studio can also be a lonely place where little, trifling disappointments in the creative process can get magnified. I find my sense of balance in the work I do on location. Random conversations, sometimes touching and sometimes hilarious, can kick start my creative energy and put my artwork into perspective. It is only paint after all. The human connections I find on location flesh out my work.

Once upon a time, Art Linkletter did a show called” People Are Funny”. We never missed it, partly because in every interview and out take we saw ourselves.  Perhaps the greatest gift of the creative process is the way it connects us all. So if you find me out painting, stop and say Hi!

 

Road Signs

Road Signs.

 

                                    
                                         "Down Meadow Road"   oil, private collection

I’m sure my  preoccupation with words has been inspired by our recent road trips. During our long rides I found myself thinking about the old road side signs that ended with the words_ Burma Shave. I vividly remember the plain white and black signs that seemed to appear out of nowhere. On every family road trip of my youth they punctuated the landscape between here and there.

 Sighting the first cryptic sign, we would perk up from the monotony of the ride and wait expectantly for the next phrase. Though we knew the punch line at the end, getting there was always a surprise.

Lately, I’ve been noticing some other signs in a different light.  They are as direct , but more affecting than the old that dotted the roadsides. Around every corner now, signs seem to be a part of my journey.

Stop. Yield.  One-Way. Round About. No exit. Exit. No trespassing. Merge. No Left Turn. No Right turn. Wrong Way.  Children Crossing. Do Not Enter. Enter. Construction zone. Bump. Rough road. One Lane Bridge. No Parking. Tow Away Zone. Evacuation Route. No Passing. Hospital. Pay toll. Stop Ahead. Lane Ends. Speed Limit. Pass with Caution. Falling Rocks. Steep Grade Use Lower Gear. No Engine Breaking. Rail road Crossing. Bridge Out. Check your Gas Before Entering.

 I notice lots of cautionary words when I find myself seeking other signs that will prompt me to GO! Explore! Play! Experiment! Trust!

I’ve chosen an alternate route this year, after many seasons of gallery representation here in Wisconsin I’ve committed to representing myself. Like most life changes it’s exciting and stressful at the same time.

 I’ve picked my route with care. I’m paying attention to the alternate routes.

 I’ll watch for important road signs, seek the lanes less travelled, and find joy in the journey.

 Burma shave!

The Spaces Between

The Interlude

                                              Catch of the Day oil private collection

My philosophy has been that art is a part of my life; it is not my life. I think that this belief has helped me weather frequent transitions that have occasionally interrupted my professional life in ways that I couldn’t anticipate.  Those spaces used to make me feel anxious. Instead of being in the moment, I would worry that I wasn’t in the right place or time!  Slowly, I’m learning that these interruptions, spaces, can be places to grow and accept change.

  Instead of fussing about times when I can’t work for what- ever reason, I’ve learned to respect the redirected times. They have often led to better and brighter things. Some moments that interrupt a comfortable schedule are happy ones, a welcome vacation or family gatherings. Other transitions have been marked by loss and grief, the illness or death of a loved one.

The word interlude keeps coming to my mind.  It has many meanings. Historically, an interlude was a short play inserted in the midst of a morality play. It can also be a musical piece played between the parts of a song.  Fundamentally, it’s an element that fills the time or space between two events.

Maybe, by working through these “spaces between” we are forced to slow down and reconnect with the values that ground us.

 If art-making is an act in the play of life, then the interludes we encounter, “the roses and the thorns” are our muse.

The two paintings I've included here represent a time interrupted . They were painted at the same spot near the old tar shack in Gills Rock. The subject is the same but many things differ, it's all about the eye and heart of the beholder.

Both oils are in private collections copyright the artist.  www.bonnieparuchart.com

 

                                               The Old Tar shack private collection