Last evening I was a guest speaker for the Illiana Artists League.  I spoke on the benefits of using a 3-value thumbnail sketch in preparation for doing a painting or drawing.  My talk was well received.

So, what is a 3-value thumbnail sketch? 

It’s a small (3” x 3”) quickie sketch of one’s anticipated painting or drawing using a pencil (charcoal or even a no. 2 will do), drawing very cursory shapes, and shading each of the shapes with either a light touch for (1) middle gray  shade or ‘value’ in art terms, a firm hand for (2) black or dark gray, or leaving them (3) plain white to let the white paper show through.

Here are two examples showing my reference photos, my thumbnail sketches, and my resulting pastel paintings:

Why bother doing one? 

Because with a 3-value thumbnail sketch, one can:

--see how the piece will hold together value-wise

--move, eliminate, and simplify elements in the composition with ease

--check the composition and design and see how it holds together in an abstract way

And all of this can be done BEFORE beginning to use expensive art supplies and possibly wasting time and money trying to rework things on the artwork itself.

Will one’s artwork improve by regularly using a 3-value sketch? 

Absolutely!  I learned how to use a 3-value sketch a few years ago under the expert tutelage of Master Pastelist Sally Strand, www.sallystrand.com.  Since I’ve begun using it, my artwork has taken a giant leap forward, and I know that it is a direct result of regularly taking the time to make a 3-value sketch.  I no longer waste valuable time trying to figure things out while I’m painting.  Instead, all my potential problems with composition, values, and design have been already worked out beforehand so that I’m freed up to go after my goal, create a more solid statement, and ‘drive it home’ at my easel.  My 3-value sketch is my roadmap and I refer to it often so that I don’t get lost once I’m on the road to completing a painting or drawing.  I highly recommend that you ‘don’t leave home without it.’  

And thank you, thank you, Sally Strand!

   Mt McKinley Alaska

   Winter Flicker

   pastel

   11x14 (in)

So what am I inspired by to create my artwork?  The list includes lots of things that inspire most artists: a gorgeous sunset over Lake Michigan, or a beautiful flower growing in a summer garden, or a majestic mountain scene while I’m on vacation.

But I guess one of the most unusual things that recently inspired me was the Chicago area blizzard that hit us last week.  It was one for the record books, to be sure.  Within 24 hours we received over 24 inches of snow that was then hurled around and drifted, driven by very strong winds.  Schools were called off, businesses closed, and everyone was housebound for two days in the whole Chicago/northern Indiana area.

I had been thinking about starting a pastel painting of a striking bird, a Flicker, in a winter scene that I photographed two weeks ago on our back deck.  It is such a beautiful bird and the stark white snow and muted colors in the background only served to accentuate its beauty.  But I had shelved the idea because other duties had taken a higher priority in my daily task list. 

Then the storm hit.  Well, since I couldn’t leave my house to go tutor or teach my pastel class, I decided to dig into my painting.  I slowed down to a near halt when I was working on the background.  It needed to be muted yet imply that there was snow behind the bird.  I needed a live reference.  So I opened the blinds in my studio and there was my reference, absolutely perfect!  I was off and running again.

   Tools of My Trade

   pastel on maize Pastelmat
   17 x 12"

Recently I created my first self portrait of sorts—of my hands.  Here’s how I went about this daunting task:

First, I set up my camera on a tripod with it aimed at a patch of sunlight coming in through my bedroom window onto the carpeting.  I focused the camera on an object set in the sunlight and shot some test pictures with the camera set on timer.  Then I did some test shots of my cupped hands so that I could see just where to place my hands above the carpeting.

Next I carefully selected various sizes, shapes, and colors from my hundreds of pastels I own and ‘staged’ them in my hands, checking in a mirror to see how they’d look.  I wanted them to look good as far as design, value, and composition were concerned.  Oh, and I took off my rings and watch.  They would have been too much of a distraction for this piece of work.

Then it was time to shoot the real deal.  My pastels were in place, my camera was set on timer, and I knew right where to place my hands above the carpeting.  But wait, who would trip the shutter?  Nobody else was home at the time, so I’d have to do it myself.  As I maneuvered my one thumb to trip the shutter I wound up getting pastel smudges all over my fingers and palms of my hands.  Oh well, comes with the territory of handling pastels.  I thought I’d just not include the smudges in my finished painting.  I took several timed shots, each time getting more and more smudges on my fingers and palms.  Here’s the picture that turned out the best.

Next, I downloaded the image onto my computer and with Adobe Photoshop I cropped and tweaked the image until I was satisfied with its colors and impact.  I left the smudges in place thinking I’d deal with them while I was working on my painting.  Here’s the tweaked image I printed and used at my easel.

When I’m feeling cabin fever this time of year and I don’t feel like starting a new painting, I turn to making beaded jewelry.  It’s fast, relatively easy, and not very expensive.  One thing I’ve noticed while creating my latest bracelets and necklaces is that all my art related knowledge of value, composition, color theory, and repeated patterning come into play.  Just as with successfully rendering a painting in pastel, I can’t simply thread different colored beads onto wire and hope to get stunning results.  I need to think through my game plan well before the beads go on the wire. For instance, I’m thinking about how some beads might point to and play second fiddle to a focal bead.  I’m varying the sizes, textures, and shapes of my beads to add interest and variety.  And I’m thinking about the overall mood I’m creating with the piece. Do I want something casual or fancy?  Do I want to use complementary colors to push the drama or use analogous colors for a more homey feeling?

With one recent necklace I found out that I needed to use the same color as in the focal bead in some smaller beads going up the sides of the necklace, in order to give the whole necklace a uniform look and feel.  That reminded me of something I learned about many years ago from an art teacher – the mother color.  It’s the color that you need to work into all areas of a painting to give the piece a sense of uniformity and harmony, of belonging together.

Many visual artists I know love to dabble in other forms of creative artistry, from playing a musical instrument  to working with fabric and sewing.  While our passion still lies with our visual art, our hobby also digs into the same right side of our brains, drawing from the same set of creative principles and techniques that work for us when we are at our easels.  But the real benefit comes when we can learn new insights from our hobbies and incorporate them back into our artwork.  As an art instructor once said to me, “It’s all good, Mary Ann, it’s all good.”  I wholeheartedly agree.  And it’s so much fun too.  It makes the doldrums of winter pass by that much more quickly.

Note: I sell my beaded creations in the gift shop at the Chesterton Art Center, 115 S. 4th St, Chesterton, IN.

This is a pastel painting of mine, titled Outgoing Tide, which is presently on exhibit at the Kalamazoo Institute of Arts in Kalamazoo, MI until Jan. 8, 2013.  www.kiarts.org  It is part of a national juried exhibit of the Great Lakes Pastel Society. It also sold—YAY! There’s a story behind its sale and that’s what I want to discuss in this blog. 

You see, several months ago after I was informed that this painting would be in the show I was asked by the museum to write up a short paragraph telling about this piece of artwork, what inspired me to do this piece, what artistic elements are at work in the piece, etc. I was told that this info would be read by docents who would be educating mostly school groups viewing the show. 

OK, I have to admit that when I first received this request, I thought, “Ugh, what a pain!” I mean, I do rework my artist bio and artist statement regularly for different kinds of art shows, but this was a pretty special request and would involve a bit more work than just adding or subtracting some words from a bio.

But I know better than to delete such a request because time and time again I find that it’s just those kinds of paragraphs that make the difference between a nameless piece of artwork and a memorable piece of artwork created by artist Mary Ann Pals. Yes, a picture is supposedly worth a thousand words, but a picture AND a few hundred carefully chosen words of explanation can sometimes work magic together.

So here is what I wrote and sent to them:

“This pastel is based on a photo I took while on vacation, biking on the Tony Knowles Coastal trail in Anchorage, Alaska. The sky was a beautiful blue with layers of puffy white clouds receding out into the distance as far as the eye could see. I chose to give the viewer two ways to get to the center of the painting, either by following the curve of the retreating tidal water, or following the clouds down to the horizon as they become progressively smaller and closer together (aerial perspective).  I chose a panoramic format to convey the vast expanse of the seemingly endless sky and clouds.” 

And you won’t believe who purchased the painting—one of the museum’s docents, one of the people repeatedly reading my explanation of this painting! I am so flattered by that. I’m also even more convinced that when a museum or gallery requests something from me in writing, even if I feel it’s a waste of my time, I’d better sit down and write. It just may wind up working its magic on the person reading my words to others, and the accompanying artwork might find a new owner and a new home. Plus, and this is a big bonus, the new owner of my artwork just might be my free advertiser down the road as they explain my thoughts to others, and are applauded for such a beautiful purchase. In that case everybody wins. 

   Image:  B.C.
   charcoal
   17 x 14 (in)

   Note:  This sunrise over

   Lake Michigan has a 
   primeval look about it. 

   Thus the title. The

   streaming sunlight is

   actually just the 
   untouched white of the

   paper showing.


The following is some correspondence I had recently with an art student via email.  It lets you in on my views on drawing as an art medium.

Dear Ms. Pals,
My name is Helen and I am an art student in Colorado. During my investigation of charcoal, I discovered your work, and was wondering if maybe you could answer some questions. Where do you get your inspiration for art? Has any specific person inspired you? Any specific experiences? How did you start your art career, and what caused you to choose charcoal and pastel? It would be amazing if you could reply and it would really add to my research!
Thanks,
Helen

 
Hi Helen,

I guess I'll start at the beginning.  I actually started my art 'career' long before it became a career choice.  When I was in first grade already my teacher was so impressed with my talent that she featured a crayon drawing of mine in an all-school art show, and told my parents to find a private art teacher for me ASAP.  They took her advice to heart and within 2 years I was taking private lessons from THE art teacher in town.

My private teacher taught me using the classical method of teaching art.  She put me through the paces of first learning how to draw just about anything, from trees to baby chicks to buildings to people.  I learned how to carefully and thoughtfully study something and then render it in charcoal and/or graphite.  I worked from life as well as copying drawings of famous artists out of books.  I learned how to draw from reference photos as well as real scenes outdoors.  After what seemed like an eternity, actually only a couple of years, I finally 'graduated' to color -- pastels.  Oh my, I was enthralled with them!  I went on to learn how to paint with oils, acrylics, and watercolors, but years later as an adult I returned to my first color love.....pastels.  They still thrill me today like no other medium.

One side note:  My private teacher used to spend her summers in France, taking lessons herself from notable artists, and visiting museums.  At the end of the summer, she'd return home with a whole suitcase full of new art supplies that she freely shared with her private art students.  So I was blessed to learn how to draw and paint using the very best supplies the world had to offer LITERALLY.  I am convinced that had a great positive effect on my art learning experience as I grew up.

I never really lost the urge to stick with my art.  In college, even though I was working on my elementary teaching degree, I minored in art.  I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't puttering around creatively in some way.  When I taught grade school I was always adding art projects into my lesson plans wherever they could fit.  But in the year 2000, I made a conscious decision to begin my art 'career' and actually try to make money from it.  Since then I've taken (and given) oodles of workshops and art classes, including art marketing courses.  All of it has been great fun.

As to what inspires me today:  With my camera I love to compose a possible reference photo for using to draw or paint from.  I use pictures a lot.  I know how to avoid the drawbacks of using reference photos and I know when it's time to toss the picture aside and let my instincts take over to finish a piece.  But particularly with potential drawings, I'm always on the lookout for strong compositions, dramatic value contrasts, and interesting shapes.  Color is really only frosting on the cake, so I'm always looking for the 'cake'.

One time an artist and highly respected local museum curator gave a formal critique of one of my drawings.  He said, "I love seeing finished drawings because sketchers have nowhere to hide.  While painters can fudge on an area containing poor drawing by dazzling their viewer with color, sketchers have pulled back the curtain and you're seeing their real skills, no flashy clothing covering anything."  I felt like someone finally had articulated something I had felt about drawing for a very long time. 

I feel that drawing is the foundation for every other form of art.  If you start with a poor drawing, all the color in the world will not make it better.  With a few carefully placed strokes of a pencil an artist can suggest the graceful curve of a long necked bird, or the mood of a foggy night, or the sweet kiss a mother places on her child's forehead.  All you need are shape, line, and value, and you'll have said it all.  Color is nice, but it's not the foundation, it's only the final embellishment.  But color is what sells, and so I own lots and lots and lots of pastels which I use regularly in addition to my pencils. And I must confess, just as with the public out there color dazzles me too.

I hope that helps you.  Sorry if I got up on my soapbox at the end.  I tend to do that when I am asked about drawing.

Warm regards,
Mary Ann Pals

   Winter Finches
   pastel
   9 x 9 (in)

As I was thinking about a title for this blog post, I recalled a line from a Bob Seger song, Against the Wind. When it comes to cropping a reference photo, one line in the song is the question I ask myself, “What to leave in, what to leave out?” It is a very important question to ask before starting a piece of artwork regardless of whether an artist is using a reference photo or working from life. So here is the thought process I went through in determining how to crop my reference photo for my pastel painting, Winter Finches. 

I took my picture looking out our back windows toward our bird feeders on our back deck.  I was struck by how the three gold finches on the round canister feeder were lined up in a row, yet each one was positioned on the side of the feeder differently. I also noticed that the middle finch was curious and looking straight at me. That’s always a good element to have when there is someone alive in a painting, be it a person or even a bird. Their eyes gazing back always draw the viewer in. 

I transferred the picture to my computer and opened it with Adobe Photoshop. The first thing I noticed was that the picture needed to be edited and cropped. There was way too much distracting stuff going on all around those three finches. It is important to keep in mind the whole time I edit what drew me to the scene in the first place. I crop and edit so as to emphasize that one element and drive it home, pulling it out even more, so that my viewer sees only that one thing. I want to tell only one story with each painting, not five or ten.

So I first did some very cursory cropping. Then I looked at where I needed to eliminate some distracting finches that I didn’t want in the picture. They were the three circled here. Using the cloning tool, I eliminated the one on the right altogether. But for the two on the left, I liked how they balanced with the shapes of the three finches I was going to keep, so I didn’t want to eliminate them altogether. Plus, if I cropped too close to the left side of the feeder, it might not look like a feeder anymore. So I cropped off the tail of the top one, and the head of the bottom one by cropping the left side just shy of the feeder. All that remained was the suggestion of two more finches along the left edge of the picture plane. 

Once those three finches were taken care of, I then attended to the out of focus finch on the perch of the other feeder behind. Ah, it was perfectly placed to provide balance with all that was going on in the left picture plane. Yes, I could have centered that front feeder and three finches, but balanced asymmetry is so much more interesting than symmetry. I decided to leave the finch right there, but reminded myself that the finch and that feeder would have to stay out of focus to create depth in my painting.

One last thing I noticed is that by cropping and editing the picture this way, I had created a zigzag design. I love incorporating zigzags in my artwork. They create movement, and guide the viewer where to look. I was satisfied. So I tweaked the color saturation, brightness, and contrast a bit, and then printed my picture. 

This is just one example of my thought process I go through when I crop and edit a reference photo. Some artists can do this sort of thing as they work, but I need to play around with it on my computer first. It helps me so much in knowing what to leave in and what to leave out. 

I’ll admit it, I love the detail when it comes to drawing, and for me, pastel painting is really just colored drawing. That’s probably why, out of all the art media I’ve ever tried, I love charcoal and pastels the best. I love implying lots and lots of detail, not necessarily spelling out every single line or edge, but giving the viewer enough information so that they can “read” between the lines and know what details I’m trying to convey. I love making something look so stinkin’ real that you can’t tell whether it’s a photograph or not. 

But it wasn’t all that long ago when I was embarrassed to admit that. Most people, including art students, have a preconceived notion of what they think a painting SHOULD look like – all loosy goosy with unfinished edges. With drawings most people expect and allow for more detail, but historically with paintings, not so much. They want to see something that looks fresh and somewhat primitive. They want to see the brush strokes, much like what one sees in a Monet painting. Now don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Monet’s style and artwork. In his day it was groundbreaking and daring and to this day it still has a freshness that shows pure genius. But that’s just not…….me.

Over the years I’ve accumulated many copies of different art magazines, and I wish I could put my hands on one article in particular that really spoke to me. (It would take me waaaaay too long to search for it, so I’ll just summarize it here). The gist of the article was about how we as artists should not be shy about what or how we choose to draw or paint. If an artist is inclined to painting babies (even though it’s considered cliché by art critics), then by all means PAINT BABIES, but just do it so well that nobody will even consider dismissing your work just because it’s about babies. Suddenly I realized that I needn't be shy about loving to render detail in my artwork. It’s not only OK, but if that’s what I love to do, then I should be working to do it to the best of my ability. As the writer of the article challenged me, “Give your viewer the whole enchilada, not just a tentative, shy half.”

And so I'd like to share my most recent pastel, a triptych of three birds who have come to our feeders titled, Backyard Visitors -- a Rose Breasted Grosbeak, a Red-bellied Woodpecker, and a Baltimore Oriole.  As you can tell, I've embraced the detail wholeheartedly now and I'm loving it more all the time, no apologies necessary.

Sunlit Vibrance
pastel on 600 grit Pastel Premier sanded paper
6x9"

   Moraine Lake
   photograph taken by Mary Ann Pals

So many times when I’m showing people my latest photography, I will hear, “Oh, what a pretty picture! Why don’t you paint that?” While I appreciate their positive comments about my photography and the fact that they enjoy my creative endeavors in art, what I feel like replying instead of “Maybe” is, “I have no idea if I’ll paint that.  Why?  It’s……complicated.”

Let me explain. Years ago when I was first getting serious about my art making and taking some very challenging art lessons from some very talented mentors, after learning how to paint pretty pictures I suddenly found myself on the other side of a door, and that door had my name on it. Without realizing it, I had developed my own personal style that came shining through no matter what I drew or painted. A close artist friend commented to me, “I can spot a Mary Ann Pals across the room without even looking at the signature.”

That was a very good thing. Just from doggedly working and working at my craft I had honed my skills to the point where I was no longer trying to imitate some other artist’s work. I was trying to be myself, and stay true to myself in my work. But along with that truth in integrity came something else – staying true to my emotions. I am now beyond the point where I paint a pretty picture just for the sake of painting a pretty picture, especially if I don’t feel like painting a pretty picture. If I try to draw or paint something that doesn’t feel right, it looks and feels forced to me. Not good!

Some examples would help illustrate what I mean. If I am feeling like I need to return to my roots in art because I’m having self-doubts, then perhaps I’ll do a still life drawing in charcoal because that was my very first medium and subject matter when I took private art lessons as a child.

Or maybe I’m feeling moody. Then I might paint a moody landscape in pastel.

Maybe I’m up for a challenge and want to conquer a seemingly impossible piece of work. Then I might choose a painting subject that is impossibly detailed. (We super achievers do that to ourselves. I know, kind of crazy, but the adrenalin rush is so worth it at the end!)

Or maybe because of the turmoil happening around me, like in the world news, I want to totally immerse myself in beauty, pure unabashed beauty. It revives me like nothing else can. Then I’ll usually head for a floral close-up.

I have to confess that when I first started concentrating on seriously improving my pastel skills about 15 years, I was drawn to the bright, bold colors. None of those wimpy colors for me. So as I accumulated more small sets of pastels of various brands, I would veer toward the sets with the brightest colored sticks.  Over time, my collection of sticks at my easel practically took on a neon glow! But then I took a pastel workshop, and I don’t even remember who the instructor was, but I do remember the advice from a student standing next to me. She glanced over at my array of pastels and told me, “You could use some grays. Go online and have a look at the Mt Vision Thunderstorm Grey set.” So I did, and I discovered that I really had no grayed tones to speak of in my collection. But before I invested in the set, I started to study the pastel work of some of my art idols, and what I suddenly noticed was that their bright bold colors in their artwork stood out mainly because they had carefully placed grays next to the pure color notes, which made the bright notes stand out even more.

I’m not talking about steel gray only. I’m talking about muted colors of the whole rainbow – not only gray-blue, but also gray-red and gray-violet. So I purchased the Mt Vision set and was determined to USE THEM. What I found was that not only was it easier than I thought, but they made rendering background shapes and negative spaces so much easier. They also made my bright colored stars of the show that much brighter looking next to those grays. I found myself reaching for them in every single painting! 

But I ran into one snag. The Thunderstorm Grey set was created by the manufacturer to mimic the colors of a thunderstorm. I must say they did a great job, but the warm color notes, like gray-orange and gray-red and gray-yellow were missing, and there were very few gray-greens too. So after recently finding out more about the new-ish pastel brand called Blue Earth, I decided to try some of the grayed tones (inventory numbers ending with C and D) of their red, orange, yellow, and a few greens. Thus far, I am pleased. Oh, I also recently purchased the Unison set of 8 Shadow colors. While they are mostly cool colors similar to the Thunderstorm Greys, they are still different enough that I did not duplicate any of my cool colors.

Are there any other gray toned pastel sets out there? Oh yes. Terry Ludwig has a set called 30 Shades of Nature, and he also carries an older set called Maggie Price Essential Grays. Girault has a set called Neutrals & Friends, which were specially selected by Richard McKinley, and Great American Artworks has a set of 39 Grays. I’m sure there are more sets, but those are the ones that come to mind.

So do my gray color pastels glow in the dark like my bright, bold colors?  Heavens, no.  But they make me happy as they recede nicely into the background so that their brighter neighbors can shine.  I was told by an artist friend recently that one mark of a sophisticated artist is in their masterful use of grays.  I couldn't agree more.  Gray truly matters. 

   Carolina Wren 

   by Mary Ann Pals
   pastel
   9 x 9 (in)

Lately I’ve been enjoying finding things in nature to photograph. It’s a side interest I’ve had for a long time, and I’ve stepped up my photography game recently because, with the wonderful cameras out on the market now, photographing just about anything is that much easier.

One of the things I’ve started snapping pics of is the moon in the evening sky. I don’t even use a tripod. I brace my arms on top of my front porch railing, hold my breath, and shoot. As I reviewed my shots recently, I couldn’t help noticing something that I learned from an art instructor several years ago. Notice how, in this image of the moon, the most detail and the sharpest light/dark contrast are along the edge of what is visible of the moon’s surface? That is an important observation.

When an artist goes to render a shape in their painting or drawing, where should they put the most detail and the sharpest light/dark contrast? In the darkest area? Obviously not, because you wouldn’t be able to see it. In the most well-lit area? No, not there either, although when you think about it, why wouldn’t the most detail and contrast be seen best in the well-lit area of an object? Because the light tends to wash out the more subtle shadowed places, that’s why. The most detail and the sharpest light/dark contrast need to go where the light is in transition from the lightest area to the darkest area.

In many ways a 2-D artist is a magician. They take a flat surface, and by using an art medium that adheres to the flat surface and is rendered flat itself, they create the illusion of three dimensional space. How do they do this? Well, they take their cue from nature and make their well-lit areas washed out looking, they make their really dark areas really dark with no details or contrasts, and they save their most detailed places and sharpest light/dark contrasts for those areas that are in between the lightest lights and the darkest darks, in the transition area of a shape. If everything were rendered with the same amount of detail and contrast all over the artwork, it would appear flat. The magic trick would have failed.

Here are two pastel paintings of mine that illustrate my point. In the first one, November Morning, I needed to create the illusion of a cylindrical tube filled with bird seeds.  Notice where the most detail and contrast are – along the middle section of the tube, NOT along the lightest, left hand, vertical edge nor along the slightly darker, right hand edge. If I had drawn every single seed in that tube with as much detail and contrast as its neighbor, that whole tube would have appeared flat. But with only hints of detail and light/dark contrast along the two edges, the tube appears to curve around. Magic.

In this second pastel, Water Garden, take a look at the leaf that I’ve circled. Notice how there is virtually no detail along its left edge where it is in the shadow of another leaf. Then notice how the detail is completely washed out in the parts that stick up to the viewer and are in the most light. Now look at all the detail and contrast in the rest of the leaf, the part that is not the darkest nor the lightest area. That’s where the detail and contrast go.

And so I’ll continue to take my cue from Mother Nature, with ready illustrations in the moon or even a lowly lily pad. Both show me the correct way to perform my magic on paper and trick my viewer into thinking my subject matter is 3-D. Ta-da!

Lily Lake, CO
pastel, 10x10"

When most people think of an artist at work in their studio, they don’t actually think the artist is doing REAL work. They assume that artistry is just an occupation where an adult gets to creatively play all day. Well yes, there is some play involved, and if an artist is truly in the zone while their creative juices are flowing it can be great fun and feel a lot like play. But trust me, it’s not all play.

I wrote a whole blog article about how I need to prepare my work surface, choose a color scheme, and draw a few preliminary thumbnail sketches before I even start a new piece of artwork. Here is a link to that article, Before the First Stroke. But in addition to that preliminary work, I am also sometimes needing to do in-depth research online. Yes that’s right, research, like the kind a college student does.

For instance, with my recent series of bird paintings, I simply don’t know enough about individual birds to understand what some features of the bird’s anatomy are, what color they usually are, and what characteristics of the bird are essential elements to include, especially if my reference photos don’t pick up on those subtleties. It helps me TREMENDOUSLY to be married to Randy Pals, a bird watching guru. He’s regularly looking over my shoulder as I work on a bird painting, telling me when I’m on course or when I need to look at more images of that bird online.

Thank goodness for the internet! It has saved me so much time. In minutes I can Google the name of a bird I’ve photographed, and see a hundred or more images of that one bird from all different angles. That’s the research I’m talking about.

Case in point: I recently finished painting this 20x16” pastel painting of a juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk titled, Hawkeye. While almost all adult Red-shouldered Hawks have some common distinctive features, juveniles can vary widely depending on how close or far they are from being considered an adult. I remembered that the juvenile I photographed had more yellow-orange on its chest feathers than my reference photo showed, so I looked online and found a few juveniles that had more yellow-orange in their chest feathers. Then I knew just how yellow-orange I could go in my painting.

Sometimes my reference photo isn’t very good in one part of a bird’s anatomy if, for instance, a tree branch or a leaf is blocking my view. In that case, I go online to find an image of that same bird that includes that particular detail. It doesn’t even have to be from the same angle, just enough info to show me how something is shaped or what color it is.

Do I like doing this research? Heavens, no! But do I have to? Well yes, especially because I have a photo realistic style and so it would be hard for me to fudge on a detail when the whole rest of the bird is tightly detailed. Perhaps an artist whose style is much looser could get away with fudging, but I can’t. And so……I research. Sometimes it’s a real drag and it usually does NOT feel like playtime, but the end result is that much more satisfying to me.

Animal artists whose work is tight and detailed understand this. We want to get it “right”. We want to portray that animal’s stance, coloring, details, surroundings, and essential gestures in as honest and true a portrayal as possible. People want that in a portrait of themselves from a portrait artist, so why should we do any less with animal portraiture? They are amazing and complex creatures, and we owe it to them to do our research and get the job done right.

Do I have to do the research? Yes, and the payoff in the end will be worth it.

Most people who have never watched an artist at work think that maybe we go to our easel, whip out a canvas or paper, and just start creating something.  For me, that is far from what happens.  Before I ever put a single stroke down on paper to begin a new painting or drawing, there are a number of steps I take first.

One, I create a three value thumbnail sketch in a small sketch journal, of what I intend to paint or draw, using a charcoal pencil or a set of gray fine point markers.  Three values means only three shades of gray – dark gray, middle gray, and the white of the paper.  I don’t include any details in this sketch, only large shapes.  This gives me an idea of how the finished piece of artwork will look overall regardless of color.  I work mostly from reference photos, so I study the photo while I sketch.

 
Next, I study the colors in the photo and decide on a color scheme.  I’ve learned from experience that if I skip this step I usually run into the problem of not limiting my number of colors I use.  There are just so many beautiful pastels in front of me and it’s so tempting to use them all, but if I did that, every single finished painting would look like a rainbow!  Not good.  So I pull out a color wheel at this point and find a limited number of primary, secondary, and/or tertiary colors to use.  I choose colors that predominate in the photo already, and find them on the color wheel, seeing which ones are equidistant from each other on the color wheel.  Then I write those colors down right on my reference photo so that I don’t forget while I work on the painting.  There are a number of established color schemes used by artists, like, for example - triad, tetrad, split complements, and analogous.  Over the years I’ve made use of all of them.  I choose one scheme that best fits with my main colors in my reference photo, and I try to stick with it throughout my piece of artwork.
 

Then it’s time to choose a surface.  I have lots of kinds of pastel and charcoal surfaces, ranging from toothy and textured drawing paper to downright abrasive and scratchy, sanded pastel paper.  I love using them all.  Oh, and they’re all different colors too.  I try to find a surface and a color that I won’t fight with and that will make my job easier.  If there will be a lot of detail in the artwork, then I may veer toward a drawing paper that erases marks easily.  If I will be creating a very vibrant pastel painting that doesn’t have much detail, I might choose a bold colored sanded surface.  It all depends on the subject matter.
 
Once I find the paper, then I need to figure out the size to cut it.  That I usually determine by the frame size it will go in.  I have many frames on hand, so I stick my reference photo into the corner of some frames until I hit on one that looks perfect.  Then I measure the window opening of the chosen frame, subtract the width of the future matting (if I plan to use matting), and I cut my paper accordingly.  I always leave a couple of inches extra on all sides of the paper to allow for testing pastel colors on the paper.  Those test strokes won’t show once the work is framed.
 
One special note:  When I’m scouting around for a frame, I try to find one that has a similar height to width format as my reference photo.  If they differ widely, then I need to decide whether I can somehow crop my reference photo so that its height to width dimensions match the frame more closely, or pick a different reference photo altogether.

 
Next, using a ruler I lightly draw the outer edges of my picture plane with a pencil on the paper, and I also mark the middle of each edge of the picture plane.  I do the same to my reference photo with a pencil.  I also mark the very middle of both my reference photo and my paper surface.  Those markings help me when it comes time to draw my initial large shapes on my surface.  I can refer to the same markings on my photo to see exactly where the shapes lie in relation to the marks along the edges and in the very center.  I also go beyond the very outer four corners with my markings so that I can find my edges again even after the lines get covered up with pastel or charcoal.

Then I clip my paper to a smooth, hard board, and it's finally FINALLY time to start drawing my new creation.  Seems like a lot of preliminary work, doesn't it?  But it saves me so much time and possible frustration later.  And it all happens....before the first stroke.

   Trumpet Vine

   pastel
   15 x 9.5 (in)

In art, actual and implied directional lines matter. How things line up and what angle their edges form can create a whole mood in a painting.  Our brains seek patterns, and the more complex the pattern, the longer the subject can potentially hold the viewer’s attention.

In an online art dictionary called Creative Glossary, I recently found this definition of DIRECTIONAL LINES:

“Lines can lead the eye in a path around an image. And they can also be used as a powerful way to express something to the viewer. Directional lines express a variety of messages. Diagonal lines, for example, express the sense of energy and give movement to a piece. Horizontal lines, on the other hand, give a piece a sense of calmness and rest. And vertical lines portray structure and strength. Only a single line is necessary to communicate an emotion, whether it be sadness, joy, worry, anger, dejection or exuberance.”

I recently finished painting this pastel titled, The Pink Bunch, 11x23”:

Savanna Glow, pastel, 7.5x17"

You know how a mother can have an influence on an entire family, on how the family operates, how their living space is decorated, and how family members interact not only with the mother, but with each other too? Well, I learned years ago from a pastel instructor about the importance of choosing and using a “mother color” in my paintings, and it has really come in handy sometimes. Let me explain.

 

With some subjects, a single color can help to unify an entire piece of artwork, especially when there is a large shape with a number of colors being used within that shape, but the shape should still read as one object.  The grasses in this painting of mine, Savanna Glow, are an example of such a situation. I wanted to use a number of colors in the large grassy shape to add interest and variety. But once I had all the colors in place, the whole shape was looking spotted with color, and disjointed. So I reached for a deep red violet that was muted in color intensity and that read as a warm shade of brown. Then I laid the piece of hard pastel on its side and lightly pulled it across various places in the grasses, successfully connecting the disjointed colors with one color, my new mother color. When you slide a pastel stick along on its side, that’s called scumbling. The pastel bits stick to the surface in some places and not in other places.

 

So how did I decide which color to use? Well, I did not want a color that sticks out in lightness/darkness or intensity. I wanted a color that could be detected only subtly and would blend into the background, AND one that would be in the sky as well as in the grasses. Otherwise the sky and grasses wouldn’t look like they’re in the same scene. Hmm, dark purple? No, that would stand out too much. How about a dark green? Nope, there’s no green in the sky. Not bright orange either because that would be too intense. Dark red-violet was the ticket. I had already used it in the long, horizontal upper cloud in the sky, so there would be continuity between the sky and the grasses. 

 

 

As you can see by my few circled places in this image, I didn’t use the mother color all over. I didn’t need to. A little bit here and there served to provide continuity with the sky, and the various disjointed colors in the grasses all suddenly worked together with each other. Perfect!

 

One special note: I don’t usually go about choosing my mother color at the outset of a painting. It sort of chooses itself as I go along. Somewhere along the way one color just feels right to use for that purpose. It is definitely not the flashiest color, and not the color that is used in only one small shape in a whole painting. No, it’s usually the one color that successfully helps the other colors stand out and shine, unifying the whole piece. But then, isn’t that the mark of a great mother? She supports her family and gives each person their own chance to shine, unifying the group as a whole, and helping family members to work together beautifully with one voice. Her influence can be seen in every person and room of their house. I like that term – mother color. It is fitting. 

I have been doing a lot more photography lately, and as a result I’ve noticed some effects in popular modern photos that I didn’t really take the time to notice before. One of those effects is something called bokeh (a Japanese word, pronounced bo as in bone, and keh as in Ken). Bokeh is the blurring of distant details in a photo by rendering them as simple circles, some overlapping and some set apart from others, and all different sizes. The nearer objects that the viewer is supposed to focus on are sharply detailed with crisp edges and are not blurry. This effect is achieved by having the camera set at a shallow depth of field, and is really successful at creating depth in a picture.

I recently took this picture of a male Bluebird on the railing of our back deck. When I saw all the circles in the background, I started thinking that maybe I could create the bokeh effect with pastels. I knew it would be a challenge, but I was curious to discover how to tweak the background shapes so that they’d read as blurry background foliage that was pushed way back behind the bird. And so my challenge was before me.

One thing that I learned early on in my art making career is that things that are organic are rarely perfectly shaped. So finding a whole bunch of perfect circles in nature is highly unlikely. Because of that fact, I made sure to change up the edges of my fuzzy circles of foliage. None of them are perfect circles. Also, I found that I could even simulate deeper space by having some misshapen circles come forward a bit from other circles by sharpening up parts of their edges, but not the whole way around each circle. That idea came in handy for creating the illusion of some leaves dipping forward toward the bird on supposed branches, which BTW, I never even needed to draw in and yet the branch implication is there.

After I rendered the bokeh background and as soon as I started drawing in the sharp edged details of the bird, the whole scene snapped into place. That bird jumped way forward of the background. It was pretty amazing! 

So what drawing features are most important when rendering bokeh? I would have to say they are: the size/shape/location of each circle, and also the edges of each circle. While color plays a role also, it is not as important as the first two features I’ve mentioned here.

I am happy with my first attempt at this photographic style. It was a challenge, to be sure. But I learned just how important shapes and their edges can be to how they are perceived. And strategically placed circles can actually add interest to a piece without necessarily drawing one’s attention away from the focal point. Plus, by experimenting a bit I was able to combine my lifelong interest in art with my newfound side interest in photography. So now my artistic knowledge has come full circle, or maybe I should say….full bokeh. 

December, pastel, 12x12"

O'Keeffe Country by Mary Ann Pals
pastel, 14x11"

               Resting, charcoal and pastel, 7x11"

Next month the newest book in the Strokes of Genius series will be coming to bookstores.  It is Strokes of Genius 5: The Best of Drawing, published by North Light Books.  I am excited to announce that my drawing titled Resting (pictured above) is included in the book.  Also, Artists Network's online editor, Cherie Haas, wrote a blog entry featuring my drawing in the book.  At the bottom of the article Cherie includes a link to an article I wrote about how to successfully combine charcoal & pastel into one piece of artwork.  Here is that article:

For many years I worked with both charcoal and pastels separately, but never together on one piece of work because it just “wasn’t done.” In the classical school of learning, once one learns to draw with charcoal, one’s drawing tools are then set aside, and they may enter the world of color using pastels. Yes, pastels are a drawing medium, but many artists, myself included, use pastels in such a way that the finished piece almost looks like a painting with no drawing strokes evident. I love both worlds—the richly detailed and deep shadowy darks of charcoal, and the brilliant, exciting color of pastels. Why not have the best of both worlds? I figured there had to be a way, and so my quest was on.

My drawings with charcoal and pastel tend to fall into three basic styles: Greeting Card, Old World, and Purposeful. I’d like to share with you the techniques for these, so you can experiment with them for yourself as well.

Greeting Card Style

The first type is similar to a greeting card with a black and white photograph on the front, with only the focal area in color. I decided to try that with charcoal and pastels, resulting in what I refer to as the Greeting Card Style.

Reference photo

Choose the subject: Images that work best for this type of style have a background that has detail and texture, but lacks interesting colors. In this reference photo, the surrounding floor, carpet, wall, and door were all a drab gray. Sometimes I use Photoshop to tweak my reference photo if the background and foreground are not black, white, and/or gray enough. I usually do this by using the Lasso tool to outline my colored center of interest, then click Select, Inverse, then Enhance and Adjust Color, and finally Remove Color. That removes all color from everything other than my center of interest.

Next, I evaluate whether the resulting image is indeed what I’m looking for. In this case, I wanted the green in the shoes to really stand out. Once I was satisfied with the image, I printed the reference photo and took out my drawing supplies.

Paper Choice: For most of my combination drawings, I use Rives BFK Printmaking paper in either white or cream. I can get the fine details I’m after with my charcoal pencil on this surface, but it also has just enough tooth to grab pastel marks. For Resting, I chose a white paper.

Starting the Drawing: I used a variety of charcoal and graphite pencils ranging from HB to 6B, a kneaded eraser, and a stiff white school-type eraser. I started by rendering just the outer contours of the shoes and all the laces. Then I brought the entire background and foreground, not the shoes, to a state of finish using only charcoal and graphite.

**Special Word of Caution: With this Greeting Card Style, pastel needs to be applied after the whole charcoal drawing is in place. Trying to draw charcoal around the pastel doesn’t work because you could easily make your edges muddy. Also, it’s best not to put any charcoal or graphite shading under where the pastel will go. Many pastel colors are translucent and charcoal can show through and darken the resulting color. For example, in Resting, I wanted the green pastel color to be pristine and pure to give its full impact in contrast to the black and white areas.

Adding Color: I use a wide variety of pastel brands, but for the detailed work of this piece, I prefer the harder brands such as Conté, Polychromos, or NuPastels. I chose five pastel colors—lime green for the sunlit areas, medium green, dark green for the shadowed areas, and light gray and white for the rim of the shoes. I colored these in and was careful to stay inside the lines. Stray color marks can be easily erased. For white areas, like the laces, I was careful to just leave the white of the paper show through.

Finishing Touches: For places where I wanted a muddied, off-white look as with the front rim of the shoes, I first put down a layer of light gray pastel and then very sparingly crosshatched fine charcoal, graphite, and white pastel lines on top. I also drew over the top of some charcoal edge lines with dark green pastel. I stroked in the shadowed areas on the laces with graphite and charcoal. Next I applied some light gray pastel to the carpeting in the foreground in a circular motion to soften its textured look. Lastly, I redefined the edges of some of the laces with a charcoal pencil, and my piece was done.

Old World Style

Reference photo

                           

Rivendell, charcoal and pastel, 15×10

The second way that I combine the two media is to make a more monochromatic-looking piece, layering both charcoal and a small analogous set of pastels. The pieces I do in this style are usually in sepia tones and have an old world look to them.

Reworking the reference photo: For this style, I tweak the reference photo using Photoshop. I first use the Lasso tool to choose elements in the photo that have intense color, and then choose Enhance, Adjust Color, and Color Variations and tweak their color until it’s a closer approximation in intensity and hue to the colors in the rest of the photo. Then I undo the Lasso component and continue to use the Color Variations tool until I get my desired sepia-toned effect. With green, that usually involves increasing the red and decreasing the green and blue. (I don’t doubt that there’s software that renders a sepia toned image much more easily than this, but I don’t own it, so I do the best I can with Adobe Photoshop Elements software. Some digital cameras even have a sepia setting on them, which I’m sure makes life easier).

Drawing Tools and Surface: I used cream-colored Rives BFK Printmaking paper and, for this entire piece, I used a six-pack set of Koh-i-noor Gioconda pencils. The set includes a sepia light, sepia dark, red chalk, white chalk, charcoal, and graphite. It’s a great set of pencils and has all that’s needed to create a limited palette old-world look.

The Drawing: I first render the large, general shapes with charcoal. Then I create layers, especially in the shadowed areas, first with charcoal, and then using either the darker sepia pencil or the lighter one on top of the charcoal. In many places, I put down a layer of charcoal, then color, then evaluate, then add more charcoal, then add more color on top until I’m satisfied with an area’s values. For the sunlit tops of the trees and for the center of the pool below, I used only red chalk in this example. For the waterfall, sunlight, and the foreground sand, I used only white chalk. For the lighter tan areas, I let the paper do much of the work for me by simply letting the paper color show through.

Purposeful Style

Reference photo

Anhinga, pastel and charcoal, 19×13

This painting was featured on the cover of the 2009 IAPS convention catalog.

The third style that I use for combining the two media is a cross between the first two styles. Both charcoal and pastel are used in the piece, but with forethought as to which medium to use and where based on each medium’s unique attributes.

Evaluating the Reference Photo: This reference photo was a perfect candidate for using the Purposeful Style. The rich, dark detailed feathers on the bird are perfectly suited for using charcoal, while the surrounding swamp colors needed a looser, brighter colored medium such as pastel. I decided to leave out all the distracting foreground brush in my piece.

Beginning the Drawing: I used white Rives BFK paper and started by rendering a detailed charcoal drawing of just the bird and the tree stump. Then I loosely rendered the rest of the drawing, including the bird’s beak, using only pastels. Next I layered muted colors on the tree stump, darkening shadowed passages with both pastel and charcoal.

Finishing touches: Lastly, I used a variety of colors of pastel pencils to add the soft bright color notes on the Anhinga’s feathers. I also deepened the darks of a few places on the bird with black pastel, and added red-orange to the underside of its neck. The sunlit white on either side of its neck is just the white of the paper showing through.

A Word of Caution: Compared to charcoal, black pastel tends to stand out and can ‘take over,’ so it needs to be used sparingly. Charcoal is more subtle. Next to black pastel, charcoal looks like dark gray. Use this knowledge to your advantage and choose wisely where you might want to use black pastel, and where you’ll want to use charcoal.

I’ll admit it, I love the detail I can render with charcoal and graphite. But I love the brilliant, glistening color of pastel too. So finding a way to effectively use both mediums was doubly satisfying for me. Now I can enjoy the best of both worlds, and I hope you can as well.

As I took a leisurely walk at Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve near my home in northern Indiana last fall, I was looking for picture taking opportunities. I saw this:

Now this may not be the kind of image that knocks you off your feet, but what intrigued me was just part of the picture, a small slice across the upper middle. This part: 

What caught my attention in this slice were the uneven intervals between the various reeds. In nature, there are no perfectly spaced intervals between shapes as there are in man-made objects, such as windows evenly spaced along a building wall or lampposts spaced along a city street. In nature, things grow at different rates, they are subject to what is lying on the surface of the ground where they grow, and they get varying amounts of sunshine and water. All of these factors, and many more, affect where a bunch of identical reeds might sprout and grow, and how far apart they are spaced. So when creating a zoomed in look at a slice of nature such as this, rendering a pattern with unequally spaced intervals will feel more natural to the viewer.

A few other features about this slice of the photo that attracted my attention were the suggestions of fall colors in the background, and the prickly balls with their sharp, dark edges that punctuated the scene with just the right amount of light/dark drama. But the real icing on the cake was the fact that all the reeds were bending in the wind, creating wonderful diagonal line movement in the cropped image. This slice shouted autumn to me.

I did have to do some refining of the photo slice using Adobe Photoshop. With the cloning tool I “moved” some reeds that were blocking my view of one large prickly ball so that it looked like they were wrapped behind the ball instead of in front of it. 

I also needed to keep in mind that when I started working on the out-of-focus background, I wanted to really jazz up the fall colors back there. As I worked I used that same principle of uneven intervals by placing unique, oddly shaped, blurry suggestions of fall leaves in balanced, but not predictable places. Let me tell you, that part proved challenging!

Here is my finished piece: 

I did one more thing after I finished. Using Photoshop, I removed the color from my image to see if the intervals between the diagonal reeds were indeed uneven. Yes! Uneven autumn intervals, a very lovely vignette to behold.

On the Eve

pastel on PastelMat

14 x 10"

For those of you who are familiar with using pastels, you know what I’m talking about here in my title. There are truly two schools of thought on this matter. I am in the camp that happens to believe that blending with one’s fingers is just fine. I mean, why not? As one instructor of mine from many years ago commented when I asked her if it was OK to finger blend in her class, “Of course! The good Lord gave you ten blenders for a reason.” Those who stand firmly on the other side of that fence have various and sundry reasons for NOT finger blending. Some claim that the oils in one’s fingers affect the surface, and subsequently the finished painting doesn’t glow as much. Other non-finger blenders claim that the surface texture of the paper no longer shows through as well, and that’s a very important quality to keep in place.

I basically look at the whole topic in a very practical way. One very wise, top notch, world famous, pastel instructor once told me, “Whatever method gets you to the finish line of a masterpiece is the path you should take. It doesn’t matter how you get there.” That advice really resonates with me. While it is true that pastel beginners need to beware of finger blending their paintings to death (it really is fun to blend), and while I do finger blend less these days than I used to when I was less experienced, sometimes a well placed pinky finger with the right muddy color on its tip is just what the doctor ordered. Or sometimes a large swath of sky can be blended together and nicely recede into space by going over the whole works with the side of your palm. Finger blending does make things recede, so it should be used where you want that to happen, and not necessarily at all when you want something to come forward in space.

Dreamy Sunset

I usually determine how much finger blending I do based not only on my subject matter, but also on the surface I’m using. Some surfaces, like Sennelier LaCarte paper, are a finger blender’s dream. So when I want to blend a large area of a painting, I will choose that paper. Other times I want to let the texture of the surface show, so I’ll choose a sanded surface and hardly finger blend at all. BTW, extreme finger blending on a sanded surface literally takes the outer layer of skin off your finger and suddenly you are spreading blood around. So finger blending should be avoided on that surface for health reasons! Am I speaking from experience here? Oh, yes. PastelMat is somewhere in the middle. It has some texture, but not as much as a sanded surface, and it will accept some finger blending, but not endlessly. I love using that surface for my combination, blended and unblended, paintings.

 On the Wing
 pastel on Richeson sanded paper
 12 x 12"

Through My Window

What about when you are taking lessons or a workshop from an instructor who is forbidding you to finger blend? I’ve run into a few of those. It’s not a bad thing to stretch yourself during the class to NOT finger blend. Using transition color pastel sticks to blend in an area is a really good exercise. BUT, when you get home to your own studio, you can do what you want. It really is OK. No finger blending police will be knocking on your door and hauling you away to finger blending court. And no matter what that instructor tells you, God did not hand down an edict to Moses on Mt. Sinai stating, “Thou shalt not finger blend!” It ain’t so.

My advice would be to experiment and see what works for you. Maybe you’ll opt for not finger blending because it’s messy, or you’re afraid the pastel bits will seep through your skin which is potentially unhealthy. Fine. But if you DO like finger blending and you DO get great results when using it wisely, then you certainly don’t need to feel guilty about it. Finger blend away, and I can assure you, God will not strike you with lightning. Death is not imminent. If it were, I wouldn’t be writing this blog post, now would I?

Wave Meets Shore, pastel

I took a class in 2016 from Susan Henshaw about creating waves using pastels.  It was a lot of work, but great fun!  The very next week I produced this piece of artwork all by my lonesome in my studio.  Yes, she can be taught!

____________________________________________________________

I have a confession to make – I am a chronic people pleaser. I’m your typical people pleasing, peacemaking, middle child. I really like helping people to feel good about themselves. Never mind what I want, I want to please THEM. But this trait has gotten me in some trouble over the past two decades as I’ve developed and grown my art career. And here’s why: Eventually I had to come to terms with the fact that my own artistic goals needed to take priority over what other people wanted to see me create. I couldn’t figure out where I wanted to go with my artwork if I was always listening to what other people wanted me to do. I had to find my own voice.

Have you ever read the Aesop’s Fable titled, The Man, the Boy, and the Donkey? It’s about a man and his son as they simply walk to town with their donkey. But the story takes some ridiculous twists and turns as the man and his son try to please every single passerby who offers a comment about how they should best traverse the road. First the boy gets on the donkey while the man walks, then the man gets on the donkey with the boy walking, then they both get on the donkey, and then finally they carry the donkey! As with many of Aesop’s Fables, it is not a happy ending. There’s a tragic accident and the donkey drowns. But then of course there’s the moral: You can’t please everyone, and if you try to, you’ll wind up being miserable yourself. The end.  And now it’s time to be depressed, or learn from their mistake, or both.

Now I want to tell you another story, except this one is true: I was conversing at the 2015 IAPS convention’s opening buffet dinner in Albuquerque NM with two top notch pastelists, and I was sharing my dilemma with them, hoping to solicit their sage advice. I related to them about how I was running amok with trying to get even one piece of artwork accepted into certain prestigious national and international competitions. I was also trying to run as fast as I could down any road that any old Joe Blow from Facebook would recommend to me concerning my artwork. If someone told me I should paint more flowers because they loved my flower paintings, I was off and running with that. If my friends showered me with compliments and coveted likes on Facebook for one particular piece of artwork, then I immediately thought I should churn out more work on that topic alone.  I was exhausted and frustrated and getting nowhere fast. So I cornered these two artists in hopes that they’d tell me what key secret I was missing in my work, or which shows would let the door squeeze open just far enough for me to get a foothold, or even just a toe-hold!  And what was I to do with all these different recommendations from so many Facebook friends?

You know what they told me to do? Get off the merry-go-round. That’s right, step off all the merry-go-rounds where I’ve tried and tried and never gotten accepted into their shows even once. Then they said I should set some artistic goals for myself, go to my studio, shut the door, and get to work. And stop trying to heed advice from ALL my well-meaning friends, many of whom don’t know the first thing about art making.  Some of those friends will continue to give me advice, but that doesn’t mean I have to listen to them. They told me that the only way I’ll ever get a foothold in the big shows that accept only the big boys will be if I’ve set my own goals and then worked to achieve them, and then raised the bar even higher for myself, and then achieved that new goal, and so on. They told me that chasing after a show for its own sake is like chasing after the wind. It will never happen that way, ever.

That was by far the best art advice I’ve ever received! This past year I swallowed hard, crossed some competition entry forms off my list (and saved quite a bit of entry money in the process too), I made some artistic goals for myself, achieved them, and set some new goals. Has it been easy? No, it’s been very hard, a lot harder than sitting down with a form and entering a show. But I am so much happier as a result. Facebook friends are sometimes still trying to tell me what to create next, and I thank them for their input, but then I go back to my goals.

One question that was burning inside me as I listened to my two wise mentors over dinner that evening, was: Will I ever be ready to get back on the merry-go-round? They assured me that absolutely I will, and that I’ll know right when I’m ready too. At this point I’m just going to trust them on that because I’m not feeling super confident yet. Meanwhile, I’m getting much better acquainted with my easel and MY goals, the goals of Mary Ann Pals, and I’m finding my own artistic voice….again and again and again. The end. 

Epilogue: In contrast to Aesop’s sad tale, I’m happy to announce that no donkey was harmed in the creation of my own personal art story.  A few art supplies did need to be replaced, though, because I used them all up, which I’m declaring is a very good thing!

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