30+ years of paintings, talked about one painting at a time: what went into the paintings, what I was trying to say, what was happening at the time of my life that I made the paintings. The paintings themselves are narrative, and this adds a little more to the story that they tell.
Painting has always been my true north. I paint outside because it's such a messy, sloppy process. The floor of the porch is covered with paint, as will be my legs, shoes and apron as the days proceed.
July in Albuquerque is usually hot, but, thanks to climate change, we've had an unseasonably cool and wet summer. Working outside connects me to my small part of the world: our dogs racing around, neighbors going by in the street, the wind, the rain, the sun, smells.
With this painting session, which lasted about a week, I tried to act on whatever my creative inner voices told me to do. At this point in my life as an artist, I have an overload of materials: paints, tools, surfaces, and miscellaneous items that I used to paint with including but not limited to mops, brooms, sanders, and ladders. So, it's finding, pulling out and using what I need as I need it. Since the paintings are abstract, I'm only reacting to the painting itself, not what they can or should be.
The paintings that emerged from this session were lighter, cleaner, and simpler than what I've done in the past. When I finished, I felt that they were the best paintings I'd ever done, but then, I always feel that way.
It rained heavily one afternoon while I worked, so I took one of the paintings, with wet paint on it, and set it in the rain to see what would happen. The results were pretty great.
At the end of the week I had over 30 paintings that I felt were absolutely stunning, most fairly small. I sat with that good feeling for a few days, but then realized I had to come up with surfaces that would be better than the paintings alone. My good feelings turn to ones of anxiety as I start trying to figure out what to put on top of these lovely things.