This is the ninth in a series of posts taking you back through a history of my work, from its very realistic roots and on to my abstracts (see previous posts Why Aren’t My Paintings PRETTY For God’s Sake , So You Think Artists Are Lazy?, Stripped Down and Broken Open: Giving Birth to Art , Of Transitions and the Place Between, An Uncomfortable But Compelling Push-Pull, New Mexico Isn’t for Sissies, The Dark Horse Series and The Art of Becoming). This exploration was spurred on by a reader’s question about my process and inspiration, particularly of my New Mexico horse abstracts. Little did she or I know what her simple query was about to open. I hope you all are enjoying this art journey into the past as much as I am. It is showing me, for the first time, the trajectory of my work, and is going a long way toward pointing me to future paintings.
A World of Blue
I was living in a pale blue world. Snow covered the ground and the shadows cast on its surface offered up just about every shade imaginable. Then there was the sunlit sky of day with its blue and white clouds. Even the night’s sky had pale blue halos around the stars and the moon. The acequias froze over ice blue, yet still flowed beneath… pale blue everywhere.
And I was painting in the old adobe church gallery at the beginning of my shared gallery experience with Anna (see previous post The Old Adobe Church, the Wolf and Survival). The whitewashed walls glowed blue. Even the air I breathed seemed blue. And then there was Anna’s painting, New Mexico Sky, hanging on the wall just in front of my easel, all silver blue and white. This is where and when my Blue Series was born. A small series, just three paintings, it remains one of my favorites. I feel the works shifted the tenor of my horse paintings entirely, bringing them into the light.
Here is the inspiration for Blue 1, my lovely herd at home on the llano. That’s Davida in the front…
… and this is the finished Blue 1. Notice the horses’ legs and the fence posts becoming one…
Here is the inspiration for Blue 2...
… and the completed Blue 2 with its added sense of grasses rising up out of the snow and a strong horizon line. This is an enduring favorite of mine and, in fact, along with the above piece, initiated the use of smoother plaster, rather than the highly textured surfaces of previous works. And it was in this painting that I consciously made the thinly sliced vertical cuts into the plaster, a process I’m exploring to this day:
I couldn’t find the shot I worked with on Blue 3 but I remember it. It was a picture of Davida, still small, standing behind her mama. I’m sure you can picture it.
Here is Blue 3, its fence posts, legs and grasses all merged together with the horses:
Some would argue that abstract art should never spring from reality, that the forms used, in fact, should not represent anything. But I believe two things about this: 1. There should be no rules in art because, as Kandinsky said, “… art is free,” and 2. Abstraction can just as well be about abstracted reality as simple color, shape, light and texture. I don’t think the added possibility of recognizable shapes makes them any less about painting. In fact, if an agreed upon canon for abstract art ever exists (and I pray God it never does) I believe abstracted reality should be an integral part of it.
Here is the inspiration for Place, one in another small series. Bear in mind that, by now, I am painting my combined feelings of horses, fences, the land, and the mystery of New Mexico:
This is Place…
… and as it was originally exhibited, along with Blue 1 and Blue 3, at Hand Artes Gallery (see previous post Disparate Pieces) here in Truchas:
This is Morning…
… as displayed at Hand Artes…
… and Ground…
… Snow Light (have any of you seen this, how the snow lights up the night?)…
… and several of my styles displayed together in the church…
… and at the corner gallery before the Anna Karin Gallery moved to its current location.
And, finally, the photos that inspired the last horse paintings I’ve done to date. The first two were shot by my dear friend, Kathy, and the last is mine:
From the above photos I came back to the blues and created three sets of triptychs that are at their best when stacked like this (sadly, most of them sold as individual pieces). These paintings are also some of my favorites:
On Friday I’ll be wrapping up this series of posts about the history of my painting, ending with the story of fences and horses and grasses and how they changed me. Until then…
Love to you all,
Jeane
I love all of your paintings:) They are like looking at photos of you from childhood until now…all lovely parts of you. XOXOX
Thank you, Grace, what a lovely way to look at it.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am thanking you for
explaining the inspiration in your process. The unasked question of “where do
the abstracts originate?” What is in the mind of the artist that inspires the
finished work? It is obvious in realism. Not so for abstract. Are you streaming what you’ve seen or is it
coming from the visions in one’s mind? I say this because I now think it is
both, and probably more! For me, it is seeing a possibility, to view what
evokes memory or inspiration while looking at a painting, (I feel like this is
where the art “speaks to me…”) and then wondering about the artist’s
inspiration and/or intention. For example, the ovals and circles in a few were
inspired by the miles of rocks along the trails of your personal hikes from
Utah to New Mexico. I see what you point out to me, especially in the originals
of the horse series. Having visited
Truchas and your world, I know inspiration is only one glance away. What I
enjoy most about your art, Jeane, is you explore and pour elements of what you
see or hold in your hand into the canvas. I so look forward to your future work
and what excitement it holds for us!
I’m so glad you’re liking the series. Thank you. We have a reader to thank for it for asking the original questions about my process and inspiration.
I don’t know what you mean by “streaming” what I’ve seen, and I know it must be different for everyone, but I paint from two major places: 1. taking in everything around me, living my life and then painting out what that engenders, rather free form and 2. working from photos as a basis for inspiration. The two mix freely. But I wouldn’t say my process comes from the mind or from my head. I don’t plan anything. I don’t see a vision that I try to put out on canvas. I simply follow the impulses and, in this way, sometimes, connect with something that could only be described as magic. This can happen whether the finished piece ever comes together or not.
Honestly, I look forward to the new work, too, and I have no idea what it’s going to be.
I I borrowed “streaming” from snatching info from the air and sending it to our computer to view whatever we seem to want! Maybe that’s the magic that comes to mind when you are creating. Follow the magic….I like it!
I will continue to be open to it and will endeavor to get out of the way when it is offered. Trust. For me I think painting is all about trust.
Nice work Jeane. Happy to see things are going well for you. I’ve been in the area lately doing a show then scouting out property. I am so grateful I introduced you to this wonderful place.
Best,
Quinn
These last 9 are my favorites, there is an element of whimsy that speaks to me. I absolutely LOVE them. For me, no need to analyze further. They just make me HAPPY.
And that makes ME happy. Yes, I feel these last 9 were a celebration of everything the horses were to me. And also a kind of letting go–free and light. So glad that’s how you receive them.
What exquisite work and sharing about process. Your pieces speak the
language of our landscape and the dramatic scenes we see every time the
sun moves across the sky.
Ah, what a lovely compliment Michelle. Thank you. It is what I dearly hope to be doing in my work. That you feel it means the world to me.