Where Did My Art Come From? (part five)

This is my childhood understanding of history.

When I was in elementary school, we used to walk home to eat lunch. My sister and I would make the trek quickly in order to have lunch heated up early enough to be able to watch the Flintstones on a tiny black and white TV.

This TV puzzled me quite a bit, my mother told me that it was old fashioned, so that is why it was black and white. I knew that old movies as well as photographs were also in black and white. At some point in time, colour photography and movies came into existence, in my mind a long, long time ago. I knew my mother and father were old enough to remember this change.

I then reasoned that it wasn't actually photographs and movies, but everything was in black and white. My thoughts felt nice and complete with this theory, so I never asked about it, I just assumed that is how it worked - I figured that film always captured what it saw.

One day I was looking through some things on a bookshelf. I found this tiny leather bound book that was encased in a zipper, it was a Holy Bible. I knew this book was my mothers and that it was somehow special. Now, not being a particularly religious family, my only indication that this was a unique treasure is that my mother stored locks of her children's toddler haircuts, wrapped in plastic inside this little book.

I can remember being quite curious, I knew that Bibles were supposed to be old. Old from when God made the world (again, it never occurred to me that this book I had on my lap was not almost 2000 years old but a reprinted translation) I opened up the book and noticed something right away....

This old book had colour pictures. I can remember being fixated on a picture of Adam naming the animals. I can remember the classic Anglo Saxon depictions of Jesus. All in colour. This threw me off a little.

After I replaced the locks of hair and zipped up the book and returned it to the shelf, I started pondering this schism to my theory.

A few days or weeks later, it hit me. That must have been what they meant by the Dark Ages. All the colour was lost in the world. I also figured it had something to do with Jesus dying. Then, at some point in time for some unknown reason, colour returned a few years after my parents were born.

Simple. (I believed that for a few years too)

Painting: Steampunk

Steampunk

12" x 18"

Acrylic on Canvas

2009

I haven't forgotten about my story - I have finally had a chance to upload some images, so I figured I would share this painting I completed some weeks ago. This is a friend of mine who has the most visually articulate look I know. Her clothing and make-up are works of art in their own right. I am so fortunate that she let me capture her unique beauty! Thanks, D!

We Now Interrupt This Story For An Important Message....

My local Artist Group and I are having a Christmas Show and Sale next weekend. We are transforming a home into a showcase of all of our wares! Please join us for some demos, treats and beautiful artwork! We really hope to see you there.

Saturday November 7th 2009

10:00 am - 4:00 pm

44 Sprucegrove Cres.

Airdrie, AB

Where Did My Art Come From? (part four)

Those little lines. Concentric shapes stacked one inside the other like a Matryoshka doll. This element of detail came from my mother.

I can remember sitting in my livingroom on the loveseat with my mother. She was showing me something to draw. I know now that she was trying to buy a moment of peace. Little did she know she was giving me a background fabric to many of my paintings.

She took out a thin piece of paper and drew a heart. Then, inside that, she drew another. Another. Another. Another. Smaller and smaller the hearts neatly bordered by the prior one. Finally ending when the space was too small to draw another. She had my attention there.

She blew my mind when she went back to the original and drew a larger heart encompassing the whole thing. Then another and another and another. This prospect of infinity really attracted me. It reminds me of the Droste effect - I had a colouring book whose cover fascinated me. It featured a duck wearing rain boots. In one hand it held an umbrella, in the other it held a colouring book featuring an identical duck with an umbrella, books and colouring book with an identical duck, and so on, ad infinitum.

Then my mother switched gears and drew a loose organic shape, like a bubble wobbling in the air or an amoeba. She did the same thing as before, filling the interior up with tinier versions. Then she drew another shape beside the orignal, touching and conforming to it on one side. She filled it in as well. She continued, filling the paper with these shapes, all of them neatly fitting together like a puzzle.

She handed the pencil over to me and indicated that it was my job to complete this important task of covering all the blank areas with these undulating shapes. I took to the task with pleasure.

I think the peace I get from doing these shapes must be similar to knitting or other repetitive activities. I use that time to think and relax. I like how you can fill a space with these shapes and it reads as a grey, but is really black and white that the eye fuzzes together.

From that point onward, I have used this detail in many sketches and paintings - a simple gift from my mother.

Where Did My Art Come From? (part three)

When I was around 7 years old, I discovered something that absolutely rocked my world. Having recently mastered reading, I was starting to feel a little more confident with navigating out of the board books in the local library.

I didn't understand the Dewey Decimal system, so when I found this treasure I had to remember the row and rack from where they came. To this day, I am haunted by one of these books in particular because I don't remember the title or author, just that it had a tattered deep royal blue cover.

The thing that took my art to the next level were "How to Draw" and "How to Cartoon" books. I would wind my way through the library (worried the whole time that they would have re-organized the racks and my treasures would be lost) and find another book. I would take it home and literally devour the contents in a couple of days.

Need to draw an owl? No problem. Reindeer? I got it covered. (in fact, I remember kids in grade 3 coming by my desk during a Christmas art project asking me to help them draw Rudolph) The only thing I didn't care to draw were male figures (I'm still not really into that). My absolute favorite were drawing ladies in fancy ballroom gowns. (that princess thing again) Any book that had something along those lines had me hook, line and sinker. Over and over and over.

The limited supply at the library soon was exhausted so I would re check out those books. When my parents clued into that, little Scholastic "How to Cartoon" books were under the tree at Christmas.

From that age onward, I knew I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. More specifically, a cartoonist.

Where Did My Art Come From? (part two)

My first crush. When I found him, I fell head over heels in love. I can remember my sister telling me to not fixate just on him, but to keep my options open. Nope. Not for me.

Richard Scarry was (and still is to a certain extent) a huge revelation to me. I was learning to read and loved how he tied meaning between mundane visual objects and the letters right beside them. The Times New Roman font spelling out "fly, flies, few, flown, flying Baron von Crow flew into the railroad tunnel." Replete with a picture of a plane barreling into the dark cavern.

Humour between words and pictures - it woke something up in me. Taking the concept of a simple word "fly" and making it memorable with a simple drawing. He could have taken the simple way out, the way most children's storybooks take. He could have drawn the plane in the air, he could have drawn some nondescript birds. Instead he chose to be memorable.

Nonsensical things like Lowly Worm or a Banana Car with no explanation provided gave invitation to a whole new quirky world where one didn't always need to have an explanation to enjoy.

Anyways, I remember checking out only his books from the library (I don't recall actually owning any) and returning them and hoping desperately that there would be different ones the next time. This lasted quite some time.

My most vivid Richard Scarry image is one of the cross section of a ship with mice engaged in various aspects of ship life. There was a jumble of cars in the auto deck, a mail room, a kitchen, a swimming pool.... all the things that would not be obvious to a little girl growing up in the Canadian prairies. I would sit and study that picture for ages.

Where Did My Art Come From? (part one)

I guess to begin the story about where I am going, I must revisit the place that I have come from. So. Lets start at the beginning.

From a very early age, I have loved drawing. I have loved making stories come alive with little situations played out visually. I was a little awkward socially in my early years, not the most or least popular, but definitely an odd duck at times.

I would draw on almost anything. My mother grew tired of buying me fresh paper all the time. She would admonish me to fill up the scenarios with details, little flowers, clouds and birds (smart lady). Both sides of the paper were utilized for these pictures. She would squirrel away a supply of card board panty hose inserts and carefully opened white envelopes to ensure a ready supply of blank surfaces.

One favorite thing for me was when my father would bring home reams of dot matrix printer paper from his work place. The fold out quality was ideal for my running story lines. I kid you not, my favorite thing in the world was to shut myself away in my room and draw out ever evolving stories. The endless folds of minty green striped paper with tear away edges would get my imagination running full speed. I could hardly hold myself back when he would show up with a thick stack of this stuff.

Now, I am not going to pretend that these were masterworks in any way, shape or form. The plot line usually revolved around princess sisters, one older mean one and one long suffering and sweet younger one and how the younger sister would reveal the older sister's errant ways. It kept me drawing and gave me an outlet.