Category Archives: Books

The Anchor of Routine

Have you read Mason Currey’s 2013 book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work? It outlines the daily routines and habits that enable/d and enhance/d the work of well-known artists, past and present. If you haven’t seen it, check your library — not only is it a treat to read about both the serious and the quirky habits of artistic icons, but it’s worth thinking about how their methods may relate to the way you set up your own day. It is the type of book that can be read from front to back in the usual fashion, or just as successfully opened to any page to read from at random.

Dreaming ©Dennis Edwards, Pastel, 33 x 48.5 inches The images in this week’s post are from the current exhibit Body Beautiful that will be up through October 12, 2019 at the Grange Hall Cultural Center. Viewing is by event, chance or appointment. grangehallcc@gmail.com or 802.244.4168

Although it’s been several years since I’ve read it in its entirety, every so often I will pick it up to read about an artist or two, finding reassurance in the reminder that even legends of the art world have, or had, a repetitive rhythm to their workday that incorporated other activities alongside their creative work.

And in thinking more deeply about it, I realized that there is a bridge between self-created “breaks” during the day (a luxury many of the artists written about enjoyed that now seems quaintly anachronistic), and fitting in the necessary chores of daily living. Certainly many male artists of a time were not concerning themselves with 2nd jobs, laundry, meal planning/preparation, or child care and schedules, but the big picture is it’s pretty universal to rely on a rhythm of start-and-stop-and-start-again. Perhaps what may appear to us as interruptions in our studio time are what actually keep the juices flowing.

Diana Takes A Brake ©John Opulski, Oil, 30 x 40inches

An intentional routine may be one of the better friends we have; it is what keeps us productive.
And it’s worth bearing in mind that this isn’t a phenomenon that only relates to artists, rather it impacts all creative work, regardless of arena. I was interested recently to hear Girl, Stop Apologizing author Rachel Hollis say that every high achiever she’s ever met has some type of morning routine. She noted that those individual routines vary widely, but to a person, every go-getter has one. Hollis herself has developed a solid, non-negotiable morning routine that includes the same 4 basic components: moving her body, doing something where she learns, laying out her intentions for the day, and practicing gratitude. For her it’s a 2 hour commitment, which means she gets up way earlier than most of us would choose, but it’s how she makes it happen and I totally get it when she says this system makes everything else possible during the rest of her busy day.

Little/Big ©Emily Waters, Oil on paper

For me, working out first thing and knocking off a few household chores before breakfast gets my brain in gear and leaves me feeling free to get down to the more important (and rewarding) business ahead in the studio. And I’ve come to recognize the numerous benefits of my afternoon walk at the insistence of my 4-legged pal, Quinn. It’s taken reading some of this research to fully realize that, yes, organizing my work days in a loosely predictable way around everything else that needs doing definitely serves as an anchor, keeping me on track while setting me up to be more productive artistically.

Rose Kimono ©Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 18 x 24 inches

If you’re interested in this idea, here are a few more articles to support the theory. And I wonder, have you too settled into a regular routine that serves your studio work to best advantage?

I’ve Interviewed 300 High-Achievers About Their Morning Routines. Here’s What I Learned. by Benjamin Spall
Writing Tips: Why Is A Creative Routine So Important For Authors? by Joanna Penn
10 Famous Writers And Their Daily Creative Routines by Koty Neelis

The Value of Nothing

I have just redone my website — please go check it out. Without a doubt, it took way longer to accomplish than expected but, ultimately, the project has been a positive instance of how taking a step back can help to sharpen one’s focus.

Concurrently and fortuitously, I’ve been slowly making my way through Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing — a gift from someone I admire, not least for the way she controls the technology in her life rather than it controlling her. It’s a dense read for me so I am absorbing it in small increments, but I am impressed by its message of resistance against the reality of 24/7 connectivity and data production.

The gist of what Odell has to share is that one can thoughtfully resist, not by doing anything specific, but by simply being present in our environment. She maintains that “only (by being) in regular contact with the tangible ground and sky can we learn how to orient and to navigate in the multiple dimensions that now claim us”, which in turn is a way to find relief from the chaos and anxiety that have become a business model for the so-called attention economy.

Showing this image is a bit like thinking out loud. I rarely plan so much in advance before beginning to stitch, let alone show a working drawing like this. But, as I’ve begun to move ahead, this piece it isn’t materializing at all in the way I’d hoped, and I’m not sure yet how I’m going to dig myself out from the ditch I’ve landed in. There is going to be a lot of trial and error in my future. Yet, it’s just as important to share the challenging underside of making art as it is the successes, as the finished product is only a small fraction of the adventure.

Redoing my website has been something of a necessary evil that has cost a lot of time at the computer as I learn and adapt to new software. But the greater lesson of the experience has surfaced through the act of tweaking my various statements and in uploading new images. Via that exercise I’ve become keenly aware that, while not consciously intended as such, my work is also a quiet form of resistance. The making of it and the end result is an “under the radar” place of refuge, a slow and methodical means of centering on small things that have the potential to carry significance if one is of a mind to see them from that perspective.

Coincidentally, while I was digesting the overlap between Odell’s thoughts and my own, photographer Michelle Saffran’s seasonal studio newsletter arrived. In it, Michelle writes very eloquently about elements of her process as they’ve been unfolding lately. And, as you will see, her queries streamline seamlessly with Odell’s observations and my own inclination toward finding beauty in what might be overlooked as ordinary.

Michelle has given me permission to share her words with you here and I hope they hold as much meaning for you as they do for me. Please visit her website to see examples of her striking work.

Over the last year or more I have been walking the land, smaller than an acre, around my house and photographing whatever I notice. I wander without agenda, during all seasons, times of day and weather conditions. Often I am drawn outside by shifts of color from the waning sun or from an overhead bank of storm clouds. Other times I head outside because I want to see – see what? I’m not sure. The area is as familiar to me as my own face yet each time I approach it I see something new. There is something unexpected that comes from the routine of looking at the same thing over a protracted period of time. I wonder about the meaning of this work and why it is important to me. It does seem important, even if I don’t have the words to say why. The images that emerge from this act of walking and looking mean more than recording a specific piece of land. Yet when I try and pin down a purpose to this work my mind scrambles and can’t hold onto thoughts, something just beyond my consciousness is driving me. I can’t quite put my finger on it. ~Michelle Saffran

Best Read, Summer 2019

What have you been reading this summer?

This book won’t be for everyone, but it is by far my favorite of the summer.
I found it strikingly beautiful…in its simple yet lovely prose, its sense of place and imagery, and its depth of emotion.

I can’t improve upon this review in The Guardian.

Tin Man’s epigraph:

I already feel that it has done me good to go South, the better to see the North.

~ Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother Theo, May 1890

Lifeblood

Have I got a great book for you! …Handywoman by Kate Davies, a recounting of transformation through creativity.

In a series of essays Davies wrote in response to the paralyzing stroke she suffered at the age of 36, this book offers a fascinating look deep beneath the surface of an unexpected, life-changing event. Davies discusses at length the ways that her stroke and disability have transformed how she sees not just herself, but also her community and the world around her as she relearns to navigate within all three.

A special thank you to my friend, mixed-media/knit sculptor Leslie Roth, who introduced me a while ago to Kate Davies, her designs, and her blog …and for loaning me this wonderful book. Watch Davies’ Tedx Talk about her experience.

What most engaged me is the tenacious thread woven throughout the book relating how creativity and her drive for “making” opened a pathway toward healing when she was at her lowest points. That drive has continued to be a mainstay as she has learned to redefine herself.

Davies acknowledges in detail the advantages the creative foundations she had built in childhood provided her in moving forward from the dark days when she realized she could no longer accomplish the most basic tasks by herself, such as braiding her own hair — a daily ritual that had been part of her identity for years. One essay delves into the history of braiding as the precursor to all textile arts, carrying with it early and strong symbolic and spiritual associations. Recognizing the dichotomy of both the feminine and the mysogynistic connections that are attached to braids, Davies highlights a skill we often think of as simple (my mother set me to braiding yarn before she felt I was ready to learn to knit), and yet when dissected from the vantage of point by point coordination and movement, it is, as Davies explains, a “dexterous performance of remarkable complexity”. Relearning to braid with thick yarn was the beginning of regaining strength in her left arm so that with three months of hard work she was once again able to take care of a very personal grooming routine, regaining, to an integral degree, a sense of herself.

Hard reality sets in as I begin to see that color is going to be key in defining different areas. The white “reverse” stitching is okay to a point, but it doesn’t go far enough. At this stage I’m beginning to see the challenge of choosing colors that can both coordinate with and hold their own against this dark background.

Her stroke wasn’t diagnosed for a crucial 36 hours because the attending physician didn’t think to look for it, assuming she was just a stressed, hysterical woman. And those caring for her during that interval callously shunted her aside as spoiled and privileged. She takes a hard look at those uglier realities of the medical system and of some who work within it, while simultaneously noting the many kindnesses and intriguing science that facilitated her as she worked her way back to mobility during the time she spent in care.

She writes at length about the liberating impact of good design in the tools that aided her progress as she reattained her independence. The depth of her research and engaging writing style are a testament to her former career as a literary academic, bringing the reader along toward greater understanding of a wide range of topics as she uncovers the layers of complexity and far-reaching effects of brain injury.

It’s time to leave reality and move toward “oomph”. The variegation of this thread starts to show the possibility of using color to define form.

But beyond those topics is the unfolding of how she found strength, healing, and community through knitting, making her way on a new path as a knitwear designer and author, building a career that accommodates her slower pace and new reality. As noted in the synopsis on the back of the book, this is not a story of triumph over adversity, but rather “part memoir, part personal celebration of the power of making…redefining disability as in itself a form of practical creativity.

I think I have most of my palette nailed down, so now I need to keep plugging away, stitching and (undoubtably) undoing stitches, as I find my way. There will be a lot of changes in the days ahead!

And for anyone who is a maker of any sort, you will be uplifted and reassured in what you undoubtably already know: making and creativity are indeed lifeblood.

Tell Me Again

Occasionally a poem is just right.
I eagerly recommend Mary Oliver’s 2013 compilation, Dog Songs, to any pooch lover — especially anyone who has had the honor of sharing their heart with a rescue.

Feb 23

Here the poet herself reads one of my favorites: Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night.

Which of course reminds me of our Quinn.

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I just discovered Hilary Pecis‘ work. Orchestrating the ordinary into the lyrical, her paintings are bouquets of pattern, color, and familiarity. Her work encourages a recognition of our own individual worlds through the expression of hers. To me, the unexpected prominence of books in many of her pieces, appearing in neat stacks or filling walls of shelves in the background, add to the comfortable sense of “home”. As Tamsin Smith and Matt Gonzalez wrote in their October 25, 2018 review of Pacis’ work for Juxtapoz “…beauty is a matter of looking closely. It is the eye, not the object, that holds the power.”
I couldn’t agree more.

SF MoMA, Part 2

There’s something to be said for visiting a museum with an agenda in mind, and yet wandering from gallery to gallery, exploring as the spirit moves, can be just as rewarding. A couple of weeks ago, with my pilgrimage to Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings and drawings securely under my belt, I had the remainder of the afternoon to roam freely throughout the rest of the museum.

Looking back through the pictures I took, these are the pieces that stood out.

#1 Rope ©Jackie Winsor, 1976 , Wood and hemp

Jackie Winsor, born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, is descended from a long line of Canadian ships’ captains and farmers. One might infer from her choice of materials (wood and hemp), that her family’s history has had a strong influence on her work.

The repetition of spheres and verticals in this piece leave me feeling of grounded, its form projecting a sense of steadiness and reliability. Contrasted with its shadow which, to my eye, somehow reads as almost whimsical, I couldn’t help but think of cartoons where a figure’s shadow projects a different personality from the character itself.

Geoffrey Hendricks and Brian ©Alice Neel, 1978 , Oil on canvas

Alice Neel, detail

Looking at portraits has become a more nuanced experience since I started regularly attending life drawing sessions, 14 months ago. This Alice Neel portrait of Geoffrey Hendricks and his partner Brian first grabbed me with the comfortable sense of familiarity it radiates. Looking more closely, it is the wonderful halo of green surrounding each man’s head and the general use of color overall that locks me in place.

Untitled ©James Weeks, 1953, Oil on canvas

This piece by James Weeks, also a force of pure color, is such a beautiful and exuberant expression of abstraction via shape and composition. I love the way the colors around the edges are channeled into and through the figures, keeping your eyes swirling throughout the painting the way I imagine the music of these musicians is filling the room where they play. Still, the composition remains firmly balanced by the strong verticals and horizontals, an assertive structure that holds the piece together.

Noel in the Kitchen ©Joan Brown, ca. 1964 , Oil on canvas

Joan Brown’s work is not delicate or subtle. The paint is built up so thickly and unevenly that this painting is as much a tactile experience as a visual one. What a perfect expression of the early years of motherhood: messy, loud, and unpredictable. Yet it also stirs a tenderness of memory for those of us who have seen this sight, or something quite similar, in our own kitchens.

Spider ©Louise Bourgeois, 2003 , Stainless steel and tapestry

I was happy to get to the top floor to see the grouping of Louise Bourgeois’ spiders. This example that inserts an element of empathy by including a human form comprised of tapestry, was especially resonant. Enjoy what Bourgeois has to say about her work in this short video.

I am quite taken with Cloth Lullaby, an illustrated biography of Bourgeois, written for children. This year I would very much like to read an account of her life meant for adults. There are so many Bourgeois biographies available that it’s hard to choose. Can any of you recommend one that you thought was particularly good?

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005, Silk, steel, and epoxy

Of all the wonderful work I saw, there was one piece that stands out. Looking up from Thiebaud’s work to the next gallery, this view took my breath away. This piece has a presence that is absolutely spectacular. If you can spare three minutes, this wonderful museum video provides insight into the work and its origin.

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005

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Finally, seeking out bookstores is an important part of any trip, don’t you think? If you have time to spare while in the neighborhood, there are two that are well-worth a visit within a stone’s throw of the SF MoMA.

I couldn’t resist this wonderful little book. As I suspect is also true of Alexander Book Company where I found it, you can dip in and out of this book and still find something new each time you crack it open.

And for contemporary art books, don’t miss 871 Fine Arts on Hawthorne Street, an establishment that carries only art books — thousands of them. It has an adjoining gallery as well. Complete the triangle with a visit to the MoMA’s bookstore, and I guarantee your inner bibliophile will end the day fully satisfied.

Book Report

One of my aims this year is to read more about and by female artists. So far, I’m off to a decent start with 2019’s first two selections under my belt: Nell Painter’s Old in Art School: A Memoir of Starting Over and Devotion by Patti Smith. It was pure luck, but they read surprisingly well in tandem with each other.

Nell Painter is a lauded historian with a remarkable list of accomplishments to her credit: Princeton professorship, honorary doctorates from the Ivy League and beyond, presidencies of professional organizations, and author of eight books. At the age of 64 she decided to retire from Princeton and to go to art school where she achieved a BFA from Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers, followed by an MFA from RISD.

There are many levels to Painter’s book, too many to delve into in any depth here. But trust me, you will find it rewarding for its honesty as it cracks open the quandaries of art school, the ensuing struggles Painter encountered, and finally, the enriching wisdom and satisfaction she discovered.

Painter was used to navigating the world as a woman and as a black person, yet adding the element of being seen – and at times not seen – because of her age, caught her by surprise. In many ways that issue was the defining fact of her experience, begetting this book.

Her discussion of coming to terms with viewing and making art with “20th-century eyes”, in a program where her fellow students and her teachers were looking through 21st-century eyes, was very enlightening for me. I too struggle to appreciate and understand cutting-edge work and methods, finding comfort and familiarity in formalism. I am all the more convinced in reading Painter’s memoir of the need for artists and curators to write and talk coherently about changes in philosophy, making new thinking accessible to all, assuring we stay in the loop as ideas evolve.

Katharine ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 24 x 18 inches, Graphite and Verithin pencil on paper I am playing with adding color sparingly, hoping for a spark of life without interfering with the sense of line I’ve established. Verithin pencils are very hard and, unlike most colored pencils, allow me to carry this idea forward with crisp, discernible marks.

A subject that struck a chord for me was Painter’s in-depth acknowledgement of the soul-crushing difference, understood by her professors and all in her graduate class, between being an artist (small letters) and An Artist (proper noun). It was a distinction she hadn’t known existed before matriculating, but one which strongly impacted the level of respect afforded her and her work, as well as the opportunities (or more accurately, lack of opportunities) that came her way. “An Artist” is one who willingly sacrifices everything for her art, unable to let anyone or anything step between her and her vision/work. This was a commitment Painter was, and is, unwilling to make.

She muses on the subject:

“Serious artist? Yes. I make and show my work regularly.
Professional artist? Yes, I get paid for my work.
An Artist artist? Probably not, probably never, because I still do other things.”

I am sharply reminded of the easy dismissal and lack of guidance I experienced from my college art advisor (at a liberal arts school, for heavens sake!) who felt that my ongoing interests in other subjects disqualified me from meriting his full tutelage. From my now much older vantage point, grateful for the experiences I didn’t miss, I still find it ridiculous that finely-tuned and perhaps artificial definitions dictate structures that can have such long-reaching and detrimental sway.

With that in mind, Patti Smith’s short and sweet Devotion also addresses the subject of being An Artist. Similar to her 2015 book M Train, Devotion opens a door into her process, allowing us to walk silently with her as she straddles the unseen line between a humbly “regular” creative life and the extraordinary advantages afforded her by virtue of her astoundingly wide knowledge, coupled with her fame. Sandwiched between her creative reflections is a jewel of a short story that articulates an intriguing definition of “An Artist”.

How fortuitous to have read these two books in succession!

In the beginning of her book Painter asks “Why would I want to go to art school?”
Answer: “The pursuit of pleasure. Concentrating on what I could see gave me intense pleasure, and seeing what I could make with my own hand and according to my own eye was even more satisfying. Mark making and mixing and applying color contented me deeply, just the very process of putting line on paper, brush on canvas. Art stopped time. Art exiled hunger. Art held off fatigue for what would have been hours as though hours hadn’t really passed. Pleasure. Satisfactions. Contentment.

Isn’t that exactly it, in a nutshell?

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The PBS Newshour did a short segment on Nell Painter and her book last year. As they often do, the segment finished with a quote: “Research shows that people creating art are 73% less likely to develop memory loss or dementia.” And, along the same lines, this recent New York Times article discusses how drawing offers a better way to remember things. Very encouraging on both counts!

Cloth Lullaby

Whenever we travel, sooner or later we usually end up in a local bookshop. Just as with small storefronts that sell fabric, book stores are one of the few strongholds of regional retail that have held onto their individuality in an environment of homogeneous big-box stores and online shopping. As a result, browsing unfamiliar shelves has become another form of travel adventure for me.

Cloth Lullaby Cover

With that in mind, visiting Book Passage in San Francisco’s Ferry Building a year and a half ago didn’t disappoint. If you can get there, they have a really interesting selection of art-related books, which is an attraction that holds true for their children’s section as well. Children’s book illustrations always pull me in and, I’ll admit it, I do judge a book by its cover. And it’s such a bonus that, if the spirit moves, I can read one cover-to-cover on the spot.

“Louise was raised by a river. Her family lived in a big house on the water that wove like a wool thread through everything.”

My favorite discovery at Book Passage was Cloth Lullaby – The Woven Life of Louise Bourgeois, written by Amy Novesky and with lovely illustrations by Isabelle Arsenault. It is a gem meant for the younger set that holds plenty of spark for adults as well. It was a great day when I found I could borrow a copy via our inter-library loan.

“And when Louise was twelve years old, she learned the trade, too, drawing in the missing fragments of a tapestry. It was often the bottoms of these fabric pictures that got the most wear and were most in need of repair, and so Louise became adept at drawing feet. Drawing was like a thread in a spider’s web.”

I won’t bother with a full recap*. Rather, what I’d most like to share with you is the capacity this book has to inspire budding artists. There are so many ways that it might capture a young imagination…it surely inspired this not-so-young one! The pictures are magical while the text is brief but equally as illustrative. It is a lyrical biography that demonstrates the power of art, stressing the strength which textile-related metaphors held over Bourgeois’ art throughout her long life.

Maman ©1999 Louise Bourgeois, 30.5 x 29.25 x 33.5 feet, Stainless steel, bronze, and marble. National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa As you will read in Cloth Lullaby, Bourgeois often returned to the theme of spiders as a representation of her mother – a repairer of broken things. “The Spider is an ode to my mother. She was my best friend. Like a spider, my mother was a weaver. My family was in the business of tapestry restoration, and my mother was in charge of the workshop. Like spiders, my mother was very clever. Spiders are friendly presences that eat mosquitoes. We know that mosquitoes spread diseases and are therefore unwanted. So, spiders are helpful and protective, just like my mother.” – Louise Bourgeois

Novesky’s biographical notes at the end of the book answer many of the questions about Bourgeois that are bound to crop up for young and older readers alike. They also provide a stepping stone toward grasping the importance of exploration when making art, serving as an important acknowledgement of the fluid possibilities an art practice might take by demonstrating the variety of forms it could conceivably evolve into or through as a career develops.

That’s a lot of potential packed between the covers of these 40 beautiful pages!

More:
This 10 minute video: Louise Bourgeois | HOW TO SEE the artist with MoMA Chief Curator Emerita Deborah Wye is a wonderful overview of Bourgeois’ work. Wye talks specifically about Bourgeois’ textile works at about the halfway point of the video.

*Read Brain Pickings’ review of Cloth Lullaby for a more in-depth exploration of the book and its illustrations.

Lisette ©2018 Elizabeth Fram, 24 x 18 inches, Graphite on paper With only graphite, I couldn’t begin to do justice to the vibrant colors and jewelry our model wore this week. At least I have the memory.

Update
Happily, Salley Mavor’s show, which I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, will not go unseen. The New England Quilt Museum in Lowell, MA will be hosting the exhibition, entitled Liberty and Justice: The Satirical Art of Salley Mavor. It will be on display at the museum September 26 – December 30, 2018 and at the Cotuit Center for the Arts in Cotuit, MA March 2 – April 20, 2019. Good news all around!

Leap of Faith

Do you remember this piece from several weeks ago? I am taking what I learned from it and trying again with the goal of figuring out how to portray something “hidden in plain sight” — a stitched image that is camouflaged within shibori patterning while remaining visible.

Another challenge is deciding what the shibori pattern will be so that it works together with the shape of the image, not against it.

This time I’m using my lobster drawing from a couple of weeks ago as a jumping-off point. I sewed the stitches as densely as I could, trusting their solidity would make it possible for the image to hold its own in relation to the visual strength of the dyed pattern that is yet to come.

The rectangular stitched area is 6 x 9 inches. The background stitches were added to set the image apart from the rest of the cloth, hopefully helping the lobster to stand out once the shibori pattern is in place.

In reading Young Yang Chung’s Painting with a Needle, I’ve learned that Asian embroiderers commonly placed various kinds of padding underneath areas to be embroidered in order to achieve a three-dimensional effect. Perhaps creating a relief-like form will give this lobster the oomph it needs to mingle and co-exist with the dyed pattern, each with its own voice, but neither overpowering the other.

I used both batting and heavy silk thread to pad the lobster, some areas more heavily than others. I think it adds something of a sculptural effect. The process is very reminiscent of trapunto.

The middle image in this post shows the completed embroidery. The next step will be a huge leap of faith as I move forward with the dye process. I hope what I have to show you next week will be a happy outcome, or at least a step in the right direction. For now I am cautiously optimistic.

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Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft and Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life both hold a place on my “favorites shelf”. I return to them from time to time for inspiration, encouragement, and solace. Writers may write about writing, but for the most part the wisdom they share can be directly translated to any form of creative work. It’s just that they’re, well, writers, so they have a knack for making the information both inspirational and accessible.

I will be pushing the above two books closer together to make room for Ann Patchett’s The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life, which I read this past week. It has earned its spot next to the others. At 45 pages, it’s short, to the point, and so very worth your time if you’re interested in such things.

Seasonal Adjustments

Even though practically every entity I know is coming out with their own tantalizing list of books to read this summer, my reading habits are in flux.
I find I don’t read anywhere near as much, or as fast, at this time of year as during winter. So I’m stowing away most of the suggestions that are rolling in and will return to them in the colder, darker months.

John ©2018 Elizabeth Fram, 18 x 24 inches, Graphite on paper The contrast between the rich, dark background and the strong light on John’s face was striking. This relatively quick study couldn’t do justice to the deep, velvety background that I envisioned, and which would be such a strong component in the hands of a competent painter. I was drawn to the idea of the composition being very long & narrow, say a 1:3 ratio – with the head at the far right side, posing a strong counterweight to the expanse of dark space. In making use of as much of my paper as possible to study and map the characteristics of his head, I wasn’t able to realize the proportions I would have preferred.

During June, July, and August I tend to gravitate toward periodicals for my art reading, catching up on the back issues that have been piling up. My current favorite is Art & Antiques — a much appreciated Christmas gift subscription from my father. The articles are short enough to squeeze in around the warm weather activities that are taking precedence right now, while still maintaining an engaging diversity of scope that carries just the right depth of information so that I feel like I learned something, yet without needing to wade through an overly erudite dissertation. And the best part – of course – is the images are plentiful and lush.

I have memories of A&A as one of the magazines that sat on my grandmother’s coffee table when I was a kid. I would occasionally flip through an issue, only to be disappointed by images of old, dark paintings and old, dark furniture…a memory that could well be attributed more to my age and lack of knowledge, than to reality. But times have changed, I’ve changed, and so has the magazine. My dad definitely made a great choice of gift; I’ve been delighted to see that Art & Antiques is now a vibrant and current art journal — anything but old and dark. I’m discovering artists that are new (to me) and learning about old familiars in a fresh light.

Converse ©2018 Elizabeth Fram, 18 x 24 inches, Graphite on paper Usually I try to compose my life drawings so that the full figure is included, but this time, for reasons mentioned above, I only included John’s head. After lunch I couldn’t resist working on his shoes, also full of character and ripe for an interesting composition when combined with the shadow shapes cast by the strong lighting.

However, if you’re looking for something more substantial to sink your teeth into, a new list popped into my Feedly stream last week from My Modern Met: “20 Books Every Artist Needs on Their Bookshelf”. I have only read 7 of the 20, so I’ll be adding a few more titles to my TBR (to be read) list for the fall.
How about you? Are there any on this list that you would particularly recommend, or that you have been meaning to read?

Meanwhile, I just discovered painter/instructor Ian Roberts, who trained in Toronto and Florence, and now resides in LA. I can completely relate to his writing and ideas, so I treated myself to a Kindle edition of his book Creative Authenticity: 16 Principles to Clarify and Deepen Your Artistic Vision. It’s a series of essays that evolved from a talk he gave to a large group of artists and writers, spiraling outward from those ideas by posing questions and suggesting possibilities, rather than proffering answers.
So far, I’m finding it excellent.

What, if any, seasonal adjustments do you make in your practice and/or reading habits?