The Tamal Lessons

Today was a strange day. It felt chronologically discordant, off by a few moments and not quite aligned with reality. I completely lost track of time, so much so that when I decided to stop what I was doing to take a break for breakfast, I looked at the clock and was shocked to see that it was 1:30. I was completely immersed in the task of making tamales with Mexican Truffle, and slipped into an alternate zone.

In preparation for a Mexican Truffle harvest, I’ve been watching the corn crops all summer, taking note about which areas were hit by hail, which fields were damaged by the drought earlier in the summer.

I started my day hunting for huitlacoche (aka Mexican Truffle or Corn Smut depending on your perspective) in a field on our farm, where our ground is rented to a farmer who plants corn year after year after year. I walked down the rigid rows with my basket, surrounded by plants that have been genetically mutated in order to make their planting, growing and harvest orderly and efficient. The ears are at exactly the same height. 30,000 plants per acre, a neat 12 inches between each plant. Dependent on heavy fertilizers and chemicals to survive and produce. Each plant is a cog in a giant industrialized machine. As I wonder how many billions of plants are growing on millions of acres in this state alone, I’m struck by how corn has become so far removed from its origins in every possible way. I walked through the field hunting the huitlacoche contemplating that each plant is a living, breathing entity. Pondering the noble origins when they were regarded with reverence and even adoration by the people who’s lives depended on them.

The huitlacoche grows every year where plants are stressed or damaged, a spore working its way into each kernel as it develops and turning it into a silvery fruiting body that soon explodes with its own spores. They are a mysterious presence, a reminder of the cyclical and interdependent nature of all things. It’s a fungus like any other mushroom. An exotic and umami delicacy or a scourge to corn farmers. I love the way that it colors everything that it touches with it’s darkness, including tamales. I really love hunting for it, walking along the edges of fields and down rows, looking for telltale signs of stress or damage to the stalks. Hitting a pocket where it’s taken hold, sometimes yielding a few clusters and sometimes one or two and sometimes many. I always ask them if they want to be picked, and always leave some behind. If hunting and harvesting wild food is approached as a contemplative practice, the plants will speak to you. The huitlacoche always has a lesson for me, a story; it’s not just food. Today it told me that it’s important to understand that time isn’t always linear. It readjusted my perspective.

The reason that I decided to make tamales with this harvest is because I could freeze them and share later with loved ones. Tamales are a always a lot of work, and today particularly since I was foraging ingredients, including leaves and stalks to wrap them in. I then cleaned the huitlacoche, cutting and rinsing. Then I made the masa, then the filling, assembled and finally steamed them.

The tamales also had something to teach me today. When they are traditionally made for special occasions or festivals, it’s almost always by a group of women. Maybe even more important than the delicious treats themselves is the surrounding ritual. The camaraderie, cooperation, sharing and passing along of wisdom and knowledge. The community and bonding and chismes and laughter. The tamales told me that they are not meant to be made in solitude. Not only because the labor is overwhelming. But also because their gift -their essence- is about the magic of a circle. They are the links of a continuation, not an end-all. The result isn’t simply food. It is love, tradition, and connection all folded into beautiful little pockets wrapped with the gift wrapping of Mother Corn’s vestiments. I live in a very isolated world, and I miss my family and that kind of community. As much as I don’t want to acknowledge it, we are dependent on each other, the way that the huitlacoche is dependent on the corn.

Today I found a thread in the form of a silken tassle that started in ancient times when thanks were given for food and the dark mystery of the huitlacoche. The thread wove families and culture together for millennia. I hold this end in my fingers; bearing witness, acknowledging, and understanding that my connection with my loved ones is a continuation of that thread.

In Search of the Art Spirit I- The Birds and the Sees

Last summer I learned a great deal about Robert Henri while researching the mural that I painted in Cozad. During process I sought a definition of the Art Spirit, looking for a short and sweet summary that I could add to my toolbox. Henri wasn’t letting go of his secrets that easily. The deeper that I dug, the more I became aware that I was looking for a formula to crack the elusive code of how to make great art. The book was enigmatic. I began to obsess. “What IS the Art Spirit? What does it mean, how can I use it?” Henri said,

“ Intellectuality steps in and, as the song within us is of the utmost sensitiveness, it retires in the presence of the cold material intellect.”

“I have heard it often said that the artist does not need intellect, his is the province of the soul”.

How else could I find the Art Spirit if it wasn’t through studying and applying concepts and theories? I was trying too hard and hitting my head against the wall. It was frustrating. 

Around this time I had fallen down (yet another!) rabbit hole about avian species’ ability to see colors. I’m taking you down this hole with me, so hold on. Humans have trichromatic vision, meaning that we have three kinds of color-sensitive cells in our eyes (for red, green, and blue light). Many birds are tetrachromatic, which means they have four kinds of cells. The fourth kind allows them to see UV light, which we can’t see. They can perceive colors and patterns that we can’t. The reason that I bring this up is because, when I don’t know something that I think should be glaringly obvious, I want to GROW that 4th type of cell so that I can perceive something that feels just beyond my capabilities. It is me running up against my own limitations. This is what was happening to me by trying to intellectually understand the Art Spirit. To stretch outside of my understanding to comprehend something that I simply couldn’t. Reading words in a book and trying to plug them into my frame of knowledge felt flat and monochromatic. The words weren’t enough. I continued to study Henri’s color theory, re-read the Art Spirit and take it in the only way that I knew how to- methodically, formulaically. I found no enlightenment. After some time, I began to realize that in order to understand the Art Spirit, I needed to UNlearn my preconceptions. Henri’s wisdom helped to lead me to this.

“Try to see the terms of the reality, and not the terms of the surface. A child sees the reality beyond surface or fact, but later in an art school he is taught to see the lines on the surface. Get over this thing of copying the surface. You must not see your subject, but through it.”

I began to understand that I was getting in my own way, and no amount of intellectualizing would help me to find something that was of a spiritual nature, something that lived below the surface.

At the end of the summer the mural was finished, but But my quest for the Art Spirit had just begun.




Finding Myself in the Desert

I’ve been taking a break from the digital world, trying to focus on what is real and in front of me. Trying to avoid the distractions of click-bait and outrage. As a result, I’ve also been neglecting my online presence (which at times feels like a projection or an illusion). But I have so much to say, so much to share, so much to process. By not sharing its gotten to feel too much like isolating, and when I do that I spiral downward. So I’m looking to find balance. I feel that part of my calling as an artist is to document, witness, explore and create. That calling also involves sharing the experience with those who need to see, and these posts are for those people.

I’ll be attending an intensive ‘Artist’s Bootcamp’ in Spain in a few months with several amazing artists leading workshops. One artist’s work and words resonate with me, Edward Povey. On his Instagram page, he shared a post stating that an artwork begins by finding something fascinating and interesting. Something that piques curiosity and needs to be explored. The day that I read it, I was on my way to the desert to do a bit of hiking and sketching. I’ve been feeling void of direction and inspiration, and his words were exactly what I needed in that moment. I expressed this in a comment on his page, and he replied, “That is just wonderful, Karrie! I suspect that the desert is the perfect place for visions and dreams and nightmares and hallucinations, all of which are the stuff of the world that we hear at night, tapping on the other side of our bedroom wall.”

I sat on a chunk of granite on an exposed mountain and wrote, while gusts of sand blew up the mountainside. “These desert winds are the emotions of the ethereal; swirling, pausing, raging. The air is tangible with djins and spirits. Bellicosely hurling grains of sand through my hair, my clothes, my soul… scouring and exposing. This, Mr. Povey, is indeed where they live. I’m here to connect with this current without being swept over a ledge by it. I balance and hunker and hold on desperately to my hat lest it be stolen in a gust of passion or mischievousness. The things that hide in the safety of darkness in the human psyche have no need to hide here. They frolic in the blinding white sun, pure and bare and uninhibited. In the vast expansive desert, there is nothing to hide from and nowhere to hide.

 

I’ve been coming to this mountainside for many years, to this same silent space. On this day I sat on the same rock for almost an hour. As in past years, a pair of ravens spotted me and approached, circling above in curiosity. In this completely barren landscape, I am as unusual to them as they are to me. We share the same existence for a moment, being rare movement in the nothingness. The blackness of their graceful bodies contrasts with the pale blue sky. Little pockets of shadow gliding between me and the sun. Messengers, desert spirits, or totems, their presence is powerful and comforting. They eventually move on.

“Messengers from the Liminal Spaces”

Portals- Liminal Spaces

This summer I’ve been thinking a lot about liminal spaces. The between spaces, the ones that you have to occupy or pass through to get from one place to another. They can be temporal like twilight between night and day, or physical like a train station, or a forest. They’re charged with potential. The veil between worlds is thin in these spaces, and one shouldn’t tarry for too long.

My studio was originally a prairie schoolhouse. In 1947 it was moved to town and used as a church. After that, a community building, and then for storage, before I came into its possession. The front entryway has a foyer before you enter the main building. Originally this room had practical uses, like a place to hang coats and to greet. But these kinds of spaces have other purposes. They’re transitional spaces from the outer world into an inner one. For learning or for worshipping, one has to be in the right state of mind, reminded that what they are participating in is elevated from the mundane world that’s left outside.

Walking through the front door.

The foyer has been a storage area for years. This summer I decided that it needed to embrace its true calling, being a portal between the outside world and the inner world of my creative space. It needed to produce a sense of awe, or at least slight discomfort. I created a scene of twilight during an eclipse, with the eclipsed sun and a few nocturnal native moths. Deep blues and indigos. A strand of stars blinking on the ceiling. I added a bookcase for my collection of unusual old books (which aren’t necessarily there to be read, but their presence adds weight).

At this point I was satisfied. But then I realized that this was a perfect gallery for my artwork that deals with liminal spaces. The betweens, the shadows. So I added a few paintings and sculptures. I had a few extra old chairs that needed a home, and they serendipitously became conceptual art pieces. It feels complete now.

Two red childrens’ chairs have been gathering dust in a corner for years. Recently I set them in the foyer to get them out of my way. A few days later, as I was walking through, I realized that it feels like a waiting room. And now it is. The chairs are for dualistic thinking. Black and white, right and wrong. When I go into the studio I want to leave those behind. Dualism now has a place to sit and wait outside so it doesn’t interfere with my creative process.

Up until recently, I didn’t have a good place for an old school desk. I set it in the foyer. That same day I found a bird’s nest, and set it on the chair. Inspired, I got out a few small skulls and set them in the nest, not quite sure why but just following my intuition. Standing back, I realized that I had just made my first conceptual art piece, and it makes a very strong statement. It represents my experience with the education system, which sucked my soul out and left me scarred. A sensitive little girl was made to sit quietly and obediently at a school desk for over 12 years, taught that the way she understood and perceived the world was wrong, and that she was flawed. Her wild and curious and authentic self atrophied until all that was left were bones. The nest is an obvious metaphor for a formative space for youth and innocence, and the skulls are my spirit.

It’s taken decades to undo what was done. And now, this stays here in the linear outside world of ‘shoulds’ and ‘have-to’s’. Within, I’m allowed to be as wild and creative and authentic as I want to be. Inside the studio, there are no limitations.

,

Cozad Mural - "No work of art is ever really finished."

,

I don’t recall studying Robert Henri when I was in art school. This summer I deeply immersed myself in his art, teachings, and philosophy, and it has changed me as an artist. I’ve only scratched the surface, and look forward to spending many years exploring and learning what he had to offer the world.

“A work of art is the trace of a magnificent struggle.”
— Robert Henri

I’m satisfied with this mural, but by no means content. It was a long process, and there were some difficult times. Each day in the studio was an opportunity to learn.

Everyone who sees this mural will experience it a little bit differently. When I look at it, I’ll always remember the long days of exploring and experimenting with colors, unraveling the mysteries of lines, and wrestling with proportions. The above quote certainly resonates.

“No work of art is ever really finished.
They only stop at good places.”
— Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

Several years ago I found the above quote and it’s helped me immensely in my artistic process. I used to have a terrible time deciding when a work was finished. I am never, ever completely satisfied. But to keep working too long on a painting and nitpicking the little details always ruins it. I used to not know when to put the brush down and walk away. That is, until I found this quote. It gave me the freedom of knowing that it’s never finished, and that’s ok. There is always something more that can be done, but that’s what makes it interesting and even alive with a little bit of tension. Henri gave me this gift years before I had the opportunity to understand its source.

This is Bobby Cozad right before he became Robert Henri. Although when he was 18 he didn’t know what future lay ahead of him, in this portrait he does.

The figure is painting a river, which is a symbol of a life- in this case, the unknown waters of the life ahead of him. He is looking at the work that he is doing, but for a moment glances out at the viewer. With a knowing glint in his eye and the shadow of a smile, he is sharing something with us. He leans casually on the frame of the picture, as though he is aware of his two dimensional space on the wall but is not a captive of it. He could come out and join us if he wanted to. Indeed, he has. The legacy of the museum and his artwork in the gallery are testaments to the fact that he is still here, present through the Art Spirit.

“In great art there is no beginning and end in point of time. All time is comprehended.

THE END”
— Robert Henri, last paragraph from The Art Spirit

Cozad Mural- The Final Touch

The very last part is the portrait in the foreground. I did a few things to make it pop and stand out from the rest of the mural, which was done in a flat illustrative style. The portrait is done with a painterly style and a warmer color palette, which makes it feel closer. The figure ‘breaks the fourth wall’, creating a bridge between the viewer and the rest of the mural by leaning on the frame and looking out into the viewer’s space.

In the portrait Henri is in his late teens, his age when he lived in Cozad and spent summers along the river. The only reference photos I had available were grainy black and whites taken when he was a mature man so there was a lot of extrapolation.

I saved the figure for last because I felt the least confident about it. I fretted and worried about how it would turn out. After all, painting a portrait of a famous artist who happens to be renowned for his brilliance in portraiture seemed foolhardy if not downright cocky. I assured myself that no one expected a masterpiece, and that is was just one part of the whole mural. I had to have faith in myself, in my muses, and in the process.

My daughter came to visit me from Colorado and helped me to figure this part out. I don’t paint people very often, and she is really good at creating figures that feel natural, flowing and expressive. So she helped to create the position of the figure, and to block out the areas of the face that made him look younger. Once we had that structure in place I took it from there and used color and brushstrokes to flesh him out.

After several days, I was finally satisfied. Although I had originally planned it to only be a small piece of the overall composition, it became a focal point. The portrait itself tells so much about the story of the mural, and I was content. It all came together after all.

Cozad Mural- Choosing Color Palettes

Now that I’ve finished most of the mural, the hardest part is last. It was ambitious of me to include a portrait of Henri himself in the mural. It will have a completely different feel and aesthetic than the rest of the mural, making it look like it is floating in the foreground.

One difference is the use of brushstrokes to build texture and emotion. Another is using a different color palette. I chose a warm palette for this foreground and a cool one in the background to emphasize the feeling of closeness and distance, respectively.

Although I am not imitating Henri’s style in this portrait, I am using some of his techniques, which includes approximating one of his color palettes. I did some research and settled on what has become known as the ‘1919 Palette’. I found an excellent article about this (attentiveequations.com/the-triangular-palette-of-robert-henri/). The author has a forthcoming book, “The Color Investigations of Robert Henri”, but unfortunately it isn’t out yet and I didn’t get a chance to use it in my research. But I will continue to explore Henri’s color theories even after the mural is done!

My palette is limited to the best lightfast colors for a mural application. Here’s an explanation of lightfastness on the Nova Color website (the brand of acrylics that I am using for this mural). “To minimize color fading due to sunlight you must be alert to the lightfastness rating of the pigment used in the paint. Some pigments fade more readily than others. The American Society for Testing and Materials (ASTM) Standard D5098 rates the lightfastness of pigments. Lightfastness I is the highest rating. Within the Lightfastness 1 rating some colors are more durable than others.” (novacolorpaint.com/pages/faq). With this in mind, there is only one yellow that is recommended for this kind of application, Azo Yellow. Fortunately it is a good, flexible yellow that mixes well with most other colors.

 

After finding the pure colors that I wanted to work with, I created more colors based on them by adding white. (This is referred to as tint).

To get shadows and darker colors or to neutralize the colors, I’m adding opposites and deep tones of color, because I don’t want to add black, which really deadens a painting.

 

I invited a guest artist to help me to perfect the proportions and gestures of the figure of Henri. She happens to be my daughter, Katie Lara-Steely, who is a very talented artist. It was a treat to have her visit and spend a few days with me in the studio immersed in creativity and working on art!

This is the final phase of the mural, and it will be done and delivered to Cozad a week from today. I’m relieved to wrap up such a big project, but I will miss it’s presence in my studio.

Cozad Mural -Easter Eggs

An easter egg is a message, image, or hidden feature. The easter eggs that I’ve added to the mural relate directly to Henri’s boyhood diary of 1880 (he was 15 years old). I read through it a couple of times, paying close attention to the little details of his everyday life.

Poison Ivy

Poison ivy is mentioned many times. Often he gets into it while fishing or swimming by the river, and sometimes while working.

“During the day I found out that I had got poised again over on the island the other day. “

“I have found out that when Wild Iva poision does get a start, it keeps a person in constant torture. It makes a person want to scratch and when he does scratch it eaches [sic] and stings all the more, besides scratching makes it worse.”

(I harvested a little bit from a patch on our farm so that I could use it as a reference in the painting. I used rubber gloves and a plastic bag and tried to be very careful. My bravery paid off, I managed to escape unscathed.)

 

Gooseberries

He refers to ‘gooseberries’ a few times in the diary, most likely the native currants that grow in abundance in Nebraska.

(We have these on our farm, and foraging for wild berries is one of my favorite pass-times. They often don’t make it into the kitchen because they’re so delicious, but I use them to make a variety of things from kombucha to drying and using them like raisins.)



 

A Mink with a Fish

Young Bobby Cozad spent a lot of time fishing on the Platte River. In the diary, he refers to the way that he would put a fishing pole out in the evening with many hooks on the line. The next day, there were often fish on the line. Sometimes opportunists would take advantage of this technique.

“John R. and I fished a little at night, but we had a nice little mess stolen from us by a mink.”

(I chose to put this image in the mural because mink are delightfully cute and mischievous, and I think it adds a lot of personality.)

 

Rattlesnake Tail

“When I came home Lewis Owens presented me with a rattle snake’s rattles. The button had not been taken off the snake, so the rattles were not complete. The age I think was about 9½ years old.”

(I assumed that the common rattlesnakes there were Prairie Rattlers, so that is what I painted.)

Cozad Mural - the Cattle Conflict

The mural is a snapshot of the life of ‘Bobby Cozad' (later known as Robert Henri) during the time that he lived in Nebraska, with metaphors and symbolism sprinkled in.

I decided to add grazing cows to the mural because of the importance of the conflict that caused the Cozad family to leave Nebraska. Cattlemen were used to moving their vast herds of cattle across the plains, and when land was homesteaded and settled by farmers disputes erupted. Cowboys drove cattle across the claimed land and sometimes cut fences down. The tension between John Cozad and the cattlemen culminated in Cozad shooting and killing one of them. He and his family and fled, changing their names, identities, and ultimately their futures.

The following are a few passages about a confrontation a few years before the fateful incident, from young Robert Cozad’s 1880 diary when he was 15 years old.

September 20, 1880

“When pa rode up he told the man that these cattle must be drove off. the man acted impudent and then the Boss Herder rode up and pa told him that he must move off immediately. the boss said that he was going to do so but showed no signs of doing it. Pa then commenced divin the cattle himself”

“After the herders had prevented the cattle from making a stampede, the 1st herder came toward us as we thought to make a fuss. He rode up by us and said something—in a serly [sic] manner—about his bosses being a gentlemen, and then commenced in a bullying talk. Pa told him that he wanted nothing to say to him, but if his boss had anything to say let him come on and say it. The man grumbled and muttered, and acted very bad.”

Studies of cows before I start painting.

In the mural a cut fence is depicted with cows grazing peacefully on either side of it. The brewing storm in the background foreshadows how Robert’s life was soon to change.

Detail of the cows and cut fence in the painting.

Mural Composition - Large Areas

““It is harder to be simple than it is to be complex.””
— Robert Henri

Large areas and forms

As I’ve worked on the mural, I keep in mind that I am building atmosphere and a sense of expansive space.

I’ve also kept in mind is that it will be seen from a distance, therefore experienced in a different way than a painting would. It’s necessary to keep areas of simplicity, not getting too caught up in details. The overall impact is important. I’ve broken the design down into large areas where things are alternately ‘busy’ and simple, so that the eye can travel through the composition comfortably.

“Every shape pays a compliment to other shapes, an organization of great units.”

Reading and rereading Henri's advice about shapes and forms has been really helpful. He talks about the “dignity of each mass in relation with others.”

“Every shape pays a compliment to the other shapes, an organization of great units.”

Areas of activity

““Putting form against form, color against color, line against line, movement against movement, texture against texture and showing their interaction, showing through them the force which binds them, is the way of good painting and drawing.””
— Robert Henri

Cozad Mural - State of Mind

““Whatever you feel or think, your exact state at the exact moment your brush touching the canvas is in some way registered in that stroke. If there is interesting or reasonable sequence in our thoughts and feelings, if there is order in your progressive states of being as the paint is applied, this will show, and nothing in the world can help it from showing.””
— Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

I feel this. It’s one of the many places that I find my own artistic process and Henri’s intersecting. Often, when I look at a piece of artwork that I’ve finished, I don’t just see the physical artwork. I remember the things that I was thinking about, the music that I was listening to, the things that were going on in my life at the time. For me personally, the artwork is imbued with stories and emotions that are invisible to everyone else. But Henri confirms that there’s more. His profound reflections on this phenomenon are helping me to develop and expand as and artist. The thoughts and ideas can’t be seen, but the moods and emotions can be felt. I’m not creating art, I’m (hopefully) creating emotional response.

The great artist has not reproduced nature, but has expressed by his extract the most choice sensation it has made upon him.” - Robert Henri

I’m taking the creation of this mural very seriously, and am aware of every aspect of it. And so I only come to the studio if I’m in a good frame of mind. I don’t paint if I’m angry, depressed, tired or irritated. This artwork will be experienced by many, many people. I want them to experience the joy, the curiosity, the love of the landscape and love of learning about Robert Henri and his history. The intent of the mural is to convey the beautiful expanses that he was surrounded by in his youth in Cozad, and I want people to feel that.

I’ve been listening to lectures, podcasts and music as I paint. It’s been ridiculously varied depending on my mood, if I need to be concentrating on what I’m doing, or if I’m looking to get lost in the flowing strokes of color. Here is a list of some of the things I’ve been listening to: Salome: Carl Jung’s Red Book, Positive Disintegration: A Path to Authenticity podcast, Your Undivided Attention podcast, Robert Henri’s Sense of Place (color theory lecture), audio book The Art Spirit, The Emerald Podcast, Ologies Podcast, On Being, and This American Life. Music is all over the map; newgrass, folk, southern gothic, Billie Holiday, Django Reinhardt, The Wailin’ Jennys, Patty Griffin, Emilou Harris, John Prine, Nouvelle Vague, Mambo Loco radio, Buena Vista Social Club, and more.

I often wonder what Henri would have listened to while he worked. I wonder if he would enjoy what I’m listening to. And then I wonder how he would have used technology and his thoughts about AI and creativity. It would have been wonderful to sit down with him and have a conversation.



Cozad Mural - Storm Coming

I chose to use a big looming storm contrasting with a clear, quiet area of blue sky as a metaphor.

Stormy skies are wonderful symbols of change, oftentimes looming and ominous. Set against the peaceful foreground of grazing cows and the meandering Platte River, this impending storm signifies the catastrophic changes that were soon to sweep up the Cozad family and bring an end to Robert’s idyllic youthful time in Nebraska.


Living here in southcentral Nebraska, It isn’t hard to find inspiration for painting skies. During the stormy summer season, all I have to do is step out my back door, as in the photo above. The immensity of the sky and its dramatic moods leave me awestruck on a regular basis. I blogged about this a few months ago before I started the mural (here).

 

I created a sense of depth and atmosphere in the storm, with its billowy soft top hovering over ominous darker clouds, and rollers heralding the curtains of rain falling below.

Mural Composition - Line

““A line represents depths and textures, a mergence into the background, a place in air.””

I’m using a great deal of implied lines in the composition, most of them leading to a vanishing point. Henri talks about the gestures of human figures; “All line is a matter of relation. The eye doesn’t follow the muscle and bone making the arm. It follows the spirit of it.” I want to use this in the landscape as well.

In order to build a sense of depth and atmosphere, I’m also using the idea that lines follow a fourth dimension, which creates the concept of the significance of the whole. As I’m working around the ‘canvas’, I try to not get too bogged down in details, keeping the whole composition in mind. Even though it doesn’t feel very cohesive right now, I have faith in the process.

Some lovely quotes by Henri about line-

“You must think more of what created this line in nature; of the movement and the form that created it. The line is nothing in itself.”

“The artist regulates the speed at which you travel over a canvas with line.”

“A line is good because of its power related to other lines, which are powers.”

“ The line around the edge of a figure on a white piece of paper represents the figure’s mergence into the background- its place in air- and represents depths and textures.”

Artwork on a Grand Scale

Ta-da! The panels are installed and ready to become a mural.

I’m so grateful that I can paint this mural in my studio. There are three aluminum 4’x8’ panels that will be installed on a wall about four feet off of the ground by the new museum in Cozad. We built a scaffold in my studio in Hendley where I will paint the complete mural and disassemble it to transport it to Cozad. My partner made quick work of building the scaffold, thank goodness.

Designing a mural is a very different process than approaching a canvas, even a large one. Many of the artistic elements are the same, such as form, movement, composition, line, and the unification of the whole. But as the design is created, the artist has to take the perspective of the viewer into consideration. Often a mural is seen from a distance. It exists in the context of it’s environment. It will have a large presence and should feel dimensional. The colors should be more saturated in order to stand out.

line drawing of design

Here is a line drawing of the basic design. This is where I carefully considered the whole composition, taking into consideration the forms, movement, and lines.

the maquette

I then created a ‘maquette’, which is a small painting using the same colors that I will use on the mural. I was happy with the colors on the maquette, but will have to do a little bit of adjusting with the saturation. I put some tables and chairs in different locations in my studio so I can sit and look at the mural from different angles as I work. It’s really important to continually step back and look at it from a distance.

a sneak peek into the studio

Pigment is One Thing - Light is Another

““Remember that pigment is one thing and that light is another.””
— Robert Henri

Choosing colors is a lot of work! I need to decide on my palette before I get started painting the mural. It isn’t easy to go back and change things on a ninety six square foot surface! I have a few limitations. I’m using Nova Colors, an industry standard for murals. There are fewer colors to chose from that are highly stable and permanent in outdoor conditions. Another limitation is the nature of the acrylic paint on a mural. I won’t be layering and glazing to create luminosity. I’ll have to build and create the sense of atmosphere and luminosity using the colors themselves.

The first step in deciding which colors to use is to create studies. The studies have samples of full saturation, blending with white, blending with each other. I almost never use black because it deadens a painting. Almost-black can be achieved by combining colors with their (almost) compliments. True black rarely occurs in nature, even shadows. Using really deep tones will make the color vibrate. I play with combinations of opposites and blend them to find other neutral colors. Warms, cools. Which colors wash out, which ones maintain vibrancy? Which colors can I use to create a sense of atmosphere and distance using white without washing it out too much? Can I use bright, saturated colors to create the illusion of objects almost sticking out of the foreground through the “fourth wall”? So many questions, so much experimenting to do!

Painting in the Shadow of a Giant

It’s clear that it would take years of study to ever hope to come to an understanding of Henri’s applied techniques. Many have written graduate dissertations and thesis on his work. I have ten weeks to complete this mural, and will barely scratch the surface.

I’m reading and re-reading the Art Spirit, researching some of the archived writings, listening to lectures. But I’m not going to put the heavy weight on my shoulders of perfectly applying the techniques of his style. That would be a fool’s errand. What I hope to find and express is the art spirit.

Henri reassures, “I do not want to see how skillful you are- I am not interested in your skill. What do you get our of nature? Why do you paint this subject? What is life to you? What reasons and what principles have you found? What are your deductions? What projections have you made? What excitement, what pleasure do you get out of it?”

Henri’s art spirit is the essential creative impulse that drives artists to create. A deep and intuitive understanding of the world, a desire to express that understanding. He believed that it wasn’t to be taught or learned through formal instruction, but rather something that exists within the individual, needing to be nurtured and cultivated through a process of personal growth and exploration. The art spirit wasn’t just about creating beautiful or technically proficient works of art, but expressing one's unique perspective on the world and exploring the deeper meanings and emotions that lie beneath the surface of everyday experience.

I am grateful and humbled to have the opportunity to pursue the art spirit through his teachings.

The Spirit of Robert Henri Mural

I am really excited about a project that I’ve taken on recently, a mural for the Robert Henri museum in Cozad, Nebraska. Painting any mural is fun and exciting. But I already know that this particular project is going to be transformational. It’s not just an opportunity to produce a great mural. It’s also an opportunity to learn under the mentorship of one of the legends of American art, and the fact that he’s been dead for almost a hundred years isn’t going to be a barrier.

A bit of background for those unfamiliar: Robert Henri, born Robert Henry Cozad in 1865, was a prominent American painter and teacher who greatly influenced the development of 20th-century art. He pioneered the Ashcan School of American realism, which aimed to depict the everyday lives of people. Henri taught at several institutions, including the Art Students League, and inspired numerous artists such as Edward Hopper and Georgia O'Keeffe. He authored the influential book "The Art Spirit." Henri passed away in 1929, leaving a lasting impact on American art through his contributions to realism and dedication to teaching.

As I conceptualize and plan this mural, I’m using his book, ‘The Art Spirit’, as a guide in my artistic process. I will incorporate some of his techniques and philosophies in the mural. I thought that this would be pretty straightforward, considering that the Art Spirit, among other things, “contains insightful and valuable technical advice for every art student.” I’m always open to shifting into the ‘beginner’s mind’ and learning something new!

The problem with this book is that it isn’t written as a manual or textbook. It is a collection of notes, articles, and fragments of letters and lectures. It isn’t linear. When I first picked it up, I thought that it was a charming collection, but useless as a guide. Now, you have to realize that I am not a linear person. I’m the type that will pick up a magazine and turn to a random page and take it in from the back to the front. And this book can be read that way, since there is no narrative. I find this vaguely irritating since I am looking for answers. For example, what are his theories on specific elements of art? I have to dig, which means sitting down and taking time. The book is not indulging me with quick and easy answers. This is my first clue that I have stepped into an apprenticeship of some kind.

I’m breaking down the information that I glean from it into categories so I can refer to them as I work through the process of the mural. I’m making sections of notes on Color, Composition, Line, Brushstrokes. I soon realized that I need to add Philosophy, The Parallels Between Art and Music, Grand Unification, Seeing, Self Education, etc. It’s clear that his philosophies are inextricably tangled in his teaching. My plan to straighten it out and organize it is certainly being challenged. Why wasn’t this written in a way that’s easier to read and apply? Last night I went back and re-read the forward, which I completely rushed past when I first picked up the book.

In the forward he wrote: "No effort has been made toward the form of a regular book. In fact the opinions are presented more as paintings are hung on a wall, to be looked at at will." He believed that art is a deeply personal expression that shouldn’t be constrained by traditional forms or rules. He seems to be inviting the reader to approach art with the same spirit of openness and creativity that he brought to his own work.

I can hear him chuckling, thinking, “This one has much to learn.”

Existential Mess

Have you ever experienced one of those moments when things suddenly don’t look right, like the universe has shifted slightly and left you behind? It happened to me the other day when I went into my studio. Someone has been going through my art supplies and organizing them. My watercolor paints were arranged into color families. So were the colored pencils. It was a bit disorienting. And in the deep dark recesses of my soul, I knew the truth. It was me. I said aloud, “Who have I become??” I never used to keep things organized and tidy. Something was off.

I’m a Virgo, but I never felt like it fit me. I was a seriously messy kid. I hated details. They tripped me up and weighed me down when I had bigger ideas and aspirations to pursue. My head was firmly buried in the clouds, and that’s where I felt safe and at home. As I’ve gotten older the Virgo label has fit better and better. I’ve found balance between intuition and logic, curiosity and self-discipline, freedom and responsibility. But where has this compulsive organizing come from?

My theory is that it’s my partner’s fault. (That’s always the convenient answer, isn’t it?) Since we started living together several years ago, I’ve felt a need to create order in my life. I moved into his world, and he’s a force of nature. He’s incredibly creative and lives life with no limitations. He invents and builds things, and when he’s not building something, he’s designing it in his head. (The stereotypical ‘mad scientist’.) He leaves a path of destruction in his wake because he’s focused on his projects, not the tedium of cleaning up after himself. I’ve accepted this because I respect his process and appreciate what he creates. But it’s stressful to live in the center of a whirling vortex of chaos. If I don’t want to live in disarray, I have to pick up the slack. But my impulse to tidy and organize has oozed outside of our communal living areas. It’s gotten to the point that I need a general sense of order in my life. Only then do I feel safe and relaxed.

When I had my little existential shift the other day, I realized that it was time for some self-reflection. I do like having my supplies organized, and it’s really nice to not have to dig around looking for things. But I haven’t felt inspired for awhile, and I’ve been struggling with that. It’s becoming clear to me that there’s a battle going on between Virgo and my muses. They don’t like the interruptions to their flow. This orderliness has crossed the line into self-sabotage. So I let Virgo help to create a plan that she’s not very happy with. Once I start working on a project, I don’t let myself get distracted by tidying my work area. I leave the messes, and sit with the feelings. When I do that, the muses come quietly back to the table and pull up a chair, thumbing their noses at Virgo. Just as I create a physical space that feels comfortable to work in, I have to create an emotional space where I allow myself to get lost in the work. That seems like a fair balance to me, but it isn’t easy.

Vessels

Making vessels out of the powdery clay that I dig up on the farm has become a ritual. I add water and plunge my hands in, working the earth and water together with my fingers. Stirring, coaxing, mixing. It takes me back to my childhood when we spent summers at a lake, where we found a clay deposit that we made into a bathtub with buckets of lake water. We wallowed, bathed, rolled, delighted in the sun-warmed mud. We made little pots and pies. We laughed and squealed and went home with strange splotches of sunburn where our flesh wasn’t covered in a protective layer of clay. Now, I encounter a brief moment of the same exhilaration and abandon, immersed to the elbows in the mucky stuff.

I took my wild clay to the wheel. Its qualities are very different from store-bought clay and it was surprising to find that I could form it at all, considering how brittle and touchy it is with hand building. But it works. Not in a way that commercially produced clays do. Some commercial clay bodies are forgiving even when things are off-balanced and poorly centered. And some, like porcelain, are so delicate and touchy that it takes a very skilled potter to be able to coax a form without it collapsing in a pile of tears and white mud.

As I try to find a way to describe how different this clay is, an old friend comes to mind. When I was a young woman I lived with a guy who wanted to get a wolf hybrid, and because we were young and naive, we did. We discovered that wolf hybrids are not dogs. Ultimately, she became more of a mentor and friend to me than a pet. Even though she chose to be a part of our ‘pack’, she was not to be tamed. If she wanted to wander, no fence could keep her in. If she didn’t think your idea was a good one, she did not go along with it (and often she was right). Her locus of control was somewhere both very far off and at the same time deep inside of her. She was the embodiment of instinct and love.

This clay reminds me of her. With commercial clay, I can hold an image of a vessel in my mind and mold it to my liking. With the right skills, it’s generally obedient and accommodating. But the wild clay is, well… wild. It decides what shape it will take. It decides how much of my meddling it will tolerate. If I am not present and centered, it certainly won’t be. It demands all of my attention, and that I turn off the rule-based part of my mind that is constantly trying to get between me and this wet lump of Earth spinning between my hands. It says, “Let go”.

I have to close my eyes and shut out everything but the sensation of the rhythm of the pulsing clay. I have to ask it to invite me in, and only together do we become perfectly centered. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like cooperating, and I must acquiesce. I have to ask it what it wants to become, and ever so consciously feel what it is telling me. In order to understand what it’s whispering into my hands, I must expand into it’s presence.

vessels sitting on their bats, fresh off of the wheel. I sprinkled them with mica that I collected on my travels last winter.

This is what the wild clay is teaching me:

Every vessel holds a spirit. Some are wide and welcoming, some are closed and like to have a safe, dark, round space to inhabit. Some want an infinite space inside the little pot, to dance the universe in and out of being.

This clay spirit is teaching me that it likes to inhabit round vessels. I was inspired to create spheres, and at first I thought that it was MY idea. But it reminded me that that isn’t how inspiration works. As my mind always does, I jumped to another idea after making a few spheres. I wanted to make taller rounded shapes, pushing the size and volume and finding its limits. The clay said, “No.” I would pull a tall cylinder up, but as soon as I began to slightly ‘belly’ it out, the cylinder widened way out, forming itself into a short ball shape. I tried again after adding some sand to give the clay body more stability. “No,” it said. “I am a sphere.”

It’s telling me that my job here is to make bodies for the clay spirits to inhabit, not to produce pottery. This isn’t about my will. If I want to invite inspiration into my creative process, I need to accept that I’m not alone, and I need to surrender to that. I wonder what other wisdom it will fill me with. Who, indeed, is the vessel?