Welcome Spring

12" x 12" oil on canvas

Michigan -- A New Home

I arrived in Frankfort about a week and a half ago. I'd flown from Vieques to Atlanta, then Roo flew down and we drove back here together. We're living in an apartment on Main Street, across the street from the house we're renovating. It's great to be here. For one thing, it's cool; for another, there are no mosquitoes or roosters. Plenty of friendly folks, however, and miles of beautiful landscape

Where to paint first? Always a tough decision for me. But first I had to dig out of storage my equipment from last October when we left for the winter. Whew! I found a blue, a red and a yellow and a small tube of white. Enough to get started. Off to Treat Farm at Sleeping Bear Dunes. I'd heard the woods were full of trillium, I had to see them. Sure enough, the white flowers on either side of the trail from Tweddle Farm blanketed the wooded dunes. I headed on to the meadow beyond, though. I wanted to paint the farmhouse.

Sheltering in the shade of a small pine tree, I set up my easel and squeezed out my paint. Except the cap on the tube of yellow I'd brought along wouldn't budge. And it was very chilly. As my winter duds had been stolen in the burglary back in Georgia, I'd layered up as best I could, but it wasn't enough to protect me from a stiff breeze off Lake Michigan. Undaunted, I scraped as much yellow as I could from under a dried pile from last year. Tough going painting that brilliant sunlit forsythia in front of the house. Like many first drafts, this plein sketch was sent to the bottom of the pile.

On the way back to my car, I spied the friendly pair in the painting above. Next time I was free to paint, I made sure all the caps would unscrew. The yellow leapt from my brush onto that bush. "Welcome Spring" -- I'll count this as my first keeper of the season, the painting that welcomes me back to Michigan to my new home.

Media Luna Rocks

8" x 10" oil/canvas

Vieques Wall

12" x 12" oil/gessoed paper

The Paradise Trap

It's been a difficult winter here on the island of Vieques, my home away from home. Sure, I know better than to try to garner sympathy from anyone who hasn't had their shot at the tropics this season. But, still, life in Paradise has its ups and downs:

1. Ripoffs. This year has seen the island community rocked by the news that a well-loved member had embezzled half a million dollars from a local charity and "borrowed" a similar amount from friends. In other news ... Local break-ins upset the mango cart over at my siblings house around the corner. Also, the battery was taken from my car ten feet was where I was eating dinner. One friend has had the gas siphoned from her car repeatedly. Major robbery in my house in Atlanta, described in a previous post, has contributed to my personal weird winter.

2. Weather. The usual reason for being here, the weather this winter has been terrible. First, a lot more rain than usual. (We woke up Christmas morning to an inch of water in my studio -- Santa's meager offerings all swamped.) Now it's about 10 degrees hotter than normal and very humid. The typically everpresent Tradewinds seem to be holding their breath. Great weather if you're a mosquito! (P.S. There's no A/C.)

3. Grumpiness. Everyone is struggling with negativity. Perhaps due to #s 1 and 2, and also helped along by a potent bug (not a mosquito) that's laid up in bed a good percentage of us, it's hard to be positive when you're snorting and snuffling and really hot, due to fever and weather.

I've been here for months now. I could definitely go on. And on.

Job's tribulations come to mind. "Why me, Lord?" My friend Eileen and I both found ourselves comparing this place to a concentration camp, calling upon the spirit of Viktor Frankl to help make sense of it all. Really -- the winter's felt that weird!

Of course, the island's hardships seem more unfair because they're set in the context of the vacationers' expectation that "Life's a beach." If you're here for more than a couple of weeks, or own property here, you're more likely to be grumbling that "Life's a ----- (the other "b" word)," regardless of how much you loved the place when you first set foot upon it.

In reality, Vieques is just a place on earth. A place to live. A place to be. A place to paint. Is it perfect? No! Is it Paradise? Definitely not! Should it be? Only in a world of wishful thinking or gringo romance fiction. To believe otherwise is to struggle in a trap of disappointment and discouragement.

But wait, there's more:

As I write this, it's about to rain again. In tune with the way of things this winter, I just washed my sheets and hung them out to dry. Nevertheless, I've posted a few images of paintings done in the midst of the weirdness. Painting gets me out of small whiny self; it's one way to spring the Paradise Trap and find true freedom.

"The Long View"

12" x 16"

oil/linen panel

The Long View

The house we're leaving in the Atlanta area was robbed in a major way this weekend. A car, lawn tractor, our computers, papers, a cherished heirloom cuckoo clock, even the realtor's lock box -- all gone. There's a sense of violation, for sure; no one wants other people to take their stuff without permission. Yet, I have a strong sense that what's no longer in our possession is just that -- stuff. What matters most to me -- my loved ones and my artwork -- were essentially untouched.

When the reports of what was stolen started heading my way, I was most relieved to hear that the thieves were not art appreciators. For once I'm happy my paintings didn't fly off the walls. But, you know, even if they had, I would still retain the benefit of having painted them. Art is not stuff, it's a process and a way of life. There's always more art to be created, a new way to see familiar things.

This winter I've loved painting at Red Beach out on the old Navy base here in Vieques. They closed the road there in the middle of January, much to my dismay. I so wanted to bring my new painting students to this lovely and comfortable spot. Last week the paving project was completed and the road reopened; I was there in a flash, painting "The Long View." Elsewhere, professionals were plotting their plunder of our home. But while they might have gotten some good loot, I've no doubt the payoff for my work is a great deal more satisfying.

I've composed many of this winter's Red Beach to show the strip of the land on the western side of the crescent that forms the beach. It's a fair distance from the shore; you could swim to it but then you'd be too close to appreciate it properly. In my opinion, it's a vista best viewed from a distance. Kind of like life. Close up there are many snags and crags; in the long view, however, you see that there's much light in unexpected places.

Illumination

5" x 7"

oil on canvas

$500 (Until Feb. 14, 2010, $250 to Partners In Health for Haiti Relief)

How I Make My Living

This week I received a letter from President Obama congratulating me for having been awarded the President’s Volunteer Service Award. Included with the letter were two certificates – one for the Award and the other an acknowledgement from the National Park Service for 200 volunteer hours.

All of this came as a surprise to me. Who knew being given the opportunity to live in a picturesque, historic farmhouse in the middle of Sleeping Bear Dunes would result in such accolades? Having been chosen among many national applicants was honor enough for me. Plus, I had the time of my life painting in this gorgeous landscape. I worked hard. I aimed to give as good as I got and had a number of satisfactory paintings to show for it.

The President’s letter came after a busy week in which I held an Open Studio in my Vieques, PR location. I displayed my new work with recession pricing and a promise to donate 50% of proceeds to Partners In Heath for Haiti disaster medical relief. Lots of folks came and I’ve written a check for $1000 for the cause.

In addition to my portion of the sales, I not only had the satisfaction of showing my paintings to an admiring audience but also picked up some new art students. In fact, I’m starting to teach a lot!

It’s a good thing too. I learn a lot by articulating what I’ve learned from 7 years of painting hundreds of canvases. And my students have the opportunity to understand the work of art. After her lesson yesterday, one of them exclaimed -– as the realization was striking her for the first time – “You do this for your living, don’t you?!”

Most artists will tell you that they must make art. It’s not an option; it’s an obligation, albeit a sweet one. We paint because it’s our job, our employment in a universal sense of the word. We work to give our perception of beauty to the world.

But it’s work, not simply “fun”, to make art. Granted, it’s enjoyable work. But it is work nonetheless. At the end of the day, I am tired just like anyone else who puts in a day’s labor.

Work begs some form of compensation. For artists, this often comes in the form of the appreciative “ooohs and aaahs.” For some there are certificates of merit. And, yes -- the form of compensation that tends to be of greatest use - necessary funds. Artists first do what they must but working artists definitely aspire to be paid for at least some of what they accomplish.

Once I was asked how long it took me to complete a particular piece that was priced at $1000. As I seem to be incapable of deception (and have a certain pride in my ability to paint quickly), I told him about 4 hours. He walked off in a huff, after letting me know I was "lucky" to charge $250/hour for having fun using my God-given talent. Of course, he had no idea of the amount of time that went into preparing to make that painting. Or of the number of perfectly wonderful paintings I’d make (including that one) that would take several years to sell. It’s tough to get folks to understand that artists want to eat too.

(I made a lot more money as a minister depending on the donations of my congregants! People would pay $125/hour for my mentoring services! Some were mad at me when I stopped speaking publicly – it was my choice to stop earning money in that way.)

I’m sensing that more reliable income may be generated by teaching than selling, at least at this stage in my art career. Art is still considered a luxury for many people and in a tight economy, many will forgo the pleasure of a painting. However, I still eat food that costs money.

No matter. On behalf of my paintings, I try not to take it personally that all of my beauties don’t sell immediately, that people find it easier to pay me for my words than these images. I’m willing to start afresh -- I love teaching art almost as much as painting. Both are how I live now and how I make my living. And, regardless of the rewards, it turns out the real living is in the giving. That thousand bucks is going to buy a lot of medicine in Haiti.

Sun Bay Fireworks

8" x 8" oil on paper

$275 (was $425)

$ 137.50 goes to Partners in Health

Raising Relief $ by Lowering Painting Prices

My announcement that I am devoting 50% of my painting sales did not result in a flurry of phone calls from interested parties. I understand. These are tough economic times and a painting is often considered a luxury item. Better, perhaps, send whatever money you have to directly benefit Haitian relief groups. Still, wouldn’t it be great to support both the relief work and the Arts? Both are long term efforts.

My history with Haitian people goes back a long way. When I lived in Nassau, Bahamas for two years in the mid-80s, I shared the finished portion of a cottage on a large estate with Marcel, the Haitian gardener. His part of the cottage had no indoor plumbing; he cooked on a small grill with charcoal he made from palm fronds. He sent most of his salary, $80/month, home to his family. Ever since, I’ve had a tender spot in my heart for the people of this beleaguered island.

More recently, standing in line to vote in the presidential election in 2008, I met Lounna, treasurer of Sonje Ayiti, an organization that builds schools and provides micro-loans for small businesses in Haiti. I showed her my website and we wondered then how my paintings of Vieques could help her Caribbean neighbor.

I received a note from Lounna today:

Good morning Ellie,

We all are mourning for our brothers and sisters. Our president was in Port-au--Prince but she made it safe. Now we can assist them..

For the hurricane relief effort, although we are not equiped with airplanes, jets to fly relief goods, but we can still provide immediate relief. We have 3 drivers who are committed to work to take us around and several items can be purchased in the Dominican Republic, packaged, and hand delivered to the people at different camps. we have a team of more than 30 volunteers awaited to be dispatched.

You can donate on our website www.sonjeayiti.com

Let me know how you can assist.

Lounna

I have decided I want to increase the cash I am able to generate for Haiti by making my work more affordable to more people. The pricing of art work is such a complicated issue I won’t go into it right now. Suffice to say, I do not lower my prices every day. But the recession has many people who could otherwise afford to pay a decent price for art balking at the notion. And I want to raise money for Haiti at the same time that I cover my expenses.

So I’ve lowered my prices significantly on my Caribbean paintings, by 30-50% for at least through February 14. (You can see the new price list at www.EllieHarold.com/prices.htm.) Half of all sale proceeds will go to Partners in Health for their medical relief effort in Haiti.

On other fronts, I just learned I will have a large show in 2011 at the Forte Conde de Mirasol in Isabel II, Vieques. I hope by then that Haiti is well on its way to recovery. But, then, like developing one’s art, one would be wise to stay focused on the longterm project.

"Vieques Hilltop"

9" x 12" oil on canvas

$625

(If you buy this painting before February 14, 2010,

$312.50 will be donated to Partners in Health.)

Painting with Purpose – Haitian Relief

I’m sitting here in my minimal studio in Vieques, Puerto Rico. It's about 80 degrees. A gentle rain falls, tapping out a rhythm on the banana leaves. The damp weather typical of the June-November hurricane season seems to have extended for a couple of more months. The mosquitoes have been terrible. They are my biggest concern, if you don’t count which new restaurant to try later in the day and will it clear up sufficiently to paint outdoors.

The infrastructure where I live and paint 4 or 5 months of the year is fragile. A heavy rainstorm or an angry municipal worker has been known the disrupt the water supply for days or even weeks. Think flushing the toilet with bottled water from the colmada. At $5 per flush, everything (and everyone) gets pretty stinky in short order. When this happens we consider it a disaster.

A few hundred miles to the west, on another Caribbean island, I imagine the weather is not much different from here. Perhaps the roosters are crowing just as they are here. But the rest is so unimaginable, it seems too hard to even try. Living so close, however, it’s not quite so difficult. It could’ve been my beloved little island that cracked open. It could’ve been me or my family crushed beneath a concrete roof.

I get to do what I love most of the time. I’m grateful for that. I don’t get paid for much of what I do, however, so the cash flow is not always what I’d like it to be. Nonetheless I am committed to my employment as an artist for the Universe and keep on painting. I’ve been struggling with what I can do to help my neighbors in Haiti. I checked to see if I could offer services as a former nurse and discovered that without disaster experience I’d be more trouble than help. I’ve gathered up a few clothes and shoes to donate. I’m sending a check to match what I spent on dinner last evening. But what else?

It's occurred to me to put my paintings to work. I've decided I will donate 50% of all my painting sales (less framing, or shipping and handling charges) from now until Valentine’s Day. I’ve chosen Partners in Health, a medical aid organization that already has a structure in place in Haiti, as the destination for this gift. They have a good reputation for low administrative overhead, so the money goes to work with a high degree of effectiveness.

If you’d like to support the relief effort in this way, please visit my website http://www.ellieharold.com/ and make your choice. I can accept most major credit cards. I will provide you with a copy of the check I send to Partners in Health with proceeds from your purchase.

Red Beach Monday Morning

9" x 12" oil on panel

Red Beach Surf

11" x 14" oil on panel

Chance of Rain Red Beach

8" x 10" oil on panel

These images are of studies done at Red Beach, Vieques in recent days. The idea has been to convey an impression of the scene quickly. I'm still using previously used panels that have been coated with white gesso. I'm loving the rough surface this provides, although I'm noticing that the photos of these paintings don't quite capture the lusciousness of the thick paint I'm using. I've been returning to more or less the same place to paint -- it's easy to get to and there's shade. Plus, it's one of the best swimming beaches.

Roo is leaving the island tomorrow for chilly Michigan and I'll be exploring a more committed art routine for the next several months. I'm anticipating a continuation of the morning paint session followed by some writing and siesta time midday with an optional afternoon session. Distraction is, of course, the great challenge and while it's wonderful to have a wi-fi connection this year, it's always tempting to surf the Net rather than painting the surf. We'll see how it goes.

I've no plans to show my work on Vieques this season except for Open Studios I'll hold at the end of January, February and March (and maybe April). In part this is to give myself the freedom to develop the work in directions that might not be so immediately sellable. (I found myself wondering this morning if "people" would like my newer work less than the style for which I've become known in the past several years.) I'm sure many artists hesitate to grow for fear of their work becoming less appreciated. I know my struggle is to value the work for its own sake, for my process in creating it, and not for what others think of it or will pay for it. Great story in the NY Times about a 94 year old woman who finally "made it" after 60 years of working at her painting. Much for me to learn in this department!

View from Red Beach

8" x 10" oil/panel

Back to Red Beach this morning, thinking about what it means to paint abstractly. I love images where a few deft strokes convey the essence of a scene. When "looking" deepens it becomes "seeing." Shapes define meaning while details take a hike. I find this happens spontaneously when I am in a carefree but focused state of being.

This morning I returned to the same spot where I painted yesterday. The sky was dark as some rain clouds passes overhead. A brilliant rainbow arched over the sea and surrounding hills. It would have been difficult to capture this eye candy and, besides, my eye was drawn to the sun as it hit the cliffs across the water opposite.

The thought of painting abstractly this morning became more a concept dominating my experience and not what the painting wanted. Plus -- call me indulgent -- I just love making those brushstrokes! Still, this piece is not overworked with detail; hopefully, there's just enough. I especially like the sun effect on the simply painted cliff.

On the way home, after my swim, an idea for a book of paintings and prose occurred to me. A comparison of Vieques and Northern Michigan, the two places to which I've committed my artistic heart. Many people who travel here straddle two worlds of heat and cold -- What do they have in common? How do they differ? It seems a whole new body of artwork is brewing in me. Yes!

Palm Shade

8" x 10" oil/panel

Up early this morning and out the door by 7:30 with a thermos of coffee and pastries from La Dulce Esperanza in hand. The commute to Playa Caracas wasn't too bad today -- passed one other car on the 10 minute drive. No one else at the beach, either, so no distractions. After my breakfast, I walked the familiar terrain to see what would catch my eye.

This morning it was shadows cast on the sand by the nearby coconut palms. My work was to render the contrast between sun and shade and to do it before the sun got too high. By ten a.m. my subject surrendered to the light; I packed up and submitted myself to the sea. A bit easier to get in the warm Caribbean than chilly Lake Michigan and the water is definitely "salted" here. (My favorite t-shirt slogan from this summer: "Lake Michigan -- Unsalted.") It's fine to swim up close to what I been painting in the distance.

I'm enjoying making these smaller paintings. Thick paint applied with a loose touch. A nothing-to-lose attitude that means not sweating the small stuff -- details I would have obsessed about a year ago -- a gentle approach. On good days like today, if I manage only the commute, the work seems to complete itself.

Sun Light (Vieques)
8" x 8" oil on canvas

This is the first painting of the winter season here in Vieques. My intention is to be here through April. But if 2009 has taught me anything, it's that all plans are subject to radical change. So, in truth all I can really know is that I am here for now, grateful for the sunlight that so drenches the verdant landscape.

When I first arrive in a place with many painting opportunities, I often start by working close to home. It gives me a chance to see how my equipment is working and what supplies I may have neglected to bring with me. Yesterday, as a zillion mosquitoes attacked my legs, I realized I'm missing the bug spray. On the bright side, I felt strongly encouraged to paint quickly and I was pleased with the looseness of the work. I particularly like the quality of the shadows on the side of the sunny wall.

Will I paint today? I don't know. As I'm still in grief mode following my mother's passing last May, I'm just feeling my way through each day as gently as possible. It is good to paint, to affirm the life still present in me; perceiving the beauty in my surroundings is as much a gift to me as to anyone who enjoys my work. Yet, I've been known to "should" myself into doing when it might be more appropriate to be, thus destroying the joy of creating. So, today I will be sensitive to life's leadings and see where that takes me.

Enjoy the Sun Light!

Autumn Little Mulberry Lake

12" x 16" oil on linen panel

It's no secret that people aren't buying a lot of paintings these days. I can tell I'm not alone by the volume of email in my inbox marketing "art marketing." One promo tells me that for just $2599 I can have my image on the cover of a new magazine that targets galleries. The more I throw my baited line in the "river of money," I'm told, the more chance I have to sell paintings. The fact that galleries are also hurting isn't mentioned.

I could chalk it up to lousy timing. My art career appeared to be taking off -- I sold an average of a painting a week for the first 6 months of 2008 -- but then the market tanked and the economy headed south. Earlier this year I had my first experience of haggling with the Very Wealthy -- imagine discounting a painting to Them! It seemed, however, the only way to make the sale. Bottomline, they loved the work and I wanted it to go to their home.

I haven't thought much about selling work for a few months. For one thing, in May of this year my mother died. The angst of not-selling can't in any way compare with the pain of such a loss. Yet, as the grief recedes, I can see more clearly the stacks of unclaimed paintings. (Remember the commercials that boomed "UNCLAIMED FREIGHT!" ? ) Plus, most days I add another to the inventory. What to do?

I've thought more than once about holding a fire sale. I've also thought about building a bonfire. Or taking the canvas off the stretchers and stashing the rolled paintings in a cupboard until the world recognizes their worth. None of these solutions particularly satisfies my desire not only to make art, but to see it go out into the world, to live with someone who appreciates it. Oh, and did I mention, giving the work away?

While today's numbers indicate a slow recovery from the recession, most people's reality is that money is still tight. As long as that perception rules, people probably will be tight with their money. And, I'm asking myself, does my own version of that show up in being rigid with my pricing?

I've heard artists more experienced than I say that one should never lower prices simply to move work. Yet, I've also noticed many painters posting their Daily Painting on eBay auctions starting at a buck. Sometimes the painting actually gets bid up to $100 or more, but more often it goes for much less if it goes at all. The fire sale actually appeals to me more, and seems to involve a lot less time on the computer.

My friend who owns a higher end gallery in Atlanta has lowered his prices -- he felt had to so he could stay open. He'd laid off workers and cut every other expense he could think of. As much as he didn't want to, he told his artists he was reducing prices. He also introduced a line of jewelry into his more or less exclusively fine art showroom. He was being a sensible businessman.

The Artist rankles at the notion of submitting his or her Art to the sensibilities of the Market. But something in re-thinking the price of a painting feels correct to me. I want to sell paintings, not inflate my ego. Yes, I loved it the first time someone paid me more than a $1000 for a painting. But in today's market, the same painting would not get that price from most people. I can choose to pay to put the image on the cover of a magazine, demonstrating what? Hubris, desperation ... ? Or maybe I can simply keep on making the art and sell it at a more affordable price.

I want to create paintings. I want people to have the paintings I make. If I sell them for less, perhaps I'll sell more, and more to the people who seem to like my simple and colorful landscapes. Anyway, I'm giving this a try. I hope my previous patrons won't get mad and feel they got a lousy deal by paying more a year or so ago. I hope, instead, they'll take advantage of the current situation and stock up at the less expensive price. And tell their less well-off friends: You can afford to buy these paintings!

On November 15 &16 I'm holding a time-limited reduced price Open House & Art Sale. It's going to benefit the Atlanta Community Food Bank. I'll give 10% of the proceeds of my sales to the organization along with the non-perishable food item I'm inviting people to bring. I'll be showing only small paintings (12" x 16" or smaller, unframed) and everything for sale will be $200 or less. (There will be larger paintings lurking around the corner for those who want to spend more.)

I'm not interested in shelling out the big bucks to market my work; I like doing things in a more direct fashion. Maybe eventually it will pay off. But, if not, I'll enjoy keeping company with the likes of Henry Thoreau, who I hear died with 700 of the 1000 copies of Walden's first edition still unsold.

For more info on how it all turns out, email me: eharold@aol.com.

Autumn Color

9" x 12" oil on linen panel

(The residency is officially over but I can't resist the landscape.)

Tweddle Farm

24" x 30" oil on canvas

Gift to Park Service @ Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore

My residency officially draws to a close today though we can stay in the house until Monday. The presentation at the Visitor Center drew a great crowd of 40 or more. It was fun to be speaking on the subject near and dear to my heart, but as it turns out, it was not unlike the talks at the old Unity-Midtown. They laughed; they cried. I presented the Tweddle Farm painting (image above) to the Park and another to Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear. Then about 20 people followed me over to the farm for the exhibit of my other work -- about 25 paintings in all. What can I say? It's been an amazing experience. I'm sure there'll be more to reflect on as the days unfold. As I was out this morning painting "Autumn Color" a woman I met on the dunes came by to make a purchase of the painting she fell in love with yesterday. It was a nice affirmation of my dune path. More later ....

Late Summer Port Oneida

20" x 24"

Treat Farm

24" x 20"

Burfiend Farm
16" x 20"

Today I painted up on the Pierce Stocking Drive for the final time of my residency. I wanted to go there to be with the people who contribute so much to the experience here -- tourists.

I got there early and was set up on the overlook boardwalk before anyone arrived. It reminded me of getting ready to do church years ago. Then folks started to come. I heard more than one person shush the people in her party. "There's someone painting," she'd say, and they'd approach with whispers or in silence. I would, of course, invite them in close for a look and explain what I was doing there. (Though, because of my "official" shirt and name badge and other NPS bling, it wasn't hard to figure out.)

Anyway, it was a lovely sunny morning. The views were stunning and easy to paint. The landscape here is now embedded in my consciousness to the extent I can feel as well as see it. It's more clear to me than ever after this three week immersion that an artist is painting his or her inner landscape as much as or more than the outer one.

It also strikes me that in the days when I was "doing" church as a Unity minister, I drew inspiration from life's possibilities -- the potential for creation in individuals and groups -- what might be. Now, as a painter, I am primarily inspired by reality -- what is, right in front of me. It's always only ever a matter of seeing. I'm reminded of Alice Walker's brilliant character Shug from The Color Purple, something she says along the lines of "I think it pisses God off if we walk by a field filled with the color purple and don't notice." I am intoxicated with the reality of Sleeping Bear and her coat of many colors. It's the best church I've ever found.

One mishap on the dune path this morning. An elderly lady fell in love with the piece I was painting. She asked how much I was selling it for and when I said nine-fifty, she said "Is that all?" I wondered if I was asking too little for my work. As we walk to my car to discuss the purchase (after my residency is up), I come to find out that she thought the price was $9.50 not $950 as I'd had in mind. I'd taken her for an affluent art collector who believed my prices to be extremely reasonable (as they are for this area) whereas she was actually a retiree living in a mobile home on a fixed income. After many apologies for the confusion I gave her a card with the image of one of my paintings and showed her how she could frame it and make a nice piece. I loved that she loved the work.

Putting a price on a painting is one of the most challenging parts of walking this art-spirit path. It seems that everyone who loves a painting should have it. Yet, I have significant expenses associated with my artwork as well as the need to make a living. What I do looks like such fun to casual observers, yet it is definitely work -- inner and well as outer work -- and somehow all of this wants to be compensated. My agreement with myself is to work with admirers who want to own a painting to see how we can both get what we need.

It's easier when there's someone else doing the wheeling and dealing so I'm on the lookout for a good gallery in the area. I want someone who appreciates the unique qualities of my work and will represent me enthusiastically. I think I've already found one that will work really well. I'll keep you posted with the details.

My presentation and exhibit are tomorrow. Will go "home" now to clean up and make ready. Come on down -- 2:00 p.m. at the Sleeping Bear Visitor Center -- in person or in spirit. We'll inspire each other!

Thanks for reading this blog!

A rainy day at last! Non-stop painting (or desire to paint) now can cease for a day. We had a great paint-out at Tweddle Farm on Saturday with fifteen artists present to take advantage of the lovely weather and location. It was great to see the Park open and welcome to artists. I started envisioning many ways to partner with Sleeping Bear in the future. I feel such a strong connection with this land, I cannot help but think there is more I will be able to contribute here (beyond the painting I will donate at the end of this week).

Speaking of which, I am in the home stretch of my residency. I'm preparing for my presentation at the Visitor Center on Friday at 2:00 p.m. as well as for a "wet painting" show with food to follow at Tweddle Farm at 3:30. Then it will be time to pack up and head out for my next destination -- Frankfort? Atlanta? ????

I don't really have words to describe my gratitude for all this opportunity has brought me. Imagine waking in the morning with only one imperative -- to listen for the instruction, inspiration and encouragement of the Muse. Oh yes, and to feed Spotty who has, by the way, been an invaluable aid to my sleep in the form of aggressive mousing. I've been productive yet not too obsessive, pleased with my work but not so enamored of it I haven't been willing to learn from mistakes. I've struggled with issues to do with getting the work out into the world -- where are the throngs that want to buy my paintings? -- but have reconciled with the reality that all such things have their own timing, and that this is not a time to be concerned with sales. I am immersed in a process of creativity that seems life-changing to say the very least.

I appreciate your reading my reflections. I'll be posting more photos of the work as I get them finished.

North Bar Breakthrough

24" x 30" oil on canvas

Getting into a rhythm of working in my "studio" in the mornings which gives me time to warm up for an afternoon session whilst improving paintings that need it. I am astounded by how much I learn from day to day. Sitting with the previous days' work, I see what could be and should be different. Then I must decide whether to go back in and work on a piece or go back to the site and try again. Some paintings seem to demand tweaking and I comply. Others, if I'm too attached to risk altering the work, require me to suffer the charm of my ignorance.
(How did that big blob end up as the foreground of this otherwise beautiful landscape?)

I seem to have a problem with foreground, offering the viewer a way in to the scene. Having identified this weakness, I have an idea of what to work with in my next painting. For now, I am choosing to let be the painting above. I may go back to North Bar Lake and have another go at it.

Thanks for checking in!

On location: North Bar Overlook.

Photo by Geroge Hunyadi.

Dune Plain

12" x 16"

oil on linen panel

Treat Farm Early Evening

16" x 20" oil on canvas

Here's couple of pieces from the past week. I've loved being out on this land. It makes such a difference to be in "residence" here. I wake up in the moring immersed in the light and the landscape. The painting places reveal themselves as I fall in love with yet another spot. I'm learning to take my time choosing the place I will paint, resting sufficiently between painting sessions to be clear from one to the other. My new favorite place in Sleeping Bear is North Bar Lake. Stay tuned for images of the paintings I've been in and around there in the past two days.

Yesterday was treated to some lovely contacts with people at the North Bar Lake Overlook on the Pierce Stocking Drive. One couple, Geroge and Joy Kunyadi, were particularly engaging. George was carrying a major piece of photograhic equipment and asked me to take time out to pose with my painting. I couldn't resist. The photo is above.

Today marks a shift in the weather pattern that's brought impeccable weather for the past ten days. I can use a bit of time to do some studio work. Still, it's supposed to clear this afternoon and the land beckons ....

One of the challenges of doing technology and painting is that the painting mind is not geared to the technological one, except as it relates to getting the paint out of the tube and onto the canvas. I'm writing this with no photo attached because the camera is somewhere in all my painting stuff and not with my laptop. That said, the painting is going well today. I painted at North Bar Lake this morning -- a crystalline blue green lake with woods on one side and dunes on the other. The painting features the point where a small outlet from the lake breaks through to Lake Michigan. Quite loose and colorful and filled with light. Now back to the same area for an afternoon session.

Sleeping better for having Spotty my cat around. He's keeping the house critters at bay. The outdoor wildlife -- a huge porcupine who comes to eat the fallen pears near the farmhouse -- is probably more than he could take on. He's really a house cat, never caught anything bigger than a large roach. I doubt he'll do anything more than scare the mouse, the way Mr. P. Pine scares him.

With twelve or more paintings more or less completed, I'm taking this week to paint in one or two places I've really fallen for. Away from the homestead, out into the wild world of the dunes. Thanks for following this blog! Send me an email if you'd like!

Tweddle Farm Sept. 6

24" x 30"
Norconk Meadow
24" x 30"

Two works in progress. I've been progressively increasing the size of my paintings in preparation for doing a 30" x 40" plein air (outdoor) dune painting. I wrestle with my ability to knock out a painting quickly (a somewhat daunting task on a bigger canvas) and my desire to paint from a relaxed space. The ambitious "paintiac" takes over all too often. It seems to be a matter of aspiring to paint large without being compelled to do so for the wrong reasons.

I'm also choosing to see all these paintings as works in progress. It's so macho to believe that only paintings completed in one sitting are true plein air pieces. If I am in service to Beauty, does it matter how long the painting takes? Today I worked on a 24" x 30" farmyard scene for more than 3 hours. I took it as far as I could in one day. Tomorrow's another day and I hope for sun that will allow me to develop the painting outside. If not, I can reference my photos of the scene. Beauty is generous; it's not trusting the abundance that has me greedy to get it all down as quickly as possible. Such a metaphor ....

I've also realized that coming out of the painting space to blog on my computer (which requires sitting in this coffee shop) is very distracting. I have to physically leave my "residency" and I wonder if it's worth it. Is anyone really following this? If so, I'd appreciate it if you would please send me an email at eharold@aol.com to let me know.

Yesterday was an admin day. I formally became a Volunteer of the National Park Service, received an official nametag and shirt (great for painting). It's the most connected to the federal government I've ever been. I feel sorry, though, for the employees at Sleeping Bear. They sit in florescent lit cubicles all day while the dunes they manage bask in the sun. Very helpful staff, though, and I remain grateful for this unexpected opportunity as well as the shirt.

(For some reason I'm unable to get paragraph breaks on this blog -- sorry for the run-on text.)

Tweddle Farm

oil on canvas

20" x 20"

Arrival

It took me about an hour to move my stuff into the house at Tweddle Farm. Basic government issue furnishings but with the paintings I brought up from Frankfort, it soon looks like my usual home/gallery. Once installed, I headed out for a paint session -- ten yards from the door. Last night the just waning moon kept me awake. Lots of fog in the meadows reflecting the light. Up early this morning and back at it. Nice folk stop by to visit and view on the way to their morning hike. Now at Gemma's, the local wi-fi connection, where the loud rock contrasts mightily with the peaceful farm.

Sleeping Bear Path

11" x 14" oil on linen panel

Here's part of the path I'll be trying to walk these upcoming weeks. Literally and figuratively, it's a steep way to go. The challenge is about staying true to my intention to follow an Art-Spirit path. What does this mean? I'll have three weeks to begin to find out starting this Saturday. Thanks for checking in!