This, most likely, will be my last posting before the opening reception of my Two-Person Exhibition at Gallery 26. I've still got plenty of prep work to do - a few pieces still need some work, and I have to prepare the works for hanging.

Which means I've got to construct a few frames and cut a few mats. The canvases just need to be strung with hanging wire, thank goodness.

The past few months have been interesting, having kept me whirling around from event to event without much of a steady rhythm being achieved. But, I've managed to put together quite a few new works for the show.

So, without further ado, here are five of the new works to be included, plus a glimpse of the invite card (which has a piece of Holly's work on it) for those that might not get the snail mail invitation. And, please, if you are in the area on July 19th, stop by Gallery 26 for the reception (7-10pm) and say hi. 

And, as always, comments about the work here on the journal are more than welcome.

I don't always like it shiny.

By that I mean that I don't always like to be able to see my own hand in my work. I try to make my work as polished as possible, but a polish that doesn't give me a reflection.

It's a way of knowing that a work has grown up and moved away from home. When I'm first flirting with the idea of a piece, I'm a very big part of the process and what's going on. I look at the work, and I see a lot of me in it. I know how the ideas I'm toying with relate to what's going on in my life, what inspired them and what birthed them. It's not until I build up the concept a little and give it a title that the piece begins to grow up. It's like I'm naming my child and giving it an identity.

Right now, I've still got a lot of work for the upcoming show at this stage (yes, I am way, WAY behind). They've been developed conceptually and given names, but they are still in the playpen. I need to get them walking on their own.

In a weird way, they take those first steps when I find a small area of the image that contains my highest points of contrast. My strongest light vs my strongest dark. I tend to work that area first, no matter where it is in the image, and use it as a springboard for the rest of the work. I'll refer back to that spot consistently throughout my creation of the artwork. As I work over the image it starts to grow and develop. There comes a point where I'm no longer really in control - I'm following a pattern and a voice that is growing into it's own identity.

When the evidence of my hand disappears for me, and the work stands before me as a creation with it's own identity, I get excited. It's how I know I'm close to being finished.

The problem is, I can still see my reflection in way too many works right now...

I always love reading art trade magazines, especially when they have features on this or that artist's studio. They will have pictures of the studio, showing all the nooks and crannies and how the artist has organized their workspace. I've noticed how well kept most of these studios seem to be. Very clean, very organized. Most of the studios of artists that I've visited, and the studios of educational institutions, rarely seem to keep to that same lofty appearance of cleanliness and organization. So, as a fun little exercise, I thought I'd take a few photos of my own studio, now that it's hitting crunch time in preparing for a show, and show how my studio, with many works in progress, looks.

I shoot photographs. It's part of my process, part of what I do. Sometimes those photographs are used simply as the foundation for a drawing or painting - other times these images become works in and of themselves. I haven't been shooting as many photos of late, having other things taking up my time. But today, for the first time in a while, I was able to grab my camera and hit the streets of downtown.

I was looking to take photos that would have strong contrasts and good play between light and shadow, therefore I was out in the middle of the day. I like the idea of images based on reality that when put into paint, become almost abstract and stylized. I wanted to capture the play of high noon shadows and the reflected gray-white of the sun-bleached concrete roads.

After a half hour of getting shots, I come across a corner where the strong lines of the building catch my eye. I stop, camera down at my side, and swivel my head back to look at the corner I just passed. I'm debating how I want to capture the image when I hear,

"You just took my picture!"

I turn around to see a very angry woman in front of me.

"You just took my picture! You looked away and took my picture!"

I'm a little taken by surprise at this. I've turned to look at her, and she has stopped dead in her tracks and is glaring at me. I throw my hands up and apologize to her if I made her think I took her picture and tell her that I didn't take her picture. 

"I know you took my picture! You stopped, turned away, and took my picture."

I am a little baffled at this point, but I just apologize again for making her feel uncomfortable and reiterate that I did not take her photo. After a few seconds she repeats what I've said, which I agree to again, and then she hurries away.

I've never been approached that way when I've been out with a camera. It was a strange experience. I guess some people are very very uncomfortable with having their photo taken. Or maybe there was something about me that just really creeped her out. If so, I apologize again, wherever she may be.

Well, it was definitely an interesting return back to using the camera.

This afternoon I hit one of those wonderfully glorious moments where I've slapped down a large amount of wet media (ink and paint in this case) on several different works in progress, and, I have nothing left to do on them except watch the paint dry. 

When I was a lot younger - and a lot more inexperienced at producing work - I never really had this problem. It was enough for me to concentrate on one, maybe two, pieces at any time. Now that I've sloshed my way on down the road a bit, and I'm better at what I do, I can work on many more pieces at once. And, on occasion, I hit that point of having all the pieces I'm currently working on become temporarily unworkable. So, I've had to learn how to use the downtown in a productive manner instead of just taking a break and catching up on some sleep (although a nap would arguably be productive at this point too).

Some of the ways that I've come to use these moments of down time include:

1. Writing entries for Scribbles & Smudges.
2. Stretching Canvas (although, this can be difficult if the space is being taken up by the works in progress).
3. Online research - galleries, exhibition opportunities, competitives, marketing ideas, etc.
4. Catching up on email.
5. Return phone calls.
6. Clean parts of the studio or office.
7. Pay bills (whee! nothing more fun than that!)
8. Scan images of my work into the computer.
9. Work on marketing materials.
10. Run errands.

That's not a comprehensive list, but I like how it illustrates that there is so much more that goes into being an artist than just making art.

What does everyone else do when they have these kinds of periods of down time?