STAY WITH ME

Children wrenched

from their mother’s arms

compelled me to this work.

I’ve tried to exhibit the power

of women in this series,

aiming beyond the immediate,

but the horror at the border

hurts too much.

I dealt with this subject before —

mothers shielding their children.

I painted “Can I Protect Her?”

ten years ago, in a different world.

Though the woman worries,

draped in flag colors,

the feisty child peeks out at her future.

The triangle composition is balanced, safe.

Now in 2018 the same subject

exposes a harsher attitude.

In “We Will Survive”

the mother and child stand amidst rubble

and death – the fish skeleton –

defiant.

Where do we turn?

For me, nature is a comfort.

I found this beautiful shape on the ground.

Then I noticed the outside of the frond

and painted it to reveal the hidden body.

The finished back.

The bent form has a “front”

where a child has to climb.

I tried to place anatomy in the curves

and the child’s butt fit a natural crease.

The mother has to reach over to the child

so I crafted an arm out of clay.

Their fingers almost touch but not quite.

A draft of mother’s head in clay.

I tried to catch her desperation mixed with resolve.

Her hair would be ordinary grass

because she’s a force of nature,

painted intense blue for her beauty.

Finally, mother and child

reach out to each other:

“Stay with me.”

RISE

Female nudes pervade art history
from ancient fertility icons to the “masters,”
imposing ideals of beauty.
And now time’s up.

Making an image of a female nude today
requires introspection.
How do we want to see ourselves?

The journey to this piece began

when I found this sliver of a tree

and knew one day it had to fly.

I brushed on resin to preserve it

and waited a year before I knew

it would be a vessel.

It would have blues to reach the sky

propelled by a tail of fire colors.

A woman would ascend in it

like emerging from a shell.

NOT LIKE THIS!

Of course, sensuality can be joyful.

I made this painting “Wind at Her Back”

long ago in a simpler time.

Then in 2005 I painted this one.

The title “Not Yet Out of the Woods”

refers to the figure embedded in the panel

(see the wood grain becoming her form).

It also meant I was not yet out of the woods

after spine surgery, unable to get out of bed,

not yet free.

And what now?

What body image befits a real woman

about to soar on a giant blue frond?

The clay model (seen pinned to a wall)

is not conventionally beautiful

with heavy breasts, pot belly,

saggy butt, a stringy neck.

Painted in acrylic to match the blue

and bend to the curve.

This detail shows her power.

Here is the beauty that answers

how we want to see ourselves.

Then I realized she couldn’t just be on the wing;

she has to be of it, embedded…

So I cut off her feet.

Now she emerges from the wood…

…unpretty and powerful, about to rise.

WOMEN’S CHORUS

The fifth in this series is a head trip

away from the strong singular image

to a cacophony of outrageous voices

singing together…

…the way stems bend in different directions

yet make one tree.

I gathered the ones that fell

when their leaves were gone…

…and painted them…

PINK

We have to talk about pink.

Many artists avoid it. Some say pink isn’t really a color, the product of a one-night stand between red and white. Some pinks insist they are tones of red. And some go around passing for white. If most pinks went to one of those ancestry sites they’d discover they’re actually 20% blue or yellow.

Pinks have baggage. Pink was girlie in a Barbie-doll way (and underwear) until the 80s when it hung out with black and made believe it was goth. Now it’s a knitted hat with ears. This is a self-esteem issue. Blues come in many shades and each one knows it’s beautiful.

But pinks have baggage, and an artist must be aware of the repercussions.

I’m not afraid of pink.

I used it in “A Fragile Space,”

an abstract painting, 5 years ago.

To find the right pink for this chorus

I mixed Medium Magenta, Light Magenta,

a dollop of expensive Quinacridone Violet,

and spiked it with cheap Fluorescent Pink.

The ladies got faces out of clay…

…that I painted.

We each have personal reasons for speaking

so they will wear their own newspaper headlines.

I gave them fists.

I drew clenched hands before

in “Letting Go” in 2016.

But now, being gorgeous,

these ladies wear feathers

plucked from this boa.

Their fragility is an illusion, though.

A fist emerges and hands of a clock

because “Time’s Up.”

The 15 singers divide into 3 melodies:

“Vote,” “Time’s Up” and “Me Too,”

and they’re ready to sing.

BIONIC ANGEL

This one is surprisingly personal.
It’s part nature, part metal, like me.
Steel rods and screws hold up my spine;
my elbow is formed by steel;
my teeth and eyes have elements
nature never made.
And here I am.

I didn’t expect what I’d create
when I found a fragment of a palm
that seemed like a wing,

its delicate details
inspired in flight.

I set out to find its other wing
and chose a limb that had fallen
that still lifted upwards.

You can see the copper wire starting.

I love the shimmer of copper.
In my 2017 “Sight” series
I used it in Mechanism for Prophecy.

Here, copper wire became layers of feathers.

Who is flying?
I began forming a head with clay
and a welcoming smile.

Her arms had to stretch
to become part of the wings.

But I realized this work is a meditation.
So I closed her eyes.

I painted her VanDyke brown for depth,

and highlighted her in gold.

The body combines slivers of bark
with copper wires coiled from
the spirit of her energy.

Two tiny electronics left over
from a clock I took apart
for last year’s series…

…became her earrings.

There she is, ready to rise.

Making

PILGRIMAGE

 

Pilgrimage commemorates the Women’s March.

I wanted to simplify this great event,

both protest and celebration,

and distill the experience to its soul.

On eBay I found doll shoes

with personalities of imagined marchers.

 

What surface would I make for them?

We marched on city streets

so I thought of constructing towering walls.

But no, that’s not the point.

It needed something universal,

a texture that would be rough, no easy walk,

and unpredictable, more like life.

 

A tree contributed a chunk of heavy bark.

So I set the shoes on their journey…

 

…and discovered it was funny.

Ugh, this wasn’t supposed to be a joke.

Not that I’m against humor in art.

While I built this piece,

a painting of mine, “I am not a Girl!”

was in the “Bunk” show at Gallery 825.

 

But Pilgrimage is meant to be serious.

So I painted the shoes a rich brown

that matched the bark.

The darkness had a strong impact

as if they battled through mud.

But that’s not the truth.

Mixed with determination was joy.

The shoes needed the glow of bronze,

like statues that hail victories.

Finally, where are they going?

This trail doesn’t end

in a voting booth, raised fist, or headlines.

 

What is the true epiphany?

 

At the culmination of the journey

we are each naked.

Though we marched together,

we stand alone

at the precipice of the future

and the next step into the unknown

is up to each of us.

 

 

 

Making

IDOL

After a year of anxiety reflected in my art…

“In A Dark Time The Mind Begins To See,” 2017

2018 dawned with a determination for power.

As the year began, I came upon a crown

lying on a sidewalk.

It belonged to a force of nature,

a woman

who would take no guff.

I set out to create her

using no photo, no model,

just feeling who she had to be.

At first she thought being an “idol”

was ridiculous,

and I didn’t mind if she laughed at herself.

A few years ago I painted a jolly Buddha

so I was ok with humor in art.

“Juggling Galaxies,” 2015

But she wasn’t having it.

She kept transforming

and then it was time to paint.

She needed deep folds around her

wizened eyes,

radiant with energy from within

crevices of experience,

still hopeful with a suggestion

of a smile.

Her hands had to be generous,

not what people call “feminine,”

a rough-hewed woman of nature

in bronze and gold.

Her cloak would be tall grass

I found on the dirt

and sealed forever with resin.

She would be tall so I attached

two canvases to give her 80 inches

(almost seven feet) in height.

I laid her down in her cloak of straw

and fastened the crown on her head.

There she waits until…

months from now she will be up on a gallery wall

and conjure our collective

power.

 

 

 

Making

THE BIG HUG

These days I feel like

I’m always fighting back.

But between battles sometimes

I just want to curl up

in the arms of a giant tree.

That was the impulse for

THE BIG HUG.

It started one day

when I walked past an alley

and discovered…

…a magnificent frond

that had fallen

from a palm tree.

I brought it home…

…and painted resin all over

so it would last forever.

I found a clear plastic egg

online

that fit perfectly

in the cradle.

I drew a sketch of the figure

that would go inside

on thin raw silk

to bend smoothly around the curves.

Then I painted the figure

and cut it out.

Since the silk is transparent

the image would appear on both sides,

as is necessary for a folded form.

Fitting the figure into the egg

was a challenge.

After the top was glued in

how could I put in the feet?

(I cut a hole in the bottom of the egg.)

There she is nestled

inside the egg

inside the frond.

The next step

was making the arms.

Grasses to cover the arms

were preserved with resin

and painted.

The arms were made

with paper mache,

painted,

and covered

with the grass.

The redwood in my yard supplied chips

to cover the connections

and seal the egg.

Corn from my garden supplied strands

that I painted to match the frond

so the egg would be at home.

The finished egg in place

with the figure inside

twined with corn silk.

What should I name it?

The completed work suggests

birth, rebirth, gestation, incubation, sanctuary, protection, refuge, solace, love.

But finally I called it

what I wanted

from the beginning:

The Big Hug