Have you watched flowers dance?

Painting a fresh bouquet of flowers is like watching a ballet in slow motion.

“I paint flowers, so they will not die.” – Frida Kahlo

Over the last couple of days, I’ve been working from a fresh bouquet of flowers. The studio smells like spring. When I walk in, I’m greeted by the smell of flowers instead of paint and my time in the studio seems to fly by. Throughout the day, the stems and petals of each flower, slowly migrate and shift. The blossoms open, close, and eventually, the petals will begin to fall.

Like so many of my experiences with beauty, these flowers come with their own set of expectations. They need to be seen and appreciated. Flowers are a direct channel for the muse. They come with everything inspiration requires.

I start by looking for the big shapes. Large blocks of contrast are formed when the dark leaves and stems meet up with the light pink and white petals. Giving each flower, a place in the composition, gives me some idea of the design. And now, the dance begins.

Inspiration Fridays! Have you watched flowers dance?

Spring in the studio smells like flowers.

Have you ever looked at a white flower? How do you paint it? It’s… white. In order to show the turn of its form, and subtly of its petals we have to slow way down. There is a shadow side and a light side. In truth, only the hottest highlights are actually white. You begin to see bits of cool. Blues, neutralized greens, and hints of lavender are resting in the shadows. Some of the interior petals glow with pink, creamy orange, or yellow. The paint on the palette is mixed to match and then tested on the panel only to discover that it’s too dark or not quite dark enough. The color is too brilliant, or too dull. Back to mixing. Back to looking.

This is a different kind of relationship to seeing. It’s a meditation on beauty. I have never appreciated a flower more than when I am painting one. They seem to breathe, and move. They are moving. Just slowly. But they won’t be here forever. And I need to paint them.

How much time do you spend looking?

What color is a white flower?

Have you watched flowers dance?

 

Sand in Paint

Nothing can prepare us for the passing of time.

“A work of art is not an end point in itself.

It’s a station on a journey.
A chapter in our lives.
We acknowledge these transitions
by documenting each of them” – Rick Rubin

Yesterday I packed up my paints and hiked down to the beach. We’re staying in a house on the Oregon coast to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday. The sky is a brilliant blue.

I had imagined spending a peaceful afternoon responding to the subtle color shifts and dappled light. Watery reflections would dance off of the huge majestic rocks that tower up like castles on the sands of the Bandon coastline.

Instead, I found myself entangled in a battle royale with nature. The wind flys across those coastal sands at close to 30 mph all… day…long. The whipping sand was relentless. Sunlight ricocheted off the beach and through the glassy waves. I felt like a bug looking for shade under a magnifying glass. My shades saved my eyes, but the oil paints on my palette looked like a cupcake in a sandbox. Still, a deal is a deal and I had already packed my bag, so I set up against one of the larger boulders in hopes of avoiding at least some of the wind, and got to work.

The wind is like the creative spirit. 

When the paint comes out, everything gets quiet for me. The wind falls short of my ears. The sand fails to reach my face. Each new mark is a celebration of what I see in front of me. Each brushstroke is a discovery. I get to see where I am for the first time.

Life doesn’t make plans, and it rarely waits for the perfect moment. The faster it moves, the more important it is for each of us to slow down and take it all in. My mom is 70 and I am 48, and I still feel like a kid who can’t hold still. The wind continues to whip through my life.

There is a fine dusting of sand all over the finished painting, and at the end of the day, that will be what I remember most. That’s what makes this painting unique.

How do you respond when sand gets in your paints?

Can you feel the life you’ve lived through your paintings?

When the wind roars do you still paint?

 

Are you ready for a fresh start?

The oils are out. The paint is flying.

“The weather, rainy and dull on our arrival, has cleared up, the sun shines, and hope smiles in the heart. I shall soon go to work..” – Paul Cézanne

It’s been a long winter. Dreary gray sleet-filled days followed by rain, and punctuated with hail. I don’t mind it so much. We needed the water. With all of this weather, I guess I expected to get a bit more done in the studio. It didn’t work out that way. I put paint to boards and played with different compositions, but the energy has been a bit flat.  Then it happened. A couple of days ago I made the big switch. Bring in the dog and put out the cat! I put my acrylics on the shelf and pulled out the oils.

My friend Cynthia came to model in the studio and it was on. Oils move differently. There is momentum and viscosity and if you’re not careful, a huge mess. Oils are alive, they’re greasy and fatty. They are responsive and temperamental. After you heap the paint on your panel, you have to step back and cool off. Oil needs to dry out. It can’t be rushed.

8paint Gabriel Mark Lipper Painting

Energy is contagious when you love what you are creating.

The paint goes on fast and I love piling it on my palette and pulling it off.  Sunlight is pouring in through the 9-foot windows on the north wall of my studio and I know Spring has arrived. Cynthia’s satin robe is beautiful, adorned with flowers in asymmetrical patterns. Her profile is exquisite and regal. The painting paints itself.

This painting is the catalyst. By next week, the studio will be cleaned from top to bottom. My brushes are out and the canvases are prepped. No plans to travel. I’m ready for an incredible season. I can feel the energy building and I can’t wait to see what’s on the other side.

We all need to change it up. I’m grateful for all four of the seasons. The hard cold makes the spring that much sweeter. Another birthday is around the corner and I can feel my third season coming on.

Life is magic. Lean in. The electric colors of my acrylic paints are still peeking through and the jeweled colors of the oils are back.

What’s your favorite season?

When the winter goes long, how do you switch it up?

Are you ready for a fresh start?