It's wintry cold this morning. But the skies are clear.

Last night a few of us had dinner at the italian restaurant near my studio before heading over to the preview of the Forgotten Works Challenge show. Walking in, we were warmly greeted by the bartender, who regularly waits on me for dinner before each First Thursday, immediately offering me a glass of red. It felt like home.

What surprised me was the owner greeted me as jovially and asked me about my art and where my studio was. It was curious, although delightful, because I hadn't seen him before. It was a really pleasant moment.

During dinner, the owner brought us a little bowl of home-cured olives that he had just prepared...for a treat.

Last month's first Thursday, after paying our bill, the owner sent out some homemade gelato for us to try...which was quite delicious.

Those are the kind of touches and connections that keep me loyal to an establishment.

I think I'm coming down with a cold but don't want to succumb to it. Tonight's the art walk, and then I really, really want to prep the 3x5 foot canvas tomorrow so I can begin painting this weekend.

Still working little daily sketches.

These are a few photos from my little hot pink 3 foot feather tree I put up in the studio this week.

First Thursday Art Walk this week.
619 Western Ave - 4th floor south
The Sophia Room
6-9 pm

Yesterday evening, I cleaned up my space, reorganized my storage closet/loft to stack all the paintings that were laying around and even put up the little hot pink feather holiday tree with its little white lights. It's the first time I'm ready a couple days early. Normally, I'm still setting things up about an hour or two before the doors open.

This month, in addition to wine, I'll pick up cider and serve fun cookies. A trip to Trader Joe's is in order.

Also on Thursday, the opening night of the Forgotten Works Challenge - 30 paintings in 30 days is also taking place. I'll be there when the doors open at 5, but then head over to my studio for art walk before 6. This show is being held at the Tashiro Kaplan artists lofts. In a couple weeks, they are also holding a benefit art event to raise funds for Su Jobs, a wonderful artist and teacher, to assist with her hospice care.

There is a preview of the 30 in 30 show tonight, from 5 - 8 and I'll be there as well. It's the only time to see the 1500 piece exhibit in its entirety. Tomorrow's opening is filled with zaniness because once a piece is purchased (all $40) it immediately gets taken off the wall. This year they are adding an extra day, Saturday from 12-5.

Here are some of the pieces in the Forgotten Works show.

And here are some shots from last year's Forgotten Works Challenge show at the OK Gallery.

It's been a very busy few days, and there's no time yet to relax. Between work, and then prepping for the First Thursday Art Walk, as well as the preview screening on Wednesday and opening of the Forgotten Works Challenge on Thursday...it has me hopping.

I think I can rest on Friday.

Isn't that a sexy crane? It's around the corner from the studio. On Sunday it was shrouded in fog...looked so good...and I was so busy I kept forgetting to bring my camera down to shoot it.

The new easel.

It's so much prettier and bigger than my old aluminum Stan-rite (which is seen just behind the new one.) We picked up the easel and previously purchased art supplies today, brought them down to the studio in the truck, assembled the easel...and then I wanted to begin a big painting. Huge desire. But with First Thursday art walk this week, and the 30in30 preview show on Wednesday, there isn't any time to really work before I'd have to throw it in storage until the weekend. Painting needs to wait.

On top of being able to handle 96" canvas, an additional bonus which wasn't discovered until we were putting it together is that it tilts to a full horizontal position. So I've also gained a work table. That seriously thrills me.

It's been an expensive weekend...and yet cheaper than what it could have been. Over $1,200 in canvas, paint, brushes, gallon of gesso and an easel for a total of $500. I did some serious stocking up, taking advantage of their weekend sales.

Little by little the studio is evolving into a more committed space.

Leaving the Egyptian Theater, heading south on Harvard while walking down to the studio, I notice all the trees on both sides of the street are budding and blossoming. At the end of November. Although roses bloom in December and camellias in January, I've never before noticed these flowering at this time of year. So strange and very pleasing.

Size does matter.

Utrecht is having a big sale this weekend in selected stores. In addition to regular items on sale, their brushes, paint and canvas are 50% off. Yet not all at the same time nor for all day. Yesterday for the first 3 hours it was brushes. Today it's canvases for 3 hours and tomorrow, paint. The timing is so seriously perfect.

For the last few weeks, the paintings I've been working have been crying for big. I can tell they need to get much larger. So yesterday, 6 new brushes including a few big ones to work big canvas. Today, it's large canvas purchase. I'll work up slowly, beginning with 3x5 feet paintings. And tomorrow...I'll be back for a buttload of paint.

Also, the desire to work larger means another easel. While at the store yesterday, I found it...deeply discounted and it'll hold canvas up to 96". So I'm going to make a dent in my credit card, but for this, it's worth it.

I don't believe bigger is better for all paintings. As in all things, context is key. With these paintings...I can envision wall size pieces. The logistical nightmare involved with massive work scares me but the painting possibilities are exhilarating.

From Thanksgiving dinner at Phil's. It was a good time with much fab food, hearty laughter, dirty, dirty talking which is par for our group, drinks and wonderful company. S. had texted me earlier, asking me to bring my sketchbook that I've been doing my daily sketches. He also brought his and we did a show and tell with each other. E. shared a sketch as well.

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I did get to see the new film Milk before dinner and will be seeing it again on Sunday with a group. It's a powerful film...and brought back some intense memories. Tears filled my eyes most of the way through the film. I had forgotten about the Anita Bryant ruckus until it came up in the movie. Shaking filled me inside. At that time in history, I was a jesus freak, and believed as she did. I even read her books at the time, thinking she was so right on. A few years later, I met gay folks, and then a little while after, came out. Watching the film freaked me out because for a couple years of my life...I was one of those christian fundamentals.

Seeing it all played out on the screen brought it home for me, on a much deeper level.

The other thing that moved me was how they were activists. We can either fight against something or for something. It's a subtle difference but I believe an important one. In spite of the attacks from the extreme right, overall, they rallied for their rights. It reminded me of our recent loss with Prop 8 and then the JoinTheImpact rallies. Those rallies a few weeks back, although the energy was clearly different than the '70's, weren't against Mormons or other communities, yet were to unite us in one voice for our civil liberties.

One more thing - what I also noticed in the film was a fire...passion...and a willingness to sacrifice in a way we haven't seen in many years. I was left questioning how much would I put on the line? Unsettling. But in a good way. It forces me to look at myself and see what I would actually die for, risk losing everything for.

If you have the chance to see Milk, do it. If you have to drive a few hours to see it...do it. It's worth it. It's incredibly well done and quite potent.

One of the things I love about my apartment are the big windows in the living and bedroom facing east. Just like this morning, I can sit in my big leather chair and watch the sun bring forth the day.

In the evening, all I need to do is walk to the corner and have the privilege of experiencing the sun go down over the Olympics and Elliot Bay.

For the last few weeks, we've had quite a few stunning sunrises.

Today I'll head down to the studio for a bit, and later on head over for a big dinner with chosen family. In between, depending on time, I have tentative plans to catch the matinee of Milk.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

I took a few days off from studio work as well as blogging. A break was needed.

Today was cold and sunny - a beautiful day to be out. I took some vacation time, left work early and headed down to the studio. I think I finally began to resolve a painting that's been kicking my ass for a while. The color was never quite right. Today, I plopped on the couch, and while happily munching on a lunch of fruit and cheese, I committed to really looking and not leaving until a new color direction came to mind. The aha moment happened, and painting felt like a dream. It's still not complete but by the time I left, the canvas was in a much better place.

On the way back from the studio, I stopped for a spell at Westlake. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, workers prepping for the holidays...




...including the carousel - an annual holiday experience.

The new paintings...in various stages of completion.

A little sketch from the studio today.

It was a pretty day, perfect for brunch with Eric and then down to the studio. My two studio mates were painting away when I arrived. Nice surprise. It's been months since the three of us were working in the space at the same time.

Coming home this evening, the temp felt a little warmer. People were outside, strolling in the dark, enjoying the weather. Cafes were busting with lively conversation. Even though still cold, the outdoor tables were filled with folks.

The sun doesn't come up until about 7:30 am and it now gets dark about 5 pm. This is the time of year I look forward to. There is something delicious about being blanketed in a natural physical dark (instead of an emotional dark). In a strange way, it reminds me of hoods and sleepsacks.

Yesterday was a busy studio day. Although my day off, I popped into the office for 3 hours to do something for a coworker. I was in the studio by 10:30 and worked for a couple more hours. Returned home for a bit and then back to the studio by 3 and worked until 6pm at which point I walked to the pier and met Matt at Ivar's for salmon cakes, raw oysters and booze. The painting is still scary but I mixed it up with many drawings. It felt like a leisurely balance.

A little sketch from this morning outside the studio window.

When I returned home, while cruising the net, I discovered that Obama sketches as well. Check it out. It has a James Thurber feel to it.

Painting vomit...





The new paintings I've been working are working me.

"Just so" would respond my shrink. (I can hear him now.)

I'm trying to get a grip that I'm really painting these deceptively simple looking pieces. It makes no sense...and I wonder with each new piece if I'm deceiving myself...deceiving the world. Maybe I'm not really a painter. It's not the kind of work that ever appealed to me and therefore I never expected myself to be painting it.

Yet...I am.

And it feels like a natural evolution. And I don't know what I'm doing. And it's incredibly scary. And I can't do anything other than do it. Paint this. And it's the hardest painting I've ever done.

Paint. Paint again. Paint over. Not quite right. Where is that color I mixed yesterday? I need it. How did I make it? What do I think I'm doing? This isn't painting, it's masturbation. Is it the same thing? What am I trying to say? How dare I throw this on the canvas? Who the hell do I think I am? Have I lost my mind? Where are all the marks I once loved? Have I gotten lost in the isolation of just trying to be...be me, be honest, be real?

Be present.


This week the horizon line began to disappear from a couple new paintings. New freak out. A block. A block in space. Floating. No ground. The block. Me. My heart. It's torn. It's shredded. It's gone, and yet it's not. I feel the cold of the world and at the same time feel passion.

I'm scared. Don't trust people. Not sure if I trust myself. And yet, I look at these paintings I can't seem to stop doing. Painting something different. Something ludicrous. Something very real. And something lonely.

A poet's gift~




Last night while walking to the bus after a stint in the studio, I was stopped on First Ave & Columbia by a young man.

"Excuse me, may I write a poem for you?"

He was a slender black man, with a heavy accent. I asked him to repeat what he said because I couldn't understand him. He spoke softly and his accent was very thick.

"I am a poet and am from Haiti. May I create a poem for you?"

I flashed back to about 4 months ago when I was walking back to the studio after visiting a few galleries. While crossing the street I was stopped by a man who asked me the same thing. At the time, I was in a rush. "I'm really sorry, I don't have time today. But thank you for asking."

I believe it was the same guy.

Last night, I said yes.

He was holding a pen in his left hand and a little piece of cardboard a little larger than a business card in the palm of his right hand.

"What is your name?"

"Marie."

"M-A-R-Y?"

"Almost. M-A-R-I-E."

In the black of night, lit by street lamps and the light of the bar we were standing in front of, he quickly wrote my name on the cardboard. Each letter, one beneath the other. Then within a couple minutes, he wrote out a little poem. I watched and smiled.

He finished writing and read it to me:

Molding
A promise into your own
Revel of embracing the
Inner positive force that
Embelishes the patience of your heart.

I was struck with disbelief and teared up. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight. Thank you so very much."

He smiled, handed me the little piece of cardboard and was ready to leave. I noticed he had a few more blank pieces of paper under the one he gave me. There was no way I could let him go without giving him something in return. Quickly, I stuffed my hand in my left jeans pocket, stained with paint marks, pulled out a bunch of bills and handed them to him. "Thank you again."

Yesterday was an especially difficult day. I almost didn't get my courage up to go to the studio but had grabbed every specky bit of strength I could find and went in to paint. What else could I do?

And I was rewarded with a small gesture that became a big gift. In the darkness of night, on a busy street, two strangers, a poet and a broken painter, touched each other.

Yesterday was a very full day. Between the business at work and then running to the studio to paint there was no time to work sketches except for my bus doodles.

These are what I do while riding the bus. How much can I capture of people outside while we are driving past? Sometimes, when not too tired, I'll fill page after page on a ride home. My hope is that if I do it enough, one day I'll become skilled.

Haven't done a daily photo in a while. And actually, this one is from about 24 hours ago. But I've decided that for now, I can't post sketches every day. I'm still drawing daily, but it is way too much pressure to sketch and post. While working drawings, getting my hand back, the idea of posting it was always in my head. With that, I couldn't relax into the piece and would lose a sense of freedom. It defeats the purpose of daily drawings and I need to lighten up on myself. But I will show some periodically.