From my hands
Over the better part of the last week, I have been hovering over my workbench preparing over forty new paintings for Chester Bowl Fall Festival on September 19th in Duluth.
In the past, prepping this many paintings for an art fair would not be possible. Matting and framing has always been something I have loved but it takes quite a bit of time and energy — like days to weeks depending on how many pieces I have to prep. It also costs a lot of money. I like my frames made with real wood, I am picky about my stain colors, and I prefer real glass over plexi, I also only use 100% cotton, acid free matboard so my paintings stay protected.
I have always liked the presentation of my paintings refined and professional.
Which leads me to the caveat. Sustainability.
Transparency is important to me when it comes to talking about art and business and I am just not the kind of person to gatekeep so here comes the truth bomb…
Running a small business is not a linear path. I have had some seasons where my large original paintings are flying off the walls of my booth at an unbelievable rate and I have shed spontaneous tears of gratitude over big sales. I have endured other seasons where my online shop feels like it is collecting dust and market after market, it’s bad weather, crickets instead of crowds, and people are balking at the prices of my original work where no one had said anything before.
All that and everything in between.
There are also seasons where my creativity is abundant and overflowing, where painting comes easy and I’m filled to the brim with ideas. Others, where I might be tired, my cup is empty, and trying to paint is like trying to squeeze juice out of a dehydrated citrus fruit. I am human, thus, I create, work, and need rest, like a human.
Presently, I find myself in a season where big frame, glass, matboard, and print orders are out of my budget. I also have not had the motivation to make big, impressive art either. Larger paintings just require more energy than I have had on hand. And you know what? This does not mean I have failed at my business or as an artist, it just means that my life is growing and shifting and my work needs to grow and shift with me.
Simultaneously, I have been in a chapter that has invited me to do a lot of clearing out. It started with closets this winter. Lots of bags going to donations. Then I started whittling away at my expenses…
This act of purging the superfluous stuff of my life then started to make its way into my art business. I would stand back, hands on my hips, taking inventory of all the odd pieces of matboard that sat in dormant piles. I started eyeing the many stacks of watercolor paper or blocks that have one sheet left. As I considered them, they began to whisper messages of new potential.
Something was taking shape.
In May of this year, I started making art from what I had on hand rather than buying material for a new project. I worked with the energy I had rather than chipping away at myself to create something grand. I found again that smaller paintings are loose and fun and sweet. I experimented with different sized and shaped paper to fit some really cool panoramic landscapes I had been wanting to create. I got out my paper-deckler and instead of cleanly cutting away the borders of my miniature paintings, I made friends with a raw, unrefined edge.
The result has been art that looks and feels touched by human hands. There is no covering of the paper’s border by the beveled edge of a mat. There has been very little perfecting or refining of paintings. They are inherently, sketches. Creating in this way has allowed me to tap into what makes watercolor so incredible. A medium that is fluid and fast and loose and lends to art that feels lively and organic.
As I have been cutting leftover matboard scrap, mounting these grittier pieces, I have been pondering the macrocosm of this work. Because I know that what I am doing is not unique, but rather a reflection of a greater whole.
We live in a world where practically everything we find on the internet has been refined, airbrushed, AI enhanced or manufactured by a data center. We have answers at our fingertips, images are expected to be pleasing, and gratification instant. I think a lot of us are nostalgic for something slow, something real, something imbued with human spirit. Because at our core, we know that the point of creating isn’t because we need to see something without flaw, it’s because of our innate understanding of the power of creativity. Something that is not manufactured but derived first from the natural world.
I want my art to reflect that. I want you to see it on your wall and be reminded of heart and touch and expression and the ancient, intimate relationship humans have with creation. I want it to feel touchable, reachable, attainable. Because it is.
The new paintings I will have with me at Chester Bowl Fall Festival in a week from today will not be framed, but mounted on leftover matboard from past framing projects. They have been painted on leftover paper to eliminate waste in my studio. They will be available for $30, $50, $70, and cut to fit standard frame sizes so hanging them up isn’t a pain and you get to decide what to put them in. Each is one of a kind and they will not be made into prints.
I am going out on a limb here. Truthfully, this whole new launch is both out of my comfort zone and also feels truer to me than anything I have made thus far. That vulnerability is both frightening and formidable, and simultaneously setting me totally free.
