Oil Painting

“Do a large piece of smokestacks, Chris!” said David Passalacqua, one of my favorite teachers during my senior year at Parson’s School of Design.

What? I just looked at him, feeling a bit awkward. I wasn’t sure why he said that. I looked at my work in progress. I had a decent, albeit slightly boring, illustration going. I wasn’t ready to give up on it.

David was an excellent and very extroverted teacher. His friendly eyes had an uncanny ability to bore a hole into your soul by looking at you with the surety he had for his craft, and then yank the guts of your creative instincts to the fore. 

That is what happened to me when I looked at him.

He was brutally honest with me—as he was known to be with students—through just a mischievous smile and an electric energy spilling from his deep knowledge of illustrative art. He made it his mission to challenge students to higher levels.

“OK,” I said to him calmly, while energy surged through my body. Something central changed that day for me. My journey as a painter became a passionate adventure—a mission to capture the unimaginable. I completed three paintings of the Con Edison Power Plant on 14th Street, not too far from Parson’s, and received an A. That was 40 years ago.

I was born and raised in New York State, surrounded by an artistic family and a richly influential environment. My mother, during her first trimester of pregnancy with me, contracted measles. As a result, I was born without hearing. I neither heard nor spoke until I was about four years old when I started wearing hearing aids. Today, I wear corrective devices and speak well.

When you’re deprived of one sense from an early age, the other senses compensate by growing stronger. In my case, it was my eyes. They taught me everything I knew about the world I had been born into. My sight continues to be my dominant sense, the only truly reliable way I have to perceive my world, and the sense that informs my work. I work very hard in my paintings to convey the strength and the beauty that I see.

Living in Portland, Oregon, for most of my adult years, I have established a niche in the art community as a painter of contemporary realism. A significant body of my work showcases Oregon’s diverse architectural styles, especially its bridges. The rivers and twelve bridges of Portland are crucial to the city’s character and function, and they provide a great source of inspiration for me. 

These bridges compel us to stop and look, be still in the moment, and breathe in the ingenuity of a grand structure. Hiking around the city, I carry my camera for photo references I use for inspiration. I step off the sidewalks to get different perspectives of the city and its bridges with the intention of adding a new dimension to my work.

I am fascinated by the complex steel girders and geometric shapes that underpin the majesty of the bridges. Building dramatic perspectives in my paintings, I illustrate the steel girders in compositional perspective, and capture the transition between the landscape and the cityscape. I strive to deliver unusual points of view, and render exciting realistic and abstract portrayals. 

To me, building and maintaining bridges represents a fantastic human achievement. Having the opportunity to be on a bridge during construction or repair also puts me in close contact with the crews—the working heroes—who maintain it. 

On one occasion, the Multnomah County Bridge Maintenance crew of Portland invited me to go with them to the top of Hawthorne Bridge and watch them do the greasing of the bridge’s bearings, and the maintenance of the operating mechanisms. I felt privileged to be able to document the maintenance of a bridge and then create art illustrating these American workers, who often go unrecognized and are forgotten.

I have a mission to recognize the people who are an essential part of the creation and maintenance of these important structures. This mission led to a grant I received from the Regional Arts & Culture Council for a project called Tributes: Portraits of Working Heroes of the Tilikum Crossing. I created a visual record of building the Tilikum Crossing for a Portland light rail bridge over the Willamette River. I painted portraits of the designers, engineers, builders, and contractors who worked on the project and featured them in their working environment. 

Bridges frame our landscape. They aid commerce, and create vital connections between communities. People cross bridges every day, yet few realize how little we celebrate the modern marvels of their engineering and of the workers who maintain them. My hope is to inspire others to feel more connected to our collective human achievements through viewing these paintings. 

It is also necessary to find happiness in what you do. I derive great personal joy knowing that Charles Sheeler, Edward Hopper and Charles Demuth were painting just these kinds of subjects.

While striving to create the unimaginable with my artwork, I still face the reality of competitive judgment and juried shows. I want to be a part of these things, of course, but they conjure feelings of vulnerability and fear of the unknown. I know I have to be courageous to put my soul on canvas to discover if my work could inspire and move other people in some way. I want people to see beyond what is before them in order to feel what I do—a beauty and a great spaciousness that holds the mysterious connection living within us, among each other, within our landscapes, and inside our communities.

I began to paint in 1994 at the age of 41.  There was no preparation or instruction prior to that time.  People often ask, “You mean you just started painting?”  Yes, I just began to paint.

As I think about my journey as a painter, I find I have internally shifted.  What does this mean? 

It means I try to shed all external noise and forces that get in the way of the painting process. I place myself in a painting “space.”  In turn, I find myself conscious during painting. I catch myself when I drift away from the work at hand. I give my full attention, as energy permits, to watching and waiting on the painting.  This is what I call Intention + Concept through active awareness, or being “in the presence of the painting”.

The best painting results come about when I work with the idea of having a completed concept in my mind’s eye, without being absorbed in the details of the subject, and without unconsciously laying down paint. In other words, I strive to paint my concept while being aware of all things in front of me. I now practice painting while more conscious of the process. I am mindful of my intention. Intention and concept are co-mingled — we as painters must let the viewer know what our painting is about.

It is a long journey to arrive at the space that allows you to be one with your picture — to let the canvas tell you what it needs, and to watch the canvas “become”. You must get out of the way while still attending to the work before you. The best thing one can do is practice while fully present to the process, and to catch yourself when internally drifting or thinking of something outside of painting. Even when you KNOW what is necessary, you may not always DO what is necessary for the good of the painting.

I find that as I age as a painter, distractions such as shows, sales, awards — all of it has fallen away.  I am happy just to paint and struggle with my challenges each time I go to the easel.  

Has painting become easier? Yes and no. Getting to this point has certainly been difficult.  But, I feel more at peace having entered into this present place of painting.  The journey could only have happened the way it happened.  Being more aware of when I am not paying attention has made painting more enjoyable, and produces a better result.

Learning to paint isn’t linear.  It ebbs and flows — it feels within one’s grasp only to move or shift.  You think you are practicing while awake, and then you drift.  You fall asleep to your process.

I now know when I am drifting off or leaving the presence of the painting in front of me.  I catch myself noodling or copying instead of watching and waiting on the picture’s concept.  I catch myself…that’s the important thing.

A sketch has charm because of its truth – not because it is unfinished.
— Charles Hawthorne

A few years ago, I was painting along a roadside in Wisconsin for the Door County Plein Air Festival and, while focused intently on finishing up what would certainly be seen as a masterpiece someday, I was interrupted by a young art critic who drove past and yelled out “WORST…PAINTING…EVER!”. Now, although it didn’t turn out to be the masterpiece I’d intended, I was convinced this painting showed enough promise to not be the “worst”. And honestly, if this guy had seen some of my earliest outdoor work he’d need to throw them into the mix as well and probably wouldn’t have spoken with such conviction. But all of this got me thinking – what defines our best and worst efforts outdoors? If the goal of a plein air painting is a finished masterpiece, judging the result is more straightforward. But if the goal is simply to “study” – to learn and gather information in order to develop a finished masterpiece in the studio, it’s a little more difficult to quantify the results. This is especially true if you’re like me and learn quite a bit from making mistakes. If this is the case it might just be entirely possible to paint the “Worst Painting Ever” and also have it be the “Best STUDY Ever”.

Although the “Back O’Beyond” study wasn’t the infamous “worst painting ever”, it definitely required further exploration. And these hurried notes became invaluable in the studio as I painted “Desert Bouquet”

THE BEAUTY OF THE STUDY

Since the time I began painting almost 20 years ago, my goal has always been simply to STUDY. To figure out exactly how nature works and translate what I’m seeing into paint. So although I joke that my aim is to paint the “Best Painting Ever Painted”, I’m hardly ever looking for a finished piece outdoors. Instead, I want to capture only the things that I can’t do in the studio – things I can’t get from a photo. I’m taking notes on color, light and atmosphere. And my focus is usually on the shadow shapes where I want to establish their exact value, color and temperature. I’m arranging those shapes to lay the groundwork for overall design but I’m not obsessing about composition at this stage – there’s plenty of time for that in the studio. In fact sometimes when I’m in the field, I’ll often ignore composition all together, especially when time doesn’t allow it… like when an afternoon thunderstorm moves in and I’m about to get struck by lighting. This might make for a bad painting but not necessarily a bad study and definitely a smart one

Once I get back to the studio where time is more abundant, I’ll take those brief, hurried notes and spend hours, maybe even days working out composition. For me, creating a painting on the spot with the same refinement as a studio piece has never been part of the plan. But, what I’ve found is that within these brief – sometimes hurried notes – occasionally a finished painting emerges all on its own. In fact, a mere study, in it’s brevity can indeed be beautiful – even beyond the beauty of a more refined piece. As Charles Hawthorne, founder of the Cape Cod School of Art once said, “A sketch has charm because of its truth – not because it is unfinished”. I think of it as “poetry” compared to a “novel” – both can be beautiful. And although it’s no use arguing this case with someone at a plein air opening who doesn’t understand why every speck of canvas isn’t covered in paint, there are plenty of examples throughout history where studies qualify as masterpieces. But this doesn’t always happen and sometimes a study is just a study. It may even be the worst painting ever.

The above two plein air pieces stand on their own, in my opinion, as finished paintings. I tried in vain to develop these into larger pieces in the studio but to no avail. The larger paintings used more “words” but said much less.

JUST A STUDY

And when a painting does fail miserably outdoors (or indoors) I euphemistically call it a “nice study”. If you happen to end up with one of these all is not lost. After all you’ve just spent two hours intently observing the scene… you’re now the visual expert of it. If anyone asks you a question about this place and the two hours you spent there, you have the answer. Once when I was painting near my home, four police cruisers pulled up and one of the officers jumped from his car, approached my setup and, catching his breath asks, “have you seen a short, Hispanic male with a baseball cap running through the area?” My first thought was that I fit this description precisely, but, realizing I wasn’t their suspect I was honored that they had come to me for my visual expertise on the scene. I considered offering my painting as evidence but instead just answered “No”. The point is don’t discount an intense 2-hour visual study of a scene. Many things will happen in those two hours to create the “story” that you want to tell. And be confident that you picked up a thing or two regardless of how the painting turned out. For me, once a painting falls short of my lofty visual goals, I don’t try to whip it into shape in the studio by painting over the top of it and destroying my notes (good notes or bad). And I don’t go back to the scene multiple times with the same canvas. If I return to the scene it’ll be a new attempt, a new story with a new canvas. But what I do instead is use my plein air notes and photos in the studio and seek out the good stuff. I’ll analyze the notes I got right and try to make sense of the notes that are too vague. I’ve learned that even my worst efforts outdoors contain something useful to help read and interpret photos from the scene. There are just too many good, often unintentional, things that happen when we paint outdoors. In our haste to capture a fleeting moment or escape a coming storm, we subsequently distill the scene down to only the essential elements – elements that tell the exact story we want to tell – without all the peripheral distractions. In working fast and simplifying we don’t have time to paint the things we don’t want to or aren’t interested in painting – and that’s a good thing.

I painted “Telluride Homes” as a winter storm approached. This began outdoors as a winter storm approached. My first idea was to paint the “peaks” of the homes juxta-posed with the peaks beyond. Not a spectacular painting but a nice study. At some point during those two hours of painting and shivering, the story changed and I became intrigued with the design of light on a distant peak. “Edge of the Storm” is the finished studio piece.

These quick sketches for Madame X might not pass as masterpieces, but the resultant studio painting certainly does.

The small study of Lake of Glass never made a direct leap to a large studio piece, but it inspired and served as an invaluable reference on several pieces, including this 40″ x 30″.

LEAVE THE FRAMES AT HOME

Ultimately what I’m saying is RELAX and remember how much fun this is. I teach several workshops throughout the year and I’m always imploring my students to leave their frames at home when we go out painting for the first time. I’m not trying to lower the bar for expectations but simply reminding them that painting outdoors is only one part of the process. The goal is, of course, to take GOOD notes as opposed to BAD ones, but it’s my way of saying don’t put too much pressure on yourself because there’s something to learn from the bad ones too. So my advice to every plein air painter is to get outside, “point to the stands” (as my friend Joshua Been is fond of saying), and paint the worst painting ever, it might just be the most valuable study you’ve ever done.

Babe Ruth pointed to the stands and then knocked one out of the park. But in painting sometimes a swinging bunt with a few errors in the field will also get the job done.

About five years ago, I wrote this blog for OPA. I’ve been asked to share it again, along with any potential new insights.  There have been some major life stressors over those five years, both personal and global, but I find that most of what was in the original blog is still valid. I hope you find something here that inspires you! 

At various times in my life, I’ve struggled with artist’s block…those times when your spirit wants to paint, but obstacles keep getting in the way.  For me, it’s usually accompanied by frustration.  I am sure many of you have struggled with this, to varying degrees…when the demands of time, family, obligations, health, or other issues interfere with the creative process.  Sometimes it’s just a short hiatus, and at other times it seems to go on endlessly.  There are many great articles on the web for dealing with this, but I decided to share some of my personal strategies that have worked for me.  I hope they may help you as well.  

Figure out the source of your block

Try to figure out the source of your block – health, financial and/or personal problems, loss, stress, fear of failure or fear of success, anger, time management, procrastination – and do your best to eliminate those problems.  If you are like many of us, you may have several obstacles, so pick the biggest one and start working on that.  If you are feeling overwhelmed, don’t hesitate to get professional help from an art therapist or licensed counselor.  These professionals are trained to help us get past those difficult times when nothing else works.

Decide what is most important

I had to decide what was most important in my life, and all my energy had to go toward those areas.  I had to learn how to say ‘no’ to the things that were unimportant and focus on the important stuff.  For me, it’s God, Family and Friends, Art, and Service; sometimes other things creep onto the list, and that is fine.  When I was working at a day job, career had to go in that equation.  The order sometimes changes, but for me it’s still the same core list.   One of my best experiences in learning about this was from an old boss who made all her staff write a personal vision and mission statement.  I couldn’t believe how difficult…yet valuable…that was.  

One thing I learned is that art and life are inseparable.  Robert Henri said, “Life is Art; Art is Life”, and I have seen this over and over again.  My mark making is the sum of who I am as a person.  Even when I’m not in the studio, I’m seeing things that are painting subjects and mentally putting them into a painting.  As an artist, we are always composing, so the next time you are in the studio those mental notes are probably entering into your decisions…even if you feel “blocked”, you are still an artist.

Make a commitment and don’t give up

Once you know what the problem is, make a commitment to yourself.  Make a commitment to change.  Even though we all agree we need to change, change is difficult.  To illustrate this, try crossing your arms in whatever way is comfortable for you…and then re-cross them in the opposite way.  If you try it, you realize that a very simple change, even when you want to change, can be very difficult.  Don’t give up!  We are all imperfect humans, and life has a way of getting in the way and giving us unexpected challenges.   I have several slogans that help me with this…like “pobody’s nerfect” and “slow and steady wins the race”.  I used to read positive affirmations every day to focus on the positive rather than the negative.  After a while, it became easier, but it’s easy to slip into negative thought patterns and give up if you aren’t aware of this.  Newton’s Law of Inertia is a good one to keep in mind: “An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted on by an unbalanced force. An object in motion continues in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”  Once you get the positive energy going it’s easier to keep it going!

Time Management/Planning

Being more efficient with time is so important!  When I look back on all I accomplished as a single parent, I can’t believe it, but I know part of the reason was that I was more efficient with my time.  Make a plan and stick to it.  Hire a babysitter for x amount of time each week so you can get into the studio.  Get a small planner or use your cell phone and write down your studio time, or schedule plein air days with friends.  There are more suggestions in the list below. The book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, by Steven Covey, has a great model for learning how to do more planning and to decide what is most important, but there are many blogs on the internet that also deal with this.  I follow Robert and Sara Genn’s online newsletter, “The Painter’s Keys”, and, coincidentally, today’s post was taken from Steven Covey’s book!  Here is a link to the article:  http://painterskeys.com/the-7-habits-of-highly-effective-artists/

Working on the Work

When I was in education, we talked about “working on the work”.  It was one of those slogans that gets thrown around and becomes a catch phrase, but for me it has a deeper meaning.  Life is about working on the work; creating is most definitely “working on the work”.  For me, it means get into the studio, show up, and get to work.  If you can’t work, then show up and clean, or organize…do something to work on the work.  On a deeper level, “working on the work” means being immersed in your art, and that leads to new discoveries, new connections, and new understandings.  You may have that painting where you got lost for hours but it seemed like only minutes had passed…you were working on a deeper level.  So…work on the work, and your creative block may lift.  Artist Chuck Close seems to echo this concept in this quote:

“The advice I like to give young artists, or really anybody who’ll listen to me, is not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself. Things occur to you. If you’re sitting around trying to dream up a great art idea, you can sit there a long time before anything happens. But if you just get to work, something will occur to you and something else will occur to you and something else that you reject will push you in another direction. Inspiration is absolutely unnecessary and somehow deceptive. You feel like you need this great idea before you can get down to work, and I find that’s almost never the case.” 

– Chuck Close 

Strategies to help get out of a creative block/slump:

Finally, I have a list of strategies that I sometimes use if the creative muse isn’t showing up.  You may have your own list; feel free to share!

1. Exercise or take a walk in nature.  Movement helps to reduce stress and stress can interfere with creativity.
2. Practice positivity; read positive affirmations.
3. Join an art group that meets regularly.  I joined a plein air group that met once a month because my time to paint was so limited.  That experience is what got me back into painting.  Painting from life in the outdoors and the camaraderie of being around other artists was just what I needed, and it reaffirmed to me that I was still an artist.  
4. Focus more on the process of creating, rather than the product.  It helps me to say, “It’s just canvas and paint”.
5. Attend an art show or opening.  Being among other creative people can energize you and get your own creative juices flowing.
6. Keep a sketchbook and pencil close by and sketch anything…even your house plant, or your sleeping cat!  Drawing skills need to be constantly exercised, too.
7. Take a workshop from someone you admire, or watch an instructional art video.
8. Read a great book by your favorite artist, a biography of someone who has achieved great success while overcoming obstacles, or read a personal growth book.  You may be surprised to learn that creative blocks are often not about art, but about other areas in your life.  One of my favorite books, “The War of Art” by Stephen Pressfield, is a wonderful book and a quick read.  I’ve suggested several others that helped me at the end of this blog.
9. Experiment with a new product, medium, or method.  You can get some amazing ‘aha’ moments when you try something new.  Trying pastels has led to new growth in painting in oils.  Buy some new art supplies…I call it “art store retail therapy”!  
10. Find a way to make yourself accountable.  Some ideas: schedule an event or volunteer to give a demo; have a weekly goal and keep track of how you are doing; schedule art time in a planner – even 30 minutes can help get me over a hump.  Having an obligation helps to motivate.  Be honest with yourself.
11. Decide to enter a show and create a plan on how you will have work ready.
12. Print out your favorite photos and put them in a file for the next time you need inspiration.
13. Talk to an artist friend for motivation; go out painting together.
14. Volunteer your time.  Being around others and giving back is a great way to boost your mood, especially if your block is related to a loss.
15. Show up in the studio, even if it’s only to clean or organize.
16. Quit making excuses. Just paint.

Some books that have helped me with creative blocks/growth:

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

Alla Prima II by Richard Schmid

Clear Seeing Place by Brian Rutenberg

Art is a Way of Knowing by Pat B. Allen

Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway by Susan Jeffers

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck

Shut Up, Stop Whining, and Get a Life by Larry Winget

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey

This week OPA shares the story of mother and daughter, professional artist duo Dot Courson and Susan Patton. We’ve asked each artist to tell us how the other inspires them, and how their artistic journey is entwined.  

First, we’ll hear from Susan Patton:

Dot Courson is my mother. If someone did not initially know me, that’s all I have to say to make a connection. And it is a connection I am proud of. Not only is Dot Courson an amazing painter of southern landscapes, but she is one of the greatest champions of other people around her, including me.

“One day your work may be compared to Faulkner’s, in that both you and he capture the feeling of north Mississippi and how it seems to affect human beings.”

— Letter from H.B., August, 2018

This is how one collector described my mother’s artwork. Her feelings of the land she grew up on speak volumes as you walk through her studio and gallery in north Mississippi. 

“I discovered that my own little postage stamp of native soil was worth writing about and that I would never live long enough to exhaust it.”

— William Faulkner

One thing many people do not realize is that my mother has not always had the means to help others. She and her siblings grew up in a foster home because her own family was not able to take care of them. She had very few material possessions before going to a foster home, but remembers loving her parents, despite their poverty. Her father, my grandfather, was deaf and had difficulty speaking related to his deafness, but was a very smart, compassionate father who taught her how to draw. She remembers sitting at a table and her father showing her basic drawing skills on the back of a paper sack. Drawing just came naturally to him. She says that she remembers how proud she was when a visitor would walk up and ask her Dad to draw something for them. Most people did not know he was as bright as he was because of his limitations in communication. But my Mom did, and communicated with him in her own unique way. Later, when she became a nurse, Mom never judged a patient at face value, remembering those times with her dad. When I worked as a physical therapist, I naturally carried on that compassion as best I could, seeing what a difference that my mother made in the lives of her patients. 

I painted Mom’s portrait several years ago. She sat for me in her studio as I painted it and I turned the large TV on behind me for her to watch while I painted.  We still joke about how she kept laughing at the TV show, and was not at all still. It is not my best work, but it is something I treasure. When I finished, someone asked me, “Are you not going to put a paint brush in her hand?” My answer was “No, I did not paint Dot Courson the artist, I painted my Mom.”  I titled the picture, My Mother’s Eyes,” because I feel that I captured the sincerity of love in her eyes as she looked my way.

As anyone who knows her will agree, that as an artist, my mother Dot Courson, is going to be highly known and collected for years to come. And that is because there is truthfulness and soul in her paintings of the Mississippi landscape. She, like Faulkner, can expound upon 2 acres of land with such depth and vision that you are drawn in and begin to feel what she feels just for a few minutes, and it is powerful.

She began to study painting about 25 years ago.  Along the way, in order to master her skills, she took workshops with various artists across the country. Eventually, I also began to experiment with painting. Mom decided she would host workshops near her home in Pontotoc, MS, so I could take the workshops as well. That decision not only boosted my work, but also led to hundreds of people in the southeastern United States having the opportunity to study art as well. She and I learned together from various master artists that she invited, and I grew exponentially in my ability to paint.

Then, in 2008, my mother and I were invited to represent Mississippi artists in the presidential debate reception in Oxford, MS. As the years rolled on, numerous publications began to interview us as they heard the story of a mother and daughter who were professional artists in northern Mississippi, and who are as interested in the other’s success as they were their own. 

During this time, I began to paint full time. I developed a love for color. Mom developed a love for design. We were like a waltz — her doing her thing, me doing mine — in perfect rhythm.

And as I painted, I began to mimic my mother, not in style or subject, but in passion and truth in my work. Like her, I painted things I was familiar with and cared deeply about, such as little moments in time with family, and the natural beauty in the flowers and fresh garden vegetables that I saw. Mom did the same with landscapes and skies. Our style was different, but we would champion, critique and coach each other when we would visit each other’s studios.

In 2018, I called my mother to let her know that my painting of my grandmother in the kitchen, Still Stirring (at 93), was accepted into the OPA Eastern Show. She said, “I was too!! Pieces of the Sun got in!” We were the only mother/daughter artists represented in the show. Needless to say, we were full of joy and celebrated together – not just because we got in the show, but because we were holding hands and walking the road to success together. 

“Did you learn to paint from your mother?” people ask me. I answer: “I learned more than how to paint — I learned how to see.”

— Susan Patton

Here is what Dot Courson writes about her artist daughter, Susan Patton:

My daughter, artist Susan Patton, does not try to stand out; she just focuses on growing and improving.  She looks for what is solid and good in life, and in people, and is a woman of great spiritual faith.  Her art, like her life, is deliberate.  She thinks about what is beautiful and meaningful and puts that in her work. 

Susan and I are both full time, professional artists, but we paint different subject matter.  I paint landscapes, but Susan likes to paint what she calls, “memories to hold onto,” which are based on her past experiences. For her, this means the people she grew up around. She spent a lot of her childhood on the cherished family farm near her grandparent’s home in rural Mississippi. 

Her grandmother, the subject of her painting Still Stirring at 93, and her grandfather, not only farmed, but raised farm animals, had honey bees, and grew vegetables.

Her uncle planted the turnips for Arrayed in Beauty – a painting that sold in a national show in Utah. He also recently brought her old-fashioned irises dug from the “old home place” where her grandfather lived as a child. Susan painted them the same day. She loves that way of life. Susan’s loving bonds and cherished memories inspire her when she paints.

I remember when she first showed an interest in art. I had been painting a good many years before Susan decided to try it. It was about 17 years ago. When she did, she emailed pictures to me asking for my opinion.  I thought they were photographs she was considering for subject matter and was surprised they were paintings. She had never painted before.  From that first experience, she was consumed with the love of creating art and has studied and read tirelessly to learn and grow in her new profession.

As far as materials, there is a line of “Susan Patton” oil painting brushes by Rosemary & Co. that her students and I use, along with various other brushes and palette knives. We use a variety of paints, and like to suggest new colors to one another. Once I told Susan that “flesh” paint was good for dirt. She said, “That makes sense,” (referencing Genesis 1.) Then she said that “leaf green” was good for portraits! It’s the kind of conversations that a mother and daughter artist duo can really cherish.

Three things I admire about Susan are that she is a deliberate and constant learner, and a natural at seeing both value and color.  Shapes and “form” come easily to her. Her best works are the rural people and scenes close to her heart. Not only does she see color well, her use and understanding of color properties led to her “Color Circle Mixing” which has been so popular in workshops and demos in plein air events across the south.

Even though we are mother and daughter, we paint in completely different ways, and think about our paintings so differently that we sometimes wreck the other person’s work when we try to give advice to one another. It’s now a running joke because we usually say after suggesting changes to each other’s works, “well that didn’t work, just go back to what you had….”  But at times we do help. Recently in my studio, I struggled with a background color through the trees and she suggested a darker blue. She said that to our eyes the darker blue she mixed up for me would seem too dark, but that cool colors read lighter even at the same value.  She took a photo and converted it to grayscale to show me. She rarely forgets anything she studies and sometimes she says, “Know who I learned that from? …YOU! “

I may have taught her several pointers, but I do not take credit for teaching her everything. Because I was the first in our family to come to art, everyone naturally assumes I’m the artist who helped make Susan an artist. No. She had other things going on as a child. It came at the right time and season in her life. 

For my grandchildren who ask about art, they all get the standard class: Paper, paint and pencils and a license to create some art and then must “tell me about it”. That’s it.  I was a nurse and taught nursing, and now teach adult oil painting workshops, but I would not know where to begin to “teach” art to young children! 

The best art is internal and it takes desire. But if one does not intentionally seek it, they will drift. Drifting takes you away from most all good; working with intention takes you toward your goal, whether it is a career, a nurturing home life, faith, or becoming a good artist.   I may have influenced and taught Susan a few things, but Susan’s love and desire to be better at what she does sets her apart. 

— Dot Courson

Dot Courson

Dot has been an artist at heart all her life. A former nurse and healthcare administrator, she has been a professional fine artist for 18 years. Now, she paints from the fullness of the loving memories of her heart as a full-time artist from North Mississippi in her private art school and studio/gallery. Painting her delta memories and cotton are favorite subject matter. Click here to read her full biography. Visit Author Website.