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Growing up, I remember walking a trail to my grandparents house that was “up the hill” from my house. I would let gravity take me down into the shallow ditch that was on the start of my journey and then scamper up the other side, trying to stay on the beat down pathway. I was enthralled with the sights, sounds, and possibilities of finding treasures around me. I would make it up the grand hill and go into the warm house that smelled of peas cooking on the stove, and see the fresh tomatoes on the newspaper on the floor. My grandmother would give me an old tablecloth and plastic dishes, and I would go through the outdoor “long room” that smelled musty and had a sink with gritty lava soup where the farmers washed up before what they called “dinner” (lunch.) This led to the back porch where I would imagine I had my own little house. 

Now that I am grown, I’m an artist. Nothing influences my painting more than this land, my childhood memories of the farm, and the people in my life. In every painting- whatever the subject- I think of them. 

One example of this is my recent turnip painting. These were planted by my uncle in a patch near my house. I would drive by the rows of green stalks and notice the bright magenta color peeking through the dirt. I decided I would paint a gathering of these, and my husband went out with me to the garden. I walked around slowly and stood looking at the dirt and the vegetation, taking in a memory of the year before, where my whole family gathered to dig potatoes by hand in that same soil, and seeing how these turnips pushed up out of the dirt in a different way. I thought of my uncle out there on his tractor or old black Ford pick up with the tailgate down and hoe in hand as he cared for the plants. My husband looked up and said, “I thought you were going to paint some turnips.” I said, “I am.” What I meant was, I had already begun. It is always more than the shape and color. It is the life behind the subject that I want to capture.

Another example is in one of my still life paintings. When I was 5 years old, I had a homemade playhouse, made by my dad. It was constructed with plywood and old boards, complete with a “window” and shelves to hold my dishes. I would gather “herbs” (grass) and flour (sometimes actual flour, sometimes sand), and a pitcher of sorts with slightly muddy water in it and stir up delicious mud pies. 

 So when I was gathering materials for this still life demo at my fall retreat workshop, I started with a lovely copper pot but realized I needed something to go with it. I walked outside around the peaceful campground that fall morning to hunt for “just the right thing” to go with my creation. Memories from my childhood came back as I looked around nature. I remembered searching in the undisturbed cool air, with endless possibilities in front of me as I believed anything was possible. In the spirit of childhood belief, I picked up some large acorns, beautiful turning leaves, and set up a still life that I named, Acorn Soup.

The subject is not the only thing influenced by my childhood. In every painting, whether a commissioned portrait, or plein air, I try to capture the essence of the person or place- the potential of the subject- to show the viewer that in every scenario there is a story and a purpose that has been going on, and is continuing to unfold.

I haven’t always been an artist. At least not technically. I initially started out as a physical therapist, where I was able to use my attention to detail, sensitive eyes and love for people to evaluate and instruct them in how to get stronger. Now I do the same things as I teach art workshops.

I am a full time artist now, and I still live near that hill I climbed as a young girl to go see my grandmother. Now I climb the shallow hill behind my house to my grown up playhouse that my dad helped build (also known as my art studio) and paint what I call “Memories to Hold On To.”

Have you been to a doctor lately and heard the comment, “At your age…”?  I have.  It left me with a rather indignant feeling.  I didn’t really feel old. 

When my husband and I decided to move from Georgia to Texas for retirement years, I couldn’t help but hear the same words in my head, “At your age?…do you really think you can pack up this familiar studio and produce paintings in a new environment?  At your age?…can you find new clients for paintings or new students of painting?   At your age?… is it worth the effort to become valued as an artist in a new place?”

In almost two years, it has been, and still is, a struggle of networking, painting, seeking, learning, and pushing myself to settle into a new place. But the new relationships, the personal growth, the experiences and revelations are always worth the effort.  

As an “over 60” artist, I look back on my art journey and realize I did not begin growing in painting until my children went away to college.  Painting filled the “empty nest.”  That was about twenty years ago.  When I retired several years ago from a 26 year career of teaching Art and Language Arts in Georgia public schools, I finally had time to focus on painting regularly in my backyard studio.  Life was rocking along. I was involved with a local gallery, painting, selling, teaching, and having several solo shows.  And then, our oldest son in Waco, Texas announced that he was not returning to Georgia and that we needed to “get out here before you get too old!”  (There’s that “at your age” feeling).  My husband said he always wanted to be a cowboy, so we began making plans for a long distance move. 

“At my age,” I am here to tell you there is time for developing art skills after a transition like a move!  I looked at retirement as moving from my first career to a second one, that of being a full-time artist, so I needed to report to work every day.  Exercises like accepting challenges to paint outside for 30 days, attending workshops, finding communities of artist friends, blogging about the work, watching Lunch & Learn videos from OPA, keeping a sketchbook, and painting some more, will all sharpen skills and expand knowledge. And, the networking of posting on social media, attending art events, talking with people about your work, and listening to them, is also important for getting settled in your new location. 

Painting ‘en plein air’ has been a wonderful way to experience my new environment with all of my senses.  We lived on a friend’s ranch for a year while we built our new home. Going outside daily to paint on 85 acres was a wonderful artist’s retreat for me.  I became acquainted with Texas wildflowers I had never seen, so bright with color!  The big Texas sky and the variety of clouds are a constant source of entertainment and challenge for this oil painter.  And I had never had cows for neighbors before! 

This past spring, Covid restrictions emptied the local Baylor University campus.  A new painter friend and I began going weekly to paint in the tranquil, quiet, socially distanced locations around campus.  From that, a Buildings of Baylor series reached a new following. Prints and notecards were suggested and were successful.  The knowledge I gained from this is to find what is important to the people where you are.  Paint what is important to you, but if you want to be valued in your new location, paint what is important to your new audience, also.

Recently, a friend was talking with me about plein air painting.  She asked, “What are some things you have learned from it that you can apply to life?”  I couldn’t answer immediately.  But as I’ve pondered, these thoughts come to mind:

1. Things aren’t always perfect.  The conditions we find ourselves painting in are often a surprise.  We forget needed supplies and make do.  Bugs are biting, sun is blazing, wind is blowing and yet, we adapt with creativity. 
2. We don’t always have to produce a finished product.  Looking at the canvases as studies, rather than completed paintings freed me to just paint, learn, and enjoy the experience.  
3. Painting is therapy.  When I am outside, listening to birds, using all five senses, I escape other stresses going on. It puts me in a meditative mode of gratitude. 
4. Delayed gratification is good.  One of my workshop instructors, Laurel Daniel, emphasized holding all highlights to the end.  It’s tempting to rush ahead to the good part and put the light in too soon, only to lose it in the mix of color.   When we hold those highlights of white with a touch of lemon yellow until the end, they pop at just the right spot!  Delayed gratification is something I want to remember to teach younger generations. 
5. Art is not instant.  It takes years of learning, practice, mistakes, motivation and determination, at any age. 

“At my age” I enjoy painting life around me, interpreting the beauty I see, choosing what I want to paint, and sharing my thoughts with others through visual images and written words in a blog.  Often my painting sessions turn into deep conversations with myself, often they turn into worship of The Creator, often they are therapy for the heavy turmoil of today’s world, often they are accompanied by my prayers.  

Painting is my passion and brings purpose…even “at my age” and hopefully, in the ages to come!

You’ve spent your life hoping to learn the ‘secret’ to becoming a better artist – while being told there are no secrets. Well maybe not, but I have come to believe there are two ‘KEYS’ that can help you open the doors leading down that secret hallway. These two keys are separate but complementary, and together they can drive you as far as your desire to become a better artist will allow.
In this essay, I’ll share the two Keys, and briefly touch upon their breadth and depth. The first is: ‘Awareness’, and the second is ‘Preparation’. ‘Awareness’ comes from truly paying attention to the physical, intellectual and emotional aspects of ‘Art’, while ‘Preparation’ will provide you with the tools to express the depth of your awareness.
We all begin with a very basic level of Awareness. Our understanding of the physical world is akin to a child’s vocabulary; we can describe the basics, but it takes years of study and growth to become eloquent. When Louis Armstrong says he sees “skies of blue and clouds of white,” you know through experienced observation how much more there is to ‘see’ in those skies, and if you’re honest with yourself you know there is also so much more in terms of breadth and depth that is beyond your grasp, regardless of your current level of accomplishment. With each passing day, you can become more sensitized to the endless subtleties that add to the beauty and meaning of all you see and subsequently what you create.
Over and above physical observation, as you develop as an artist it is important that your work become infused with what you think and feel. The deeper your intellect and the stronger your feelings grow, the more your work can reflect your personality and soul. This depth can come from an endless variety of sources, and is in part a natural outgrowth of your maturity. When I was traveling the world to curate a collection of art, it became clear that there were a number of young artists who had great talent, but the profound effect of life creates a patina that adds richness to a mature artist’s work.
Our lives are filled with emotional and intellectual stimuli. Some artists naturally soak it all in and let it influence their work immediately, while others carefully observe and slowly massage their response into their creative output. I am conscientiously infusing more of myself as I define my intent for each piece, whether it be en plein air or in the studio.
Building artistic awareness is a continual endeavor, whether it comes from external forces or internal exploration, and it can also come from studying the work of other artists. Though seeking a ‘style’ might be a superficial pursuit, it is helpful to pay attention to your reaction to existing work. While some pieces may do nothing for you (learn why!), other work may really float your boat on an intellectual or emotional level, and it is helpful to be ‘aware’ of the elements you can incorporate into your efforts over the days and years to come. When I teach a workshop, the theme may be focused on portraits or animals, but I’m always infusing my personal instruction with elements affected by what I’ve begun to understand along with thoughts that can affect how a student approaches their future study.
The exploration of ‘Awareness’ is endlessly intriguing, but expressing your level of awareness takes ‘Preparation.’
From your palette, lighting, and studio set-up to your ability to draw, ‘Preparation’ comprises all the elements that enable you to execute your vision. Just as a weekend golfer hopes to hit the ball squarely while a professional will develop a myriad of shots, an artist’s success will increase as the many facets of preparation become more proficient and refined.
For instance, as we learn to draw, our lines and shapes may start to roughly define an image, and as we continue to evolve our lines and shapes become more convincing, and eventually, expressive. As you practice mixing your colors, the sensitivity and beauty of your values, temperatures and harmonies overcome clumsiness and begin to sing. Your first brushstrokes may be coarse and weak; with additional mileage and attention to how and why you’re mixing and laying paint will lead to improving surface, edges and presence.
Though we can learn from millions of examples, I’ll use an image of a painting by John Singer Sargent to illustrate how the combination of awareness and preparation can create fabulous work.
The reason I’m using this particular example is because years ago an artist posted it as an example of the ‘simple’ shapes Sargent used. When I saw the image, I was immediately struck – not by simplicity – but by spectacular execution of sublime understanding of value and hue. Using the original sketch at the left, the images on the right each show two columns of dots: one column of dots samples the color and value from the area immediately below, and the column next to it from the area immediately above. Seeing how Sargent deftly handled these transitions can help guide your process.

Because improved execution must be learned and then applied, your level of preparation will naturally trail your level of awareness. Therefore, it is helpful to understand that there is the potential for a perpetual satisfaction gap between what you hope your work will convey and what you are actually able to convey. There are times where we feel we’re actually getting worse! When you look back upon your earlier work, the gap will be more evident between what you’ve accomplished and where your head is now.
As my personal Awareness and Preparation grow, I am able to adjust my approach, execution and finish to accurately express my initial intent. Here are two ‘portraits’ that result from very different objectives. In the portrait of former Wisconsin Governor Scott McCallum, the composition, finish and atmosphere were focused on celebrating an accomplished ‘hero’ in the beautiful environment where he served as State Senator and also governed our State through the 9/11 crisis. In the second painting, I wanted all my elements to convey my ‘earthy’ response to a rugged, itinerant artist in the southwest United States during the 19th century.

Throughout your life and career, the areas and options for improvement are endless and each specific need is esoteric and unique to you. Answers will appear from many sources; workshops, individual study and serendipity. One of my reasons for teaching is that working with students at varying levels and areas of skill highlights and reinforces specific opportunities to strengthen awareness and preparation for both students and teacher.
I believe if you keep my two ‘Keys’ in mind as you approach your study and growth, they will help organize your efforts and clarify needs as they arise. You will also find yourself blessed with moments of illumination where your understanding or facility clearly take a little leap forward!