I've been a member of NWWS since 2003, and have had many paintings accepted into their juried shows over the years. They are based out of Seattle which is a 3 hour drive from Portland, Oregon, but every time I've attended their exhibits, I'm always impressed with the quality of the artists' work, and honored to be a part of the show. When the NWWS president emailed me to ask if I'd be interested in doing a live demo for their member meeting Feb. 26, I jumped at the opportunity. Despite the previous week's snowstorm we had a good turnout, and I enjoyed sharing my methods and philosophy with the attendees. It was very satisfying to talk to other artists after the demo, and I received several enthusiastic emails the next day from artists who said I'd given them plenty to think about.

Here are the step by step images of my demo painting: (full disclosure--I finished the painting once I got home, as this method is not one that can be completed in an hour). Click on each photo to see a full size view; I've included captions with a description of what I did in each step.

"Left Holding the Bag"; acrylic marbling/collage (acrylic skins) on watercolor paper, 10 x 14" © 2019 by Liz Walker

I paint nearly every day, and last year I produced a whopping 440 paintings. I sometimes paint on canvas, but mostly on paper (which I frame and mat under plexiglass). Of those 400+ paintings, I end up with 20-30 paintings that I’d call “show-worthy”. That gives me a lot to choose from when I put together a show. I was originally set to exhibit at the Calvin Gallery in Tigard, Oregon with another artist, but she had knee surgery so I quickly rose to the challenge and created a solo show: 34 paintings which filled two 20 foot walls.

The reception today was splendid--I saw a lot of artist friends and neighbors, and I sold two paintings! I was asked to give a few remarks to the audience, and here are a few highlights:

Most of my paintings don’t get finished in a day or even a week or a month. I often start a painting and then find I have to set it aside for a month or two, or even a year or two before I figure out how to FINISH it.  

You’ll notice that my people paintings don't strive to be realistic or anatomically correct---I leave that to more accomplished painters. Although I admire realistic paintings, I will take a painting that tells me a good story over one with perfect technique any day of the week.

People sometimes ask me why I don’t paint facial features on many of my figures. I feel this makes the person look “sad” or “happy” and I don’t want to tell you how to feel when you look at my painting. By painting a blank face, I’m leaving the story of the painting open for discussion and personal interpretation.

In closing, I want to leave you with this: think of a painting as a conversation between the artist and the viewer—my job as an artist is to invite you in to my painting and get you to stay there awhile before you move on to the next piece.

This past week, I had the honor of serving as juror of awards in a local exhibit at the Oregon Society of Artists in Portland, Oregon. I've been a member of OSA for almost 19 years, and have won many awards in their juried shows, so I'm guessing they figured it was now MY turn to GIVE awards to other artists.

This was my second experience as an art juror, and I enjoyed the task of going through 120 paintings to select 9 award winners (1st, 2nd, and 3rd place, as well as 6 Honorable Mentions). I approached it as I do all shows---a quick sweep through the entire show, to see what jumped out at me visually, and then a slower, more careful look at each piece.

The "200 Under 200" show is unlike OSA’s other juried shows because there’s no “elimination round”; so all the submitted paintings are displayed. That means the juror has to consider each painting—in all sorts of mediums and styles—and give awards to just 9 works.

Here is most of what I said during my gallery talk--in a room full of artists and their families and friends who attended:

I want to say a few words about how I jury a show. If I am familiar with your work, I’ve probably seen your best paintings, and I know what you are capable of, so you may have to work a bit harder to get my attention.

And it goes without saying that you should never try to paint FOR a particular juror—half the time you’ll be wrong about what it is you think the juror likes. I’m going to give you the same advice I give myself: paint a LOT, learn to recognize your best pieces, and then submit those to shows. I paint about 380 paintings a year (mostly on paper) and of those, I end up with 20 or so that I’d call “show-worthy”. That gives me a lot of paintings to choose from, and takes away the stress of having to produce a painting FOR a specific show. And I’m never rushed trying to finish something at the last minute for a deadline.

As I walked through the gallery, I noticed paintings that might have been a tad stronger if the artist had made a few different choices. But those choices are up to the artist, not me. I know several artists (including myself) who thought their painting was done, but set it aside for a month or two, or even a year or two and then went back to it and made small changes, and put it in a show and it won an award! I call that “circling back” and it’s a very effective method of taking what’s already good in a painting and making it even better.

I’ve heard some jurors say that they will never intentionally give an award to someone they know, but I disagree with that. Why would I penalize an artist JUST because I know him or her?

My goal is to select the works that I feel are the strongest when compared to others in the show. I’m judging the art, and not the artist.

How do I make my selections? I start by looking over the whole group of paintings, then I walk through the gallery several times before I stop in front of the paintings that visually catch my attention.

The obvious criteria—good color, composition, and design, and handling of the medium—have to be there. But more than that, an award winning painting (especially the top 3 prize winners) has to ENGAGE me and make me want to keep looking at the piece. There should be something that delights me, surprises me, or makes me wish I’d thought of that idea, chosen that subject, or used that technique. I will take a painting that tells me a good story over one with perfect technique any day of the week.

I want to leave you with this: think of a painting as a conversation between the artist and the viewer—your job as an artist is to invite the viewer in to your painting and get him to stay there awhile before moving on to the next piece.

We live in such a fast paced world--one in which technology often takes the place of face to face interactions. As I write this (on a computer) I've got my facebook page open and my cellphone turned on. I'm definitely not anti-technology, but I still believe that when groups of people come together--in person--to form community, good things happen.

As an artist, I retreat for long hours alone in my studio because I need that solitude to create my paintings. But after a day or two of painting, I'm ready to meet up with my trusted artist friends for a bit of show and tell! I am a member of FOUR critique groups--all different, all essential to my growth as an artist---and I benefit greatly from receiving (and giving to others) comments about the work. We're often too close to our own artwork, so getting suggestions from other artists can improve one's work immeasurably.

But an artist's life is not JUST about painting, critiquing, or even getting into juried competitions. Sometimes we have to step out of our carefully crafted life and give back to our art community--even when it takes time away from our art-making.

In summer of 2016, I got a call from the International Society of Experimental Art (ISEA) President Patti Sevensma. I am a Signature Member of ISEA, although I'd never attended a symposium (mostly held on the east coast each fall). Patti noticed that of the 400+ ISEA members, fully 40 were from Oregon. As such, she wondered if I'd be willing to host ISEA's 27th annual symposium Sept 21-27, 2018 in Oregon.  I've led other local conventions (and swore to never do it again) but she won me over and I agreed to be the symposium chair. We located a great venue (Runyan Gallery in Newport, Oregon), a stellar juror, Ruth Armitage, and secured a nearby hotel (Hallmark Resort) for the reception and banquet. So far, so good.

Fast forward to 2018 when the nuts and bolts of this project went into overdrive and the real work began. Living 2.5 hours from Newport meant I couldn't just pop into town whenever I needed to, so I enlisted the aid of a Newport artist, Cynthia Jacobi, whom I knew from my statewide art organization, WSO. She was my boots on the ground gal, and she put me in touch with local contacts who could steer me in the right direction. Cynthia even agreed to temporarily store the 50+ shipped paintings in her garage until we could transport them to the gallery on hanging day. We soon realized we'd need to hire a man with a truck to transport those HUGE boxes because they were too large for our vehicles! It was all a huge learning experience, and I admit to be overwhelmed at times.

On a particularly exhausting day this summer, an art friend (who has done her fair share of volunteering in many, many art groups) gave me some good advice: "I have always felt that everything I have given as a volunteer, I have received back in friendships, networking and opportunities."

Was chairing this exhibit/symposium a lot of work? Yes, indeed---no question about it. But I found a way to fit it into my busy life, and still manage to paint, ship accepted paintings to shows, attend critique group meetings, and generally keep my head above water. In the end, I'm proud that I was instrumental in bringing a prestigious, one-of-a-kind mixed media show to Oregon, where it will be viewed and enjoyed by artists and visitors throughout the state. It will truly be an exhibit to remember.

For more information about ISEA, visit their website: https://www.iseaartexhibit.org/

We artists toil over paintings, get them prepped, framed (and sometimes shipped, if the exhibit is in a far away city) and then we have to decide whether or not we'll attend the opening night reception at the gallery. For me, this issue suddenly got complicated after a surprising string of acceptances at shows in CA, AZ, WA whose receptions are on the same weekend!

Most of the time, I confess, I tend to skip art receptions in far-off locations because, well, I'd rather be home painting in my studio. And the time and expense involved in overnight travel is no small matter. But this spring, I resolved to attend two out-of-town receptions and I'm glad I did.

The first was in the small coastal town of Coos Bay, Oregon--located 4 hours from my home in Portland. Their annual Expressions West show is a regional show and the 65 selected paintings hang in the Coos Bay Art Museum (a beautiful historic building that used to be a large post office). Each painting was given ample wall space and its own spotlight! My husband and I attended the Friday night reception and mixed and mingled with artists from all around the state. A group of us all went to dinner afterwards, and had further conversation about art and life. We met a couple who told us how they met years ago at work and married later (after their spouses had died). We even visited their home on Saturday morning to see the miniature electric train set that the husband had built in his shop. I stopped in to a local art coop and spoke with some of the artists there--it's always good to see what other artists are up to--and then we went back to the museum after lunch for the juror's walk-through of the show, in which she described what she liked about each of the paintings. My husband and I talked about art and artists all the way home in the car,

The second reception (which I am attending tonight) is two hours away at the Emerald Art Center's 13th annual Spring Show in Springfield (near Eugene). I am only familiar with a few of the artists in the show, and the juror, Randy Meador, is a watercolorist from Texas (where I grew up). I decided I'd like to see the show in person for a change (and not just from the catalog, as I did last year). 

Both of these shows, it should be pointed out, are "all media" shows and include watercolor, oils, acrylics, and collage. This is different from the mostly watermedia shows that I typically participate in, so there's often no "apples to apples" comparison of paintings. The juror does his/her best to select paintings from the bunch and bestow awards according to his/her aesthetic ideals.

So I will put on my fancy shoes, and attend tonight's reception (even though part of me really would rather be home painting in my studio). I look forward to meeting and talking to new artists about their work. Here's to learning to celebrate!

I'm often asked by other artists "why do you paint so much?" (as if it's some burden I place on myself). A friend said I should reply "what's keeping YOU from painting as often as I do?" . The truth is, I just LIKE to paint---I like everything about it from the setup to the cleanup and all of the messy stuff in between.

For me, it's a daily kind of problem-solving that keeps my brain humming and my body moving. Although I do end up with a huge stack of paintings at the end of each year (I painted 380 paintings in 2017), I periodically cull through them and recycle/reuse ones that I later realize are just not up to par. If the "one in ten" rule of success applies to art (and I think it does), I have about 38 decent paintings from 2017 that I could consider putting in a show or selling. Simply put, it takes a lot of lemons to make one pitcher of lemonade.

Each day, regardless of accolades or awards (which do come, but I never count on them to motivate me) I go into the studio, pick up my paintbrush, and get to work. It's a kind of "Groundhog Day", but one that I wholeheartedly embrace.

 Austin Kleon (author of "Steal Like an Artist"), echoed this sentiment in a recent article. He writes:

It might seem like a stretch, but I really think the best thing you can do as an artist or a creative person is pretend you’re Phil Connors (played by Bill Murray) in the movie “Groundhog Day”: there’s no tomorrow, there’s no chance of success, there’s no chance of failure, there’s just the day, and what you can do with it. …The creative journey is not one in which at the end you wake up in some mythical, happy, foreign land. The creative journey is one in which you wake up every day, like Phil, with more work to do. --Austin Kleon
 
Kleon goes on to quote author Hugh Macleod from his book "Ignore Everything":

The best way to get approval is to not need it.

My thoughts exactly!

 

I have a reputation among fellow artists as being tenacious--someone who never gives up on a failed painting. But it wasn't always that way. I have an old photo album (back when photographs were printed in a lab on glossy paper) that chronicles my first years of watercolor paintings and these photos are proof that I started out at the bottom of my artistic skill level just like everyone else. It took years of painting (maybe almost a decade) before I felt that I'd even begun to create the kind of watercolor paintings that I felt were worth framing or exhibiting.

Nevertheless, I persisted. And I hung on to each and every "failed" painting, figuring that I could always paint on the back, or if nothing else, retain a record of all of my ugly duckling efforts. As the years turned to decades, I found myself sifting through those "failed" piles of art and seeing parts worth saving and developing. With newly attained confidence and skills, I was able to transform some of them into finished works. Often the underpainting would be barely visible, especially as I began using collage and acrylics, which help to obscure what lies beneath the surface.

Fast forward to the present day. I've hit the 26-year mark as a dedicated painter, and I feel I'm at the peak of my powers. That doesn't mean I don't still have "failed" paintings, but I'm getting better about figuring out which ones are worth reworking. I am doing fewer "pure" watercolor paintings than before, and prefer concentrating on acrylic marbling and collage as my mediums of choice. But every once in a while, an exhibit opportunity comes along whose rules state that all paintings must be done in watercolor only, and I try to rise to the occasion.

Such is the case of a recently reworked watercolor I call "Home At Last". I only have 3 photos of this painting as it progressed over the years, because I didn't think to take step by step photos of each change. But you can see from my images, that this painting went from being a homeless man under a bridge, to a landscape depicting several houses on a hill. You can even see the crease in the paper where I'd folded it years before! I'd also wiped out/lifted most of the dark washes of watercolor from the paper using a wet sponge. It was only this year that I finally figured out how to add washes of color and connect the dark values in this painting. It's a small, odd sized piece: only 10 x 12" with a 18 x 20" frame. But I am very pleased that I was finally able to finish it. It was juried into the Watercolor Society of Oregon's Fall Show and will part of an 80-painting group exhibit at the Mount Hood Community College in Gresham, Oregon during the month of October.

When an artist dies, he or she leaves behind a stack of paintings---finished and unfinished. The artist's family has to decide what to do with all of the artist's paintings, brushes, and paints. In the case of Portland artist Carol Winchester, who died in March of 2015, her family decided to have a huge sale and donate the proceeds to one of Carol's favorite organizations, the Watercolor Society of Oregon (WSO). Since i am also a member of this group, I received an email about the sale. I wasn't sure what I would find, but what caught my eye as soon as I walked in the room were Carol's unfinished pieces---watercolor papers with a few lines or blobs of color on them. I knew they had potential, and I snapped them up right away.

Now the hard part---how to develop them. Since it was spring, I was in the mood for marbling in acrylics on paper. With no subject matter in mind, I set to work and began marbling. In some cases, the results were rather remarkable. Her line work peeked through the mass of colors I used, and later when I went to develop the paper further, I saw what looked like a cluster of  of birds--overlapping in very odd ways, but birds, nonetheless. Allowing the lines to be my guide, I created a painting I call "Find the Birds".

Here is a step by step look at how my painting "Find the Birds" (acrylic marbling on paper, 14 x 20") came together:

 

It's been a busy spring---teaching workshops, entering shows, and always remembering to perform my daily physical therapy exercises to make sure my (formerly) "frozen" shoulder stays flexible.

I was happy to learn that my painting "Inner Confidence" (acrylic on paper, 10 x 14") was juried into the Emerald Art Center Spring Show which is held each year in Springfield, Oregon (near Eugene). The juror was Portland artist Ruth Armitage, but since this painting was not done in my typical style, she may not have even known I was the artist. This is all to the good, because a painting should stand on its own merits regardless of who painted it.

"Inner Confidence" is aptly named because when I painted it last summer, I had to really "fight" with this piece of paper to gain control of it! It started out one way (with two figures) and just wasn't working so in a fit of pique, I turned it upside down, got a wide 2" brush filled with black paint and started covering up all the parts I didn't like. In fact, if you look at the step by step images below, you can still see the "ghost" of the previous figures. This painting was all about veils of color and layers---what to leave in, and what to paint over and obscure. 

You can't quite make it out in the final photo, but if you see the painting in person, you'll detect a faint trace of my (upside down) signature in the upper left hand corner. That's because when I first worked on the painting, I had such confidence, I signed my name AS IF the painting was finished. When I later turned it upside down, I forgot all about that faded signature.

Maybe signing my painting twice at two different times really does reflect my "inner confidence" as a painter. Or maybe it demonstrates my ability to see my art from more than one angle. At any rate, I never gave up on this piece of paper, and I'm glad I kept going until it was really FINISHED.

Since discovering marbling a decade ago, I have tried to explore and experiment with various types of paints (most acrylics, acrylic inks and airbrush colors) as I float them on the surface of a carrageenan "bath" to see what patterns and color combinations I can create. I thought I knew just about everything there was to know about marbling, but in the course of my research I happened upon a different marbling method called suminagashi.

Suminagashi is a fascinating Japanese paper marbling technique that uses water-based sumi inks floated on plain tap water. The word suminagashi literally means spilled ink. It is very different from acrylic marbling in that the thin boku inks (black, red, yellow, blue--a very limited palette) are more fluid and form thin concentric rings rather than fat rounded circles when dropped into the marbling tray. Also, the ink patterns absorb best on thin rice paper and not on standard printmaking or watercolor paper. This means that when I'm all done, I have to glue my delicate marbled rice paper to a heavier paper (if I want to further paint on it and develop it into a finished painting).

The advantage of suminagashi is that it only requires a few inches of tap water in the marbling tray, so the cumbersome and time consuming process of blending carageenan 24 hours in advance of marbling is no longer an issue. This makes suminagashi more portable when you want to take it on the road and teach it to others!

This summer I taught myself how to combine suminagashi and acrylic marbling into one painting. The trick is to do the suminagashi marbling first since it is often more pale than the acrylic marbling. Once the suminagashi marbled paper is dry, I then treat the paper with alum for acrylic marbling and marble a new pattern on top of the suminagashi pattern. The two patterns, while different, are often complimentary as they "criss cross" each other on the paper.

I will be teaching several suminagashi workshops in 2017; most are one day workshops in which we create stacks of marbled rice papers. But I aim to teach more of the two day suminagashi workshops (like the one I'm offering in July at Sitka Art & Ecology Center) because I'm excited about teaching others what comes AFTER the marbling process---how to turn patterns into paintings.

In the meantime, here is a step by step slideshow depicting how I turned one of my "combo" marbling papers into a finished painting called "Expecting To Fly #2".