Four months (and counting) in to a worldwide pandemic, we've had some time to ponder what's important to us and why. Our connections feel tenuous, and many interactions are now virtual/online instead of in person. It's hard not to feel lonely and isolated, and I fight those feelings by talking to friends and family on the phone more than I used to do, taking walks, reading books, and listening to NPR (especially their non-news shows, where I learn about things I never knew!).

As an artist, I still paint nearly every day---it feeds my soul and gives me a sense of purpose and order. It is both a discipline and a time to play and innovate, and I post my finished works on my facebook page, where I get lots of welcome feedback from art friends. I participate in 3 ZOOM critique meetings per month, and that gives me accountability and a chance to see what my fellow artists are working on. These are my people, my community, and I'm grateful to have them in my life.

As much as I love to paint, I admit that there are times when I ask myself (as all artists do) "why even DO art?". Apparently, I'm not the only one who's pondered this question. A friend just shared a wonderful blog post by artist Danny Gregory: https://dannygregorysblog.com/2016/01/27/why-art-matters/

Incidentally, Gregory wrote this in 2016, but it's as relevant now as it was then. My favorite part of his post "Why Art Matters" is this:

I don’t go to church, mosque or synagogue. I don’t read Plato or the Tao. But art teaches me the things that matter. Explore the values that endure. Remind me of the legends that have passed down through time. These are crucial truths to guide me as I travel through my ordinary life, riding the subway, sipping my tea. Vital lessons that never go out of style like: Nature is to be revered. Humble pleasures are the sweetest. Everyone is significant. We are all connected. Hope is eternal. Bad things happen. The road bends. Life should be enjoyed.

Where else can I get these reminders? In fortune cookies and this month’s self-help bestsellers? Or in masterpieces that have endured because they embody and transmit our collective wisdom?

The history of art is the history of what’s important to us as a civilization and as a species. That’s why we erect huge buildings to house and display these old pieces of cloth daubed with paint, why they are among the first things we must visit when we come to a new city. They contain the truths that we, as a civilization and as a species, know are to be treasured.

I believe in my marrow that art is not a luxury. It has been a crucial part of humanity since we told stories around the campfire and painted the ceilings of caves. Art is not just for intellectuals. Art is not just for museums or public television or vacations in Paris. Art is here to make us feel better and be better. To remind us of our humanity and our connectedness. To unearth and share our feelings. To remind us we are not alone. Art is forever and for everyday.

I have been marbling (using watered down acrylics sprinkled into a tray filled with carrageenan) since I discovered this magical technique way back in 2006. As I transitioned from painting in watercolors to painting in acrylics (on paper or canvas), I looked through piles of my old watercolor paintings and decided to marble over them and give them a whole new look.

One of my more successful "do-overs" was a neutral toned landscape. I chose a reddish brown color to do the initial marbling, and then, as you can see in the images below, I rotated the painting to make it a vertical. Responding to what I saw on the paper, I composed a diagonal grouping of red tulips and did freehand painting using diluted washes of acrylic, making sure I varied my reds.

At the very end, I wasn't satisfied with the bright green leaf I'd painted in, so I collaged a piece of marbled paper onto that leaf shape and the piece was finished. I posted it on facebook and a client bought it right away!  "Red Tulips and Green"; acrylic marbling/collage on paper, 10 x 14".

out·burst
/ˈoutˌbərst/
 
noun
noun: outburst; plural noun: outbursts
a sudden release of strong emotion.
"“she screamed at him about it one day,” said one source who witnessed the outburst"

• a sudden outbreak of a particular activity.
  "a wild outburst of applause"
  Similar: eruption, explosion, flare-up, rush, flood, paroxysm, surge

For the past 22 years, I've enjoyed the privilege of being able to paint nearly every day. It's a habit I don't even have to think about--I just show up and get right to work. Truth be told, it feels more like "play" than work. The act of painting allows me to take thoughts, ideas, feelings, and things I've read or heard, and create a visual framework that tells a story.

Many of my painting titles are taken from songs or books, or snatches of poetry, or a phrase I heard on the radio. I'm always in a state of readiness, taking in the sights and sounds that are going on all around me. Admittedly, I have to edit and filter down all of these influences in order to focus on what I want to paint and how I want to communicate with my viewing audience--that's where the real creativity begins.

I've always built up my paintings in layers, making many changes made as I go--until I feel satisfied that there's nothing more I need to add or remove. But this process can take months from start to finish, and partially relies on input from some of my trusted fellow artists in my critique group. This process works well and has yielded some of my best works---but it takes patience and time to get to where I can call a painting truly FINISHED.

In the past few months, I've experienced what I can only call "outbursts" (artbursts?) wherein I'm doodling on my paper palette paper, rolling black acrylic paint around with a sponge roller (the kind used to paint interior house trim) and suddenly I see a painting forming right on the palette paper! I quickly seize on this, and start wiping away parts of the black paint to form a figure, and I use the remaining paint on the foam roller to create an arm, a hip, etc. Within minutes, I've got a simple figure painting with great light and dark values and minimal color (black/white/grey). I stand back and realize there's nothing else I need to do to finish this--it's done. (The most recent example of this process is "Dispossessed", acrylic on paper, 12 x 18".)

It's a breathtaking and oh-so-brief experience that makes me feel I've discovered some hidden secret to the (painting) universe. It does no good to ask myself how it happened--I'm just grateful I recognized this different way of seeing/painting and made it part of my repertoire. It's a reminder that I need to continuously sharpen my skills of observation; like a chemist in a lab, I am experimenting with my materials to discover what happens next!

It has been an eventful teaching summer for me here in the Pacific Northwest, as I taught 3 suminagashi marbling workshops in 3 months (in 3 different Oregon towns). I enjoy sharing this water-based method of marbling with other creative folks---we all hunch over our marbling trays, deep in thought as we watch the ink droplets spread and form concentric circles. There's nothing else quite like it.

What I love about sumi marbling is that it's different each and every time I do it. I'm still learning new things as I mix the various ink colors together to form new hues, test out different rice papers (and even a brand of watercolor paper that seems to accept the ink better than others). My student bring in unusual papers--maps, Braille paper, old book pages--and we try them all, making note of what works and doesn't work. After we've marbled for a day, I do a slideshow and then a demo on how to paint/develop the marbled papers into finished paintings--my favorite part of the process.

One piece I'm particular proud of (because I had to wrestle with it to cover up some of the black sumi ink swirls) is a painting I call "Thoughtful Scholar #4". It's a take on a series that I've done in watercolor and acrylic marbling---but this time I used very monochromatic (green) colors. It has a fuzzy, soft, restful quality---which is exactly what I was trying to capture in the curve of the woman reading her book. I've included a step by step gallery of images so you can see how this painting started and how it ended up.

I start out with the suminagashi marbled rice paper, and carefully glue this thin transparent rice paper onto 300# watercolor paper so that it's sturdy and rigid--easier to paint on later. I use a mixture of Elmer's glue and matte medium--spreading it out all over the watercolor paper with my fingers, and then I gently place the dampened rice paper onto the glued surface. I work from the inside out, smoothing out any air bubbles that might form until my rice paper is flat and glued down securely. I let it dry for 30 minutes and then I apply matte medium to the entire surface and let that dry for another hour or so. Then I am ready to draw  on the dried paper (using a soft water soluble watercolor crayon). That's when the magic happens and I turn a very chaotic suminagashi pattern into an organized painting! I cover up lines and streaks I don't like with several thin layers of white gesso, letting the layers dry in between. Then I proceed with whatever acrylic paints I want to use on the painting. It is a very intuitive process and I can change my mind as I go--just by adding more acrylic paint. Once I've covered up the suminagashi pattern with paint, though, I can't get it back. I can, however, add patterned collage papers, so that's always an option. The sky's the limit!

I often get asked "how do you manage to be so creative?" and "what's the *secret* of your success?". Earlier this month, I gave a presentation at the Watercolor Society of Oregon's Spring convention in Portland, Oregon, and tried to address those questions in a lecture/slideshow format. WSO asked me to give the talk again at the Fall Convention in Bend, so I'm guessing that it resonated with this group of artists.

I titled my talk "Under the Influence(s) Of…" and here are some of the excerpts, quotes, and main points:

Last year I had paintings juried into seven consecutive national shows, which prompted WSO to invite me to share the secret of my success. As I thought about how to approach this talk, I concluded that we artists are faced with at least three main challenges:

• Understanding your past (and present) artistic influences—both masters and current artists
• Applying what you’ve learned (without copying outright); figure out what problems this artist has already solved
  
• Finding  a way to put the YOU in your work and tell a compelling story that gets your painting noticed

Looking beyond just my own journey, I interviewed 3 other successful WSO artists (Ruth Armitage, Margaret Godfrey, and Geoff McCormack) and found that they developed their own style in part by learning how other artists resolve problems in their own work.

So what do these artists have in common and how might you achieve similar success? I aim to take you on a visual adventure---charting each artist’s creative journey through use of their images, ideas, and sage advice.

The artists I’ve interviewed for this talk have several things in common:

• Tenacity
  
• A quest for excellence
  
• Thick skin
• A competitive spirit
• A desire for community and validation from other artists
  

Obviously this is the high-level part of the talk; I included a lot of comparison images (my painting next to a painting by the artist who influenced me). If you are interested in having me give this talk to your art group, please contact me!

Two of my favorite quotes from the presentation are:

The difference between a master and a beginner is this: The master has failed more times than the beginner has ever tried.

If you give up on your [art] when you aren't happy with it, then all you ever learn is how to start. You never learn how to finish. –Ira Glass

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.