Betta Ab 1

Betta Ab 1 (7.5" x 7.5", oil pastel / inkjet, 2006) is the first in the series that I've just begun, based on images of the late "Blue Max" (see last week's entry). His silhouette was really lovely, so I started with that. Probably most of the others in the series will be more highly abstracted, the focus being on the beautiful colors of the fish and his surroundings.

It's strange to miss that fish so much when he was only here a week and a day. Maybe it's because I was so intensely focused on him while he was here. He was a wonderful little presence!

God Sent Me a Fish

"Blue Max" (Digital painting) 2006

Here it is, almost a month since I made an entry. After my last one, I started having a problem with my left eye: there was a really bloodshot area on the inside corner, which was staying irritated and uncomfortable. Since I'd been doing a lot of mowing in heavy dust, and attempting to clean up stray bits of insulation that were coming out of new ductwork in the house, it seemed logical that there was something in my eye. Two doctors said it was due to allergies, but it surely felt like there was something in my eye.

Labor Day rolled around, and my eye was still red. My friend Sharyn wanted me to go with her to Linens 'n Things to look at a Moses Basket (for her December baby). Since I had a gift certificate to use at PetCo, which is right next door, we went there first. The only items I had any use for on the list of "freebies" were a pound of gourmet dog biscuits (which I don't usually feed my dog because she swallows them whole) and a cheap toy (but we already have piles of those). But - there was also listed a free mini-aquarium. Sharyn was enthused about that one, since her family has fish and other critters all over the house, so she introduced me to the Betta fish. They looked like graceful little jewels; I couldn't resist. So I came home with Blue Max, a gorgeous little fellow with deep ultramarine scales and fins and a pair of burgundy appendages (pectorals?) in front. He was a joy to watch. The more I watched, the more artistically energized I became, so I got out the camera and started shooting. It was just what I'd been needing to get me going again. I got some great material to work with, even though he wasn't the easiest subject to capture. Then I shot a short video so I could pick out the best frames of him in "full fin."

By Saturday, however, little Max started slowing down. On Sunday he looked paler and wasn't moving much. He had only eaten once since I got him, so Sharyn gave me some different food to try, but he wasn't interested. On Monday night, he was hanging vertically, gulping air and then slowly sinking. I knew this was not good. Before I went to bed, I cupped my hand around the corner of the tank where he was resting and said what amounted to, "Goodbye, little fish, and thank you for all you've given me this week." Tuesday morning he was lying on the bottom of the tank. I buried him in the flower bed, next to a brilliant blue balloon flower.

I'm not sure why his death hit me so hard: maybe it was the loss of a being so exquisitely beautiful, or guilt that maybe something I'd done or not done had killed him, or maybe it was just a focal point for some things I hadn't dealt with, but my tears were flowing hot and fast.

By Tuesday night, my left eye was looking remarkably better, and in another day or two it was back to normal. That old saying about the Lord working in mysterious ways has new meaning for me: my eye was healed and my artistic vision renewed, thanks to God and his little miracle named Blue Max.

"Sweet Gum"

Sweet Gum (8" x 7", oil pastel, 2006) is another one that has been "in progress" for way too long. Originally it was larger, but I couldn't make it work to my satisfaction, which was probably why it took so long to finish. I finally whacked off a couple of inches and changed a few areas, and here it is. For such a small work it was a lot of trouble. I would have just ripped it up and done another version, but really liked the colors and didn't want to trash them.

In case you aren't familiar with sweet gum trees, they are the ones with the spiny "gumballs" that make walking torture underneath them when the seed pods have dropped. The leaves are truly glorious in the fall, though, ranging from a deep blue-black to flaming red.

I've been having so much trouble with "This page is not available" lately that I haven't been able to get to my web site to update it, so I'll add a plug here for my new adventure. One of my works (Purple Crocus) is now available on a mug, journal, and greeting cards at http://www.CafePress.com/staffordart . There is also a small print offered there: the image is approximately 8" x 6". If there is enough interest, I will have more "art stuff" available soon.

Lavender Pansy

Lavender Pansy (16.25" x 8", oil pastel, 2006) is hot off the easel! It's been staring at me, gathering dust, for months now. I finally overcame my artistic inertia and finished it, for better or worse. Whew - now I don't feel like talking about it, except to say it's a relief to have it done, and an even greater relief to find out I can still finish something. On to the next one!

Stormy Weather

I didn't realize how long it's been since I posted anything. It's usually late before I get time on Sunday evening to write; for several weeks in a row we had thunderstorms every time I got ready to post. Then my mother had surgery on June 8th; since that time it seems I need to schedule breathing if I can fit it in. Monday I had a stress test. Ha - I could have told them I had stress out the wazoo: didn't need a test to confirm that. Anyway, my intention is to get going again with this blog. Not sure if even one person cares whether I do or not, but hey - I like the way it looks. It's sort of a work in progress. Stay tuned.

Petal 2

Petal 2 (12" x 7.5", Oil Pastel on paper, 2005) happened accidentally. I should have published the original composition first, but didn't have a photo available and, due to changing this blog template (and struggling with "html", which I know next to nothing about), am out of time, so I'll just work in reverse. Really normal for me, anyway.

Sometimes I'll work on a painting, and keep working when I should just stop, and then I wind up tearing it up when it's no longer fixable. BUT - being the "abstracter" that I am, there is without fail a fragment that catches my eye and I'm off again. That's what happened here; Petal 2 is a strip I tore off one version of Petal 1. It's another piece of a hydrangea bloom, but what it is doesn't really matter; the graceful lines and colors of the fragment were the attraction. I like it much better than the original it came from.

Gives me an idea for next time (and maybe several weeks to follow). I did a serigraph (silkscreen print) of a building years ago. The prints that were misaligned or otherwise defective were destroyed, but WOW! what a wealth of work was created from the pieces. Stay tuned!

Hosta

Hosta (9.75" x 6.5", Oil Pastel, 2004) is one of the more abstract works that I've done. It was really fun to let go of reality and just enjoy the shapes and patterns created by the leaves of a varigated hosta. Since I use what my printer calls a "faint copy" as the base for the pastels, there are areas of color which aren't true to the original photo, due to lack of sufficient ink. Sometimes I ignore the variations, but in this painting I exaggerated them.

The result reminds me of works by some of the early 20th Century European abstract painters that I became acquainted with in my two years of art history in school. That particular era was my least favorite, since my preference at the time was for classical realism. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe how much my work has changed; at this rate, I really don't know where I'm going with it. The journey is quite interesting.

Hosta is in the collection of Phillip Morris USA, in Concord, NC.

Hydrangea 6

Hydrangea 6 (9" x 7.25", Oil Pastel, 2004) is a continuation of my abstract series of hydrangea blossoms. There are three so far with the same base inkjet print as this one, with each one turning out very differently from the others. I see new shapes and colors to explore, every time I print one. This is the most dimensional of the three.

Sometimes it is a struggle to find something to say; this is one of those times. It's been a gray, rainy, chilly day and my brain would rather sleep. If there's anyone reading this, I hope you enjoy the art and have a good night.

Pansy

Pansy (Acrylic on Canvas, 32" x 25", 2006) is a further abstraction from a previous oil pastel. It was started early this year, but I didn't get motivated sufficiently to finish it until I was asked to have a work in a show ("Grant Me a Wish," opening May 6 at the Historic Cabarrus Courthouse in Concord, NC). Nothing like a deadline to get me going!

Working in acrylics is a real challenge, which is why I was dragging my brush on it. Through the years I have occasionally worked on canvas. Originally I found acrylic paint to be "slimy" and hard to manipulate, but either the paint has improved or my skill has evolved a bit (?), because this is fun! As much as I enjoy my oil pastels, there are size limits and protection issues that can be constricting. Bigger may not necessarily be better, but the change is very stimulating.

The canvas for Pansy was stretched and prepared years ago for a landscape with a little group of buildings in the center. I never got around to it; then my work changed, and I was going to use it for a close-up of two white flowers. Got the drawing on it, stared at it off and on for a year or so, and then changed my mind when the final image came to me. To paraphrase the old saying: if canvases could talk!

Reflection

Reflection (10" x 8", oil pastel, 2003) was my first work in oil pastel over a faint inkjet print.

It happened by accident: my printer was running low on ink, and the image I was working with came out all streaky and light. I find it hard to throw anything away, so I started looking at possibilities. Previously I had used pastel pencils and watercolor over prints, but knew that those mediums wouldn't cover the streaks. There was a box of Cray-Pas lying around gathering dust; "the rest is history." This is probably the only one of my oil pastels in which I allowed the ground to show a little, mainly because the crayons were somewhat dry from age. Being admittedly compulsive about covering my tracks (brushstrokes), I switched to a creamier brand (Sennelier) and have been happily smearing and blending ever since.

For 17 years I kept my sailboat on Lake Norman, until the rent got too high and the traffic too heavy. I still hope to find quiet water somewhere again; in the meantime, there is a whole series of reflections from my lake years, waiting to be done.

Three Crosses

Three Crosses is a small gouache study from the 90's which was part of a larger body of works from my Southwestern Series. I was so fascinated by the imagery in a photo of an adobe church, that I actually built a model of it and did my own studies from that second-hand reality. This work seemed appropriate for Easter, especially the shining cross against the black space behind it.

I have one memory of Easter that stands out above all others. It was a gorgeous, warm and sunny day - perfect April weather here in North Carolina. The family dinner was over, my folks had gone visiting, and I was looking forward to a nice, leisurely walk with my dog in the balmy evening air. We came out of the house and were coming up the drive to the road when I was suddenly aware of a chain reaction of barking dogs (like a wave, starting way off and traveling up my road). Didn't take long to find out why: just as we started up the road I heard hoofbeats and before I could get my wits together a white stallion came flying right at us! I yanked my dog a 180 and we beat it for the house as he streaked past us on his way to his objective: our lovely Thoroughbred mare "Dixie", who had sent him a signal.

Thus started a truly wild evening, with a hysterical dog in the house, a love-crazed stallion tearing around the fence and the neighborhood, an equally-crazed mare running around inside the fence, a deputy who showed up and assessed it as a "Mr. Ed" situation, the chubby back-up person from Animal Control who came with a dog truck instead of a horse trailer and just stood there watching, and finally every neighbor and good ol' boy around, trying to catch the horse. In the middle of it, my unsuspecting parents drove up. At least I had a lot of help explaining what was going on.

After three hours of "Wild Kingdom" in the back yard, the stallion wore himself out and took a fall which slowed him down, and he was caught. His owner was finally located and showed up on crutches with a piece of clothesline, planning to lead the horse home with it. It turned out that "Sultan" was 28 years old. I guess there was still plenty of fire left in that Arabian furnace! Enough to thoroughly plow a band about six feet wide all around our fence, but not quite sufficient to get to the mare. Every time I mowed, for several years after, I was reminded of that evening by the bumpy ground. And I can still see a beautiful ghost horse, snaking his exquisite neck and tossing his mane as he flew back and forth in the dusk in pursuit of amor.

Shell

Shell (12" x 12", Gouache on Paper, 1979) was completed after I finished school. I was looking through some photos when I found this shot of it. The more I looked at it, the more excited I became. I had forgotten what lovely curves and colors there were in that old shell: a lot like those you find in flowers. I sense a "Shell Series" forming here.

About that shell: my grandmother took a trip to the Bahamas long ago, and brought back a pink conch shell for my souvenir. I remember blowing until my ears hurt, but never got a decent sound out of it. It was a lot more fun to paint it.

Another note: I usuallly post on Sunday, but due to an unexpected evening at the ER am running late this week. Very glad to be here!

Fly Away

Fly Away (7.25" x 10", oil pastel, 2004) has never been publicly displayed until now.

On Monday, April 7, 2003, my father's life here ended while I was out walking my dog. I wondered if somehow he saw us as his soul was leaving, and maybe passed over us on his way to God.

The hydrangea series was already in progress at the time. One composition in particular kept speaking to me, so I did several versions; the image in Fly Away came to me after I'd done two or three others. It went really quickly, as if for once I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and I finished it in about an hour. This is one painting that is definitely not about flowers.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

CHARLES W. STAFFORD

(OCTOBER 10, 1921 - APRIL 7, 2003)

Hydrangea 5

Hydrangea 5 (oil pastel on canvas, 7" x 9", 2004) is one of many works I have done from photos of my gorgeous hydrangeas. In 2002, the soil pH must have been perfect; I've never seen such deep, intense violet in the blooms. This particular composition was pulled from one of the photos that year. I zeroed in on one tiny segment of a flower and was fascinated by the beautiful shapes and colors swirling around that intensely white center. It had an other-worldly feel about it which I explored further in sequential works. Tune in next week for a very special post from that series.

Iris Leaves

Iris Leaves (10" x 7", oil pastel, 2004) is one of my first works using oil pastels over an inkjet print. I had a lot of fun with the colors; it was something of a challenge to make a tangle of iris leaves into a colorful composition.

The iris bed itself is quite a challenge. What made me stick a flower bed in a long stretch of yard? Must have been temporary insanity. Not only do I have to mow around it, but the irises went wild and multiplied all over the place, and then the wildlife moved in (bunnies everywhere), and weeds sneaked up on me, and now a six-foot pine tree and two comparable elms are in there, shading out the irises. They must have grown while I was out to lunch. Fortunately I photographed the leaves before entrophy set in.

Iris Leaves is in the collection of First Charter Financial Center in Concord, NC.

"Hosta 2"

Hosta 2 (oil pastel, 11.5" x 7", 2005) is what resulted when I tried to compose from the helter-skelter cascade of hosta leaves in one of my flower beds. The plants always start small and everything fits with everything else, but give a hosta an inch and it'll take over the whole bed. When I was photographing the plant, I noticed a tiny head peeping out from behind the leaves, and then the whole critter (a skink) inched out and posed for me.

This hosta is huge. On warm weather nights, my dog delights in mouthing toads (bad for her and not so good for them), so I do "frog patrol" in the fenced yard before she comes out. The ones I rescue are tossed over the fence onto the cushiony hosta. Sometimes there will be several tiers of the warty things, probably wondering how they got there!

Butterfly 2

Butterfly 2 (9.5" x 5.75", oil pastel, 2005) is probably not a prize-winning painting, but I really enjoyed doing it, mainly because I love the way the colors sing against the black. When I was in school, using pure black was not in vogue. Not much I was doing was "in vogue" anyway, so when I graduated I decided to make a conscious effort to put at least one area of solid black in all my art. That worked pretty well with the architectural subjects that I painted for so many years. I still love to use it, though the initial need to rebel is long gone. The Tiger Swallowtail is one of my favorite butterflies - this is my tribute.

Caswell Series, #2: Rules Were Made to Be Broken

Caswell Series, #2: Rules Were Made To Be Broken is another gouache on paper, 9" x 12", from 1981. It is part of a series from material gathered on Oak Island, NC, at Civil War era Fort Caswell. I loved the old buildings and the wide open area they occupied, and did many paintings from the photos I took on several visits there. One time I went down with an artist group for the weekend. We had a short workshop on basic composition; the only thing I remember from it was the leader's stern warning: "never put anything in the center of your picture." That rubbed me the wrong way, since I had recently graduated from art school and was pretty tired of being told what to do. There was also plenty of historical precedent to show that she was wrong, so I decided to deliberately stick a chimney in the dead center of this painting and make it work. I think it does.

My students are told that I don't give artistic "rules" - only "suggestions."

Caswell Series, #2 is in a private collection in Raleigh, NC.

Winter Squash

Winter Squash (8" x 7", gouache on paper, 1977) was one of the first paintings I finished. I was still in art school, and my brand of realism was not highly favored at the time, at least in the Art Department. That was OK, since the little painting received fifth place in the first juried show I entered. It also has the dubious honor of being the only one of my works that was stolen, from Village Smith Gallery in Winston-Salem, NC, in 1979.

There was an abundance of winter (butternut?) squash that year, so I used them as subjects in three paintings.

In case anyone wonders, "gouache" is opaque watercolor, similar to tempera. I used it almost exclusively until 2000.

Crocus 2

Crocus 2 (10.25" x 7.75", oil pastel, 2005), is the second work in my crocus series. The sunlight was so bright on the tiny flowers that the centers appeared to be floating above the shimmering petals. I have several other versions of this one in my UFO (UnFinished Object) pile.

Crocus 2 is in the collection of CT Communications in Concord, NC.

Crocus 1

Crocus 1 is a 10" x 7" oil pastel, done in the spring of 2005. I had a lovely clump of purple crocuses last year. They were the only thing blooming at the time, so I took many photos and as a result have quite a few paintings of them.

This one is in the collection of The Independent Tribune, a newspaper in Kannapolis, NC.

For some reason I seem to be in a Purple Phase of my art. Nearly everything I do lately has at least a little "royal" color. I like it.

Good Intentions....

And we all know what those are worth. I started this blog as a way to talk about my work, or get some response as to what others might think of it. If a picture really is worth a thousand words, maybe I should just post the paintings and see if anyone has any words to say about them. Maybe. But sometimes there really is a story behind a painting that needs to be told. The jury is presently out, but will return shortly.

About "Black Gum"

I thought it might be interesting to post the photo that Leaf Abstract 1: Black Gum came from, to see if anyone can spot the original material.
Warning: you really have to pay attention!

The leaves were so beautiful here in November. We had some wonderful warm sunny days, so I managed to get in some late fall shots of the brilliant gum leaves. It was obvious that there were some paintings waiting to be found. Usually I start with a photo like this and zoom 'way in; then I cruise the image with a mask until I find something interesting.

Why "Bear Dances & Bird Songs"?

According to French novelist Gustave Flaubert, despite our noblest and best attempts to express ourselves artistically, human effort is all too often "like a cracked kettle on which we can tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars."

Pablo Picasso, whose unique way of looking at the world was often a magnet for criticism, once addressed the comment that his work was difficult to understand with this reply: "Why does art need to be understood to be enjoyed? When you hear a bird sing, do you need to know the words in order to appreciate the music?"

My artistic career began with work that was in what I call the "Southern Schlock" category - solid, realistic and well-composed, familiar nostalgic subjects - but most were not particularly challenging. Eventually I moved on to more "abstract" realism, which is how one would describe my new work. This is where the "bear dance or bird song?" question arises - have I translated my vision well enough to make it sing a lovely song, or does it lumber like those bears, dancing to my kettle-tapping? So, here is my first offering in this venue - have at it! The title of the above work is: Leaf Abstract 1: Black Gum. It is oil pastel over an inkjet print. Love it or loathe it - let me know what you think! Anyone can be a critic.