Transition 48 x 60 “
I have always made art, painted, but just over thirty years ago I shifted into a more intense artistic focus. I studied with master painters, read books, took classes and put in my ten thousand hours (plus!)
You would think the size of the paintings would correlate with the size of my working space. Maybe a LITTLE BIT, but mostly they correlate with the size of my life. The space for making art now is actually smaller than it was back 20 years ago, but my life has grown exponentially.
Spring Thaw 60 x 40″I have six children, five have spouses or significant others, a boxer/ridgeback rescue, two cats, two horse brothers, and a husband. Chaos and complicated is the status quo. 
As family and connections have grown so has the size of my art. Three-foot square feels petite these days. It is not unusual for a painting to take 40 to 80 hours to complete. And that doesn’t count the research that so often accompanies a work of art. I am not complaining, I love what I do. Sometimes I wonder if there is a faster, simpler way to get the same result. So often there are layers and hours of work that in the end are hidden. Was that time wasted? I hope not. I think of it like the layers of our personal lives. So much happens. So much transpires that is never seen on the outside, but those are the things that form the structures, the framework of our lives. (GREAT! I am hearing the theme song for my Grammie Hannan’s favorite soap opera, Days of Our Lives. I did not know I knew the theme song until I type those last few words!)
Migration 6 x 4′
So, you may wonder, what? I think humongo-sized paintings are awesome and work in quite small spaces, but not everyone wants a humongo-sized painting in their space.
A friend shared about a small works sale she did last year after Thanksgiving. I wondered if I was even capable of working small.
I AM CAPABLE OF WORKING SMALL! 
Yesterday 6.5 x 7″
I started the late in the summer and finished up last night just shy of midnight. Working small is like a bag of potato chips, “you can’t eat just one.” I devoured several proverbial bags of chips and I finished over 80 small paintings. My husband cut the matboards for the paintings and as of just shy of midnight Saturday, November 17, 2018 I have three left. David informed me that he will not be cutting any more mats for a while. (If you wonder why the watercolor paintings are not matted, this is why and we will never speak of it again.) Thank you, David, for making these little gems possible.
Hidden in the Shadows 3 x 3″
I wanted to make paintings that would fit into intimate spaces. Paintings that could hold a space for dreams and memories. Maybe a conversation starter. Possibly a respite from a weary world. A harbinger of more. There is so much duplication in the universe. Part of the magic of original art is that it is original. Unique. One of a kind.
Each one of these paintings was loving brought into the world. The decisions per square inch ratio of a small work of art is stunningly more intense than working large. I learned a great deal creating them. My hope was that they would carry that forward with them into the world, the ability to teach.
I have beautiful small things all through my home and studio. Maybe too many small things, but they give me a place to pause and collect my thoughts. I have a collection of glass paperweights. I had one and when Jubilee was little she took an interest and started collecting them.
She lost interest and the collection has made it’s way to my studio windowsill. I love the variety. I love the liquidity of something solid. I love the colors. I love that someone’s breath, someone’s hand, someone’s training, someone’s creativity, someone’s moment in time has traveled through time and space to rest upon my desk and inspire joy.
For me these objects of beauty offer a space for my mind to quiet and my heart to settle and for my spirit to heal and hear.
My goal in creating these small paintings is to hold out the possibility of rest and comfort to be discovered in a small bit of beauty.
For your consideration, The 2018 Holiday Small Works Sale.
Sincerely, Gwen
PS Please sign up for emal blog while you are there. If you do you will be entered for a free small painting giveaway and you will receive a digital access to a painting that is perfect for holiday cards and correspondence.
The work continues.
Some days I would rather paint than attend to life.
Problem-solving is addictive.
the next has begun.
Shallowness.
The work! The work! A calling.
Through social media, I recently reconnected with an elderly artist. Almost seventy years of stellar work. In his late 80s, he continues to create achingly poignant work.
Alone.
It is their journeys that diverged.
You can’t drink from a dry well.
I did not want to stop. Jubilee did not want to go. Niggling at the back of my consciousness were two elderly artists. Life called. The work called. For a few hours I chose to allow life to inform the work. And we had fun.
It takes more discipline than I am usually able to muster to keep first things first. Family. Books. Journaling. Nature.
Never lose perspective…
PS I was reading e.e. cummings and how he diddled with fonts and word placement.I have always loved to diddle with the words and after reading about cummings I am giving myself permission to diddle with the words.I do hope you were more entertained than annoyed. Peace out, Gwen
Dear Ones, Have you noticed how sometimes life is funny? Sometimes it is not. And sometimes it is hard to tell the difference. When I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I just do both. There has been a lot of both as Winter gives way to Spring. Spring tends transition for me. The North Texas winds always stir up something that is best not stepped in.
I have a new HP computer. A RED laptop with a large screen. (Color was the same prices as regular silver! ) IT IS BEAUTIFUL! Things are in different places than I am accustomed to seeing them. I did not realize how well trained I am to a particular screen size. My neck swivels with this screen!
Back to my first world tale of woe.
Saturday, January 27th from 6 to 8 Gallery 414 Artist Reception for Centering Abstraction. A four-person exhibition curated by Barbara Koerble.
Silver and Horsemint, one of my paintings that is in the show. I hope to see you there.
That week Joyce and I wondered what would happen to the friendships of such widely dispersed people held together by this brief annual meeting. Artists and creatives from across the states and around the world. For some of us, this connection kept us going throughout the rest of the lonely year. We wondered and hoped for the best. After 
I was planning on taking the subway, but my hotel was on the way to her’s so it was not an imposition. Besides, the end of something so important is hard and the cab ride extended the event a few more minutes.
To me, they were abstract art gods, names on labels and in books. To Joyce they were friends. Her stories were not about celebrities, but people. Some of these people happened to be celebrities.
The next year at the at the IAM gathering my friend and fellow creative, Ping, and I ran into Joyce in the bathroom. Joyce was important and we were not, but bathrooms are great equalizers so I told Joyce the story of meeting her sister. I had forgotten Sylvia’s name, but Joyce knew who had the book so it was not long before we had all the details sorted out. “You met my sister, Sylvia!” Laughter ensued and we all went to dinner and were fast friends ever after.
e connected on faith. Joyce lived out of her faith. She rubbed elbows with movers and shakers and she was not moved. She was light everywhere she went. She was also tough. I like that combination. My life is brighter for her presence.
Yesterday came the call from Colorado Springs, CO. The connection was bad. I could not understand who was calling. I asked her to call me back on the landline. By the time the caller finally heard all ten numbers the line had cleared. It was Kathi.
Kathi is Joyce’s daughter. She told me her mom had died in September 2015. I tried not to cry, but I cried a little.
Joyce became sick in July and died of cancer in September. Kathi told me that her mom made the most of the time she had left after the diagnosis. Joyce made the most of her time before the diagnosis, too. Her last months were filled with family and friends. Her youngest grandchild heard Joyce give a talk about her vision. (I wonder if this was the grandchild that she was buying the books for when we ran into her in the Strand. (We crossed paths in the Strand two different years. If you are not familiar with the Strand, it would behoove you to look it up.)
Joyce sang in her church choir for decades. Kathi shared that 70 members of the choir came to the house to sing with and for Joyce. They left and she died a half hour later with her family close. It was a good end.
e joys of attending Trinity Episcopal is the consideration of the women in the stories. These women are invited to come forward, to step out from behind the wall and share their stories. Women who have been treated as aside are treated with respect. The women’s stories are not just included, but celebrated.
As I air out my smoky skirt (metaphorical skirt as my only “skirt” is really a pair of billowy pants),and put on my big girl boots and I am getting back to work.
Silly trick. OOOOOOOH.
Our State Fair magician ended with a fine illusion that I thoroughly enjoyed.
Well poop!
The bible commends a childlike heart.
This past year America has entered into times unprecedented in my lifetime.
Regardless of who you voted for …
Yesterday my cousin and I were standing in line to order lunch and an elderly lady behind us was wearing a huge safety pin in her turquoise t-shirt. She told us, “It means I have your back.”