Talking With My Hands

Without photos of my work to illustrate my point, I am helpless. Why post words from an artist (still not sure of the type) without something to look at? I always read story books with the goal of getting to the next illustration as a child. Now magazines are my guilty pleasure.
I have deadlines looming, being the beginning of the 'season' here in Vermont. Lots of art popping up along with gardens and baby animals. More time spent in the shop and at the easel than at the computer or outside. Here is the status of the mermaid rain barrel. (You can read the last post for her back story.)

3/4 view of the pickle, er, rain barrel in process.    

©robinrkent

She needs to put her face on. Then some makeup. My mother used to say 'A little powder and paint makes a girl what she ain't.'

And the smell of pickled peppers (banana peppers I'd guess) when you unscrew her lid is devine. Makes you want to order a pizza.

I always start from black, so it's hard to see here, but by the end of the day, I should have her looking more photogenic and ready for her closeup. A nice flowing of mermaid hair would help as well. Will have to scout for just the right screen in the barn upstairs. Buttons for jewelry, etc, will be the final touches.

And that's a good thing: I'll have another post coming right up!

Chapter 2, Fairy Tales

I've always been attracted to eastern European and Russian illustration. Must be from the connection to fairy tale illustrations, a childhood highlight. East of the Sun, West of the Moon, The Good Master, Andersen's Fairy Tales are among my favorites. And all that art originated from this locale. 

Detail from my Andersen's fairy tales cover

They were familiar but other worldly. I wanted the back story, not necessarily the fairy tale. 
When I enlarged and turned this cover illustration around, the illustrator had written:
'[Miss] Catherine Elizabeth, my darling grand daughter with love dedicate these kind and gentle fairy tales of the kind and gentle people of Denmark. Arthur Szyk N.Y. 1944' 
Interesting that 'kind and gentle' appears twice. He was born in Poland 1894, and died in Connecticut 1951, Surrounded by wars and unrest all his life, he kept painting.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Szyk 

Folk Art Diary: Time Check

'Cat on the Tablecloth' Acrylic on boards

©robin r kent

Falling into the new season. Such a color-rich, earthy, mournful season. And often taken for granted. You can look past it, down the time tunnel, and into the new year.

It's the beginning of the annual art crunch. One seasonal clock tick closer to the mother of all deadlines. Sometimes winter is too long; fall is always too short. And it comes with an extra long 'to do' list.

Paintings and sculpture deserve much time now. I have a list of projects promised to be finished before year's end. And the clock doesn't do the 'fall back' trick until early November. Even though it's a 'free' hour, it's too far away.

The cats sense the change as well. The windows they sit in are now sometimes closed. What a surprise for them to find that out mid-air. All those rustling leaves just might be hordes of tiny wildlife on the other side of the screen door.
They keep tabs on the time frames for daily routines. I'm sure they wear wristwatches under their furry sleeves. They know when dinner is expected, to the minute. Maybe it's stop watches they wear instead. I never need an alarm clock. That's their job.

Folk Art Diary: Timing is Everything

'Waiting for a Bite'  acrylic on antique boards

©robin r kent

If there's one phrase I'd use to sum up my life, I'd say it's 'timing is everything.'
As I get older, I find myself using that as the final adage to every story, experience, lesson I've come across, first hand or not. It always fits.
I never was particularly aware of timing when I was younger. I'd get lost in something that captured my attention and have no recollection of how long I'd dwell on it.  Cool early mornings in summer, fishing on the lake with my parents. Watching the red and white bobber drift for what seemed hours. Hoping for a bite, if the time was right.
As a teenager, I remember holding on to my friend's pocketbook as we walked through an art show or museum because if I let go, I'd be unable to keep pace. I easily fell into visual quicksand. Loved looking at art. It just felt right being there.
As an an art director, I watched as the copywriter had a new computer installed. This was the beginning of desktop publishing's glory days. That one computer could do things the whole production department took hours to do. The days of 'cut and paste' in galley form were numbered. But I couldn't get the hang of it. We didn't think of layout the same way. Who could blame it?  Written in code... not the way I approach design. And it wasn't about to budge. Almost a karmic 'your time is up' for many of us oldstyle tradespeople. The world had shifted again into another time*.
So I was forced back to my fine art roots. Always a good place of retreat. Maybe it was a rebound way onto the path of creating folk art for the years since. All I know is the timing was right.
Do you find things more easy or difficult depending on the timing? Do you see the ebb and flow of events run through your life? Many divergent factors joining together at the same time?

*Finally got the jist of photoshop last year.  Just had to wait for the timing to be right.