Art in Bloom

"Art in Bloom" is this month; I was lucky to be one of 24 artists selected by juror Michael Sherrill to pair with floral designers, who interpret each art work; the art work will be in the Gallery at Flat Rock until June 11. It's an honor to be a part of this exhibit in a beautifully elegant space. Deedie Springer of Springvine Design will be the floral designer for my painting "New Beginnings" from the Songs of the Earth series.

"Songs of the Earth: New Beginnings", Bonnie Joy Bardos, 48" x 60"

Spring: Paintings & Butterflies

Detail of "Flight" by Bonnie Joy Bardos

The old saying is true: you can't stop spring. Green leaves unfurl amid showers of apple blossoms...pink dogwood ballet, birds singing at lavender dawn. Today, I hauled baskets of painting supplies out to the front porch studio (as I like to call it) and painted. Azaleas, blue sky, breeze, fish pond trickling--my graceful orange friends weaving along the surface. River Dog has a new friend as studio assistant: Pikachu the cat lazes nearby as River snores. You just can't get good help these days! Jokes aside, I love my little helpers. Just having their peaceful companionship adds to the pleasures of life. And painting. This one is a detail of "Flight": I've been working on a series of smaller butterfly paintings as well as others to celebrate the season.

New Beginnings On The Road of Art

"Every morning, even before I open my eyes, I know I am in my bedroom and my bed. But if I go to sleep after lunch in the room where I work, sometimes I wake up with a feeling of childish amazement — why am I myself? What astonishes me, just as it astonishes a child when he becomes aware of his own identity, is the fact of finding myself here, and at this moment, deep in this life and not in any other. What stroke of chance has brought this about? What astonishes me, just as it astonishes a child when he becomes aware of his own identity, is the fact of finding myself here, and at this moment, deep in this life and not in any other." ~ Simone de Beauvoir

Every year, I write a New Year entry to this blog, although I find myself a few days behind on catching up this time around. Years do that, you know. Winter in this old house slows me down to: every winter I fuss and vow to never suffer through another one in the starving artist fashion of hand-warmers, wool socks, layers and layers of clothing. Is it the slower I go, the behinder I get? I remind myself it's OK. Just OK to be here, maybe slower than usual, but grateful to have gotten up one more day, and like Simone de Beauvoir, am astonished at being deep in this life and not in any other. Martha Graham said that there is no one else like you. That's pretty powerful stuff to us creative types. I can't imagine being any other way. Perhaps it's living in between worlds, aware of this physical one, aware of a metaphysical layer. Yesterday as snow covered the earth, branches and light came in the windows, I took a picture of the moment with my smart phone that is smarter than me. Blue winter sky, sparkles, white on dark, ripples. Layers of things to watch, learn, ponder. Life goes on...

December: Thoughts & Journeys

Photo: Teaching myself Instagram...bit by bit.

Winter white glistens each morning now--although autumn's leaves were slow to fall this year; clinging to branches in crimson, scarlet, tangerine, russet. As ever, my paint colors reflect life all around; nature the eternal muse. The outer world shouts, roils, thumps at my door: yet day after day, I return to the paints, colors, images upon the canvas and find all the answers there. As ever, that's what artists do: in order to make sense (if anything can) of the world in their own way. I teach myself life (and Instagram) bit by bit. Below, a painting detail of a piece I've been working on, from the Lone Boat series I started years ago. This one has many layers, and the more I've worked on it, the more the depths and mysteries within delight something within my being. This is the first round.

Painting: detail of "Lone Boat" series, a work in progress

Update: here's the finished painting.

Almost too late to walk in the woods, but I did,
anyway. And stepping aside for a moment
from the shadowy path to enter
darker shadow, a favorite circle of fir trees,
received a gift from the dusk:

a small owl, not affrighted, merely
moving deliberately
to a branch a few feet
further from me, looked
full at me—a long regard,
steady, acknowledging, unbiased.

~ Denise Levertov, "Creature to Creature"

Finally, I just have to stick a photo of me and River dog here. He turns 5 this Christmas: I adopted him from Shar-Pei rescue when he was 6 months old and had to have an eye removed. When we drove home from Raleigh, he put that sweet little snout on my arm and it was love. The best studio assistant, he paints with me outside in warm months, inside during the cold. Usually, he's snoring or basking in the sun while I do the work. That's my boy! Dogs don't worry like we humans do. Maybe a bit of worry over what'll be in the dinner bowl, but around here there's always something in my sweet boy's bowl. Always. As this year winds down, I stand back to count my blessings. Paint, dog, roof, old truck. Good friends. Thank you for reading this blog, and may you always find some pearl within.

Late Summer Paintings

Into the Sunset, 12" x 36", Bonnie Joy Bardos

'My head is bursting with the joy of the unknown. My heart is expanding a thousand fold.' ~ Rumi

Outside the study window, old stained glass glowing blue, rose, gold in filtered light, millions of rain drops fall from a pearl gray sky. Endlessly--enough where the poor dog can't get out to bask in afternoon sun, I can't paint out on the front porch studio, and the basement in this old house is full of those very same drops. Maybe billions of them. The yard turns to wild jungle, no mower will go forth bravely into it this day. And to paraphrase Macbeth, nor tomorrow, or tomorrow or tomorrow either for that matter.

My work is influenced by what's happening right now. If I'm writing a newspaper column, I don't have a set plan for it, more like a go with the flow kind of deal: the biggest thing I'll do is scribble an idea on scrap paper to remind myself that it's an "Ah HA! idea". So, I just sit and write about what ever has come up that very day and make a little tale a big lesson. Usually the paper ends up getting their money's worth for my two cents of thought.

For this painting, sunset, season, and sky influence the colors. I can only paint what I love and how I feel: it's never about an actual place: I leave that for others to do. That's not my bag, not my scene. The metaphysical always has intrigued me, those delicious mysteries I can't see, only know. Sort of like filtered light through the stained glass. Perhaps I've been reading too much Alice Hoffman. Maybe I'll read more....

Late Summer Art & Magic

( Photos: Love people who buy art and support living artists! New paintings from the outside summertime studio)

It's August. And it's H-O-T. Mornings, (after coffee on the porch swing) I paint outside on the front porch, my 'studio' surrounded with wisteria vines dripping, butterflies, hummingbirds, and life. And mosquitoes. I just can't paint inside when the sun's out, flowers are blooming, and life is full and green. Sweat rolls off my face, into the paint. Mercy, I think. It's HOT! It is. Such is life of an artist: paint when and where you can.

There's not always air-conditioned comfort or lunch prepared for noon. Uh uh. Not happenin'. Oh yes, there are days when I wish, wish, wish that lunch would just magically appear in front of me, ready to enjoy. Uh uh. Usually on a muggy summer day, by that time, I'm ready to head inside with River dog leading the way. We stand at the refrigerator, door open: wishing for that Magic Lunch to appear. Still, I'm grateful, here I've had a morning of good work with brushes, fingers, sponges dipped in color. Things happen. It's always magical, and part of the journey. In a few months, I'll be whining about freezing to death in this old house of mine. Still I'll be at it inside, at the kitchen easel, out in afternoon sunshine when brief respite warms the day up enough, and flinging paint. Working on sculpture. There's a long-time pattern to this, one that says keep going, keep going, keep going. Make art while you're here.

So far, this has been one of my best art years: I still haven't had to go get a side job as bag-boy at the grocery store. Or beg friends to save me from the abyss: artists don't tend to own a lot (if any) stock, live rich, or think like bankers do. I don't. I have no stock, retirement, or silver spoon. No one's ever left me a trust or legacy. I'm it. So far, the dog gets fed, I try to get fed, buy a few plants for the garden and pay my bills. The mortgage payment looms monthly, but there we go, keepin' on. Thank you, universe. Gratitude never fades.

Songs of the Earth: Ode to Joy

The Songs of the Earth series features paintings inspired by spring. All winter, I painted large canvases, even on days when paint froze and light was dim. These works are filled with joy, color, delight in the Earth and all her beauty.

"Ode to Joy" from Songs of the Earth, Bonnie Joy Bardos, 48" x 60"

Poppies bloom, branches, vines, fruit, fiddlehead ferns and stalks of flower pods emerge. Lotuses spike from water, circles of life and line float. Bamboo shoots, bees, butterflies, birds, tree frogs, words appear magically. Some works feature Moon Hare and haloed birds. They're all connected: as we are--to Mother Earth. Themes of my long time love of Jungian symbology intertwine.

Thanks to a Regional Artist Project grant from the Arts Council of Henderson County, in cooperation with the North Carolina Arts Council (a division of the Dept. of Cultural Resources) and the Tryon Fine Arts Center, etc. I was able to purchase several 48" x 60" canvases for the series "Songs of the Earth". I hope the gratitude I feel for this and life shines through.

December Painting & Musings

"I am the product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books." ~ C.S. Lewis

This is a new painting I started last week when outside on an unseasonably warm (over 50 degrees) Saturday afternoon here in the mountains. Yes, I completely missed our small town's local holiday tailgate market. Sometimes the life of an artist diverts and darts down narrow side paths: good intentions turn into other kinds of good intentions. While I'm sure the tailgate market did just fine without me, I missed the socializing and stocking up on cold weather vegetables and goodies. Perhaps when the muse is upon us, we just have to go with it. I keep going, muse or not. Sometimes art itself is the muse, perhaps! Sometimes it's those empty sunlit rooms, solitude, wind under the tiles. And endless books. O, muse, you have many faces.

This month, I'll have informal open studio Saturdays, weather permitting, from 1-3 p.m.; although it's always a wise idea to call ahead. Just in case the muse has called me to the tailgate market. Happy Holidays from River dog and me to you.

September Musings

The light passes
from ridge to ridge,
from flower to flower—
the hepaticas, wide-spread
under the light
grow faint—
the petals reach inward,
the blue tips bend
toward the bluer heart ~ excerpt from "Evening" by H.D.

Painting: Evening Gold: 20" x 30", Bonnie Joy Bardos

**I thank Golden Paints for their generous supply of Golden Acrylic mediums and paints in conjunction with their Artist Seconds Program. For years, I've belonged to this program for working artists, and benefited immensely from being able to obtain a wonderful array of various materials they've shared.**

September Musings

'With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen pictures and some books, I live without envy.' ~ Lope de Vega

Early September brings long days outside, painting on new pieces for the upcoming studio tour this month. As ever, I've got several paintings in progress, a sculpture that I'm wanting desperately to start putting together, and a million other things on the 'to do' list. Around here, the art comes first. Well, actually the dog does. Then the art. Stick in some gardening time, and a moment to rest with a book, and it's a fine day. Yesterday, I painted all day long into late evening, until there was no steam left. By the time sunset came, I was wondering what normal lives are like.


'Tis true artists follow a different path; however, there's got to be time to sit down and be in a soft September evening, blue dreams peeking through the golden light setting in the west. A Neil Gaiman book to pick up for a few minutes. Flowers in a glass jar. Watching how light streams through 100-year-old stained glass, painting a lavender pink on an old white mantel.

Art Trek of the Foothills sponsored by Upstairs Artspace, a non-profit arts organization, will be September 19-20; with a preview party Friday, September 18, 5-8 p.m. at the gallery, 49 S. Trade Street, Tryon, NC. Maps to area artists' studios available. Free and open to the public!

The Unfurling of Spring

Painting outside on the front porch studio this day with River dog sprawled underfoot as shimmering goldfish swim lazily nearby under trickling water...all around, the essence of spring! Lilacs open, pink dogwood unfurls her blossoms. I borrow one of her branches to bring up to the porch as inspiration. In a magical moment, I look down at the work table and see a painting within the painting, so snap this picture of paints, flowers, canvas, brush, all making a beautiful composition of imperfect delight. Still working on this large canvas which is composed of many layers and textures, resembling a luscious silk remnant: poison oak (itch itch itch) on hands makes it a little tougher to work, but nothing stops spring. And painting.

New Journey: Paint What You Are

“Every good painter paints what he is.” Jackson Pollock

Spring is brushing the earth, promising an end to winter this month. As ever, on sunny days with blue sky, I'm outside with dog underfoot and brushes in hand, working on new paintings, going back to old ones and sending them on a new journey. Yesterday, I started two small figurative pieces, managing to get oil paint on my cheek and clothes at the same stroke. An artist just smiles and goes on. What's a little paint? In between that, I work just a bit more on a horse sculpture, getting a hoof 'just so', the piece is full of life and vibrancy. To me, whether art is a reflective quiet piece, or loud and bright, it should sing to the artist, the viewer, to radiate prisms, light, life. Jackson Pollock is right on: paint what you are. This painting of trees, sky, and moon is 10" x 10", oil, and one of those older pieces that got renewed and sent on a new journey. I do that to myself too: paint on cheek!

Floating Above: New Paintings

“Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled—
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.” ~ Mary Oliver

Winter sun filters afternoon rainbows through old glass windows and lace curtains into my old house's kitchen. On the kitchen easel, near French doors, I work on a new painting "Alter Ego": she was just started today, outside on the back deck before I had to come in due to cold. At this time of day, rainbows, sunbeams and light dance radiant throughout the room, paintings catch the light, maybe wishing to float above this world. I can glimpse light through layers of paint, down to the original gold gesso. It's one of those magic transcendent moments...beautiful, magical, fleeting. Life's like that, isn't it? Some days, some years we get that magic. It serves to pull us along when the nights are dark. It's a reminder that spring does come.

Letting Light In: Musings

"Forget your perfect offering/There is a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in..." Leonard Cohen sang. Amen, Leonard, amen. In the making of art, let there be the delicious serendipity of imperfections, of flaw and flow. When you learn to truly 'see' and feel another human being, a work of art, a song...you see with new eyes. Flaws are something we all have, yes. But when you see the light, your heart, your mind, your soul expand to new heights, endless journeys and paths. As an artist, I choose not to concentrate on every tiny detail.

My work is not intended to be perfect, nor do I want it to be. It's my job to open minds up, to let others know it's ok to be flawed, to be wonderful just as you are. Art is like that. Life is like that. Like ourselves, when we focus on what's wrong with something, that's all we can think about. We put limitations not only on ourselves, but those around us. Celebrate what is different, flawed, and yet sparkles. See that beauty.

This painting is almost done. She's very imperfect, and I'll refine her just a bit more before yelling "FINISHED!" However, I love her bright colors, the symbolism of birds, flowers, life...her expression. The tenderness, the contented self, the whole essence of her spirit. Instead of seeing her flaws I see her light. She creates a glow, a good vibe. I'm not seeing her nose is a bit crooked, hair out of place, or such. The essence: that's what the artist perceives and is driven to present whether in song, paint, music, sculpture, writing: the ESSENCE. Isn't that what truly matters?

Silver Ribbons of a New Year, New Art

"We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room,
drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched.
Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through
the rooms of our lives. . . not looking for flaws, but for potential."
~ Ellen Goodman

Here it is, another new year on silver ribbons of fresh beginnings. Even in early January, to celebrate new beginnings, I walk outside on a chill winter afternoon with River dog to gather forsythia and sweet almond branches to bring inside, to force into early bloom. This is my yearly ritual. Just having those winter branches in the house signifies the sweetness of life waiting to burst into color.

This year, I intend to walk through my rooms, both literal and symbolic: through the weathered plastered walls that crack and bear coats of paint along with wallpaper of yesteryear. Like me, those rooms have continued to stand, despite the passing of days, months, years. They're beautiful, reminiscent of vintage Italian or French estates worn by time and life. I go on, turning a new page, another brush, another painting idea. This year, I'll work even more on my latest series "Songs of the Earth". These sing to me these days, an ode to joy, turning toward home.

Holiday Open Studio

The winter solstice arrives in a few days, yet today there was a respite in the numbing cold here in the mountains. By afternoon I was able to paint outdoors this afternoon: sunshine and River keeping me company on the back deck--if I can get outside to create art, everything falls in place in my universe, at least for a short time. This piece is evolving; as ever, I don't know where it'll take me, but I just stand there and paint the world away, letting colors flow and images appear, listening to birds as River basks in the sun. It's not exactly what you'd call 'normal' art, but that appeals to me even more: I like it so far! It evokes primal swamps, long-forgotten memories, the beginning of time: it'll belong in my "Esto Perpetua" series when done.

This Saturday, December 20, I'll have a holiday Open Studio here at my Art House from 5-8 p.m. Evening is a perfect time to enjoy all the glowing lights and art. This will be my last open studio this year. Free and open to the public!

"Songs of the Earth": New Paintings

These panels depict the magic of Mother Earth: seed pods, cattails, lilies, fiddle-head ferns, berries, sky, water, vines...more...do you hear the songs? This new work consists of three panels, 24" x 24" each, and can be hung with all three together, as two, or even one in the same room. All part of the series, "Songs of the Earth", this series will continue to expand and bloom, even in fall, winter. While these colors seem very summery, on a fall day with the golden leaves outside, they're beautiful! As ever, I fall in love with each painting I do, they're like my children, but intended to set forth into the world when I've finished the work of creating them!

November Musings: The Artist's Life

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.” ~ Martha Graham

My blog post for November is inspired by an artist friend of mine, Carol Beth Icard, who has a link on this blog site (please visit her transcendent work) along with a quote by Martha Graham. As artists, we tend to question our worth in this world according to how much art we sell, how others react to it, how many galleries we're in--it's brutal out there. Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron reminds us that our job is “come as you are.” Over and over, through the years I've done this blog, I've spoken of how tough it is to make your way through this world as an artist: to stay true to self and soul, to keep on going even when your work may not be selling like hotcakes, when no one is knocking on your door to buy. To come as you are.

Yes, there are weeks and months when I wonder if I'll ever buy another bag of groceries, pay my old-house propane bill or make ends meet. Over the past decade, I have learned to find gratitude for my struggles along 'the path' of art making and creation, for the words I write. I don't do what I do to make money--that isn't the driving force, nor do I want it to be. But let's face it, this is the real world, where you need something in your billfold to get through. Somehow, every time I question myself and think I'm going to fall, something happens. A show, a sale, a commission, or someone out there in the world who discovers my work and gives me the gift of their belief and joy in what I've created, the pouring out of soul onto the page or canvas, or in a sculpture. A couple years ago, an art supporter who had just chosen several pieces pointed out to me "No one does it like YOU do." We all need to get those reminders to keep those channels open, to express our unique gifts.

Daily, I'm at it: again the old Zen saying comes into play: chop wood; carry water. Chop wood, carry water. The drum beat grows louder in my soul: time ticks loudly, and I remain ever resolute about carrying on, despite the weight of the water bucket. Or in my case, the paint bucket! On we go, amid the noise and haste (Desiderata) carrying our water, chopping the wood. I hope someone sees that sparkle on the water: for it's what gives us all life. Think about it. Buy art, not knock-off art from China: buy from an artist you know, or like. Keep on feeding their spirit, their physical body. Keep them going.

Thoughts & Art

“I think sometimes about old painters—they get so simple in their means. Just so plain and simple. Because they know they haven’t got time. One is aware of this as one gets older. You can’t waste time.” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

Here in the mountains, fall leaves flutter quietly to earth, scattering across yards, blue sky and flocks of birds overhead. Life changes all around, a reminder of the time we're here on the planet. Mornings, I go out to the front garden to pull ivy, a most thankless task, yet Zen-like in its approach: chop wood. Carry water. Chop wood. Carry water. Then after a warm-up, I paint: either on the front porch 'studio', or on the back deck. These days, I'm very aware of the passing of time, the shortness of it all: and find myself terribly grateful of heart that I'm here, one more day. This is a rocky path I've chosen, but there is no other: there is light in my heart from the creating of art, of words. I hope others find it along the way.

In a few days, I pack River dog up in my old VW and head down to Tybee Island--books, t-shirts, paints will be coming along for the ride. Sometimes it's good to renew one's spirit, to go forth to the sea--to walk in sand and look at the vast stretch of endless ocean and sky. You can't waste time. While here, chop wood; carry water.

What Starts A Series of Paintings: Thoughts, Music, Nature...

This painting is one of a series I started last year: after finishing one, another appeared, and another...by the second round I knew this would be a series, indeed. That's how it happens: one thing leads to another and I just follow. To start, the first one evolved from a large painting constructed of two big canvases, attached together permanently, the largest one 5' x 7'. As any artist can tell you, nothing is ever finished, even when it is. So, one day, I took the big piece down from the wall, took a box cutter and cut. I completely demolished the back painting, although I kept the stretcher and pieces of the canvas for future work. “Every so often, a painter has to destroy painting. Cezanne did it, Picasso did it with Cubism. Then Pollock did it. He busted our idea of a picture all to hell. Then there could be new paintings again.” ~ Willem De Kooning The other canvas was taken outdoors and treated with gesso in some areas, paints, and completely underwent a major renovation, a rebirth. An artist friend had given me a CD called "Praises To the World"...the music flowed through me in color, in blue sky, blooming poppies, pink honeysuckle, mountain ferns: all things of spring and summer around, a halo, a state of grace. By that time, I was so enchanted with the idea of paintings, songs to the earth, of praise of all the life surrounding my place in the world, the thought of making a new series seemed right. And so it was. Here's my second painting from "Songs To The Earth" (30" x 60")...full of the world I see and feel, full of praise and life, a homage to Nature, her beauty and much symbolism floating in cattails, lotus, honeysuckle, seed pods, ferns, water, air... Currently, this painting is on display at Upstairs Artspace, part of the proceeds will benefit the Upstairs, a non-profit arts organization that promotes contemporary art in a beautiful space.
As of this afternoon, I've started another song painting, this one is 48" x 72". Flinging paint, mixing color, it becomes a part of the song. Earlier, someone was here and asked me how can I do the 'same thing every day'. Naturally, puzzled me had to correct that notion! How can I not make art? How can I be confined to a cubicle, an office I asked her. Some are happy in that. I may not leave the house/studio for days, but I'm filled with life energy, eager to begin, to paint, to sculpt or write. It fills me up, overflows.To an artist, every day is different. There are new paths, new colors, new notes in the song: whether we're singing it, writing it, painting it. (sold)