A Day In The Life: Artist At Work

My search bar reads "between custard and ice cream" but that couldn't possibly have anything to do with art, could it? Maybe it does. Maybe. A day of painting is perhaps, to an artist, like the smoothness of custard and ice cream. Rich, full, soothing. Yet, a day of painting is *hard* work too. All day, I worked outside on my front porch studio, on my feet standing. It rained, the sun came out, it rained some more. Breezes drifted. Heat settled. My glasses fogged up. The feet hurt. Stop! Stop, they cried. The dog snoozed near them. As I usually remind 'normal' folks who actually might read this blog, artists work hard. It's not our 'hobby'. Or worse yet, the age old question...."How do you REALLY make a living?" I've heard it all, as well as any artist that ever has existed. Rembrandt probably heard it. An artist is at work, whether there's a paycheck involved or not.

One of the many stages of this piece. I *love* this, but took the orange bit at the top out, then kept going. I believe this would have been a great abstract finished painting, though!

This week, I told the dog and cat they at least have food, so that's good. We like to eat around here. It's not an easy existence, but when you do what you were born to do, somehow you find your way. The universe is listening, and someone out there's going to find your art. Annie Dillard writes: "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern."

I thought you might like to see the journey of a painting, along with what I did today: on a rainy/sunny/August day. Yes, my feet still hurt, the dog is still near them: we're inside now at the computer screen while I take a break to sit down and share this with you. The life of an artist.

Painting in the rain.

By now, this piece must have 50 layers. Some get removed, some added to. It's symbolic of life. It's taking a new direction, isn't it?

This is the painting in its most recent stage, it of course belongs to my long-time series "Esto Perpetua", yet feels different. This one is titled "Time of Mist: All is Not Lost". Right now, it's going to dry for a few weeks before I decide "Finished!" or keep going. I let paintings lead me. All is not lost....I keep looking at the abstract version I like so much, yet I love this too! It'll happen. The universe will speak. And I'll keep on painting. Tired feet and all, the dog near by.

And that is a day in the painting life.

Meanderings & The Painting Life

"Solace I", Bonnie Joy Bardos

“It’s a serious thing, just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

~ Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Late summer days in the mountains flow with cicada song, peepers, long blue shadows promising fall ahead. Every morning I'm outside on the front porch studio, working on new paintings and listening to the fish pond trickle, River dog snoozing nearby, and bird song. Now and then someone strolls by and wishes me a good morning. Last week, I hauled a large sculpture outside and worked all day on her for a juried show that opens tomorrow night. Named "Walela (Spirit Guide)" (Cherokee for hummingbird), she's made of fired clay, metal, copper wire, fiber, and much more...along with natural branches and wood pedestal. Walela consists of many found objects and recycled media.

Update: "Walela" won 2nd Place in 3-D Art for the Arts Council of Hendersonville's Annual Bring Us Your Best exhibit, as well as winning "One Planet/One World" award presented by the Hendersonville Unitarian Universalist Fellowship for "the artwork which best represents a world community that recognizes the inherent worth and dignity of all beings, and the oneness and interdependence of all life." This means the world to me--and what an honor for both awards. I'm so grateful that I drove over through Flat Rock, past the Carl Sandburg farm and on to the UU service today and took a heart-felt note of gratitude for their support and appreciation of the arts.

A painting I worked on became a road trip back to the '60's....a Nash-Rambler station wagon, forest, and the iconic picnic table alongside the winding road. All summer, art projects have been in the works: all influenced by the turn of earth and slant of sun, the soft dog ears under my hand. Butterflies that flit, hummingbirds that zoom to the nearby feeders....one more year I stand at my work table and easel, observing and putting it all into the story I'm painting. Life for an artist goes on on those August summer days...

In late September, my house/studio will be on Art Trek Open Studios, sponsored by Upstairs Artspace. I've done this event every year, and will be at it once again! Mark your calendars for the weekend of September 30 and Oct. 1. A preview party featuring all participating artists will be September 29, 5-7 p.m. at Upstairs Artspace, 49 S. Trade, Tryon NC.

"Road Trip II, Bonnie Joy Bardos)

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.

November: Changes of Life & Art

"Storm Warning", 12" x 24", Bonnie Joy Bardos


“...it is a serious thing
just to be alive on this fresh morning
in this broken world.” ~ Mary Oliver

November has arrived, the month that quivers between fall and winter. Here in the mountains of North Carolina, we've had an Indian summer with a long dry spell, warm days, golden leaves. I bought large pots of marked-down jeweled plum chrysanthemums from a garden center, hauled them home in the truck's front seat and plopped the big pots on the front porch. Luckily, because the weather has been dry, warm, bearable: I've been able to extend painting time on the front porch, rather than having to move paints, tables, easels back inside for winter. Yes, I know. It's coming!

The mums rode home up front with me: the seat overflowing with color and spicy scents, the overhead drive home filled with gold, crimson, blue; corn stalks low in dusty fields, a reminder of long-ago childhoods. All things change, as does life, art, our perceptions of things. Yet, truth remains the same. Something to think about.

Here is a new painting, still in progress, but nearly completed...inspired by colors from a fall day, the hint of a storm on the horizon. Shades of lush plums, blues, and images live in those endless depths. Like the changing sea, skies overhead hold multitudes. And, so do we.

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....

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.

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!

Late Summer Paintings

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

"Vita", one of the new paintings I just delivered to Skyuka Fine Art gallery! It has shades of delicious electric blue, greens, golds, and other jewel tones: plus many layers which gives rich depth.

New Work: Spring Paintings

The painting life continues around here: I prefer to do most of my sculpture and painting outside. Today, wisteria drips in sensual green rivers from the old porch eaves, sweet garden roses and peonies bend, pink petals kissing sunlight. Bees hum, hummingbirds visit, River dog snoozes happily in the warm sun, sprawled on porch steps close by. The fish pond trickles quietly over moss and stone, shaded by a Japanese maple. I finish a large landscape of mountains and water, then work on smaller pieces for the June open studio tour in a month. Next, I cut a painting off a stretcher, with the intent of making it smaller: it's a great piece...one of my goddess series. My hands itch to be working on new sculptures, the wheels are continually turning on ideas for future pieces. This painting is almost finished, I think: I love the delicious rich color, the seeming simplicity. Life goes on under the blue sky.

New Paintings

On the cusp of winter and spring, weather changes daily here in the mountains from sweet tender-green promises to silver ice. Today is cold, ice on the front porch steps. Too cold to paint, I write a newspaper column, but long to be outside picking daffodils, those sunshine spirits that make the heart glad. This is a larger painting I've worked on over the past month, on and off as weather permits, along with other even larger paintings. Slowly, they evolve, taking a life on of their own.
“Winter? Spring? Who knows?
White buds from the plumtrees wing
And mingle with the snows.
No blue skies these flowers bring,
Yet their fragrance augurs Spring.”

~ excerpt from 'Tanka' by Sadakichi Hartmann

The Turning of Seasons: New Paintings

Sometimes in late summer I won't touch anything, not
the flower, not the blackberries
brimming in the thickets; I won't drink
from the pond; I won't name the birds or the trees;
I won't whisper my own name.

One morning
the fox came down the hill, glittering and confident,
and didn't see me— and I thought:

so this is the world
I'm not in it.
It is beautiful.

—Excerpt from October
Mary Oliver, New and Collected Poems, Beacon Press 1992

...so many times I've thought these very thoughts while observing all that is around me, just being in the world, feeling life brush against my cheek. Life goes on, all around: fall brings changes in colors of leaves, whispers of frost, turning thoughts in the heart. Over the weekend I worked on finishing up a couple of new paintings; as the weather grows colder, I'll have to move my paints inside. When leaves are gold and scarlet, sky blue, sun out, I'll be back outside with paint brushes!

Art Trek: Open Studio Tour April 27-28

"This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green, wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes, thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes. I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration, faces of people streaming across my gaze. And I, what fountain of fire am I among this leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed about like a shadow buffeted in the throng of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost." ~ D.H. Lawrence, The Enkindled Spring This painting will be one of many I'll have at my home studio at the "Art House" for the upcoming Art Trek Tryon open studio event. I'll have work on display also at the Upstairs Artspace gallery during the tour and for the month of May.

April: Open Studio & Art Trek

"I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes." ~e.e. cummings ...Spring whispers on April breezes here in the mountains: ready to shuck the vestiges of winter off, I paint outside on those precious sunny afternoons. Soon, it'll be warm enough to work on clay/sculpture projects again. Hyacinths peek out, and of course, I have to bring one or two inside to the kitchen window. I cannot tell you how much those little gifts of nature mean. For the month of April, I'll have open studio Saturdays here at the Art House from 1-3 p.m. Other times by appointment. On April 27-28, I'll also be in the Art Trek Tryon open studio tour: over 35 area artists will be participating. A gallery show at the Upstairs Artspace featuring us will open with a preview party on April 26, from 5-8. Please come!