Just finished this dreamy frame for an upcoming portrait.
Today I’m finally getting back to Weeping Sunflowers. Hoping to finish today and offer it for sale … need some seed money for printing and mailing the posters. Planning to post it on FB and explain … it might work out ok.
Funny thing about Facebook — they have adopted me. Well, sort of. The newly created biz page, Studio C Shute performed fairly well right out of the box. I was a bit surprised, but not entirely. There’s a buzz of destiny in the air … for the whole world in our mythological conquest of good over evil. And I’m fully in the flow. FB said I qualify for a “special program” … pretty sure that’s code for “clueless sixty-somethings doing tech” … but hey! … I’ll take it. They spent hours on the phone with me yesterday consulting.
I remember those years studying with Ben Long we’d sweep the studio every morning before work — an act of reverence for the tradition of our Florentine School. Now: sweep the studio … then back to my one true love — painting.
Here is a picture of my studio this morning. I start work about 10:00 when the sun steadies up for the day. It’s not 10 yet so I’m doing this instead. Before I begin, I’ll light the candles in the fireplace. Then I will paint.
I read an opinion piece recently called (I think) “Mike Pence is No Profile in Courage”. I read it for a laugh … duh! … whoever thought he was! But I understand his heroism in a different way now. Yes, he was trump’s lapdog, fully ensconced in the alternate reality of his maga world. But as I examine things this morning, that’s precisely what makes his One Great Act all the greater. Aren’t we ALL fully engaged in the reality of our own world-bubbles? So to shatter, and expand beyond our own world-bubbles — well, that actually sounds like a real, authentic Profile In Courage to me. (Or, as I prefer to think of it, a Profile in Faith.)
So I’ve been painting these Ukraine paintings. I realize now, thinking of time as a landscape instead of a vector, that I’ve been engaged in this work for a while. Circling around it in the dark. Of course, thinking in clock time, I did start the Stripes series way before Putin invaded Ukraine. And as I have written, the little blood spattered Stripe painting was a complete mystery to me at the time. The instant I realized what Putin was planning all the dots connected. The entire landscape emerged from darkness and dust. Of course there was no question what I was supposed to do: the ultimate act — to create. The ultimate act of an artist — to light a candle in a dark room.
So I did these paintings. And as exposure for “Need Ammunition, Not a Ride” rose into the thousands, I decided this light should be brighter. (Plus friends have been asking me for prints.)
Then I got hacked. Russians I’m guessing … not going into the details here. And I started to feel a different kind of fear. When I told friends working with me on the print/poster project, they dropped out. I completely understand, of course. In one (material) reading of reality, they have a lot more to lose than I do.
But every time I leave my house I say a prayer. (There are some extremist in my geographic world, and they have expressed their disfavor with my life.) I pray not that they won’t burn my house down while I’m away … not that. I pray that they will let the pets out first.
So I’ll keep working on this. Lighting candles.
My teacher told me this day was coming.
This unfinished piece is the third in the Stripes series (“Russian Warship” and “I Need Ammunition, Not a Ride” are the first and second). This painting is my prayer for Ukraine, and unsurprisingly, the overarching metaphor is salvation. Like Gauguin’s “Vision After the Sermon”, the picture is divided into two sections — the lower represents the material world, and upper is the realm of the divine. In Weeping Sunflowers the background has yellow and blue stripes, bounded by red. The darkened, blood spattered lower area has two crouching flowers … weeping … and also bowed in prayer. The bottom flower has two very droopy leaves, suggesting the end is near. The vase looks like an urn, earthy and blood-soaked. The lilies, signifying rebirth and regeneration, kind of glow, and illuminate the upper portion of the composition. The central, heavenward facing sunflower is renewed by the light …. its leaning stem has taken a turn upward. The frame, integrated into the composition represents fire. I’ve included my usual Biblical numerology — twelve stripes, seven lilies (two on the cusp of opening), and three sunflowers.
Really hoping I can finish this tomorrow. Not sure what’s next.
A month or so ago I gave in to the inexplicable urge to paint yellow and blue stripes on a small canvas. When those dried, again inexplicably … I dropped blood (red paint) on top of the stripes. It made no sense at all to me then. But it does now. God save Ukraine.
Well, back upstairs to the attic studio for the winter … and the insanely cozy winter bedroom. Why is it that attic apartments feel so …. magically elevated. Just finishing my commissions for this season. The rest of the year is mine … have all sorts of adventures planned for the studio this winter.
One of the first skills one must learn as a researcher and as an artist is to actually see … to observe without bias or judgement. That’s no small task.
I have always assumed that Alia Atredes, alpha-girl, would never welcome a new kitten to the family. Assumptions often harbor biases which can lead us astray. So it is with baby Chani. When I first brought the tiny feral creature home, I was a bit worried about Alia’s reaction. But here’s how it went: when I put the nervous, shaking baby in her kitchen corner sweater-nest, Alia stared at her wide-eyed. I had positioned myself to quickly sweep up the baby if Alia threatened. But she didn’t … I could almost feel her concern for the terrified creature. Alia walked over, encircled the baby with her body, wrapped her arms around Chani’s tiny head, and began to wash her. They purred. I was astonished. Spellbound. This reaction was so unexpected, I could barely catch my breath. Finally Alia looked up at me dismissively and said, “I’ll take it from here.”
I live in a tiny village in rural South Carolina, and absolutely love it here. Let’s get that straight.
This past Halloween evening I was sitting out on my front porch, the light on,` with my friend Dean and a big bag of candy. The village kids were OUT, and it was such a compete joy to see them. There is no sweeter music in the world than the sound of happy children.
One neighbor, a man I don’t know, climbed the stairs on to the porch with a darling pre-teen girl dressed as an astronaut. As a big NASA fan, I greeted her warmly. The man kinda smiled, spoke much louder than necessary, and said he wanted her to take the President of the United States to the moon and leave him there to die. When I managed to catch my breath, I said “no political talk here.” He responded, still too loudly, '“Let me just say one thing!”.
At that point I did something somewhat out of character for me. I stood up in front of him as tall as I could, and I said quietly, “No! This is my house.” It’s hard to know sometimes how to turn the other cheek. “My House” was the best I could come up with at the moment. It may have worked. He smiled brightly and said, “You’re the artist, aren’t you?” I said yes and invited them in to see the paintings and the studio. He was polite and gracious. We shook hands. The girl never spoke, not one word, but she smiled at me.
Still, from time to time I hear from my neighbors that they want to kill people like me. That they want the shooting to start. Maybe it’s because when they put out their confederate and Trump flags, I put out my Tibetan prayer flags. Maybe it’s because I’m an outsider. Who knows. I’ve been shoved in the post office, by a large man …. probably for wearing a mask. Bumped hard in my back by carts in the grocery store, always by men, presumably for the same. Would physical gestures like that turn to murder? Again, who knows.
But I’m going to keep turning the other cheek as best I can. Seeing the kindness in my neighbors. Taking care of my home. Doing what I can to support the village. And leaving my prayer flags in place … who knows … maybe they are keeping me safe.
My friend and mentor Michael Kampen-O’Riley always said that he knew I was about to do my best work because I cut my hair off first. Quirky, and maybe TMI, but he may be on to something. Here we go.
A film business friend once explained to me that a genre has run its course when the parody movies are made. Think Blazing Saddles signaling the end of the Western. To laugh at a thing renders it powerless. To celebrate the humor in something horrifying and dangerous not only banishes the fear, it allows us to reclaim our own power. We can literally laugh the monster out of existence. In that way (and so many others) laughter is a gift — an amazing, soul-deep Santa, who Knows how to set things right.
So it will be with this year’s Santa Knows. I’ve actually been fretting for months now …. who will it be? And thankfully the gift of laughter stepped in. Not going to say who it is of course, but I can say this: it’s someone we will all recognize, and at some point we will come together to share a good long laugh.
This is a tiny painting. 14x11 inches. Never tried a face rendering less than 1 inch high. Happily, all the compositional problems worked out during the dress rehearsal. So the larger piece will be a breeze.
Back to work in the studio, with a new challenge: three equestrian paintings. This is an area I’ve always to develop, and to do it well, the artist really has to know the soul of the subject. I grew up around horses, and loved to ride, but it’s been a long time … and I’m working to get back to that place. So … lots of drawing and sketching. I’m so lucky to have a good friend in the studio with me.
Been thinking a lot lately about Santa Knows 2021. The series is intended to be joyous … certainly not political, at least not overtly so. For me, always better to be moral than political. Better to be grateful than angry. Better to be expanding than contracting. But no painting is powerful without emotional underpinnings. Never forget this when you look at art — if the artist didn’t feel something, you won’t either. In this emotionally charged time … a year like no other in my life … well … I’ve been waiting for something to blast through the newly established emotional event horizon, and give me the gift of Santa Knows.
When I saw these guys this week, I felt what they went through to save my freedom. And when Adam Kinzinger wept, saying, “You guys won that day … you held the line,” I wept too …. tears of gratitude beyond measure. Not sure if it’s sensible to reshape the Santa Knows series with many heroes instead of one. But I can tell you one thing for certain: if emotion is artistic currency, then I should try to find a way.
Can’t remember for sure. It was either my 39th or 40th birthday … when I started painting. Prior to that … nada. Unless you count some drawing in high school. Oddly, the first two paintings I did were pretty decent — both portraits. The third was a … sort of landscape. And for several years afterwards, I rendered this image constantly … Lord knows how many times. This is the first one, and the only version I still have. It’s painted on the first canvas I ever stretched.
At the time I thought of it less as a landscape, and more as an autobiography. A longitudinal self portrait … with the three phases of my adult life. First, new in the world of adulthood — working in broadcasting and research. Next, morphing out of that world, and learning to paint. And (although I’m still learning to paint) I think of myself in the third phase now — living as an artist. As I predicted all those years ago, this is the brightest phase of my life. Scarier than the previous incarnations, but vastly more rewarding.
Found this fabulous old door and cleaned it up yesterday. It’s for the pantry … perfect fit. Plus, it was actually made in my little village … as I scraped and sanded the ancient flakes of paint, a faded stamp “Monarch Mills Lockhart SC” appeared, stained with dark ink deep into the wood. So this morning over coffee, the door leaning against the kitchen wall since I don’t have the hardware to hang it yet … and as I was admiring it properly …. and designing architectural forms with some rusty metal finds while the quiche bakes … well, you know … a Sunrise Gate was born. Isn’t it the perfect wayfinding icon for heading due east!
How often do you get to say that … perfect day? Started the large commission, Azalea Allee today. The client approved the second sketch (not posted) with the drive centered in the middle of the canvas foreground. Predictable… I know. But not boring in this case thanks to the riotous branch architecture. And the heart in the sky. This was just the first day …. but LOVE the energetic movement. If the underpainting doesn’t feel alive, the finished picture won’t. That’s why i get to say “perfect day”!
Just finished this first little sketch, and on to the next one.
