Lakewood Forever and Ever

One of my favorite charitable projects is the annual gala for Chase’s Place, a school for students whose needs require more support than what is available at a traditional, public school. The students paint canvases, then local artists pick up the canvases and finish them off. All the artwork is donated and put into an auction at the gala in February. Proceeds go towards tuition relief for the students.

The canvas that I picked this year has beautiful swirls of blue and green, interspersed with metallic copper and a few pops of orange. It reminded me of the excitement I feel whenever I get to go out to the theater: evening settling over the city and the bright lights of the marquee. The vertical orientation of the canvas seemed especially suited for a night scene of the Lakewood Theater.

If you’ve followed my work, you’ve probably noticed that I have quite a few paintings of this theater in particular (and many Dallas theaters in general). Lakewood holds a special place in my heart. Though I don’t technically live within the bounds of this neighborhood, when I first moved to Dallas more than a decade ago, it was under the lights of the iconic Lakewood tower that I first felt at home.

My family and I moved from Austin back in 2008, and I had my daughter just a couple of months later. As a young, new mother in a new city, I struggled with feelings of isolation and adjusting to life after college. I had no friends within the city, and knew no other moms my age. In Austin, I had been active in the performing arts and I was a regular at various theaters, dance classes, and arts gatherings around the city. At that time, Austin still felt like one, big neighborhood. I had lived downtown, where I could walk to Tapestry on West 6th for tap classes, or north to Ballet Austin at 38 1/2 street. While we lived very close to downtown Dallas, in an old townhouse off of Cedar Springs, the city seemed a concrete maze.

Once the midwives gave me the all clear, I began searching for dance studios that offered adult classes. I quickly realized how spoiled I was by Austin’s art scene, which flourished in part because of the college culture there. One of the few studios that even offered adult classes was the School of Contemporary Ballet Dallas.

One evening in November I gathered up my courage, stuffed my postpartum body into an old leotard, plugged the address into google maps, and drove to a little pocket of East Dallas that I had never seen before. It was that time of year where evening comes early, and the sky was already a half-lit shade of urban nightfall. I drove past small houses, over winding roads with potholes, and into a neighborhood filled with Arts and Crafts style homes and enormous live oak trees. I turned a corner and saw the Lakewood Theater for the first time, just down the street from Contemporary Ballet Dallas. Its tall, blue tower (cobalty-ultramarine; a color I’ve always thought of as “Lakewood Blue”) was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The neon lights and little shops around the theater showed me a side of Dallas- a local, neighborhood, almost hippie vibe- that I hadn’t known existed. Dallas on a human scale; who would’ve thought?

That drive across town was the first of many, and the friends I made in modern dance and intermediate ballet were my first in my new city; I associate that view of the Lakewood Tower at night with my first feeling of being at home here. I loved that East Dallas vibe so much, I moved across town and I’ve lived over by White Rock Lake ever since.

Although I have painted the iconic Lakewood theater many times (and followed it as it went from concert venue to abandoned building to historic landmark before becoming a bowling alley), I have never painted the theater at night until now. I’m having a lot of fun playing up the swirling brushstrokes made by the student-artist at Chase’s place with the linear, neon of the tower and the fluorescent shadows the lights create on the building’s exterior. I hope y’all enjoy this painting… and I encourage you to check out Chase’s Place. This piece will be auctioned during the “Viva Las Vegas” gala at the F.I.G.downtown on February 15, 2020. I love the glamorous vibes of our own, Dallas Art Deco theater for this party. If you can’t make the gala, but you would like to support this wonderful school, consider making a donation at http://www.chasesplace.org/support/

Cheers!

Season's Meanderings

Do you feel a sense of kinship with a particular season? Is it easier to abide in Autumn, with its falling leaves and crisp air and pumpkin spice promises? Or spring, when the fresh earth smell makes all things new? I am trying to learn to love January, though this dark time of the year is often cloudy and characterized by a cold that isn’t really cold (in Dallas), just damp, cloudy, and slow… like a dripping faucet. Wouldn’t it be nice to find peace and belonging in all seasons? I confess, I miss December’s cheerful Christmas lights that hold the winter’s dark at bay. I wish we could keep them up a little while longer, until the seasonal darkness lifts and the trees begin to bud. I’m already examining the bare branches for the first signs of new life. Yes, I know it is far too early yet.

This time of year, I gravitate to bold colors in my work. Cobalt and rubine and vermillion ease my mind when all the world is grey. I have taken a break after a busy 2019, and I am ready to roll up my sleeves and see what new sorts of messes I can make. Desert colors dance behind my eyelids. I’d love to experience all the seasons in West Texas, in Northern New Mexico. The quality of the light changes, and that, of course, changes everything.

For me, as I plot my yearly travels for painting references, the question is not only where, but when. Where and when would you travel, if you had the opportunity?

Abiquiu, New Mexico before a summer monsoon. June, 2019.

It's FALL, y'all!

I’m celebrating our first day of not-90-degree-weather in forever by finishing up some paintings and preparing for the annual White Rock Studio Tour. I’d forgotten what 60 degrees felt like!

Fall cleaning is a thing, right?

At the studio, we got a new roof… which meant a lot of deep cleaning before and after, and not much time to accomplish everything with the tour coming up this weekend. If you are in the Dallas area, come out after the TX/OU game on Saturday and see my space. It might never be this clean again! I even mopped.

Autumn also means building up inventory for winter shows, so I have been working hard both at home and at the studio to finish my many in-progress projects. I finished the messy task of plastering and sanding panels, and I am ready to paint! My favorite subjects for fall are Aspen trees, but I am still on my cactus kick from Big Bend and New Mexico.

See the photos below for studio map and info on the tour! We are stop #35, and there are many of us (although our beloved Lynn Rushton is the artist named on the flyer), so you get to see LOTS of artists at one, convenient location. PSA, we are located close to White Rock Coffee and it will be perfect pumpkin scone weather this weekend… so come down! We’d love to meet you.

Tales from the Desert

After traveling through the depressing landscape of oil fields, tumble weeds and tumbling trash piles blown about by the unrelenting wind on the Texas plains, the Davis Mountains rise up almost shockingly- the land changes so quickly near Pecos, Texas.

These Texas Mountains keep their secrets. From afar, they appear rosy and mostly barren- but plant life and wildlife abound when you are in the high passes and the valleys. And spring, spring, glorious spring, brings out beautiful colors in the desert. Ocatillo blossoms are coral red and improbably tall. Prickly pears stud the in-between-spaces with purple, green, and warm yellow flowers. The desert has so many faces, so many colors. Fragrant, four foot tall bluebonnets run rampant, if you know where to look for them.

We spent about a week in West Texas, primarily in Big Bend, Terlingua and Boquillas. It was not nearly enough time. We met hospitable people in various towns, enjoyed a meal in Mexico after crossing the Rio Grande on a rowboat, and hiked the Chisos and Davis Mountains.

Apart from the natural beauty of the land, I so enjoyed the time I spent with the people I met along the border. A series is taking shape in my mind (and on my easel), juxtaposing the arresting landscape, the kindness we encountered, and the views of people at the border, with the political rhetoric we are fed through the news and social media.

“The Wall” is an inescapable spectre. It is part of our national zeitgeist, and its implications become more tangible the closer you get to the border. Locals share their views in road signs and embroidered trinkets, while those far away spin away at their fear-fueled agenda. The backdrop to all this is the land herself. Eternal, sharp edged, and oblivious to these man-made cares. The land, and the creatures abiding there, and the cross-border dialogue of the locals tell a much different story than the myths we read online.

What is a chimera? It is a fearsome beast; but it is also an illusion. So much of what we read is built on carefully crafted propaganda: intended to elicit an emotional response. And then, there is the concrete: Earth, and animals, and people who cultivate their lives on this land.

Ocatillos, oil and mixed media, 2019

A “forest” of whimsical ocatillos blooms on the border between Texas and Mexico. These improbable plants grow to be more than twelve feet tall.

All things new

I suppose it is human nature to long for spring in midwinter. Grey days abound, in Dallas. I began working on a series of work in oil on Venetian plaster last year, and I find myself obsessing over color. These works are still largely experimental, but I love working with plaster and oil. There is something calming in the rhythm and method of plastering thin coats on panel, scraping and re-scraping, then burnishing the layers to see what sorts of patterns emerge. And then, there is something about Texas herself: the sky, the land, the hospitable people and damn, inhospitable heat. So here I am, playing with contradictions. Blossoms in winter, oil and plaster, the sweet, natural gifts of the Texas landscape for those who are willing to sweat their way through Texas summer.

Magnolias are among my favorite trees. They are a symbol of summer in the South. I began painting magnolias last spring, taking walks with my daughter after the heat of the day had (somewhat) passed, and photographing the blossoms before they turned brown and curled in on themselves. Magnolia petals contain beautiful shadows, and make for great color studies. My newest is on crimson and turquoise plaster, a palette that reminds me of everything I love about the southwest.

Magnolia in Crimson and Turquoise, 2019

Welcome!

The time between Thanksgiving and the peak of the holiday season in December can be chaotic in the art world.  There are many shows, and as a small business owner, I try to balance time with my family and growing my art business.  I'm taking a moment to pause, breath, and give thanks for all that the year as brought.  What better way to launch my website and my new blog, than with immense gratitude?

2016 has been a year of firsts.  I have my own studio space (outside my home, even!), and I have donated artwork to many causes that are dear to me: Art for Hearts was an event benefiting the Promise House in Dallas, and the 8x8 Exhibit and Auction supported the Museum of Biblical Art in Dallas.  I connected with the fantastic organization Art, Love, Magic and also had art at the Dutch Art Gallery and the Irving Art Association's regional juried show.   I have also been fortunate to show with some amazing local talent at Dallas's new Gallery 3, where I have sold artwork and made many new friends.  I'm looking forward to many more opportunities in the coming year.

To close, I want to briefly state how very grateful I am for the Dallas art community.  I am proud to call Dallas my home: there is a beautiful intersection of art, ideas, and enthusiasm in this city.  Local culture is blossoming.  People love it here.  The city is growing, and its creative sector is generous and inspiring.  I'm beyond grateful to the other artists with whom I've worked and shared ideas, and with the venues, companies, non-profits and galleries I've gotten to know.  Here's to the end of the year, and to new beginnings.  Cheers, y'all!