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Use it or lose it

Best Buds, 11X14, oil on canvasboard, $1087 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

“Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without,” is a famous Yankee proverb. I love to sew but don’t much like mending. It hardly seems worth the effort, especially to replace the zipper in an already worn pair of trousers. If I was in any doubt about the infrequency of my sewing, my needle had spots of corrosion.

I was once a fairly adept seamstress. Imagine my annoyance, then, when I sewed the blasted zipper in wrong and had to rip it out. (It still looks awful, but that’s my husband’s problem. At these prices, he’s got nothing to complain about.)

There are some skills, like breathing, that you don’t forget. There are many others that get rusty if they’re not used. Use them or lose them.

In Control (Grace and her Unicorn), 24X30, $3,478 framed, oil on canvas, includes shipping in continental United States.

What’s stopping you?

There are many reasons people don’t do creative work. The biggest of these is fear of failure. Starting something unknown means seeing all our flaws and shortcomings magnified. We worry that our work won’t be good enough. It’s easier to imagine what you might do than to take the risk of doing it.

Perfectionism is artistic expression’s greatest enemy. There are people who feel that if they can’t create something perfect, it’s not worth trying at all. But nobody has ever created perfect art; nor will they.

Perhaps you were told that you were a linear thinker rather than a creative one. That’s an absurdity; creativity, like any other form of thinking, takes practice. Or you were told that art is an innate talent. It isn’t, any more than understanding science or engineering is innate. They all take work.

“When I was young, I shied away from art because I mistakenly thought that either you had talent/ability or you didn’t. Period. It didn’t occur to me that like music or writing, you can take a bit of raw talent and get better at it with lessons and practice,” my student Sandy Sibley said.

Ravenous Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

If you’re someone who’s been discouraged from the creative arts, you may lack self-confidence. Social media doesn’t help. Just as we’re all set up to compare our looks to those of influencers, we’re all ambushed by the highly-polished works we see on the internet. (They may, in fact, be totally lacking in charm in the real world, but that’s a different issue.)

Lastly, your routine might not allow for creativity. I don’t sew now because I haven’t got the mental or physical space, so I understand if you can’t find a place to paint. But there’s always room to draw. It requires a sketchbook and a pencil.

Do you feel like you challenge your own creativity?

Yesterday I saw pussy willows along the trail. A new season means new opportunities, and I encourage you to find a way to express yourself this spring, through gardening, cooking, woodworking, sewing, painting, sculpting—in short, anything that brings you the joy of creating.

I’m offering two new classes this spring

Zoom Class: Advance your painting skills

Mondays, 6 PM – 9 PM EST
April 28 to June 9

Advance your skills in oils, watercolor, gouache, acrylics and pastels with guided exercises in design, composition and execution.

This Zoom class not only has tailored instruction, it provides a supportive community where students share work and get positive feedback in an encouraging and collaborative space. Learn More

Heavy Weather (Ketch Angelique), 24X36, oil on canvas, framed, $3985 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Zoom class: Signature series

Tuesdays, 6 PM – 9 PM EST
April 29-June 10

This is a combination painting/critique class where students will take deep dives into finding their unique voices as artists, in an encouraging and collaborative space. The goal is to develop a nucleus of work as a springboard for further development.

We will examine work against both the formal standards of design and the artists’ stated goals. Learn More

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The benefits of doodling

Some days my head feels like this.

The 1960s and ‘70s were no time to be a traumatized child. Drawing and doodling saved my sanity. So why do some educators persist in limiting doodling in their classrooms?

Doodles are found on the margins of ancient manuscripts and cave walls, which means that spontaneous acts of drawing have been with us for far longer than we’ve penned our kids up in school.

Research shows that doodling helps with memorization and concentration. Our minds are free to wander when our hands are busy. Of course, none of that was known when I was in school; I imagine my teachers just thought I was hopeless.

A 2009 study showed significantly better memory retention among doodlers than among non-doodlers. Perhaps that’s because drawing relieves stress.

If there’s any subject I can draw mindlessly, it’s trees.

I take notes on my laptop, and it’s a terrible habit. Whether we ever look back at them or not, writing notes results in better retention. More words are better than fewer, and writing by hand is better than tapping them out on a mechanical device. For one thing, you can’t draw all over your phone screen.

The key lies somewhere in our muscle memory, because drawing instead of writing results in even better memory retention. It doesn’t matter if what we’re drawing is ‘relevant’ or whether the pictures are objectively good.

Doodling and drawing (which I would classify as forms of active daydreaming) are means of bypassing conscious thinking. There are times when I’m drawing and listening and need to think out measurement, anatomy or perspective. However, I never tune out what’s being said.

Doodling is said to be a form of fidgeting. It’s less obnoxious than what I’d do without a sketchbook: whisper to my neighbor, tap my knee, or make faces at the kid in the next row. Even at 66, I’m not very good at sitting still.

Sometimes it’s nonsense, and sometimes it’s sheer nonsense.

Why did the benefits of doodling go unrecognized for so long?

I had two high school painting students in the same year. M. was a stellar student and his teachers never minded him drawing in class. S. was, sadly, much more like me: a poster child for ADHD. He got in trouble for doodling. He needed the outlet and was perversely denied it because of his attention problems. To his teachers, he seemed inattentive or bored.

Doodling can be seen as a distraction. Teachers, like everyone else, have personal styles, and some prefer tightly-structured classrooms. Educators, so sorely-pressed to meet top-down academic standards, may think doodling undermines those objectives.

If the subject requires careful drafting, yes, I have to pay attention… at least for a while. But I’m still listening.

Embrace the benefits of doodling

My son-in-law recently thanked me for letting him know that “you’re allowed to draw in church as long as you’re an artist.”

I reminded him that an artist is someone who makes art, so by definition every doodler is an artist. Until the recent past, the definition of ‘artist’ or ‘musician’ was much more fluid, because people had to make their own entertainment, diagrams, and decorations. Is it coincidence that, as we’ve stopped drawing and making our own music, our society has become so anxiety-laden?

This centaur unexpectedly dropped into a recent drawing class (he was supposed to be a horse), and he still makes me smile.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: Abstract Drawing

Abstract drawing, layered charcoal on newsprint, by Carol L. Douglas

As with abstract painting, abstract drawing is the opportunity to explore design without the pressure of realism. The ante is further reduced by dropping color. You need few materials:

  • A sketchbook, drawing paper, or newsprint.
  • Pencils, pens, markers or charcoal.
Abstract drawing, repeating shapes, by Carol L. Douglas

Start by loosening up

This can be difficult for those of us who’ve spent years learning figurative painting. Here are some simple exercises that might help:

  • Free doodling: Pretend you’re in a boring meeting and let your hand move randomly across the page.
  • Automatic drawing: This is a technique first developed by the Surrealists in an attempt to access the subconscious. Close your eyes and let your pencil move intuitively. Minimize or eliminate rational thought and conscious planning. 
  • Music for inspiration: Blast tunes and draw lines and shapes that match what you hear.
  • Continuous line drawing: Without lifting your pen/pencil, create an abstract composition by moving your hand freely. Let the lines overlap and intersect naturally.
  • Draw random geometric or organic shapes across the page. Experiment with filling some shapes with patterns and shading.
  • Make a messy scribble on the page. Then refine and build on the scribble.
  • Draw an emotion or word: Pick any emotion, and express it through lines, shapes, and value.
  • Smear, baby, smear: Make a big blotch of charcoal on newsprint, and then lift and smudge it with a kneaded eraser. Enhance as you see fit.
  • Repetition: Repeat a shape in different sizes and orientations, allowing patterns to emerge naturally.
Abstract drawing, layered angular shapes, by Carol L. Douglas

Once you’ve gotten used to ignoring reality…

… you can start experimenting with lines and shapes. Focus on curves and geometric forms. Play with thickness, repetition, and patterns. Explore different techniques, including layered marks, contrasting densities, and the bold use of negative space.

A common exercise when I was in school was to draw with your non-dominant hand. It reduces control, but I doubt it gets you in touch with your emotions. Closing your eyes might be more helpful. Keep playing; keep experimenting. You’re unlikely to find a breakthrough on the first try.

Why do I want to try abstract drawing?

Learning to draw non-figuratively frees you to start combining figurative and non-figurative elements in striking new ways. Even if you never want to abandon realism, it will make you a better designer.

Once you’ve escaped the strictures of reality, you’re free to start mixing up figurative and non-figurative elements at whim. By Carol L. Douglas

Inspiration for abstract drawing

Abstract art was the primary artistic movement of the 20th century. Its practitioners are too numerous to mention. I’m partial to the works of Robert Delaunay, Charles Demuth and Clyfford Still, myself. Find a few you love and study their work.

Perhaps more importantly, observe textures and patterns in nature. The symmetry, spirals, branching, waves, cracks, tessellations and fractals of nature are deeply programmed in our brains. The line between figurative and non-figurative art is often tissue-thin.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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I’m an artist; I don’t have a math brain

Surf’s Up is 12X16, on a prepared birch surface. $1159 includes shipping and handling in the Continental US.

When I was growing up, there was a popular idea that you were either good at math and science or at art and writing. I was definitely good at art and writing, so I couldn’t be good at math. It didn’t help that I skipped the second grade and never learned my times tables.

It never dawned on me that the ability to make my own sewing patterns or sculpt in clay were, in fact, signs of a math brain.

It wasn’t until college that I realized that I could see mathematical relationships. After that, I decided that proofs were just a memorization game, and math became easy-peasy. I took math up to 3D calculus.

Recently, I had the opportunity to speak to a group of artists. “How many of you like to sew? Do carpentry? Cook?” I asked. Many hands went up. “How many of you hate math?” About the same number said yes. But of course, sewing, carpentry and cooking all require the math brain. It’s too bad that for so many of us, math wasn’t mathin’ when we were in school.

High Surf, 12X16, oil on prepared birch painting surface, $1159 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

What is your math brain?

Like creativity, math isn’t isolated into a single brain region, but rather is done in a network of interconnected brain areas. Here’s the funny thing: math and language share common brain areas (and as I mentioned on Wednesday, the brain is awfully good at compensating when parts don’t work right). However, there are some areas where there is specialization, particularly for speech.

As with creativity, math abilities are not fixed; they can be developed and improved through practice and learning. What blocks most of us from using our math skills is math anxiety. The only way around that is to challenge it head-on, by working with numbers. (When you get old, someone is going to ask you to count backwards by sevens to see if you’re gaga. You may as well practice now.)

Sunset over Cadillac Mountain, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling.

Why should an artist care about math?

Whether they know it or not, artists use math all the time. We work in spatial relationships; that’s math. We painters work additively; sculptors work subtractively. People working in more technically-specific forms like intaglio, glassblowing or encaustic make constant adjustments that are based on either formal or off-the-cuff calculations.

Artists routinely simplify and abstract forms; that is a basic form of mathematics. It’s helpful to understand some geometry before you attempt two-point perspective. Symmetry in its different forms (reflection, translation, rotation) is a math concept. And the classical compositional armature, the Golden Ratio, is based on math. Our ancestors, after all, didn’t see a disconnect between the math brain and the art brain.

Just as anyone can exercise his or her creativity and get better at it, anyone can exercise his or her math brain. Math is the language that describes every function in our bodies, our planet and our universe. There’s no reason for an artist to be afraid of it.

Forsythia at Three Chimneys, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental United States.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Left handedness and creativity

Cottonwoods along the Rio Verde River, $696 unframed, oil on Baltic birch.

About ten percent of the global population is left-handed, but I see a higher percentage of lefties among my students.

We still don’t know what causes left-handedness, but lefties are more likely to be ambidextrous than righties. I’ve known lefties who can do mirror-writing (including myself). This makes me think that the lefty brain is processing things slightly differently than do right-handed people.

As a lefty, I’ve always been interested in left handedness and creativity. Is there a correlation or is that a myth? Research on that question has yielded mixed results.

American Eagle in Drydock, 12X16, $1159 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Brain lateralization

Brain lateralization refers to the specialization of the brain’s two hemispheres (left and right) for different functions. The left hemisphere typically dominates for language and logic, and the right for spatial and creative tasks. However, every person’s brain develops differently, and there’s a lot of overlap between the two sides of the brain. Our brain is an amazing, miraculous instrument in which the other side can take over if one side is damaged by stroke or injury.

Lefties develop less brain lateralization than righties. That means we rely less on the left hemisphere for certain tasks like language. However, that doesn’t necessarily translate to increased creativity. The problem for scientists is that creativity is a cluster of skills and propensities. That isn’t so easy to measure.

Cinnamon Fern, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Left-handedness is, however, linked to higher incidences of serious mental illness. The prevalence of left-handedness is roughly average for mood disorders like depression and bipolar disorder, but it rises for serious forms of psychosis like schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder.

If creativity is the capacity to see things differently than the ‘typical’ human brain, then perhaps left-handed creativity is linked to those debilitatingly different viewpoints.

Left handedness is also linked to higher rates of autism spectrum. That may be due to the weaker brain lateralization in left-handed people.

What do we do with our left-handed kids?

I was born with a pencil in my hand (which must have been very painful for my mother). It is possible that, as a culture, we expect our lefties to be artistic, so we train them to be artistic. To see whether this was the case, a team of researchers analyzed woodcarvers in a pre-industrial society in New Guinea. The results? There was no link between left handedness and creativity. This suggests that our western link between lefties and creativity is created by the stereotype that left-handers are more artistic.

Eastern Manitoba River, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Suppression of left-handedness

I enjoy telling people that I’m the world’s oldest living artist; someday it will actually be true. However, I learned to write and draw in the early 1960s. By that time nobody was suppressing left handedness; in fact, as a kid I didn’t know any older people who’d had their handedness suppressed. When I read that suppressing left handedness was practiced up to the late 20th century in the United States, I just laugh. Be careful what you read on the internet, kids.

The more you create, the more creative you’ll be

The human mind is too intrepid and too varied to be put in any kind of box, and that includes the box of handedness. The more you create, the more creative you’ll be. Whether you’re left- or right-handed doesn’t matter.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: transferring your drawing to canvas

A painting that started as a watercolor, which I gridded on plexiglass.

Last week I taught a plein air workshop in Sedona, AZ. One of my students did a superlative sketch but somehow managed to flatten out the diagonals when transferring to her watercolor paper. Gridding is harder in watercolor than it is in oils and acrylics, but it is a skill that needs to be mastered when learning to paint. In watercolor, just use very light pencil lines and erase, or use tiny cross marks at each intersection. Or, if you’re transferring a drawing of the same size, use Saral transfer paper.

Why grid instead of freehand?

We use preliminary value sketches to work out questions of composition. They allow us to take risks that we can’t when going straight to canvas. Why reinvent the wheel, or worse, regularize our risky decisions in the final painting? Gridding is a fast and easy way to set our best drawings in paint.

On Friday, I wrote about free apps like Grid Maker, GridMyPic, etc. that allow us to paste grids directly over photographs in our phones. I’m looking forward to using them for gridding over my drawings, although for reasons of artistic control, I’d never grid across a photo. I have many notebooks full of gridded drawings that I wish I could make whole again.

First, consider aspect ratio

To start transferring your drawing to your canvas, work out whether the aspect ratio of your sketch is the same as the canvas. This is the proportional relationship between height and width. Sometimes this is very obvious. For example, a 9X12 sketch is the same aspect ratio as an 18X24 canvas. But sometimes, you’re starting with a peculiar little sketch drawn on the back of an envelope.

By the way, I never sketch into a box; I always sketch and then draw the box around my drawing. This allows me the freedom to explore what’s important in the scene without worrying about squeezing it into a preformed box. After, I can draw a box around it in the proper aspect ratio.

Everything starts with ratios

Remember learning that 1/2 was the same as 2/4? We want to force our sketch into a similar equivalent ratio with our canvas.

Let’s assume that you’ve cropped your sketch to be 8” across. You want to know how tall your crop should be to match your canvas.

Write out the ratios of height to width as above.

To make them equivalent, you cross-multiply the two fixed numbers, and divide by the other fixed number, as below:

Use your common sense here. If it doesn’t look like they should be equal, you probably made a mistake. And you can work from a known height as easily as from a known width; it doesn’t matter if the variable is on the top or the bottom, the principle is the same.

The next step is to grid both the canvas and sketch equally. In my painting above, my grid was an inch square on the sketch and 4″ square on the canvas, but as long as you end up with the same number of squares on both, the actual measurements don’t matter. You can just keep dividing the squares until you get a grid that’s small enough to be useful. For a small painting, that could be as simple as quartering the sketch and the canvas. I use a T-square and charcoal, and I’m not crazy about the lines being perfect; I adjust constantly as I go. The last step is to transfer the little drawing, rectangle by rectangle, to the larger canvas. I look for points of intersection on the grid, and from there it’s easy to transfer my drawing. It may seem time-consuming, but it saves a lot of work in the long run and will give you a painting that more closely matches the dynamic energy of your original sketch.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Snowing in Sedona

Watercolor by Stacy White.

“It’s supposed to snow in Sedona at 8 PM,” my husband told me as I was driving west on 89A yesterday evening.

“That’s funny, because it’s squalling right now,” I answered. Before I made it back to my digs in Cornville, I had two weather alerts on my phone. Since I’m driving a very tiny Mitsubishi Mirage, I was concerned about being blown off the road or, worse, floating away.

I’m a worrywart. Of course, nothing happened.

Acrylic by Amelia Scanlan.

There’s something wrong about snow in palm trees or cactuses, but Sedona and environs have been in a moisture deficit all winter. I feel badly for my students, who wanted to paint outdoors all week, but we had three good days in lovely weather. I’m also happy that we were able to break Sedona’s drought for them.

Plein air painting means expecting the unexpected, and that’s as true of workshops as it is of events. And, of course, we’re all learning, including me.

Watercolor by Bonnie Daley.

Snowing in Sedona

I have never taught a painting workshop where I haven’t learned something from my students. This week, it was about using apps like Grid Maker, GridMyPic, etc. that allow you to paste grids directly over photographs in my phone. That means I never have to ruin another value sketch by gridding across it in my sketchbook. Who knew?

I teach several painting workshops a year, and I hope that I send my students away with a variety of technical skills, including painting techniques, drawing and compositional fundamentals, and a healthy dollop of color theory. Then there are the practical skills, including material mastery, like brushes, surfaces and mediums. There are strategies for faster setup, better decision-making, and getting the best results in the fastest time. And everyone faces the same painting challenges, like dealing with slow drying in bad weather or accelerated drying in hot weather—both of which we’ve faced this week.

Oil by Rachel Houlihan.

But what a painting workshop really offers is a change in mindset. If I’ve done my job right, I’ve sparked new ideas and helped build connections between people who’ve never met before. I’m very tired, but it’s a good tired, because I’ve had a great group of students this week.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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How to avoid preciousness: embrace mistakes

Painted at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, by Bonnie Daley.

I’m teaching plein air in Sedona, which is one of America’s most wonderful hippie, dippy, trippy places. There’s a looseness of thinking here that leads straight to a looseness of painting, and you can see it in my students’ painting from yesterday, which veered closer to abstraction than is typical for plein air.

“One of my strengths as a painter is that I’m not worried about the result,” Rachel Houlihan told me. That means she isn’t bent about whether the painting is good or bad, she just paints. That, conversely, makes her a better painter and student because she is just never uptight about the end product.

Painted at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, by Amelia Scanlan.

Avoiding preciousness in painting means embracing mistakes, spontaneity, imperfection, and risk. Here are some ideas to help you loosen up and paint more freely:

Mindset Shifts

Be more like Rachel: You will paint a lot of duds in your career; in fact, I’m three for three this week. Don’t worry about it. Throw that bad canvas on the pile and move on. If you haven’t made mistakes, if you haven’t got a pile of duds, you aren’t trying.

Painted at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, by Libby Scanlan.

Embrace Mistakes: Remind yourself that mistakes are opportunities. I have noticed that sometimes the paintings that make me the most uncomfortable at the time I do them are the paintings that point the way that I’m heading in the future. And sometimes the most compelling passages of art started as accidents.

Value process over outcome: That’s really what Rachel was saying to me. When she was painting under a juniper in the Peace Park, she was perfectly content. Shift your focus from the results to being in the moment.

Set a Time Limit: If you don’t let yourself perseverate, you’re unlikely to obliterate everything that was once good about your painting.

Use Bigger Brushes: Everyone should always start with a brush that’s twice as big as they expect they need. That way they can’t overthink the details. If you need a smaller brush later, then go for it.

Painted at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, by Stacy White.

Push past your comfort zone: I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard painting teachers say “not another brushstroke!” I’ve always wanted to smack those teachers. How can one know what the limit is, when one never pushes past the limit?

Painted at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, by Rachel Houlihan.

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Monday Morning Art School: why do we create art?

Art print by Jesse Petersen, available here. Courtesy of the artist.

I just finished presenting at the Sedona Entrepreneurial Artist Development Program (SEAD). One of my co-presenters, Jesse Petersen said: “Even if this wasn’t my job, even if I lost everything that I have now, I would always create for myself and share what I do because it is deeply meaningful and the way I process life.”

Our culture says that to do art, you have to be good at it. That’s nonsense. Art doesn’t just allow us to express emotions, ideas, and experiences, it helps us work through them.

“When I have a daily art practice and dedicate time to making art—and it doesn’t have to be good art,” continued Jesse, “I show up better for my family, friends, community, church. I used to think taking that time was selfish, but now I know that just makes me better.”

Art journal by Jesse Petersen, courtesy of the artist.

Why do we create art, according to received wisdom?

The traditional reasons for making art are:

  • Expressing thoughts, feelings, and beliefs
  • Reinforcing socially-acceptable thoughts, feelings and beliefs
  • Communicating ideas and ideals
  • Expressing beauty
  • Telling stories
  • Recording history
  • Activism
  • Creating community

But these are the reasons for which publicly-consumed art is created. What about the more hands-on, accessible, personal art? It may never have the international significance of, say, Goya’s The Third of May, 1808, but it changes countless lives.

“I used to think making art was a luxury to be done after my to-do list was done, now I realize it’s the first thing I should do,” said Jesse.

Two of Jesse’s art-journaling students attended the SEAD program, and both were motivated to stick around after the program ended. Long after everyone else had left, the three of them sat in the empty theater, making art together. Leslie Barrett and Sharon Gilham are what we call emerging artists, which means they’re trying to ruin a perfectly good hobby by selling their work.

Artwork by Jesse Petersen, courtesy of the artist.

“I started to do more art when my kids moved out of the house,” Leslie told me. “I had more time. I started to think about how much I liked art in the past. I was very curious about watercolor, mixed media, and books. I work in technology, so it’s nice to come home, relax, and do something for myself.”

“I’ve been creative my whole life but never really trusted I was any good at it,” Sharon said. She works in the hospitality industry, which is a tough fit because she’s essentially introverted. “Art calms me down after a long day at work.

“There are so many weird things in my head that I don’t know how to communicate with words, so this is an outlet for me. I have always been someone a little more guarded about sharing my emotions, and I try to put them into my art. I start with a feeling, a thought, or a color palette, and start the creation from that. It’s almost purely the emotion going into the piece.”

Art journal by Jesse Petersen, courtesy of the artist.

Both Sharon and Leslie took the SEAD workshop because they have seen a growing interest in their work from prospective buyers. They’re thinking about potential post-retirement careers. However, it’s clear from their conversation that they love the act of creation. As Leslie said, “I don’t try to make anything I don’t have a personal connection to.”

I can’t see why everyone doesn’t want a piece of that. Art doesn’t have to mean painting or sculpture. It could be printing, or art journaling, or photography or quilting. You really should try it.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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What is art made of? Time

In Control (Grace and her Unicorn), 24X30, $3,478 framed, oil on canvas, includes shipping in continental United States.

In a tangible sense, art can be made of anything. Traditionally, it’s created with materials like paint, canvas, clay, metal, wood, and stone. But modern and contemporary artists push boundaries by incorporating unconventional materials like digital pixels, found objects, sound, light, living organisms and waste.

But of course, that’s just the modern way of saying that art isn’t just about physical materials. It also includes the ideas, emotions, and meaning behind the work. So, in a way, art is made of both tangible things and intangible creativity.

Tilt-A-Whirl, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

What is art made of? How about time?

Art takes time. It therefore contains time. In fact, you could argue that, above anything else, art is time.

Creation. Yes, there is art that takes three minutes to dash off, but that’s not that common. Far more frequently, art takes years to realize. And even those three-minute sketches rest on a history of other sketches, all of which telescope into that one final work.

“How long did that take to paint?” we’re asked. We answer, “four hours, plus the fifty years I’ve been practicing my craft.” For the artist, all the effort of creation coalesces into their most recent work.

Time as a medium. Many art forms, like performance art, film and music, unfold over time. These temporal arts could not exist without time itself.

Ravenous Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Time as transformation. Down the street from me is a statue of Rockport’s most famous citizen, Andre the Seal. A few years ago, his marble nose cracked, necessitating some plastic surgery. Paintings crack, sculptures erode, and even digital art is lost as technology shifts. Nothing lasts forever, at least in the form in which it was created.

Time as context. Shakespeare and John Donne may be responsible for much of modern English, but their writing is not always easy on the modern ear. The same is true of memento mori or any other artform resting on symbolism. Can you decipher the objects in Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres? Meaning changes constantly, and culture discards ideas that are no longer relevant.

The time we put into viewing or listening to the art. I spent a long time with the Wilton Diptych at the National Gallery in London, with its White Hart badges and strange prefiguration of Shakespeare’s Richard II:

The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press’d
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

Yet I don’t remember anything about George Stubbs’ Whistlejacket. It is in the same museum and is a painting I love, but I was tired when I got to it. The time we put into a painting influences what we take out of it.

Grain elevators, Buffalo, NY, 18X24 in a handmade cherry frame. $2318 includes shipping in continental US.

Time and the narrative painting. The challenge of the narrative painting is to tell a story in a snapshot. When we’ve painted them, we’ve frozen time.

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