fbpx

Category: Uncategorized

Posted on

Two color theory books I own (and one I just ordered)

Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $652 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I’m prepping to teach my next session of Zoom color classes, Applied Color Theory, and consulting my library for ideas. Here are two color theory books I recommend without hesitation, and one I just ordered. After all, even an old dog can learn new tricks.

I’ve taught lots of color theory, but this class is a different. It’s about applying theoretical constructs to the practical business of painting. So, it’s back to the books for this teacher.

Home Farm, 20X24, oil on canvas, $2898 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Interaction of Color: 50th Anniversary Edition, by Josef Albers

When my grandchild was born, I said something about nursing while the hospital lactation consultant was in the room. “A lot has changed in thirty years,” she said. As far as I know, lactation still works about the same way as it did when mammals first appeared about 200 million years ago, or when I was a young mother.

I mention this preemptively, before someone points out that Interaction of Color is a very old book. It’s inexpensive and straightforward. Read the text, do the exercises, ponder the concepts, and you’ll learn lots.

Having said that, the reprint is a better deal than an older edition. Printing technology is much advanced since 1963, and the plates in this edition are clean and beautiful.

Albers believed that color was best studied through experience. He demonstrated that certain colors affect their neighbors. Color exercises are the way to understand this. “Every perception of color is an illusion, he wrote. “We do not see colors as they really are. In our perception they alter one another.”

Blueberry barrens, Clary Hill, oil on canvas, 24X36, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Bright Earth: Art and the Invention of Color, by Philip Ball

I’ve read a lot of ‘history of color’ books and this was by far the best. Philip Ball is a science writer who trained as a chemist. He may be a science geek, but he writes for a lay audience.

Every painter should think of paints first in terms of pigments. For example, we like to think of Impressionism as a cultural movement, with the Salon des Refusés and the rejection of academic art. But Impressionism was driven, first and foremost, by rapid developments in modern chemistry. None of it was possible without the pigments created for commercial applications.

Ostensibly a detailed historical account of how colors were discovered, manufactured, and used, the book also discusses the scientific principles behind pigment chemistry and the physics of light and color perception.

You might not think this should be filed under ‘color theory books,’ but pigment largely defines our place in the continuum of art history, and it’s good to understand exactly where we are.

The Surf is Cranking Up, 8×16, $903 includes shipping and handling in the continental US.

Here’s the book I ordered to prepare for this class:

Artists’ Master Series: Color and Light, by Charlie Pickard et al

This newish (2022) book covers the traditional material of color theory but reviewers say it’s very in-depth in terms of both the science of color and the process of applying color to painting. I bought it because there is more than one author, which means there’s more than one approach to color problems.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Monday Morning Art School: which painting should I choose?

Sea Street, 24X30, oil on canvas, private collection.

I started writing this in the shade at the Camden Public Library, in the short interstice between delivering paintings and the start of this year’s Camden on Canvas auction. By the time you read this it will be all over but the shouting, but at this moment I don’t know whether I made the right choice.

My two paintings are both indirect views of Camden Harbor. On Friday, I rowed out to Curtis Island, intending to paint Colin Page’s dinghy, but I was sidetracked by kids playing in the surf. On Saturday, I painted on Sea Street from the bed of my pickup truck. Only one painting is allowed in this auction. Although I was inclined to choose Sea Street, I brought both paintings to the amphitheater so I could pother until the last possible minute.

Björn Runquist simplified matters by doing only one piece in the 2.5 days we had to paint. Ken DeWaard made it extremely difficult on himself by painting four. Two or three is more typical, and then the artist has to narrow it down to one.

Throwing rocks, 24X30, $2782 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

This weekend I introduced Ken to the word dithering, about which I wrote on Friday. “So, it’s just like complaining, right?” he countered. No, it’s when the general confusion in your mind starts bubbling out your mouth, I said. In fact, it means to vacillate indecisively. And it’s so easy to do when you choose a painting for an auction, online jurying, or any other situation where the stakes are high.

There is a difference in how artists and non-artists see paintings

Artists make judgments about color, composition and draftsmanship (and we all have our own hobby-horses). We don’t necessarily care as much about subject as our buyers do. For collectors, sentiment, color and the painting’s place in their home are real considerations.

Why don’t you just ask a lot of non-painters then?

It’s tempting to start polling people, and they can give you insights into your work. However, the more people you ask, the less consensus you’ll have. And whatever the last person said, is what will stick in your mind. That’s no way to decide.

Painting from the back of my pickup truck on Sea Street. Sometimes I just have too much fun. (Photo courtesy Camden Public Library)

The one on which you worked the hardest isn’t always the best

I’m always enamored of the tough ones, because I have the greatest investment of time, thought and emotion in them. But these, paradoxically, can move the audience the least. And it’s simply not true that the ones you whip off are worth less; they’re the sum of all the work in every painting that’s gone before.

We’re not always the best judges of our own work

I can analyze my own work using formal criticism, but that doesn’t take into account the audience’s emotional response to my work, or my own emotional blind spots.

There is no right answer

In the end, neither of my paintings were ‘bad.’ I can speculate on what the other painting might have netted at auction, but nobody ever really knows. The auction is now over; I was satisfied with the price my painting netted, and I’ll put the other one in my own gallery as soon as I get a frame on it.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Daylilies and lace-cap hydrangea

Daylilies and lace-cap hydrangea, 11X14, $869 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

When Colin Page asked me if I’d paint for the 76th annual Camden Garden Tour, I said, “sure, why not?” Don’t ever tell him I said this, but Colin is such a nice guy that he makes one want to do nice things too.

I’m not a painter of gardens. They’re one of the few landscape subjects I avoid. The painter can’t generally improve on what the skilled gardener hath wrought. Great gardens (as Merryspring Nature Center’s are) are beautiful, but they’re also neat. My natural inclination in landscape paintings is toward the scruffy, like me.

The contrast between the intense color in the foreground and the airy lightness of the great daylily bed at Merryspring appealed to me, even as I realized it would be a compositional bear and equally difficult to paint.

“Never proceed to paint until you have a drawing you love,” I tell my students. My problem was, I kept jabbering with passers-by. It’s a small town and I’m blessed with many wonderful friends. I didn’t finish my sketch until noon. Since I had to leave at 3 PM to get ready for the Camden Art Walk, it was time to fish or cut bait.

The featured artist for this year’s Garden Tour is Cassie Sano, who has studied landscape painting with me on and off for several years now. My students are passing me left and right in their Cadillacs.

This canvas is certainly not overworked, since I finished it at warp speed. It was a good warm up for Camden on Canvas, which starts this morning.

I wonder where I could find some musicians to play for the Camden Art Walk?

As we do every year, Björn Runquist, Ken DeWaard, Eric Jacobsen and I started a last-minute text string debating where we should paint. Dithering is an important part of the plein air landscape painting process; after all, there might be something brilliant right around the corner.

But here in Camden there’s not a single intersection or overlook that wouldn’t make the bones of a good painting. I know what I’m doing, and I suspect the Three Musketeers do too. The good lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I’m rowing out to Curtis Island on Friday and painting on Sea Street on Saturday. But double-check at the information kiosk on Atlantic Avenue just to make sure.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Things that are real

American Eagle, painted from the deck during one of my schooner watercolor workshops.

For a certified geriatric, I’m pretty good at the internet, but it is demanding. There’s a constant encroachment of synthetic experience, in the form of AI and enhanced photographs. There are scammers. Moreover, I feel obliged to read the news, which has become yet another virtual experience. Meanwhile, the sun is shining and the soft ocean breezes are blowing, but too many of us are in our air-conditioned rooms experiencing life vicariously.

I see a steady shrinking of real, physical, authentic experiences. Sometimes I worry that reality is downright endangered.

A painting student from an Adirondack workshop, with her perspective drawing carefully at hand. She’s coming to my Schoodic workshop next month.

Some of the things you can’t get from AI

Paintings They’re tangible, tactile, dimensional, handmade objects, which is why they don’t lend themselves to being made into NFTs.

Nature. My photos have been viewed on Google more than 66,000 times. I think 90% of them were taken on Beech Hill. As many pictures as I take, I know my plein air workshop students experience it in a way no photo can recreate. It is never the same two days running.

The ocean. Penobscot Bay is a constantly-changing sensory delight, with cool breezes, the tang of saltwater, and a smattering of offshore islands that sparkle in the sun. Even the best photo can only capture the visual, and then incompletely. Those other sensations are not reproducible.

You can see the beauty in this photo, but you can’t experience the moment except by being there.

This boat, which has been sailing the Gulf of Maine for close to a century. It’s ecotourism at its best, and you don’t experience the ocean as fully in any other vessel. For one thing, it’s quiet.

Little villages. Yes, Maine villages are photogenic, but they’re also communities. Painting them from a picture is one thing; painting them in real life means you learn about the place. For example, on Thursday, Jeanne-Marie and I learned who owned that magnificent yellow house she was painting and the likelihood it would go on the market. We also learned who’s doing what at the Camden Garden Club Tour tomorrow. Then she walked downtown and got coffee at Zoot, which is almost next door to where my paintings are hanging at Lone Pine Realty. You feel the difference in a small town.

Students in my watercolor workshop aboard schooner American Eagle.

Real time. That’s sometimes fast, and sometimes slow, but it’s dictated by reality, not video. Plein air painting can challenge you to work quickly and decisively or it can allow you to relax into the place. It’s simply less structured than virtual reality.

A sense of place. Every time I say goodbye to a plein air workshop group, I find myself telling them to move to midcoast Maine. We’ve developed deep relationships in the week we’ve painted together, and I want them all to be my neighbors.

Myriad viewpoints. There’s never just one view; there are multiple compositions at almost every place. That and the constantly-changing light are inspiring in a way that AI or photographs can never be. They force you to think in a way that copying a photo never can.

We were painting at Owl’s Head and suddenly the fog dropped and everything in the world changed.

Know what’s real? Plein air workshops.

I love teaching on Zoom for many reasons, but the most important is that my Zoom students make very fast progress. However, I also need to teach plein air workshops too; that’s a soul call, not a financial one.

Even though I have very close friendships in cyberspace, the human connection in a workshop is different. I saw Sharon of right-angle fame yesterday. We had a brief, warm and charming conversation that made me smile all day.

A note: I have a few openings for Sea & Sky at Acadia National Park, but if you want to take that workshop and stay at the Schoodic Institute, the drop-dead deadline is this coming Monday. I have a little more flexibility for commuters, but I don’t know how likely it is that you’ll find a rental this late in the season.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Monday Morning Art School: angle drawing

Slightly more obtuse than 90°, almost exactly 90°, more acute than 90°. It’s far easier to see when you can compare it to accurate reference (and no, you don’t have to know those terms).

During last week’s workshop, Beth, Sharon and I were looking at a house on Pearl Street in Camden. I’d given them a lesson on two-point perspective and then said, “That’s just so you understand the principle. In real life, you’re going to measure angles rather than draw to a vanishing point.” That’s harder to do, because angle drawing takes practice. However, all drawing rests on angles and measurement.

“That gable end looks like it’s at a 90° angle,” Sharon said. Beth and I immediately disagreed. Of course we were roughly twenty feet away from her, so what we were seeing wasn’t what she was seeing. I heaved myself up (it was a hot day) and looked at what she was doing. She was holding an L-shaped composition finder up to the sky. Immediately I grasped an important new idea.

The angles that matter, very roughly, because it’s hot as a pistol in my driveway.

If you hold something that you know to be a right angle up to the angle you’re measuring, you can see how it deviates.

We’re all carrying around something that’s got a right angle: our sketchbooks. Failing that, we always have our cell phones.

Sharon’s view was, in fact, exactly 90°, but the idea was also useful to Beth and me. From our location, the angle formed by the gable end was about 10° flatter than Sharon’s view. I experimented holding my sketchbook up to various angles in the landscape and was pleased at how easily I could see angles.

(By the way, a roof where the gable end is at 90° looking straight-on would be a 12/12 pitch, which is pretty steep. Most of the time, when you see a 90° angle, it’s because you’re looking at it from off to one side.)

What if it’s so far off 90° that it’s hard to make a comparison?

I was on a roll, so I estimated other angles using Sharon’s idea. That was fine until I was so far off 90° that making a comparison no longer worked.

Drawing a hashmark parallel to the top and bottom of the fence was easy. Taking a photograph of those marks was hard.

What if I held my sketchbook level with the ground and marked that angle as a hash mark in the corner, I asked myself. Then I can easily translate that line into a parallel one where it belongs in my sketch. And, yes, that worked too.

My neighbor’s fence. Three minutes, tops, because I was standing along Route 1.

Angle drawing is important

Angles are critical to representing perspective. They also create the illusion of depth and space. Being able to sight-draw them allows us to draw objects from different viewpoints.

But, wait, there’s more. Angle drawing is important for:

Measurement: it’s often easier to see spatial relationships through angles than with the thumb-and-pencil method of drawing. (Fast, loose  painting rests on a base of good drawing. If you haven’t been taught to measure with a pencil, start here, here and here.)

Anatomy: Angles are essential for capturing the relationships between different parts of the body. This is particularly important in drawing limbs, posture and facial features.

Shading: Angles influence how light falls on an object and how shadows are cast.

Dynamism: Angles contribute to a sense of movement and energy in a drawing.

Foreshortening: You can’t foreshorten an object if you can’t see the angles, period.

That means any trick that makes angle drawing easier, I’m going to use, and I hope you do, too. Thank you, Sharon.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Keeping my cool

Bonnie watercoloring on Pearl Street in Camden.

I’ve been teaching a plein air workshop this week, and the air is unusually hot and heavy for Maine. Being a lifelong resident of the northeast, I don’t like heat and humidity. In addition, I promised my students from Virginia that it would be cool here, and Mother Nature made a liar out of me. (To be fair, it’s still cooler than Virginia.)

Years ago, my friend S— moved to Maine from California with the assistance of her mother. She loved her new house until the first really hot day. She flipped the switch on her thermostat to ‘cool’ and waited. And waited. “Mom,” she wailed, “the air conditioning is broken!”

Beth and Libby painting on Beauchamp Point.

“Welcome to the real world,” her mom said. “You don’t have air conditioning.” My California born-and-bred friend had no idea that there were houses in America without it.

Yves painting a house in Camden.

Our old New England farmhouse doesn’t have it, and I generally don’t care. It’s insulated, which helps a lot. We use fans, we cross ventilate, and shower in cool water. That works great for in the house. But outdoors is a different story.

Outdoors, hydration is key, but I couldn’t keep ahead of it this week, as hard as I tried.

Jeanne-Marie achieving perfect balance on a rock.

Student show, Friday July 12, from 5-7 PM

Today will be warm but breezy, so it should be perfect weather to come by my gallery for a show of my students’ work from this week.

We are located at 394 Commercial Street, Rockport. If you’ve ever wondered what kind of  painting gets done in a workshop, this is an excellent opportunity to find out.

Posted on

What to wear to an art show

Prom Shoes 1, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435.

I own one skirt and one dress, but I must combine painting and public events over the next ten days. I Googled what to wear to an art show to give myself ideas. The consensus was:

Men should wear a blazer or sport coat, dress shirt, nice trousers or dark jeans, and polished shoes. For contemporary work, they should wear trendy shirts, slim-fit pants or jeans, and stylish sneakers or shoes.

Women should wear a chic dress, skirt or stylish pantsuit, paired with heels or fashionable flats. For contemporary work, they should wear fashion-forward dresses or outfits, statement accessories, and stylish shoes. I don’t own any stylish shoes.

Libby and Sharon discussing the Neolithic stone circle at Beech Hill (okay, I made that up).

This all reminds me of Chelsea back in the day. My goddaughter and I had gone to Brad Marshall’s and Cornelia Foss’ openings, and were catching our breath on the street. We started to count how many people were wearing those heavy black plastic glasses that were then so cutting-edge. We stopped at a hundred. These people were deeply concerned with what to wear to an art show. Being seen is some people’s raison d’etre.

In Maine, people are not such slaves to fashion. This is a state where we have flannel and Sunday-go-to-meetin’ flannel. At any rate, I don’t care what you wear, just mark these three dates on your calendar, and come out and support us.

I am very grateful to Coastal Mountain Land Trust for being so welcoming to my students.

Friday, July 12, 2024: Painting in Paradise student show, 5-7 PM

I’m teaching my first of this season’s workshops this week. Since my gallerage (my own coinage, and I like it) is now open, I will be showing their work on Friday evening from 5-7 PM.

The gallerage is located at 394 Commercial Street, Rockport, and we’d love to see you.

This group is keeping me alert, as they’re all very able. I go home every afternoon wondering how I’ll organize the next day’s material to keep them interested. (I never want anyone to go home feeling bored, or worse, ignored.)

If you’ve ever wondered what kind of painting gets done in a workshop, this is an excellent opportunity to find out.

Frequent hydration breaks are a must.

July 18, 2024: Camden Art Walk

Galleries and shops are open all through town. I’ll be at Lone Pine Realty, 19 Elm Street (next to Zoot Coffee). Last month’s Art Walk was rained out, and I went home with cookies, wine, and lemonade, none of which are on my diet. This month, don’t make me drink alone!

Tired painters heading down the hill.

July 19-21, 2024: Camden on Canvas

“Twenty-one notable New England landscape artists will paint en plein air.” I like repeating that, because I am one of those painters. We’ll be at sites in Camden and Rockport from Friday morning, July 19, to noon on Sunday, July 21. I haven’t decided exactly where I’ll paint, but I’ve narrowed it down to either Curtis Island (bring your dinghy) or Fernald’s Neck, unless I change my mind. You can find out exactly where I and the other artists are by visiting the Camden on Canvas Information Tent outside the library’s Atlantic Avenue entrance. Or check my Facebook or Instagram feeds.

The wet paintings exhibit will be open to the public at the historic Camden Amphitheatre, Sunday, July 21, from 1-3 PM. After that, there’s a reception and live auction from 4-6 PM. Tickets can be purchased online for $75 each or by calling 207-236-3440. Proceeds are shared equally between the Library’s Campaign for the Future and the artists.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Monday Morning Art School: what is a fine art print?

Early Spring on Beech Hill, oil on canvasboard, Carol L. Douglas, 12X16, $1449 framed includes shipping in continental US.

This past weekend, I sat down with a pencil and a template and signed and numbered 75 prints of Early Spring on Beech Hill for Coastal Mountains Land Trust. I’m happy to do this little thing; I’m on their properties almost daily. If I’m not up Beech Hill, I’m on Ragged or Bald Mountains. If you look at a list of their preserves, you realize how much they shape everyday life here in midcoast Maine.

Back in the day, I sold a lot of prints. They are a great way for people of modest means to start collecting art, and they can introduce young people to your work.

Signing work with a template. If you think you can’t misspell your own name, try writing it over and over again.

What is a fine art print?

A fine art print is a high-quality reproduction of an original artwork. There’s overlap between fine art prints and the art of printmaking. For example, until the turn of the last century, etching was both an artform and a way to reproduce other artwork for publication.

The gap between fine art prints and what you can get from your ink-jet printer has narrowed. Even the cheapest art book published in this century has better illustrations than an old Janson’s History of Art, which was once the preferred text for art history classes.

The goal being to handle the paper as little as possible, I used a paint stirrer to push the pieces in place inside their acrylic sleeve.

Fine art prints are made with an eye to durability, color accuracy, and aesthetic integrity. They are often produced in limited editions and signed and numbered by the artist. The main printing methods for fine art prints include:

  • Giclée Printing: This is the most common method of making small-run art prints. Giclée printers have higher resolution than standard inkjet printers, and use a 12-color printing system instead of the standard 4-color CMYK system. They use high-quality inks that can last a lifetime, and the prints are resistant to damage from smudging, sun, and humidity.
  • Commercial Lithography: That’s the traditional printing process used in bookmaking and periodicals, and is done on an offset press. It’s suitable for mass runs, so if you were to buy a print of, say, Constable’s The Hay Wain from the National Gallery it would be made in this manner.
  • Screen printing, where ink is pushed through a mesh screen onto paper or canvas. This is how you’d reproduce your paintings on textiles, pens, coffee mugs, or huge signs, if you were so inclined.
Seventy-five prints signed and ready to rumble.

Limited edition prints

Collectors often seek out limited edition prints due to their rarity and because they might appreciate in value. There is no difference in quality between the limited edition print and its open-run cousin; the value rests in the artist’s signature. For example, I can never make another limited-edition run of Early Spring on Beech Hill, because I’ve already done a set run of 75 copies.

The quality question

My color laser printer does a fine job of printing, and with the proper paper its output would be highly durable, but I wouldn’t use it for high-end prints; it’s too small and there are visible differences in quality. There are many sources online for archival-quality giclée prints at a reasonable price.

Most of the quality of your print rests in the photography, not the printing. In the past, I’ve had my paintings shot by a service, but I now have a high-end camera. If you go that route, however, you need to understand color correction, compression, and other issues that affect output.

Should you sell prints?

That’s a question only you can answer. Prints can increase your market reach and give you a more consistent revenue stream. If your print becomes popular, it can generate revenue over time.

However, there’s still the initial investment of time and money to consider. And you never get away from marketing. Prints are an already-saturated market, although a much larger one than the market for original paintings.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

Our Banner in the Sky

Our Banner in the Sky, 1861, Frederic Church, private collection

Normally on Fridays I introduce readers to one of my own paintings, but all day yesterday I was thinking of Frederic Church’s Our Banner in the Sky. It’s tiny compared to much of Church’s work: just 7.5X11 inches and done on paper. This is the same painter whose show-stopping The Heart of the Andes is a whopping 5.5X10 feet. Our Banner in the Sky is from the heart, and The Heart of the Andes was for the pocketbook. Both are wonderful, but they’re very different.

Church painted Our Banner in the Sky just weeks after the fall of Fort Sumter in 1861. The nation was electrified by the story of our flag being removed by rebel forces. At the time, nobody had any idea how the Civil War would play out.

Church was inspired by a sunset that glowed red, white, and blue. He took that as a sign that “the heavens indicated their support for the United States by reflecting the nation’s colors in the setting sun.” Whether or not you share his theology, it certainly points to a faith in the enduring nature of our country. That’s why I think it’s such an important painting for today.

Although I’m a lifelong reader of news, even I feel overwhelmed by politics these days—in Britain, which had a government-changing national election yesterday; in France, where Marine Le Pen’s National Rally has upended the status quo; and of course here, where last Thursday’s presidential debate suddenly shifted everything.

In my travels in England in May, strangers talked to me about their fears for American democracy. These are sentiments I’ve heard here as well.

In two years, we’ll be celebrating our national semiquincentennial. (That amazes me, since I vividly remember our bicentennial in 1976.) In the 248 years since our founding, we’ve suffered small rebellions, a full-blown Civil War, multiple economic depressions, two world wars, and 9/11. None of these were pleasant, but our nation endured. Our social compact is stronger than we credit. As long as we continue to love our fellow citizens, that will continue.

Frederic Church did not know the flag would be returned to Fort Sumter a week after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox; his painting was an act of faith. I pray we continue in that.

The Veteran in a New Field, 1865, Winslow Homer, courtesy Metropolitan Museum of Art

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Posted on

The gallery is open, finally!

It seems like it’s taken forever, but it’s really only been about three weeks…

I usually open my gallery on Memorial Day, but I was mucking around in Britain until early June. (I don’t regret that one bit.) When I got home, I still had to build the darn thing from scratch. My absolute drop-dead date was the 4th of July, and I’ve made it by the skin of my teeth.

When I moved to Rockport, my gallery was in my studio, which is a lovely, airy, large space on the back of our house. Visitors got a behind-the-scenes look at what I do. However, when COVID came to town, that space was closed down. My solution was a tent in the driveway.

Window frame, by little old me! Good for setting your drink on, but I wouldn’t lean on it too hard.

In the meantime, I started teaching on Zoom and recording how-to-paint classes. When social distancing disappeared, there was no longer room for a gallery inside my studio.

There were things I loved about the tent gallery. People could see it from the road, and there was enough fresh air for even the most dedicated social distancers. But there’s a reason we don’t store paintings outdoors. Wind and rain have done real damage to my inventory. Plus, there was no space to gather people and host an opening.

I researched using a tiny house (not handicapped-accessible) or another structure (difficult to place on this lot). The best solution was to put my gallery in the first 11 feet of our garage. I’m very grateful to my friend Barb Whitten and my husband. If it were up to me, we’d still be trying to figure out places for all the stuff that was in there. My husband worked with me every day since. It’s the most time we’ve spent on a project since we built our first house in 1987.

These are fake walls, in sections so they can come down if necessary.

Coastal color combination

You’d think after all that work, I’d enjoy picking out the paint, but instead I punted to my kids. I made about a half-dozen photo montages of my paintings in front of various paint chips and asked them to choose. The blue you see was not my first choice, but seeing it with the paintings, I think my kids were right.

“This house is becoming fifty shades of blue,” I told my daughter. But that deep blue-violet is a perfect foil for landscape paintings.

I’ve never installed a door before, let alone a door in a false wall. These are interim views of my theater set.

How to find me

My gallery (and studio) are at 394 Commercial Street, Rockport, ME. Hours are noon-5, Tuesday-Sunday until at least Labor Day. See you soon!