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Our artistic legacy

The Wave, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869, includes shipping in continental US.

When the wind pummels my studio incessantly (as itā€™s done for the last week) Willa Catherā€™s lines come to mind: ā€œā€¦the wind sprang up afresh, with a kind of bitter song, as if it said: ā€˜This is reality, whether you like it or not. All those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath…ā€™ā€ Cheerful woman, that.

Unlike Cather, Iā€™m not obsessed with death; still, itā€™s sometimes worth thinking about. ā€œWhen a person dies, a whole world is destroyed,ā€ is something my Jewish friends say. Itā€™s a variation on a Talmudic teaching: ā€œWhoever destroys a single soul, destroys an entire world; whoever saves a single soul, saves an entire world.ā€

Full moon on Penobscot Bay, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard. I painted this as an experiment in strict symmetry, and to remind myself of a wonderful evening.

I was thinking about this as I reluctantly closed the last novel in a series by the late Canadian-American writer Charlotte MacLeod. Miss MacLeod suffered from Alzheimerā€™s disease, that terrible thief of minds. When she put down her pen in 1998 or thereabouts, several whole crazy worlds stopped.

Dorothy L. Sayers was more serious than MacLeod. She died while translating Danteā€™s Divine Comedy into English, but most of us know her creation Lord Peter Wimsey. That doesnā€™t make her scholarship unimportant; the hell that most of us visualize is for the most part Danteā€™s artistic legacy.

Nocturne on Clam Cove, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869.00 framed includes shipping in continental US.

What will be my artistic legacy?

When I die, my paintings will be part of my estate, inherited either by my husband or children. They might keep them, sell them, donate them, or burn them in the backyard. Iā€™ve painted and sold enough work that itā€™s out there in the world regardless of what they do. I canā€™t predict whether the remainder will increase in value or make good firewood.

The biggest factor in the future value of your art is what you yourself have done to market it, but thatā€™s by no means the only story. Vincent van Gogh might have lapsed into obscurity after his death had it not been for his brotherā€™s widow, who recognized a marketable asset when she saw one. She needed to sell his paintings and, in the process, created his artistic legacy.

The primary value of your art after you die isnā€™t monetary (what the heck, you wonā€™t be able to spend it) but in its future influence. Dead painters bring me joy every single day. If we can pay that forward, painting will be well worth the time and care weā€™ve lavished on it.

Wildfire remnant along the Transcanada Highway, painted en plein air in 2016. Wildfire is an annual occurrence in Alaska and subarctic western Canada; we don’t notice because they are empty spaces.

Nothing lasts forever

This week the Getty Villa was threatened by the Palisades fire. Thatā€™s the part of the Getty that contains Greek and Roman art, already in limited supply in this world. The collection survived in part because of its state-of-the-art design but also because its staff has been ruthless in clearing brush.

That area is home to many cultural landmarks as well as some of Americaā€™s most luxurious homes. Itā€™s likely that a lot of art has gone up in smoke this week. While thatā€™s small potatoes compared to the human cost, itā€™s a good reminder that nothingā€”including great artā€”lasts forever. The bottom line for each of us is our non-tangible legacy: our character, generosity, wisdom and kindness.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

Monday Morning Art School: treading-water syndrome

Coast Guard Inspection, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Canadian-American mystery writer Charlotte MacLeod coined something she called, ā€˜treading-water syndromeā€™. This was, ā€œpanic at being out of oneā€™s depth. Fear that, if a case did not quickly yield up its secrets, it would remain forever impenetrable.ā€ The character who said that was a middle-age college professor. By putting those words in his experienced mouth, MacLeod was saying that it happens to us all.

Thatā€™s just what happened to me at my first professional plein air event. I was slopping solvent around my underpainting, which made everything dark and muddy. Then I tried to use white to lighten that layer. In fact, I was pretty much breaking every painting rule Iā€™d ever learned. Eventually, a friend came over and brought me up sharp: ā€œCarol, stop this. You know how to paint.ā€ I took a deep breath, wiped out the canvas, and painted the painting properly.

The Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

My friend Brad Marshall called what I was doing ā€˜flailing around.ā€™ Itā€™s a good description of one way in which we temporarily take leave of our senses. But itā€™s not the only way. Thereā€™s also:

  • Creative block: you suddenly have no ideas at all, or if something occurs to you, it doesnā€™t seem worth pursuing;
  • Obsessing over details: Iā€™ve wrecked some perfectly wonderful paintings doing this;
  • Avoidance or procrastination;
  • Negative self-talk;
  • Imposter syndrome: ā€œWhy did they let me in when thereā€™s so many great painters here?ā€ Bobbi Heath can attest to how many times sheā€™s had to talk me off this cliff;
  • Emotional and physical distress: in moments of stress, Iā€™ve learned to look and sound calm, but my gut always betrays me;
  • Seeking external validation: Thatā€™s not necessarily a bad thing, but it requires that thereā€™s someone around whoā€™s kind-hearted and intelligent enough to give you the right nudge.
Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed.

First principles

I just heard a story about a very competent musician who couldnā€™t make it in music. His highs were too high; his lows too low. He essentially never found a way to manage his panic.

One way to get over treading-water syndrome is to get older; youā€™re less inclined to panic in general. Thatā€™s not much comfort to younger people. And there are still times when everyone feels like theyā€™ve lost control. How, then, do you get your ship righted with the least amount of psychic pain?

It helps me to have a plan. I approach painting the same way each time, and if Iā€™m feeling jittery, I slow down on the value drawing until my mind submits. I teach every workshop from a syllabus. Thatā€™s primarily so I know Iā€™ll cover the important stuff. However, when something unexpected happens, I can take a deep breath, return to my notes and keep going.

A plan is just an external support to our cognitive flexibility and self-monitoring. You canā€™t beat it.

Skylarking, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Eensy weensy bites

As you can imagine, thereā€™s rather a backlog here after Iā€™ve been gone so long. Iā€™m pretty disciplined about studio work before housework, but some of these domestic tasks havenā€™t been done since October. If I try to tackle everything at once, Iā€™m just going back to bed until after the holidays. Instead, Iā€™m going to ignore the big picture and tackle one small thing at a time. Itā€™s my best strategy to avoid total paralysis.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025: