2020 Vision

Okay, that pun has already been way overused, but I couldn't help it. Everyone is talking about it: the start of a new decade. So much has happened in the last ten years! I went from being a world traveler alongside my husband, and putting in countless hours at the easel--to being a mom of two, and moving from Texas to Colorado. I made many amazing new friends and connections. I started a fitness and health journey. I found a great church community. I painted a LOT. 

In 2019 there were a few huge personal milestones: We bought our dream home! Our daughter turned 5 and started kindergarten, and our son turned 1. 

From a professional standpoint, there were a few highlights in 2019, including my first feature article in a magazine (the December 2019/January 2020 issue of Southwest Art Magazine, which you can read here), and joining MadeforArtists.net, an art instruction streaming service. 

But mostly 2019 required learning how to be patient (there's that word again!) with myself and this chapter of my life. I am tethered to two young children and their ever increasing demands. The house, the kids... all of it took away from time in the studio and so, 2019 ended up being more of a year for character development and painful refinement--or, "The Year of the House and Toddler" than one of professional growth. I painted when I could, but it wasn't much, and my focus suffered. 

However... it takes some grit to realize that it’s okay to step back for a time in order to do the right thing. On a daily basis I laid aside my heart's desire so that I could meet the needs of my most precious treasures. There is no guarantee that 2020 will be easier. I’ll definitely be taking on more commitments. But hopefully I’ll be going into it with a better sense of what I’m capable of and what I can bring to the world. Maybe what I have to offer is not so much an end product but some insight on the journey itself. In the past I’ve let anxiety build up as I anticipate “losing” out on painting time, or opportunities, etc, and I haven’t always wholeheartedly embraced this chapter of life for what it is. My children are in such a sweet spot. Everett is into literally everything, but he’s such a lover, and so stinking cute! Cecelia is talking like a little grown-up, yet she's still so innocent. Someday I’ll look back at 2019 and be able to more clearly communicate what it was that I learned, and how it made me a better person, but for now I’m willing to reflect with gratitude and look ahead with a kind of steady and quiet expectation. There are no jitters - I don’t get the butterflies anymore. I’ve graduated to a new level of anticipation, one of confidence and trust that everything will work out in the end. So... what is my new word for 2020? Wholeheartedness. 

Whatever your goals or resolutions, I hope 2020 brings beauty, love, and joy to you and yours. Happy New Year, everyone!

On The Enneagram, Doing Things the Hard Way, and Eliminating Hurry

Hey Internet. Sorry it's been so long. There's a lot of exciting stuff going on here, but for today I'm going to share some of the things I've learned the hard way.

I've probably mentioned this before, but I'm kind of obsessed with personality typing systems, particularly the Enneagram. If you're not familiar with this one, it's a system of nine types, all of which connect or overlap in some way. While the Myers Briggs system focuses on how people think and process information, the Enneagram is more interesting to me because it delves into what actually motivates us.

So, it should come as no surprise that I am a Three on the Enneagram. "The Achiever." We are known for our ability to accomplish whatever we set our minds to. We are extremely performance-driven and tend to get more done in a day than most people get done in a week. To see what a typical day in my life looks like, check out this fun little video I put together this past August:

There are plenty of downfalls to being an "Achiever". It's typical for Threes to cut corners for the sake of efficiency. We are less likely to do something perfectly (that's more the job of a type One...) if it's going to take too much time or effort. That's where this post comes in (I could talk about the Enneagram all day, but this is, after all, a blog about art).  I'm sharing some of my mistakes--i.e. lessons learned the hard way--so that you can avoid making the same ones.

For starters, here's just an abbreviated list of ways I've cut corners due to my chronic lack of patience (and I suffered the consequences later):

- Stretching and preparing a canvas without making it perfectly square, painting a masterpiece on it (I say this tongue-in-cheek), then having to manually chisel the inside of the frame for it to fit. Not only is this annoying and messy, but it's dangerous (employing knifes and wood carving tools)... and takes way more time than making that darn canvas square in the first place. I don't recommend.

- Not waiting long enough for the primer to dry and risking cracking, plus tackiness while working. Friends, if you're going to prime your own canvases, make sure they are completely cured before you paint on them. I was in such a hurry to start on a project one time that I disregarded the obvious tackiness of the primer and dove in anyway. I ended up having to scrape off what was going to be a decent painting, because the paint was actually lifting up some of the under layers of primer. Yuck.

- Not letting a painting sit long enough for me to notice what's wrong with it before posting to social media or selling it. This is probably my best (worst?) example of being in a hurry... I want the painting to be done and move on to the next thing. But I'm learning that the best thing I can do for my art is to let it live in my studio for a while after it's "finished", in order to make small (or sometimes big) changes that will make it a better painting. Instagram can wait.

- Trying to spray a painting with retouch varnish when it's not quite dry to the touch. The paint will start to run or bleed into surrounding areas, especially if it's a slower-drying color, like titanium white or cadmium red. Whoops. I wasn't going for that "glow" effect.

- Overestimating my time to meet deadlines, or my skill set for certain projects. This leads to work that is rushed, or worse - disappointing a client because I couldn't make a deadline.

I'm writing this to continually remind myself of my chosen word for the year: patience. Ann Voskamp, whose blog I greatly enjoy, recently challenged her readers to make the most of the last 60 days of the year. I was moved by this reminder to live a wholehearted life of gratitude and being fully present. Her next post was about "How Love is Incompatible with Hurry," an excerpt from a brand new book by John Mark Comer called "The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry." Naturally, I bought the book immediately. It is changing my life, especially this little phrase: "Hurry and love are oil and water: they simply do not mix."

All things worth doing should be done with excellence and undivided attention. This is so hard for us in this day and age. It's hard for me when I have two small children constantly tugging at my sleeve. But during those golden moments when I am in the studio, brushes in hand, I am called to give nothing less than my best. My art should be made with love.  And nothing can be done in a hurry that is also done in love.

That said: here's a recent painting that I gave plenty of time and patience to. I let it sit and breathe, and speak to me. I worked on other things during moments of silence. And if you look at the subjects... well, they simply had to be painted out of love.

"Morning Light" - 18x36" - oil on linen (2019)

Peony Painting Frenzy

Each summer for the entire month of June, I drop everything to create paintings of my favorite flower, the peony.  I'm not sure how it became such an obsession of mine. I suppose it started when I chose them for my wedding. But over the years they have become more than just a memory from that big day. To me, flowers--and peonies especially--represent life's transience. This is not a new idea. Artists have used flowers in vanitas scenes for centuries. At some point each of us has to face our own impermanence, but perhaps for artists, painting flowers can lessen the blow, because they are such a joy to look at. In their prime, peonies take center stage with their dinner-plate sized blooms and intensity of color, but their season is so short, and they leave us wanting more. They remind me that my moment on earth is a short blip in the timeline of eternity, and I must bloom as brilliantly as I can before my little life is extinguished.

So I enter what I call my "peony painting frenzy", and start many new paintings over the course of the short season. Sometimes I'm persistent enough to finish one; other times I start and abandon them as the flowers die, moving on to something new. Sometimes, as you'll see below in the case of "White, Pink and Coral Peonies", I let the painting evolve over the course of several weeks, using numerous flowers from different angles to create the composition I am going for.

When we moved this spring, I took my coral sunset peony with me. I had planted it in a large pot several years ago, knowing I would want to transplant it eventually when we bought a house. It's still in the pot, and gave me two blooms this year in spite of being trampled by snow and hail. I bought more bouquets of white and pink peonies from the grocery store than I care to admit... but I also made sure to incorporate the coral peony into as many of my pieces as possible. Some of them are still in progress - I'm sharing some detail shots below.

Above: the coral sunset peony. I can't wait to plant more. This flower is incredible - it keeps evolving in shape and color as it blooms, making for countless painting opportunities!

Above: Studies from a single coral sunset peony. The weather in June was crazy this year--so many clouds and thunderstorms! I was trying to work from natural light but the flower began to close up as it got darker and darker out...

Above: a work in progress employing my coral peonies, and some columbine and wild roses from my backyard.

Below: a timelapse of the start of one of my florals. You can see the blooms opening up throughout the course of the painting. 

Above: a work in progress next to the finished piece from the timelapse video.

Below: Here is "White, Pink and Coral Peonies," 12x24", oil on linen -- and some progress shots of it in my studio (which is itself still a work in progress!). This painting was completed after several weeks of work. I added and subtracted blooms, or moved them as I saw fit for the composition. My goal was to have it read almost like a piece of sheet music. It should flow from one side of the painting to the other. I was thrilled to include the fading coral peony into this piece... the translucency of those petals was mesmerizing! 

"White, Pink and Coral Peonies" - 12x24" - oil on linen (available)

More finished paintings coming soon. Also, I've been getting a lot of messages from artists asking that I create a floral painting tutorial. Email me at annarosebain@gmail.com if this is something you'd be interested in seeing!  Meanwhile, here are a few of the colors I used to nail those corals and pinks:

- Quinacridone magenta
- Brilliant pink
- Indian yellow
- Cadmium scarlet
- Cadmium orange

A Weekend Away - Portrait Society of America 2019

A week ago, I returned home from my tenth Portrait Society of America conference. Each one has been unique and wonderful in its own way. This year, unlike years past, I was there not as a beginning student, a state ambassador, or a faculty member. I was simply in attendance to take it in and enjoy being surrounded by my family in art. It was a pleasure to cheer on some dear friends of mine who were getting their first moments in the spotlight. I was also there for my twin sister Emily, who has only been painting professionally for about two years, but she now has the hunger and drive that defined me throughout all of my twenties, and her watercolor paintings get better and better by the day. She is currently selling them on her website here, so be sure to check her out and support her if you can!

A former student of mine made a good observation of this year's conference: she said that the Portrait Society seemed to be going through a time of transition. Over the years, it has gradually moved from being solely portrait-focused to covering a broader range of figurative art. I think this is a good thing, because traditional portraiture is no longer what it once was. Art, like culture, is always evolving and changing with the times. The biggest visible change, however, is in the Portrait Society's demographics. Ten years ago you never would have seen children or babies at the conference; this year, at least four or five faculty members brought their young ones with them! Tim Rees wore his baby girl around in a front pack while he sported his usual dapper suit (it was adorable). Next year there will be even more children present because the conference will be held in Orlando. I think it's wonderful and refreshing to see, although I chose not to bring my own kids this time (mama needed some sleep).

I was blown away by the amount of young talent, not just on the faculty but everywhere. There were many first-time attendees. I always take time to help out with portfolio critiques, and this year, the majority of the people I critiqued were there for the first time, which was exciting to see. The quality of work was incredible! For those of you who showed me your work... what a privilege to be let into your life in this way. I look forward to following you and watching you succeed!

Several young people took center stage as award winners in the international competition. Alex Venezia, only 25 years old, won first place in painting for his flawless portrait of his wife. And then there's 21-year-old Stephanie Thomson, a Certificate of Excellence winner, and a young woman I can't say enough good things about! She's got all the passion, joy, talent, work ethic, and love for her art to shoot straight to the top. Oh, and she's a Crossfitter! What?! I want to adopt her as my little sister.

I found myself feeling quite reflective this time around, and many of the remarks given by artist Bo Bartlett in his Sunday morning slideshow hit home for me. Here are just a few of his thought-provoking quotes:

"Art is like taking a trip - you gotta know where you’re going and know how to get there." - Bo Bartlett

"Your art goes as deep as your love goes." - Andrew Wyeth

“It’s like transubstantiation. You gotta get your whole life into the paint. You gotta put your whole being in it.” - Bo Bartlett

“Paintings are never an answer, just open-ended questions. Why to paint? To bring something into the universe that hasn’t existed before." - Bo Bartlett

The Raymar folks used paintings by Quang Ho and myself on some of the posters in their booth... so cool! Here we are posing with some of our favorite products. :-)

Over the weekend I had the opportunity to paint a little, sleep a little, catch up with old friends, and sit back and watch and listen. I had some trouble processing all the feelings going on throughout. I was very happy for the break from kids and home life, knowing that as soon as I returned home I would be greeted by piles of laundry and an empty fridge. There wouldn't be a chance for me to head straight to the easel for artistic release; instead, I'd be back to trying to steal moments away for painting. Yet, I found myself greatly missing my kids, especially my darling 8-month-old boy that up until this point, I'd never spent a night apart from.

I experienced sadness. Inadequacy. Nagging shame and fear that I won’t become a better artist. Frustration over my current situation, envy for the artists who get to paint every day, who get to paint whatever they want.

And yet... there were also so many wonderfully uplifting words of encouragement throughout the weekend. More than a few people came up to me to say they were following my work and that I was doing a great job balancing my art and family. What a gift to hear these well-timed affirmations (thank you, friends - you know who you are!).

Having a blast painting my sister Emily alongside Max Ginsburg. Everyone asked me, "Is it easy to paint your twin because it's like doing a self portrait?" (No.) Below: my painting of Emily on a panel generously provided by Raymar Art.

Below: the Colorado crew: Adrienne Stein, Quang Ho, Andrea Kemp, Raj Chaudhuri, Anna Rose Bain, Emily Olson, Foster Grissim (missing Johanna Harmon :-( )

All these thoughts and muddled feelings (that I'm still trying to sort!) have brought me back to freshman history class when Dr. Willson taught us about the tension between arete (excellence) and hubris (arrogance). There is always this very natural and human desire for greatness, but at what point does it become an unhealthy and destructive form of pride? I saw many different variations of both arete and hubris over the weekend and art is perhaps the most straightforward place one might look to witness these ancient concepts. I'll be honest: right now my own version of hubris manifests itself in the form of insecurity when I’m not painting or appearing to succeed. When I have to be in the shadows, I begin to feel that I’m not doing what I’m meant to be doing. I'm going to work on this: character development, and continuing to focus on my word for the year (patience).

All in all, it was a wonderful weekend and I'm happy I got to go. Oh, and I'd be remiss if I failed to mention the breakfast I organized for a handful of us artist mamas who needed a safe place to discuss art and motherhood - this was definitely a highlight of the weekend for me!

I was also very thankful to come home to my sweet babies, remembering that I do in fact have the best of both worlds. :-)

P.S. Another great quote from a film I watched on the plane back to Denver: “It’s about being a warrior… This is your path and you will pursue it with excellence. You face your fear because your goal demands it.” - Alex Honnold (from the movie "Free Solo")

Ten Year Glow Up

At the start of the year, you may have seen lots of "ten year challenge" posts all over social media, where people post photos of themselves from ten years ago alongside a photo of themselves now. I'm sure everyone has a different reason for playing along, whether it be to show how well they've aged, or how much weight they've lost, or how many kids they've had. Some celebrities went so far as to post a "20-year-challenge" instead, boasting at how little they've changed over the years (they failed to mention the thousands of dollars they've dropped on botox, plastic surgery, and other procedures we lowly non-celebs can't afford). 

  

Admittedly, the challenge had me looking back at lots of old photos for the first time in years, and I wasn't sure whether to feel nostalgic or mortified. I've never been one to dwell on the past; I'm always looking forward. And my first tendency is to pick apart all the things that could have used improvement--I wasn't eating healthy, I had no idea how to do my hair or makeup, I had zero muscle tone, I wasted a lot of time, etc.  I was constantly striving, especially when it came to my art (more on that in a bit), and I lived with a painful self awareness at all times (wait... I still have that). 

Here's the thing: time is not supposed to stand still. We are supposed to age. We are supposed to grow and change and gain wisdom from experience. 

Thinking about my art, I'm especially thankful for the lessons I've learned in the past ten years. Art parallels life in countless ways. It requires patience (sometimes doggedness), a willingness to learn and make mistakes, and most of all--passion. 

If you've followed my blog for a while you'll know that the Portrait Society of America has been a big part of my journey. In the last four years, I've slowly climbed up the international competition ladder first with two years of Certificates of Excellence (awarded to those who didn't quite make the cut into the top 25), followed by two years of successfully making it in as a finalist. This year, I entered knowing it wasn't my strongest work but still my best effort, given the circumstances (see the caption below, from my Instagram post, for a full recap). I just found out that I landed among the top 100 and I'm pretty darn proud of that.

"

In the past year, I’ve been pregnant, travelled, taught, had my baby and made the transition to becoming a mother of two. I’ve finished a number of major commissions, including a thoroughly researched and challenging portrait of Abraham Lincoln. I’ve continued with Crossfit. I’ve continued to volunteer at my church as a pianist. I’ve been the primary caretaker of my children, the one who cooks, cleans, grocery shops, does laundry, takes kids to doctor’s appointments, writes thank you notes, remembers birthdays, wipes noses, changes diapers, walks the dog. I’ve gone over eight months without a full night’s sleep. I have to live one day at a time or else I’ll become overwhelmed by it all.

And yet… I keep painting. I fit it in whenever and wherever I can. The art, and my faith in the One who gave it to me-- keep me from losing my identity in the trenches of motherhood and everyday life.

So, I am actually thrilled to be one of the “Select 50” (among the top 100) of this year’s Portrait Society International Competition, even though I’m not a finalist this time. They had almost 3000 entries. And with my aforementioned crazy past year, I didn’t expect to make the cut. I’m thankful for the art that keeps me going, the children who inspire my paintings(!), and for the competition that keeps me motivated. I paint for a lot of reasons and this is one of them. Thank you, @theportraitsociety!#portraitsocietyofamerica #select50 #annarosebain#artistmama #artandmotherhood"

My attitude in the past was always, "I know this is good, but I want more." When I was a certificate winner, I still wanted to be a finalist, and when I was a finalist I still wanted a higher award than what I got. It was never enough. This year, my attitude is entirely different and I hope it's a sign that I'm finally maturing and learning to embrace my word of the year: PATIENCE. (I'm sharing it with you so you can help me stay accountable!)

Perhaps this year is not going to be about winning awards, traveling the world, teaching lots of workshops, or even going on my beloved hiking excursions. I keep looking at the faces of my beautiful children and relishing those intimate moments that social media can't do justice (they're moments better kept to myself anyway). I want to remember everything, and I know that in the near or distant future, my experience now, away from the easel, will somehow translate into my art. I just don't know what that looks like yet and that's okay.

I was recently challenged by a great artist who suggested that if I wanted to be taken seriously by museums and the "high" art world, I would need to stop focusing on the sentimental in my work and start being more mysterious, or less obvious with my narratives. While I agreed with him to some extent, I also told him honestly, "Being in a museum has never been my goal. I've always treated my art like a diary, and I don't know how to make it any other way."     

What will my artistic diary look like over the next ten years? I'm excited to find out. We just bought a house (YAY!), and will be moving at the end of this month (so this post is a nice respite from packing). The new studio-- 2800 square feet of unfinished walkout basement - will offer much in terms of lighting and spacial potential, but most of all I look forward to seeing how its energy affects my work. When we first walked through the house I had the most amazing feeling about that space, and now it will be mine to grow in and learn from. 

I am thankful for all of the lessons I've learned in the past ten years, and for the woman I was then (imperfections and all!). I wouldn't be me without her.  So here's to ten more years of character development and the art that will inevitably accompany it!

Painting during our honeymoon in northern Wisconsin, July 2008

At an outdoor festival, September 2008 (we had just returned from our honeymoon and moved to Texas). I started picking up a commission or two here and there. I treated every project as an opportunity to get paid to learn, and boy! Did I have a lot to learn.

Fall 2018 (ten years later): in my rented home/studio (a converted sun room with southwest light... not ideal) in Westminster, CO. I outgrew this space pretty quickly but it was here that I painted both of my finalist paintings for the Portrait Society, and I am grateful for it!

New Color Monday: MH Cobalt Violet Light and Brilliant Pink

With the craziness of the holidays, I took a few weeks off from "New Color Monday", but I'm excited to share the latest in my adventures with color. Today I'm focusing on a couple of Michael Harding colors that are new to me, Cobalt Violet Light (series 6) and Brilliant Pink  (series 2). Last week to my great delight, I found my favorite flower at Sprouts, so I paused work on other paintings to do a small 9x6 study of these beautiful pink peonies.

Whenever I post a peony painting, I get bombarded with questions about which colors I use to achieve those vibrant pinks. Normally my go-to palette includes quinacridone magenta, alizarin crimson permanent, and Vasari ruby red, which are all quite strong and transparent. This time I decided to try out Cobalt Violet Light and Brilliant Pink instead, and I was very happy with the results.

First of all... let me say that red is one of those colors that loses its intensity as soon as you mix it with anything else. If you want it to stay pure and vibrant, it's best to use it straight out of the tube. That's why, in my opinion, you can't have too many reds (or pinks/violets) in your arsenal of paints. If you do decide to mix it with something, try it out on your palette before you go nuts with it on the canvas. And if you want it to look especially pure and untainted, thinly apply an under painting of pure color (straight from the tube) in the areas where you want it to appear most vibrant. That's what I did in this painting. Once I applied the paint in what I knew would be the "pinkest" areas, I made sure to leave it alone; the white of the canvas showing through made it especially vibrant. I mixed a lot of white into the lighter areas and carefully built up the paint volume around the translucent spots.

I found that the two Michael Harding colors looked lovely when mixed together, as well as when mixed with white. Neither was overpowering or infectious in its tinting strength; instead I could gradually build the color without worrying that it would be too much (Old Holland's Brilliant Pink, for example, has a much higher tinting strength than the MH). The colors lend themselves nicely to the delicate nature of peony pedals; both are semi-transparent, which makes them strong enough on their own, but especially lovely when mixed with white. The Cobalt Violet Light is expensive... but absolutely beautiful. When mixed with white, it somehow maintains its warmth and provided the exact "purplish-pink" I was seeing in the light sections of the flower pedals. The Brilliant Pink definitely has more coral/orange in it, making the Violet appear cooler and thus creating some beautiful complementary temperatures. 

I completed some of the darker sections of the flowers with the help of transparent oxide red, permanent mauve, ivory black, and alizarin crimson permanent, but for the most part the two MH color remained the stars of the show. Below is a shot of my palette towards the end of the painting.

Below: the finished painting. I hope you are enjoying these posts. I always love hearing your thoughts!

"Pink Peonies," 9x6", oil on linen panel (available - annarosebain@gmail.com)