musings from the studio and beyond ~
dawn chandler’s reflections on art and life. . . .
the art of writing made yet more artful: the new mexico landscape note cards
new mexico note card set by dawn chandler
new note cards by dawn chandler — a perfect gift
first round of note card packets ready for shipment!
a small expression of big gratitude
Thank you.
Thank you — you, who make time to read my words and look at my pictures here and on FaceBook and Twitter, Etsy and Pinterest and all the various platforms where I put myself out there.
With so many demands on your time and attention in this information age, I’m really kind of floored to know that there are people out there who find my words and art interesting enough to spend a few moments with them whenever I post something new.
You’ve paid me the greatest of compliments by your interest and engagement.
Surely I’d make my art even without an audience or patron base, for the act of creating for me is elemental; it’s in my blood and it can’t be denied. Or if it is denied, I become pouty and irritable and unpleasant. The world is a much better place when Dawn gets to create!
But having people out there who make time for my art, who respond to my art, and who are touched by my art…. That’s a gift, and one I don’t take lightly and hope I may never take for granted.
So thank you to each one of you reading these words. Blessings to you this New Year.
lovers leap: why i paint new mexico
lovers leap return (detail) – by dawn chandler – oil on canvas – 36″ x 24″
New Mexico.
Colfax County.
If you’ve been following my art for even a short amount of time, you know that the beauty of the land is my greatest inspiration. Look a little harder, and you realize that the land of New Mexico, in particular, resonates for me. Go deeper still, and you realize that there’s a swath of land through the heart of Colfax County in the northern part of the state that appears again and again and again in my landscape paintings.
That swath of land — some 215+ square miles — is the Philmont Scout Ranch. Owned and operated by the Boy Scouts of America, it’s the home of the largest outdoor adventure operation in the country, providing thousands of teens and adults experiences of a life time. Backpacking, horse-packing and lessons in leadership and group dynamics are some of what Philmont specializes in.
When I was a teenager, thanks to a little-known co-ed branch of the Boy Scouts, I got to go to Philmont. For two weeks I backpacked through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of Northern New Mexico and witnessed my life changing before me. I returned the next summer for another high adventure backpacking trip, and again the one after that. For six more summers I worked on staff teaching backpacking skills, further deepening my love of nature and the outdoors.
And in the process I made some of the deepest friendships of my life.
No other place in the world has had a more profound and rippling effect on my life than Philmont.
It’s why I came to live in New Mexico; why I came to paint the land.
There’s absolutely no doubt that I am richly blessed — blessed to have a whole community of people who admire and appreciate — and sometimes even buy — my art. And of these patrons, a great many of them — indeed, the vast majority of them — have a connection to Philmont.
And so it is that I often receive requests from people to paint specific places on “The Ranch.” So it is that over the years I have looked at countless Philmont photos, as I try to paint people’s memories.
And what I can tell you is that it’s darn hard to finding really good photos of Philmont. That’s because most people don’t really know what they’re doing with a camera; few have any sense of composition or of light and shadow.
That was trumped about a year ago when I received a request from a gentleman who wanted a Philmont painting for his office, but wasn’t sure what scene.. He had a number of photographs he’d taken himself — perhaps I could look them over and see if any of them spoke to me? “Sure” I replied, fully expecting to feel a little flat when looking at his photos.
W O W.
They were among the best photographs of Philmont by a non-professional I had ever seen.
Of his photos I chose six to paint as “studies”, with the plan that of these six, he would select the one for me to do as a larger painting. (Secretly I had my favorite — the one I’d hoped he’d choose for the large canvas — but I kept my opinion to myself so as not to sway him).
For the studies I used 16″ x 20″ panels and a very limited palette of just ultramarine blue, alizarin crimson, cadmium yellow medium, and titanium white. Thanks to the terrific reference photos, they were an utter delight to paint.
Then the moment of Truth: I emailed him images of the paintings….
He chose my favorite.
And here it is, the grande finale, Lovers Leap Return, by Dawn Chandler, oil on canvas, 36″ x 24″ (based on a photo by Russell Smart)
lovers leap return – oil on canvas – by dawn chandler
And here are the “studies” which I think are some of the best paintings of Philmont — heck, the best paintings period — I’ve ever done. All of these paintings are based on photos by Russell Smart.
And all of them — including the two versions of Lovers Leap — are now available as prints. (Click here to visit my shop).
the tooth in the clouds – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 20″ x 16″
the tooth from urraca – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 16″ x 20″
meadow below baldy – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 16″ x 20″
new mexico morning – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 16″ x 20″
baldy from red river – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 16″ x 20″
lovers leap looking west – by dawn chandler – oil on panel – 20″ x 16″
enough already. time for taos.
ACK!! U N C L E!
Enough with the computer already! A month of being glued to my keyboard — new website, new newsletter, dozens of paintings added to my online store, slew of emails vying for my attention — and I haven’t painted since October! OCTOBER!
So this morning I decided Screw it. Everything else can wait. I’m painting no matter what.
And there you have it.
home, for me….
With so much to be thankful for, it can be overwhelming when called upon to innumerate all that’s deserving of mention. My heart and eyes swell as I think of my family and friends and pets past and present; of the roofs that have sheltered me, the clothes that have swaddled and warmed me, the food that has nourished me, the books and music and art and education that have enriched me; the good health and wellness that sustain me; the fans and followers and patrons who bolster and inspire me. I am so very thankful for all of these, and more.
But today, as I sit beside a fire in a cozy home in western Maryland, and look out through tall eastern oaks, the calligraphy of their branches etched with fresh snow, I’m feeling particularly grateful for trees.
I miss trees, and I’m reminded of this fact every time I return east. Oh sure, we have trees in New Mexico. But mostly they’re dull shades of drab green: pinon, juniper, Ponderosa, Russian olive. The cottonwoods and aspens are obvious exceptions, and thank goodness for them, for their color — such a contrast to the earth tones from which they spring — are a big part of what makes the landscape of northern New Mexico so enchanting. But for me, the cottonwoods and aspens are all about memory and a certain yearning: The verdancy of their springtime leafing and the gold coinage of their autumn canopy stirs a nostalgia in me that is tapped directly and deeply into the soil of the eastern woods.
I’ve often claimed that while I was born and raised in New Jersey, it was in New Mexico where I found my soul.
Yet, the northeastern landscape will always be Home. Even these twenty years since I moved west, these seven years since the family house was sold, these four years since the death of my father, this shrinking landscape of small green farms and ambling stone walls, of mellow creeks and stands of tawny hardwoods — this is comfort to me; this is familiar. This is Home.
Yesterday after raking dry brown leaves from the lawn and ivy, and piling them in a heap upon an already dense bank of white pine needles, My Man and I lay down upon them. With arms like wings, we ruffled more leaves over us, quilting ourselves in a bed of boughs and leaves. Looking up to the sky through the scramble of barren branches, we watched as a couple of ravens circled high. Sleep came to us easier there on a bed of oak leaves than it has most nights upon a mattress, as did feelings of calm and safety. For then, as today, when I look to these woods and these branches like so many arms widespread, I feel as though I’m looking out to family, as though each tree trunk and limb holds within it an ancestor spirit who’s looking after me.
And I suppose they are.
And for them, especially, I am feeling grateful.
