musings from the studio and beyond ~
dawn chandler’s reflections on art and life. . . .
03.05.2011 ~ santa fe ~ afternoon path
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| santa fe ~ afternoon path ~ oil on canvas ~ copyright dawn chandler 2011 |
On the west edge of the property is an old road that’s become washed out and overgrown. My dog and I like to walk it when the shadows are long, in the early morning or, as here, in the late afternoon.
This is my favorite of last year’s late autumn paintings. Over the years I’ve struggled with so much that is represented in this painting: the volume of trees in general, the color of evergreens in particular, the volume and color of sage, the color of shadows, just the right shade of blue for the sky. Yet here, The Muse seemed to be smiling and allowed me to capture them all better than usual — and almost effortlessly at that. The paint feels fresh, not belabored. Probably could have teased out a few more colors in those darkest shadows…but it works as is.
If only every painting session could come together so well!
03.02.2012 ~ dixon, new mexico ~ miya’s tree
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| miya’s tree ~ dixon, new mexico ~ oil on canvas ~ copyright dawn chandler 2012 |
As I write this I’m pausing every now and then to sip tea from a vessel formed from clay in the nimble hands of my friend Miya. Yes, Miya is a potter (check out her beautiful work here), and she lives in a cottage at the end of a dirt road in beautiful Dixon, New Mexico.
A couple of years ago I did a painting of Miya’s studio. If you were to stand in that painting, and turn around 180 degrees, this is the view you would see — only here it is October, rather than April. I’ve zoomed in on the distant landscape, bringing in closer the hills and that radiant, solitary cottonwood tree — Miya’s tree.
03.01.2012 ~ rio grande autumn
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| Rio Grande Autumn 01 ~ 2011 ~ 8 x 10 inches ~ oil on canvas ~ copyright Dawn Chandler 2011 |
Among the paintings being moved out are a several autumn scenes I painted late this past year and never got around to sharing here.. I had forgotten about them, and was rather charmed to find them again.
“PULL OVER!!”
Anyhow, I like the sketchiness of this — that it was done quickly, without deliberating too much. The main masses of colors were made, and then just a few smaller details merely suggested. I like, too, that I left some of the stained canvas exposed — those patches of rust bleeding through.
02.13.2012 ~ unplugged and quiet
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| the blank page of morning ~ copyright dawn chandler 2012 |
I’ve been keeping to myself lately….
drawing
to find out who you are.
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| february fog ~ copyright dawn chandler 2012 |
12.24.2011 ~ she is sensitive to the cold
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elle est sensible ~ au froid
— mixed media on panel ~ 16 x 8 inches
~ copyright dawn chandler 2011 |
Winter 2011/12
On this cold and snowy winter’s night, I find myself thinking of my father….
He had an insatiable passion for knowledge. His whole life he devoted to, among other things, the pursuit of intellectual enrichment. My uncle — my father’s brother-in-law — said of my father, “he was the most interesting person I ever knew. He knew something about everything.” Indeed, rather than a ‘jack of all trades and master of none’ my father seemed to be a master of just about everything he had an interest in — and that was a lot. One need only peruse the vast libraries of books lining the walls of our home for evidence of my father’s rich and varied interests.
Coupled with his passionate intellectual rigor, my father possessed an unequaled joi de vivre, embracing life with all the energy and enthusiasm he could muster. Walking quickly, muttering to himself snippets of something or another that he was trying to memorize, not a moment could be wasted in his pursuit of knowledge. His “golden years” he welcomed as an opportunity to learn and do yet more. Little wonder then that upon his retirement from pathology at the age of 70, he dedicated much of his attention to learning French. Not a room in his apartment was without identification labels taped to everything: un tire-bouchon
(a cork-screw), les ciseaux (the scissors), la lampe (the lamp). He insisted on wearing shirts with two breast pockets, so that throughout the day as he went through his latest French flashcards, he could easily divide the cards between the two pockets: on his right, the words and phrases he got correct; on the left, those yet to learn.
My father died this year, and the ache in my heart left by his death echoes with an emptiness and longing that I can hardly describe.
In early February, when I went to clean out my father’s apartment, despite the staggering sadness of the work, I made many happy discoveries. Among them his hundreds of French flash cards, his unique handwriting scrawled bilingually on either side. Invariably written with a very fine tipped blue ballpoint pen, what these small notes reveal is not just a passion for his favorite of the Romance languages, but little gems of his personality, including his signature delightful naughtiness and good humor:
Il m’est pénible d’avoir à vous dire que le vin est fini. ~ It is painful to me to have to tell you that the wine is finished.
Les chiens de Paris font leaurs ordures sur le trottoir. ~ The dogs of Paris leave [make] turds on the sidewalk.
Sa beauté ainsi que sa candeur m’a frappé. ~ Her beauty as well as her innocense struck me.
J’ai un engoutment pour le chocolat. ~ I have an infatuation for chocolate.
Je me suis ému parce poème. ~ I was very moved by that poem.
C’était amusant de marcher dans les flaques d’eau. ~ It was fun to walk in the puddles.
La femme est bien jambée. ~ The woman has nice legs.
Le pet malodorant était un action malotru. ~ The malodorous fart was a vulgar action.
Quoiqu’il soit vieux, il a agilité d’un jeune homme. ~ Although he is old, he has the agility of a young man.
My father’s flashcards now sit in an open box in my studio.
When I created the recent painting pictured here on my New Year card, the painting seemed to evolve on its own. But once finished, I couldn’t think of a title for it. I debated several, but they were unsatisfactory. For weeks I sought a name.
Then one day, I chanced to pick up one of my father’s flashcards:
elle est sensible au froid ~ she is sensitive to the cold.
If you look very carefully, you’ll find these very words written in my father’s handwriting near the top of the painting.
Thus begins a new artistic collaboration between my father and me.
I’m delighted by the concept!
I hope he would be, too.
If you’re curious to see more of our collaborations, you’re welcome to
keep tabs here on my blog or here, on my website.
There’s just three of our collaborations completed just yet.
But there will be more.
Many more.
Oh, and my sainted mother? Her spirit’s joining in on the collaboration, too:
That star in the painting is a pendant of hers.
Joy to you in the New Year! May we all live life as fully and with as much joi de vivre as did my Dad.
