The Paint-Around

L-R: Keith Demanche, Lisa Regopoulos, Terri Brooks,
and Maryann Mullett with the finished a paint-around

July 30: Closing day of the Pastel Society of New Hampshire’s Members Exhibition 2022 at the Wolfeboro Library and I arrived to pick up my paintings. This was my first juried exhibit with them since joining last year and I was up for an award. I was nervous. I only know a couple of them, and as I get a bit of anxiety around groups of people, it’s often a struggle for me to go places. I’m OK once I get there and start chatting with others.

The room was being set up for a paint-around demonstration. I’d not heard about a “paint-around.” I’m not interested in watching painting demonstrations. I don’t watch You-Tube videos, take webinars, or anything like that. I want to be painting and doing my own thing! I thought about slipping out until it was over, but I’m so glad I stayed.

Four artists set up in the front of the room, each easel on a floor covering to protect the carpet from falling pastel dust. Each had their own palette table or attachment to the easel (plein air artists have a more solid, portable set up than those who are studio artists.) Their set ups included the support/paper they would be working on, plus the reference photo to paint from. One woman had hers on an i-Pad instead of a print.

A timer was set, and the artists had 10 minutes to start their paintings. At the end of 10 minutes, they moved to the next person’s painting for another 10 minutes, then on to the next, etc. Each one worked on one another’s painting with a final 10 minutes back at their own original painting.

When I first heard that this was what a paint-around was, I thought, “I’d never dare do this; work in front of others let alone swap to work on someone else’s painting. What if I messed someone’s up?”

Of the three doing landscapes, two artists had black U-Art 400 paper. The other two never said what paper they were using. One had her background painted orange and the fourth had pre-drawn an outline of her still life.

I was curious about the colored backgrounds. I was especially intrigued by the orange background and was totally amazed with what that did in regards to the original photo as the artists took their turn at it. (I’ve tried color a couple of times but couldn’t really tell if it made a difference. Now, however, I’m inspired to try again.

At first, all was quiet as the artists dove in their work. It was amazing how fast they worked, although, I really shouldn’t be surprised. Then those of us watching were invited to ask questions, such as what kind of paper and was it difficult to work with someone else’s palettes – as not everyone sets their palettes the same way. Plus, there are different types of pastels.

There was conversation about underpaintings. Not all types of paper will hold a wet underpaintings such as with watercolor or alcohol wash. Some papers will curl. There were comments on sanded papers. I didn’t see the blue painter’s tape which I use to attach my paper to the easel. One woman used a big clip, two others used a couple short strips of masking tape in the corners, and I couldn’t tell how the other woman attached hers.

I asked about the uprightness of the easels. I keep hearing that’s the way pastel artists should work. I tried it and was not comfortable with the easel being so vertical… and that means I deal with pastel dust getting onto my paintings. Hmm, maybe I should adjust my easels and try again…

The scenes came together as they swiftly worked. Oh, I wanted to get closer and look over each one’s shoulder. I wanted to see clearer how they were making their strokes. I was mesmerized and I almost wished I could jump in there and have a go at it myself.

One thing that stood out for me was I didn’t see anyone doing any kind of rubbing until the very end, and then that was minimal. I rub a lot to blend and soften because I prefer smoothness in my paintings. I also know many artists are more about the strokes.

So many other questions I would have liked to ask, but would it make me sound unprofessional, like a newbie artist? For instance, I’d like to know more about underpainting – I usually use pan pastels. What’s their favorite pastels to work with? Favorite support? What are their challenges? (Which is what I want to know most as I’m fascinated by people’s personal journeys.)

And, it’s not that I think any one is better than the next. We all have our own styles and techniques. I’m just curious in how people work, why they do this over that. Not that I want to copy from them, but there are always tips we can pick up from one another.

Cheers to my best friend Nan McCarthy

I’ve never had a lot of best friends. Throughout my life, I’ve had a couple here and there. The longest friendship I’ve had in my life, from childhood, dissolved over politics a couple years ago when she couldn’t accept I didn’t have the same beliefs as her. Others have just come and gone.

Nan McCarthy and I hit it off when we first met over 10 years ago (wow, has it been that long?) and since then, our friendship has solidified. It started over art, which was kind of funny (to me) because our styles and mediums are so different. She’s a photo realist acrylic painting and I’ve evolved from a looser (still like sharp lines, though) charcoal landscapes to pastel painter.

But what’s amazing, too, is we can comment on each other’s work and make suggestions, and yet, if those suggestions aren’t followed, it’s OK. Through her, I’ve learned to be confident in commenting on art as I try to purposely find positive artsy words for any artist I speak with.

This has been exciting. Any comments I make are totally my personal thoughts and if the other person doesn’t agree, then that’s OK. Suggestions are opinions and opinions are a personal view. I don’t hold any kind of a grudge. I never intend to tell someone what to do, so there are no hard feelings if my suggestions aren’t taken. We all work at finding our on way.

Painting, to me, is another part of the journey of life, and I am willing to take a detour from a previous thought if it hits me. Even a suggestion that doesn’t resonate, could trigger me to be open to something else. An inner reaction of, “I don’t want to do that,” could lead to another idea, another path to go down, and that’s exciting… and sometimes, I have to think about things for awhile before deciding which direction to go in.

Nan’s and my friendship grew stronger when we found we have a lot of similar beliefs and yet, even where we do have a couple of differences, we totally respect each other that that is so. We can pretty much talk about anything… and we do. Never have I ever felt any kind of put down or heard anything like, “How can you possibly believe that?” which I’ve heard from others in the past. Never has she ever told me what to do then act insulted if I don’t follow her dictates (as I’ve felt from other so-called friends in the past.)

Our friendship totally allows me to be me, as I allow her to be her. How special is that! I feel I’ve been missing this kind of friendship my entire life. It’s hard to find the right words to describe this and give honor to her.

Thank you, Nan McCarthy, for being my best friend!

Overcoming Being Devastated with my Painting Progress

"Sunset's Grace," 10 3/4 x 19 3/4 pastel painting.

Reference photo courtesy: Wand Santti

Spent over half an hour in the studio this morning. Horribly frustrated! How did I go from it looking good to it looking awful? So muddy. It’s like the pastel is falling off onto the rest of the painting even when I’m not in the room. I’m so devastated… again.

I worked and worked the sky. Turned on the fan. Used the hair dryer to blow off excess dust. Then I ended up totally wiping off the left tree down the water and started doing repairs. I’m not happy. I’m heartbroken and sick to my stomach. Tears fell.

I wonder, do I spend too much time on a painting? Do I need to work quicker and get it done? Is this why artists make their paintings so blurry? Of course, I still don’t want to work that way.

While eating lunch, I couldn’t stop thinking about the painting. At 1 p.m., I decided to have another go at it, so back in the studio for another hour. Is it worth it? So, many times, I was tempted to walk away, but I kept at it. For once, I wore a mask and thought I would smother, but I had the little fan on. I don’t know what’s worse, blowing or the fan. Either way the dust flies.

I ended up moving the lamp to the other side of the easel because the shadow of my hand kept blocking what I was working on. And I kept working. Part of the problem is there’s so much thick, soft pastel layers. I guess this is a lesson to work more with hard pastels in the beginning … and maybe use an alcohol wash like a lot of other artists. I’ve never tried that and keep thinking I should.

I finally got to the bottom of the page and started working the ground to the right adding more detail. Figured I’d done enough. Hopefully, the next time in the studio will be the finishing work.

When I stood up to leave, I just had to do a little more work. Hmm, I seem to do better standing up. I don’t like the top of that left tree. I can’t get it dark enough with all the layers… but how do I get the sky in first?

I was amazed when I stood back how good it looked. Of course, I still have the right lower side to finish, and I do see a couple corrections needing to be made. As always, from a distance, it looks amazing.

 

On Sadness – Part 2: Damaged by Love

There’s something within me that emotionally hurts. A hurt so deep from which I will never recover. Every so often, the subject comes up in my thoughts. The feeling brings tears, especially when I’m feeling lonely. I will never love/trust anyone (a man, a lover) ever again. EVER! Just thinking about it brings more tears.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for years but have never been able to find the right words. I certainly never want to be insulting to anyone or have them misunderstand, and I’m afraid of being all alone in how I feel. I’m afraid if I say how I truly feel, others will slam me. Today, though, the words seem to be coming. Maybe it’s time that I can talk about this fear of love that is bottled inside.

I wonder if, years ago, I loved, then was hurt, too deeply that that part of me has been destroyed. Yet there’s something within me that misses the cuddling, handholding, hugs… but not the sex. Sadly, there’s something inside me that equates love with sex… and I hate that! I know love isn’t really about sex, which is one reason why I feel messed up in my head.

(Sex isn’t real love – it’s only a physical urge that needs to be released – but, for some reason that part of me is afraid others will hear the word love and think sex. I know, it sounds stupid, even to me, but that’s how I feel. I’m afraid to really say I love anyone for fear they’ll mistake my meaning.)

And, unfortunately, those past experiences of being in love with a man have colored all other aspects of love (which it shouldn’t, but it makes me so afraid to love.) Yet, when I think how much I love my kitty, Pele, and even neighbor kitty Leo, tears fill my eyes. So, I’m capable of love. I just don’t trust loving a man.

I have friends and family who, after many years, reached the point in their relationships that the partners are best friends and soulmates. They still love one another after all they’ve been through during their marriages. And I do have friends and family whom I love, but still, there is fear inside…

I try to figure this all out. How did I get so damaged? I’m not blaming my old partners. And, when you’re young, things are different.

There are many aspects of love. There’s the love of family. We first learn to love our parents, siblings, grandparents, and other relatives. Even friendships can turn into loving friendships. There’s going to church and learning how we’re supposed to love God… but I eventually learned to even mistrust that as I came to see it as being something taught by men (and women) to control others. (That doesn’t mean I’m not a spiritual being.) We’re taught to love country and government, but again…

Then there’s the love of things which can be individual likes or getting caught up in the latest fads. There’s the hero worship of celebrities and more. I can make a long list of loves: music, flowers, painting, reading, studying history, etc.

I have family and good friends whom I love. But I feel I tiptoe in fear of being thrown aside if I say or do something they don’t like. I’m afraid of being shunned and ridiculed again… as it’s happened my entire life…

After my mum passed away, I was totally alone and pulled back further and narrowed my world. And, with what’s happened the last two years, I’m becoming even more of a recluse and I choose to be so.

Well, I feel a bit better now that I’ve finally been able to talk about this. Living a creative, whole-hearted life means I need to delve into issues that affect me. It’s shining a light into the darkest parts of my soul to release the grief. Breathe in… breathe out… Ahhhh.

Blur or Not to Blur

My painting style has always been about sharp lines. I’ve never cared for paintings in the impressionism style. And yet, lately, I am liking some aspects of what I usually call “blurry.”

Perhaps this all stems from my lack of traditional art training. I’ve always been one to find my own way. It’s about the journey, the trial and error, the self-discovery and not doing exactly as others do it. This is what excites me about painting – and, of course, sharing the beauty.

This “blurry” topic is, for me, experimenting with balance. I need to decide for myself which areas need softer edges. After all, I’m not a photo realist, so it doesn’t matter if I don’t have the lines exact. As a matter of fact, I don’t even do an initial layout exactly like the photo. I tend to move, delete, or add trees, rocks, bushes, etc.

I’ll study the photo, but the minute I pick up a pastel, my hand just starts moving, almost seemingly on its own. I usually call this, “the painting helping to paint itself.” It’s like my logical brain snoozes and something else takes over – not for long but a few minutes at a time.

Part of me is thinking about what I’m doing, but another part of me can’t help what my hand is doing. I go back and forth between moments of just intuitive doing and then putting more logical thought into it. It’s an interesting process which I find intriguing.

Today, I couldn't leave "A Glorious Dawn" alone and after making some adjustments, I went back in the studio, hated the change I made earlier and spent 45 minutes trying to fix it. I wiped off and covered up the orangey color I’d added to the water earlier. That meant I had a lot of repair work to do. 

I worked and worked. I tried to get the water right, add movement, etc. I am not happy.

I am sooo disappointed in myself. A lesson in leaving it alone when I feel done. I feel sick to my stomach. I loved this painting yesterday. Now I want to cry.

Falling Under the Spells of Charismatic People

I watched a documentary on Brian Wilson of Beach Boys fame. It was interesting hearing him talk about his mental illness and a healthcare provider who took advantage of him. It got me to thinking more on how we can easily be taken in by others.

I never got wrapped up in celebrities. There have been a couple of times in my life where I kind of fell for it. First, for me, was The Monkees. That was my rebellion against everyone else going ga-ga over The Beatles. Thankfully, that didn’t last because something inside me has always kept me from falling for the latest, greatest.

But, many years later at a healers’ meeting, I almost fell for some “leader”-type guy. I went home that night and all I could think about was how wonderful this guy sounded, how he had all these interesting theories on how to live a good life, how we can all live better, healthy lives, etc. I can’t even remember exactly what he said, all I know is I felt spellbound. I was totally taken in by him. Today, I even remember the feel of that pull of him on my soul. During that meeting, I would have given anything had he asked. I went home wondering how I could next meet him again.

However, when I woke up the next morning, I “woke up.” Holy crap! What did I almost just do? Wow, that incident scared the living daylights out of me! Thankfully, that self-protection part within me saved me before I did anything totally stupid. Thankfully, I’d been far enough back in the audience that I didn’t do something I’d regret. This was a huge wakeup call on how easy a charismatic person can sucker people in. It put me on guard, for sure, and really started my understanding in how/why this happens.

This showed me how easily people can fall under someone else’s influence. It also reminded me of years earlier when a few kids in my high school had fallen under The Moonies spell. They ran away from home and surrendered all they had to the current leader.

There was one more incident a few years later when I was studying Healing Tao. I was sitting in an upper balcony listening to the master speak to hundreds. He held his palms up to the audience and I felt an overwhelming presence wash over me. I felt I was being invaded and immediately heightened my protections. It slid past me.

Again, here was an interesting, engaging person talking about healing and teaching, but there was something… I don’t think it was sinister, but it felt wrong, like he was trying to hypnotize us. I refused!

Yes, I had periods throughout my life when I was involved with a couple of churches. There is so much of it that’s appealing – the camaraderie, the hymns, the promises of salvations, etc.… but again, I had some of those same feelings of wrong… (I could say more, but that’s just my opinion.)

I wish I could describe this all better to help others become aware of this type of thing – because it happens all the time. People fall for charismatic leaders/speakers, become sheep-followers and lose themselves – until it’s too late and they’re prisoners (in some form or another). And this is something history has proven over and over – only no one ever talks about it. The bottom line is it’s all about greed and control.

Look at Mussolini, Hitler, and Stalin… priests, gurus, cult leaders… they all make the so-pretty promises of salvation and saving their followers… after the people are filled with fear, hunger, and loss of their normal way of life and are desperate for someone to save them. But these leaders are all just greedy, controlling humans who take advantage of everyone who falls under their lies and deceits. When they get what they want, the hammer comes down and people’s freedoms are lost. The only ones free are the super-rich leaders and their close followers.

On Sadness Part 1

I want to talk about the sadness – not for someone to “save” me or tell me what to do or insist I “ask for help” (yeah, like I’d ever call some organization and ask for help from a stranger; I’d rather die) – but just to be able to talk about what I’m experiencing.

I’ve been incredibly sad for quite a while now. Tears fall at least three-four days a week. It’s from a myriad of things/reasons from what’s going on in the country and world to the challenges life is presenting and more. (It’s one thing to deal with the issues that come up naturally, but those I believe to be totally unnecessary and dictated by those wanting to control the masses are what really drive me into a hole. I feel there is no hope for the U.S. and its citizens.)

Oh, I know. Everyone has reasons and are quick to tell others what to think and do… and they have a right to their beliefs. I’m just so tired of it all! I’m tired of town/government taking more and more. I’m tired of escalating prices while big corporations and the wealthy get even richer. I’m tired of all the fundraising/begging. (I know, there are a lot of needy out there, but when does it stop? It doesn’t lessen but escalates and there are fundraisers nowadays for everything.) (And I know, there are no real answers on how to solve the problems.)

I’m tired of all the surveys wanting to know my opinion when I know they don’t really give a shit. I’m tired of things always seeming to go wrong (that’s not totally true but sometimes it feels that way.) I’m tired of having products shoved in my face. I’m tired of not being able to trust anything anymore… now that I’ve become more aware of the lies and deceits (and seeing similar situations from history of what has happened throughout the ages.)

I’m tired of being afraid to speak my truth for fear of being slammed. (I have a right to my opinions, but it seems that these days only certain views are allowed to be expressed publicly.) I’m tired of being asked to join all kinds of groups, clubs, and even businesses requiring you to be a member to receive benefits. (What do they do, jack up their prices to everyone else?) And then there are the “sign on” lower rates to get your business, then in two years, the prices escalate and escalate. (I was once told by one of the installers that you just have to keep changing back and forth between companies every time your “trial” period runs out.)

I’m tired of having to do everything myself. There are other things I want to be doing. I don’t mind DIY for some things, but I miss the days when repairmen would come and fix something. And, it seems, it all takes twice as long to get things done.

I’m sad because my goal of setting myself up to be able to kind of “coast” through my last years has failed and I’m scared for the future. How many more Americans are going to end up homeless? Will I?

Yeah, there are “benefits” for older people but finding your way through all the automated technology to get that help is daunting. I become a raving lunatic before I can get to a real person… and then I can’t get answers. I’ve been told I need to call someone else, or the person you finally get to is in some other part of the country (if in this country at all) and they don’t cover this area. (I’ve decided to REFUSE to talk to and listen to MACHINES!)

Or they have such a heavy accent and talk so fast, I can’t get what they’re saying. (I don’t have a problem with accents except over the phone – and being older, I swear it takes my brain longer to be able to decipher what they’re saying.)

Another issue which adds to the sadness is I don’t want to be out in public anymore. I don’t want to go to events, be around people. I don’t want to be with anyone I can’t speak freely around. I don’t want to pussyfoot around topics. I don’t want to feel looked down on if I don’t agree with them.

Oh, when I do go out, I put on the happy, friendly act and take time to compliment people, speak kindly and all that. It’s not really an act. It’s how I want to be – friendly, compassionate, and courteous. Even those I don’t care for, those who say things I don’t like; I won’t confront them. They’re allowed to think for themselves as is I. I just won’t want to be with them again.

I’ve been called selfish. In some ways, I am. It’s just at this stage of my game, I am unwilling to deal with disrespect. It seems respect has become a word from the past replaced with all these new terms that sound pretty and well-intentioned, but in reality, are words used to cover up what’s really going on. (My opinion.)

Questioning my Past

I’ve been sitting on an email without responding for a couple of days not knowing how to think, really. I’m not quite sure if there was a slight dig; to remind me of my faults which she’d gone into at length in January 2021. I always felt I was the one to give way and do what others wanted, but now I’m wondering… whose reality is true…

I suppose each of our realities is true to our individual selves. Being individual means we see differently on many things. Even if we’re in agreement, that doesn’t mean we see the situation the same way. We are not sheep. We don’t have the same brains. We have the ability to think for ourselves, our reasoning can take different avenues, past situations and upbringing play a part, etc.

I remember chuckling over my mum and aunt arguing when relating an event with each having a different spin even though they experienced it together at the same time. That’s when it hit me: We can go through the same event at the same time, and not have the same experience emotionally.

I’ve found that to be true in other instances. I’m now doubting my memories and the feelings I grew up with. I always felt I was the one who had to always fight to be heard, to be part of, and yet, I seldom felt accepted… because there was always that odd duck, lone wolf part of me. I never felt anyone truly liked me. I was unwilling to get on the latest fad bandwagons with clothes, music, etc. I wasn’t a girly-girl.

And now I’m wondering if I came on too strong with some things. Was I so unhappy I became unreasonable in insisting to do things my way when I got the chance? That because social life at school was so miserable for me, I went overboard on my home turf? Was I the one who instigated some things on the bus? Was I the one who set up ball games (we’d use jackets and stuff for bases?) Was it me who dictated the skating ponds in winter, where we rode our bikes, being out in the woods?

Those were the neighborhood/yard things. Maybe I was overbearing (is that the right word?) at home because it was the total opposite at school. At school, I was ridiculed, teased, tormented, and mentally beat down. So, on my home turf, I fought to be the leader… though I never saw myself a leader.

None of the few kids in my neighborhood who I hung out with were in any of my classes. This meant I was more comfortable around them whereas in school, I was the outcast. I was the girl from the wrong side of town (though in our town, there really wasn’t a “wrong” side, it was just our end was farther away from Exeter.) I didn’t wear the fancy clothes nor was I interested in dolls or girly things. (I always felt the boys had more fun things to do.)

There’s so much I don’t understand of why things were the way they were. I really don’t know why I felt no one liked me. Throughout the years, I’ve tried to figure it out. I don’t have answers, just lots of wonderings. I don’t know why I always felt defensive… because that’s not really me… or is it.  I dunno and I’m not sure where I’m going with this.

Perhaps I am/have been all those things I’ve been accused me of. I especially feel so nowadays. And I do have a lot of guilt because I’ve pulled back from a lot of socializing… even with family… and I can’t even describe how much that hurts… but I just can’t…  

I feel I have to stand up for myself and stand strong in who I am. I don’t feel I did that in my younger years… or I wasn’t successful at it. I feel most of my life was a struggle to be someone likeable when inside I was miserable because I was not being my true self. I swear, it feels most my younger life was spent in tears. (These days I still cry a lot, too, but these tears are for different reasons.)

The times I did try to stand up for myself, I was beat down. All of that has made me who I am today. I am not a head-to-head fighter. I am not willing to argue my point. These days, I stand stronger in my beliefs, though I still crawl off into a corner when someone slams me.

I am not a “save-the-world do-gooder.” And I don’t want to be. We don’t all have to be the same!

But this doesn’t mean I’m a bad person… even though I feel I am in others’ eyes. And I am not going to return the fault-finding. I’ve always believed that just makes a situation more volatile.

To live whole-heartedly, to me, is to take time to honor myself. It’s trying to be a good person and holding to my truths. It’s respecting other people may have different opinions. And it’s about setting some boundaries and being careful what I allow to affect me. It’s not a perfect world. We are not a perfect people. I do the best I can for my well-being and sanity.

First Show with the Pastel Society of New Hampshire

I joined the Pastel Society of New Hampshire (PSNH) last year and my first attempt at submitting to a show was not accepted. This year, I decided to give it another try and both paintings were accepted for the 17^th Annual Members’ Show held this month (July 2022) at the Wolfeboro Library.

It’s always nerve-wracking submitting work to be exhibited for all to see and critique. I work hard and love my paintings. But will others? Is it good enough? Will other artists see my work as professional? (Can they tell I’ve not had much traditional art training? That I’m mostly self-taught?) Will they fault me for not always following art rules and instead finding my own way? (I have to be me, though, and follow my own path.)

Not only is there opportunity to sell my paintings in this show, but there will also be an awards ceremony with $1,600 in cash and merchandise to be given on the last day, July 30. Do I dare hope for an award and recognition? Am I jinxing myself for mentioning it?

For the two weeks leading up to delivery day (my 68^th birthday), I was a nervous wreck. The drive would take about 1 ½ hours on a holiday weekend which meant the traffic would probably be crazy. (These days I don’t go far at all. It’s an effort to get me out of the house!) I studied Google Maps for the easiest route – and it was an easy route.

I arrived a half hour early expecting to hang around waiting, but they were already set up to receive and others were hanging the paintings. What a joy to meet other artists, see their work, and discover a little about some of these people I’ve only seen as names on a list.

Theses little interactions bring me much joy. I love hearing what others work with and hear a little about their techniques. It’s interesting to see how we can differ in styles, technique and some supplies. For instance, I prefer smooth BFK Rives paper while many other use pastel board or various other textured papers or even wood.

And we may all work with pastels, but there are many types and brands, and even the way the pastel is applied can be different. There are sponges, cotton balls, tortillons, and other tools beside pastel pencils and sticks. There are oil pastels, but in the soft pastel world, you find hard pastels, medium pastels, and soft, buttery pastels.

Some artists make small marks creating texture and movement with the pastels. Some are very impressionistic and with that, there are degrees of what I often call blur, but is actually called lost and found (soft and hard) edges. I prefer a smoother, sharper, realistic, vibrant look. I am always amazed how other artists can achieve crisp, clean lines with pastel.

How artists prepare to start their work differs, too. Some do what they call thumbnail sketches, doing smaller, quick drawings to decide exactly how they want their layout and composition to look on a bigger scale. (I do mine in a 5 x 8 ½ sketch book.) They might choose their colors ahead of the actual painting. Some prepare their support (paper, panel, board, etc.) with gesso or other elements to create texture. Others do alcohol washes over some initial background blocked-in colors. Others, like me, do the beginning sketching with charcoal.

Then there’s the controversy in the end of whether or not to spray the painting with a fixative. There are pros and cons to doing so. Some are totally against spraying while others prefer it. I do to try to keep pastel dust off the mat.

One of my favorite discussions is matting. Some artists don’t use a mat, some use single mats and others double mats. When I started out, I would choose mat colors to go with a color in my paintings. (For me, it’s all about the color.) But then I kept hearing some galleries will only accept paintings matted in white, so I compromised by doing the main mat in arctic white over a black mat with a white bevel. This gives a framed within a frame look which I like a lot.

However, I have doubts in seeing a lot of my paintings matted and framed the same. While the white mats pull all the paintings together as a whole, sometimes the whiteness is too stark and I’m not sure the white enhances the paintings.

This is when discussions become interesting. When we can be free to talk about what we like as individual artists in how we work. Discussion opens the possibility to learn and share. I am never interested in copying someone else’s work, but I believe in the sharing, the camaraderie grows stronger and we get to appreciate one another’s work.