FROM THE ART
Copyright © 2009 From The Art, by June Rollins
A WEEKLY COLUMN, SOMETIMES SERIOUS, SOMETIMES FUNNY, ALWAYS FROM THE ART
| 11/04/09-11/11/09 | Head V.S. Heart |
By June Rollins |
Recently, I taught a one-day intermediate watercolor workshop. And let me tell you the week before a workshop, I am one intentional little soul. Making lists, gathering supplies, typing and printing handouts, anticipating what might be a challenge and addressing it beforehand.
I am doing everything I can to insure that each of my class members will grasp the concept and gain some new painting experience. That’s why they signed up isn’t it, to become better artists?
There were ten students in my class, all eager and attentive and amenable to following the step-by-step instructions I had so carefully typed. We knew our roles. I was there to teach what I knew as best I could and they were there to listen and learn and practice and ask questions. Everything “important” was on schedule as planned.
So, as I was marching along, circulating around the room from student to student, checking everyone’s progress, (and they were all doing great, by the way). I almost missed what one of them said.
“My mother was an artist.”
“Really?”
“I just lost her three months ago.”
“Oh,”
She touched what she was wearing, “This is her shirt.” She gestured towards her table. “These were her brushes.”
“She’s here then,” I said softly.
My student nodded and I think was about to say more but I was called away by someone with an urgent question.
It was a successful class. The positive comments on the completed evaluation forms were proof. Everyone felt they had learned something new and had gotten their money’s worth. And I hope one felt like she had gotten even more.
Driving home, I replayed our brief exchange. And it moved in me like a gentle, twisting hook making me realize what had been so all consuming and critical to me beforehand was such surface stuff.
Yes, we come together to gain more information and learn better technique. And that’s good and right and what’s expected. But sometimes maybe there’s something beckoning us to go beyond the expected, beyond head knowledge and straight to the heart of things. Maybe it’s there all the time.
Enjoy the Journey.
All the way to heaven is heaven.—Catherine of Sienna
Intermediate Watercolor Workshop taught by June Rollins
at Artists League of the Sandhills in Aberdeen, NC.
| 10/28/09-11/04/09 | The Masks We Wear |
By June Rollins |
A few weeks ago, upon opening my front door to the early morning darkness, I was shocked by a burst of orange; a 3x4 foot, glowing burst of orange, waving at me and grinning!
It was my neighbor’s jack-o-lantern flag illuminated by a streetlight, reminding me it was once again time for Halloween. A season of mixed opinions.
As a child, Halloween was a fun time for dressing up as anyone I wanted to be and getting
candy for it.
As an adult, I sometimes still find myself playing dress-up, only it’s on a possible 365 days out of the year instead of just one. And it’s not as much fun as it used to be and I’m not getting any candy for it.
Prior to a recent photo session for a local newspaper, the photographer advised me to, “Dress like an artist.”
I had to think about it. How does an artist dress?
Or more importantly, how do people think an artist should dress?
I spent the day trying to figure out how to look like an artist.
I didn’t paint any that day, nor do I think I succeeded in looking like I could have.
Anyone out there besides me ever been caught up in trying to “look the part?”
Once a year for fun isn’t so bad when compared to doing it everyday of the year out of fear from someone finding out who we really are on the inside. Maybe Halloween isn’t the scariest night of the year after all.
Not too long ago, a degreed, accomplished artist/teacher whom I respect, confided in me. “Sometimes I feel like a fraud and I wonder when people are going to find out.”
His words surprised me. Not him!
And they comforted me. At least I’m not alone.
I recently bought a pin that says, “Artist.” It makes me laugh and reminds me when I’ve forgotten. Halloween reminds me too, of the illusion of it all.
Yesterday my toy poodle, Clyde, noticed for the first time the waving, glowing, grinning jack-o-lantern in our neighbor’s yard.
He is now ready for battle each time we go outside, barking and charging this bright orange harbinger of this most controversial holiday.
Guess he’s gearing up for who he wants to be this year. Super Clyde. Defender of the yard. All twelve pounds of him. I think I’ll get him a little blue suit with a red cape.
After all, I want him to look the part. It is only once a year. And he is having fun. His tail is wagging. A good reminder for us all.
Enjoy the Journey.
If you can’t get rid of the skeleton in your closet,
You’d best teach it to dance. –George Bernard Shaw
Surrounded By Doubts
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 10/21/09-10/28/09 | One Last Summer Fling |
By June Rollins |
I know. I know. It was me who just a couple of weeks ago was bemoaning all the evils of summer. But now that it really is going….Okay, it’s the end of October and I’m in denial.
Or Am I? Would you believe me if I told you I enjoyed a warm summer day at the beach just last week and didn’t even have to leave NC?
One of the joys of being an artist is having the opportunity to create one’s own reality and last week I created a summer day near the ocean’s edge; a bright, sunny day complete with salty ocean breezes in my hair, warm squishy sand between my toes and cool frothy waves lapping at my feet.
A friend had sent me a digital file. “Can you paint a painting from this photo?” When the file opened and the image flashed across my monitor everything in me jumped up and down like a little kid, “We’re going to the beach!”
After my initial excitement faded, I studied the image closer. No doubt. This needed to be a watercolor. And at that pronouncement, something deep within me sighed because the last couple of months I haven’t spent much time with my watercolors.
I told myself it was because of a goal I’d set to try other mediums, but in my heart of hearts I knew I was still a little shell shocked from not the most helpful critique of my work I’d ever received.
Was I mad at my watercolors? Did I feel they had let me down? Were we having a lovers’ quarrel? I opened my palette the first time in two months and circles of color stared up at me blinking in confusion wondering where I’d been.
I tentatively squeezed out fresh pigment and filled containers with clean water. As I painted I found out I had not only been missing summer, I had been pining away for the medium I most loved.
Experimenting with acrylics, pastels and oils has been interesting and fun and something I want to continue; but for me, there’s nothing quite like the glowing honesty and unpredictable vulnerability of watercolor.
Transparent hues flowing across the paper the way that only watercolor can washed away my doubts and transported me through the seasons to a day of sunshine by the sea. And somewhere along the way a bruised ego was salved during one last summer fling with my forever love.
I’m thankful on many levels for the unexpected invitation I received to recapture a day near the ocean’s edge. And if I’m any kind of an artist at all, maybe you feel you’ve been there too?
Enjoy the Journey.
I do not understand the mystery of grace—
Only that it meets us where we are,
But does not leave us where it found us. –Anne LaMott
Let's Go In
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 09/14/09-10/21/09 | Who Says Art Can’t Be Fun? |
By June Rollins |
One of my goals this year has been taking introductory classes in mediums I’ve never tried. Last week I took a 2-day collage workshop and loved it. The class was offered through Artists League Of The Sandhills (www.artistleague.org) and was titled “Collaging Out Of The Box.”
The supplies list received prior to class said we needed to bring an adhesive. The list specified “matte medium” which I did not have, but also suggested a substitute of watered down Elmer’s Glue, which I did have.
Because I had signed up late and received the supplies list just two days before class, I had a choice to make. Did I want to drive an hour to Cheap Joe’s in Charlotte for the professional-sounding, results-guaranteed, “matte medium,” or did I want to take my chances with a five-year-old bottle of Elmer’s that needed pliers to get the top off? Like having to have just the right outfit first time out on the tennis court, I opted for the $18.62 bottle of matte medium. Even though still clueless, I felt better.
As the nine of us were unpacking our supplies on the first day it seemed we each had something different for the adhesive and we began wringing our hands and collectively whining to our teacher. Did we have the right product? “She has a liquid, and I have a gel.” “Mine says ‘gloss’ and hers says ‘matte.’”
Standing with arms outstretched, Sandy Stratil (www.sandystratil.com) shushed our growing panic by saying, “Don’t worry, anything will work,” and within minutes had her little fledglings happily staining art tissue paper as if we had been doing it all of our lives. Soon the floor was covered with an endless array of colored papers drying on plastic garbage bags and it looked as if the first project we were attempting was to collage our entire classroom.
The techniques, while appearing magical at first, were fairly simple to do and gave immediate positive results. And joy of joys, if what one got was not to one’s liking, just cover it up with another layer. How’s that for stress-free art?
Since there isn’t such a struggle in learning how the medium behaves, the student feels encouraged immediately from initial efforts. Circumventing typical beginner discouragement, collage offers a more readily conducive environment for play, which ignites inspiration and helps imaginations soar. In a nutshell, collage is fun!
If anything is daunting, it is the choices one has. And if the artist experiences struggle, it possibly comes from being more in the critical thinking, analytical left-brain than in the free-flowing, fun-loving intuitive right-brain.
By it’s very nature collage pulls out the creative spirit like soft, sweet taffy. Combine that pliable energy and a focused heart’s desire with a foundation of the elements and principles of design and the works of art are endless.
And what a great time we had. Once we got past our adhesive meltdown we were laughing and talking while sharing pressed flowers, hand-made papers, homemade cookies and homemade cookie recipes. I think my bottle of Elmer’s Glue would have felt right at home after all. I know I did. Enjoy the Journey.
The act of creating can generate energy and momentum
And involve you more deeply in life. –Robert Fritz
"Collaging Out Of The Box" Class Photo 10-06-09
| 09/30/09-10/14/09 | Carolina’s Got Art |
By June Rollins |
This Friday night, Oct. 2, from 6-9pm my husband and I will be attending the Carolina’s Got Art Opening Reception at Atherton Mills, 2000 South Blvd., in Charlotte, NC. Over 420 artists from North and South Carolina submitted in excess of 1,100 paintings for consideration to be included in this juried competition sponsored by Elder Gallery, Edens and Avant and others. The juror, New York art critic and writer, Brice Brown, chose 90+ artists for the exhibition. For more details, please visit, www.carolinasgotart.com.
Several weeks ago a friend gave me the Charlotte Observer clipping announcing the call for entries for Carolina’s Got Art and encouraged me to enter. I’ve been entering art competitions for about 7 years and thought it sounded like an exceptional opportunity.
I’ve also been entering long enough to know that being “declined” was a very probable possibility. But, thanks to digital technology, all that was needed was a little typing on the online entry form, one painless click on “send,” and I was in the running.
When the list of accepted artists was e-mailed to those of us who entered, I held my breath as I scrolled down to the R’s and sat quietly astonished before my monitor for I don’t know how long. Of course I had to check the list about five times to make sure I hadn’t been hallucinating.
When I was convinced, I looked over the remaining artists and became even more astonished at only recognizing the names of two others. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. This really was an exceptional opportunity and an honor.
When Rob and I delivered the accepted painting, we were graciously invited to walk around and look at the entries already there. I was amazed at what I saw. If you visit the exhibition, which runs trhough Oct. 30, you will be too.
Yes, indeed, Carolina’s Got Art!
Art is unthinkable without risk. —Boris Pasternak
A Way Out
by June Rollins, accepted into 2009 Carolina's Got Art juried competition. To read inspiration behind the painting scroll to From The Art entry, 2-25-09.
| 09/23/09-09/30/09 | Autumn Already? |
By June Rollins |
Maybe I’m crazy, but I love this time of year. Love the cool days and cooler evenings, love the increasing darkness calling an end to a relentlessly hot, bright summer.
If this were a multiple choice for one of your favorites, which would you pick?
- Oppressive heat and sunburn
- Mosquitoes and poison ivy
- Long lines and poor service
- People upset by long lines and poor service
- Being snowed in with that book you’ve wanted to read and a mug of hot (cider, coffee, cocoa or cognac).
Get my point? While many lament the ending of summer. I’m ready for it’s passing. Like a loud, over-heated, one-way conversation that has gone on far too long. I yearn for the sacred, slowing down, sound of silence that winter brings.
In a couple of months after the autumn light show, and the mums have turned brown and the pumpkins have gone soft, things will get seriously silent. Eerily, silent. So silent you can hear snow fall.
Looking forward to getting out your mittens and scarves yet? Me either. Even though I say I’m ready, I just have a few more things I need to do.
The recent cooler weather has inspired me to work in our flowerbeds, which means my husband, Rob (bless his heart), has needed to be inspired too. Because what I wanted done, he needed to do. All that tilling, digging and mulching was too much for me. Then there was the re-digging when I changed my mind on where I thought something should go. About now, my extroverted, summer lovin’ husband is longing for that first snow too.
Next week my bulb order should arrive. Over 200 possibilities, a diverse mix of crocus, daffodils, hyacinths and tulips bursting with potential and looking for a home in our yard. Good thing we have two bulb planters ;-) Then it will be time to paint the screened-in porches, put up the shutters and refinish that bookcase.
Yes, I welcome this time of year. Because I know soon, very soon, I’ll be seeing a collection of stoic black etchings pressing into a midnight blue sky and it won’t even be time for the evening news. Once again, I’ll let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and feel I’ve been given permission to slow down and rest and not feel guilty for listening to bulbs dream and snow fall.
Enjoy the Journey.
I dream my painting and then I paint my dream.–Vincent Van Gogh
Take Me Away
Original Watercolor by June Rollins
| 09/16/09-09/23/09 | Along The Way |
By June Rollins |
keep-sake n. anything kept, or given to be kept, as a token of friendship or
affection; remembrance
Not too long ago my husband's administrative assistant's son got married.
I had only met the soon-to-be groom once and had never met his soon-to-be bride. Their engagement picture in the local newspaper showed them looking like any other couple in the beginning stages of love. Eyes and hearts full of hopes and promise and dreams.
The invitation to the bridal shower set on my desk reminding me of a gift that needed to be given. What would they like? What did they need?
But more importantly, what could become a remembrance?
A wedding gift given to me 26 years ago has become one of my most unlikely keepsakes. It has performed when there was plenty and delivered when there was next to nothing. It has experimented and failed and never given up. It has withstood being forgotten, scorched and scoured.
It outlasted the immaturity of my first marriage, the regrets of my second marriage and I am grateful everyday, to see it having the time of its life in my third. And while my 2-quart copper bottomed, persevering saucepan has hung in there through it all, I hope something more for this couple.
I hope they get it right the first time. Everyone who knows them says they will. You know why? Because they don't want too much.
Maybe that's why I went all out on their gift of an original watercolor. I wanted to somehow give them what I saw in them. Hope and promise and a one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime love.
I wanted Ashley and John Edward, fifty, even sixty years from now, to look on their wall and smile and remember.
Enjoy the Journey.
“Come grow old along with me the best of life is yet to be.” –Robert Browning
Along The Way
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 08/26/09-09/16/09 | Play Time! |
By June Rollins |
A few months ago I acted on something I had wanted to do for a long time, I enrolled in five different 1-day art classes in a variety of mediums at Artists League of the Sandhills (www.artistleague.org). My choices included pencil portraiture, pastels, oils acrylics and one I had never heard of before, alcohol inks. All you scrapbooking moms probably wonder where I’ve been.
I’ve enjoyed learning about and experimenting with every one of the above, but I especially loved the alcohol inks class. I think because it reminded me of watercolor, my chosen medium for the last nine years.
The morning session of our class was devoted to becoming familiar with the many ink colors and how they responded on Yupo, a 100% recyclable, tree-free synthetic paper
(www.yupousa.com) that many watercolorists have tried (me included) and only a few have mastered (definitely, not me).
I loved getting to know this highly unpredictable, extremely responsive, unconventional medium. It was just amazing how a variety of interesting shapes, textures and edges seemed to appear on their own with very little effort on my part.
During the afternoon portion of our class, Karen Walker, our instructor, introduced and demonstrated methods for creating a more representational painting. Out came tiny brushes, masking fluid and, a variety of products, purchased from the cosmetic aisle, to lift paint.
Karen brought beautiful examples of representational paintings to class (check out the peacock and wisteria painting on her website www.karenwalkerart.com). And from her demonstration, all around me, my fellow class members were creating lovely representational works too, from sunflowers to a variety of landscapes to even a drummer marching in a parade.
But, I was in awe with what the medium wanted to do on it’s own. Other than a simple generic flower shape I lifted out with a cotton ball, (can you believe it?). I just couldn’t go into these almost effortless creations and begin to manipulate. To me, it felt like, I would be damaging them.
Maybe, I was just hyper-skittish because of the disasters I’ve experienced from overworking watercolors. Or maybe because I’ve been so intentional learning portraiture, I just wanted to play. Needed to play.
Whatever the reason, my inner child relished being an uninhibited, abstract artist, at least for the day. And Karen was sensitive enough to affirm my explorations. After all, I was not doing what the teacher said. Shame on me. Enjoy the journey!
It’s a happy talent to know how to play. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
FLower
Alcohol Inks on Yupo by June Rollins
To see photos from inside the classroom and
more examples in this medium, visit www.artbyjune.net
PS- I would encourage anyone who wants to experience a new medium or anyone who has a stash of Yupo somewhere in storage ;-) to give alcohol inks a try. If you do, wear gloves. It can be a little messy. And I feel I should also mention, because it is dye-based and not pigment based, I’m not sure the light-fastness and permanence have been tested for fine art. For more information about alcohol inks visit, www.rangerink.com
| 08/26/09-08/03/09 | The Right Place At The Right Time |
By June Rollins |
I’m on the lookout now for people who might consider letting me photograph them in order to render their portrait. Since I’m such a beginner, I’m discovering it behooves me to find people who are comfortable in front of the camera. That’s why I thought of Lois, the Manager of Olde Mill Galleries and Studios in Wadesboro where I have a lot of my artwork.
I recalled her telling me in a conversation we had about a year ago that she loved hats. She said she had several and wore one to church every Sunday. Lois is vibrant and outgoing with distinctive facial features and I thought she would be a natural choice for a portrait. I was delighted when she agreed.
Not wanting to present too big of an inconvenience, I asked her to bring two or three of her hats. I was thrilled when I arrived for our appointment at Olde Mill to see she had brought six hats along with several different jackets.
Turns out Lois used to be a professional model. I had hit the jackpot. And if that’s not enough good fortune, here’s more.
I’ve been using natural lighting by having the model stand by a window, but had been reading about the dramatic effects of studio lighting. I knew Lois’ personality and hats were suited for the added flair that studio lighting could give. But, I’m not a professional photographer who owns light boxes and reflectors and the like. What’s a girl to do? You guessed it.
There’s a room at Olde Mill with professional lighting equipment dedicated to photographing original art in order for it to be posted on www.ebizanson.org. Chester, the Technical Manager at Olde Mill, gave me some quick tips and I entered a whole new world of discovering the endless effects of studio lighting and interesting shadow patterns across facial features.
An hour and half flew by. There were large hats and small hats, black, white, green, gold and yellow hats. Lois, true to her nature, struck a variety of poses and expressions then surprised me with a grand finale. I’m glad she knew what she was doing because my participation in this activity was mostly experimental.
When I got home, I immediately downloaded the150+ images. After studying them and considering the best way to portray Lois’ personality and the mood of the photo shoot, I decided on the medium of spontaneous, vibrant, expressive pastels.
Thanks to Lois and Chester and Olde Mill for providing new possibilities and new opportunities right here in little ole’ Wadesboro. Looks like I’m at the right place at the right time. Enjoy the journey!
thought there would be doors.” –Joseph Campbell
Lois
Pastel by June Rollins
| 08/19/09-08/26/09 | The Swing |
By June Rollins |
Several years ago I went through a period when my art was my only means of financial support. It was critical to take advantage of as many opportunities as possible.
I taught watercolor classes, had my work in a few gallery/gift shops and participated in art festivals. A commission house portrait business was growing, plus, an international company had purchased all the rights to five originals and royalties on print sales were beginning to come in. But, none of these activities promised a steady, predictable income and I was always on the lookout for what more could I do?
When it was suggested I join the local chamber of commerce, I followed the advice. Upon paying my dues, the director urged me to attend an upcoming networking event.
“Bring one of your house portraits, put it on an easel and hand out your business cards,” she said. “This will be well attended and you’re our only artist!”
I did what she said. And she was right, the room was buzzing with about forty animated people. But we were all doing the same thing. Promoting ourselves. There was an awful lot of talking and very little listening. We were all too needy.
I remember not one person there ever really looked at the house portrait. And I remember the sense of hollowness and yes, fear that overtook me afterwards as I carried my things back out to my car and drove home.
I unpacked and immediately went for a walk to clear my heart and my head. I did that a lot in those days. Often, walking twice a day through nice neighborhoods with well-kept homes and well-tended yards.
I had discovered several favorite houses during my many walks. And was so taken with the memories evoked by the porch swing and flowers of one in particular I had photographed it and created a small watercolor. The setting took me back to a time I would sit with my grandmother on her porch swing and she would tell me about her flowers. It was a time I had felt safe and loved.
On my walk the afternoon after the chamber event, the woman I assumed lived in that house happened to be working out in her yard. We had not met but she smiled and waved at me holding out bunches of what she was digging up in both hands.
“Need some liriope?” She asked laughing.
We were engaged in conversation before I knew it. She had seen me walking and was curious to know who I was. In the course of talking, I told her I had admired her swing and had actually painted a small watercolor of it.
She was delighted. “Really, I would love to see it!”
“Well, I just finished it. It’s still on the support board.”
Oh, that’s okay. I really would like to see it.
“I could go get it now?”
“Would you? That would be great!”
I hurriedly walked back to my little apartment feeling better with every step, quickly retrieved the watercolor and carried it back for her to see.
Assurance soaked through me when she said she loved it and wanted to buy it. Everything was going to be okay. If I could just stay tuned to the unexpected, grace-filled events of life and not set my heart solely on the pre-arranged, man-made ones.
"Leave room to let God astonish you." --Richard Rohr
The Swing
2002, Watercolor by June Rollins
| 08/12/09-08/19/09 | Decisions, Decisions |
By June Rollins |
I’ve recently decided to step back from teaching for a while.
It was a difficult choice to make. But as soon as I pushed “send” for the e-mail telling students of my decision, I had a visual of setting down a world globe I had been carrying on my shoulders.
While I wouldn’t say I love teaching, I have loved seeing students push through barriers of fear and self-doubt and accomplish more than they thought they could. And I have loved seeing eyes light up and listening to discoveries shared.
I take the role of “teacher” seriously. Maybe because I’ve had some good ones I wanted to be like that propelled me forward and I’ve had some bad ones I hoped I wasn’t like that squashed my potential.
Because of my desire to be one of the good teachers, I spent an inordinate amount of time planning and preparing for each class and judged how well I taught, by how well my students responded. Usually, the responses, at least the ones I knew about, were favorable. But afterwards, I felt poured out.
I would drive home wondering, how do people do this for a living? I soon developed a deep admiration for full-time teachers who taught five days a week and began to understand perfectly why they needed summers off to decompress.
But did I want to be one? Did I want to focus most of my time and energy becoming a better art teacher or a better artist?
I’m currently reading a book by Joyce Rupp titled, Open The Door. She uses the door as a metaphor for the true self and writes of the threshold times in our lives when the choices we make are critical for what comes next. Going through the exercises in the book helped me realize this was a threshold time for me.
I was aware how pulled and even a little frustrated I felt when giving up my own painting time to prepare for a class, but didn’t think much about it. Wanting more time is a common refrain for most of us. Besides, I would get around to painting that painting I had been thinking about next week. But next week never came.
When I got underneath the “not enough time” excuse I had created and realized I was using it to avoid my own unacknowledged fear of developing further as an artist, I realized it was time to end the charade.
I’m not saying I never want to teach. I still have a 1-day workshop and a demo scheduled this fall. It’s the ongoing classes that I felt I needed to step away from.
Crossing this threshold into an uncertain season of risk, learning portraiture (Do I have what it takes?) and experimenting with different mediums (Am I wasting my time?) is simultaneously scary and liberating. I hope what emerges is someone who has more to offer. Perhaps, even a better teacher? Make that, part-time teacher. Enjoy the journey.
Who we become, depends upon the choices we make. At particular times in our lives, really significant choices are made that shape our fate. When we are in a threshold time, what we decide to do determines what comes next. –Jean Shinoda Bolen (excerpt from Open The Door by Joyce Rupp)
Decisions, Decisions
Watercolor By June Rollins
| 08/05/09-08/12/09 | Anne |
By June Rollins |
My husband first introduced me to Anne.
“She’s so pretty,” I whispered to Rob. “Do you think she would let me do her portrait?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “Why don’t you ask her?”
So I did. About a year later when we happened to be attending the same catered dinner meeting. She agreed and almost another year went by before I called to set-up our appointment. You can’t rush these things.
If you’ve read some of the earlier From The Art posts you already know of my desire to learn portraiture and the ensuing struggle. Which might help explain the two-year delay.
But once the photos were taken and I was back in my studio studying the images downloaded onto my computer, there were no more feelings of hesitation or procrastination. Instead, I found myself absorbed in the creative process.
I had taken between 20 to30 photos of Anne in a variety of poses. Many were flattering but there was one I kept coming back to. It seemed to stand out among the others. I believe because it had gotten a glimpse of something the others had not.
At this stage of learning portraiture, I’m striving to create a natural look, which is achieved by placing the subject by a window with indirect light, which creates cast shadows across the face. The camera’s flash is turned off, as it would wash out the shadows and flatten the features.
In the selected photo, Ann is facing the window and looking down which lends itself towards a sense of quiet reflection. Her upswept hairstyle and the ruffled blouse she happened to be wearing (she had forgotten I was coming) added to the overall mood.
I was not surprised when Anne told me other artists had previously asked her to model for them.
“You know that sculpture of the girl holding the banner in downtown Monroe?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s me,”
“What?”
“That’s me.” And she explained how tired her arms had gotten when she had been asked to pose for that sculpture.
Anne does have a striking outward appearance, but it was an inner beauty that desired to quietly reveal itself in the photo set apart from all the rest, going beyond surface into the heart.
Enjoy the journey.
Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens. –Carl Jung
Anne
Charcoal By June Rollins
| 07/29/09-07/05/09 | But Then I Met Loretta |
By June Rollins |
I thought I was there to photograph Anne. She had agreed to let me take reference photos of her to aid me in learning portraiture. But then I met Loretta.
There are receptionists and then there are receptionists. The first group is skilled in treating you like an interruption, an unwanted intrusion in there busy day. The second group, which I am sure Loretta founded, makes you feel like they have been hoping all day you, and you alone, would
drop by.
Loretta has probably never met a stranger. I found the inquisitive sparkle in her eyes and outgoing friendly nature energizing and contagious.
“Anyone who walks through those doors,” she said motioning to the entrance. “I want to make
feel welcome.”
“You seem to love your job,” I said.
“I do.”
“How long have you been the receptionist?”
“Four years,” she beamed.
“That’s great.”
“Before that, for twenty years, I worked in maintenance. I applied for this position when
it came open.”
I saw strength in her eyes and something else. “Good for you,” I said. My admiration for this person I had only known for five minutes deepening even more.
She gave a knowing nod. And I wondered if I could capture whatever that was I was seeing in a portrait?
Impulsively, I asked, “Would you let me take your picture?”
“No!” She laughed and looked at me like I was crazy.
Anne walked up smiling. “I see you’ve met Loretta.”
“Yes.” And looking at Loretta, I said, “Anne’s agreed to let me photograph her so I can draw her portrait.”
“Really?” Loretta was shocked a second time.
I stopped by her desk on my way out.
“Nobody’s ever asked to take my picture before so they could draw me,” she said as she stood before my camera and smiled.
I hope the charcoal rendering succeeds in communicating the zest for life and underlying resolve she possesses.
When I presented her with the finished portrait, Loretta, wide-eyed, exclaimed, “Girl!” more than once and gave me a great big hug. She loved it, but I think that’s just her way.
Enjoy the journey.
You must do the thing you think you cannot do. -- Eleanor Roosevelt
Loretta
Charcoal Drawing By June Rollins
| 07/22/09-07/29/09 | The Difficult Good |
By June Rollins |
My father used to say one day when I was a child I told him something that caught him off guard and changed his perspective.
When I was a little he would take me along when he went fishing. I treasure most of those memories of us being out on the water together in his boat, but not all of them.
When the fish were biting it was great fun. When they were not, it was agony; agony, having to sit still and be quiet while watching over an unmoving red and white plastic float as if my life depended on it on a hot summer day with no breeze.
It was on one of those sweating, sweltering days, according to my father, I made my proclamation.
So the story goes, I had just been told to sit still so as not to rock the boat and scare away the fish when after a few moments of stilted silence I replied, “Daddy, there’s more to life than just fishing.”
He used to shake his head in disbelief and say, “I reeled in those lines and we spent the rest of that day riding around the lake laughing.”
Franciscan priest and author, Richard Rohr, tells us being a parent can be one of the surest paths towards transformation. One has no other choice but to deny one’s own ego needs for the needs of another. I believe most parents would agree. And I believe Wes would agree too.
I met Wes the first week of June when I enrolled in his watercolor workshop at Cheap Joe’s in Boone, NC. Pen in hand and all eyes and ears, I thought I was there to learn watercolor techniques, but I learned much, much more.
A year earlier, he and his wife, Lynne had traveled to China and adopted a little girl from a Chinese orphanage. Since then he told us his life had dramatically changed and he hardly had any time to paint anymore.
It was clear Wes missed the time that was no longer his to devote to his art, but it was also evident he cherished his little girl. He could not help but talk about her.
On the last day of the workshop, when his mother-in-law quietly entered the classroom along with his daughter, we were all touched.
I was so moved by this little girl’s trusting vulnerability and Wes’ choice in doing the difficult good, I asked to photograph them.
Genevieve has not had to tell her father “There’s more to life than just painting.” It seems he already knows.
And when the season of painting does return in Wes’ life, just imagine the depth and beauty that will flow from his heart through the brush and onto the paper.
Enjoy the journey.
Your work is to discover your work And then with all your heart
To give yourself to it. --Buddha
Wes and Genevieve, Photo by June Rollins
| 07/15/09-07/22/09 | The Beginner’s Heart |
By June Rollins |
I go through periods of being dissatisfied with my work. I’m in one now.
It’s not a bad place to be. I say that only because I’ve been here often enough to know where it can lead. As painful as the self-evaluating and art-scrutinizing can be, a new direction eventually emerges.
But what is emerging this time is not something new, but something I’ve repeatedly delved into and backed out of before because of the difficulty.
Portraiture. Read the 12-31-08 From The Art post and see for yourself.
For whatever reason there is a longing in me not just to get a likeness, because I’ve read that comes with practice. And while I am still very much in the practicing stage of measuring and adjusting to get the correct proportions, that technical proficiency is tangible and attainable if I put forth the time and effort.
What I want to flow through me onto the paper is an essence.
I’ve recently read that sooner or later the artist will have the experience that the painting has taken on a life of it’s own, parallel to but different from the life of the subject.
I see that quality in the works of the renowned Chinese watercolorist, Guan Weixing..
The first time I saw one of his portraits was a few years ago in a Traveling National Watercolor Society Show at the Lucas Mansion in Hiddenite, NC. It made me cry.
Not too long ago I discovered he is represented in the United States by Ambleside Gallery (www.amblesidearts.com) in Greensboro, NC. I saw the same portrait, “Aged Man,” online and again, the tears. Essence. The painting is alive.
I am thankful for this role model.
And I am thankful for the people who after I tell them I am learning portraiture, let me photograph them anyway. Brave souls.
Next week’s From The Art post will tell how it came about that I had the opportunity to do a charcoal rendering of Genevieve, (shown below).
This time, I hope to have more resolve, especially during the learning curve of technical proficiency. More resolve and more awareness as I seek my way through this passage of receiving and discovery.
Enjoy the journey.
Make the choice adventurous stranger,
Strike the bell and bide the danger
Or wonder ‘till it drives you mad
What would have happened if you had?
--C.S. Lewis
Genevieve
Charcoal Drawing by June Rollins
| 07/08/09-07/15/09 | Just One More |
By June Rollins |
One of my students shared an interesting experience in our May watercolor class that I am still thinking about two months later.
Bridget had decided to rent a booth at the Salisbury Emporium and had spent the day painting small botanicals to increase her inventory. It was late and she was tired and ready to call it a day but had hoped to paint a small violet to add to the series.
“I told myself, just one more,” she laughed.
Bridget painted the violet quickly and went to bed. When she looked at it the next morning she was amazed. “It was the best one I had done!” She told us.
But that’s not the end of the story. She then packed up all of her inventory and took it to the Salisbury Emporium to set up her display.
“I was on my hands and knees unpacking all of my paintings and deciding where each should go when I realized my violet was missing. I frantically looked around and saw that someone had picked it up and was carrying it to the check out counter to purchase it! It had already sold and I hadn’t even hung it yet!”
We all know what it’s like to be tired from pouring ourselves out creatively and feeling the need to stop. And sometimes that’s a good thing. Like with me when I come to and find that I’ve been standing in front of my painting with a brush in my hand that hasn’t touched the paper for about 20 minutes. That’s usually a sign that I need to take a break.
But there are other times when it would behoove me to paint, “just one more” but someone seems to be standing on the hose and the creative flow has stopped.
Maybe I’ve just painted a disaster or I’m having difficulty with a new technique or subject or medium. Usually what comes next is a little self-doubt, and if I’m not careful, the doubt can easily turn into discouragement.
It’s during those times that I hope Bridget’s story encourages me to take a deep breath, step off the hose and paint, “just one more.” Enjoy the journey.
The vision must be followed by the venture.
It is not enough to stare up the steps,
We must step up the stairs –Vance Havner
Bridget & Violet
| 07/01/09-07/08/09 | What’s It Take To Be An Artist? |
By June Rollins |
During a recent art festival two older women entered my tent and I overheard one telling the other what a great artist her grand daughter was.
Listening to the accolades, I, too began feeling admiration and awe for this gifted child until I heard the woman say, “I just know she’s going to be a famous artist one day because she stays perfectly within the lines.”
“Oh, my!” her friend marveled as they sauntered away. “I’m sure she will be too.”
I was left shocked and shaking my head.
Is that it? Is that all that’s required to be an artist? To stay within the lines?
Actually, would you believe it’s the opposite?
In one of the most helpful drawing classes I ever took, the teacher told us over and over, “Lose the line! Lose the line!” According to her, not staying within the lines, but making them disappear was one of the main keys in turning amateur attempts into professional renderings.
In the beginning watercolor classes I teach, one of the first things I demonstrate is what not to do, a technique we all learned as children. Draw the outline of the subject and fill in the shape. In most cases, this method doesn’t produce pleasing results in watercolor.
And let me be the first to confess, it’s a difficult habit to break and is one of the current goals in my own art. The longer I paint the more I realize I have been held hostage by “line.” Oh, I know how to blur an edge or two and reduce value contrast between two adjoining shapes, but I’m finding my tendency to obey the line, a detriment in my art.
And ever since I overheard that proud grandmother bragging on her grand daughter I have an idea why. It’s what most of us are taught. Staying within the lines (doing it right) is encouraged and reinforced all our lives. It’s a wonder any of us become artists.
At another recent festival I was so taken with what I believe were two young artists in action, I took their photo. I wanted to see if I could capture how lost they were in the creative process. Of course they were unaware of me or for that matter anything else going on around them. And they certainly weren’t consumed with staying within the lines.
I think they are sisters and loved how they were each doing their own thing. And how the younger one even has her back to her big sister. Wanting to copy was last on her list. She wanted to create.
Their focus, intensity and passion are inspirational and something to emulate. And in my opinion, wins hands down over trying to stay within the lines.
“Follow your heart, the rest of you will follow.” –Norman Vincent Peale
Lost In The Arts
watermedia by June Rollins
| 06/10/09-06/17/09 | In the Stillness |
By June Rollins |
(En plein air, a French term that means “in open air.”)
In the 1800s it was considered quite revolutionary when the Impressionists left their studios and ventured outdoors with brushes and paints. It was the light that drew them and I wanted my advanced beginner students to experience it too.
Some close friends graciously let the seven of us descend upon their backyard retreat one Saturday morning for one of our sessions. It was an artist’s paradise of multi-colored annual and perennial gardens surrounding a custom designed rock waterfall and pond topped with water lilies and filled with koi.
I began the class with a few plein air painting tips and a demonstration. I gave students a small viewfinder to assist in seeing a pleasing composition and asked them to wander out among the flowers in search of a place that called to them. We would reconvene in two hours and discuss our plein air experiences.
At first their was laughing and talking, but gradually it grew quieter and quieter as each of them began to be drawn to a special place. One by one, each student set up and began to paint their impression of what was before them.
During the previous sessions I had circulated and offered individual guidance, but everyone seemed so quietly focused, I began to paint myself. My watch told me an hour had gone by but it seemed more like five minutes. I looked up to check on the class. They were all still deeply engaged in their painting.
There was such a palpable quietness among us, so deep and so present, but I still thought I should check on their progress. As I tiptoed among them, I was surprised to get a sense that I was interrupting and went back to my own place and continued painting.
About ten minutes before the prearranged time to stop one of the students cried, “Help!” and the stillness seemed to lift. We eventually reassembled in our circle and I asked the question I had been longing to ask, “How was it?”
“A most memorable morning,” one said quietly. The rest nodded in a somewhat surprised, silent agreement and took turns sharing their experiences.
“I loved hearing the birds.”
“And the water.”
“I didn’t want to stop.”
“It was so peaceful.”
“I want to do that again.”
Each week we had sat in a circle learning from one another, showing our latest work and sharing our painting adventures. Now, it seemed we were sharing something on a deeper level. Something none of us had expected, but we all had experienced. Had we learned to see with new eyes? Had we been given an awareness of something that is always present but we are normally unaware?
The same light that captivated the Impressionists in the 1800s had captivated us. It spent time in the garden with us. And we will never be the same.
The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. –Albert Einstein
Teacher demo 6-10
Discussion 6-10
| 06/03/09-06/10/09 | A Wonderful Show |
By June Rollins |
It had been at least five years since my last outdoor show. But when I got an e-mail that the Stanly County Area Antique Dealers Association (SCAADA) was inviting artists to join them in their Annual Antique Festival on May 15-17, I forwarded the e-mail to my intermediate students.
It was a great opportunity. There was no booth fee, no commission fee and they provided a tent. The only request was that participating artists be demonstrating works that depicted the local area and/or festival.
I was glad when Janet showed interest. So far she had kept most of her works hidden in her sketchbooks and I was eager for her to let them out. She had developed an individualistic style of rendering architecture in pen & ink from her own 4x6 photos, often showing a unique perspective.
In March I had told Janet in order to do the show she would need to have an inventory of about 8-10 local landmarks. Because of the proximity, I had encouraged her to render scenes from Pfeiffer College and Albemarle.
I had almost forgotten about our conversation until near the end of our April class, she quietly told me, “I did what you said.”
I was speechless as she opened her sketchbook full of little masterpieces. Her discipline to do the work and desire to become a successful artist inspired me to help her prepare for the show.
We scanned images, cut mats, framed paintings, made note cards and loaded my display racks into her van. Her husband and children, a great support system, helped by bringing us lunch and loading and unloading the van before and after the show.
We had great fun meeting the antique dealers and other artisans, wood turners, quilters, weavers, caners, furniture and flute makers. All the artists demonstrated and many offered hands-on learning opportunities to the public.
I worked on graphite portrait renderings and Janet did watercolors and pen & ink. We got to know each other better and both sold a few things, which was nice.
The biggest thrill was when someone entered our tent, stood just inches before one of her pen & inks and exclaimed, “That’s my house!”
It was even more of a thrill when he bought it.
And yes it rained. But as promised, there was a rainbow. A rainbow of friendship, fun and community. Maybe I won’t wait another five years before I do my next show.
Enjoy the journey.
The soul’s joy lies in doing. -- Percy Bysshe Shelley
June Rollins drawing a portrait in graphite.
Janet Pribble painting in watercolor.
| 05/27/09-06/03/09 | The Time Of Our Lives |
By June Rollins |
Many of us look to summer as the time we are allowed get away, have a little fun and relax. We make plans and reservations months in advance and mark off the days on our calendars anticipating a Shangri-la experience.
But let’s be honest, sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the weather is uncooperative and sometimes the people we’re with are uncooperative.
It may be difficult to admit, but often we return home more drained and stressed than before we left, vowing to do things differently next year.
When you think about it, isn’t it a little unrealistic to put all our eggs in the summer vacation basket?
Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way, that artists are able to create by drawing from an inner reservoir. She compares that inner reservoir to a well-stocked pond of images, ideas and inspiration that needs to be routinely restocked.
Not only do the stresses and strains of day-to-day living drain the pond, but also the very act of creating. If the artist doesn’t consciously engage in certain activities to restock it, the source of creativity is depleted.
In order to restock the pond, recharge the battery, refill the tank, the author recommends activities of play. And she specifically suggests that the activities of play that replenish the inner reservoir occur in solitude, not group activities. She actually warns against third party invasions.
This strikes many of us as odd. We equate solitude with serious, intellectual or spiritual pursuits, not play. Play is associated with class recess, team sports, tailgate parties, karaoke and ballroom dancing. In a nutshell, play happens during social activities. Not alone time. Isn’t that punishment?
But Julia Cameron suggests that artists who want to develop their creativity, or anyone who wants to strengthen creative problem solving skills, plan a weekly solo play date with no one else but themselves.
I believe this suggestion would have immeasurable benefits for us all. Not only just to tap into creativity, but also to tap into what we are so desperately seeking in our summer vacations. Inner renewal. Fresh perspectives. Increased resolve. New directions.
Some of us have ignored or avoided our inner selves for so long, we feel clueless as to what we might do with an hour or two each week devoted to a spirit of play just for ourselves by ourselves. To help get in touch with that inner voice, the author recommends three pages of uncensored journaling every morning.
But be forewarned this is not a quick fix solution. We are talking a 12-week program here. We didn’t get where we are overnight and we can’t undo set behavior patterns without a little effort.
Can’t imagine adding one more thing to an already packed schedule? Believe me. It’s worth getting up the extra 20 minutes. Not only are the chances improved of having the time of our life on vacation, but year-round too.
Like an ability or a muscle, hearing your inner wisdom is strengthened by doing it. –Robbie Gass
Alone Time
Photography by June Rollins
| 05/06/09-05/20/09 | New Way Of Seeing |
By June Rollins |
In March, I took a two-day watercolor workshop with Linda Kemp, a Canadian artist, author and instructor credited for having mastered “negative painting,” a technique of painting the negative shapes (background) causing the positive shapes (subject) to emerge.
I was already familiar with the term “negative painting.” And actually thought I was pretty good at it until I attended the workshop. Then I found out just how much I didn’t know.
Now, here I am, back in Wadesoboro, NC armed with my Linda Kemp DVD, my now autographed Linda Kemp instruction book and my Linda Kemp badger brush, soon to be available in stores. And I am struggling.
She told us in order to paint in the negative we would need to learn to see a new way. She carefully explained how and provided us with many detailed handouts. I have been captivated by the challenge of intentionally learning to see a new way and am determined to develop this skill.
Wisteria, one of the subjects she demonstrated, is currently blooming profusely in our state and I have purposed to somehow translate its unrestrained, overpowering, graceful beauty onto paper.
I’ve already titled my painting, “Wild, Wonderful, Wisteria.” Now I just need to paint it. Or, paint a painting of it I like. I am on my 5th wisteria attempt.
Have you ever tried cutting wisteria and putting it in a vase of water? It wilts in fifteen seconds. So much for a studio, still-life set-up.
Plein-air? Can you say pollen and mosquitoes? I am forever thankful for photo references to back up my drooping models.
Would I be in such a hot pursuit of capturing and rendering wisteria if not for my Linda Kemp experience? Probably, not.
In the past I’ve certainly noticed the distant masses; a lavender blur in my peripheral vision as I continued on my merry way. Now, I’m on the hunt for roadside wisteria at eye-level. And when I spy some, I stop, turn around and go back to closely inspect each single teardrop blossom and how they are strung together. Did you know wisteria has the sweetest fragrance?
I hope this means I’m beginning to see a new way. Although I realize seeing a new way probably involves more than just close-up inspection. But perhaps, taking time to stop and smell the wisteria puts me into a better state of receptivity? I hope so.
I do know I am seeing for the first time how this invasive vine is a juxtaposition of opposing forces. Wisteria is delicate and strong, gentle and persistent, graceful and sturdy all at the same time.
It also amuses me that some people really love it and other people really hate it.
“It just grows wild and takes over everything!”
And if one does try to domesticate it, to tame it, they often have a difficult time getting it to bloom.
Perhaps, like the creative spirit in each of us?
Linda Kemp’s motto is, “Paint negative, think positive!” Sounds like good advice. If I don’t master wisteria this year, there’s always next. I have an idea it will be back.
Nothing would be done at all if a man waited until he could do it so well
no one could find fault with it. –Cardinal Newman
Wisteria
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 4/29/09 - 5/6/09 | Art Lessons |
By June Rollins |
Edrie had already been teaching for at least twenty years when I enrolled in her beginner watercolor class nine years ago. I remember watching her dip a brush into water and then into the paints on a palette. I sat mesmerized as she swirled colors about and stroked transparent washes onto paper with certainty and confidence.
I laugh at myself now for what I naively thought next. “So, that’s how you do it.”
But I soon realized, just because she made it look easy, didn’t mean that it was. And the real test began; a test that involved much more than just learning how to paint.
Since taking on the role of teacher, I’ve found learning how to watercolor and learning how to teach watercolor, both come with their own set of challenging choices.
For example, some teachers will paint on students’ paintings to demonstrate a particular technique. Other teachers refuse to paint on their students’ work because they aren’t going to intrude in on his/her unique artistic expression. The latter was Edrie’s philosophy.
Not sure which approach was better, I’ve tried both.
When I’ve followed in Edrie’s footsteps, I’ve normally been met with, “ We don’t care, we want you to. Seeing what you would do helps us.”
Only once have I had a student respond with, “Good, I’m so glad. I’ve had teachers that have just walked up and taken my brush right out of my hand while I was painting.”
When I’ve tried this alternative approach, I’ve always asked permission first, but more often than not, students have taken the initiative by requesting I show them a specific technique by painting on their paintings.
My students were getting good result from this method and I was leaning towards it as a teaching aid until one incident a few years ago.
A student was struggling. Her painting was actually looking quite good, but she couldn’t see it.
“I’ve got the same brushes as you, the same paints and the same paper,” she said. “Why doesn’t mine look like yours?”
I tried to encourage her, but she wasn’t able to see any merit in her work.
She held out her brush to me and said, “Here, you do it.”
A zillion red flags went up and all my internal alarms sounded, prompting me to resist. We went back and forth until finally, because she was so persistent, I acquiesced.
I took her brush and painted on her painting and was totally unprepared for what she said next.
“You ruined it!”
I couldn’t help but wonder if this might be the real reason Edrie firmly announced at our first class that she would never, no exceptions, ever paint on any students’ painting.
So much is revealed of one’s character through struggle. When my students are trying new techniques, I’ve witnessed a wide range of coping behaviors from healthy objectivity and humor to unhealthy, tear brimming self-depreciation. And occasionally, there’s been irritation directed towards me. Somebody’s got to take the blame.
Now, when I hear the common beginner lament, “But you make it look so easy!” I smile. If they only knew. Enjoy the journey.
If a man lives without inner struggle, if everything happens in him without opposition, he will remain such as he is. –G.I. Gurdjieff
June at a recent Linda Kemp Workshop in Beaufort, SC
thoroughly enjoying being a student.
| 4/22/09 - 4/29/09 | Ignorance Was Bliss |
By June Rollins |
When I first began taking watercolor classes, a wonderful thing happened. I experienced a shift in my awareness. As I gained more skill and confidence, certain local settings seemed to take on a glow and call out to be painted. Many of them were houses.
Around the same time, the local visitor’s center was seeking artists for monthly exhibits. Maybe the public would enjoy seeing an exhibit of local scenes? Although risky (could I pull it off?), I inquired. The next opening was a year away giving me plenty of time to put my dream paintings on paper. I calmed my growing fears by telling myself I could always cancel and began to seriously consider my subjects.
One house in particular had been drawing me like a magnet. I drove by it often on my way into town. It was an older home with interesting molding and nice landscaping complete with an American Flag illuminated by the sun.
After a few weeks of it’s persistent pull, I parked my car alongside the busy street, and carefully approached it with my camera in hand as if I were stalking wild game. The house was even more charming than I had realized. Boston ferns surrounded a large porch with rocking chairs. I remember thinking, wouldn’t it be just the perfect painting if someone was sitting in one?
I had just begun taking photos when the front door opened and a man walked out onto the porch. I smiled and waved and told him I had admired his home and wanted to paint it and include it in an exhibit I was doing at the local visitor’s center. He seemed mildly surprised, but agreeable.
I considered his appearance an answer to my silent wish for a subject to be sitting in one of the rocking chairs, and enthusiastically urged him to sit so he could be in the painting too. He looked a little amused as he obliged my request and told me he would like to see the painting when it was finished.
About a month later I met with him and his wife to show them the portrait of their home. They were delighted and wanted to buy the original.
As he wrote out the check, he said he had to tell me what really happened that first day. He said he had been unaware I was outside until a concerned neighbor had phoned to tell him there was a strange woman with a camera taking pictures of his house and he had better go see what she was up to.
We all had a good laugh. I had been so focused on getting a reference photo for my first dream painting, I had been aware of nothing else.
Would I do the same thing today? Maybe. Maybe not. Here’s why.
A few years ago I was told of an artist who had photographed someone’s pond and painted a lovely landscape. This painting was donated to a local fundraiser. The owner of the pond recognized the setting and was offended that he had not been asked permission.
He tells me of this injustice every year when I see him at the annual fundraiser. And in the next sentence invites me to come out and photograph and paint on his property.
I nervously smile and say I will, realizing just how close I was to offending the owners of the first house I ever painted. Not to mention countless others.
Though not against the law, if the photograph is taken while standing on public property, it is only courteous to ask permission when possible.
Not everyone is as infatuated with our artistic visions as we are. Enjoy the journey.
Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again. –Franklin P. Jones
First House Portrait
by June Rollins, July 2001
| 4/15/09 - 4/22/09 | Trading Treasures |
By June Rollins |
What I enjoy most about arts & crafts shows is meeting other vendors and trading.
Guess I got it honest from my father.
As a little girl I would follow him around flea markets and into pawnshops. He would have a treasure or two hidden in his pockets--a knife, a pocket watch or some old coins.
At the appropriate time he would pull one out, turn it over and over in his hand while weaving an amazing story of it’s origin and history. One listening couldn’t help but lean in and take a closer look.
More often than not, amidst much passing back and forth, pats on the back and laughter, a trade of some kind would take place.
Before moving on, he would tell a parting joke leaving everyone smiling a little bit more than they had been earlier. Troubles forgotten, at least for the moment.
I’m not anywhere near as good as he was, at trading, story-telling or making people laugh.
In fact, more often than not, people have more of an impact on me, than I have on them. Like the potter I met at a recent out of town show.
Her work was beautiful and I wanted to trade
“I can’t,” she said quickly. Then more slowly, “It’s been a rough year for me financially.” She winced, “Going through a divorce.”
I swallowed, and said “Oh.”
It was a little too close to home.
I’m not sure why, maybe it was my expression, or she sensed a kindred spirit, or maybe she was just ready to open up. But, she continued by telling me her story.
I walked back to my booth, amazed by her strength and courage. It was her first show in three years.
At the close of the day, she came to see me and was all smiles. “I’ve had a good day. I would like to trade.”
I encouraged her to take whatever she wanted.
She motioned me to lean in close and whispered, “I can’t tell this to anyone, they might be jealous.” She leaned closer. “I’ve sold a $1,000 dollars today!”
We squealed in spontaneous delight and I joined her in a little celebration dance.
She selected a print and I followed her back to her booth.
I was immediately drawn to several small Celtic crosses.
“Refrigerator magnets,” she announced. “I have one on my refrigerator at home.”
My decision was made.
I now have one on my refrigerator too.
And every time I look at it, I think of Molly and her story.
And I think of my father and his stories.
And I can’t help but lean in and take a closer look at a little cross telling its story.
One, more of trading places, than trading treasures.
An amazing story. An amazing grace.
Happy Easter Season!
Have You Heard?
Graphite and Charcoal by June Rollins
| 4/08/09 - 4/15/09 | My First Masterpiece |
By June Rollins |
There were about twenty people in the first watercolor class I ever took. Sixteen were what I considered professionals. They sat in a large adjoining room around big tables with their palettes and paints and paper spread out all around them.
Many had brought in finished paintings and were proudly sharing their painting experiences. And all of them were well into their own varied, individual projects, only occasionally asking our teacher for her opinion; or, confirmation that what they had already done had been the right thing to do.
The remaining four of us were the beginners. We sat huddled around a table scared to death in an adjoining smaller room within earshot of the professionals hoping and praying none of them would come over and look at anything we were doing.
We were each given a Styrofoam plate, dotted with little dabs of paint to put on little rectangles of paper. I looked at the supplies I had been given and felt like I was in first grade again. How in the world would I ever get from here to there I wondered as I longingly looked over into the big room where the real artists were.
The first four sessions were a struggle for me. I made mostly messes and no masterpieces. Watercolor is not for the faint-hearted and our beginner quartet soon became a trio. I continued coming to class and tried to be encouraged by the tiniest occurrences of a “glowing mingle” here and a “ruffled edge” there. They were all accidental, but surely if I continued, I would figure it out.
In the fifth class, believe it or not, of all things, our teacher showed us how to paint with a cut-up credit card. After several failed attempts, I finally produced something I was somewhat happy with.
Feeling like a six year old, I walked up to her and held out my painting for her to see. I’ll never forget her response.
With an expression of shock followed with unabashed delight, she exclaimed, “I think you got it!” “And on cheap paper too!”
Her praise meant the world to me. I had gotten it!
And her ruckus had sparked some additional interest. I even received a few raised eyebrows and nods of approval from the professionals in the big room.
I still have that watercolor. It’s framed and hanging in my studio along with other paintings and photographs that serve as reminders to keep me going when I might not feel like it.
And my teacher was right. I hadn’t known it then, but that paper was a student grade, 90lb paper. At least it had been included in the tuition, but if you look closely, you can see where I tore it scraping a little too vigorously. A professional grade paper would have held up.
I show this painting to my beginner students and tell them of my struggles and hard earned victories. They seem to relax a little realizing it didn’t come easy for me either. Of course they want to learn how to paint with a cut-up credit card too, and giving my first teacher, Edrie Knight, all the credit (no pun intended), I show them.
The art of teaching is the art of assisting in discovery. --Anonymous
My First Masterpiece
Watercolor by June Rollins 2000
| 4/01/09 - 4/08/09 | The Tiny Voice Within |
By June Rollins |
“I wish I had the time to paint. I even majored in art.”
There was such a longing in her voice as she touched the framed watercolors hanging inside my white-canopied tent during one of my first art shows. It was a common refrain I had already heard many times.
Normally, I would smile and try to redirect the conversation. But, for some reason, I didn’t that day. Instead, I just looked into familiar eyes and nodded.
Maybe it was because of how somber it became when she entered my tent. Or, maybe it was how the corners of her mouth turned downward even when she tried to smile. Or, maybe it was the way her companion appeared to be with her, but not really.
I took a chance. “Sometimes I have to get up a little earlier or go to bed a little later to fit ‘painting’ in,” I ventured.
She was shaking her head from side to side before I had even finished. “Oh, no, our business takes all my time.”
I looked at the man who was with her hoping for a response. He looked back at me, unreadable. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “It’s doing quite well,” She said with her downward smile. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or me.
She wasn’t able to stay long.
How easy it is to live a life too busy, or in my case, too fearful, to follow that still, small voice whispering inside each of us.
Most people are shocked when I tell them I have only been painting for eight years. They assume the artist has always been painting, easily and effortlessly since childhood. How far from the truth. Maybe if I hadn’t run out of that first high school art class in 1971 things would have been different.
Fast-forward to 1999 and I still hadn’t taken any art classes. And if not for the Y2K scare I may never have. I had read art instruction books from the library, dabbled on my own, and even had a watercolorist friend encourage me and offer suggestions, but I hadn’t received any formal instruction.
While others were stockpiling water and military meal rations, I woke up one morning and thought, “Well, if the world is going to end, I would at least like to try a watercolor class before it does.”
Motivated by what I thought was a now-or-never situation, I signed up for a ten-week continuing education class at Mitchell Community College in Statesville. And if anyone would have told me that within a couple of years I would be painting commissioned house portraits and selling my work at art shows, I would have thought them crazy.
It takes courage to enter into the tents within our hearts and minds where dreams live. Sometimes we are seeking truth and enter willingly and other times circumstances push us there kicking and screaming. Or, sometimes we are so frightened we need someone to take our hand and lead us.
And once we’ve entered if we can somehow just stay long enough to listen, we might be able to still hear that small, quiet voice calling us back home. Calling us back to our heart’s desire for which we were created so that our joy might be made full.
Whatever God’s dream about man may be, it seems certain it cannot come true unless man cooperates. –Stella Terrill Mann
Art On The Green
Statesville, NC, 2002
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A couple of years ago I was invited to give a slide presentation of my photography and art to 24 ninth graders attending the Career Development Class at South Piedmont Community College in Polkton, NC.
“How long is your slide presentation, June?”
“About 20 to 30 minutes.”
“There’s a two-hour time slot. Could you work with the children some?”
(Gulp) “Sure, I’d be happy to.”
After I hung up, I wondered what on earth I would do with 24 ninth graders? Funds were limited, making the purchase of watercolors, paper and brushes out of the question.
As I considered what I might have benefited from hearing when I was in the ninth grade, I was surprised by the memories, complete with emotion that flooded my mind. Even though I was undecided on the specific exercises we would do, I knew the overall message I had to leave with them.
Thirty-eight years ago I clearly recall sitting before my guidance counselor as we were planning my curriculum and telling her I wanted to be an artist. She naturally chose art as one of my electives and I was on my way. That is, until I hit a bump in the road which put me on a 30-year detour from fulfilling my dream.
I remember walking into that beginning art class on the first day of school of my 9th grade year and sitting behind one of many big art tables, paint speckled and gouged with efforts. I was hopeful, anxious, excited and in awe all at the same time. It was a fragile balance that only took a few minutes to topple over.
As the teacher, whom I don’t recall ever seeing smile, began telling us all she expected from us in order to pass her class, I sank lower and lower in my chair.
Her stern countenance combined with art terms I had never heard before convinced me I couldn’t do what she required. If I couldn’t do it, I would get a bad grade. If I got a bad grade, I would be a failure. I couldn’t risk that.
As soon as the bell rang I ran to my guidance counselor’s office. With my B+ average barely intact, I told her art wasn’t for me. I thought it was boring. Could she please let me sign up for something else?
Well, isn’t that what you would have said? Who of us is going to tell anybody we’re afraid? It’s much easier to have a sour-grapes attitude and say we didn’t want it in the first place. Right? Thus began my 30-year detour.
I know things now I didn’t know then and wish, especially since those lost years cannot be regained, there was some way to go back in time and whisper insights into my younger self.
I would tell her, your teacher is fresh out of college. This is her fist class and she’s even more scared than you are. That’s why she seems so intimidating, to compensate for her own fears. Besides, it’s okay to make mistakes. That’s how we learn. You can do this. Stay. Don’t go.
But I didn’t know those things then. I only knew I could not risk failing.
I shared my story with the students that day. Urged them not to let anyone take away their dreams.
“I’m not saying it will be easy. ‘wishing and doing’ are two different things. It will take courage, hard work, discipline, determination, perseverance and above all, faith.
I hope they heard me.
“Creativity Take Courage.” --Matisse
Dream Girl
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 3/18/09 - 3/25/09 | When You Least Expect It |
By June Rollins |
Last Saturday, we had our first Artist’s Day Out.
A couple of my students requested it. They told me it was difficult for them to have quality painting time at home because of all the interruptions and distractions.
“Could we just get together for a day to paint?” they asked.
“You could come too,” one of them offered with a mischievous grin.
The deal was I would not have to teach. One volunteered to bring a crock-pot of soup, another, crackers and fruit.
I booked the room we normally use for our classes and e-mailed invitations to twenty-five plus others who I knew were artists or involved in the arts. I wondered how many would respond. Wondered if we might have enough interest for an artist guild?
No, not yet. Only six responded.
I was amenable towards this day of fellowship, but wasn’t really expecting much in the way of creative results. I had my doubts because I believe the nitty-gritty of developing personal artistic expression, a unique style, is not a group activity.
Would we just talk the whole time and get very little on paper? Would we be able to concentrate and get lost in our work while sitting around tables facing one another?
Either way, I realized the idea of not having to teach was liberating. No pressure. No responsibility. What did my inner artist/child want to do?
In her book, The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron recommends we take our inner artist on weekly play dates. It doesn’t have to be expensive or a major event. It’s just the idea of honoring our inner artist by asking what he/she would like to do for fun for at least a couple of hours or more once
a week.
I read the book two years ago and found this exercise most difficult to fit into my schedule. There were always so many things I should be doing. And although a lot of them were art related, I realized I was not truly getting in touch with my inner artist like the author recommended. In her book, she advises against including third parties on artist dates, but this was my chance.
The night before Artist’s Day Out I spent a lot of time asking my inner artist what she wanted to do just for fun. There was no class I was preparing for, no show I was painting for, no commission deadline I needed to meet or customer I needed to please. I took a deep breath and waited for her.
I eventually felt drawn to explore mediums I rarely used; graphite and charcoal, on a paper bought 7 years ago that I had never used. And my subject was a photo I had taken in 1991 of gladiolas I had told myself I would render someday. We are deep within the archives and a shimmer of hope is beginning to stir in my little inner artist’s heart.
The six of us had a delightful day. There were nice stretches of lost-in-time silence as we each immersed ourselves in our work, punctuated with spontaneous deep sighs that prompted words of encouragement and objectivity from the others.
Lunch was delicious, filling and fulfilling as we shared diverse life experiences and got to know one another better.
I was so energized from the day that I continued to work on my drawing well into the evening and was about ninety percent finished by the time I went to bed.
I had read charcoal had a seductive quality to it, but had not experienced it’s allure. Eliminating color and concentrating on values was captivating. My inner artist clapped her hands and giggled.
She wants to name this series, “All Things Valued.” Guess I’ll be doing more.
If a couple of my students had not wanted to get together to paint, “Glads To Be Here” would not exist. I thought the title fit in more ways than one. Enjoy the journey.
One learns through the heart not the eyes or the intellect. –Mark Twain
Glads To Be Here
graphite and charcoal rendering, by June Rollins
| 03/11/09 - 03/18/09 | Trumpets Of Hope |
By June Rollins |
My students continue to push me.
For months the Wadesboro group has wanted to paint flowers and I have been putting them off. The desire to paint flowers has not been one of my consuming passions.
Early on it was. But it seems my work of the last few years has been more architectural, with straight lines and sharp contrasts. I have spent more time experimenting with rendering rust than roses and did not feel I had earned the right to teach on brightly colored, curving, organic shapes.
But when January rolled around this year I had researched and selected a book for us to use, Exploring Watercolor by Elizabeth Groves. Demonstrations of flowers abound depicted in traditional and experimental approaches.
My first learning experience came on February 14th when I had chosen stargazer lilies as the subject for our class. Area florists looked at me like I was from Mars when I stood before them on Feb. 13, possibly one of their busiest days of the year, wanting a dozen stargazers.
I know, poor planning on my part, not to mention what it cost me. And we won’t talk about the little darlings not opening in time for class although I followed the directions of putting them in warm water and praying over them.
This month I chose daffodils. They are currently blooming and free for the picking. One of my students has acres of them and has offered to bring in bunches.
But daffodils, as plentiful and cost effective as they are, present another obstacle; the challenge of yellow and shading and shadows. Guess what I’ve been working on the last few weeks?
An earlier “From The Art” post on11/12/08, shows a daffodil I rendered about 4 years ago. But this time I wanted something not so picture perfect. Something with a little more mood.
In an effort for a sharp contrast, I got a little heavy handed with a too dark background and went to bed that night feeling discouraged. But the next morning I awoke with a solution and could hardly wait to try it. Maybe all was not lost?
Watercolor has the reputation of not being able to be corrected. Once it’s down, you’re stuck with it. Sometimes that’s the case and sometimes it’s not.
In this case, I was able to significantly alter the painting. I liked it much better. But felt my compass was off. I had spent most of the previous day agonizing over it and had lost my objectivity. What to do? Get a second opinion. Show it to Rob.
“I like it, honey.”
I watched him closely, looking for any tell-tell signs of sugarcoating.
“Really? I could name it Dazzling Daffodils.”
“Well, no. I wasn’t thinking that.”
My heart plummeted. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s dark, melancholy, a little ominous.”
“What is this gloom and doom that keeps coming out in my paintings?” I wailed.
“But the daffodils are shining through,” he said. “Overcoming.”
We both stared at the painting as if waiting for it to speak.
“How about Trumpets of Hope?” he said.
This week I’m showing you both, the before and after. My secret weapons? A water mister and an insightful husband. Enjoy the journey.
Keep your face to the sun and you cannot see the shadows. –Helen Keller
Trumpets Of Hope
Before
Watercolor by June Rollins
Trumpets Of Hope
After
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 03/04/09 - 03/11/09 | Disaster Demo |
By June Rollins |
It’s happened before. But it really happened this time, a total watercolor disaster.
And to make matters worse, it happened not in the secluded, safe sanctuary of my studio for no other eyes but my own, but during a recent class demonstration.
Let’s see, I believe there were six sets of advanced beginner eyes on me that day. It might as well have been six hundred. Can you say mortified?
I had asked students to bring in photos of landscapes they would like to paint. I collected all the photos and during class held them up one at a time in order to discuss a planning process for each one. Did the photo need to be simplified or altered to improve the overall design? Did it have a good value pattern? Where was the center of interest? What colors would be used to communicate the desired mood? What techniques would be used?
I selected a few photos to demonstrate by painting 4x4 thumbnail studies as examples for the class. The first was a beach scene with a sun-streaked sky complete with setting sun. I demonstrated painting wet-on-wet and charging while they watched and asked questions.
Immediately following the demonstration, they practiced the same techniques. There were a few bumps in the road as it is anytime a new skill is being learned, but they are a talented group and were getting the hang of it.
The second demonstration was the disaster.
The photo was a simple composition of a single tree on a low horizon line with yellow flowers at its base. The bright yellow against a deep blue, sunny, summer sky made a striking contrast.
The demo got off to a great start. I was excited about showing them a technique I often use to depict foliage. A splattering of primary triad colors on misted paper. The almost effortless, gorgeous color mixing with ruffled edges occurs from tilting the paper. I was thrilled with the results and my students were in awe.
The next step was to cut in the sky. The blue I chose was phthalo blue, my first mistake. This staining color was too strong and too cool. I realized it right away and tried to compensate with warmer, darker shadows in the tree which quickly turned into mud, a watercolor term describing something you don’t want. Okay, if we’re being totally honest here, I had succeeded in creating a mudslide and was being buried alive.
There is a point of no return in watercolor and I was there. You know it when it’s happening. There is this sense of correcting more than creating accompanied by a rising panic. Each touch of the brush, or tissue, or paper towel, or sponge, or razor blade just makes matters worse.
I finally looked up and said, “This is awful.”
They looked at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
“You’ve just observed your teacher paint a disaster.”
No one said anything. They just stared back at me.
Then, Maggie, thank goodness for Maggie, proclaimed, “Good! I feel better already!”
The tension broke and everyone erupted into hearty, healthy, healing laughter.
Then I showed them how sometimes a toothbrush can be used to soften hard edges, lighten staining colors and even scrub away mud.
All in all, it was a good class with an even better learning experience. And while this is not my favorite painting, it will probably have been flipped over and used for scrap paper even before you’re reading this; I had a feeling you would want to see it anyway.
Enjoy the journey.
At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities. –Jean Houston
Disaster Demo
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 02/25/09 - 03/04/09 | A Way Out |
By June Rollins |
I finally finished the painting I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. The one I’ve been working on since last December.
Just for the record, it has taken me longer to complete “A Way Out” than any other painting I’ve worked on. Granted, there is a lot of detail in the composition, but there has also been a lot of detail in my life the last three months, leaving little time to paint.
I took the reference photo early one morning last October and put the image on my computer desktop so I could study it every chance I got. Its intersecting lines and intricate shadow patterns captivated me. Every time I looked at it, I saw something new and felt more and more compelled to paint it.
It’s another one of my paintings that’s not pretty. The trapped shapes in the composition seemed a revealing metaphor to the way I felt. But on another level I knew something deeper was being addressed other than my own temporarily constricted schedule.
In a workshop a few years ago, the instructor told us that artists have a social responsibility. What voice cries out in the wilderness in some of our paintings when we let it?
I guess these are the works we paint not so much because they are pretty enough to hang above someone’s mantle or marketable enough to have limited edition prints made, but because they have a message. And its urgency won’t let us rest until it begins to take shape and form and is finished.
I asked Rob what he felt when he looked at this most recent painting.
He said, “Trapped.”
He knows better than me. Knows the state of hearts and minds where we live; a place where you are not insulated from desperation but see it every time you go to the post office or to the grocery store. And anyone passing through on their way to the beach, if they don’t look the other way, has seen it too, sitting on the curb or milling about.
But it’s just not here. I read yesterday five million in our country are now collecting unemployment. Desperation is touching lives that have not been touched by it before. Who maybe thought they were safe. Maybe we’re all feeling a little trapped.
Breaking The Cycle, Hands Of Hope, The Circles Program and Bridges Out Of Poverty are all words I hear Rob saying a lot. He’s involved in each of these programs and a recently certified instructor in one of them.
I am thankful for the people in our community and the leaders in our country who aren’t looking the other way any more. Thankful and hopeful.
The task of the leader is to get his people from where they are
to where they have not been. --Henry Kissinger
A Way Out Watercolor by June Rollins
| 02/18/09 - 02/25/09 | Count Me In |
By June Rollins |
You won’t believe it.
Immediately after finishing last week’s column I checked my e-mail and discovered one of my Albemarle students had invited me to attend a 2-day watercolor workshop by Linda Kemp in Beaufort, SC in March.
Linda Kemp, is a nationally known Canadian artist I have long admired. In December I’d purchased her DVD, Painting Outside The Lines; and although I hadn’t had time to watch it, I knew this was a great opportunity.
I visited Linda’s website and checked out her workshop schedule. Even though Beaufort, SC is three hours and forty-five minutes from Wadesboro (yes, I did a mapquest too), it was clearly the closest to me she would be teaching in 2009. This really was an opportunity.
As I imagined hitting “reply” and typing, “Yes! Count me in!” I began thinking of all the reasons I couldn’t go. One of which was a monthly women’s luncheon club meeting I would miss. Being the secretary, that wouldn’t be right. And I began to stew.
The Worthwhile Club is a “by invitation only” group. When there are openings, existing members nominate and then vote on any future prospective members. So, how did little ole’ me become a member of such an exclusive club?
I was invited because I’m Mrs. Rob Rollins a.k.a. the preacher’s wife. Since the club began in 1915 an invitation has been extended to the wives of the ministers (and to female ministers, should we have any) of the four main, downtown churches in Wadesboro. When we moved here five years ago, it was pretty much understood, I would graciously accept.
At first unfamiliar and a little awkward with some of the formalities, like what do I wear, what fork do I use and when can I pick it up, I have since enjoyed getting to know members of our community I may not have gotten to know otherwise and now find their company quite entertaining instead of terrifying.
Even so, I still wanted to go to the Linda Kemp workshop.
The next morning I took my hangdog face down to breakfast and told Rob about yet another art opportunity I had to miss because of a prior obligation.
“Go,” he said.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Sure, you can,” he said.
“You think so?” I said.
“Definitely,” he said.
It didn’t take much to convince me. I bounded up the stairs to my studio, got online and replied with an excited, “Yes! Count me in!”
Just minutes before I had been tired and irritable. (Remember, I mentioned last week that blocked artists weren’t pleasant to be around). But now, I was filled with energy and enthusiasm. My husband’s no dummy.
I forwarded the workshop information to the Wadesboro students and three more signed up. Now, six of us are counting the days to our artists’ getaway.
Looks like I wasn’t the only one needing a little boost.
And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. –Anais Nin
It's Almost Spring! Watercolor by June Rollins
| 02/11/09 - 02/18/09 | Running Free |
By June Rollins |
I am currently feeling corralled by life’s circumstances. When was the last time I had a day to paint? I don’t remember.
While that may sound frivolous and self-indulgent to some, I believe other artists can relate and understand my rising frustration.
It seems for the last few months, there has been somewhere I needed to be or something I needed to do just about every day. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I catch a morning here and an afternoon there every few days preparing for classes and painting small watercolors for student demonstrations.
But when I purpose to paint, to create something that chose me to give it voice, there’s been one interruption after another; some legitimately urgent, others provokingly not. It has gotten to the point of where it feels like I am in the middle of a siege.
A full sheet watercolor has been in the making since December; an intricate composition that I have been forced to work on bits and pieces at a time. I knew the title as soon as I took the photo last October. I just didn’t know I would be living it first hand.
“A Way Out” is a stark, jumble of intersecting lines and angles. Upon closer inspection, the reality of the image can be seen within the abstracted shadow patterns. It’s an eerie, haunting emergence.
The pull in me to finish this painting is strong, almost desperate. I’ve wondered if in the completing of it, might I also find my way out?
As uncomfortable as this internal struggle is, I am glad for it. It’s a reminder of how critical artistic expression is for me. Otherwise, I may forget who I am. A blocked artist is not a pleasant person to be around.
I have been in this place before where everything seems to confine and restrict, demand and proclaim, how I should be spending my time. And I know it will pass.
I tell my students there are seasons. Seasons when life hums along on automatic giving us permission and inspiration to create, then there are seasons when everything seems to be broken and needing our attention 24/7.
And even though we know we would receive solace and strength from dipping a brush in pools of color and swirling them about, the guilt of doing so holds us back. Stops us. Stuns us into submission. How could we at a time like this?
We learn to do it anyway.
I recall one of my students producing some of the most serene and peaceful landscapes during a terribly stressful time in her life involving daily hospital visits and assisting relatives in poor health. She had learned to tap that still, quiet center within and paint anyway.
As for me, I am envisioning breaking out and running free. It’s a start.
To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive. –Robert Louis Stevenson
Running Free Pastel by June Rollins
| 02/4/09 - 02/11/09 | A Pear A Day |
By June Rollins |
We’ve all heard, “an apple a day keeps the doctor away.” How about, “a pear a day helps an artist to play.”
Over the last four days, I’ve painted a pear a day: a single red pear on a green cloth napkin. Why a pear? It’s good shape to practice modeling which gives the illusion of depth. Why a red pear? It’s good choice for a simple red-green complementary color scheme. Plus, I used a secret ingredient, a little twist of Lemon Hansa.
Okay, why four red pear paintings? Didn’t that get boring? Not in the least. The first was painted in my studio and the other three were painting demonstrations during different classes. Believe me, you don’t get bored with several sets of eyes watching your every move.
This means, not only do I have 4 red pear paintings, but 21 other watercolorists each have one too. There are 25 red pear paintings out there all painted from the same photo following the same instructions. And guess what, they’re all different. Maybe that’s how the term “watercolor original” came about.
We mainly worked from the photo in class, but I wanted each student to also have a pear to become better acquainted with the subject. So, off to the grocery store I went.
Standing in the produce section considering every red pear, as a possible model is a little different than just bagging them for fruit salad. Each had to pass my inspection. I looked for deep color and a pleasing shape with stem intact. Finally, the top ten were selected and carefully transported home.
After all kinds of arranging, I went for simplicity and placed one plump red pear dead center on a green cloth napkin. A composition “no-no,” but it felt right.
Hadn’t I just seen a similar still life set-up in a juried national exhibition? I thumbed through past catalogs and there it was; a big yellow pear executed in far more detail than we would do. Plus, it was a gigantic 22x30 instead of our little 7x10, but I was reassured that what I was considering had received a stamp of approval on a national level and went with it. I turned off the flash so as not to wash out the soft natural lighting from a nearby window, told my pear to smile and took a few digital photos.
During my first attempt I found myself wanting to break another rule. The one about warm colors advancing and cool colors receding. The Lemon Hansa had been a silent player just to warm things up a bit, but it longed to come out more in the background. I followed its lead and was delighted with its tawny, golden influence.
You might think by the time I was painting my third and fourth pear I was doing it on autopilot. Nope, watercolor is a riveting medium. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss any of the discoveries it offers. That’s part of the fun.
But the biggest discovery of all had nothing to do with art.
The day before the last class, I had placed the pears in a tray to rest. My husband was aware they had been on assignment and asked, “Can we eat those now?”
I said, “Sure,” knowing I needed to buy a couple more because the last class was larger.
As the day went by I noticed there were fewer and fewer pears in the tray.
By the morning of the remaining class, there was only one pear left.
"Honey, I didn't know you liked pears so much."
Yes, he said, picking up the last one and taking a bite, "I do."
Maybe that saying should be, "pears left in a tray are gone the next day."
Enjoy the journey.
It's a happy talent to know how to play. Ralph Waldo Emerson
Big Red Watercolor by June Rollins
| 01/28-02/04/09 | Back To Basics |
By June Rollins |
I’ve always heard the teacher learns more than the students. But I never really believed it
until now.
Presently, I’m teaching three different watercolor classes. Two groups are
experienced watercolorists at an intermediate level and one group is advanced beginners.
The latter consider it a joke to be called “advanced” because they have only had my half-day, beginner workshop, “Come Test The Waters” which is for people who have no previous watercolor experience.
During that workshop I provide professional quality watercolor supplies to give students an opportunity to literally, test the waters. That’s enough for some, and they leave with a greater appreciation of watercolor. But a few brave souls choose to continue on to the five-week advanced beginner classes. And for that reason alone I dub them Advanced Beginners.
My goal is to offer a foundation of watercolor basics during the five weeks giving students the tools to work on their own. I tell them what happens outside of class is much more important than what happens inside of class and encourage them to make time to paint whenever they can.
After five weeks the advanced beginners have the opportunity to continue to meet monthly by joining students ranked at the intermediate level. And again, some continue and some don’t.
The intermediate students come together once a month for critiques, encouragement and inspiration. As they continue to explore watercolor, they begin to make their own discoveries and develop their own distinctive styles.
Last year we studied color theory. And in an effort to teach them I had to return to the basics. Some of which I had only read about, but never practiced. Like the monochromatic color scheme, which uses only one color and it’s varying values and intensities.
Having grown accustomed to using a primary triad in my paintings, restricting myself to one color felt a bit confining. I was forced to more consciously employ the design elements of value, line, shape and texture; rather than mainly rely on color to execute the painting. As a result, “Check Your Rearview” was created and I have since become a devotee of the monochromatic scheme.
Recently in class, one of my Albemarle students jokingly said, “In a couple month’s time I’ve gone from beginner to advanced beginner to intermediate. Pretty soon I’ll be a professional.”
Everyone laughed.
And I said, “That’s right.”
Enjoy the journey.
All our dreams can come true—if we have the courage to pursue them. –Walt Disney
Check Your Rearview, Watercolor by June Rollins
| 01/21/09-01/28/09 | How To Be |
By June Rollins |
Some of my fondest memories are when I first started participating in art festivals. Of course, there was always the apprehension of wondering what the public would think of my efforts and the hard work of packing and unpacking.
But what I treasure most is remembering the other artists I met. We would only see each other once or twice a year and coming together for annual or bi-annual art shows often felt like a family reunion.
I met Carl at the Hickory Furniture Mart in 2002. His grandson helped him set up his photography display and at the end of the show helped him pack up what was left. Which usually wasn’t very much because people loved Carl’s work. The artists loved Carl’s work too. Because he let us paint from his photographs.
We are not talking hobbyist here. We are talking professional photographer with work published in Our State Magazine and The Smithsonian to name just a couple.
Technically perfect with heart is the way I saw his work. And a slice of humor too, if you were fortunate enough to hear some of the stories behind the photos.
Like once, when he was out in the woods and happened upon a couple of praying mantises. He told me he had had difficulty photographing them because they kept moving. His solution was to put them in his ice chest for a little while to slow them down. It worked with no harm done and he produced stunning photos of these spring green, regal creatures poised majestically atop golden yellow mushrooms.
I also marveled at the variety Carl’s work, most of which had been taken in North Carolina. From the mountains to the coast, Carl had captured our state’s beauty.
Back then I hadn’t been to any of the NC lighthouses, but Carl had been to every one. For a few dollars I bought 4x6 reference photos of all seven and he gave me his blessing. Using his photos I painted my first series.
Some sold and some were donated to fundraisers. Ocracoke raised over $2,000 in a raffle for the Anson County Library and is still contributing through open edition giclee prints today.
The only one I’ve kept is Baldhead Island. Not so much because of that particular lighthouse, but because Carl is in it. Literally, in it.
I remember him chuckling when he told me. He wanted a figure in the photograph for perspective. No one was around, but that didn’t stop Carl. With his camera on a tripod he set the shutter delay and entered his own photo.
Things change. I moved away from the area, I rarely do shows anymore or use reference photos other than my own.
I haven’t seen Carl for about seven years now, but I keep this self-portrait of a creative artist with the humble, fun-loving, generous spirit in my studio because it reminds me of how to be.
Quote: I never did a day's work my entire life. It was all fun. --Thomas Edison
"Baldhead Island" Watercolor by June Rollins
| 01/14/09-01/21/09 | Someone’s Calling |
By June Rollins |
Every now and then, a painting just comes together.
I get a clear visual image of the finished watercolor before I even begin and I know from start to finish the techniques I want to use to best render the subject. These works are normally finished within 4 to 5 days with an economy of brushstrokes and very little if any need to make corrections. Above all, there is this sense of anticipation and purpose during the process plus, a sense of energetic fulfillment when the painting is completed.
Now, please note that I said, “every now and then.” That does not mean, “often”
And it certainly doesn’t mean, “normally.” When it happens, I’m not sure how I get there and I don’t know how long it will last. This is the way is was with “Mixed Messages.”
What usually precipitates this phenomenon is the subject really calls out to me. There is no thumbing through art magazines or boxes of reference photos trying to get inspired. No, none of that. What happens is that I will be going about my busy little schedule and boom, something stops me in my busy little tracks.
With “Mixed Messages” I was driving to Southern Pines via Rockingham, a way I’ve traveled before, and while stopped at a traffic light, an old building in deep shadow seemed to be calling out to me. It’s not an audible call. It’s more of a longing I sense coming from it.
“What?” I asked. (Hope you don’t think I’m crazy).
The light changed and I pushed the accelerator. After all, I did have an appointment I did not want o be late for. But, I promised I’d check it out again on my return trip home later that day when more than likely the building would be in the sun.
It was. And not knowing what I was searching for, I slowly drove around the block and parked in front of the main entrance.
“What?” I asked again and waited. Looking around, I saw peeling green paint and interesting shadow patterns. Then there it was. And I knew.
“Oh,” I said and took a few photos with my digital camera.
I could hardly wait to start and I knew the title of the painting right away.
I haven’t really purposed to have symbolic meanings in my paintings, but it seems the subjects that call out to me have a story they want to tell. It’s great when it happens. I hope they keep calling. And I hope I have enough sense to stop what I’m doing and listen.
What’s the story in “Mixed Messages?” That’s up to you.
Quote: Trust in yourself. Your perceptions are often far more accurate than you are willing to believe. --Claudia Black
"Mixed Messages" Watercolor by June Rollins
| 01/07/09 - 01/14/09 | Not A Pretty Picture |
By June Rollins |
“Mercy where did that come from?” I wondered as I stood back from my most recent watercolor efforts. I was working from a reference photo I had taken when Rob and I were remodeling our house. He had rented some beast of a machine to assist him and its sharp-edged strength had attracted me.
The painting was nearing completion and the mood was definitely taking on a more ominous note than I had originally intended. The title I had planned, “Can You Dig It?”, did not work at all. I had suspected as much, but this?
Art can sometimes reveal repressed feelings deep inside us that are seeking expression. So what was this painting saying about me?
Last night I got a clue.
My husband and I had taken his daughter and her friend to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner. The owners, a young, hardworking couple from China have become dear to us and the freshly prepared food is great.
We were nestled in our booth being served when the actions and words of someone beside us began to put knots in our stomachs.
“I wish she’d shut-up,” said Ashley. “Now, I’m not hungry.”
“There’s a child with them,” said Matt.
“What a role model.”
It appeared the ringleader of the group was trying to impress the others. Her method was to bully a soft-spoken waitress who did not speak English very well. There’s no other way to put it, the young woman, exhibited haughty, demanding, belligerent, belittling, provoking behavior.
My husband, normally one to return thanks before meals in a quiet, unobtrusive manner, used his deeply resonant, pulpit voice and projected over her verbal tirade.
His closing words, “…And remind us of your love. In Jesus’ name…” seemed to shimmer in the air for several seconds stunning her into a shocked silence. But, not for long. Soon the mumblings and taunting jabs returned.
In an effort to pacify, the owner refunded her money and presented a plate of newly made sugar doughnuts, but she was relentless, a troubled, troublemaker skilled at her trade.
When the group finally left, we clapped.
Rob pressed a five-dollar bill into the waitress’s hand. We told her, we were sorry that had happened. That it wasn’t right.
She smiled, and said, “Oh, that’s okay. It happen all the time.”
So, what does this have to do with my painting? I can’t deny the level of outrage I felt during the incident. I found myself wanting to dig her up, roots and all. I feel that way every time I hear verbal abuse. And I have felt that way when….
If only confronting it could be as easy as a rented auger cracking hardpan and spiraling down, unearthing everything that didn’t belong.
It’s not a pretty picture and it’s not a pretty subject.
Quote: The soul has no secrets that conduct does not reveal. --Chinese Proverb
"Unearthed" Watercolor by June Rollins
| 12/31/08-01/07/09 |
Think About It |
By June Rollins |
Last week in Sunday school the teacher asked us what we wanted to accomplish in 2009. We replied by studying our hands.
“Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in our day to day routines and not think about it,” he said, studying his own hands.
We nodded in agreement, relieved to be off the hook.
Maybe that’s why in the monthly intermediate watercolor classes I have my students set quarterly goals. I give everyone a blank note card and envelope and ask them to write a letter of projected outcomes and encouragement to themselves. They give me the sealed envelopes and at the end of each quarter I drop them in the mail.
In December we evaluated the class and I asked them if the quarterly goal setting exercise was working. A few looked like my Sunday school class and the rest shook their heads and laughed.
“I never do what I say I’m going to do!” announced one candid soul.
They hadn’t gotten the best results, but still wanted to continue doing it in 2009.
“Why?” I asked.
“At least it makes us think about it,” they cried.
We all had a good laugh when one student explained that when her 4th quarter letter came, she could not figure out who it was from. The handwriting looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Walking up the driveway back to her house she considered everyone she knew, but remained mystified.
It was only after she opened the letter and started reading she said, “Oh, it’s just me reminding me to love myself.”
Not a bad goal, especially, if at first we don’t succeed.
I’ve had one goal that has been more like an unpaid debt following me around year after year, the goal to do pastel portraits.
Eight years ago, I bought pastels, pastel paper and pastel instruction books. But the next four years went buy with no efforts and no results. The next 3 years I made a few feeble attempts not worth mentioning.
But this year, after telling my students about my goal during one of the quarterly goal setting sessions something new was ignited. I suddenly felt accountable and completed 8 portraits.
The first four, we won’t talk about. The last 4 I actually thought were good enough to give to the victims, I mean subjects.
I’m well aware of how few of us actually follow through on New Year’s resolutions. So why bother? But what’s our other option?
At least think about it. And, based on my experience, if we want to increase our odds, we tell somebody.
Oh, and this year, let’s remind ourselves to love ourselves, no matter what.
Quote: Once in the midst of a seemingly endless winter, I discovered within myself an invincible spring.
Reference photo and initial sketch
Completed pastel by June Rollins
Private Collection John & June Witherspoon
| 12/24-12/31/08 |
And Let It Begin With Me |
By June Rollins |
When I was in the 7th grade I was automatically in the 7th grade choir. It didn’t matter if I enjoyed singing or not. There I was, one of the shortest in my class, dead center in the front row right beneath Miss C, our choir director.
Miss C was pretty in a delicate sort of way with blonde hair and blue eyes. And in the classroom she was patient and kind. But when Miss C became our choir director, she morphed into Attila The Hun. She must not have enjoyed singing either. Or, at least she didn’t enjoy our singing.
The song was, “Let There Be Peace On Earth.” There may have been other songs we were practicing for our Christmas program, but that is the only one I remember. Or, more specifically, I only remember the first line; “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” Because it seemed we never got much further than that.
Some where between “earth” and “me” Miss C would stop us and have us sing it over. And over. And over. And over. We never got it right and “Let There Be Peace On Earth” became a torturous, droning in my ears.
I dreaded going to choir practice and standing beneath her growing exasperation. Dreaded seeing her fair-skinned complexion blotch red, her slender arms and graceful hands fluid in the beginning, become stiff, jerky and demanding as she tried to direct our efforts.
But her face, twisted in irritation and frustration was the worst. Okay, maybe it was the spittle shower I got that was the worst.
The incongruity of it amuses me now. Makes me LOL (laugh out loud).
Finding the humor still works for me, especially during this often-stressful season of unreasonable demands and high expectations.
Like the beautiful red velvet poinsettia delivered to us this year that reeked so badly of cigarette smoke I had to quarantine it to the side porch for two days.
And the church member who offered someone a ride to our holiday party who spilled fruit salad down between the seats of her car when the bowl she was carrying, tilted as she got in.
Then there is my friend, the consummate volunteer, who traveled to and fro buying just the perfect gold beads, silver garland and special gold butterfly ornaments to make table top decorations for a community club Christmas dinner and shortly before the event after everything had been purchased was told the color theme had been changed from gold and silver to red and green.
So, when others see me smiling while singing “Let There Be Peace On Earth” and think the song has transported to a place of serenity. You know the truth.
I’m ready for it to be over and I’m ready for the New Year.
Laughter is the sun that drives winter form the human face. — Victor Hugo
"Winter Laughing"
Watercolor By June Rollins
Private Collection Robert & Lynn Horton
| 12/17-12/24/08 |
Beware Of The Joy Snatchers |
By June Rollins |
This time of year we are warned to look out for people stealing our wallets, credit cards and even the Christmas gifts out of our cars, but this is a warning to look out for people who want to steal our joy, not just during the holidays, but every day of the year.
Once upon a time in a land far away or maybe just yesterday in my own hometown, I witnessed joy snatching first hand at a fine art show.
I had a reference photo on display alongside the completed painting and still life set up. The photo was in grayscale, a study of sharp contrasts used as a teaching aid for value patterns.
It had caught the eye of a middle age man professionally attired in a navy pin striped suit who was accompanied by an elegantly dressed, tall, slender, older woman.
I explained to him how the photo had been taken just seconds before the sun had set. And how shocked I had felt when I looked through the viewfinder to take another and was met with only darkness.
My experience resonated with him and he began excitedly talking about his own earlier photography experiences. Once while photographing Cape Hatteras a flock of geese had flown by on the 25th frame of a of 24 exposure roll and he had captured that split-second moment on film! He told me how perfect and beautiful that last photo was and still is.
“It’s so good,” he said, “I know I must have had divine help.”
“That’s the way I feel about most of my paintings,” I laughed.
It was fun reliving the wonder of his moment with him and his companion who had been laughing and nodding as he shared his story, but I was completely caught off guard by what she said next.
“You know you haven’t taken any photos that are as good as that one since,” she said all sugary sweet with a smile on top.
He grew quiet and looked down.
She looked at me smiling even wider, “Must have been….” And silently mouthed the last word, “LUCK.”
When she turned to walk away, her black cape swirling about her, I couldn’t help but think of Cruella Deville.
And the nice middle age man trailing behind her in the navy pin striped suit, who might have felt inspired to pull out his camera again in search of wonder, probably won’t now.
Beware of the joy snatchers.
It is never too late to be what you might have been. — George Eliot
Just before Sunset - grayscale
Just before Sunset
| 12/10-12/17/08 |
Seeing Is Believing |
By June Rollins |
Last Sunday the Anson County Arts Council (ACAC) in Wadesboro had open house during our Annual Christmas Tour. The refreshment table was completely covered with homemade sweets, dips, cheeses and chicken wings. And there was enough wassail and wine to induce Christmas cheer in just about everyone within a 50-mile radius.
Three anxious artists positioned at unfamiliar demonstration tables received comfort from holding familiar brushes and wood carving tools. And the ACAC volunteers with smiling Santa’s on their sweaters and tense looks on their faces hung near the refreshment table making sure it didn’t disappear.
As it is before most art receptions in my small town, we were all thinking the same thing. Will anybody come?
About twenty minutes into the scheduled event, one plainspoken transplant standing by my table said, “This looks like a used car lot. The only people standing around are the used car salesmen.” We both chuckled because she was right, but inside I hoped she would be wrong too.
What better thing to do when I long for a better reality than to lose myself in creating one in watercolor. When I resurfaced, my table was surrounded with people watching me paint. And the room was full of laughter and talking and eating and drinking.
When I began to demonstrate a small watercolor of a poinsettia using the technique of negative painting, one onlooker was doubtful saying he couldn’t see it. I knew him well and we joked back and forth.
But I also knew what he meant. I remember how I struggled with this concept when I began painting and the sense of awe I felt when I finally began see for the first time what I couldn’t see before.
To paint negatively means to paint the area behind the subject. Eventually, the subject seems to magically appear. And sure enough, after a few layers of negatively painted poinsettia bracts, he laughed and said, “Oh, I see it now. But, how do you do it?”
I think getting to know God is a lot like negative painting. At first, we don’t see it.
We may even fight against it or keep ourselves so distracted we don’t have time to see, or are so overworked, we’re too tired to see. Or, heaven forbid, we just say we see what our parents, who were always in church, said we should see. But if we hang around long enough and watch and listen and wait, we will get glimpses of our mysterious, magnificent, all loving God who has been there all along.
Someone else that night, told me about her bad experiences in church as a child. So bad she has chosen not to attend church as an adult. I’m normally not too concerned when I hear that because I know from personal experience one can still have an intimate relationship with God and not be attending church.
But when I gently asked, “Do you pray? Do you ever talk to God?”
And she said, “No, let’s change the subject.”
I wanted to say, “Please don’t let that childhood perception of God limit the God who is and was and is to come. Please don’t close yourself off to all He wants to show you and give you. Please be open to learning to see a new way.”
Like an empty art gallery suddenly filled with people and the seemingly magical appearance of a poinsettia during negative painting, Christ is born.
And what could not be seen before can be seen now by those who believe.
Flowers are the beautiful hieroglyphics of nature with which she indicates how much she loves us.
— Goethe
Original Watercolor by June Rollins.
| 12/3-12/10/08 |
What Wondrous Love Is This? |
By June Rollins |
One of the joys of being a minister’s wife occurs at Christmas when church members show their appreciation by giving us gifts. Handmade gifts from the heart are especially meaningful. Those wrought out of broken hearts, divine. We received such a gift one year.
Her husband, only in his fifties, had passed away in the fall. He had battled cancer for 16 years. In times of remission they had lived to the fullest and were actively involved in community service. In times the cancer reappeared they had fought it courageously. After such a long struggle of fighting and hoping for a cure, realizing the end was near was difficult.
Several months before his passing the wife had enrolled in a pottery class for a constructive outlet. My husband and I had admired her beginning efforts when we had visited in their home.
How touched we were to receive two hand-thrown coffee mugs that Christmas, just a few months after her husband’s funeral. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper were his-and-her mugs. Inscribed on the bottom of each was “Cynthia 2005”. The year her husband died and the same year she never stopped giving from her heart.
Since then, in the quiet of the morning, I’ve had my coffee from this one-of-a-kind mug crafted by the hands of a faithful yet grieving heart. It’s made me reflect on how much God loves us and loves through us even during our most difficult times.
Not everyone will have a Merry Christmas this year, but I pray, amidst the tinsel and glitter of this sometimes too busy holiday season, all of us, in some unexpected way, will be touched by His wondrous love.
When the angels left them and went back to heaven, the shepherds said to each other, "Let's go to Bethlehem. Let's see this thing that has happened which the Lord has told us about."
— Luke 2:15
What Wondrous Love Is This by June Rollins
| 11/26-12/3/08 |
Beside Still Waters |
By June Rollins |
I hate to admit it, but there are some festivals when I don’t sell as much as I would like.
Low sales often happen when there’s rain, or a competing local event. Perhaps there is a play-off ball game on TV keeping one of the decision makers at home while the other is out “just looking.” Sometimes, I’m in a bad location. Or, heaven forbid, I’m in a bad mood.
But every now and then, I’m just simply having an “off” day.
I had one of those this past spring, complete with backing into a concrete block and scraping my VW Beetle’s bumper as I was leaving.
I had started the day off optimistic with plenty of new work that was getting lots of favorable comments. But as the day progressed, very few people were buying. I began to get a little discouraged behind my brave smile.
Was anyone selling? I visited the other vendors. As usual, some danced with delight while others solemnly shook their heads.
Did I need to rearrange my display? Was my artwork priced too high? Should I interact more and demonstrate less? I should have painted something seasonal.
Brush in hand and mind somewhere else, I wasn’t aware at first of the still, small presence at my shoulder. Uncertain, blue eyes were looking at a painting in progress; a watercolor of a horse grazing in a meadow by a mountain stream. I was almost finished and had decided to title it, “Beside Still Waters.”
“Do you watercolor?” I asked.
Her mother shopping nearby answered for her, “Yes, but nothing like that.”
The young girl looked embarrassed. “I get hard edges.”
She was experiencing a common dilemma with beginning watercolorists and my heart went out to her.
“I can show you how to make soft edges.”
I mixed separate pools of color on my palette; a yellow, a red and a blue, the color of her eyes. I showed her how to wet the paper first with clear water and then drop in the pigments to create soft flowing edges that mingle on their own creating luminous corals, greens and lavenders.
“You want to try?”
She nodded.
I handed her my brush.
She took it carefully as if it knew a secret. The colors mingled for her too.
She was amazed.
And I was thankful to have my mind off of myself.
I’ve had more shows since then and packed and unpacked more artwork. The bumper on my VW Beetle is repaired and I can’t even remember that day’s dismal sales total.
But I do remember the look in that little girl’s eyes when she created glowing colors with soft edges.
I recently saw the organizer of that particular festival.
“We’re having another festival day. You will be back this fall won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I say without hesitation, knowing of at least two other obligations I will be declining in order to once again go on the road.
And while I’m hoping I leave with less than I bring. I’m also realizing I could leave with more, as He leads me beside still waters turning my hard edges into soft ones.
Our first journey is to find that special place for us... — Earl Nightingale
"Stalking The Dawn"
Original Watercolor by June Rollins.
Private Collection John & Barbara Norman.
| 11/19-11/26/08 |
Lost And Found |
By June Rollins |
(Reprinted from “Just June”, Iredell Neighbors Supplement in The Charlotte Observer - July 13 )
About three months ago, while in the middle of a painting, I lost my favorite brush.
You’ve heard about getting lost in your work? That’s happened to me on occasion. This time it happened to my brush. Really. It just disappeared.
And believe me, I’ve looked for it. A $50 brush, you’d look too.
I remember the phone ringing and one thing leading to another. I didn’t get back to the painting until the next day. Only to discover my “dragon’s tongue,” (cute name for a #14 kolinsky sable), was missing.
The brush that had contributed to every watercolor I’d painted since I’d first given it a home 3 years ago.
Missing. The brush I knew better than any of my other brushes. Missing. My best friend. Missing.
At first I looked methodically, with full confidence it was there, somewhere. I just wasn’t “seeing it.”
I studied my stand-up, canvas brush holder more closely.
There, lined up like little soldiers were 21 brushes, most of which I hardly knew.
I touched each one, thinking my missing brush might materialize. It didn’t.
Maybe it was under something on the table. It wasn’t.
Maybe under the table? Nope.
My casual search became more harried. Since I live by myself, there was no one to interrogate or make suspect, except my two toy poodles.
I knew it. Bonnie and Clyde had eaten my brush.
My search reached a feverish pitch as I tossed around their beds, looking for remnants of my favorite, now half-chewed, “dragon’s tongue.”
There weren’t any.
Bonnie and Clyde hid anyway, more out of fear, than guilt.
Reassuring friends told me it would turn up. It didn’t. Another artist told me it was on sale. It wasn’t.
I considered shelling out $50 and ordering another one, but stopped short as 21 others stood before me, at attention and ready for duty. Each, at their time of purchase, had been the “missing link” to my first masterpiece.
My conscience prickled at not giving them a fair chance. We just hadn’t hit it off. They were a little too hard to get along with. Not like the dragon’s tongue and me. We had been in sync from the get go.
Without realizing it, I had grown complacent, only traveling paths I’d traveled down before. Choosing familiarity over the unknown by always reaching for the brush I had become most comfortable with. Wanting the security of a successful painting more than risking the odds of a “throw away” from experimentation, and a possible discovery.
If not for the mystery disappearance, I might still be there.
Now, I’m learning to fly a three-quarter-inch “night hawk,” a stocky, short-haired fellow that seemed a little dry when we first met; and tame a one-inch “magic dragon,” a full-bodied, luxurious lady whose wasteful extravagance originally annoyed me.
Guess first impressions aren’t always accurate.
More out of necessity than choice, I’m making new friends, trying new things, going new places.
I still miss my old friend. And have hopes of her returning, certainly, by Christmas. Or, if not her, at least her twin. Maybe by then, I will have met the rest of the gang, and together, we’ll welcome her home.
Make new friends and keep the old. One is silver, the other gold.
Enjoy the journey.
| 11/12-11/19/08 |
Good Works |
By June Rollins |
My earliest memory of taking on a personal challenge was when I was in the sixth grade. All my life I had watched my grandmother use needle, cloth and colorful yarn to create beautiful works of art. I wanted to do crewel embroidery too and was thrilled when she graciously agreed to teach me.
Her advice to purchase a beginner project was soon forgotten the next day, as I stood mesmerized before an array of possibilities. She made it look so easy. It couldn’t be that hard. No little 2x2 inch daisy with only three colors in a plastic frame for me. I went for a14 inch square pillow kit complete with a pair of quail in a woodland setting with 15 colors and just about as many different stitches.
My grandmother showed no signs of doubt when I proudly presented my first project to her, instead we eagerly began. She was a patient, encouraging teacher with high standards. I was praised for smooth, even, close stitches and told to take out and redo sloppy, uneven, loose ones.
She would say, “I know you can do better.” And with an unfamiliar, uncomfortable effort that sometimes stung behind my eyes, I persisted and eventually learned the backstitch and the split stitch. I also learned it wasn’t as easy as she made it look and soon found less challenging activities to occupy my time. The kit along with my desire to learn embroidery was set aside and forgotten.
Later that year I opened a Christmas gift that totally took me by surprise; the completed project.
I stared at the pillow taking in the multi-colored, intricate stitch patterns. My beginning efforts, surrounded by her handiwork, seemed somehow strengthened. I brushed my fingers across the design and the initial desire to learn returned full force.
Why had I given up? Then I remembered how hard it had been, how long it would have taken and how all those additional, yet-to-learn, even more complex, stitches had overwhelmed me. I had not only doubted if I could do it, but if I really even wanted to.
As I studied the pillow, I knew I did. I did want to learn. I looked up hesitantly and was met with my grandmother’s kind, compassionate smile that melted away any feelings of embarrassment I felt at giving up.
With her help, I picked back up from where I had left off. This time with simple, beginner projects like a single butterfly or a ladybug. And instead of a picture or a pillow, I embroidered on a favorite pair of jeans. Soon they were completely decorated and proudly worn to school by a young teen that at first thought learning embroidery was too hard. But who had a grandmother that knew better.
And while those jeans are long gone, the legacy from my grandmother isn’t. Four decades later her pillow has a special place in my studio where she continues to inspire me by the example of her “good work(s).”
Watercolor by June Rollins
| 11/05-11/12/08 |
Be Not Afraid |
By June Rollins |
I don’t remember his name or even what he looked like, but his words, spoken over a decade ago, still come back to haunt me at times.
“Looks like you’re trying to do something.”
Someone was commenting on my early efforts at photography, which, at the time, was hanging in my first public exhibit.
I would like to tell you he was a professional photographer, and followed his comment with worthwhile advice I use to this day. But that was not the case.
His comment did “knock me down” a few notches back then, but over time, it has become a humorous, one-liner between my artist friends and me. Rejection has a way of toughening us up for greater challenges.
When one of us is struggling with a new endeavor, and the “joy of learning” is fast becoming the “agony of defeat,” We grin and say to one another, “Looks like you’re trying to do something.”
The tension is broken. And we laugh. And try again, realizing whatever it is, is not a “life or death” situation. Learning is supposed to be fun and making mistakes is part of the process. It works most of the time.
I remind myself of it, each time I find myself before a glaringly blank sheet of watercolor paper. Will I be able to put what is in my mind onto the paper? The tension mounts. All of sudden the laundry needs to be done, the dogs need to be walked and half a bag of Oreos is missing. The white expanse is still before me and I hear, “Looks like you’re trying to do something.” Only it’s not my friends saying it. And I don’t laugh.
But I don’t give up, either. I jump.
And something happens I don’t quite understand. Hours of practice meet with an overriding desire to create a world in watercolor. The desire overrides the self-doubt, the criticism of others, and the distractions of life. And, I get lost in this watercolor world where there is healing and light and wonder.
The echoes of “looks like you’re trying to do something” get drowned out. And instead, I am buoyed up with the last words my father spoke to me before his death 8 years ago.
Not one to normally offer direction, for some amazing reason he did that November Saturday afternoon. “Keep up with your art, June. I think you’re going to do something.”
We didn’t know that would be our last conversation. And he didn’t know the significance of his choice of words. But Somebody did. There is a Balm in Gilead.
Photography By June Rollins
Be not afraid of growing slowly,
Be afraid only of standing still. — Chinese Proverb
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Letting Go |
By June Rollins |
One of my favorite seasons is fall.
Everywhere I look its message is clear. “Let it go. Let it go.”
The leaves have mastered the art of not holding on too tightly. They respond to the approaching winter with a flamboyant exuberance that causes us to get out our cameras, crowd the Blue Ridge and somehow experience for ourselves their courageous, risk-taking journey of letting go.
One October about 15 years ago, I missed fall. Too busy and pre-occupied I guess.
When I finally found time to walk into the woods with my camera nothing but stark, bare-boned branches stared back at me.
The day, overcast and eerily still, felt tired, like me. I sat on a favorite rock searching for something to photograph. But everything looked dead and gray and non-descript.
As I watched and waited, a narrow shaft of sunlight silently illuminated a single, still-attached leaf hanging a few feet in front of me. I realized I was like that last leaf, afraid to let go. It glowed an unexpected brilliant yellow and I lifted my camera and pressed the shutter.
When I lowered the camera, the light was gone.
Was it ever there at all?
The photo I have kept all these years proves to me it was.
Even when it does not feel like it or I cannot see it. The light is there.
Recently I painted a watercolor from another photo I took around that same time.
At first glance it is an aging, rust-stained house surrounded by curled, dead leaves.
If the rendering succeeds one notices a few leaves sprinkled on the steps like breadcrumbs leading the viewer’s eye to study a weathered door. Behind the door hangs a worn, torn shade and behind the shade a soft glowing light emanates, revealing renewal.
I titled it “Letting Go.” There will be seasons of change and decline. But within the dwelling, within us, the light is there. Indwelling. Transforming.
Maybe, each fall, we are drawn to the leaves not only because of their rich autumn colors, but because the message they tell resonates within us on some unconscious, soul-deep level.
They tell us it is in the acceptance of limitations and openness to change we grow. It is not in giving up but in letting go we make room for the new.
What do we hold onto? The obvious things tumble forward: grudges, betrayals, disappointments, mistakes, regrets, prejudices, grief, injustices, anger and fears. Then, there’s the not so obvious of playing the victim, having to be in control or needing to be perfect. And if we’re being honest, let’s include being too busy and pre-occupied.
Or, maybe it’s just a general malaise of clinging to the way things were.
Or, the way things might have been….
“Let it go,” the leaves say. “Let It Go.”
