tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55822611496144241722024-03-13T20:13:27.370-07:00Mary Moquin - Thoughts on the Painting ProcessI am a working artist and a teacher. This blog will include thoughts on my process, and the questions that arise from students and the things those questions make me ponder.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-6723649757079996442020-11-14T05:46:00.000-08:002020-11-14T05:46:25.425-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHKsJY6qzU8/X6_c6yoHkUI/AAAAAAAACwE/O1dxOZVJVKUQSQVkGIaaXVxU-hIKNx6WwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="2048" height="365" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHKsJY6qzU8/X6_c6yoHkUI/AAAAAAAACwE/O1dxOZVJVKUQSQVkGIaaXVxU-hIKNx6WwCLcBGAsYHQ/w507-h365/IMG_3630.jpg" width="507" /></a></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Be a Sponge</span></i></b></span></h2><p></p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>All English speaking writers and poets start with the same alphabet and the multitude of words created by those 26 letters. From that same pool of words, some writers will draw on their experience of the world and create epic descriptive novels and others will knit together three sparse lines into a haiku that I might suggest holds as much content as the novel. The former supplies us with more specifics and details, the latter requires the reader to contribute more to the story. Neither literary form is more valid than the other, and these are just two examples of the myriad of configurations the written word can take. All are different methods of expression that are born from the same vocabulary. </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>We can continue that analogy into every art form. In music, as another example, we have the same eight notes of the scale (12 including accidentals). That’s it. Yet musicians can put those eight notes together in so many different ways that we have the complexity of classical music with all its inherent mathematical sequences and equal in complexity, jazz, a style that strips away some of that structure to draw attention to the spaces in-between. Again, there are so many other “styles” of music but each draws from the same source of tones.</span></p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>So is it any wonder that in the visual arts we have the same phenomenon? There are so many options from material choices to color that the permutations and combinations are quite endless. There isn't only one way to paint. Attempting to put yourself in a stylistic box might be helpful for a while, to understand that boxes mode of working. A classical traditional painter has their own set of “rules” on how to apply paint to the canvas in order to create a painting that looks like a classical traditional painting. But the same rules would probably hinder an impressionistic or abstract painter. The first step in your artistic journey is to figure out what your personal aesthetic is. We seem to realize it’s ok to have a preference to the type of music we listen to or the literature we read, or even the wine we drink. But we often think we have to fit into someone else’s idea of what our art should look like.</span></p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>As I mentioned, there are some inalterable “truths” in every art form. A certain string of letters will always spell the same word. A specific sequence of notes will sound the same melody. Blue mixed with yellow will always create some sort of green. Figuring out the difference between these apparently inalterable truths and those that are up to bending though our artistic filter of experience is where the Art begins. You do not have to “understand” or “get” every form of artistic expression out there. That takes time and exposure and the willingness to let new ideas in. Keep an open mind to all you encounter as it may surprise you where this journey will take you if you stay receptive. Be a sponge, soak up everything you see and feel and then wring it out on the canvas in whatever way feels authentic to you.</span></p><div><br /></div>Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0Massachusetts, USA42.4072107 -71.382437416.804313385383086 -141.69493740000001 68.010108014616918 -1.0699374000000006tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-20978381666899566262019-06-03T07:12:00.000-07:002019-06-03T07:18:16.836-07:00Bring on the Gold<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i style="font-weight: normal;">"Treeness" oil and </i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>cold wax on panel</i></span><i style="font-weight: normal;"> 7.5" x 8" Mary L. Moquin © 2019</i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">A very proficient artist posted a painting on Instagram. She lamented that she had hit a wall and just didn’t feel enthused anymore. She often painted very proficient pet portraits and super realistic still life’s. They are masterfully done. She didn’t know what direction to go and was tired of what she was doing. It happens. We spend so much time figuring out “how” to paint. We become absorbed with understanding all the technical details. We spend years mastering drawing, and then the idiosyncrasies of our chosen medium. But at some point, if you persevere and cover enough miles of canvas, you will figure out all those technique issues. You will have mastered the materials. But then what? </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I asked her this question: if she knew that the next painting would be her last painting, what would she paint? What would she want to say as her final expression of what this life has been for her? I guarantee it wouldn’t be a portrait of her neighbor’s dog or another exquisitely rendered lemon. She agreed wholeheartedly and thanked me for making her think. I look forward to her next post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There is absolutely nothing wrong with perfecting craft. It is imperative, poor craft will hinder expression because it can be a distraction to the viewer. Depending on how much painting you do in your life, you may never tire of striving to complete the perfect replica of the subject before you. If that is how you feel, this post isn’t for you, just keep on following your bliss. But, if you have reached a point where you no longer feel elated when you complete that perfectly executed copy of what is in front of you, then it’s time to re-evaluate what and why you are painting. Because the way to find meaning in your work, is to stop painting pictures of what things look like, and to start painting what things are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">To do this takes a little meditation and soul searching. Subject matter, the “what’ you are painting, can often serve as a metaphor for exploring something you have witnessed in your time on the planet. How can the marks you make, the colors you choose and the orchestration of all those details reveal something about the subject matter beyond what is immediately visible? What can you show me that I don’t already know? If what you see is all I get, then art has lost its power to communicate beyond the surface of appearance. So dig deeper. Experiment by choosing an adjective for your subject like silence, or frustration, stillness or transition. Hold that adjective in your consciousness when working. How does that influence the choices you make? </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Tell me something I don’t already know, or remind me of something I’ve long forgotten. Show me something I haven’t already seen, but somehow I recognize. Bring all those finely honed skills with you, but let your spirit and intuition guide you. Trust that a little imperfection now and then might actually communicate more to me than a slick stroke. The choices you make don’t always have to be in the service of rendering what you see. Your marks can make invisible feelings visible. As artists, we are alchemists, bring on the gold!</span></div>
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Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com1Barnstable, MA, USA41.7003208 -70.30020239999998941.5105218 -70.622925899999984 41.8901198 -69.9774789tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-47416355215562104662019-01-24T05:20:00.001-08:002019-01-24T05:23:58.962-08:00Feeling a fraud<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Who am I trying to kid? Why do I think I can paint? There are so many people out there on YouTube that are obviously better than I am, so why do I bother? Maybe I should just retire, hang it up and watch TV or clean the house? </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">That was the way I felt yesterday after a totally frustrating unproductive day in the studio. You may be surprised to hear me talk like this, but I thought you might like to know that I too feel this way sometimes. We don’t usually post these sort of things in our blogs and social media posts. We want to show how awesome our attempts our, why our work is worth looking at.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Ok, don’t start to worry about me. I went to bed, pushed the failed painting out of my head and got a good nights sleep. When I woke I, I just shook my head and said, “Silly girl, get back to work! So you had a bad day, so what, just get back in the studio and work through it!” </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">But damn, sometimes I just want it to be easier. I feel like after all the years I have devoted to the craft, it should just roll off the paint brush perfectly, and sometimes it does. But in truth, I have grown the most from the challenging paintings. The ones that push me and refuse to let me become complacent. The ideas that force me to break out of my patterns and take risks.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I know that something new is trying to materialize and if I keep on doubting the process it will remain elusive. Sure I can just give up, retreat to something more familiar, or I can take a minute to regroup here and get back to work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">Early on in the struggle, before it took a nosedive, but I reserve the right to push a painting to the point of ruination! </span></div>
Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-2640189413616049772018-12-29T06:39:00.000-08:002018-12-29T06:46:21.400-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">Sometimes we have to just trust the muse</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">For some reason I find myself wanting to paint a series of self portraits. And then, there are also these images I took of my 92 year old mother with her dog Princess (who is anything but) that I am excited about beginning. And, why am I obsessed with this series of still life paintings I recently completed that are full of complexity and detail? What exactly is this current diversion all about? </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Those that have known me and my work are asking me where my houses and forests are? Have I left that subject matter behind? What is happening with my style, have I abandoned the more abstract tangles of trees and the geometry of architecture? I wish I knew the answers. And then my own fears pipe in, who the heck is ever going to buy a painting of me staring at them? For what purpose am I creating this body of work? Shouldn't I stop exploring and get back to work and create some inventory people expect for my galleries next season! I need to pay the rent after all!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Well, after worrying my brain and finding no obvious answers. I have decided to stop trying to figure it out. Because it is like anything in life, sometimes you just have to trust where the current is taking you and stop asking “why” or “when will we get there?” Have you ever had a friend try to surprise you by doing something or taking you somewhere and you keep badgering them with questions and they reply, “Just wait, you’ll see”. And when you finally get there you are all happy and say “wow, thanks, I never expected this!”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I guess I have come to a point in life/art where I am trying to trust the process. I can't waste time worrying about where this is all leading because I am just delaying things by dragging my feet along the way asking why. For some reason my dear muse has decided to take me on this adventure because she knows I am up for the challenge, I just have to keep showing up and doing the work and in the end I will understand why she led me there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">I hope all of you can try and trust the process more this year, we only have so many breaths and so many brushstrokes allotted to us. Paint what matters to you now.</span></span></div>
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<br />Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-55961818414976616652015-12-06T16:57:00.000-08:002015-12-06T17:00:11.234-08:00Gold Stars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been striving for gold stars all my life, or at least since I was in elementary school. I know Mrs. Hutchings was only trying to improve my penmanship, she didn’t know she was launching me onto the path of seeking outside approval to validate everything I do. Anyone that could copy her beautiful palmer method scripted poem off the board perfectly, and I mean perfectly, every period and comma intact, got a coveted gold star. Not just a little gummed one, I mean a 1 inch beautiful gold foil star placed on my paper and tacked to the bulletin board for all to see. My penmanship became my first real art award. Of course, one gold star wasn’t enough. Then it became a competition of sorts, to get more gold stars than anyone else. It’s not that the goal of good legible handwriting was bad, it was the motivation. I didn’t improve because I had learned to value beautiful penmanship, I had become addicted to stars. I felt the thrill of separation, of somehow being superior to my peers. </div>
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I continue to see this sort of "reward for excellence" system playing out in art societies. We cut ourselves off into little groups that seek to separate us by building barriers of distinction. We give out “special” awards, create letters to string after our names to distinguish us from the rest of the “wannabes”. For all those who are willing to work hard to assimilate to the aspirations and aesthetics of the group, they are rewarded by being accepted, but only at the cost of those that didn’t make the cut and are rejected. You see, there is only a thrill if it is truly exclusive. </div>
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I don’t want to participate in a system where my success is only achieved through someone else's failure, if being included means that others have to be excluded so that I can feel special and superior. That just feels so icky and only breeds contempt and further separation for those that don’t make the cut. Adolf Hitler described how, in his youth, he wanted to become a professional artist, but his aspirations were ruined because he failed the entrance exam of the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna. He was rejected twice by the institute. He often frequented the artists' cafes in Munich in the unfulfilled hope that established artists might help him with his ambition to paint professionally. But they didn’t. Now, I don’t mean to say that things might have gone different in the world if he’d been accepted, but you can’t help but wonder.</div>
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Of course I want all artists to improve and perfect their craft. I want them to learn to draw better, to compose more dynamically, to learn how to manipulate color better. Not for the purpose of winning awards, but to become more discerning and develop the sensory skills required to communicate experiences where words fail. I want artists to learn to tap into what makes us human, what unites and sustains us, not what separates us. I want artists to create work that others will recognize as a shared experience with something greater than the sum of perfectly placed daubs of paint. There are countless perfectly painted award winning paintings out there that are dead because they were painted with the sole ambition of winning that distinction. They are boringly perfect and miss the whole point of art and life which is decidedly imperfect.</div>
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Ask yourself how much of what you create is motivated by the gold stars of outside approval. You can recognize it by the feeling in the pit of your stomach when you are working. That touch of anxiety that keeps interrupting the flow with that little nagging voice questioning whether it is good enough, whether anyone will appreciate it. The obsession of looking at the painting you posted on social media to see how many people have “liked” it. The envy you feel when you see someone else’s that got more “likes” than yours. It can just eat away at any hope of authenticity and frighten away any chance of discovery. New things need a safe environment in which to emerge, they don't like being judged.</div>
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I dream of a more supportive place for artists. One that stops dividing us as winners and losers. A place where we can all work on improving our craft and be accepted for where we are on our individual journeys. A place where there are no gold stars.</div>
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Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-11676329938527715162015-08-26T08:38:00.000-07:002015-08-26T08:38:02.478-07:00Perception Shift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rHDGxBWzQYg/Vd3YfR9RhZI/AAAAAAAAAHw/5nfrYxPh6uI/s1600/PerceptionShiftfb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rHDGxBWzQYg/Vd3YfR9RhZI/AAAAAAAAAHw/5nfrYxPh6uI/s400/PerceptionShiftfb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Perception Shift - 22 x 30 mixed media on mounted paper<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">The poet Rhina
Espaillant says, “Writing is the process of listening internally - to
understand what it is the poem wants to be.” The process is the same for
me, except that as a painter, I look more than I listen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
first poem (<a href="http://www.masspoetry.org/commonthreads/" target="_blank">Common Threads 2015</a>) that grabbed my attention, and caused that familiar tug of recognition
was “Prospective Immigrants Please Note” by <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adrienne-rich" target="_blank">Adrienne Rich</a>. I know nothing of
what it is to be an immigrant, but I do know that there are many life altering
doorways of transformation that each of us experience in the course of a
lifetime, some that are of our own choosing, and some that unexpectedly slam
behind us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">It is
at those times that our perception shifts, priorities change and beliefs are
challenged. Rich alludes to this perception shift in her poem, “Things look at
you doubly / and you must look back / and let them happen." In my
work I contemplate these shifts but ask what, if anything endures, or what does
it take in order to persevere?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">For
several years I have focused on two motifs that serve as my metaphors to
explore these questions. One example from nature – the tree, another man made –
the house. Both of these endure the hostility of the ever-changing environment.
Both serve as shelter. Both are equipped with different methods of coping and
both ultimately decay. They bear witness to times constant wearing away on any
notion of permanence, while I watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">While
watching, I seek brief moments of clarity, little glimpses of grace, the times
when my eyes are focused so intently on seeing what is behind that damn veil of
unknowing that I finally begin to see the hazy outline of something. I strive
to give form to that something. I am filled with hope when I see a shape that
remains the same no matter where I stand, and sustained by the knowledge of its
existence even when it is hidden. I watch bare tree limbs reach unashamed and
unprotected into the winter sky. I feel the fearlessness, the unwavering faith
in the potential buds they carry while blissfully ignorant of what storms lay
ahead. Again the poem, “to maintain your attitudes / to hold your position / to
die bravely.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;">Like
a poet, I seek to extract some sort of meaning from these observations and find
a way to share the encounter through shapes and colors on a flat surface. As
Stephen Dobyns has so articulately written in his book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-Words-Order-Essays-Poetry/dp/1403961476/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1440603212&sr=8-8&keywords=stephen+dobyns" target="_blank">"Best Words, Best Order"</a>, “A work of art gives testimony as
to what it is to be human." It is an exchange between one human
being and another in an attempt to communicate and offer some existential
relief in the recognition of our shared experience. As a painter, I am a wordless
poet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>There will be an opening reception, September 20th from 1-3 pm surrounding Mass Poetry's "Common Threads", at <a href="http://highfieldhallandgardens.org/event/artist-reception-common-threads/" target="_blank">Highfield Hall</a> in Falmouth, MA that will include various pieces of art by myself and 7 other artists that have studio space in the Old Schoolhouse Studios in Barnstable Village, MA. There will be poetry readings at 2:30 by three of the poets represented in this years selection. The show will be on view Sept 10 - Oct 31.</i></span></div>
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<br />Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-82445494983921925592015-07-31T11:34:00.000-07:002015-07-31T11:36:03.218-07:00A New Perspective<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JJxvaTw2RpM/Vbu42BwfRTI/AAAAAAAAAGc/VzhjvP79Qgw/s1600/DSCN1102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JJxvaTw2RpM/Vbu42BwfRTI/AAAAAAAAAGc/VzhjvP79Qgw/s200/DSCN1102.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I am sitting here in the
small kitchen of my cottage looking at this model, pondering what compelled me
to construct it. I continue to gaze at it and then I begin to contemplate the
light as it falls across the varied geometric planes. It is mesmerizing and I
am filled with a sense of being centered and at peace. </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oPej1Qccw10/Vbu43pgdMNI/AAAAAAAAAGk/lRvPEesx76o/s1600/DSCN1037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oPej1Qccw10/Vbu43pgdMNI/AAAAAAAAAGk/lRvPEesx76o/s200/DSCN1037.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I have stood outside and
drawn the actual house as it stands in reality many times. I am usually
swatting flies, battling wind, and seeking shade. Yet it was not until I built
his model that I felt I truly began to “know” this house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now know the true actual shape of
each plane because I have held each separate piece in my hand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Even though perceptually
these shapes are always changing depending on the angle of my gaze, there is
something about the knowledge of each true shape that allows me to abstract
more freely.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KiDtF0gPjO8/Vbu44m11LKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/4E6Dy5v1lKk/s1600/DSCN1106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KiDtF0gPjO8/Vbu44m11LKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/4E6Dy5v1lKk/s200/DSCN1106.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There is nothing immediate
about my painting process and I am not interested with capturing some fleeting
impression. I am more interested in searching for what endures in spite of
change. Yet I value direct observation and working from life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can now sit and observe shadow
patterns and explore shape relationships on the model that I could never see
before, because they were always obscured by trees and foliage. I could never find a vantage point where I could observe the whole, I was always studying the parts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If you happen to be on Cape Cod, my model will be at my show opening Saturday, August 1, reception 6-8 at the <a href="http://www.covegallery.com/" target="_blank">Cove Gallery,</a> Wellfleet, MA. The show will be up for a couple of weeks so please stop by.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pFzyh-gnKjg/Vbu6q923oFI/AAAAAAAAAG4/IPKODgpBqdc/s1600/BeingStill36x36%25243200%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pFzyh-gnKjg/Vbu6q923oFI/AAAAAAAAAG4/IPKODgpBqdc/s400/BeingStill36x36%25243200%2Bcopy.jpg" width="398" /> </a> </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> "Being Still" 36 x 36, oil on panel</span></span></i></div>
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<br />Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-47820862005022950132015-02-10T05:32:00.000-08:002015-02-10T05:32:06.213-08:00Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7MrdVfzNqE/VNoHwse5x2I/AAAAAAAAAF4/rtvDLoHM1NQ/s1600/5411BuildingBlocks23x23.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7MrdVfzNqE/VNoHwse5x2I/AAAAAAAAAF4/rtvDLoHM1NQ/s1600/5411BuildingBlocks23x23.5.jpg" height="314" width="320" /></a></div>
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“I want to find my own style” is a comment I often hear from
artists. I had a student ask me
the other day, how I developed my “style”. Of course, that got me to thinking
about the whole concept. I told
her that “style” just comes about in a natural way; eventually you synthesize
all the different approaches you have experimented with. You filter through all the information
you have absorbed and hold on to the parts that feel authentically “you”. </div>
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I have since thought of a pretty good analogy. We all
remember learning to write in cursive. Some of us even remember learning the “Palmer
Method”. How many of us have handwriting that really resembles that anymore?
For a while, if you were anything like me, you experimented with what you
wanted your handwriting to “look” like. I tried writing with no slant, with a
backward slant, lots of loops, no loops. I had a name that ended in “y” which
provided endless variations. But somewhere along the way, I settled into my “style”
of writing. It wasn’t some intentional occurrence, it just happened.
Handwriting experts claim they can tell a lot about someone by the way they
write, and everyone’s style is unique. Painting is just another form of mark
making, once you have achieved a certain level of confidence and ability, style
will just happen all on it’s own.</div>
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Just paint, paint a lot.</div>
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Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-46352227212345654352014-08-26T07:09:00.000-07:002014-08-26T07:10:46.228-07:00Watching vs. Doing<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tDx7NQxSs_Y/U_yOxv6FRKI/AAAAAAAAAFo/D--YY3JG2mw/s1600/Relinquishfb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tDx7NQxSs_Y/U_yOxv6FRKI/AAAAAAAAAFo/D--YY3JG2mw/s1600/Relinquishfb.jpg" height="400" width="398" /></a></div>
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Relinquish 30" x 30" mixed media</div>
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<span style="color: #1f242e; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt;">An artist friend that just watched <a href="http://youtu.be/yk64oT8cGAY" target="_blank">my video</a> commented that she
wanted to see me paint more in it. I chuckled at that. Everyone wants to see
how the magic happens, but I’ve come to think that it can become a diversion to
someone else’s process to spend too much time watching mine. I mean, I paint the way I paint because
of the myriad of experiences I’ve encountered. The fact that I studied etching
and printmaking as an undergrad, my struggles with crossing from black and white to color, my
stint as a computer programmer, my somewhat melancholic outlook on life, my
struggle to understand the purpose of it all. All these things influence the
way I place a mark on the canvas. I don’t drip a line just because I can; I
drip it because something cries out in me that can only be expressed by that
drip. For someone else to see that
and think, hey, that dripping is cool and then to drip just to drip would be to
miss the point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242e; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt;"> I think I mentioned
before the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/No-More-Secondhand-Art-Awakening-ebook/dp/B00C28DO2E/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=undefined&sr=1-1&keywords=no+more+secondhand+art" target="_blank">book</a> “No More Secondhand Art” by <a href="http://www.peterlondon.us/" target="_blank">Peter London</a>. One of my favorite quotes is “It is
better to rise to the questions Monet did then to mimic his responses”. I think that watching other artists
paint seduces us into wanting to mimic their responses, and we are such good
imitators! It is so much easier to try on and experiment with someone else’s
innovations and discoveries that to face the blank canvas and find our own
voice and mark that evokes it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242e; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt;">I believe that Art is about more than technique, and technique
is about more than a toolbox of tricks. In order to discover who we are as
unique individuals with something personal to say through our art, we have to
find our</span> <span style="color: #1f242e; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt;">own
way of ordering marks and colors. That is why I feel my best service, as a
teacher, is to help each artist put together a toolbox of skills that they can
then use to go out and innovate with. They must discover all the marks that <i>only
they</i> can make, all the colors that <i>they</i> can mix, first hand, by doing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242e; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt;">My process has developed over a lifetime of moving marks and paint around on the canvas. It also doesn't follow the same approach every time. How can I demonstrate that? I try to remain open to discovery and chance each time I face the canvas, because I feel that is what life is about. Here is an example of the above painting in process, and I think <a href="http://youtu.be/snmGm5Yne80" target="_blank">watching it evolve</a> over the course of several weeks shows how open I am to letting the painting take it's own direction. Go out and paint, stop worrying about <i>how</i> to do it, stop watching how <i>everyone else</i> is doing it, take a tip from Nike and "Just do it"!</span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-27765044689878523932014-06-02T05:27:00.001-07:002014-06-02T05:30:02.479-07:00<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Taking Risks</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Last week I was totally
inspired by the start I had on this painting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was so connected, in the moment, and the marks seemed to just channel
through me. Fortunately, I took some photos along the way, so I have a memory and
record of it to share here, for now it has been lost through my attempts to complete it. But,
I am not going to beat myself up over it. It had some legitimate compositional
errors (the above is a cropped detail, the original is 30x36) that needed to be addressed and I wasn’t going to let those remain even
if others were willing to overlook them. I also didn't want to just crop the piece down to the composition that worked. As artists, if we aren’t willing to
take risks in our work, we will never move beyond what we already know. We will
continue to create work that is familiar and comfortable to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a risk, it didn’t pan out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I reserve the right to take that
risk and not stop working when it reaches someone else’s idea of finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t an original thought. I went
to a talk given by Amy Silman at the ICA in Boston (</span><span style="font-size: 20.909090042114258px;"><a href="http://www.icaboston.org/exhibitions/exhibit/AmySillman/">http://www.icaboston.org/exhibitions/exhibit/AmySillman/</a>)</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">She remarked that she hated the question “When do you know a
piece is finished”. She vehemently stated, “When I say it is!”</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">She said that she retains the right to totally destroy a
piece in the process.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I concur.
There were many discoveries I made while working on this piece that I will
carry into future pieces, and I haven’t given up hope that this painting will
become something respectable eventually.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I rarely abandon a painting, it may take years but sooner or later I will
have recovered from the memory of what it once was, and I will discover what it
can be now. Stayed tuned for the future incarnation!</span></div>
<br />Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-26549912502557941502014-02-27T05:46:00.001-08:002014-02-27T15:02:03.944-08:00All About SevenI am part of an exhibit currently at the Cape Museum of Art. The reception is this Saturday evening, March 1, 2014. This exhibit includes 7 groups of 7 women. Each group of women picked a topic relating to seven. My group chose the seven faces of intention as referenced in Wayne Dyer's book "The Power of Intention". We settled on this shortly after the tragic Boston marathon bombing, and felt the world could certainly benefit if it could only manifest these intentions.<br />
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The intention I chose was "Kindness". I decided to post a blog entry here about my struggle to create this piece. I hope you have a chance to go and see it in person, as the photo does not begin to do it justice. The exhibit will be up through March 31st.<br />
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Kindness</div>
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My challenge in this endeavor was to express the concept of
kindness without resorting to an illustration of someone or something we equate
with kindness. I wanted to evoke
the impression of kindness without illustrating it.</div>
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I spent a long time just thinking about what kindness would
look and feel like in abstract concepts.
What shape is kindness, what color, what type of marks. At some point the image of an oval took
shape in my mind. For me, an oval carried a certain type of presence. The verticality, referenced the human
body, the oval felt inviting and encompassing, compassionate. So the search was on for an oval piece
of wood. I enlisted the aid of a friend of mine that often helped out in estate
sales. I told him to keep his eye open for on oval tabletop. I still hadn’t figured out what sort of
imagery or colors would evoke kindness.
I found an inexpensive veneer table at a thrift store for backup, in
case my friend never uncovered anything better. I was uninspired by the veneer table, but I still responded
to the shape, it felt right.</div>
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After a couple months of pondering, I received a phone call
from my friend saying that he had found a table, but that it was old and had
several layers of paint on it and he asked me if I wanted him to sand it down a
bit. I was thrilled. I asked him if he could take off the legs as well, and
that if he wanted to sand it a bit that would be great, to “knock himself out”. I was anticipating that I would need to
gesso it to prep for the painting and the sanding would speed my process. </div>
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What I didn’t anticipate was the innate beauty of the
scarred tabletop revealed by the random sanding. When my friend presented me with it, I gasped. He has no artistic training, and
probably thought I was crazy, to him it was just a worn table top desperately
in need of a paint job. But to me it evoked a lifetime of service.</div>
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At that point, it was obvious to me that I needed to work
with what had been revealed and not totally obfuscate it. The whole process had involved kindness
on the part of my friend. He had
searched, he had found, and he had prepared the table. It was his offering of
kindness to me. </div>
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I began to slowly respond to the marking left by years of
use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were circular rings
left from sweating water glasses, and other circular marks I couldn’t
identify.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were deep cracks
that refused to be healed by my layers of hot wax that I applied in light
colored glazes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to
appreciate those cracks, and the delicacy of their mark. I opted to work with
the colors that remained stubborn to the sanding attempts. Kindness requires
that sort of stubbornness, that persistence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked to unify the existing marks and introduced more
circular elements and a rhythmic movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the real kindness in this piece is the complete
conceptual package, all the pieces that brought it to life, including all the
years it spent in service as a humble table.</div>
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Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0Dennis, MA, USA41.7353062 -70.19394290000002541.545629199999993 -70.51666640000002 41.9249832 -69.87121940000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-56040660216749745922014-01-19T15:11:00.002-08:002014-01-19T15:14:20.258-08:00I Believe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u9Dcu-ULRAE/UtxbesIy_vI/AAAAAAAAADI/GsrT3iNFS4I/s1600/drawingb3fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u9Dcu-ULRAE/UtxbesIy_vI/AAAAAAAAADI/GsrT3iNFS4I/s1600/drawingb3fb.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
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The other day a student asked me whether I could come up
with four or five questions that an artist could internally ask to help figure
out where they want to go with their work. I wish I could think of an easy
answer, but I fear it is a life long pursuit. That is both the good and bad
news. If there were an end to the journey, then once it was reached what
incentive would there be to press on? The bad news is that this means you are
embarking on a journey of self-discovery that will more than likely be never
ending, with the destination always feeling just beyond your reach. The more we
know, the more we realize there is to know. At first it is easy because your
focus is on perfecting the craft of your work. The real struggle only begins
once you have achieved most of the technical hurdles. That is the point when you must no longer draw from what is
outside of you, but begin to draw from the well within you. This may feel
daunting at first, but you need to just focus on the next step of your journey.</div>
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I believe there is more to art than just reproducing what
something looks like. I say “just” but I realize that painting what something
“looks” like is not an easy task, which is why so many artists continue to
spend so much time trying to do just that. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not discounting the need to
perfect craft, I just don’t think that is the final destination. Once craft is
perfected we may find ourselves thinking “now what?” If perfecting craft is your present goal along this journey
and it brings you satisfaction, then continue on. When the goal of perfecting
craft has been achieved, you may feel yourself questioning whether there is
something more to discover. </div>
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This does not have to be some sort of deep trip into psycho
self-analysis. But, it is the
realization that all art is a form of communication. There is room for all
levels of communication. It depends on what you are trying to communicate and
who you want to be in conversation with. I think that music is a good analogy.
Musicians must hit the right notes, but great musicians do more than hit the
right notes, they impart something of themselves in the performance. There is
more than the accuracy of their craft. There is something that can’t be
described. That “something” is fleeting in a musical performance, as painters,
we seek to give that “something” permanence in paint. Kandinsky did his best to
explain this phenomenon. He felt
that a work of art is a physical object that springs from the inner being of
the artist, but it is also the trigger point that begins a reverse process back
into the inner being of the viewer. So the physical work of art becomes the
bridge to an inner experience that was deeply felt by the artist. If there is no initial force that was
deeply felt within the artist, the work may be visually pleasing and adept, but
lack that emotional bridge and connection. This connection is similar to the
one that makes us weep when we hear a musician perform a piece with all his
being. We all have been moved my
real art. But how do we create it?</div>
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Whatever your subject matter is, your painting should strive
to be your intimate reaction to something. If what you see is all I get as a
viewer, then art has lot some of its purpose and power. I believe that the artist is more than
a cook that knows how to put the ingredients together to make a tasty meal. As
an artist, you must find the secret ingredient that only you possess. You must somehow transform the
materials into something that is more than the summation of its parts. As I often
say, depending on your religious persuasion, you are either searching for magic
or the hand of God in your work!</div>
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So back to my students question; if the answer lies within
you, then that is where you must look for clues. We are very good at hiding from
ourselves. A good idea is to keep a small journal where you can write down
notes. Perhaps begin a list of
words that resonate with you, or sometimes one will jump out when you are
reading. Write it down. Start to figure out what really interests or puzzles
you. Do you like things organized or chaotic? What type of things do you
collect? What makes your happy, what makes you angry? Is there something that currently perplexes you? What is
your personality, for better for worse? Make a list of adjectives that describe
you, list your preferences and your dislikes. Watch for things that trigger you
during the day for good or bad and write them down. What do you want to
say? If tomorrow was your last day
on earth, and your next painting was all that was left behind to communicate to
the future, what message would you want to send? Would you yell it or whisper
it?</div>
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These are just possible jumping off points to begin a
series. A series becomes the next step on your journey to discovering
meaningful work. A series may go 4-6 paintings and then be exhausted, but lead
you in a new direction. Or, a series may take 100 paintings to work
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The important thing is
that you start thinking about your work as being more that the depiction of
something, it is something new and separate that has been created by you,
through you, because of YOU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Begin
to paint what only you can paint!</div>
Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-52056520592041268702011-12-02T16:01:00.000-08:002011-12-02T16:06:40.580-08:00Accepting the Stranger<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T5AeW2WnWBg/TtlnfAop1YI/AAAAAAAAACo/DZ3KSWRUAfk/s1600/Intervals32.75x33.5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T5AeW2WnWBg/TtlnfAop1YI/AAAAAAAAACo/DZ3KSWRUAfk/s320/Intervals32.75x33.5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681686187348710786" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the largest obstacles we face as artists is our limiting belief system regarding art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We say we are constantly striving to become “better” artists and we often approach this task by rejecting work that doesn’t appeal to us and seeking out art that reinforces our idea of what is good, what is to be emulated in our own work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I met a young man the other day, probably around 16 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When his mother learned that I was an artist, she remarked that her son had talent but that he had run into a couple of art teachers that had discouraged him and that now he hardly drew at all anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Our first instinct is to condemn the insensitive art teacher, but my first thought was “well, if that is all it took to deter him, he might as well find another profession, for he is certainly going to run into more obstacles than a few discouraging teachers.” But of course, I didn’t say that. As a teacher myself, I was curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After talking with the young man a while, I discovered the same blocks that subvert us all. He had already decided that he “knew” how and what he wanted to draw and didn’t want teachers telling him what to do. He was more than likely afraid of potential failure if he tried out the unfamiliar, the risk was too great. In reality, I am sure the teachers saw some raw talent that would have benefited from some rudimentary exercises that would continue to improve his drawing skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They wanted to give him more tools, perhaps some color theory, maybe a few projects he didn’t find instantly pleasing or relevant for what he had already determined was important for him. At 16 he had already closed the door to what was foreign to him, the risky unknown. He had already limited his ideas to his narrow definition of what “he” liked to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But I say that to limit ourselves to what we like is extremely limiting. I love it when people remark, “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like” because the truth of that statement is really “I like what I know” and in reality I “know very little”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We can only expand what we know by inviting the stranger in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The more we open ourselves to the unknown, the more we discover there is to know, and that takes a certain amount of courage.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we were infants, we responded to the familiar: our mothers face, a favorite blanket, or a favorite food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We loved it because it was familiar and comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We rejected the things we didn’t like because we didn’t understand their potential value, they were foreign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Surely this analogy can be extended into many areas of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is a handicap we all share and I am no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We all like what we know, it is comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In art, we recognize something that we have been taught is “good” or we have seen and appreciated before perhaps in a “master” work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But the flip side of that is that we often condemn what we don’t recognize – what is foreign and unfamiliar to our senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The paradoxical nature of being an artist, a creator, is that we are often in search of the new. In fact, every great movement in art or artist that has endured 100 years after deceasing to exist discovered something new that was at first rejected because it was unfamiliar. People “liked what they knew” and on the flip side, hated what they didn’t recognize. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In Jonah Lehrer’s book “Proust was a Neuroscientist” he has a chapter about Igor Stravinsky. He talks about the first time that his music for the ballet “The Rite of Spring” was performed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Stravinsky wanted to create a “new” sound, one unfamiliar to his audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One that challenged the way they thought about music, one that didn’t simply pander to the audience’s expectations. As the music began to build with clashing tensions and merciless momentum the audience began to scream and a riot ensued. They couldn’t bear the unfamiliar. They rejected the noise that was pretending to be music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>According to Lehrer, “for the audience, Stravinsky’s new work was the sound of remorseless originality”. The crowd was expecting more of the familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“With <i>The Rite </i><span style="font-style:normal">Stravinsky had announced that it was time we learned something new”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is the take away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Our minds are more like plastic than stone, we can adapt to new ideas, we can accept the stranger in and eventually he may become an old familiar friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In the case of music, neuroscience now knows that “our sense of sound is a work in progress. Neurons in the auditory cortex are constantly being altered by the songs and symphonies we listen to. Nothing is difficult forever”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I would extend this analogy to all art. We expect certain color harmonies, patterns, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We are taught to recognize the ones that are “pleasing”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When we come across an artist that challenges these norms, we revolt; it goes against everything we “know”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Eventually, given time, if we are willing to engage with the stranger we may see the innovation and learn to appreciate a new way of seeing.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, what I hope to inspire, is that when we are faced with a new idea about art, or we see someone that has created something we don’t understand, or we are given advice by an instructor that just feels incredibly foreign – we can learn to suspend judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We can instead try it on for a while, let it sink in and simmer. It may never resonate or it may at some unexpected point in time cause us to say “aha, now I see”. To condemn the foreign is to shut the door to potentially expanding what we “like”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We must accept that our definition of art is always growing and expanding. Growth in this field depends on letting in ideas that may undermine our current beliefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Beliefs are limiting and continuing to reinforce them will only limit the potential of art. The more we allow in, the more choices we have which in turn can make the decision process more difficult, but it is through the difficult choices that the largest reward comes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, the catch, the more we expand and discover, the less familiar our work will become to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Our work may become unpopular as fewer and fewer people have journeyed the same path as you so fewer will recognize anything familiar. Always remember that popular art certainly doesn’t equate with good, meaningful art, but it sure makes us feel good when we are popular! When our work becomes less popular, our self-esteem may plummet as well. But not if we remind ourselves that people “like what they know”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Hopefully people will take the time to get to know your work, and when given the opportunity we can help educate them. If one is sincere, and continues to work in a heart felt meaningful way, there will always be those that will recognize that sincerity, we must just be patient.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-66004828412895672612011-08-05T14:23:00.000-07:002011-08-05T14:28:38.603-07:00Thank you Peter<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zvsK6GXnqlM/TjxfjjSrRHI/AAAAAAAAACg/AmlnMPYOtd4/s1600/augustblog.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zvsK6GXnqlM/TjxfjjSrRHI/AAAAAAAAACg/AmlnMPYOtd4/s320/augustblog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637485897934652530" /></a><br /> It has been a week since I returned from an art workshop held at Kripalu in Western MA. and the experience is still sinking in. This workshop was unlike any “art” workshop I have ever attended and has had a powerful impact on my art and thinking. There was no talk on technique, there were no “how to” lessons, for that would be “second hand” information, and Peter London, the workshop leader wrote the book “No More Second Hand Art”. The workshop centered on connecting to the larger experience of being in the natural world. We as artists attempt in our most sincere efforts to channel this experience and he hoped to facilitate us on our journey. One of the most difficult ideas in this workshop was allowing the work to “be” without aesthetic judgment. This is the topic I would like to further explore in this blog post.<br /><br /> At the workshop, we were asked, that when speaking with others about their work, to “just listen to each other without judgment and with great patience. Don’t listen to try to understand. It is an open place for them to continue their struggle.” We were just to be present to each other as they strove to create something new, to honor their struggle. The crux of the workshop was about seeing and responding to something in nature as if for the first time and to resist the temptation to just recapitulate some previous idea of what art is supposed to look like. We were not to create replica’s of the thing in order to display our technical proficiency, but respond and create something new that had an “is” of it’s own and pointed to nothing outside of itself. Peter warned that the danger of giving even well intended critical aesthetic input is that the new thing will retreat to be replaced by old “respected” methods. We were begged to “stop judging, because what you hear or see may not be all there is – you are only getting the surface.” I witnessed this phenomenon over and over again. There were many people in this group that were not what one would consider traditionally skilled at the craft of art-making, many had had little formal training. Yet they made their marks with honesty and when they experienced the world truthfully and set aside their fears of technical inadequacy they produced work as meaningful as the most skilled among us. To judge the work merely on its visual accuracy would have been to miss the point. But I think the most important line in this direction was when Peter said, “the thing will notice it is being judged and it will disappear and you will become your old self.” Aha. The critic I need to avoid is really the one always with me – me! That revelation only came to me yesterday. If I want to birth new marks and expressions into being, I have to prepare an accepting reception. I have to stop judging it and just trust that through the process, if I make each mark in a heartfelt and meaningful way – something “other” will come into being; something that isn’t only a description of the external, but the internal and potentially a reflection of the eternal. Another favorite line was “Sometimes you come so close to your heart, you touch all hearts.” Isn’t that what I want to do as an artist? In order to do this, I need to remain open and vulnerable to the creative process. Stop judging or fearing the judgment of others lest I scare the potential away and retreat to the safety of my tried and true methods. I have glimpsed an opportunity for real discovery now I am hoping I can retain my trust in the process, thank you Peter.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-56569303198923381102011-01-11T07:06:00.000-08:002011-01-11T07:11:14.685-08:00Subjective vs. Objective<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TSxyJZ6CVFI/AAAAAAAAACM/yk2sJ0GaJbc/s1600/NightLooms.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 189px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TSxyJZ6CVFI/AAAAAAAAACM/yk2sJ0GaJbc/s200/NightLooms.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560945145794417746" /></a><br />We often say that the value and merit of a work of art is subjective. That there is no real way to objectively discern a good painting from a not so good painting, that it is just a matter of opinion and unfortunately there are plenty of people willing to freely give theirs. Objective truth is a truth that exists independent of thought or an observer. This is the sort of truth that Cezanne was speaking of when he told Emile Bernard that the next time he spoke with him he would explain to him the truth in painting. Unfortunately, Cezanne died before he was able to convey that truth. Still, the notion that there is a truth in art is a question that has plagued many philosophers and sages much wiser than I. But back to the question, is Art subjective or objective? I believe that what is subjective is the knowledge of the critic or observer. I believe as Cezanne did, that the work, if done sincerely has an objective integrity and truth. It is the viewer that is often flawed by his own limited perception and belief systems. Another thought often misquoted is “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing”, if it were really “knowledge” it wouldn’t be dangerous. What often takes the place of real knowledge is belief, and as Plato pointed out, our beliefs are not always justified, but built on prejudices and misinformation. The reason the value and merit of art seems subjective, is that there is so much to learn to understand and appreciate about art and we are all limited beings who are destined to only glimpse a part of it. Through constant study, observation, and the willingness to remain open to the truth as it presents itself, I believe we can attain certain objectivity to the truth in art. We have to be willing to let go of the preconceptions and definitions we build along the way when new possibly conflicting truths are revealed. We must be satisfied by knowing we can never know the whole truth, because art refuses to be defined and limited, but that is exactly what makes it so powerful.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-9503976168772928622010-11-14T09:05:00.000-08:002010-11-14T19:05:12.956-08:00To become a better artist?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TOAfu7KY-8I/AAAAAAAAABg/HbodGqzhHfk/s1600/Moquin%25232InterpretingSilence.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TOAfu7KY-8I/AAAAAAAAABg/HbodGqzhHfk/s400/Moquin%25232InterpretingSilence.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539462432681425858" /></a><br />I began this years teaching by asking my students what their goals were. A common response was "I want to become a better artist". Hmmmm. So, I have been given the arduous task of asking them to define what "better" means to them. Do they mean technically better? Drawing more accurately, seeing more accurately, finding color notes better? What do they believe getting better will achieve? More sales? Respect from other artists? Personal joy? All of the above? Unfortunately, the sad truth is, the better we become as artists, the more critical we become and the more it takes to wow us, so "better" is a goal that keeps on moving further and further away. I used to be able to go to an art show and come away inspired, now I often come away disappointed. It is hard to find anything of merit other than technical prowess and more of the same. The more of a connoisseur we become in anything, the harder it is to find things that satisfy our sophisticated palette. Think of wine and cheese. The same is true in art. The more I know about painting, the more I want to see artists find new ways of solving old problems. As a painting teacher, I feel I am not teaching them a craft that is to be proliferated redundantly, I want them to create work that comes from their individuality. Individuality often means non-conforming so it doesn't always translate into popularity as the majority of people will admire and praise the familiar.<br /><br />One of my favorite authors on this subject is Peter London. In one of his books he cautions that anyone can be taught how to paint like Monet, stroke for stroke, but although the external result may look the same, the internal process is totally different. It is like jumping to the end of the story and only reading the last page. Every choice Monet made in refining his technique came from personal discovery. He didn't begin as an impressionist painter he evolved and discovered a new way of seeing that was uniquely his own. A way that was vehemently rejected by traditional art norms of the day.<br /><br />So for me, becoming a "better" artist, is to become an artist that continues to search and remain open to the discoveries that are revealed along the way. "Better" doesn't guarantee "satisfied", to continue to grow, we must never be stalled by anyone's satisfaction, even our own!Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-67488052583766326532010-10-10T07:37:00.000-07:002010-10-12T05:37:54.228-07:00Realism Revival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TLHZMDg7PII/AAAAAAAAABY/ofdy86II5XQ/s1600/TheDimming.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TLHZMDg7PII/AAAAAAAAABY/ofdy86II5XQ/s400/TheDimming.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526437018885373058" /></a><br />I recently gave a talk on Modernism at a local art association. This was a presentation that I prepared during graduate school and came from my struggle to figure out where I fit in to the mix of isms. I see my work as relatively representational, and at times I felt I was not "progressive" enough to fit into the contemporary art world. Sometimes my work was seen as "Nostalgic" and I soon learned that was a dirty word in the art world that quickly slid into the realm of sentimental, trite and at the worse, cliche. So, in order to better understand how representational art had gotten such a bad rap, I had to delve into the history books. <br /><br />It was fascinating, and I realize that there is no easy answer to any of it. Basically, to long for the past and to create paintings that rekindle that longing is anti progressive. We have for some reason intrinsically locked art to science with the misbelief that one innovation supplants a previous discovery. Science revolts with new discoveries that discredits old facts, and art has been pulled into that same realm. Each new ism thinks they have the new definitive and all previous movements are old and decadent. Isn't this the way of so many things? Newer is better. We all want the coolest most innovative new car, but there will always be those that yearn for the classic or antique automobile. We want to be progressive, yet sometimes we long for a time when things were simpler. One is not better than the other, and yearning for something from the past doesn't have to be a weakness. But, during the 1850's being progressive and embracing technology was the only way to be, and anyone who refused to progress was seen to have inferior intellect. Now, doesn't this sound familiar? If you don't like abstract art, the natural assumption (by those that "know') is you just don't get it. And sometimes, I'll be the first to admit, this is absolutely true. But it isn't always the case!<br /><br />So, what brings this to this blog today was a recent video I watched put together by Scott Burdick on "Beauty" (www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGX0_0VL06U" ). There are many well known realist artist today that feel slighted by the unfair attention that modern art seems to get at the expense of realism. The museums in turn influence the collectors. I touched on this phenomenon in my talk, according to "modern thought" realism belongs in the past and the job of art is to reflect the society and culture we live in today. I am not saying I agree with this statement, but I can't deny that there may be some validity in it. However, I don't think it was right when the modern movement slammed realism, and conversely it isn't right for realism to slam modernism because denigrating one form to raise another isn't right period.<br /><br />I have made a vow not to condemn what I don't understand just because I don't understand it. This can be extremely difficult when one is looking at some abstract art. Sometimes someone can explain the value of a painting to me that I don't initally respond to and my eyes are opened and see it in a new way or sometimes I still don't get it. But I now hold my tongue from immediately saying "bull---t"! If it provokes discussion and provides meaning in some way to someone, terrific. If I don't get it, or if I need to read a text to get it, so what? If it makes be ponder an issue in a new way, then perhaps that is more important or at least as valid as me passively beholding a realistic work of art as beautiful. Is the piece less valid because someone has taken the time to think about it and shares his commentary with me? Is it only art if I get it immediately in the way I would get a painting that is more traditionally beautiful? Is beautiful the only criteria for good or bad work? Lets not limit art in any way shape or form, there is room for it all!<br /><br />Long live beauty, nostalgia and sentiment in representational art, because sometimes we need to be reminded of the past. Long live expression and angst and passion in abstraction, because sometimes we need to be shaken and re-evaluate where we are going. Sometimes a symbol, no matter how crudely painted, draws attention to something in a way that a technically masterful realistic painting doesn't and visa versa. One is not better than the other, just different, they serve different purposes and functions in the world. Do not close yourself off to either type of art or all the others in between. For to do so, would be to limit your experience of the amazing diversity there is. <br /><br />Picasso was as academically skilled as any of the realists portrayed in the video by Scott, yet Picasso found traditional painting vocabulary limited him and found war and death too horrid to portray with beautiful strokes of paint. So he had to create his own vocabulary and a new world of expression through abstraction was opened. Why can't we just accept the fact, "different strokes for different folks?" and that different times sometime require different modes of expression. I agree, abstract art is not as easily accessible as realism, but art isn't always about the instant gratification gained through recognition of the subject matter. Sometimes art requires active contemplation and sometimes the only meaning to be garnered is our own reaction. That doesn't make one better or worse. This is as crazy an argument, and as big a waste of breath as tying to define who God is or why he does or does not exist. Perhaps something different to everyone and to say my way is better that your way is just a waste of everyones time. Enough of the hierarchy's! <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGX0_0VL06U"></a>Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-2490156844785031602010-08-04T05:29:00.000-07:002010-08-04T05:44:56.517-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TFlgR36TN6I/AAAAAAAAABI/ci-IvkTB6FA/s1600/RememberMe.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TFlgR36TN6I/AAAAAAAAABI/ci-IvkTB6FA/s400/RememberMe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501534279992293282" /></a><br /><br />This blog post is different from the rest. I wanted a place to record this event. I recently had an exhibition at the Cotuit Center for the Arts in Cotuit MA that included this self portrait titled "Remember Me". Next to it was posted the following text:<br /><br /> <br />I celebrated a milestone birthday this year, inviting reflection on where I’ve been and where I’m going. Different quotes about the passage of time and acquiring wisdom played through my mind. One was “The face you have at 50 is the face you deserve”. This spurred the idea that this might be a good time to do another self-portrait. <br /> <br />While working on this, I had time to contemplate the meaning of this quote as I spent hours studying the contours of my face. About halfway through the painting I came across a quote by Soren Kierkegaard, “We create ourselves by our choices”. There is a certain double entendre that wasn’t lost on me as I was physically creating an illusion of myself through my painting choices.<br /> <br />There is an ambiguity to the gesture of this piece and I am struck by the different ways people have chosen to interpret it. I have strived to capture subtle nuances of expression. However, the reality is, the viewer brings their own experience and will interpret the gesture based on their own response which reminds me that we can never really control the way others respond to us. We can only remain true to ourselves or be destined to spend out lives attempting to understand what others want or expect of us.<br /> <br />So, I would like to conduct a bit of a survey. I would very much like to know how you interpret this piece. I have given you clues but do not let that influence your response, which is not the point. How you respond says as much about your experience of life as it is about what I intended the painting to elicit. In fact, that is really all it is about.<br /> <br />If you would take the time to jot down your thoughts I would appreciate it. Either write them here or drop me an email at a later time. Those who leave me their contact information will receive both a summary of other responses as well as my initial intent.<br /> <br />Thank your for taking the time to contemplate this.<br /><br /><br />The number of responses I received from my little social experiment was overwhelming, 75 total. This is why it has taken me so long to follow up on this. Thanks so much to all of you that took the time to respond. I resisted the temptation to read through them first, as I wanted to express my experience with painting the portrait first. Then I read through them all and I will share some of those insights as promised. I have opted to post this on my blog to reach those that didn't leave an email, or left an illegible one. I believe every response is valid, and although I may not have intended what was interpreted, I cannot deny that there may be truth in the observations. Please feel free to forward this to anyone you feel would be interested. <br /><br />I have always had a fascination with the idea of leaving something behind that would live on after me. I love old cross stitch samplers that often had the words “Remember Me” painstakingly stitched by some 10 year old girl long dead and forgotten, such irony. So this is where the title came from. But I believe the seeds of my inspiration to begin the portrait were sown when I visited a Rembrandt exhibit in CT last fall, entitled “Rembrandt’s People”. All those faces, looking so intently at the viewer, all that antiquity staring at me and the realization that all of those bright eyes have long ceased to shine and that this was all that was left of them. The Rembrandt’s also inspired my choice of color palette; I loved the way the faces and hands emerged from the darkness of their ambiguous bodies. The painted portrait reveals more than a photograph because it requires contemplation and is filtered through a human rather than a mechanical device. A portrait by Rembrandt manages to capture the aura of the person, their very essence and life force. To achieve this is rare, but this has been my attempt.<br />The hand, what is that about? There were so many interesting interpretations, but first what was I thinking? Well, after looking intently at myself in the mirror, it was actually a natural gesture to reach out to that reflection in the same way we instinctively reach out to touch something we are curious about. But upon further reflection, it also reaches tentatively from the past toward an unknown future. The painting says, “I remember being there, where you stand, I once stood.” If by some luck of fate this painting stays in tact as long as the Rembrandt’s, I will be long gone. There is also the realization that someone I know and love might look upon it when I am no longer alive, so the expression is a bit wistful – it longs to be on the other side and be re-connected. It asks you to “Remember Me”. It is that simple and complex.<br /><br /><br />Your reflections, which I have had to abbreviate and condense:<br /> <br />On the hand:<br /> <br />Feeling of connecting with people, as on the other side of a glass wall, no matter how hard we try to connect we have only ourselves.<br /> <br />Still feeling my way.<br /> <br />Hopeful searching.<br /> <br />A blessing.<br />The painting reminds me of the idea that a photograph steals a bit of the soul. The gesture is trying to prevent the painter from making the image so as to preserve the soul. Glossy surface is like someone trapped behind glass, but the face is serene, the soul can’t be robbed.<br /> <br />Wait a minute, I’m just shifting from drive to overdrive, come back in another 25 years!<br /> <br />At first I thought you were saying “keep your distance”, then I decided that you were pressing against and invisible wall of glass saying I’m not through or there yet, I’ll keep searching”.<br /> <br />A sightless woman, hesitant to move, hand in front searching for objects as she starts forth.<br /> <br />Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and be true to you.<br /> <br />You are saying STOP. I am happy as I am … don’t let time move me.<br /> <br />This reminds me of Sarte’s “Being and Nothingness”. If we let others define our existence, we cannot truly exist as individuals and can never be free but prisoners of the interpretations of others. The artist is free to construct herself in this painting.<br /> <br />Stop, you have come close enough – I am only wiling to share so much of myself and the rest is off limits.<br /> <br />The hand seems to limit the approach of others. It means that she wants boundaries even though she enjoys interacting with others.<br /> <br />It makes me think you’ve raised your hand in a gesture of complete presence. Reaching out to absorb the “energy” that your reflection offers. Open and asking and accepting.<br /> <br />“I am stopping time here in the present. I am living in the moment”<br /> <br />“Do not come too close to me, back off”<br /> <br />“Hello” but at the same time “I can’t talk yet. Wait a second for the speaker to finish, and then we can talk ourselves.<br /> <br />Thought provoking. My first feeling was she wants to get out of this picture, but then your face looks very content and comfortable. But then I thought maybe there is always a piece of us that is striving to get out of our control place and change.<br /> <br />The hand feels as if you are pushing open a door.<br /> <br />Holding someone back, saying “enough”.<br />Looking out tentatively for something you needed… lost? The face says in answer – look. It also seems that you are wistfully saying “goodbye” to something.<br /> <br />The hand says stop the physical process of aging. I want long life but I want to look just like this from now on.<br /> <br />You are saying “ok, but enough already” It is the gesture of a mom!<br /> <br />You’re leaning on yourself in a way, putting all of your weight on the 5 tiny points of contact between self and reflection that are your fingertips.<br /> <br />I’d like some distance. I’ve earned it – let me have time to contemplate – what do I want to do with the next 50 years?<br /> <br />I think you are happy with yourself as you are at this point - but are still reaching forward – open for more.<br /> <br />“Leave me be with my thoughts” Are you a standoffish person? Are you a person that you can’t get close to? On further reflection – “making way – one step at a time – with feeling and confidence.<br /> <br />The arm is not up, and the hand is open – it could be reaching out to touch something or reaching into the unknown – questing gesture – in combination with the expression and overall relaxed feeling of the body, it could be a gesturing of peace or acceptance.<br /> <br />The hand gesture is an inherently spiritual one. The phrase “Balanced Stillness” comes to my mind; a person who is willing to look at life, and themselves, not merely to look, but also willing to SEE.<br /> <br />Go forth, create, continue to grow in ways as yet uncharted, unknown.<br /> <br />My first impression was of a reike healer offering healing with her hand.<br /> <br />Wait – don’t be too quick to judge.<br /> <br />What are you longing to touch?<br /> <br />To me you almost look sightless and are feeling your way.<br /> <br />Wait. What is it you say? I think I see but wait.<br /> <br />I see fingers meeting in a tentative exploration of communication, less formal than a handshake, less intimate than a hug.<br /> <br />You are here, it is now, but it is not now anymore.<br /> <br />I see an artist reaching out to the illusion, which is self. Wondering about her passage of time. Reflecting in the image of self. Maybe life is an illusion, or an infinite quest never ending.<br /> <br />You are about to step through an unknown but compelling place and time Your life experiences have enabled you to accept and be compelled to enter the new place/time.<br /> <br />You have chosen to create yourself to be optimistic, hopeful, yet understand the pain we all endure.<br /> <br />Reaching, yearning, hesitant, reflective, reluctant, eager, and yet… the power! Made me cry.<br /> <br />(a little comic relief) Must not sleep, must warn others.<br /> <br />You strike me as someone that wants to touch the world somehow, so I hope you get people to reach back.<br /> <br />The painting seems to be mirror vision – your right hand is touching it- so you can now feel this person – you are not afraid but there are questions. I can see it in the eyes – you almost want to smile but are not sure.<br /> <br />(more comic relief) Ice maiden with man hands.<br /> <br />Stop, I’m 50 and I don’t have to listen to your BS anymore! or I’m 50 and I’d like time to slow down as I have so much more to do or It’s okay, don’t worry, you’ll get through this.<br /> <br />Reach out and touch someone, connect. Be one with the universe. Realize unity with all creation.<br /> <br />Facial expression:<br />Calm, almost serene, comfortable with who you are.<br /> <br />Calm, curiousity, whatever comes will be of interest - but not so fast!<br /> <br />Her eyes seem to welcome others, but her smile is only somewhat inviting.<br /> <br />Friendly, thoughtful – you’re recognizing someone whom you want to see.<br /> <br />Proud, affirming and excited about the future.<br /> <br />I see a depth of emotion in your eyes, wistfulness, sadness, wisdom gleaned through the years of experience<br /> <br />Expression of wanting something, beseeching, searching.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-1965799104698647502010-07-21T15:56:00.001-07:002010-07-21T16:05:02.781-07:00Probing the familiar<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TEd7t5tnTZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/4FDs3vkh_Io/s1600/HarmonicIntervals.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 312px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_X65iikSTqXA/TEd7t5tnTZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/4FDs3vkh_Io/s320/HarmonicIntervals.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496497898745449874" /></a><br />There is a certain thrill that comes from painting outside. I understand the thrill. The quest for the perfect subject matter to inspire and motivate, the ever-changing light and atmosphere, and let’s not forget the bugs. I remember my own personal journey. My feeble attempts to match the colors I perceived, to be the noble scribe recording nature exactly as it presented itself. But, I also clearly remember the first time I was able to use an on site scene or photograph as only a means of departure, the freedom I felt when I realized I could compose and move things about for reasons beyond imitation and representation. The day when I had mastered color enough to actually create atmosphere and light of my own desire, no longer a slave to the scene before me, I was now moving forms through space by the shift of a value or temperature. <br /><br />I am pondering this transition today, because I just had a show of my newest work. I am well aware that there are people who do not understand what I am doing these days, those who miss my interpreted illustrations of familiar scenes. Why the preoccupation with these houses? Over and over, I reinvent their planes, colors and shapes. I am no longer poring through photographs and running to one new site after another searching for subject matter. Some may think I’ve just given up, settled on some familiar motif for the purpose of sales -- far from it. I have discovered that the deeper I am willing to prod the familiar, the more it reveals to me. It is difficult to push beyond the surface appearance of things to create something new. It is easier to divert by finding some new subject. But now, I have discovered that I keep finding new revelations in manipulating familiar shapes into new patterns. I witness the way the sun crosses the sky and causes a different shadow pattern I never noticed before and suddenly I have a whole new series to work on. It has become more about relationships, the relationship between the interior shapes of the structures and the exterior shape of the picture format. It is the subtle shift from one hue as it confronts another; it is the distillation of all that subject matter into simplicity of form. Less is more. How far can I take it? One color changes and all the rest must be altered. What if the sky is yellow-green this time? I have become the creator, and this is so much more thrilling than the role of imitator!<br /><br />As an aside, I once thought that Milton Avery couldn’t draw. Pretty colors, interesting shapes, but obviously he couldn’t do anything else or surely he would. I mean, they are so simplistic…or are they? I discovered an academic drawing he did of a standing nude. Believe me, the man can render as well as DaVinci. The search for simplicity was intentional, and the more I learn about color, the more I realize his choices are not simple at all. So my new mantra is to not dismiss something simply because I do not currently understand it.<br /><br />To view my recent show, please visit www.addisonart.com<a href="http://www.addisonart.com"></a> and click on the link to Mary L. Moquin.<br />The painting above is titled "Harmonic Intervals" 11 3/4 x 12 Painting resembles music in many ways; there is a structure and a rhythm. Finding the perfect balance between shape, color and atmosphere creates pictorial harmony. This painting is orchestrated in a way that every note plays an integral part in the harmony of the painting, similar to a small ensemble of voices each holding their part of the whole.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-12979135146317260692010-06-10T05:51:00.000-07:002010-06-10T06:07:32.379-07:00Discovery vs. PlanTo plan or not to plan, that is the question I’m pondering. I taught a workshop over the weekend I have titled “Three Steps to Stronger Painting”. I have given this workshop several times over the last 5 years. However, this is the first time I have given it since completing my MFA. When preparing, I considered how my thought process has evolved and reflected on how much of the content of the workshop was still relevant to my current process. The workshop is very structured and methodically explores the formal concepts needed to create strong paintings: composition, value, and how color translates into value. At this point in my life, these tools have become so intuitive that I realize I no longer see them as separate steps. It is like learning a particular dance. It is necessary to know the pattern of the steps to learn the dance, but we can only dance when we stop thinking about the individual steps! That doesn’t mean we should just ad lib across the floor when a waltz is played (although that is fine, just don’t claim you are waltzing). So, back to planning - thumbnail sketches, value studies, color charts; these are the scales the musician practices daily, the steps to the particular dance. The artistic allusions go on and on. The artist learns to orchestrate the picture plane. But, at some point in his career, he may realize how automatic it has become, and how easily he can turn out a beautifully controlled composition, complete with strong value patterns, and brilliant color correlations. At this point, it is time to relax the control. Trust in the years of planning and orchestrating, and now let the painting direct the course. The role of the artist now transforms, listening to the flow of music and recognizing the magical moments. The artist no longer controls every mark and movement, he watches, he discovers, he no longer imitates - he creates.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-38100659316161447502010-05-01T07:26:00.000-07:002010-05-01T07:43:49.460-07:00What I used to know......Once upon a time, I thought that art was something that was capable of being fully understood. I guess I thought it would be like learning to bake a cake. Given the raw ingredients and instructions on how to put it all together, I would be able to come up with a successful cake/painting. I have discovered that art tends to be a bit more elusive than this. In fact, the greatest lesson I have gained from years of study complete now with my Masters of Fine Arts in painting, is how much I really don't know. At one time this realization might have caused me great anxiety, and certainly at 18 who wants to be told that they will really never know all the answers. I am actually okay with realizing that I don't know everything there is to know about art, because to believe I know that would be to limit its potential. I believe that those with strong opinions have done just that, limited their options, and narrowed their vision for the security of feeling they have the answers. It is a bit like the 4 blind men trying to describe what an elephant looks like by the area they have touched. Art is like the elephant, larger than any of us can see totally with our limited human faculties. We are all striving, searching, developing, trying to <br />understand the part we have begun to grasp. But, I believe the danger comes when we think we have figured it out and go on to profess what we have discovered as the only truth. Then we close ourselves off to future discovery, then the different artistic groups clash, claiming it is about the color, value, line, no line, expression, observation, realism, abstraction, impressionism, expressionism etc., etc. I fall back on, the more I know, the less I know, the more I need to know, that is what keeps me honest as an artist. Emmerson said something like, speak your truth today and tomorrow speak your truth again even if it contradicts what you said yesterday, because "consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds". When you discover something new about art, especially when it contradicts your old beliefs, embrace it. Perhaps you have grasped a bit more of that elephant and what you have felt contradicts what you originally had surmised.<br />What an exciting opportunity for growth!Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-55150631520944717542010-04-11T14:58:00.000-07:002010-04-11T15:10:38.673-07:00Overworking fearsMany artists speak to me of their fears of 'overworking' their paintings. Often I find this fear prevents them from pushing their paintings further for fear of ruining them in the process. I don't believe that overworking is necessarily a by product of working too long on a piece. It's working too long without a clear concept or direction. Or, let's put it this way, overworked pieces can still be revived, sort of like what I hope a vacation will do for me.<br />When at a loss, put the overworked painting aside. Somewhere that you can glance at it now and then. One day it will call you, when you're not so invested in it, and you'll know what it needs and you can either fix the problem right there and then or start a fresh painting right over the previous one if need be. Paintings painted over previous paintings are some of my best paintings, some of the history of the previous will show through adding a new dimension of beauty. The new marks will be fresh, because you are fresh and your vision is clearer. I have resuscitated many a painting this way. Stopping a work prematurely from fear of overworking to me is worse, it is playing it safe, where is the real 'creation' in that? Creation involves risk and new discoveries.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5582261149614424172.post-22500156331532363782010-03-26T13:13:00.000-07:002010-03-26T13:27:54.082-07:00Musings on the relevance of demonstrationsOccasionally, students request a demonstration. They want to see how it is done. This request came up again the other day. It occurred to me, that in my undergraduate and graduate studies, no professor had ever given a demonstration per se. The thought never occurred to me to ask them to paint a picture and let me watch. I am currently teaching older adults, people that have often put their love of art on hold while they pursued other careers. Perhaps they want to catch up for lost time and find the quickest way to competency. I just don't know if that can be hastened in any way by watching someone else paint.<br />There are definitely basic building blocks of information, and we all learn from other artists. That is why I like teaching in a class environment. But I don't want to make it look like magic. It is hard work, and the fact that I can appear to do it easier isn't because I am some sort of wizard, it is because I have covered miles of canvas and made hundreds of mistakes. Each mistake I have made in the past helps inform the decision I make in the next stroke. It is a personal discovery and process. Art is about more than technique, and technique is about more than a tool box of tricks. In order to discover who we are as unique individuals with something personal to say with our art, we have to find our own way of ordering marks and colors.<br />So, I am happy to put on a show of how I make it all come together, but not for an instant do I think you should take the same approach because that would be a waste of who you are. My role as a teacher, is to help my students start to see the things in their paintings that help define that.Mary Moquinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00630971597000944859noreply@blogger.com2