REMEMBERING WATER

Emma Often Thought Of The Time She Spent At The Beach With Her Grammie, So She Embroidered Her Favorite Memory on A Handkerchief
2008 | acrylic on wood | 5 in. x 4 in.
Contact David Lusk Gallery

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I love the idea of capturing a memory of water in thread--something intangible made tangible. My gramma lived in the Nevada desert, but these are her Watson's brand embroidery needles. I keep this package of needles in a small jar, along with a thimble and some red dice that also belonged to her. The jar is, to me, a portrait of my gramma. I mentioned some time ago that I wanted to paint this jar that's filled with her things but, for some reason, I decided against it. I guess I wanted to keep my gramma to myself.

My friend, Rob, over at murketing has a great post that relates to this idea of assigning value to objects, especially those related to family--and furniture.

Funny, I'm just remembering that when I was in Baltimore, I bought a collection of of old embroidery floss--floss that, more than likely, used to belong to someone else's gramma. I wonder if she ever tried her hand at embroidering water.

POSTSCRIPT:

Kurt and I were talking about The Little Prince last night (in the context of statistics, believe it or not), and I happened to mention the drawing of the hat that's really an elephant that's been eaten by a boa constrictor. All of this got me thinking about that lovely little story again, and I was reminded of this line in the book: "It is the time that you have spent with your rose that makes your rose so important." Indeed.

BAIT AND TACKLE

Louise Kept Her Favorite Earrings Hidden In A Sardine Can In The Cupboard
2008 | acrylic on wood | 6 in. x 8.75 in.
Contact David Lusk Gallery

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So Kurt ate some sardines, I have some fancy earrings, and my mother used to hide family jewelry in a fake Sunkist can in the refrigerator. Put all of that together, and you have this painting.

In other news, Kurt and I spent a total of three hours on the pond on Sunday. I lounged in the canoe and took an informal inventory of bugs and critters, while he went fishing. I spied many a baby turtle's tracks, lots of dragonflies, some baby salamanders, and millions of tadpoles. I even rounded up a couple of worms for Kurt to use as bait. They were pretty tasty worms: Kurt caught four bass and a brim. Just another Sunday at the homestead.

FOR THE LOVE OF OYSTERS...AND SYMBOLS

Once Clara and Ben Were Back in New Orleans, They Tried Everything 

2008 | acrylic on wood | 6 in. x 6 in.

Contact David Lusk Gallery

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Oysters have been cropping up in my paintings for a little while now. It all started with an oral history project to document the seafood industry in Apalachicola, which I conducted back in 2006. You have to know that, before I left for Apalach, as the locals call it, I was pretty ambivalent about oysters. I'd eat them, but I never particularly enjoyed them. That is, until I spent some time on Florida's Forgotten Coast. There, I met the most incredible, generous, down-to-earth people, who shared their lives and their stories with me and, well, quite a lot of oysters. Now I don't know if many of you out there have ever tasted an oyster, for one, the moment it came out of the water or, more importantly, the moment it came right out of the Apalachicola Bay. I've never experienced anything quite like it, before or since. These oysters are plump and salty with a little sweet spot when you bite into them. I was hooked immediately. And I was also spoiled. The last time I was there, my friend and oysterman A L. Quick plucked a cooler-full of oysters out of the bay for me to bring home to Mississippi. And now this is something that you have to try and wrap you're head around: If you live in Apalach (or Eastpoint, where A.L. lives), oysters are right in your front yard and, if you have a boat and a bucket, you can have a feast of bivalves any time you want. It's like going to the grocery store for a loaf of bread, only it's not a loaf of bread. It's oysters. And they're free.

A couple of months after an SFA field trip to Apalach, my friends Ann & Johnny in DC commissioned me to do a couple of paintings for their restaurant, Johnny's Half Shell. Ann, already a fan of my work, was inspired by her time in Apalach, knew that I was too, and put two and two together. So what do you use as subject matter in a painting that's going to hang in a seafood restaurant? Oysters, of course. And crabs. I thought about Apalach the entire time I worked on those paintings. And I'm still very fond of them, despite all of the time that's passed since they were created.

A year later, I was asked to do another commission, this time for some Amy Art fans in Maine. They asked me to do a painting to commemorate a family oyster roast that happens in Georgia every year around Thanksgiving. Again, I thought of Apalach. 

I must also add here that oysters are super satisfying to paint. I geek out about all the layers of light and color inside those shells. I really hit my stride with the shells when I did the Maine commission. After painting one meaty oyster in its shell, I realized how much color was in the shell itself and decided that the other oysters in the painting would be shells only, no meat. A very good decision, I think.

So when I sat down to start working on a new body of work for this show at David Lusk Gallery, I spent some time combing through my house, looking for objects to paint. One of the first things I picked up was a bottle of Marie Laveau's Venus Oil. Believe it or not, I've had this bottle of Venus Oil since high school. My friend Lida brought it back as a souvenir from a family trip, and I've managed to hold on to it all this time. When I picked it up, I immediately thought of New Orleans, of course, and then, what else, oysters. It took no time to figure out what this painting was about. 

So Clara and Ben did go back to New Orleans, and they did try everything.

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A note on the letter "f":

Those of you who know my work, know that I am fond of incorporating words and numbers in my paintings. There are a lot of reasons for this, explanations for which will come up when talking about some of my other new paintings, I'm sure. But for now, let's talk about the letter "f".

It all really started with the crab and oyster paintings for Johnny's Half Shell. When I began sketching out ideas for those paintings, all I could think about were antique prints. I have a degree in printmaking, you know, and I still have an affinity for the craft. A lot of antique prints were made as illustrations--or "plates"--for books. Here's a wonderful example of some antique engravings--again, plates--of seashells. You'll notice that the engravings are titled "Plate VI," "Plate XIX," et cetera. And on each plate, there are individual images of shells, which have corresponding letters (or numbers), which are part of a key, if you will, to the illustration. So, for instance, "Plate VII, Figure f" might be a scallop shell. It's all about identification.

Now, if you'll look again at the  crab and oyster paintings, the reasoning behind the incorporation of these single letters starts to make sense. It might also help make sense of the "Plate 32" and "Plate 57" that appear in the upper right hand corner of each painting. And then, to take it even further, you should get a laugh at my inclusion of an actual dinner plate--a play on words and a little play on the fact that the paintings were for a restaurant.

I included an "f" in the painting above for many of the same reasons. But here, especially, the "f" serves as another little element to further round out the image. It's not just a still life anymore, and it's not just a story about Clara and Ben. It has that little something extra that, really, can mean whatever you want it to mean.

Amy Art demystified! Wait a minute, is this a good thing?

STILL LIFE WITH RABBIT'S FOOT

Today I have for you a glimpse of another new painting. You might recognize the beginnings of a little rabbit's foot key chain fetish, if you remember one of my paintings from last year. I actually posses both of these odd amulets, and I find that they are truly satisfying to paint. But if I reflect for too very long on what they actually are and why they even exist, the novelty of the thing inevitably leads to disgust. I know they're good luck and all, which I why I even have one--okay, two--but I did not know all of this. Still, they're interesting little pieces of kitsch that I happen to like to have around--and paint.

Sorry to be teasing you with a measly corner of this new piece, but a.) it's not finished and b.) I'm trying to hold off on unveiling this new body of work until just before my August 1 opening at David Lusk Gallery. So hold on tight, kids. There's more to come.

BREAKING NEWS: I'M BACK IN THE STUDIO!

Yep, it's been--gasp--three months since I shared news of my last encampment in the studio (I went with the rosary, by the way). Well, this weekend I got back to work, only not in the studio. This time, I set up shop in the dining room. The fancy schmancy new studio in the woods isn't quite ready for occupation, and it's so dang hot here these days that the unfinished back porch studio just won't do. So the dining room table it is. And actually, save the lugging supplies back and forth and making sure to not get any paint on the carpet, it's a mighty fine space in which to work. Air conditioning is so inspiring! And, as you can see from the photo above, I set some inspirational objects on the table to get my creative juices flowing. And flow they did.

I managed to put the finishing touches on a couple of paintings that had been hanging around, and I started a few new ones, as well. The photo above is a peek at one of my new pieces. I've been frustrated with this one, if only because I'm afraid people might think that I made up these objects--that they came from somewhere deep inside my imagination (I've been doing portraits of objects for a little while now). But really, these things do exist: an empty box of Cowboy cigarettes from Colombia and a set of very European-looking, male and female Native American salt and pepper shakers (yes, the woman is without clothes but with necklaces). See, I told you, strange, right? But the painting is coming together quite nicely, and I am less concerned about whether or not the objects seem real or not. There's quite a quirky mystery to this painting, which I think is its strength. I'll unveil the piece in its entirety when the time is right. Which brings up another little bit of big news.

Mark your calendars: I'm in a show at David Lusk Gallery in Memphis that opens on August 1. And now you see the reason for this flurry of studio activity. It's all very exciting.

In addition to the exciting news regarding my painting habits and career, there's also some good news on the construction front: Kurt is back on the job! His wrist has healed, the spring rains have cleared, and nails are in the nail gun! Kurt has asked me to refrain from documenting said studio construction until there's something particularly impressive to discuss (it's ALL impressive, if you ask me). So, until I get the go-ahead, just know that there is now a back porch, hefty cedar posts mark the corners of the front porch, and the wiring is about to go in.

There's so much happening around here, I can hardly stand it.

MANDALA INTERLUDE

Tibetan Buddhist monks from Drepung Loseling Monastery have been here in Oxford on the campus of the University of Mississippi all week. They're here to perform their Mystical Arts of Tibet production, which is tonight, but they've spent the week doing much more. Since Monday, some of the monks have been constructing a mandala sand painting in the Student Union. And according to Kurt, who was in line behind some of the monks at lunch today, they're getting their fill of burgers and Chick-fil-A, too.

Just yesterday, while on a little road trip to Tuscumbia, Alabama, I caught up on some podcasts and happened to catch this one. It's a good listen. And a timely one, too.


I might also add that, oh, about fourteen years ago, I had the pleasure of hearing the Dalai Lama speak in Houston. He made an appearance at the Menil Collection with his buddy Richard Gere, who had a collection of the photogrpahs he'd taken in Tibet on view in one of the galleries. It was a chance-of-a-lifetime event. I left the talk spiritually satisfied and politically motivated--and with Richard Gere's autograph.

A HILL OF BEANS

Sorry the blog has been quiet for a bit. I had to wean myself from the computer, so I could get the full effect of my many-days-in-a-row of studio time. It was a glorious thing.

Here's a peek at the can of beans I mentioned in my last post. The painting isn't finished yet. Still, I thought you deserved a peek. And yes, that's a real necklace draping the right corner of the piece. I was considering adding it to the composition--and might still--so it hangs there until I decide. That necklace, by the way, was a gift from my friends Unk and Gloria Quick down in Apalachicola. I imagine they like beans.

As I began this post, I thought I'd Google "can of beans" to see what might come up. Lo and behold, there's a website about a can of black beans that has circled the globe, Beans Around the World. The can's escapades are fully documented in words and images. Lucky beans.

Last night, Kurt and I watched Amelie once again. It's one of my very favorite movies. If you've seen it, you'll remember the bit about the gnome that traveled the world. Lucky gnome.

And now it's back to work. No beans, no necklaces, no gnomes.

YES, PLEASE

This beautifully decadent slice of chocolate meringue pie has nothing to do with the time I spent in the studio today. It does, however, have everything to do with the fact that I sure do wish I had a piece.

I had a productive day in the studio, priming boards and sketching out new ideas. I finally managed to pick up a brush around mid-day and had a ball painting a can of beans. Still, I might have to create a composition involving pie. That, or drive back to Clarksdale and grab a whole one of these bad boys from Chamoun's Rest Haven. I think that would be three hours well spent, don't you?

OYSTERS ON THE BRAIN

Oysters have been on my mind lately. I ate a dozen in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago, and then I had some again last weekend in Clarksdale. Today, I painted an oyster shell.

I did a painting of oysters a handful of months ago and found that I really love painting the empty shells. It's so satisfying to add so many transparent layers of color, imbuing the shells with a deep radiance.

So this painting is about New Orleans. It's so hard to show pieces before they're done. Know that it will all make sense when I'm finished.

ROOM WITH A VIEW

The studio has walls! And windows! Granted, there are only frames for walls and windows but goodness, there has been progress! And there has been even more progress since I took this photograph yesterday morning. Last night, Kurt managed to get up all of the framing for all of the walls, and he added the platform for the loft area. Yep, there's going to be a little reading/sleeping/storage loft in the back of the studio. Exciting, I know.

Today, Kurt is working on--ahem, creating--the roof. At this rate, I'll be sanding boards and mixing paint (and nesting!) early in the New Year. Wow.

Thanks, my love! xoxoxo

OYSTERS, OYSTERS EVERYWHWERE

A few months ago, some folks in Maine (who happen to be the proud owners of this painting) contacted me about a commission. It was to be a surprise gift, so I've had to keep my lips sealed, until now. Behold "Give Thanks," a painting done for a Georgia girl, whose family has an oyster roast in her home state every Thanksgiving. Enjoy your oysters, Sonja!

Yesterday, Kurt and I received a wonderful Christmas card and letter from my friends A.L. and Gloria Quick, who live in Eastpoint, Florida, and make their living off of the Apalachicola Bay. A. L. harvests oysters, and Gloria shucks his catch. Their letter mentioned, though, that since there's been all of this hubbub over the state of the bay and the health of the oysters, the processing house that they work for shipped in hundreds of pounds of oysters to supplement what everyone thought was going to be a bad harvesting season. According to A. L., though, the bay's oysters are looking--and tasting--good. Even so, they had to switch to another house to process and sell their catch, since the other place was having a hard time moving the shipped-in oysters.

Also yesterday, the governors of Alabama, Georgia, and Florida finally met to discuss the future of the Apalachicola River system. Evidently, all they could agree upon was setting up another meeting.

Our Florida road trip can't happen soon enough.

BIRD + SOAP + CRACKER

I've been working on a couple more paintings, trying to finish them before my show at Koelsch Gallery opens on--gulp-- Thursday. Nothing like hand-delivering work at the eleventh hour! (Thanks, Franny).

Last night I set up shop in the dining room, as it's a bit chilly in the studio--the old one, that is. Kurt's still hard at work on the new studio. I like working in the dining room, but I don't like all of the setting up and cleaning up it requires. Still, last night was productive.

I'm working on two new portraits of objects: the bird and cracker are one painting, the soap is another. Anyone out their ever tried painting a cracker? It's not easy. I've had a go at painting a cracker before; there's one in my tamale painting. It wasn't easy, either, but it offered a welcome challenge. So when I started this new painting, I thought I would know what the heck I was doing. I'll say it again: painting a cracker is not easy. There's something about the light and the color and the flakiness of the actual object that are just hard to convey.
























Last night I couldn't help but be reminded of Giorgio de Chirico's 1916 painting of crackers, Metaphysical Interior With Biscuits. This painting is part of the Menil's collection of Surrealist works (my favorite collection of paintings, anywhere, if you haven't already taken note), and I always stop and study these crackers, er, biscuits. De Chirico has really captured the essence of a biscuit.

I still have a lot to learn.

AMY ART IN Y'ALL MAGAZINE

My "They're Red Hot" painting is the opening image for an article on the Mississippi Delta Hot Tamale Trail that appears in the Nov./Dec. issue of Y'All magazine. Many thanks to local writer Luke Duncan for giving the Tamale Trail such great press and for asking to use my painting to help illustrate the piece.

For those of you who don't know (and maybe can't get your hands on a copy of Y'All), the Mississippi Delta Hot Tamale Trail is a documentary project produced by the Southern Foodways Alliance, aka my day job. I conducted the fieldwork for the Trail, and it remains one of the projects that is closest to my heart. And really, who doesn't love tamales?

For a detailed description of my painting, go here.

Thanks, again, Luke!

STORIES IN CIGAR BOXES

Today, while looking for something else, I came across the photograph above. I haven't seen it since I took it almost five years ago. Perhaps Birney Imes was still swimming around in my head. Or maybe it was just a cigar box.

Imes's book Whispering Pines, which I mentioned in yesterday's post, is a document of the now defunct roadhouse of the same name. What's more, though, is that it's a document of a man's life and the relics he left behind.

Blume Triplett didn't throw anything away, and most of the things he kept were small enough to fit in cigar boxes. Hundreds of cigar boxes. So among the photographs Imes took of Triplett laughing at the bar, eating lunch, and shooting pistols, are haunting images of his many collections--little still lifes of objects.

The still life above is a photograph I took while documenting the Cotton Row Club in Greenwood, MS. I'm not entirely sure I even knew about Whispering Pines back then, but three's certainly a connection there. A while later, I did this painting, which was, obviously, inspired by the photograph. It's kind of hard for me to look at it now (painting on particle board, what was I thinking?!), but I do still love the memories it evokes of that time and place--and those objects.

I have no idea what was in the cigar box.

ONIONS MAKE YOU CRY

Onions, themselves, don't make you cry, but cutting them does. And that is the subject of this painting. The object that inspired the painting was the onion. I've love the color of purple onions and felt like having a go at painting one. Then the onion led to the vintage sunglasses, which led to the vintage handkerchief (or pocket scarf, if you prefer), which made this, then, a portrait of three objects. As I began the piece, I knew I wanted it to be about the act of cutting onions. The narrative that evolved is about a girl's grandmother, who is superstitious about cutting onions. She believes that they won't make you cry if you wear sunglasses, but she keeps her handkerchief in her apron pocket, just in case.

This painting is part of my new series, "The History of Objects," which will be on view at Koelsch Gallery in Houston, Texas, from Nov. 29 through Dec. 29.

IN THE ZONE

My creative juices did, indeed, flow this weekend, thank goodness. I managed to finish my American Beauty Butter painting (this is only a taste of it, by the way), as well as two smaller paintings. It was a good weekend.

The title of this one--again, you're only seeing part of it--is Butterscotch / Estelle Was Going to Bake A Pound Cake, But She Decided to Pour Herself A Glass of Scotch Instead.

Instead of baking a pound cake, I made lemon custard on Saturday. There was no scotch involved. And, of course, my name isn't Estelle.

ANOTHER ROLL OF THE DICE

After making yesterday's post, I got to reminiscing about my gramma's love of dice games. It seems like every time my dad and I would pay her a visit, they would spent at least one night in a casino together, playing craps until the cows came home. I can imagine she was a pretty good player. My gramma was a whiz with numbers and probabilities. She could also kick your butt in Boggle. I never saw her put money on a Boggle game, however.

My gramma's love of dice games cropped up in the privacy of her own home, too. Our family game was--and still is--a game called zilch. (Some call it farkle, but those people don't really know what they're talking about.) It's a game that's kind of similar to poker but with dice. And no, it's not a poor man's Yhatzee. It's a great game. I'll kick anyone's butt in zilch. Okay, maybe not my gramma's.

So after all this dice business, I realized that just last weekend I documented some of the dice that happen to by lying around my own home. I do have a complete zilch set (many, actually), these are just dice that are old, interesting, colorful, and without mates. And you'll notice the Sun Spot bottle, which I painted a portrait of a few months back. Inspiration is everywhere.
















Which brings me to a little discussion about this week's "Painting of the Week," Ice/Dice. This piece was actually inspired by a photograph I took at the King Biscuit Blues Festival a handful of years ago. (The event is now called the Arkansas Blues & Heritage Festival, which is going on this weekend, by the way) The photograph is of the side door of an old ice truck. The letters of the word ice had that awesome stylized snowcap thing going on, and the colors were incredibly vibrant. I knew I wanted to do a painting that incorporated that image, and I eventually decided on creating a little play on words. Ice and dice, with only a "d" coming between them. And then there's sheet from the bingo pad that I bought in Batesville. And, of course, a single die. I still have good feelings for this painting, which is more than I can say for most.

I think I'll challenge Kurt to a friendly game of zilch when I get home.

PORTRAIT OF A JAR

Lately, my free time has been consumed by travel, house guests, and drag races. This weekend looks to be completely open, though, so I plan to be in the studio. There's a little show coming up that I need to do some more paintings for.

I have been in the studio lately, but not for me. So this weekend I look forward to sifting through my stacks of wood to find the perfect piece to work on, laying out all of my paints and brushes, putting on my apron, and disappearing into the world of art making. There's nothing like creating in the zone. Geez, I hope I can find the zone.

That's one thing about painting on a schedule: there's every chance that you won't be energized by a burst of creativity precisely when you've planned to be creative. That can really suck. Usually, though, just prepping my studio--and my head--for making a painting gets me there. And then I stay there for hours on end.

There's a painting sitting on my studio table that I started months ago. It's a portrait of my American Beauty Butter box. I might try revisiting that to get the juices flowing, but I am really looking forward to painting a portrait of the jar pictured here. It belonged to my Gramma Evans. She loved to shoot craps (she lived in Las Vegas), but I never knew she sewed, much less embroidered. I already have a little narrative composed for the painting of this jar and its contents, and I can't wait to get started.

FROM THE AMY ART ARCHIVES

I did this painting when I was in kindergarten. Obviously, I eventually ditched the whole figurative thing. But butterflies, they still crop up in my paintings from time to time. What I love about this, though, is that the little blue-headed figure is so happy. And so grounded.

Maybe I already had some ideas about living in Mississippi.

GLORY

I've been meaning to share the story behind "Glory" ever since I posted it as the Painting of the Week.

When I was teaching at the High School for the Performing and Visual Arts (HSPVA) in Houston, I taught a printmaking class. So much of printmaking is so technical and requires such lethal chemicals--acid, turpentine, and the like--I made sure to incorporate a more gentle and by default, I suppose, more immediate approach to making prints: the potato print.

I think all of us, at one time or another, made potato prints. Unfortunately, the process has been relegated to classes that also include finger painting and paste eating. But when I was in art school at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), Archie Rand visited our campus. I'm not sure exactly why or for how long, but I definitely remember him being there. Anyway, he was making these incredible mural-sized works that were collections of--you guessed it--potato prints. They were impressive due to their sheer scale, but they were also quite beautiful. I developed a new respect for the marriage of potatoes and ink.

So part of my printmaking class at HSPVA incorporated vegetable prints and eraser prints. The base of my "Glory" painting is part of a quick eraser print demo I did, wherein I carved the image of a tooth into a gum eraser and printed it multiple times on a large piece of paper. The whole thing took me all of about ten minutes. When I was done, I was so fond of the resulting image, that I used it as a ground for a painting. Part of the print is mounted onto wood, then painted and drawn on, creating the finished piece above.

Now the theme of the painting is a different story entirely. Ever had those dreams where your teeth are falling out. I seem to have them when I'm particularly stressed. When I made this painting, I had just turned thirty and was about to make a big move to Mississippi (ahem, that was six years ago), which I guess I was a little anxious about. The other elements of the painting are, of course, the number 30, the word cake, the pink around the tooth (sweet tooth that ate the cake), a glass (for a toast), wishbone (for good luck), and the word glory (glory, glory hallelujah kind of thing that I'm embarking on this wonderful adventure), and then a stamp with the date of my birthday that year. If memory serves, the flood of orange is simply a design element--a vehicle for highlighting part of the word and many of the teeth.

My artists friend Bennie Flores Ansell owns this painting. Bennie creates beautiful installations of butterflies that are actually photographs of pairs of shoes reduced to the size of butterflies. Beautiful stuff. I miss you Bennie! Hope you're enjoying your painting.