Everything's Relative

Here are the ten phases of painting, at least in my book:

• Enthusiasm - Defined as the stage when I have selected an image and can just picture it in my head how it will turn out. I can't wait to start the new project and tend to dive in head first, almost before cleaning my last pallet.

• Optimism - The drawings look good and I've got it transferred to the canvas and have blocked in the color. Everything is going swimmingly and I lose myself in the project. 

• Fear - Suddenly something looks off. The more I try to resolve the issue the worse it seems to get.

• Avoidance - Every time I walk past my studio I wince in pain at the...

• Loss - Of all of my previous enthusiasm and optimism. I find excuses not to paint. This is when a good deal of housework gets done. Even brass gets polished.

• Resolve - Gritting my teeth I convince myself I can fix this and move ahead.

• Despair - Prior fears get the best of me and I start doubting the whole thing.

• Distance - I start looking at it from 20 feet away and, hmmm, it doesn't look half bad. I check it out in the morning as I head down for my coffee and again at night before I go to bed and I start thinking things might be okay.

• Renewal - I take a "to hell with it" attitude and forge ahead. Inevitably the background gets finished and things begin to look good. I add highlights and deepen shadows and I squeak through to...

• Ta da! It all falls into place and I come to love the thing that a few days ago was a hopeless mess. 

Relativity © Lissa Banks 2018

Such is the life cycle of a painting. I named this one Relativity because time seemed to have stood still during its completion. If I hadn't been tracking my hours at the easel I would have sworn it took me weeks and weeks to finish. It didn't...it was a relatively quick finish. The pain and agony are forgotten and I start thinking, mmm, maybe I should start painting people again.

I invite you to visit my website where you can now sign up to receive now and again emails that will keep you up to date with where I’m showing, when I post these musings, and when I am offering special sales and promotions! My site is secure and I PROMISE never to sell your information.

  For more about my work follow me on Facebook or visit my website Lissa Banks Paintings to learn how to purchase an original. You can purchase prints for sale at  FineArtAmerica.com.

Out of Darkness

Sunbathing Clementine © 2014 Lissa Banks

I had been feeling a lack in the inspiration department. My drawings looked flat. My paintings seemed dull. None of my inspiration photos were inspiring. And the garden had been singing its siren song.

I wondered when my muse would return. Could I drag it back by force? What was this place I inhabited these days? Was this my bardo, the transition between death and rebirth,  or as Sogyal Rinpoche writes "the oscillation between clarity and confusion, bewilderment and insight"?

I was floundering and desperately looking for some insight.

Then last Wednesday I delivered a painting I'd submitted to a juried show. A painting that had once kicked off a flurry of inspiration (my clementine series) to a show I really didn't know much about when I'd sent in my entries. I realize I do this a lot. Enter first, ask questions last.

When I drove up to the Danforth I realized this wasn't a little suburban gallery, this was a MUSEUM! With a permanent collection and donors and everything! I signed their papers and handed my painting off to a woman wearing white cotton gloves. My painting was going to hang in a museum exhibit! It was amazing.

Something changed after that. My work took on a new life. I took on a new life. I'd been reborn into my studio. I want all of my work to be worthy of a place like the Danforth Museum. What a powerful motivator such a simple act of walking up some steps and walking through a door has proved itself to be.

The garden will still beckon and I'll continue to stumble through bardo after bardo but I've tasted this moment and I like it. I'll have another, please.


  For more about my work follow me on Facebook or visit my website Lissa Banks Paintings to learn how to purchase an original, a print or to commission a painting...or find me on Pinterest. Or you can find this and other this and other prints for sale at FineArtAmerica.com.

Unfinished Business

I’ve spent the better part of the past couple of weeks or so out in my garden. There were raised boxes to fill and flower beds to turn, and amend and turn again. I dug up turf, lovingly relocating clumps of it to bare spots and divots in my lawn. And since there were more bare spots than there were bits of sod, there was seed to sow.

I scratched at that soil and harvested a barrel’s worth of stones then laid little kernels of hope into slim rows. I stood in the breezy April chill as the spray from the hose drifted back onto my face and watered more than the soil and its promise.

Nothing has sprung to life just yet. 

Eventually comes the point when I’m pretty sure nothing will come of my efforts. I’ve wasted time I could have spent in the studio, or writing to a friend, baking cookies or laughing with a sister. And even if something does live, it will surely be devoured by insects, or chipmunks or the deer that linger at the edges of my lawn.

Before I began on this horticultural tear I had begun yet one more clementine portrait. I’d come upon an image I’d forgotten and I did so love that series. I got just to the point where there is form but little substance. There is promise but also the promise of failure, of disappointment.

It wasn’t hard to turn away and to turn towards the earth.

With the hard evidence of the intractable soil under my fingernails, I recall the pleasure I get from plunging my hands into the dirt. Of prying out a big old rock that’s in my way. Of the smell of the earth. Of the wriggly worms. Of my knees bending on the damp soil. Of the act of hope that the marvel of creation can happen once again and that I could have some small part in it.

So while I wait for that moment to come, for that little miracle, I will return to that clementine that came to sit on my table and look so luscious that I just had to open it up and find it beautiful and want to paint it. And with paint on and in my hands I will once again hope for another kind of miracle and a different kind of creation.

A Different Kind of Portrait

Hungry

Come December, despite the sensory overload of holiday lights, music, food and good will to all mankind, something like a lowly piece of fruit sitting alone on the table can reach deeply into one's psyche. The simplicity, the brilliance of a clementine reached mine.

It started innocently enough. I was hungry. I grabbed a piece of fruit, got half way through peeling it when something distracted me. I came back to see this lovely thing begging to be acknowledged. Vulnerable, half exposed, cradled by its shell. A photo snapped before it was devoured. The result:

Sunbathing Clementine © Lissa Banks 2014

The first gave me a taste for more. And the more I worked with the subject the more I found myself imbuing them with human traits. They were alternatively straightforward and welcoming...

Miss Clementine © Lissa Banks 2014

...generous and kind...

Open Hand © Lissa Banks 2015

...seductive and secretive...

Temptress © Lissa Banks 2015

...and jealous.

Gossip © Lissa Banks 2015

Yes, I was a bit anthropomorphic I admit. But they seemed to have personalities in their little bumps and dimples, blemishes and brightness. They became my companions and when I finished one I rushed to start another. I might keep going as they are imminently enjoyable. That is, if I don't polish off my subject matter before their season ends.