musings from the studio and beyond ~
dawn chandler’s reflections on art and life. . . .
the very large triptych, part 4 ~ experiencing the sky
I was worried about clouds: I needed clouds to pull off the Very Large Triptych.
But clouds were no guarantee. Just the year before, the only clouds over New Mexico from April to June were smoke clouds. And the year before that, our traditional summer rains never developed. I’ve lived in New Mexico for 30 years.* When I think of beautiful Land of Enchantment clouds and skies, I think of summer. True, we get colorful skies throughout the year. But when I think magnificent Land of Enchantment cloud formations, I think summertime. I don’t think of spring.
So you better believe it was a powerful good omen when, on April 26 — the day RAS and I were to sign our Very Large Triptych commission agreement — the sky filled with gorgeous clouds.** And when a rare spring rainbow appeared later that day? Talk about auspicious!
From late April through mid-July I made over a dozen trips to RAS’s roof. Come many a late afternoon, if I saw clouds developing, I’d throw together a picnic supper, grab my camera, and drive out there to sit on the roof.
Sometimes the clouds proved disappointing. Yet it was still a joy to sit out there under the New Mexico sky with nothing to do but gaze. Ravens and crows cawed all around me. Several resident ducks flapped and swam in a nearby pond. Somewhere out there was a Pied-billed Grebe.
Most of my excursions were in the evening. Twice though I drove out for sunrise. What a delight to welcome the day with a thermos of tea in one hand, my camera in the other.
One evening stands out: The night I was dive-bombed by marauding nighthawks. Swooping in graceful arcs against a dramatic sunset sky, it was all I could do to try to capture those “bullbats” with my camera. Alas, my camera skills are poor, but those aerobatic soarers are forever etched in my mind’s eye.
Firmly in Phase One of the project, my focus — as planned — was on photography. Yet I was itching to wet a brush. So I continued the tradition I’d begun on April 1 at the Caja. Take photos in the evening, then follow-up by jotting notes and painting watercolors in my triptych journal:
To further acquaint my Muse with composing landscape in a very W I D E horizontal format, I played around with painting small (5″ x 20″) and quick study landscapes. These did in acrylic on Multimedia ArtBoard, proportionate to the overall Very Large Triptych:
Meanwhile I was busy gauging and ordering supplies: Quantities of oil paint, two additional easels, and three top-of-the-line custom canvases. After contemplating my space for several months, I realized that the best space in my home to paint the Very Large Triptych was my living room. It simply has better light and more space (at least it would once I moved most of its furnishings into my studio…). Huge sheets of cardboard and rolls of duct tape were added to my shopping list, so as to protect the living room floor.
Now was the time, too, to prep panels for Phase Two (creating oil studies based on the photos). Fortunately My Good Man (a soon to be world class master woodworker) had recently graduated from an Intro to Woodworking class and had access to power tools. I told him what I needed and a few days later he, like the prince that he is, delivered a load of beautiful clean cut boards to me.
*Wow! Has it really been that long?!
** Incredibly we had lots and lots of clouds last spring, for 2023 was one of the wettest springs in memory. Unfortunately, it was followed by one of the driest summers in memory: monsoon season — which usually lasts several weeks — lasted exactly one day in my neighborhood (a Tuesday).
This is part four of a several part series:
the very large triptych, part one ~ the request
the very large triptych, part two ~ the proposal
the very large triptych, part three ~ discovering the landscape
the very large triptych, part four ~ experiencing sky **
the very large triptych, part five ~ painting the studies
the very large triptych, part six ~ new studio & first strokes
the very large triptych, part seven ~ the big reveal
the very large triptych, part eight ~ delivery & installation
Thanks for finding your way here and for reading my musings. If you think others might appreciate them, feel free to share this post. If you’d like to read more of my musings please consider subscribing to this, my blog.
Meanwhile, find more of my stories, insights and art here on my website www.taosdawn.com. Shop my art via my Etsy shop. And please consider joining me for TuesdayDawnings, my weekly deep breath of uplift, insight, contemplation & creativity. Find other ways to keep tabs on me via my connect page.
Stay safe. Be kind. Notice what you notice.
~ Dawn Chandler
Painting, writing, photographing, hiking, noticing and breathing deeply in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Free from social media since 2020.
the very large triptych, part 3 ~ discovering the landscape
On April first 2023 I began my immersion into the panoramic landscape. RAS would be back in Santa Fe later in the month, when we’d sign an agreement for the very large triptych commission. Although they graciously invited me to go out to their place whenever I wanted, I was reluctant to go on their property until we had a signed agreement. Yet I was eager to acquaint myself more deeply with the land and sky I’d be painting. So I ventured out as close as I could get: I went into the Caja.
When you look west from Santa Fe to the Jemez Mountains and Los Alamos, you gaze across the vast pinon- and juniper-dotted high desert of the Caja del Rio. I’ve written about this sacred, vital, and beloved land in my blog post history and mystery in the new mexico landscape. The main access point to the Caja from Santa Fe involves driving through Las Campanas to the long washboarded dirt Old Buckman Road. Late in the day, and especially on weekends, the road becomes a band of dust as pickup trucks loaded with ATVs speed on their way to the trails honey-combing the hills of the Caja.
In early spring there wasn’t much color to the earth and sky out there, nor were there interesting clouds. Yet it was still satisfying to be out there among pinon and juniper and ravens under the big blue dome.
And, as I discovered on my several excursions in early April, as nightfall approaches and the motorized traffic and dust settle down, if you’re paying attention, enchantment emerges…
Cervus canadensis: Elk, also known as “wapiti,” which, I just learned from professor Wiki, come from the Shawnee and Cree word for “white rump.”
After each excursion I returned home to review my photos and make notes and watercolors in my VLT journal….
This is part three of a several part series:
the very large triptych, part one ~ the request
the very large triptych, part two ~ the proposal
the very large triptych, part three ~ discovering the landscape **
the very large triptych, part four ~ experiencing sky
the very large triptych, part five ~ painting the studies
the very large triptych, part six ~ new studio & first strokes
the very large triptych, part seven ~ the big reveal
Thanks for finding your way here and for reading my musings. If you think others might appreciate them, feel free to share this post. If you’d like to read more of my musings please consider subscribing to this, my blog.
Meanwhile, find more of my stories, insights and art here on my website www.taosdawn.com. Shop my art via my Etsy shop. And please consider joining me for TuesdayDawnings, my weekly deep breath of uplift, insight, contemplation & creativity. Find other ways to keep tabs on me via my connect page.
Stay safe. Be kind. Notice what you notice.
~ Dawn Chandler
Painting, writing, photographing, hiking, noticing and breathing deeply in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Free from social media since 2020
the very large triptych, part 2 ~ the proposal
On March 1st, 2023 our schedules finally aligned so that we could all meet in person at RAS’ Las Campanas home. From the moment I met them, RAS’ enthusiasm and appreciation for my art and me made me feel like a rock star.
After chatting for a bit and admiring their beautiful art collection, I asked to see the view they wanted painted.
From their rooftop deck are panoramic vistas of the Jemez to the west and Sangre de Cristos to the east. In late winter all the landscape — earth and sky, summits and sage — blended into each other in drab shades of khaki green, tan and blue-grey. But I could just imagine how spectacular and vibrant the views were going to be come summertime rain.
Initially RAS had in mind a dramatic sunset view for the triptych, but now they weren’t so sure — colorful sunrise over the Sangres? Dramatic sunset over the Jemez? Midday big blue sky and puffy white clouds? “We’re looking to you to guide us,” they said to me.
Back inside, TAC and I double-checked the measurements of the wall. I then considered the layout and decor of the living room, and shared my thoughts:
I suggest reducing the scale of the overall triptych, because I think 48″ x 60″ — which will make the whole thing 4′ x 15′ — may overwhelm the wall. I’d scale it down a little bit so that there’s white space all around to “frame” it, and give it some breathing room.
In terms of the sky, clouds definitely make for a more interesting painting. But I would avoid anything overly dramatic. A really intensely colored sunset, say, with lots of bright oranges and reds, might feel overpowering. Plus, this room already has a lot of warm colors. It might be nice for the triptych to have some cooler colors. So, for instance, a late afternoon scene, when the clouds are building in shades of purple-blue, but there’s still lots of blue sky peeking through.
TAC echoed these points, and RAS agreed.
“That all sounds good. We’re in no hurry — we want it done right — but just general, how long do you think it will take?” RAS asked.
The triptych would be going on the wall above the recessed shelves, replacing the taxidermic heads.
Basically I see this project having three components or phases: The first phase I’ll call “Discovery,” which will involve photography: Me coming out here and taking photos from your deck. This spring I’ll be on high alert to the sky, and whenever it looks like we’re going to have good cloud action, I’ll drive out here to take photos. I’m guessing I’d make a dozen or so trips out here.
The thing to keep in mind is that spring clouds can be pretty rare out here. Our best clouds usually come in summer, during the monsoons. Hopefully we’ll get good clouds this spring, but we’ll just have to wait and see.
Phase Two I’ll call ‘Exploration.’ This is when I’ll narrow down the photos to maybe a dozen of the very best. From those I’ll make several small oil painting studies to the scale of the overall triptych. Once the studies are complete, I’ll share them with you. Ideally there will be one that really speaks to you, and that’s the one that I’ll enlarge into the triptych. Phase Three is painting the triptych.
The photography phase will likely take the longest, since it depends on the weather. If I start coming out here in April, I’d anticipate taking photos through June or July — so three to four months for photography. Creating the studies will take probably four to six weeks, depending on how many I paint. Painting the overall triptych should go relatively quickly — maybe two to three months.
So… I’m guessing maybe by Christmas it’ll be done? I can’t guarantee that, but, if all goes as hoped for, I think that’s a reasonable date to aim for.
“That would be just great — but again, there’s no rush, we want it done right!”
After more conversation fueled by delicious eats, we bade our adieus with hugs all around.
I left feeling on Cloud Nine! and drove home with my head in the clouds.
The next day I ordered a new camera.
This is part two of a several part series:
the very large triptych, part one ~ the request
the very large triptych, part two ~ the proposal **
the very large triptych, part three ~ discovering the landscape
the very large triptych, part four ~ experiencing sky
the very large triptych, part five ~ painting the studies
the very large triptych, part six ~ new studio & first strokes
the very large triptych, part seven ~ the big reveal
the very large triptych, part eight ~ delivery & installation
Thanks for finding your way here and for reading my musings. If you think others might appreciate them, feel free to share this post. If you’d like to read more of my musings please consider subscribing to this, my blog.
Meanwhile, find more of my stories, insights and art here on my website www.taosdawn.com. Shop my art via my Etsy shop. And please consider joining me for TuesdayDawnings, my weekly deep breath of uplift, insight, contemplation & creativity. Find other ways to keep tabs on me via my connect page.
Stay safe. Be kind. Notice what you notice.
~ Dawn Chandler
Painting, writing, photographing, hiking, noticing and breathing deeply in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Free from social media since 2020
the very large triptych, part 1 ~ the request
This week I bade farewell to three close companions — three roommates. We’ve been living in close quarters since last summer. My roommates have been exciting company but they have also taken up a great deal of space mentally and physically. Indeed, they forced me to completely rearrange my home, and they’ve consumed my focus and artistic energy for months.
My three roommates?
Three giant canvases.
How these roommates came into my life is a journey that began in late November 2022. That’s when an art consultant found me online. He had a client from Texas — a newly married couple [I’ll call them “RAS”] — who had just bought a house in Las Campanas, a neighborhood of grand views and equally grand dwellings. RAS tasked The Art Consultant [“TAC”] with finding an artist to paint a large horizontal triptych (three-paneled painting) landscape of the view from their new house. TAC discovered me when doing a Google search for “New Mexico plein air painters.” He wrote to ask: Do you do commissions for private collectors?
It’s rare for me to accept commission work anymore, mainly because the requests don’t usually interest me. Even more than that though, I’d just rather focus on my own work. Yet this request was intriguing. That they wanted a triptych was unusual. And the scale of it — 24″ x 36″ — per panel was a bit intimidating, which made it kind of exciting.
I responded with interest. TAC said he’d get back to me in a few weeks, once he’d had a chance to meet with RAS at their place and discuss the project in more detail. He’d then get photos of the view, as well as the living room wall where the triptych would hang.
Then one evening a couple weeks later, for some reason I broke my rule of not checking email before bed. It was about 10:00pm when saw that I had a message from TAC: “Good news… you were selected for the triptych commission…. We had it narrowed down to you and one other artist going into our meeting. I hope you are looking forward to a large work, as they will want 3 48×60 canvases for this piece.“
48″ x 60″?
EACH?!
HOLY SHIT!
That’s larger than anything I’ve ever done! FIFTEEN FEET LONG! How the F*** am I going to fit that in my studio?!
I sprang out of my chair and into my studio. My heart pounding, my eyes bulging, I grabbed a tape measure and started taking measurements. Only one wall could possibly accommodate a triptych of that scale. I’d need to move a ton of stuff, and block out a window and door to make it work.
UGH. That would be a SUCH a pain-in-the-ass.
Could I do it? Could I paint such a huge painting? Do I even want to?
YES!
YOU HAVE TO! THIS IS THE UNIVERSE CHALLENGING YOU!
Surely somehow, someway I’d find a way!
Meanwhile, I wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon.
This is part five of a several part series:
the very large triptych, part one ~ the request **
the very large triptych, part two ~ the proposal
the very large triptych, part three ~ discovering the landscape
the very large triptych, part four ~ experiencing sky
the very large triptych, part five ~ painting the studies
the very large triptych, part six ~ new studio & first strokes
the very large triptych, part seven ~ the big reveal
the very large triptych, part eight ~ delivery & installation
Thanks for finding your way here and for reading my musings. If you think others might appreciate them, feel free to share this post. If you’d like to read more of my musings please consider subscribing to this, my blog.
Meanwhile, find more of my stories, insights and art here on my website www.taosdawn.com. Shop my art via my Etsy shop. And please consider joining me for TuesdayDawnings, my weekly deep breath of uplift, insight, contemplation & creativity. Find other ways to keep tabs on me via my connect page.
Stay safe. Be kind. Notice what you notice.
~ Dawn Chandler
Painting, writing, photographing, hiking, noticing and breathing deeply in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Free from social media since 2020
the BOOM! and enchantments of boring painting
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the idea of boring and being bored. One definition of boring I came across described it as “the state of feeling weary because one is unoccupied.” [OED]
That kind of weariness is something I’ve rarely experienced in my adulthood. Always there’s something on which to focus my eyes or my mind; something to look at [notice], something to contemplate, something to compose, something to hum. Even just sitting in stillness, without actively thinking about anything, rarely is boring for me. I tend to think people who complain a lot of “being bored” simply lack imagination.
Yet one area where I do experience something akin to boredom is with painting. Not the act of painting, but boredom in the outcome of painting. I’ll be working away just fine on a painting thinking, even, that it may be close to completion, when a little voice inside me whispers This painting is boring.
That’s what happened recently when I was nearly finished with a traditional landscape painting of a scene at the Bosque. The painting was pretty. Early on I’d painted several of the clouds “just right,” and had painted the rest of the scene carefully around them. I touched up a few more details and, just before signing it, stepped back to admire my work. The painting was complete, but… it seemed too careful. Nothing about it excited me; nothing drew me in and held me there.
That’s when I heard a quiet voice in my head:
This painting is boring.
Uh-oh. When that voice speaks, I know to listen. Always it speaks up to tell me I need to do something bold, something daring.
Left: c.2016, Wilson, my late great studio mascot and sentry, letting out a huge yawn to let me know she’s bored with having to wait for me to finish my plein air painting.
I had a tingly feeling … and then that voice again:
Kill it
I loaded up a palette knife and smeared yellow ocher across the sky.
BOOM!
I laughed out loud.
I plunged my palette knife into more colors, smearing them across the original landscape. Soon most of the original landscape was covered over. I turned the painting on its side, then took a cloth and wiped away some color, then turned it again. The quiet voice spoke again: Add a color you’ve never used. A friend had recently given me a huge box of her old oil paints, including many colors unknown to me. I closed my eyes, reached in the box and grabbed a random tube. It was a green I’d never consider adding to this painting. Yet there was that tingly feeling and that voice again: Do it!
BOOM!
Just what the painting needed.
That little inner voice — that voice of daring and imagination — had transformed my “boring” painting into something unexpected and exciting. It had urged me to leap from the safe into the unknown. To dwell in possibility.
The first time I remember hearing this inner voice when painting was as a young artist in my 20s. I was working on a giant canvas, nearly twice as tall as me. It wasn’t boredom that summoned the voice, rather preciousness. There was an area in the painting that I just loved, so I was pussy-footing around it, being careful not to ruin it. Which meant I was being too cautious. That’s when the little voice spoke up: You need to let that go — it’s holding you back. Destroy it.
Stephen King put it well in his advice to writers: “Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings.”
It’s scary to do this. Because of course the fear is that by destroying what you love, you’re going to ruin the whole thing. But in my experience that rarely, if ever, happens. Always when that voice arises urging me to “kill my darlings,” what emerges from the flames turns out to be far better than what had been.
Rick Rubin, in his book The Creative Act (essential reading for any creative) speaks brilliantly of this:
“There are times during the Craft phase when you hit a wall and the work isn’t getting any better. Before stepping away from the piece, it’s worth finding a way to break the sameness and refresh your excitement in the work, as if engaging with it for the first time.“
✨
“If we’re paying attention, we may notice that some of our most interesting artistic choices come about by accident. Springing from moments of communion with the work, when the self disappears. Sometimes they feel like mistakes.
These mistakes are the subconscious engaged in problem-solving. They’re a kind of creative Freudian slip, where a deeper part of you overrides your conscious intention and offers an elegant solution. When asked how it happened, you may say that you don’t know. It just came through you in the moment.
In time, we grow accustomed to experiencing moments that are difficult to explain. Moments where you give the art exactly what it needs, without intending to, where a solution seems as if it appeared without your intervention at all.
In time, we learn to count on the hand of the unknown.
For some artists, being surprised is a rare experience. But it’s possible to cultivate this gift through invitation.
✨
One way is through letting go of control. Release all expectations about what the work will be. Approach the process with humility and the unexpected will visit more often. Many of us are taught to create through sheer will. If we choose surrender, the ideas that want to come through us will not be blocked.
It’s similar to writing a book by following a detailed outline. Set aside the outline, write with no map, and see what happens. The premise you start with could develop into something more. Something you couldn’t have planned and would never have arisen if you were locked into following a particular script.
With your intention set, and the destination unknown, you are free to surrender your conscious mind, dive into the raging stream of creative energy, and watch the unexpected appear, again and again.
As each small surprise leads to another, you’ll soon find the biggest surprise:
You learn to trust yourself—in the universe, with the universe, as a unique channel to a higher wisdom.
This intelligence is beyond our understanding. Through grace, it is accessible to all.
~ Rick Rubin, The Creative Act
New Mexico Enchantments, 1 ~ oil on canvas ~ 24″ x 36″ ~ available on my Etsy shop
Going through my studio today, I find I have stacks and stacks of old paintings that now bore me. That quiet inner voice is stirring.
BOOM!
Thanks for finding your way here and for reading my musings. If you think others might appreciate them, feel free to share this post. If you’d like to read more of my musings please consider subscribing to this, my blog.
Meanwhile, find more of my stories, insights and art here on my website www.taosdawn.com. Shop my art via my Etsy shop. And please consider joining me for TuesdayDawnings, my weekly deep breath of uplift, insight, contemplation & creativity. Find other ways to keep tabs on me via my connect page.
Stay safe. Be kind. Notice what you notice.
~ Dawn Chandler
Painting, writing, photographing, hiking, noticing and breathing deeply in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Free from social media since 2020