Trash Heap Inspiration

I love to walk the empty hills and forgotten, half-finished roads of my Los Angeles neighborhood. I can take my dog off leash, and it is peaceful.

The urban views are great, (hmm, maybe a photo class field trip in the making) but what I most adore, is my beloved "Trash Heap." 

A relatively quiet day at the Trash Heap. The city comes by regularly to haul it away.
I can't help but be a little disappointed when I come across a recently emptied spot.

Two places along the hillside roads have become common illegal dump sites for the most wonderful variety of things. I know I'm supposed to be outraged, but I'm enamored. From construction material to children's toys to love letters, I've found it all.  Sometimes I bring things home to use in the home or garden:

These glass blocks came home with me. They are now book ends.

I considered taking home this angel head,
but when someone else created a "City of the Angels" art piece by tangling it in the fence, I left it there.

 

And some bamboo came home to replace a broken gate.

I bring home inspiration for my artwork, too. I'm currently working on a series of paintings based on papers found at the trash heap.

"Wishes; 1 - 100" oil on wood panel

This is from a child's first attempt at writing numbers 1 - 100. Dated on the back of the paper, saved since 1992, and now dumped at the trash heap. It seemed too special to pass by. A treasure map of sorts. See more of my artwork here.

Stay tuned for more Trash Heap Inspirations and Adventures..

Getting Back in the Studio

July and August are hectic months when I rarely get into my studio. 

July is Summer of Art at Otis College of Art and Design. Long, intense hours of teaching. But it's my favorite teaching assignment and each year I find myself saying: "That was my best group of young artists, ever!"
I say it every year. And every year I mean it!

Summer of Art student work. Final project: "Object with Meaning"

Summer of Art student work, final project

Summer of Art student work, final project

(To be honest, I haven't always said that. A few summers ago several students and parents pushed me to believe that I was DONE with teaching. But that's a 'nother story.)

And then, August is camping at the beach.

Camping at the Beach - nothing better

Summer of Art and camping are over now, and I'm back in my studio, relaxed and ready to work. 

After a slow start earlier this week, the inspiration is now coming fast and furious. I'm finishing a series of paintings, and have plans for a new series. An unexpected installation piece is taking shape on my studio wall and on my work table there's a long list of thoughts and projects. Pretty cool.

They say you can't wait for inspiration, you just have to get in the studio and get to work. Put pen to paper, or brush to canvas, or camera to eye, and begin. Something will happen, that's the promise.

And then, there are those days when inspiration is everywhere. When it's easy and you can't turn it off if you wanted to. When, even in the bathroom, sitting, thinking of nothing . . . 

Inspiration in a bath mat

 . .  .  a ragged, dirty bath mat catches your attention.

Nothing else to do, but go back in the studio, and be thankful for inspiration, no matter what the source.

Angry Frilly Fish Puppet

I'm Not Looking for Friends (Part II)

I've been in writing groups, critique groups, and volunteer organizations. I join these groups to do work, not to make friends. I have something to offer; the group has something to offer me. I'm not looking for someone new to chat with; I don't want to help anyone solve their problems; I'm not interested in their issues. Be my friend, or don't be my friend - it makes little difference to me. (From the Part I post)

A few months ago, I joined a critique group through the Los Angeles Art Association and Gallery 825.  Critique is work that I love. Difficult, fulfilling work. This new group was a rough start for me. Not because the critique was difficult, but because other people seem so much more interested than I in sitting around and making friends. Why do I get so impatient with that? I just want to show up and get down to the critique (or writing, or whatever!)

But sometimes friends just happen.

At a gallery opening, I found myself standing next to Jane from my critique group. Empty plastic wine glasses in hand, we had nothing else to do but chat. A gallery opening can be its own type of work: standing around, pretending to be cool, while desperately checking out anyone who is giving the slightest glimpse to your artwork on the wall - exhausting. But I tried my best, and Jane and I talked.

Then, a few weeks later, she asked if she could take my picture.

And darn it all, I made a friend in spite of myself.
Jane's good, huh? Check out more of Jane Szabo's photography at her website  www.janeszabophotography.com 

Homeschoolers taking pictures at Union Station

So, I led a photo walking tour in downtown Los Angeles with a bunch of homeschoolers. First stop was Union Station.

We introduced ourselves, then I said, "Go take some pictures."
(Ok, I said more than that. But not really.)


And they did. (Go take pictures, I mean.)

After a while, we regrouped and looked at some of their shots.

We huddled around our cameras.
We "oohed," we "aahed.

We discussed.

We held a mini-critique right in the middle of a train station.

Then I said, "Go take more pictures."

And they did . . . .

And just like always . . .

. . . they amazed me.

I'm Not Looking For Friends (Part I)

I've been in writing groups, critique groups, and volunteer organizations. I join these groups to do work, not to make friends. I have something to offer; the group has something to offer me. I'm not looking for someone new to chat with; I don't want to help anyone solve their problems; I'm not interested in their issues. Be my friend, or don't be my friend - it makes little difference to me.

I joined a writing group. I wanted to spend time writing. I love to write. And I recognize it as work. Writing is good, hard, fulfilling work. Writing Group:  Is it 7 p.m. on a Wednesday night? Well then, shut up, and commence to write. But Wait! What happened?

I said I wasn't looking for friends.

Through the work of weekly writing, I formed deeper friendships than ever would have been possible from chatting around a cup of coffee. There's no denying that despite my best efforts, that writing group - those four people - became my friends.

I'm in a new critique group. Critique is work that I love. Difficult, fulfilling work. And again, here I am, not looking for friends . . . (to be continued).

Sometimes I Get Sad

Sometimes I get sad and lost.
Sometimes I can't remember what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it.
Sometimes I just feel sorry for myself.

But then, I get to go back to work. And I remember how I get to spend my Saturdays surrounded by young people doing amazing things. Then I remember how I have a job that knocks my socks off, gives me goose bumps, makes me suck in my breath . . .

. . . and still allows me the time to go in my studio to do my own art work. . .

. . . then come home to a dog sleeping with his little pillow . . .
 

Sometimes I can't remember why I was ever feeling sorry for myself.

L.A. ArtCard

A long while back, I came across LA-artist.com . This guy will send you a blank postcard. Your job is to create a work of art on the card and mail it back. Fun idea and I wanted to participate. Then I sort of forgot. Today I got an email announcing the first ever ArtCard Book. Check it out. Did you see my piece? Try again, don't blink this time. (Hint - there's fruit.) Anyone can participate in this project. Go ahead. It's fun. And just think how cool it is for the mail carrier on this guy's route!

Digital? Bah! Humbug!

Yesterday was the last day of my photography class at UrbanHomeschoolers (UHS). And we did what any good photography class should do . . . we played with balloons!

 

In this class of homeschoolers, I didn't get as much technical information across as I had originally planned for. Today, if you asked my students about aperture, depth of field, shutter speed, or light meters - they probably wouldn't know much more than when we started months ago.  But ask them to share their photos and discuss their work - watch out!!

They used digital cameras, cell phones, tablets - anything that takes a picture. If you know me, I'm not a willing participant of the digital world. I don't own a cell phone. I'm not a fan of the digital camera. I still do most of my shooting with film. My opinion of the digital world runs more towards Bah, humbug. And Harrumph! I'm not on Facebook. Perhaps you've even heard a Look-How-Digital-has-Ruined-Everything rant from me.

But this group of kids, using only digital technology, produced work that awed and inspired me. They had an incredible eye for composition. There was a flare for the dramatic, and just as often, a sophisticated subtlety that pleased me to my core.

How did they do that? With such ease and confidence?

Ok. They're homeschoolers. A big part of homeschooling is about following the child's interests; it's about exploring; it's about going forward with confidence even if your path is not along the accepted norm. As homeschoolers, it seems they could do nothing less than step out into the world (or neighborhood, in this case) and bring back something amazing for me to see.

But they also showed me that there just might be something to all this digital mumbo-jumbo I have come to hate. They showed me that the abundance of images they've been surrounded by in their short lives has helped them create an understanding and a sophisticated dialogue that I do not think would have been possible "back in my day." And the ease of the digital camera (or cell phone, or tablet) allowed an instant leap forward, where content could rule.

With each new session of classes, I'm full of plans, brimming with information and technique I'm eager to share, full of goals about what I want to teach and where I want each student to be at the end of my class. I teach a lot of different classes in a lot of different places to wide range of ages, abilities, and learning styles. But always, ALWAYS, my students surprise me by teaching me something new. I never needed to be convinced about the great advantages of homeschooling. But I did need a big shove in the direction of appreciating the digital world.

(My next photo class at UHS begins June 10.)

Down By the River

Today, Donkey and I went down to the river. The Los Angeles River.

I've lived in the Los Angeles area all my life.

I was an adult before I realized that there was such a thing as the Los Angeles River. And it took several more years to realize that all those "washes" running through the neighborhoods of my childhood are actually creeks and brooks feeding into the river.

There are parts of the river, within a few miles of my home, that are truly lovely.

I even met a man fishing. 

They say the carp caught here are remarkably clean. He confirmed that they're good eating. They're going on the bar-b-q, he said.





The river is fast becoming one of my new favorite places. And, as always with Los Angeles, the city is never far behind. Which is OK by me.



At the end of October, I'll be spending a day with a group of homeschoolers, down at the river, making art.


Info about the river (past, present, future) can be found at
Friends of the Los Angeles River.

Overheard

Woman to companion, as they exited the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in downtown Los Angeles: "It's exhausting, all of this art, isn't it?" 

My weary head nodded in agreement as I headed home.

The How of It

Art college for the fine artist is all about the why of it - theory and critique. It's all about figuring out why you are making art.

In art college, very little is directed to the how of it. No one taught me how to prepare a canvas or organize a palette of colors. No one showed me how Rembrandt or Rubens painted.

Now, it's time to learn the how.

I'm taking a painting class that is the exact opposite of the painting classes I had in college. This one is all technique and no content. No one cares why I'm painting; they only care how.  A hard mental switch, and a slow process of painting. But I'm happy. (See the finished painting here)

The underdrawing on my carefully prepared wooden panel

Parents, Friends, Grown-ups

Drawing "class" at Otis
Found in the photo archives of the Los Angeles Public Library

Many parents, friends, and otherwise grown-ups have said, "I want to take a class with you."

Was that you? Maybe you were caught up in the excitement and only half-kidding, but I do have a class or two for you:

This Saturday, September 8, begins my next 10-week sessions at Otis. These are observational drawing classes, beginning and advanced, taught on the campus of Otis College of Art and Design in the Westchester neighborhood of Los Angeles (near LAX). Open to students of all ages, (high school and up) these classes are billed as "Portfolio Development" for people working towards art college admissions. But people take my class for a variety of reasons. For some, it's their very first drawing class ever; sometimes older students are looking to change careers to the art/design field; I've had others who for years have taken art classes in their spare time, with no intention of attending art school; and still others who are putting the finishing touches on their admissions portfolio, working up the courage and the mind-set for art college.

It doesn't matter to me what your reason for taking my class; I'm just glad you'll be there. And if you grown-ups are worried about it, I guarantee you won't be the oldest student I've taught.

Living Without a Cell Phone

My teenage student opens her eyes wide. I have just told her that I don't have a cell phone. She stammers. "But . . . but . . . but . . ." She can't understand. "What if you need to talk to your mom?"

I am touched. What if I need to talk to my mom? She implies that her mom is important to her. What would she do if she couldn't talk to her mom? Call her for advice? Hear her voice when she's sad, or unsure, or afraid of the choices she needs to make? I want to say, "My mom is dead." But that's not the point. I could say, "I will talk to her later," or "I like to get letters."

Out of the frying pan into the fire. Take the bull by the horns. My mother, during a particularly bad time in my life, wrote me a letter full of these types of sayings. I loved her for it. There were no cell phones, and I was half a world away. She was as helpless as I in the situation. A letter arriving on a cold cloudy morning, with her familiar script on the white envelope. I held it cradled in my hands and read the address - me, in a foreign country. I soaked in the return address - her, in a familiar and warm and sunny place. My bedroom window faced a neighbor's pasture, then trees on rolling hills. All I saw was cold snow falling and a smoky room from endlessly lit cigarettes.

Somewhere, in a cardboard box in my closet, or maybe under my bed, I have my letters from my mom stored away. Somewhere, I have her advice tucked away safe. I can talk to her later. Yes, that's what I can say. That's what I can do.

So Worth It

July is pretty crazy for me. I work almost every day of the week, on my feet for 7 hours, commuting at least an hour each way, no air conditioning in my car. (Last Thursday it took 2 hours to get home!) I arrive home with just enough energy to eat dinner (provided by my son - YAY son!) and then fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. The other night, my dreams were about being exhausted.

Sunday is my recooperating day, and boy do I need it. Though by late Sunday afternoon I always start thinking about my classes again.

But it isn't with dread of the coming Monday. It's with eager anticipation.

I actually start looking forward to it all again. I forget the commute, the tired feet, the exhausted brain.

Instead, I remember the thrill I get when a beginning student pulls together a drawing like this . . .

. . . and I remember the look on that student's face when she realizes that she can do something that she didn't even know was in her.

And I can't wait for tomorrow when I get to see her finished drawing (see up there on the top right?) even though I already gave her an 'A' and there's no reason to go that extra mile except that now she knows that it's worth it.

So worth it.

Fun Objects, Amazing Students

Back to another session of Observational Drawing at Otis College of Art and Design. I find myself saying it every new session: "These are my best students, EVER."  And I'm saying it again!

Besides the floating pear (it's not finished) this is a rather AMAZING drawing to be coming out of a beginning drawing student. Give it a cast shadow and that pear will settle right down.


And this . . .

She even missed a day of class and still got right down to work to produce this drawing (above). Confidence, willingness, committment . . . look what we get!

And a close up of this one . . . just makes me smile. Besides being a nice use of the charcoal, doesn't it look like that pig is so enjoying a scratch under the chin?

We are so lucky to have use of this room at Otis College. Such a treat to spend my Saturdays in a room filled with fun objects and fantastic students.

How to Clean a Bone

If you happen to find a bone . . . first - OFFER IT TO ME.


But let's pretend you want to keep your bone. It probably needs a bit of cleaning. Most people think they should boil or bleach it. STOP. Both of those methods are bad for your bone. Here's all you need to do:

1. Remove as much remaining animal matter as possible.

This little bone is pretty clean, but still needs a bit of work.

2. Place the bone in water; leave it in a warm spot.

Beware of two things:  a.) It can get smelly, so you don't want it on top of your refrigerator. b.) It can get smelly, so if you leave it outside some other animal may decide it's a tasty treat.

3. Replace with fresh water often. Keep changing the water until it stays clear.

Beware of one thing: sometimes teeth fall out during this process so be careful when you dump that water. Teeth are the best part and you don't want to lose them.

This is my student's super cool dog skull. It's just about ready.

4. When the water stays clear, it's time to submerge it in hydrogen peroxide. (Bleach will make your bone brittle.) Leave it in the hydrogen peroxide until it's the desired whiteness.

5. Now it should be clean and white, and ready for anything. Even some gold leaf.

"Corpus Delicti, Cat Skull"

That's a Chair

books saved from a library purge

I recently finished reading To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. It was my third attempt over several years. I love her writing, but at the same time, finishing any book by this writer is a struggle for me. Her sentences tend to flow around me and I get caught up in the sound of it, falling in love with the rhythm and the words. By the end of a sentence, I'm often left in a daze, with no idea what's going on.

But I knew exactly what was going on when Lily Briscoe, an artist in the story, says this:

"One wanted. . . to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that's a chair, that's a table, and yet at the same time, it's a miracle, it's an ecstasy."

Yes. I understood that. That's it. That's what I want my students to feel. But I think that I won't assign To the Lighthouse for their summer reading.

Otis Summer of Art classes begin Monday, July 9.

How I Spent Mother's Day

Here's how I spent my Mother's Day . . .
. . . drawing tiny fruit. Each piece of fruit is 1-1/2 inches square. The entire sheet is just under 8-1/2" x 11".  Later I will cut, heat, and shrink them down to about 5/8" each.

Believe it or not, spending hours drawing tiny fruit makes me pretty happy.

The only thing that made it even better . . .
. . . taking a long break to lay in the hammock in the back yard while my guys bar-b-cued ribs and bacon-wrapped corn on the cob.

As I lay in the hammock, listening to the birds and the conversation, I noticed how unusually quiet it was in our little section of northeast L.A. - no baseball games at the park, no cars racing down Eastern Ave., not even a police helicopter circling overhead. Everyone, it seems, was at home quietly celebrating their mom.

Too Focused on Results

When we are tense, nothing much good happens. When we are too focused on the result, the result actually suffers. When our expectations of ourselves are too close to the surface, they get in the way of fulfilling the very expectations that we know we are capable of and most need to meet.

Last week in life drawing class, we did quick ink wash drawings. Poses were three minutes only. In that short amount of time, we tried to get to the essence of the pose, with as few lines as possible getting movement, mass, and elegance. There wasn't enough time to worry about whether that swipe of ink was the perfect outline.

In this exercise, if you're tense, nothing much good happens. If you're too focused on the result, you'll never have the faith to leap ahead, jump right in, before time is up.

And to make things even better, we worked on scraps of paper, envelopes, pages torn from discarded books. This artwork was starting out as trash, so what worries could we possibly have?

After an hour or so of those ink wash drawings, we settled into a longer pose. I had dropped my expectations and no longer seemed to care about the perfect figure drawing.

And now, finally, I'm starting to get some results.