Quiet Sunset, daily painting by Everglades Artist Jo-Ann Sanborn

Quiet Sunset, 2015, Jo-Ann Sanborn

acrylic on board, 5"x 7" - sold

After searching the Internet for solutions, and trying many of them over the past few weeks, I'm finally once again able to upload photos to my blog, The answer for me seems to be downloading and switching to the browser Chrome. So far, it's lovey.  With a painting to show you, I can write to you between monthly newsletters and keep you up to date on what's going on in the arts and around Marco. Remember, if it gets too much, you can always unsubscribe at the bottom of each post.

What fun it was to be able to attend the Marco Island Center for the Arts Gala last week.  It was held at the Country Club which is always a treat to visit.  I sat with some people who have been helping me out in the studio as well as some good friends.  The night was colorful, delightful, and full of surprises.  Congrats to all who made it possible. To see what else they're planning, click here.

I'll be teaching a three-day workshop through the Center for the Arts next week, so I'm deep in the specifics of teaching art again.  I've made a couple of handouts because I know how hard it is to remember everything a teacher might say.  Having some written words in front of you, and a place to take notes will help to reinforce the lessons.  We'll spent some time in the studio, I'll demo a bit, and we'll work from photos.  Then we'll go outside, and really look at the landscape.  That's where the real learning takes place as students use their eyes and palettes to interpret what's in front of them. Since you may not be able to attend, I'll post some of the information we discuss here for you, too!

Blank Canvas and Quiet Sunset, daily painting by Everglades artist Jo-Ann Sanborn

Quiet Sunset, 2013, Jo-Ann Sanborn

acrylic on board, 5"x7"

 

 

When looking at a blank canvas, the possibilities are endless.  Freshly into the start of a painting, my energy level is high and I have a wonderful sense of freedom, and confidence.  I spend a couple of hours or more in this nirvana, enjoying the flow of the paint, the clean palette choices, making decisions about composition.  This stage is the joy of painting, often called "the zone." 

After a while I step back and take a look.  I usually walk away from the easel at this point, do something else for a minute, and then go back to assess my efforts after my eye has been refreshed.  When everything looks good, I continue, but more often than not I have to face the agony of reality. The composition needs to be adjusted.  What I've painted might have strayed from what the client and I talked about.  The color strategy could need strengthening.  Or worse, "What was I thinking?" 

Then the real work of painting begins.  The next few days or hours or weeks are spent getting a painting to a point where the painting can stand on its own, has a life of its own, and doesn't need me anymore.  It lives and breathes separately, without any help from me.  Then, and only then is it done, ready to go out into the world, into someone else' home or space, and hopefully, to bring them joy.