Gratitude

 

This last week has been a whirlwind of happy circumstances. After announcing that Amy and I will be  closing our gallery, our collectors stepped in to buy art. Four paintings are going to Rising Fawn, Georgia, two to Fort Collins, Colorado, one to Glenwood Springs Co., one to Las Cruces New Mexico, and three go to Kerrville, Texas. 

  

Paintings go to two homes in Santa Fe. Collectors from Albuquerque, NM bought one and a collector from Edmond Oklahoma bought one. 

We are grateful for all the sales during the pandemic. Many businesses have been severely impacted; including our gallery. 

We had planned to close when our rent was scheduled to increase drastically beginning in 2021. Then we decided to quit early, and now we are going month-to-month, with the probability of shuttering by the end of the year.

Now we know we can for sure make virtual sales.

Murmuring Sweet Nothings

Cottonwoods at River Edge, oil on linen, 14 x 18 inches, by STEVEN BOONE

To be a landscape painter is is to marvel at the beauty of nature and be its lover. An artist can stand in one spot for hours, looking fondly at his subject . . . caressing endlessly with his eyes, and murmuring sweet nothings.

There are two spectacular fall happenings here in Northern New Mexico. The first is the changing of aspen trees. Aspen are known to be one of natures largest phenomena, since many trees are in fact one—they are a one root system, spreading and sprouting up out of the earth in mass, covering mountain terrain. The “quaking aspen,” are called that because their small heart-shaped leaves tremble and shimmer in a breeze. They turn vibrant gold in the autumn. Here in Santa Fe, entire mountainsides blaze with their color. The show lasts about two weeks. 

About the time that display ends, another is beginning. The mighty cottonwood trees that need more water and grow along the Rio Grande River turn bright yellow. The cottonwood is one of the largest hardwood trees in North America, with thick, fissured bark, and leaves that are flat and diamond shaped. I love to listen to the leaves when they have turned dry and brown, and some remain on the tree. When a breeze blows, the leaves bump each other and make a pleasant clacking noise.

 Yesterday, Heidi Of The Mountains worked half a day at a local art gallery, then came home and we packed up the car to go out painting. We drove north, toward Taos, and at one point the two lane road enters a narrow canyon that follows along the Rio Grande River. And this is where cottonwood trees live. They make a breathtaking display in the brilliant New Mexico light, especially on clear days when their boughs form a fan shape of golden leaves that shout with glee against the deep blue sky. The canyons, purple and grey, and spotted deep green with low lying juniper and pinon trees, lurch downward toward the blue Rio Grande River—and this completes the scene. 

Heidi's River, oil on board, 9 x 12 inches
by LORI BOONE

We found our spot, set up our easels and painted. My wife had never painted a river before. I have thirty years of practice. Once started, she went non-stop until I looked behind and saw that she was half done while I was only beginning. This is her enthusiasm that makes her throw herself into something with all her weight. I relaxed, and let myself be led by pleasure and the dance of my nervous system playing with the paints and making song with colors and brush.

The air temperature was perfect, and the gurgling river accented the silence. Nature blazed all around, giving itself to seed and glorious sight—swooning at the end of gay summer and the entrance of frosty winter. Before long, the shadows had lengthened and the sun was setting behind the plateau. We stood back and examined our efforts, gave thanks for a satisfying adventure and headed home.

Deserved Praise

“Welcome everybody, and I am glad you are here today. We are going to have fun!” And with that greeting, I began the three hour session called, Palette Knife Painting.  The class was offered at a four day art expo, occurring at a sprawling resort and casino complex called Buffalo Thunder, on an Indian reservation outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

 

Oil on canvasboard, 16 x 20 inches

Twelve people participated, and took chances exploring territory they had never been before. I insisted that they not judge themselves, but let the creativity flow and experiment. In front, elevated so all could see, I put one of my paintings—a simple composition of a sunset, with a bit of landscape at the bottom and the greater portion of the canvas, swirling, flaming sky, in a sea of blue.

I demonstrated and talked as the class proceeded.

The trick with palette knife painting is to be able to mix proper colors and then apply them on a drawing, keeping fresh and not muddy. It is a great way to show texture, and flare in handling of the paint. 

 

Each person had something in their work that warranted praise. I could see sometimes that they were lost, and in some case the colors had been muddied, but then, I could find some marks that showed resolve and freshness. So I gave praise. 

In some instances, the person was more adept, and the creation was more pleasing and harmonious. 

Everyone deserved praise for stepping into the unknown with me, and learning.

Emblems Of Love

Usually, when I visit my parents in Santa Barbara, California, I also set up my easel and make a painting in their yard. They have cultivated a garden and take care of their corner lot, with its giant pine trees, orange and lemon trees, and tall hedge that guards the perimeter of the property. The last time I spoke with my mother and talked about her beloved rose plants, she said, “Oh yes, they are beginning to bloom. You know Steven, I have eighty rose bushes and they each have at least ten flowers . . . that is 800 flowers!” 

   

I know the yard well—and all the varieties of color and scent of her roses. She has a special relationship with the plant life around her, and holds conversations with the growing things that exist in her surroundings. 

Although my parents are advanced in age and becoming frail, they take deep satisfaction in their surroundings. The bird feeder outside the dining room window is replenished, a man comes regularly to mow the lawn and trim the hedges, and my mother prays every day in thanks for the elements and nature around her.

I know that the jasmine outside their backdoor is now finishing its bloom. Its unmistakable fragrance is etched in my memory.

Hopefully, I can arrive there again in the next few months . . . and make another painting. I always call it “Mother's Backyard” and after I bring it back to Santa Fe, it always sells to someone who finds emblems of love within it.

"Mother's Backyard"   oil on linen,   16 x 20 inches

Art Collectors

The couple strolled through The Steven Boone Gallery front door like a spring breeze blowing in the April air. They checked to see if the little painting they had seen the day before was still hanging. Yes, and then the gentleman looked at me to say, “We want this, and will you sell it without the tax?” They went on to mention that they had a big painting of mine already. I replied, “Since you are collectors, I will be happy to pay the tax myself.” 

I am not usually in the gallery, so I am pleased to have met this couple . . . I enjoy having face-to-face experiences with collectors of my artwork.

The painting they bought is one I made outdoors in the autumn of a little country chapel in the high plains of New Mexico. (See Gushing Waters). They spoke of their extensive art collection and I remarked how wonderful it must be to visit their home, and what a delight for their friends. 

These days, as the temperatures warm and the air is balmy, we can leave the front door open so that people on the street can simply walk inside as they tour Canyon Road. Artwork hangs on the wall outside as an enticement, and the folks are like bee's attracted to flowers.

Wanderlust

A bedouin on his camel. at the Great Pyramids of Egypt.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller (American, December 26, 1891 – June 7, 1980)

In some profound ways, I have not adjusted to the ending of my year of travel, in 2008. Then, I was single, unencumbered by material things, free to move in any direction, was full of wanderlust, and leisurely moved across the face of the earth, living in exotic and fascinating places, making new friends and acquaintances. Since I arrived back in the USA, I have not felt the urge to own a home or settle down in any fundamental way, even though I have married. My lovely wife owns a home and I also rent a separate home, studio, and art gallery—but I am not attached to any of these places. Since 2008, I have been to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and lastly, with my wife, Morocco. Now, I wonder if my dancing vagabond days are over for me.

During the early days of my traveling, I carried two suitcases—one for clothing, laptop, camera and supplies, and one for my painting gear, i.e. paints and easel, canvas and brushes. I made paintings along the way, occasionally sending them back to my assistant in the US and my gallery. Midway through the journey, I sent the cumbersome painting suitcase home, since I had evolved into a passionate street photographer. Each day, camera in hand, I would saunter forth to find the unexpected and seek to capture ephemeral moments of sublimity.

A field of poppies amid olive trees, in the Puglia region of Italy

The task of landscape painting is different than photography. To paint, a subject must be found, and then the easel set up and as the day goes by and the sun moves across the sky, I stand in one spot, studying and recording until a finished work is completed. For example, see: Flux Of The Street.
Photography is simply having the camera at hand, with a heightened sense of awareness, ready to click the shutter at an opportune time . . . and then go forth again for more. For example, see: Ducking.

Chicken seller in a market in Hoi An, Vietnam

Generally, paintings are far more valuable on the market, since they are made entirely by the artist’s hand are unique, whereas photos become prints that are massed produced.

 “To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark (born 31 January 1893 in Paris, France; died 9 May 1993 in Asolo, Italy)

The Beautiful Landscape

"Old Adobe Wall" oil on canvas, 12 x 16 inches,  1986

I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.
Vincent Van Gogh (Dutch: 30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890)

Painting completed my life.
Frida Kahlo (Mexico:July 6, 1907- July 13, 1954; born Magdalena Carmen Frieda Kahlo y Calderón)

The beautiful landscape that is all around me begs to be painted. Often, here in Northern New Mexico, my senses have been filled to overflowing by the poignant colors, shapes and forms, illumined by pristine, arid light that subtly changes from morning until night. Being an artist for over thirty years, I have chased after the beauty I see, and sought to capture it on canvas.

"Abandoned Ranch Road" oil on canvas, 20 x 20 inches, 1994

When I graduated Art College in 1976, I left the east coast and went to New Mexico because I knew I wanted to live in the wide open spaces, and I had heard that an art colony already existed there. I arrived in Taos and was introduced to some famous artists. Eventually, I migrated to Santa Fe and managed to establish myself as an artist. Mostly, I am known for my landscape paintings. I also paint portraits, still-lifes, some abstracts, and draw. Photography, mixed-media, and writing are other creative pursuits . . . yet, my landscape paintings are most popular.  Here are some samples from the past decades.

"Church At Ocate," oil on canvas, 1995

Painting from nature is not copying the object; it is realizing one's sensations.
Paul Cézanne  (French: 1839–1906)

"Rio Drama," oil on linen, 48 x 60 inches,  2011

When I am in my painting, I'm not aware of what I'm doing.
Jackson Pollock (American: January 28, 1912 – August 11, 1956)

"Path to The Sunset," oil on linen, 48 x 60 inches,  2012

To see more, go to the website for Steven Boone

Gushing Water

"Little Church At Ojo Caliente" oil on linen, 9 x 12 inches

“I wonder how long this water has been pouring out of the ground . . . probably hundreds of years.” Heidi Of The Mountains mouth dropped open as we soaked in the hot springs near the gushing water. “How do you know that?”

We had arrived at Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs in the late afternoon, after I had completed a painting of an old adobe church nearby. It seemed incredible that the gift of mineral water, hot enough to soak in, had been pouring 100,000 gallons a day out of the earth for centuries. “Well,” I said, “Before this spa existed, Native Americans dwelled here and used the water . . . the history goes back centuries.”

Four different types of mineral waters: lithium, iron, soda and arsenic, continually stream to the surface, revitalizing the many who come here to soak. I first visited about thirty years ago, when the place was a sleepy, rundown resort, mostly used by locals. Not only did I soak in the primitive pools in need of repair, but also drank the four types of mineral water. Since then, the place has been substantially upgraded, and now, Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs and Spa is an international destination.

After we finished our soaking, and I had swam in the outdoor, spring fed pool, we were walking to the car in the brisk autumn air, and I asked Heidi if she had drank any of the water. “No” she replied. “The Lithia water would be good for you, since sometimes you get anxiety attacks.” I was half kidding her, because she is a hyper energetic type of person and I remembered how when I drank the water, it made me feel calmed; although the soaks in hot mineral water does that too.

In truth, studies have shown that: 

1. Individuals with heart disease, learning disabilities, and incarcerated violent criminals were found to have lithium deficiencies (as measured through hair sample analysis).
2. Research studies measuring the effects of trace levels of lithium, commonly found in lithia waters, have demonstrated neuroprotective abilities, improvements in mood and cognitive function, and positive outcomes as a treatment for manic-depressive disease.
3. Research studies published the British Journal of Psychiatry 2009 found that communities with naturally occurring lithia waters have lower suicide rates, mental hospital admissions, incidences of crimes, and arrests related to drug addictions.
4. On February 8, 2011, German researchers at Friedrich Schiller University Jena published their findings in the European Journal of Nutrition (Nature Publishing Group) indicating that lithia waters lead to an increased life expectancy in humans and metazoans.
5. A clinical pilot study using ĔDJ lithia water from British Columbia is underway at the University of British Columbia. It will investigate whether daily use of lithia water will improve new brain cell formation (neurogenesis) and reduce neuronal oxidative stress.

For the entire lithia water article : wiki/Lithia_water

Passion For Creativity

"Rio Grande River Autumn" oil on linen, 36 x 48 inches

There are countless ways for human beings to be creative, and creativity is not just for artists. Of course, accountants, judges, assembly workers, surgeons, and many other professionals are in situations that require creativity to be minimized, but when these people are off duty, they can choose creative ventures like cooking, writing, photography, landscaping, and many other pursuits that require creative thought.

As an artist, I have a passion for creativity. When I set up a blank, white canvas on an easel in my studio, immediately I am challenged. How will I produce a work of art? My tools are paints, palette knives and brushes, but I must decide how to mix the paints, what colors to produce, what lines and shapes to make, what textures I want to be seen . . . and then I have to work with skill to be able to produce a worthy result.

When I am working on a landscape painting, I often work from nature on location. This has special challenges, i.e. the light constantly changes, the weather can be windy, rainy or cold, and sometimes a location is far away from my studio. I have painted so many pictures outdoors, that now, I know the colors and textures of nature and how to achieve them—even if I choose to work from a photograph in my studio, where the environment is controlled. Usually, when people view my paintings, they cannot tell the difference between ones painted outdoors and those painted from photos. The landscape I am showing above is a recent piece, done in my studio from a photograph.

Being creative means experimenting with whatever modality is at hand. With the advent of digital imaging, photography can be manipulated as easily as painting. Special software, such as Photoshop, allows pixels to be changed and recombined to marvelous advantage. Because of my traveling, and passion for photography, I have tens of thousands of photos in my files. In the next photograph, I have combined two images taken in Venice, Italy, to achieve an unexpected result that goes beyond typical photos. The last image is a similar technique of combining images taken in Paris, France—one, a bronze relief from the Louvre Museum, and the other, a texture found on the wall of a mausoleum in the Père Lachaise Cemetery. This is the fun of creativity—to explore and discover.

Three Hands

Voices of the Ancestors, oil on panel, 16 x 20 inches

Two hands are natural and emblematic of human beings—one hand is tragic—but what about three? I have a series of paintings using the theme of three hands. For most people, the images are perplexing, and that is okay with me, because I like mysterious pictures.

My first painting with three hands was made while I lived in Granada, Spain. My apartment was high on a hill in the Albayzín neighborhood, near the flamenco caves where dancers and musicians performed every night. I could paint, and walk around shooting photos during the day, and go to the caves at night. The house was great. I entered from a small street that had no cars, and passing through a narrow kitchen and living room, a couple stairs led to a spacious patio that overlooked housetops and the tree-lined river that flowed from Sacromonte into town. Directly opposite on a hill stood the walls and towers of Alhambra, the World Heritage Site. Another door on the patio led to a cozy bedroom.

Artist models are sometimes hard to come by, but with a mirror, a self-portrait can be made. I started a self-portrait, but wanted expression, so I included hands reaching to my face. Maybe because I was alone, and desired company, I added a hand coming from the top of the painting.

Soon, a French woman I met in Venice, Italy arrived to visit. We had become great friends in Venice, especially since she is a professor of art in a University in Nimes, France. I had visited her where she lived in Provence, and now she visited me. I did a portrait of her, and again, added an extra hand reaching down from the top of the painting, as if to touch her head. She liked the result, and also the self-portrait I had done. “You must do a series”, she suggested. I liked her idea, and in the next several months made more paintings with three hands.

Anne, oil on canvas, 20 x 20 inches

When I went to Berlin, I made a painting of my young German friend Anne, and used my own hand as the third one. Another time, I painted an abandoned house, high on a hill, in Andalusia, Spain. I put in three hands, as if gesturing. I call the piece “Voices Of The Ancestors”, as if spirits were re-visiting a place on earth they were familiar with.

Sometimes, while artists work, their unconscious is emerging in the process.   “Great art is as irrational as great music.  It is mad with its own loveliness.”  ~George Jean Nathan

I cannot entirely explain the meaning of having three hands in these paintings. It is to offer an element of mystery and surprise, and also my belief is that I have a muse, and I surmise I am including one hand of my muse in the paintings.

Self-Portrait With a Rose, (made while in Berlin), oil on linen, 18 x 24 inches

“Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.”  ~André Gide


Art Mirrors Life

Art mirrors life, and, in the words of the great British sculptor Henry Moore, “enlarges existence into something more significant than everyday life, giving some importance to it, a monumentality and grandeur.”

I love being in the company of artists, and these days I have been blessed spending time with an artist friend from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, who is visiting Santa Fe. Sarah and I have spent hours together going to galleries, discussing philosophy, writing poetry, painting and drawing, and last night attending a world premiere of an opera, called Life Is A Dream, by Lewis Spratlan at The Santa Fe Opera.
Sarah is a painter, so I invited her to work with me in my studio. We decided to make a still life painting. First we needed objects to paint. I suggested a pretty green vase and an arrangement of fruit. The vase was already in my studio and I cut some flowers from my yard to go in it. Next we went together to a grocery store to select vegetables or fruit. I am always interested in green or red peppers because they can grow in fantastic shapes and have bright, pure color. Eggplant is dazzling to look at for its burnished purple hues. At last we settled on apples and cherries.

In the studio, we arranged the objects. I enjoyed how easily Sarah and I came to a quick and deft solution to a pleasing arrangement—it only took minutes and without fuss. I lent her supplies and an easel, turned on music, and then we began. Our efforts took two days and we had great fun together amidst laughter and tears.

The painting process has correlation to life and meaning, so here is the story: The beginning is concept, to get a mental picture of something, even vague, that is the intention to pursue. Once I had created my intention, I made the still life arrangement that would be my inspiration to work from. I knew that I wanted to honor the objects with a realistic portrayal, and not something abstract. Standing a few feet away from the tableau, I thought of the proportions and carefully made a drawing. The foundation of art is important, because everything that happens afterward is affected. After I was satisfied with the foundation, I began laying in the oil color, using my palette knife to apply the paint directly. Most artists paint with brushes and only use the palette knife to mix paints, but I have developed a technique using the palette knife. It is very pleasurable to gaze at pure oil colors on a palette, and then mix them to get more colors. It is an art in itself and some artists, such as Pierre Bonnard, Claude Monet, and Mark Rothko, are known for their great sense of color, while other artists, like Michelangelo, Paul Cezanne, and Andrew Wyeth, are famous for being superb draftsmen.
The trick in painting is to create a visual symphony that uses just the right structure, tonality and timbre to produce the greatest effect. Of course colors affect our emotions, so the artist uses color to great affect. The important thing is clarity, so that the original inspiration speaks eloquently. So much can go wrong. Colors can become muddied, the drawing might be bad, proportions look awkward . . .  in short it takes great practice and a good helping of talent to accomplish art. Only a few make it to the professional level.

As I worked on my still life, I became frustrated with the background, so at one point, scraped it out and tried something new. This is an important lesson: if something is not going well, even if you have invested in it, be prepared to change course to get to something better. When I destroyed the dark background I had painted and began laying in lighter tones, the whole painting seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and speak to me, saying, this is better and now I am happy. And this is what art is about—adaptability, creative pursuit and change.

Any great work of art... revives and re-adapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world - the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air.  ~Leonard Bernstein, What Makes Opera Grand?

Muy Tranquilo

I have once again found my way to the remote mountain village of Darrical, ( see my blog of May, 2007 ) where my friends Carol and Rolf live. Carol says that sometimes during the year, as few as 15 people reside here. It is on the opposite side of the Spanish social and cultural spectrum from Madrid: no fashions, stores, telephone lines or Internet, no commerce except goat cheese from the goat herders wife.
In big cities, all the noises tend to blend into a cacophony of clatter. Here in Darrical, I notice and appreciate every sound, such as the rooster crowing, wind blowing in the trees, birds singing, a child’s laughter, or the goats passing by with their bells jangling. These months, it becomes hot during the midday, so people stop work and take siesta. Life is “muy tranquilo,” meaning, very peaceful.
I am painting landscapes, and also, going with my camera into the many abandoned and ruined homes that dot the hillsides. I like being in the midst of the crumbling remains of houses that once contained the lives of generations of villagers, and see how time and nature paints over the hand of man.
I am getting emergency dental work done in a nearby town, and find the dentist excellent and very inexpensive compared to the USA. I have a fractured tooth that became infected and now I am on antibiotics, waiting for my next appointment, when the tooth might be pulled out, depending on what the doctor decides.
Again, my plans are shifting away from my original vision of going eastward around the world. Since arriving in Egypt, I have been circling the Mediterranean Sea, and now I will backtrack and revisit Italy. My daughter Sarah is coming with a friend to Europe, and I will meet her in Florence on July 9, then on the 12th, drive them to a port on the Adriatic where they will catch a ferry to Greece. Afterwards, I might return to Florence and live for a while. In Madrid, the streets were exciting enough that I became quite happy going out everyday for photo shoots. Now, I am envisioning a book of street photography from around the world, and so I think I will go from Italy to Berlin, Germany. I have been told it is a wonderful, artistic city. I can go there, then Paris, before going into the hot climates of Africa. In the end, THE DREAM is what matters . . . and has its own life.
Late note: Spain has just won the European Cup soccer match against Germany, and there is pandemonium in the streets!