December 2007 Archives
When I think back to my earliest memories of creating I remember making a little figure out of twigs to play with in my grandparent’s garden. I remember my sister and I used sticks and leaves and rocks to make houses for our little stick people.
I remember another time when the adults were pruning the shrubs we made costumes for ourselves out of leaves. At school, other children might be skipping rope, playing on the swings, but I found a place in the school field where someone’s garden grew over the school fence. I plucked leaves, twigs, and seedpods to make little pretend pets. I think I have always had an urge to create.
When I was about seven, my teacher used a whole stack of white construction paper to make me a book to draw in. I heard her tell my Mom “Your daughter is so talented.” I went home that day and I thought "I have to draw a really wonderful picture in this special book my teacher made for me". And I remember thinking it had to be the best picture I had ever drawn. So I drew a princess on a castle balcony, a prince on a horse, sword in hand fighting a dragon. Phew! When I was done I was pleased. I was exhausted after drawing the best picture ever! My picture brought lots of praise from my teacher. Then she said the fateful words. “I can’t wait to see what you draw tonight.” Uhgg! What could top a princess, a dragon, and a horse!? Oh!! A horse! Horses!! Lots of horses! A heard of wild mustangs and a cowboy rounding them up!
The mustang round up was the last picture I drew in that special book my teacher made for me. The pressure I put on myself was just too great. What if my next picture wasn’t as good and I messed the whole book up! What theme would be grand enough to draw for the book? Besides, I only knew how to draw my two favorite things: princesses and horses and I had already done that!
There after I went back to drawing in the margin of my school papers and on the backs of worksheets. Then the drawing was just for fun, and I wasn’t wasting “good” paper if I messed up. If I liked it I kept it with my other scraps. If I didn’t I threw it away and had no guilt about waste.
I remember another time when the adults were pruning the shrubs we made costumes for ourselves out of leaves. At school, other children might be skipping rope, playing on the swings, but I found a place in the school field where someone’s garden grew over the school fence. I plucked leaves, twigs, and seedpods to make little pretend pets. I think I have always had an urge to create.
When I was about seven, my teacher used a whole stack of white construction paper to make me a book to draw in. I heard her tell my Mom “Your daughter is so talented.” I went home that day and I thought "I have to draw a really wonderful picture in this special book my teacher made for me". And I remember thinking it had to be the best picture I had ever drawn. So I drew a princess on a castle balcony, a prince on a horse, sword in hand fighting a dragon. Phew! When I was done I was pleased. I was exhausted after drawing the best picture ever! My picture brought lots of praise from my teacher. Then she said the fateful words. “I can’t wait to see what you draw tonight.” Uhgg! What could top a princess, a dragon, and a horse!? Oh!! A horse! Horses!! Lots of horses! A heard of wild mustangs and a cowboy rounding them up!
The mustang round up was the last picture I drew in that special book my teacher made for me. The pressure I put on myself was just too great. What if my next picture wasn’t as good and I messed the whole book up! What theme would be grand enough to draw for the book? Besides, I only knew how to draw my two favorite things: princesses and horses and I had already done that!
There after I went back to drawing in the margin of my school papers and on the backs of worksheets. Then the drawing was just for fun, and I wasn’t wasting “good” paper if I messed up. If I liked it I kept it with my other scraps. If I didn’t I threw it away and had no guilt about waste.
I think my desire to leave city life and move to the country was caused by the tale of my two sets of grandparents. I had one set of grandparents who lived in town and one set of grandparents that lived in the country.
Town Grandpa lost his job during the depression. Town Grandpa and Grandma were reduced to eating potatoes, just potatoes through the depression. Their son, my father left home at 16 because he perceived that his parents couldn’t afford to feed him too.
Country Grandpa lost his job at the mill, and the bank foreclosed on his farm. But country Grandpa found an abandoned farm to rent and country Grandpa kept right on farming through the depression. Through the depression my country grandparents ate home grown pork, beef, and chicken. They had home raised milk, cheese, and butter. Country Grandpa also brought home pheasants and rabbits he hunted in the woods. Country Grandma had a huge garden. My country grandparents and their children ate well. Their rented farm was on a major east west road. Many homeless families stopped by on their way west. Country Grandma was able to feed them too. I think subconsciously I equate country life with abundance and town life with scarcity.
My country grandparents were still alive when I was growing up but my town grandparents weren’t. Country grandparents moved to the edge of suburbia to be near us grandkids. But even in his eighties, country Grandpa had a two acre garden and orchard. Every Sunday afternoon we’d spend with my Country grandparents. Country Grandma would cook us all sorts of wonderful things: apple brown betty, Peach cobbler, buckwheat pancakes, fried chicken, mashed potatoes saturated in butter, biscuits and gravy, fresh corn on the cob, strawberries and shortcake, fried catfish or trout, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Oh, and when I think back on the summer days when Grandpa’s apricots reached the peak of ripeness. The air would be fragrant and warm. And we would pick and eat as many apricots as we wanted. They would drop into our hands as we reached to pick them, soft and golden. They were like honey and rich and sweet as they melted in my mouth. Little wonder I wanted to live like my country grandparents who I perceived lived in the land flowing with milk and honey!
Town Grandpa lost his job during the depression. Town Grandpa and Grandma were reduced to eating potatoes, just potatoes through the depression. Their son, my father left home at 16 because he perceived that his parents couldn’t afford to feed him too.
Country Grandpa lost his job at the mill, and the bank foreclosed on his farm. But country Grandpa found an abandoned farm to rent and country Grandpa kept right on farming through the depression. Through the depression my country grandparents ate home grown pork, beef, and chicken. They had home raised milk, cheese, and butter. Country Grandpa also brought home pheasants and rabbits he hunted in the woods. Country Grandma had a huge garden. My country grandparents and their children ate well. Their rented farm was on a major east west road. Many homeless families stopped by on their way west. Country Grandma was able to feed them too. I think subconsciously I equate country life with abundance and town life with scarcity.
My country grandparents were still alive when I was growing up but my town grandparents weren’t. Country grandparents moved to the edge of suburbia to be near us grandkids. But even in his eighties, country Grandpa had a two acre garden and orchard. Every Sunday afternoon we’d spend with my Country grandparents. Country Grandma would cook us all sorts of wonderful things: apple brown betty, Peach cobbler, buckwheat pancakes, fried chicken, mashed potatoes saturated in butter, biscuits and gravy, fresh corn on the cob, strawberries and shortcake, fried catfish or trout, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Oh, and when I think back on the summer days when Grandpa’s apricots reached the peak of ripeness. The air would be fragrant and warm. And we would pick and eat as many apricots as we wanted. They would drop into our hands as we reached to pick them, soft and golden. They were like honey and rich and sweet as they melted in my mouth. Little wonder I wanted to live like my country grandparents who I perceived lived in the land flowing with milk and honey!
The emergence of Rosemaling has a lot to do, I believe, with pride of farm ownership. The rest of Europe was still under a feudal system where the land belonged to the King, Lords, and the Church. Norwegian farms were owned by the farmers themselves. In 1660 forty percent of the farms were farmer owned. In 1723 - 1730 even more land became farmer owned when the church owned lands were sold at auction. If a farm stayed in the family for a sufficient length of time, special laws enacted during the Viking age came into effect. One of these laws allowed family members to redeem a family farm that has been sold. These laws served to protect land ownership within the family. Consequently a farmer knew that improvements he made to the farm would benefit his descendants. Perhaps he would even be remembered by his descendants for the improvements he had made. Many farm owners made sure their names were remembered by having them rosemaled on the walls, ceilings, or built-in furniture of their farmhouse!
In The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, Cameron says a person can’t be creative if they don’t feed their creativity. She likens creativity to a lake or a well, which an artist must periodically refill lest it become dry. In order to refill the well, Cameron suggests people who want to be creative take their inner artist on a date. She suggests we spend alone time noticing the beauty around us. Hiking through the woods is a way that I often refill my well of creativity. When I see God’s creation: the rich carpet of green moss, the delicate yellows of a mushroom, the pale pink of a bud I am inspired with wonder.
But Cameron said that some artist dates should be purely fun. We should try to capture some of the freedom and unfettered joy of childhood. So, I took my “artist child” ice skating. But, not just regular ice skating . When my “artist child” pictured ice skating in her mind she imagined graceful young women in flowing costumes skating to soaring music. So, that’s what I did. I put on my floatiest skirt, my ice skates, my ipod and I ice danced in the bright sunshine.
But Cameron said that some artist dates should be purely fun. We should try to capture some of the freedom and unfettered joy of childhood. So, I took my “artist child” ice skating. But, not just regular ice skating . When my “artist child” pictured ice skating in her mind she imagined graceful young women in flowing costumes skating to soaring music. So, that’s what I did. I put on my floatiest skirt, my ice skates, my ipod and I ice danced in the bright sunshine.
A fear...
What if I am just creating yard sale fodder? What if my body of art that I have strived to create, given the hours of my days and the days of my years is evaluated as just so much junk to give to the Goodwill by my grandchildren after I am dead?
What if I am just creating yard sale fodder? What if my body of art that I have strived to create, given the hours of my days and the days of my years is evaluated as just so much junk to give to the Goodwill by my grandchildren after I am dead?
Today was a gorgeous sunny day. The kids and I spent the morning putting up the Christmas decorations. Then after lunch we went ice skating down in our pasture where the creek overflowed into the meadow. It made a great place to ice skate. We have to make the most of our ice skating opportunities when they arise. In a few days it will snow again and cover up the ice. If we are lucky, we’ll be able to shovel it clear for a while.
Brushes
I suggest my beginning student buy three brushes. And, I use just these three brushes for painting almost everything!
Loew-Cornell Golden Taklon
Size 4 Round 7000 series
Size 6 Flat 7300 series for scrolls
Size 1 Script liner 7050 series for outlining
For painting interiors I use:
A one inch wide Flat glaze brush for scrolls
Size 16 Flat for flowers
Size 8 Round 7000 series for outlining
Paint
I suggest that my beginning students use Delta Ceramcoat. In order to keep costs down, our projects only use five colors. I like the Delta colors listed below because they closely resemble the traditional rosemaling colors.
Red Iron Oxide
Antique Gold
Prussian Blue
Antique White
Burnt Umber
I paint with Jo Sonja’s Artists’ Acrylic Colours. (I don’t recommend these for beginners because I find I need to mix in retarder, kleister, or flow medium to produce the correct painting consistency.)
The Jo Sonja colors I use the most often are:
Red Earth
Yellow Oxide
Prussian Blue
Warm White
Burnt Umber
I suggest my beginning student buy three brushes. And, I use just these three brushes for painting almost everything!
Loew-Cornell Golden Taklon
Size 4 Round 7000 series
Size 6 Flat 7300 series for scrolls
Size 1 Script liner 7050 series for outlining
For painting interiors I use:
A one inch wide Flat glaze brush for scrolls
Size 16 Flat for flowers
Size 8 Round 7000 series for outlining
Paint
I suggest that my beginning students use Delta Ceramcoat. In order to keep costs down, our projects only use five colors. I like the Delta colors listed below because they closely resemble the traditional rosemaling colors.
Red Iron Oxide
Antique Gold
Prussian Blue
Antique White
Burnt Umber
I paint with Jo Sonja’s Artists’ Acrylic Colours. (I don’t recommend these for beginners because I find I need to mix in retarder, kleister, or flow medium to produce the correct painting consistency.)
The Jo Sonja colors I use the most often are:
Red Earth
Yellow Oxide
Prussian Blue
Warm White
Burnt Umber
The storm dumped about 2 feet of snow
here in two days. Then the temperature climbed, and all that snow melted! When I
went out to feed my Fjord Horse I discovered his stall floor is
imperceptibly lower than the ground outside the stall. It was low
enough that his stall was partially flooded. I decided I needed to dig
a trench to drain the water. Digging the trench in the stall was easy
enough. But, continuing the trench outside was nearly impossible,
because although the snow was melting, the ground was frozen. But,
after two hours of work I completed the trench, drained the stall, and
filled in the floor with additional dirt to raise the level. I finished by putting fresh bedding down. So, once again Haldor has a dry stall to shelter in.
The snow, melting all at once, also turned my guinea fowls' pen into a swamp. The weight of the snow caused the tarp roof to sag. The melting snow was soaking through the tarp and soaking the pen. I certainly could not leave my twenty-five two month old guinea fowl in there. I decided to put them in with my five hens who have a 4’x8x6’ pen in the barn. The chickens immediately hated the alien invaders and started pecking them! I caught the chickens and put them out of the pen. They strutted around the outside of the pen using fowl language (hee hee!) to express their anger. I quickly built a brush pile in one end of the pen for the young guinea fowl to hide in. Then I put the chickens back in. All is quiet now. Phew!
Not much time for art today!
The snow, melting all at once, also turned my guinea fowls' pen into a swamp. The weight of the snow caused the tarp roof to sag. The melting snow was soaking through the tarp and soaking the pen. I certainly could not leave my twenty-five two month old guinea fowl in there. I decided to put them in with my five hens who have a 4’x8x6’ pen in the barn. The chickens immediately hated the alien invaders and started pecking them! I caught the chickens and put them out of the pen. They strutted around the outside of the pen using fowl language (hee hee!) to express their anger. I quickly built a brush pile in one end of the pen for the young guinea fowl to hide in. Then I put the chickens back in. All is quiet now. Phew!
Not much time for art today!
I am reading an excellent book, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. One point Cameron makes is that for most us choosing to be an artist is an act of rebellion against our parents. Because we feel guilt for this rebellion, we feel our art must be hugely successful or complex to justify our choosing to pursue art against our parent’s wishes. I have fallen into this trap. My beginning projects are never simple. The projects I have undertaken are colossal in scale. My first quilt project was a queen sized quilt made up of over 400 diamonds cut on the bias. My first stained glass project was a Tiffany-style lamp. My first sewing project was a formal gown for the prom. When undertaking such challenging projects without the proper beginning steps, naturally we are frustrated. The project doesn’t come out as we had imagined it in our minds. Likely, we were criticized for choosing such a complex project in the first place. If we are wise, we learn from this experience and start with smaller projects the next time. A wise person realizes their struggle was caused by trying to rush the learning process, and skipping the work of learning the basic skills. Of course, not me! I struggled through piecing the quilt together. Yes, I finished it. But, I hated making it. I blamed quilting. “What a dumb craft! How dumb to cut up perfectly good fabric just to sew it back together again! I’m never going to quilt again!”
The next craft I took on was stained glass. (The irony of choosing another craft dependent on cutting material into small pieces and putting them back together again is not lost on me now!) “What a dumb craft! How dumb to cut up perfectly good glass just to fit it back together again! I’m never going to do stained glass again!” And so it went. I’d choose an impossibly hard project for my first exploration of a craft. I would struggle through the process, hate the results, blame the craft, and move on.
Fortunately for me, I also enrolled in classes to learn some crafts. My teachers made me take time to learn the basics. They made sure I had success with each step before I was allowed to progress to the next level. By the end of the class, I completed several well-made simple projects. No, they were not the masterworks I fantasized about. But, I enjoyed the process. I felt proud of what I had learned and happy with what I had created. And most importantly, I was left with the positive feeling of anticipating creating again.
The next craft I took on was stained glass. (The irony of choosing another craft dependent on cutting material into small pieces and putting them back together again is not lost on me now!) “What a dumb craft! How dumb to cut up perfectly good glass just to fit it back together again! I’m never going to do stained glass again!” And so it went. I’d choose an impossibly hard project for my first exploration of a craft. I would struggle through the process, hate the results, blame the craft, and move on.
Fortunately for me, I also enrolled in classes to learn some crafts. My teachers made me take time to learn the basics. They made sure I had success with each step before I was allowed to progress to the next level. By the end of the class, I completed several well-made simple projects. No, they were not the masterworks I fantasized about. But, I enjoyed the process. I felt proud of what I had learned and happy with what I had created. And most importantly, I was left with the positive feeling of anticipating creating again.
Welcome to my midlife crisis. My husband already had his. He bailed out of the corporate world. He is now a freelance writer, and we are living a remote property in northwest Montana. So my husband has all his worldly dreams fulfilled: a freelance writing career, a gorgeous piece of property in prime hunting and fishing country, children that make him proud, and a trophy wife (hah hah!)
My midlife crisis is just gearing up. How spoiled am I to even have the luxury to indulge in a mid-life crisis? What it really means is my life is really very very good. I have the free time and such a stress free life that I can worry if I’m not fulfilling my destiny. I doubt women in Third World countries worry about such things!
The cause of my crisis is that my youngest child is nearly a teen. My children don’t need me in the same way that they used to. I can see them growing more independent daily. What will I become when I am no longer a “mommy”? What significance will my life have then? What is my purpose after the children are grown?
My degree is in elementary education. I choose teaching because that (or nursing) was the degree that my parents were willing to support. My parents, who grew up during the Great Depression, are practical, old fashioned folks. They expected that I would marry and be a mother, but a teaching credential was good to have just in case my husband was unable to support the family. “You can teach anywhere your husband’s career takes you”, they said. Well, in some ways teaching is a great profession for me. I can get awfully preachy and I sure love to pontificate. But, my greatest love is to create.
So my mid-life crisis boils down to this… I have been a mother, the role my parents approved for me. But, I can see the end nearing of that role. If I continue to seek the approval of my parents, I would go back to work as an elementary school teacher. But, if I have learned anything from my husband it is - do what you love, and the success will follow. My true love is creating art.
My midlife crisis is just gearing up. How spoiled am I to even have the luxury to indulge in a mid-life crisis? What it really means is my life is really very very good. I have the free time and such a stress free life that I can worry if I’m not fulfilling my destiny. I doubt women in Third World countries worry about such things!
The cause of my crisis is that my youngest child is nearly a teen. My children don’t need me in the same way that they used to. I can see them growing more independent daily. What will I become when I am no longer a “mommy”? What significance will my life have then? What is my purpose after the children are grown?
My degree is in elementary education. I choose teaching because that (or nursing) was the degree that my parents were willing to support. My parents, who grew up during the Great Depression, are practical, old fashioned folks. They expected that I would marry and be a mother, but a teaching credential was good to have just in case my husband was unable to support the family. “You can teach anywhere your husband’s career takes you”, they said. Well, in some ways teaching is a great profession for me. I can get awfully preachy and I sure love to pontificate. But, my greatest love is to create.
So my mid-life crisis boils down to this… I have been a mother, the role my parents approved for me. But, I can see the end nearing of that role. If I continue to seek the approval of my parents, I would go back to work as an elementary school teacher. But, if I have learned anything from my husband it is - do what you love, and the success will follow. My true love is creating art.
I have a lot of unfinished art projects cluttering my life. Unlike other people who give up on a project because it is not turning out as well as they had hoped, I give up on projects that have come out quite well. The fact is, the happier I am with my art, the more likely I am to leave it unfinished. Why? Because I am paralyzed by the thought that my effort cannot measure up to what I have already done. I might ruin it in the process of finishing it!
Rosemaling is a style of decorative painting that was originally practiced in Norway from 1700 to 1880. It was used to decorate walls, ceilings, and furniture, as well as decorate everyday useful wood objects such as trunks, bowls, tankards, and lidded containers. The traditional media was oil paints and occasionally chalk.
Characteristics of Rosemaling
I then purchased quite a few rosemaling pattern books. I proceeded over the next few years to trace the patterns, follow the directions, and replicate as closely as I could the photographs in the books.
But, my breakthrough was when I read a quote by Sigmund Arseth. He stated that a student should not copy patterns for more than two or three lessons. “This can become a fatal habit that will prevent the student from ever advancing to the creative level in rosemaling.” (Uh oh!) I took his advice to heart. Now, I rosemal freehand. And I have to say, I find freehand painting much more enjoyable and creative! (I’ll have a lot more to say about making the jump to freehand rosemaling in future posts.)
Characteristics of Rosemaling
- Decorates practical objects
- Organic feel
- Scrolls dominate the design
- Flowers are stylized
- Scrolls and flowers are ornamentally outlined
- Curved lines, not straight or geometric
- Not realistic
- Two-dimensional
- Traditional colors are toned pigments
I then purchased quite a few rosemaling pattern books. I proceeded over the next few years to trace the patterns, follow the directions, and replicate as closely as I could the photographs in the books.
But, my breakthrough was when I read a quote by Sigmund Arseth. He stated that a student should not copy patterns for more than two or three lessons. “This can become a fatal habit that will prevent the student from ever advancing to the creative level in rosemaling.” (Uh oh!) I took his advice to heart. Now, I rosemal freehand. And I have to say, I find freehand painting much more enjoyable and creative! (I’ll have a lot more to say about making the jump to freehand rosemaling in future posts.)
