The spaces in between

Many people are attracted to the skeletal structure of trees. Trunks and branches have a strong presence that demand attention. But for me the real action happens in the spaces between the branches where the intricate play of leaves produce delicate patterns.

Messenger, 2009, mixed media on board

Messenger is a mixed media painting from my Reading a Garden series. The sun shining through the vines that sheltered this statue in the Millennium Garden reminded me of stained glass. My mind wandered to consider what would happen to this scene over time. Voila! a painting is created.

There are many landscape painters who have interesting ways of rendering "the space in between". Two of my favourites are Canadian artists Jennifer Woodburn and Mandy Budan.

Spring Light (2009) 11 x 14, acrylic, Jennifer Woodburn

Jennifer Woodburn grew up in Saskatchewan and now lives in Ontario. She is primarily a self-taught artist, who has relied on occasional workshops and classes for her education. Working usually in acrylics, emphasizing line, shape and colour Jennifer creates simpler forms from what she sees in the landscape.

Jennifer says:
Mine is a graphic take on life. Through the relative chaos, I find the design in nature and organize it on canvas. Using line and simplifying what I see, I look for interesting shapes and colours, and explore the spaces in between. Rhythm is found, and exaggerated. With an upbeat palette and a bit of whimsy for good measure, I capture Southern Ontario landscapes and rural architecture in acrylic paint on canvas.

I am attracted to Jennifer's work for its lively colour combinations and the rhythm she instills through her use of line and colour. This less is more approach helps the viewer to see the strong rhythms and patterns in nature. Her ability to synthesize the landscape makes me realize how much detail I could delete from my work. Jennifer has many more works on her blog and website.

Fall Again (2009) 12 x 12, acrylic on canvas, Jennifer Woodburn

Mandy Budan paints abstracts of the landscape. She emphasizes and rearranges elements in very unexpected ways. Her colours are strong and she relies on repetition of colour and shapes to create intricate patterns. One of the most amazing aspects of her work is that when you look at it up close it appears to be random, colourful shapes but when you see it at a distance it looks very realistic. How do all those little bits and pieces of bits create realism?

Summer Morning (2008) 24 x 30, acrylic on panel, Mandy Budan

Spring Light (2008) 11 x 14, acrylic on panel, Mandy Budan

I find it quite amazing that Mandy can break each painting down into such patterned parts and then create a realistic painting in the end. Her colour usage is so vibrant and often unexpected when you take a close look. While I've chosen two paintings featuring trees, Mandy paints different aspects of the landscape.

Also check out the paintings of Alison Dunhill, a British artist, who uses colour and fluidity of expression to convey the emotional impact of the landscape. There is a balance in focus between the more obvious structure of trees and the spaces in between in her tree paintings.

Are there other "spaces in between" that have been explored through art?

Compose: An example of content

I know when I've been upstaged! My readers' comments have captured the audience and I'm bringing up at the rear. So I'm riding on their coat tails in this post. They all have great blogs that I visit regularly and interesting takes on many topics. Layers (Donna Watson) brought up another example of two art terms - abstract and non-objective art - that often get used interchangeably. Perhaps someone would like to take this on for a post because I'm certainly hazy on the difference.

Kelly Marszycki concluded that reading a painting depends on the viewer, their background, life experiences, etc. Beauty comma, had the same take. Kelly saw another version of the Garden of Eden and questioned who or what is locked behind the gate- the viewer or the natural world and why is this the case. Don has a similar take and puts himself behind the gate and is resentful that nature is out there ready to enjoy and he is stuck waiting on someone else to let him out (or is it in).

I think that any artwork that causes a viewer to question or consider is a success. Questions that leave one wondering are good; it often means that the work has engaged you to a point that you will think about it after your no longer have access to the image. There are really no right and wrong answers for the viewer. What a powerful position to have.



A little context will help me explain my content in the Gate painting. This is a photograph of the gate in my painting, but this one is in a closed position. It is one of the entry gates to the Millennium Garden in Birr Castle Demesne . When it is closed you can look through it and ogle the beauty that is beyond it. You can be on the outside looking in, but I was actually on the inside looking out because I had access to the garden through my "secret" door in the wall that connected the property where I stayed with the Millennium Garden. For once gates did not keep me out or in. I felt powerful.

In this particular instance, I photographed the gate when it was opened up and pressed back on top of a hydrangea bush. I was interested in the idea of containment, how compressed the leaves were and how some of them were seeking ways out. It was man against nature and nature was winning. My earliest experiences with a cultivated garden was being barred by a gate. All I could do was stand on the fence and look longingly at what was inside. Gates always bring me back to that time. The leaves are a methaphor for me in that situation.

Through her comments, hwfarber shows a good sense of plants and the uselessness of trying to contain them. They will have their way in the end. If there is any possible way for plants to spread beyond man made boundaries it will be found. That brings us nicely to Kathy who wisely asks "Can nature really be contained?"

I was pleased with Kelly's reference to the suggestion of threat she perceived in the dark background. This made me realize that I had successfully created an emotive response in the viewer.

Compose: Selecting a Subject 2

This is a painting I am having difficulty finishing and I am going to use it as an example as I go through the various posts I plan to do on composition. Hopefully at the end of the series I'll resolve the painting by using the information for reflection . There's nothing like a problem to get you thinking.

About the series:
As this piece is part of my Reading a Garden Series, it has to focus on something that stood out to me in my two week stay at Birr Castle Demesne. It must references my understanding /response to some experience. My process in selecting topics to paint starts with culling my photographs taken during my two week stay . Once I knew I wanted to create a work based on the daylilies , I proceeded to choose four photographs to use in image transfers, which I create in gel skins and apply to the board. These would be my starting point, evidence of my "real experiences". ( If you look closely you can see the edges of these transfers. I want them visible.) From these I begin to change the images by adding to them and creating whole new sections using paint and paper or eroding the details they provide until I have captured what I remember (mostly sense memories) from the experience. As more time intervenes I'm forgetting much and embellishing more and more of the details.

In my last post I listed a series of things to consider in selecting a subject to paint. I will try to answer them with reference to this painting. My point is if I had considered them in more depth before I began the work rather than just barging in , I might not be in this trouble. I plan to post the questions next to my paint table for future reminders.

Why are you attracted to the subject? Why does it appeal to you?

This is my fourteenth piece in this series and one of four works focusing on flowers chosen for different reasons.

These Daylilies grew in abundance along a path I walked each day in The Millennium Garden in Birr Castle Demesne. There were orange ones and yellow ones which I photographed on several different days. The vibrancy of the orange/rust ones captured my attention and the yellow ones were left in the background.

Daylilies (hemerocallis) are very interesting structurally. I am attracted to tall graceful plants with more complicated flower structures. The daylily also has long, narrow, blade like leaves that move in the wind and seem to grow in all directions. The most fascinating thing about the flowers on these plants is that they open at sunrise and wither at sunset. Each day new ones are in bloom so you are never seeing the same one twice. It is this point that most interests me because it represents the essence of the temporary nature of beauty and how fleeting our lives are. You have to hand it to daylilies they give it their all for one day.

What emotion grabs you when you look at it? How can you express this emotion?

I'm attracted to their vibrant colour, elegance and freedom to move so readily in the wind. One one hand I like the fact that I'm seeing new blooms every day and the scene is continuously changing, but underneath there is melancholy because they are so short lived and in this way not free at all. I'm conflicted, this is probably why I am having so much trouble finishing this work.

What part of the subject should be emphasized to maximize the emotion /impression?
The colour, elegance, structure and their freedom are easy to emphasize. I am not capturing the transience that is so important to my perception of them. Perhaps I need to refocus and paint one or two obviously withered ones, but I also need to somehow portray the melancholy I feel about these flowers. That is very subtle and right now I'm at a loss about how to show it. I'll keep going with the questions/suggestions ...

What colours/key suits the mood you want to impart?

This might be my area where I have to solve the melancholy issue by toning down the vibrancy. I have really played up the leaves which support the flowers - maybe they are a bit too energetic and playful. The flowers are more low key and seem to be working better with the emotions I am interested in imparting.


What will identify this painting as yours (showing yourself in the painting)?
The process I am using beginning with phototransfers and manipulating them based on the erosion of memory with the passage of time has become a constant in my work of late. The close up, controlled view adds to the me-ness of the work. The subject matter is consistent with my interests and past work.

That's my effort at reflection. I don't want to invest hours into the process because when I reread it tomorrow i'll have a whole new set of ideas. I'm sure the able comments of my readers will move me along with this. Comments anyone?

Continuum

Continuum (2009) 10 x 24 in.
mixed media ( photo transfer, acrylic mediums &paint) paper) on board

There is inspiration in the simplest things. How many times do people walk by aspects of nature intent on their own inner world and completely miss what is happening around them? At times I feel I have the opposite problem - a continuous bombardment of stimuli that must be filtered out or it becomes overwhelming to process. This rose shrub is a good example of my usual " nature experience". I was strolling along in the Millennium Garden, Birr Castle Demense, and was beckoned by both the buzzing of bees and a glorious smell. Drawing nearer, I could see that some rose blooms were still in tact serving as landing pads for bees busy playing out their role in nature. The thing that really interested me as I looked more carefully was the presence of every stage of blossom development in a rose. It was like the passage of time caught in action and I was there to experience it. Two days later and all the blooms would possibly have disappeared, an hour before the bees might have been busy with other concerns.

This was a difficult painting to execute. It lay around my studio for six months in various stages and configurations of elements. There were so many elements to include that I could not get the composition to work. I used a great deal more paper than in the other paintings in this series. The evidence of the original photo transfers is almost totally obscured by the inclusion of additional information from my memory. The work grew to be much more sense bound and less about the actual rose bush itself. With the addition of each element, I felt I was building my own understanding of the the passage of time.

Making decisions

The beginning of a new series is always a challenge for me because there are so many decisions to be made before beginning. I'm sure other artists may go about things slightly differently. Once I make these framework decisions, I loosen up totally and the content and composition takes on a mind of its own.

After my return from Birr Castle Demesne last July, my mind was overstimulated with visual information from my two week stay and it took me almost a month to calm down and begin work. Since I was creating the work with an exhibition in mind, I wanted some consistency in the appearance / size of the work; I also wanted the format to have some connection to my experiences in the garden. I'd like to take you on the thinking journey that resulted in my choice of support size and orientation.

My first glimpse of the garden was through a doorway that led from where we stayed in The Bothy directly into the Millennium Garden. I approached that door with a great deal of anticipation.

What was on the other side as I walked through

So my first view was a limited one through a doorway. As I spent time on the property, I realized that many of my views were through contained openings that only allowed what I termed as "controlled viewing" that revealed different slices of the garden.

I decided that was a good thing because I was not accustomed to the expanse of geometric grids that organized the garden. This viewing direction helped me pay attention to what I was seeing and really focus on what was framed. I realized that my viewing was organized by someone else, just a I manipulate the picture plane for viewer interaction when I compose.

Many other impressions were snatched through closed gates which brought me back to my first view of a cultivated garden as a child. My grandmother's garden was fenced and gated. I looked longingly through the slats in the fence to the world of riotous colour inside. I coveted that space very much, but I was not allowed inside because I had a penchant for picking flowers.

Mom and I , Keels Garden, 1954

It was the focused glance of rectangular openings that led me to adopt a vertical orientation for my work in this series. After much fiddling with dimensions I decided to work on cradled panels, 10 x 24 inches., not quite doorway proportions but definitely referencing them. I decided that I would direct the viewer of my work just as my gaze was directed in the gardens.
And then I had to choose a suitable technique for the work that allowed me to respond to my reading of the garden.

Transition and metamorphosis

I have a love affair with doors and find myself collecting them in memory or photos wherever I go. Doors are symbols of many things depending on which source you consult. The most common ideas represented by doors are transitions and metamorphosis. The door is a passage from one place to another, between different states (e.g., this life to the next), or between lightness and darkness.

Open doors have positive connotations, signifying welcome and an invitation to discovery; they offer hope, opportunity, and liberation. Closed doors signify rejection, secrecy, exclusion, imprisonment or more positively protection.


The door to The Bothy cottage was a welcoming site after a long day driving on the narrow roads of Ireland. We found the ivy cozy while friends found it ominous and menacing.

Walking from the Millenium Garden to the Bothy. The open door was welcoming and we often left it open behind us after hours.

When closed, it created a very different feeling.

Gates share some of the symbolism of doors , particularly entry into a new life, communication between one world and the next, between the living and the dead. Gates, when closed, allow visual entry but prevent the physical act of movement thus creating a barrier excluding all but a limited view, often creating longing for the unattainable.

Private gates from Birr Castle Demesne into Birr town. In this case we are on the inside looking out, which is a very different feeling from being on the outside looking in.

Public entrance to Birr Castle propery

Gates into the Millennium Garden are closed after hours. I love the circular motifs.

Entrance to the greenhouse in the Millennium Garden, an open invitation to view the beauty inside- a transition into another world, of colour and perfection through the control of conditions. The person on the opposite side of the greenhouse won't feel quite so invited.

An invitation to another part of the garden during visiting hours

Closed to visitors. This is the most beautiful gate on the property. I was so caught up in the design I didn't even think about looking through to the other side. The gates are closed but not locked.

The door/gate to the shell well, a short walk from the Millennium Garden. The gate offers protection both to the viewer and to the intricate shell wall inside.

The interior wall of the Shell Well made with shells from the collection of Mariga Guinness. It was decorated by volunteers in her memory. Guinness has been a sponsor for work done in various parts of the gardens.

So now the difficult task.... How am I going to create an art work that focuses on some of these ideas? Not a clue comes to mind at this time, but I'm hoping the act of laying it out will help something gel in my mind.

Garden notes

Before I start a new painting in my Reading a Garden series, I always reread my journal and review all my photos from my two week stay. Today I started a new painting which means the better part of yesterday was spent reading, looking and thinking.

Here I am on my first day, writing away. As a methodical way to see everything, I decided to sit on all the benches throughout the property and survey my surroundings. I usually observed, wrote and walked early in the morning while my traveling companions were fast asleep. Because the garden wasn't open to visitors at that time, I felt like the queen of all I surveyed. Every now and then a gardner walked by or a lawn mower could be heard humming in the distance. Apart from that my fantasy pervailed. It was a very contemplative time for me. These are my first views of the Millennium Garden.

Looking straight ahead is one of the long pathways that run the length of the Millennium Garden.
I was amazed by the order and precision of it all.

This view, slightly to my left, shows roses that were just past their prime. You can see the top of the hornbeam cloisters above the rose plantings. The Hornbeams were the most inviting aspect of the garden . I had never seen anything that magnificant before.

A view walking in the Hornbeam Cloisters. Pretty magical especially on a sunny day!

Windows in the hornbeam allees allow visitors to contemplate the parterre in the centre of the Upper Terrace. Intertwined R's form the design that has been fashioned out of boxwood.

Looking left , the path to the two statues and our door in the wall.

The second statue. I loved the arbours the statues were set in. When the sun was shining through it made the leaves look like stained glass. There was a church feel to the whole experience.

One of the works I created just after arriving back from my trip.
Untitled, 2008, 10 x 24 inches, photo transfer, paper, acrylic paint, acrylic mediums

Approaching the statue from the other direction. This was one of my favourite walks on the property. Walking up the steps meant almost there. Every day of my stay, I never forgot how lucky I was to have the privilege of being there.

What's in a circle?

Shadows of Summer (8 x 10) paper, photo transfer, acrylic paint and gels on board
Ryall (2008)

This small work combines memories of different aspects of my experiences in The Millennium Garden at Birr Castle, Ireland. I am always drawn to circular motifs and use them repeatedly in my work. The brick opening ( referred to as a moongate in garden design) was intriguing. It allowed you to choose a view looking into or out of the garden. I loved the framed glimpse from both angles. I spent time sitting in the circle and contemplating both views and what they meant. I also imagined all sorts of other views that the circle could contain that related to the symbolism the circle has generated through the centuries.

The circle is a universal symbol of unity, wholeness, infinity, protectiveness, eternity,the godess and female power. To earth-centered religions as well as to many contemporary pagans, it represents the feminine spirit or force, the cosmos or a spiritualized Mother Earth. What is contained within a circle is often considered sacred.

Millenium Garden at Birr Castle

When we left our cottage located within Birr Castle Demesne and stepped through our "secret" door in the wall, we were in another world, the world of the The Millennium Garden - a formal garden of the highest order. Since I am a lover of the more informal, meandering cottage garden, full of colour and energy and the wildflower meadow, ripe with nature's throw of the dice, the geometric order of the formal garden took some getting use to. It didn't take long to recognize that the number four was a prominent feature of the design and straight lines were everywhere.

I fully expected the geometry of this garden to show prominently in the composition of my new work, but up to this point it hasn't. It has, however, displayed itself more subtly. Behind one of the statues near our door, the vines around the arbour where backlit. The resulting piece created from this experience has an interesting look. Again you only get a slice from the whole painting. Just enough to tease.