Catching time

Well that sure flew by.  I can't believe I wrote my last post in September 2015 after our big  workshop fire.   Perhaps there's a good reason for no posts. Yes, indeed there is! You can't make work when you aren't in the studio, and you don't go to the studio when you are creatively flatlined.  Thankfully that's over.

 I am back at the summer house and busy getting the new workshop workable,  and at the same time madly scouring my usual haunts to find new reclaimed wood and interesting attachments for my future assemblages to complete enough work for my Solo show in September.  Remember I lost three years worth of collecting in one day.

In a fit of positive thinking (that doesn't happen much) I saved some of my most precious wood scraps in the hope of getting the smell of smoke out of them.  That little experiment begins June 1.

It seems I am finding all sorts of things on the beaches, but none of them, are as far as I know now, are  of any use for  my future creations.

Perhaps I'm wrong! I just may be on second glance.  

Making meaningful art

Have you ever watched as you back up your IPad photos?  I just saw my life over the last four  years flash before my eyes.  My IPad 2 turns 4 in nine days.  It just won't hold its charge any more.  I see parallels with my own life especially with art production.  I am all intention and I quickly dwindle.

But back to the photos.  There were a lot of photos of my work and vacation pics.   As they flitted onto the computer I understood why there is so much blue in my recent work, and why water and sky have begun to dominate my imagery.  Many of the pics were of a Mediterranean cruise out of Venice and various shots from the south of England = sky and water.

Minack Gardens, Cornwall

View from Doc Martin's House, Port Issac, Cornwall

Grand Canal, Venice 

And of course my summer place is always about the scene in front of me, sky and water.


And from those experiences work springs forth.  Some make it to the Leyton Gallery and others are experiments....

 Above and Below 10 x 12 in. 2012 encaustic and paper on cradled panel

Lost fishing nets floating in the vast ocean under a moonlit sky

Experiment...  Water on sun lit pebbles in a shallow pond, encaustic monotype, later chopped into squares and rearranged into a grid

 Experiment (Gulch Duntara), encaustic, just to the left of my house looking down from the road into the water

On the bay, 2012 encaustic monotype applied to hardboard

This work is a direct response to sitting  in my rocking chair looking out the bay for hours over many days.  An artist friend now has it on his wall.  That makes me very happy.  Of course having his work on my wall makes me even happier.  

So my work is becoming more landscape oriented.  I didn't plan this; it just happened. 

Some artists are  very focused and develop a "look" that is recognizable. They strive to achieve this and many buyers like this predictability.   My work is not like that;  I am an intuitive responder to all that is around me.  One of my friends often points out  (not in a negative way) how different my work looks from year to year, but I admit, it makes me feel like a bit of an artistic fraud at times.

 While these land and sea pieces have a coherency, they are very different from my  Remnant series and my Reading a Garden work. But, when I stand back and consider this I realize that to the untrained eye it might appear that way, but woven into everything I do is my response to the passage of time, and no where is it more obvious than in nature.

How about you?  Is there a tight coherency in your art making or does the work evolve without your planned consent?

Full moon series

Whew!  Just got back from a whirlwind trip to close up the summer house and say good-bye to my wood assemblages until May. Living on the edge of the Atlantic this time of year is cool and noisy. The sound of the sea's movement gets louder and more ominous.  Winter there is not for the faint of heart. All those things help me pack it in  sometime around late October or  mid November.

And here I am, officially a townie again.


It's been a busy couple of days getting  ready for a group Christmas show at the Leyton Gallery. The series of work in the show is called Full Moon, Duntara.  Living in this magical place  in the summer months  puts me in tune with landscape and nature.   I rarely paint landscape, but it has been creeping into my work in different ways over the last several years.


All five pieces in this series to date are mixed media encaustic.  They are small snippets of reflection about one of my favourite time-when a full moon rises over the hill across from our  summer house. The whole harbour lights as the moonlight  plays across the hills, water and grass.  It's pretty spectacular.

Margaret Ryall, Full Moon, Duntara #1 (2014) 6 x 6 in. mixed media encaustic

Margaret Ryall, Full Moon, Duntara #2 (2014) 6 x 6 in. mixed media encaustic

Margaret Ryall, Full Moon, Duntara #3 (2014) 6 x 6 in. mixed media encaustic

Margaret Ryall, Full Moon, Duntara #4 (2014) 6 x 6 in. mixed media encaustic

Margaret Ryall, Full Moon, Duntara #5 (2014) 6 x 6 in. mixed media encaustic

And now I have to wait until the opening to see them again.  

Branching

Do you notice trees or are they just a backdrop in your life ?  I've had a long standing love affair with trees since childhood because our house was next to a lovely wood that ran down to the sea and trees were my playing field.

Lying in a hospital bed for a week provides ample opportunity to think and you try to focus those thoughts in a positive way. When I want to relax I visualize trees but that led to branches, branching and what's going on in my head.  You know how things keep connecting in an artist's mind. That was a good thing in the end because I have a new series pushing its way to the surface.  It's all just tickling the surface to get out, but in the meantime here are some inspiration photos that relate to the idea of branching.  I'm considering it in the broadest way.

 Santiago Ramón y Cajal ForMemRS (1 May 1852 – 17 October 1934) was a Spanish pathologist, histologist, neuroscientist, and Nobel laureate.  This is exquisite mark making.

Artist unknown

Another totally different kind of branching.  Such detail leads me back to the marks of the passage of time. 

Fubiz

The quietness of this work interests me greatly. The composition provides a feeling of protection.

Charles Grogg, Subterraneous
gelatin silver print
20x24 

Another way to think about taking root!

Linda Vachon, pot de fleurs

This work reminds me of encuastic with that soft haze that can be built up with encaustic medium and image transfers.   

Asha Robertson  Raven
22"x24"
Acrylic, paper, fabric, and encaustic, on board

Robertson explores themes of collective memory, time travel, human impact on the land and nature’s ability to reclaim with time .

Andrew Wreach, 2009 , Democritus, archival ink jet print, 70 x 40 in.

Can closed shapes branch?  Can't make up my mind if it reminds me of cells or a view from an airplane.  I am attracted to the colour scheme which makes the whole piece look florescent and glowing. 

  English Wilderness

Love the lacy intricacy of this.  I'm getting ideas.

and guess what this is?

What does branching mean to you?

Beachcombing

Walking a beach is a form of meditation for me.  The crunch of sliding rocks and the movement of water is soothing and predictable.  The ebb and flow  is like nature's clock marking the passage of time. It shouldn't be any surprise that I find inspiration for my work in such a space.  You never know what the beach will throw back to us.   I'm use to the high winds in Newfoundland that send all sorts of debris to be examined and sorted.  The beaches of Devon are a gentler sort and very clean.  I couldn't believe this is all I found that was noteworthy after prowling for half an hour.  The blue comb made it all worthwhile.  The ultimate beachcombing find.

Sometimes beachcombing  results in a painting....

 Life Continues (2009) 12 x 24 mixed media on panel, M. Ryall

The long view

How you frame a photo gives you insight into compositions that interest you.  I would love to say I take all kinds of time setting up shots and giving conscious thought to why I'm framing in a certain way, but it would be a bold faced lie.  I put  the camera up and snap in a second or two; it all boils down to impatience.  It's only after I get home that things start to make any sense for me as I analyze what I've taken.  I think we are attracted to things unconsciously and patterns are only revealed at a later date. Alas, photography is only fodder for my painting.

Here's a collection from beautiful Devon  I've put together for your perusal and comment.

 

 

 

Hope you 're not leaving without your say.

Does fog inspire you?

Our summer house has been bathed in fog for at least a week. Not one ounce of sun to be seen but there's lots of rain.  One would think that being wrapped in a cocoon would  provide just the right atmosphere for creating.  Nothing could be further than the truth for me.  I've been waiting for inspiration to strike for four days, but I  am less inclined to create with each passing  day.  Obviously the weather affects how I create.  Not feeling inspired, I decided to spend time making new image transfers for my next interior/exterior landscape.  I'm glad to report that went very well and I'm ready to roll when I return.  That's right, I  escaped it all and made the three hour journey back to the city where I at least have a computer.

Other artists are very inspired by fog as you can see....

 

 

Can you identify the artists?

Do you see any similarities?

Twigs and branches

 Nature is often brought indoors at Christmas time.  I think natural materials make the Christmas season warmer and more homey not to mention thrifty.   What can be done with simple materials is limited only by ones imagination. I always have some aspect of my garden indoors or on my front step for the Christmas season.  This year's creations are below.

 I've been nursing these hydrangea bunches for weeks.  The poppy pods are always there and  keep getting new friends added. I love them with the dark outside as a backdrop.

 Outside on my front step - an arragangement of broom, pine, cotoneaster and goatsbeard stalks.

 On the other sideof my entrance is an arrangement of  the same materials with a few twig stars spray painted gold. I'm a little concerned what will happen to them when we have a great gust of wind. Falling stars?

In the living room is a stark and twisty arrangement of branches from my daughter's garden with the addition of two clusters of fake berries for a splash of colour.  I'm not sure where the third bunch have disappeared.
 
I'm not only thinking about branches and twigs for decorations.  I'm still toying with different ideas for my new masterpiece I want to hang over my mantle.  Here are my inspiration shots:

 This is what I see when I look through  my family room window.  Yep, I live in a subdivision.  The big maple outside the window is a great privacy screen in the summer and fall, but in winter it is stark and we are on display. While having tea the other morning I noticed the great lines of the tree in the TV screen which is opposite the window. 

What I loved about this shot was the minimal lines reflected.  All the visual clutter outside was eliminated.  This is how I wish I painted - paired down and minimal.  As you can see I'm still at the inspiration stage.