Controlled Exaggerations

This week I am working on retouching several new paintings, among them a large frieze like piece called "Giants of the Desert II", which is a kind of homage to our local icon, the Saguaro. This one was inspired by some of the beautiful scenes along skyline drive in Tucson. In the new way that I have been working, I finish a painting 90% then set it to dry for a week or two, thereafter the touch ups are much easier and the results are better. Those of you who have seen my work in the flesh know that the paint is extremely thick, and if you continue to work details into thick paint you cut into the texture of it - disturbing the carefully honed shapes that I make in the paint with my palette knife. The process of completing a work is slow, but I have always seen the process as a simple matter of details - it is the result which really matters.

This week I've also been watching a fantastic British documentary called "How Art Shaped the World". In this documentary the commentator spends a great deal of time talking about how research into ancient art has proven that it was hard-wired into the human brain that we should enjoy seeing something other than pure naturalism reproduced. He talks about how there was a brief period in the sculpture of ancient Greece where pure naturalism was achieved, but then it was immediately abandoned and even the human body was subject to exaggerations - commensurate with the Greek ideals of physical beauty and fitness.

I was immediately set to thinking about my work and how it relates to this principle. I've often called my work "controlled exaggerations" or a kind of "synthetic painting." I experienced very early on in my explorations of art a feeling basically identical to the ancient Greeks - that pure reality once achieved told us little - almost nothing. I heard it said that some of the early Impressionist painters had this brought home to them just after the advent of the camera and photography - and that those painters didn't see the slightest point in representing pure visual reality when all you needed to do was take a photo. Save for the fact that the images of the day would be black and white, they would be, pure reality.

So, that is to say, in the age of high resolution digital photography, what is to be done if you are a painter? For me the answer was in a few simple sensations - the first sensation was one of color, but not of normal color - of something higher, brighter, more exaggerated and sensational. And the second main sensation was one of form, mostly brought about by the use of thick paint. By starting at visual reality, but reading it through my own sensations of bright colors and thick paint - I arrived at something I felt I had not seen before. It was closest, not surprisingly, to my mentor Jean-Claude Quilici - but it was not quite that either. There was more brushwork, and perhaps a slightly more abstract color scheme. There was some Van Gogh there also, but there was also a conscious effort to do cleaner, sharper works than the often quickly produced, impulsive Van Goghs. (He could complete 3 paintings in one day. Many of mine take 1 - 2 weeks to complete.) Out of all that emerged a style, something that even I recognized had some good points of distinction.

And when I thought about these things, it occurred to me that I was creating works that would give me more happiness than the best, sharpest digital image - or the best same effort of a realistic painter - I was making something that was a combination of emotion and visual reality. The end product was a hybrid. I realized that the painterly ability to reproduce pure visual reality told me only one thing - that the person has strong stylistic skills. In truth, it tells me little else. That is why some of the best artists, the ones we talk about and the ones that have had a lasting impact on our consciousnesses - they have taken strong artistic abilities and combined them with pure emotion - and thus they have opened many, many other doors of human expression - without having stopped cold behind the door of pure visual reality.

http://www.neilmyers.homestead.com/

Success and What Comes After

This week I have just finished a new vertical of Saguaros at Catalina State Park called "Winter Light on Saguaros." An entire new group of works are now in the studio drying and posted online at:

http://neilmyers.homestead.com/newworks.html . This is my 'New Works' page.

Recent fortunate events have left me thinking a great deal about the trappings of success. For those who know me personally, one of my biggest personality problems is my near inability to slow down long enough to enjoy the success that I have already had. To me, all of that is in the past tense - and my laser-focus is usually limited to what is on the easel now, and where I think the next good painting is going to come from. It's not in my personality to say "I've arrived". I think all that will be more than open for interpretation long after I am gone. Even after some of the best sales I've ever had in January and February of this year - I remained stricken by the thought of what to do now?

That leads me to the inevitable next conclusion, and that is that it is of utmost importance to find new subjects. Even now into my 5th year of painting in the Southwest, I am eagerly looking for new subjects to explore, including those outside of this region. One of the paintings that I've most enjoyed doing this past month was "Giant Sequoias". And some art-collector friends of mine have suggest that I should attempt paintings of Mount Rainer, and also the Golden Gate Bridge. I'm eager for the challenge, because that releases me a bit from the bulk of my work which is Southwestern. In that lies the knowledge that I believe that this style I work in can be applied to virtually any landscape with beautiful results.

One of the unspoken of aspects of art is the art of finding a proper subject. The importance of this cannot be emphasized enough. How do you find new angles on the landscapes around you? Where are the landscapes in your region that you have not explored? Have you not featured any prominent aspects of your region - things that may make great paintings? What kind of painting needs to exist to fill a void of work that is not currently there? What kind of image is required to make people see things anew? What remains to be said, or expressed? Where is the fire hidden in the rocks?

I encourage all artists to spend some time thinking about those roads that have not yet been tread. We know that there are images to be explored that our viewers, and even ourselves, will enjoy and benefit from.

Never rest on anyone's laurels, least of all your own. Success pays the bills and buys the next stack of canvases - but transcendence is only going to be reached if we focus our relentless gaze on the future - on the road not taken. So, what now? That is the question you must ask yourself on all those days after. Therein lies the possibility of rebirth and creation.

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Tubac Arts Festival

This week I am working on two Sedona paintings. One is a dried tree with the red mountains of Sedona behind - the other is a series of three red-rock spires towering above a valley of pine trees. I've always enjoyed the color challenges brought out by painting landscapes of Sedona. You get every range of red to orange on your palette, and the colors are sometimes very hard to make. But if the paintings are forcibly executed and the harmonic qualities of the reds and ochres are achieved - then interesting images emerge.

At the moment I'm getting prepared for the Tubac Arts Festival, which runs from Feb. 6 - Feb. 10th in Tubac, AZ. Tubac is a lovely small town full of art galleries and a great history in our local art scene. It is situated just under an hour's driving south of Tucson, just above the Mexican border town of Nogales. I will be doing a demonstration tomorrow at Cobalt Fine Arts from 1-3pm. If you happen to be in Tubac tomorrow, drop by and say hello! There will also be an opening on the evening of Feb. 8th for myself, Fred Collins, and Natasha Isenhour.

I'm very happy that 4 of my paintings have sold before the opening has even happened - so I send my sincerest thanks to those collectors who've purchased my work.

And to give you all a bit of a scoop on one of my next projects, and I'm planning to do a painting of the Giant Sequoias of California. We had the pleasure of briefly visiting the Mariposa grove of Sequoias at Yosimite National Park in 2006. We walked down a path for a good distance to get to them, and as we did it had begun to rain. By the time we got there it was pouring rain, we were all soaking wet and the few photographs that we have from our time in the Sequoia grove have haunted me, and now my wife and I are trying to think of a way to sneak in another trip to the region to see Sequoia National Park. I see at least one painting - maybe more, of these great trees waiting to be done. And it occured to me that I'd seen photographers taking artful shots of the Sequoias, but I have never seen a painting of one. I have visions in my head of the giant bases of these trees rendered in thick paint, with their reddish-sienna colors shining through.

Thinking about the Sequoias, Redwoods, and the old growth forests of the west, one can easily see why such amazing forests MUST be preserved. I well remember those few minutes we spent in the pouring rain at the bases of these giant trees -and the feeling that I had, as if spending time among nature's gods. Everyone should feel this, and everyone should be concerned at the sound of chainsaws in our old growth forests.

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Tubac Arts Festival & Jean-Claude Quilici

This week I am in the process of finishing a large 30 x 40 inch canvas of Taos Pueblo. This appealing symphony of ochre colors always serves as a reminder of what a challenge it is to paint a Pueblo structure and do it well. Many artists like to depict single Pueblo structures or homes of that style - I attempt, much like my mentor Jean-Claude Quilici, to capture the largesse of Taos and Acoma, and to pay proper homage to their beauty and uniqueness.

At this point in the exhibit season, many of us Southern Arizona artists turn our attention to the Tubac Arts festival. This year's festival runs February 6-10, and it features countless interesting attractions and artistic displays in historic Tubac, AZ. I will have paintings on display at Cobalt Fine Arts Gallery at 5 Camino Otero, so I encourage everyone to stop by. On display at Cobalt Fine Arts are some of the last remaining unsold pieces from a large group exhibited this past November - notably "Arizona The Beautiful" and "Saguaros Under a Monsoon Sky."

This week I had an interesting discussion with a musician friend of mine, and we were thinking about the issue of originality. I believe now, more than ever, true originality is urgently necessary for any kind of real creative success. With more than 6 billion people on planet earth , it is getting harder and harder to arrive at an idea that is truly new and invigorating - especially in the art world. Yet there are many cases in art history where painters actually drifted together, because they found they came to similar styles while working separately. Braque and Picasso realized that their own experiments in painting were leading them to analytical cubism - so they decided to collaborate. Monet and Renoir often placed their easels side by side in front of the subject, and came out with canvases that were in a similar spirit, but subtly different. The post-impressionists like Van Gogh and Gauguin and Toulouse-Lautrec drifted together as a sort of natural extension in deciding where to pick up from the impressionists. But I have never been a part of any group of artists, and in some sense I am happy for that. Working alone I feel I have managed to create something distinct - paintings that are not to be confused with any other Southern Arizona artist. And I have always been hyper-aware of how often I've walked in galleries in the west and seen a blur of indistinguishable paintings. It was sometimes as if the signatures on the paintings could have been inter-changed and nobody would notice.

That does not mean I have not had my own inspirations and my own master. From the very early days, around 1992 when I did my first oil paintings, I was always attracted to bright colored paint and the thick application of it. This occurred with no prompting, just a confirmation of instincts. And in about 1994 I had the pleasure of learning about contemporary French artist Jean-Claude Quilici. Quilici happened to be the cousin of one of my great friends, the French professor Dr. Augustin Quilici, from Lenoir-Rhyne College. Dr Quilici showed me Jean-Claude's work, and I was enthralled. This was it! This was the place to start.

Jean-Claude Quilici has garnered many accomplishments in his years of painting - for me, he offered regular friendship and encouragement, copies of books and of his works, as well as posters with full color reproductions. He was wise enough to offer encouragement and advice, but we never studied together and he never directed me to do this or that with my work. He did what a great artist should do, offer himself as an example if needed - but leave the student to find his or her own direction. I think Jean-Claude also knew that the discoveries that really matter are those we make alone in the studio, or in front of the subject - not something rambled over in a loud, raucous discussion of artists.

To this day, I can honestly admit that few things make me happier than seeing examples of Jean-Claude's work that I have not seen before. We've met twice, and we still keep in touch by mail. His work continues to soar in excellence and vibrancy - and I openly consider him my "maitre" and friend.

I do encourage everyone to make themselves familiar with the work of Jean-Claude Quilici, and by doing so, those of you with an interest in my work will see the seeds of inspiration that have given rise to my very own paintings.

Visit Neil's official paintings website at www.neilmyers.homestead.com

The Empty Easel and the Long December

This week the easel is empty. I decided a few days ago to make my last painting, a blooming Agave, the last painting of 2007. (The image to the left is 'Saguaro at Romero Ruins' finished a couple of weeks ago). It seemed appropriate as I thought about Agaves, how they raise their central shoots as high as they possibly can and then bloom - casting their seeds to the earth before the Agave dies. Painters like myself, we do the same. We work sowing the seeds of our paintings in the world - then they go into the world and the images take own their own lives. It makes me think of that wonderful feeling you get in high-quality art galleries, that feeling of assurance that you are not alone. That you are there with the shadows of all those artists who came before you.

I find myself thinking of the Counting Crows song "Long December" that goes "It's been a long December and there's reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last..."

For me, 2007 was a very good year. If I am honest with myself, I should say that it was a year like many others - one which was beset with challenges and problems of it's own sort, but not such as would diminish the accomplishments of the year. In February my work was featured in Tucson Home Magazine as part of their "3 of a Kind" artist series. And in November I was featured in the "Best of the West" section in Southwest Art Magazine. It has been a godsend that magazines have written about my work, and it is my goal to continue to give them something in my paintings that will keep them thinking and keep those keyboards clicking. And as always, sales have been good and steady in 2007 - even during the slow Summers here in Arizona.

If there has been a change in my work this past year, I could probably say that the overall texture of the paintings has become thicker, creating a more abrasive surface. This has been useful in implying movement, even in the sky which is usually far away in many artist's works. I've also explored other regions, resulting in paintings of Acoma Pueblo as well as farther afield at Easter Island, and the Baobabs of Madagascar. I still see, in my mind's eye, paintings of Washington DC, of France, and new images from New Zealand. I've yet to know how they are going to materialize. They may emerge in 2008.

There is no grand wisdom to ponder when a year comes to a close - only the simple thought, the sense that time is passing. A few more lines around the eyes, a few more aches where you never had aches before...and the creeping sensation that there is no time to waste in our lives. That if we believe we are here for a purpose, it is our job to do that thing, to give it life and meaning. So that when we are older and look back on our limited time in this world, we can say to ourselves "I did it."

We are all given to one another for a time, and just as that time had a beginning, it will also have an end. So don't waste one more minute in this world - tell people how you feel, be as honest as good society will let you be - and have the courage to make the best of every moment.

It may have been a "Long December", but yeah, there's reason to believe - maybe next year will be better than the last.

Happy 2008 to everyone!

http://www.neilmyers.homestead.com/

*All images are copyright Neil Myers 2007-2008

Lessons From Ansel Adams

This week I have just finished a new canvas called "Sunset in the Catalinas", which depicts that moment when the light turns at a sharp angle on the hills and Saguaros - heralding the arrival of the end of the day. It is painted with dark contrasts much like many of my other works - and it is only one aspect of the feeling a sunset leaves on someone who is lucky enough to see it from Southern Arizona. There is another moment that comes after this kind of light - and in this other moment, just as the sun is about to set, the mountains and vegetation turn a near holographic pink. This only lasts for a few minutes, but it is something that I hope to capture one day. Then as the sun goes below the horizon we see the stripes of teal and orange and pink, the last and most beautiful moment as the stars emerge and the night comes.

Contrast is a great lesson in art. I am a believer in the power and the emotional range of contrast. One of those artists that taught me about this was the American photographer Ansel Adams. Adams worked nearly his entire life in the medium of black and white photography - however his images are so incredibly compelling, I have always felt that there are inherent lessons in them - even for a colorist like myself.

It has always seemed to me that Adams has the most spectacular sense of what is was that made a good picture. Never could you say that an Ansel Adams picture is devoid of content. Even if it is nothing but a huge sky with clouds, it is immediately apparent that Adams chose his subjects carefully - that the photographic print was complete, and full of the image that it sought to render. His tactic of darkening a sky deeply so that the objects on the foreground stood out in stronger contrast is quite amazing. Ansel seemed to understand that there were photos underneath the photos - something deeper and more beautiful that the object on the surface. I've heard it said that he would wait for hours until the light or the cloud formations of a landscape were just right, and then 'click', he made his photo.

Perhaps one needs to understand, as an artist, that no every single image that bombards the senses can be made into a lasting, eternal piece of art. Part of the act of having some kind of discretion is knowing what will not work - what image, photo or painting, does NOT constitute a compelling enough image to be memorable and unique. And of course, this is a personal process for most artists. I shoot photos that I paint my paintings from - and probably 85% of the photos shot out on location stand no chance whatsoever in becoming a Neil Myers painting. For me, the image must contain a full measure of content and feeling, and if it doesn't, it's just another snapshot. I would never want those random shots to become 'just another' painting.

One critic in the Ric Burns documentary on Ansel Adams stated that "There is something about Ansel's work which is almost Gothic". And I think that standard is a good one for an artist to hold themselves to. To the creation of work that is specific, emotional, undeniable and full of content and quality.

Ansel used to say "You know it's a good work of art if you remember it afterwards."

That is the goal we all strive for. The searing into our brains of a great work, of a true moment in time, or of a large and undeniably true image. So I can only hope that others remember my paintings the way I remember Ansel's photographs.

http://www.neilmyers.homestead.com/

*All images are copyright Neil Myers 2007

Giants of the Desert

This week I am busy working on a vertical study of a large Saguaro cactus that I found near the Romero Ruins at Catalina State Park. I spent most of yesterday wrestling with the background of reddish ochre colours, all the while trying to do something with the texture and shape of the paint - and, at the same time, trying also to create something spontaneous in shape and form. I have noticed that the shapes you see in nature follow very loose patterns, and it is rare that you see straight lines or predictable angles. Rather, if you are an interpretive artist like I am, then your hand must be somewhat loose in order to create the fluid forms of nature. It is a tight balance between control and non-control.

I have tried for several years now to capture the special quality of our Giant Saguaros of the Sonoran Desert. They are really a local icon of our landscape - large, powerful plants and loom in anthropomorphic shapes all around our hills and flatlands. One thing that I have done that many artists seem to rarely try is that I have done countless works which were studies of the Saguaros themselves - rather than the more popular tactic of merely featuring the Saguaro in a larger landscape. Of course it is always in a larger landscape, but I believe that they are amazing when viewed in small groups together, or alone in one single, large canvas rendition. They are imbued with every variation of light that our desert has to offer. We see the progression of the day as it moves across the creased shapes of the Saguaros, and the eerie shadows that they cast onto the dusty ground. To me they stand alone as an object in our ecosystem that is worthy of individual study.

Another thing I do that may be considered unusual is that when I go out in search of images that I want to turn into paintings, I always look for Saguaros that are unusual in their shape or fundamental characteristics. Southwestern artists seem often to just stylize the Saguaro into a neat, easy to digest shape, with perfect arms and predictable qualities. The truth is actually that Saguaros are radical in their differences, and it is that quality that I love to explore. Some of them grow straight up and have no arms - and I believe that these are referred to as "pole" Saguaros. Some only sprout arms high up on their central trunks. Some sprout arms 1 inch above the ground. Some are partially dead and decaying, but still standing. And some of the most amazing ones are what are referred to as "crested" saguaros, where the top of the saguaro fans out into a creased fan-like shape. This is extremely rare. Among the stands of Saguaros that I commonly visit, there are only 3 that I know of. One of them is on Ina Road in Tucson, and I've painted it - the painting is at Wild Holly Gallery in Carefree, AZ.

Some people still pick on me because I have an easterner's habit of saying the word "Saguaro" with a hard "g", like "Sa-Gwaro", when the local habit is to say "sa-Waro". (I did some Internet research and one site said that the modern word "Saguaro", however you choose to say it, is a Spanish language corruption of an old Pima Indian word. So it is highly likely that we are all pronouncing it wrong relative to the name of the plant given by the local Pima Indians) However whatever you choose to call it, however you like to say it - our Saguaros are powerful icons of our landscape - rewarding to look at and wonder about, dazzling to explore with a paintbrush.

http://www.neilmyers.homestead.com/

*All images are copyright Neil Myers 2007