Sheila M. Evans

At last, I’ve painted in oil again. It was a long time coming, between summer shows and testing out some new ideas with small pastel pieces, but I finally walked the two steps over to my oil easel and picked up a brush or two. Loved it, of course. I always do, although I’m still working out the bugs to make my studio lighting better for oils. Maybe a bank of north-facing windows and a skylight? Not likely since I’m working on the first floor of a two-story, 100-year-old house that I’m pretty sure would be seriously insulted by a remodel. As it should be.

Oh, well. Lighting considerations aside, I’m happy to have one more piece ready to help fill the enormous Kress Gallery for my oils show opening in May. The painting, Medusa, is a re-thought version of Medusa Study, the small pastel I posted a few weeks ago. Now that I’ve broken the ice a bit, I’m looking forward to more of what the oil side will bring.

I’m not sure where the past two weeks went, but somewhere during that time I finally managed to finish my first project for my new category, Living with Art. My hope for my Living with Art posts is to inspire you, and me, to find ways to get some of those artworks we all have out of storage and up onto the walls. Or wherever.

One question I hear a lot from people buying artwork is, “how do I light it?” Of course there are so many ways to effectively light pieces of art. What you do depends on your situation, obviously. Some people are able to install beautiful built-in art lighting systems to showcase their collections (for a funny client story about this read to the end of this post). If you have the means to do that, then by all means, do that. I personally can’t, so I will be dealing with some more easy-access alternative ideas. But before I get on with it, a story about picture lights:

My first solo show was at a local restaurant, which was funky and fun but very dark—lit only by a few strings of holiday lights, and little night lights over the tables. With a collection of dark, subtle work behind glass to display, I was concerned the art would not be seen at all. So I suggested that I buy inexpensive picture lights for each piece. The owners were hesitant, concerned that it would detract from the ambience of the restaurant. But, thankfully, they let me go ahead with the lights. As it turned out, the lit pastels added such a pleasant lighting effect to the room that when my show ended, the restaurant owners bought all of my lights and used them in subsequent shows.

In her amazing book, The Not So Big House, architect and author Sarah Susanka suggests the use of a lighted picture at the end of a hallway “so that you have something to walk toward.” The idea is to open up a potentially claustrophobic space, and make it more inviting. With this project I have followed her advice and lit a painting in my own home’s hallway. Read more

It seems that I am barely back from the last round of shows when the juries start for the next round. My first deadline is in about a month and a half. It seems like I just did this around, oh, yesterday or so. Has it really been a year?

At least my previous show entry mistakes are still fresh in my mind. Last year I started entering shows as soon as they started accepting entries. Never again. After submitting my images, I changed my mind about what I wanted to enter. But once submitted, the entries were basically set in stone. This year I plan to spend the time leading up to those deadlines producing more options rather than kicking myself.

Generally about four art images are needed for an entry. I could easily find four images each of pastels and oils that I think are strong enough to show a jury, but here’s the thing: they need to look great together, not just on their own. And right now, I have three of each that I am happy with. So in the next month and a half, I need to come up with one strong oil and one strong pastel that flow with the other pieces. It’s an oddly difficult thing to do, but I’m enjoying the process. It gets me back into my painting groove, and even if some of the paintings don’t match my jury images, I do have several shows coming up that need new work. Win-win.

(Above, a sketch for a possible pastel jury image, Warm Spring Study.)

Getting back into the studio after a long absence can be a challenge. It’s not easy to slow down after summer’s mile-a-minute pace, to set aside until spring little booth projects devised during long drives, and just paint. One thing that can really help out in the motivation department is a new batch of reference photos. Lucky for me, I found the dahlias.

Not that dahlias are easy to miss. But if you’re as much a creature of habit as I am, it can apparently be done for several consecutive years. Nearly all of my reference comes from visits to the Manito Park perennial garden. Occasionally I’ll venture into the greenhouse, but that’s just above the aforementioned garden, and together those areas make up a very small percentage of a very large park. This year I determined to expand my horizons a bit.

Having enjoyed my recent work with daisies from the greenhouse, I thought I’d try working with something similar. I expanded my route through the park in search of zinnias. I found a few, but they didn’t inspire. So I kept walking. Then, as I crested Rose Hill, I spotted them—a bed of giant dahlias, most of them taller than me, in every imaginable color. Blooms the size of my head were just at that heavy, twisty decline phase that I love. Did I really “SQUEEEEE!” out loud? Probably.

Seven hundred and sixteen dahlia photos later, here’s Medusa Study, my first dahlia pastel. I expect it will become an oil painting soon. I also expect to have several hundred more dahlia photos before the frost finishes them for another year.

At last—I’ve finally gotten back in town, through with my outdoor shows, caught up on my various business, over the flu, and into the process of making art. Although this week I spent a great deal of time just planning new paintings and gathering reference, I did manage to finish a new pastel (Limoncello, left).

The pastel actually has nothing to do with Italian liqueur, but was instead inspired by a neighbor’s dying barberry bush. I’d seen this poor barberry most mornings for several months as I went on my morning walk, and was fascinated with the subtle colors in the early light. So last week, I finally got my camera and did something about it.

I always feel weird when people see me taking my reference photos, imagining what they might think. I was just getting my last few shots of this barberry when a woman and two young boys walked out of the house. I started walking again, thinking they hadn’t seen me, when I heard one of the boys say, “that lady was taking pictures of our yard!” Ugh. So, I stopped and explained what I was doing. The woman was very gracious and told me to take all the pictures I like (while probably thinking “as long as you stay away from my kids you crazy person”). Oh well, I got what I wanted and no harm done. So thanks, neighbor lady, for being so understanding and for not being overly fanatical about your garden.

(By the way, the unusual aspect ratio of my new pastel is in response to numerous mentions of a need for “tall skinny artwork” to fill odd spaces in customers’ homes. Hopefully this new size [24" x 8" before framing] will fill that need.)