Fifty Years Ago Today

Fifty years ago on this day, at this time, I was riding an escalator at the Sears store in Las Vegas.   I had taken a break from studying for an English 101 test to take my mom, who was pregnant with my youngest sister Katy to Sears to buy a crib.   As we exited the escalator on the second floor we came out into a room full of televisions all broadcasting that President Kennedy had been shot.   We thought it was some horrible mistake that it could not really be happening.   My mom’s face was as white as a ghost and I walked over to a chair where she sat for a moment.  We knew we couldn’t shop so we returned home.   I remember watching Walter Cronkite announce the death of the President.  All these years later I still weep when I think of that day.  More than a president died that day, my generation’s innocence died and a new era of cynicism was born.

Magic in the Medium

I suspect that I am not the only artist who has supplies tucked away either because they were distracted by some new shiny medium or because they became frustrated trying to make that medium act in a way  they wanted and found instead resistance.  That is what had happened to my oil pastels.  I had heard people talking about how much they liked them and even the way they used them sometimes, yet no matter how hard I tried I could not find the magic.

I don’t use the term “magic” loosely.  I look at mediums as inanimate objects that allow artists to see their innermost properties and join the muse and the artist in a creative dervish whirling that results in explosions of colors, forms, movement and sound.  Unable to find that magic in my oil pastels, I had packed them away in container and tucked them into the back corner of a high shelf.

Saturday I found the magic.  While attending a Kansas City Friends of Jung workshop at VALA gallery, the morning session was led by Ken Buch, President of the KCFOJ and teacher and Master Media Artist Zigmunds Priede.  Participants sat at tables and in front of each participant was a large sheet of white paper, a box of 12 Pentel Arts Oil Pastels, and a hard eraser.   Ken began his introduction to the workshop and put slides on the screen with wonderful quotes, still I could not take my eyes off of those sticks of vibrant color.  I turned to a new page in my sketch/notebook and started playing with the color, the longer Ken talked the more color went on the page, the colors danced in front of my eyes, I picked up the eraser and used it to help blend the colors, I put on more color, did more blending, lost in my own color zone.

By the time Zig started his part of the presentation I was hooked on pastels.  I chuckled when Zig pointed out that of all the participants only two had “doodled” throughout Ken’s presentation. With that he gave us his first assignment, start doodling on that big sheet of white paper.  I got off on the wrong foot, with a big dark blue and a big orange something in the upper corner.   Zig told us to keep going and something would come.   I worked and worked on that sheet of paper and all of a sudden I could feel it and see it, images were appearing as I drew lines and circles, added color, blended, added more color, blended. The blue and orange problem had been solved. I was having so much fun, working with pastels was not work but a joyful act. Hooray for Zig for helping me find the magic.  This morning, I resurrected that tucked away box of pesky pastels and spent my studio time today dancing with the muse and finding the magic.

#elainemills #elmills #artistelaine #VALA

of artists and book clubs

i belong to a small book club that has 4 members.  The four of us have never managed to actually be together,  It started with two then we invited 4 more people to join us, two immediately accepted, one is undecided.   The four who are actually making an attempt to get together have so far managed to have only three attend at each gathering.   I would say meeting but it is so loosey goosey that it makes me giggle when i think of the intensity on selecting a date and then having one person at the last minute say oh no….

At the rate we are going it will take us a year to get through one book because each gathering starts with catching up, then breaking bread with some wonderful meal, then starting to talk about the book which leads us to endless other topics which brings back to our shared commonality — painting.  I love this group and I hope we never change.   

My gumball tree

As a child some of my first drawings, paintings, etc. were of trees.   At 68 i am still trying to get the hang of painting a tree.   This is the gumball tree in my front yard that i have a love hate relationship with, I love it in the summer so tall and green, and start hating it in the fall with those big nasty seeds begin to fall and continue to fall until the next summer when once again it has green leaves.

#artistelaine #elainemills 

goo.gl/7BQBGk

Surviving Labor Day

Survived another Labor Day!   It is my least favorite holiday; too many memories, too sad of heart.   Yesterday during a good chunk of the morning and early afternoon I had my IPod playing through my Bose system.   Having decided to listen to all of the albums in alphabetical order it seemed fitting that Anne Murray’s Country Croonin’ was on deck on a day when I am naturally somewhat despondent.  How could I get so damn lucky, 30 crying in your beer songs in a row, all sung with a mellow country twang.  Is the universe being just a touch cruel or just another whack on the side of my heart telling me to get tough?

Tuesday morning, the last track played, moving on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.   Ah so much better, at least the emotions run the gamut from A to Z on this CD.   Not so much like the broken record of yesterday, when heartstring after heartstring was plucked.

And now we charge through September, time to open the books, go to school, learn, learn and learn some more.   Things run through my head like a sieve but at least I keep trying to fill it up in the hopes that something will stick.   

I started to rush through Orange New Black, and then I stopped took a breath and decided that i will savor the next 9 episodes, by limiting my watching to 1 ever three days.  It is sooooooo good that like a fine wine it should be sipped.

To the Lighthouse and Other Inspirations...

Opens July 21, at All Souls Gallery in Kansas City,.I found Virginia Woolf’s extraordinary novel To the Lighthouse inspiring. As I read Woolf’s brilliantly crafted novel of thoughts and observations I found myself jotting word combinations like “flamingo clouds” and “incorrigible hope” on Post-it notes that I attached to the side of my computer screen. By the time I finished the book I had more than a dozen notes, each one containing a phrase that had the power to create a vision in my head. Using fiber paste covered canvas and watercolors I set out to make those phrases come alive. 

There are 13 mixed media images plus the portrait I did of Woolf in pastel. Artist reception is July 26th, 7-9 pm  4501 Walnut Kansas City, MO.  

In addition there are pieces from my series the War on WomeGUNS: American God.