Disneyland

I’m commemorating Disneyland’s anniversary with an artistamp.  It features art by my mother, Muriel Joan Bernier (1919 – 2010).

Click on the image to download a PDF copy of the actual stamp (smaller than illustrated).

If you’re not sure what an artistamp is, you can learn more at one of my other websites: Artistamps – Definition at Aisling.net. (Page will open in a new window.)

The artwork at the upper left, which was also on the Fantasyland board game, was my mother’s original art*.  She freelanced for Disney in the 1950s, and I remember her drawing this picture and many others for Disney.

(The cover of the Fantasyland board game, above, and the actual board shown below, are entirely my mother’s artwork.)

One of the best benefits of growing up with a mom who drew for Disney is that we’d go to the Disney movies over & over again.  My mother would sit next to me, with paper and pencil, and she’d sketch ideas for new artwork as we watched… well, whatever Disney movie was at the theatre that week.

My mom did all the artwork for the Fantasyland board game, and most of the artwork for the Steps to Toyland game, also a Disney-related theme.

(Scanned from a vintage Parker Brothers Game catalogue)

Though Mum did lots of artwork for Disney, she never visited Disneyland when I was little.  Her first visit to Disneyland was with me, in 1978.  She loved it!

I remember asking her what her favorite attraction was, and she answered without hesitation, “Space Mountain… and I will never go on it again!”  Then, she laughed.

In the late 1980s, Mum visited Walt Disney World with my children and me.  We had several days there, and stayed at the top floor of the Contemporary Resort.

We went on nearly all the rides, but — as Mum said — she wouldn’t go on Space Mountain again.

Every moment was great and filled with awe.  For us, there’s no such thing as “expecting too much” at Disney World.

My mom passed away earlier this year, and she didn’t want me to post her artwork online.  (My mother’s always been eccentric.  Once she decides something, she rarely changes her mind.  Questioning her about it… well, it was pointless.)

This, however, gets around that.  The images shown above — including the artwork for my artistamp — were already online… just not credited to her.   I know she’d be irked if she realized that her artwork was displayed without acknowledging her as the artist.  So, if anything, this corrects that.

So, here it is as an artistamp.  Ordinarily, I add my artistamp postal name — Ballynafae — and a postage amount (usually 3p) to make my artistamps look more stamp-like.  In this case, it didn’t seem right, so I added the basic text and here it is, as-is.

You can download my artistamp as a stamp-sized image, either with a stamp-like edge (as a graphic), or as shown at the top of this post.  (Both of those links open as PDFs.)

I still miss my mom, but moments like this bring back happy memories of an extraordinary childhood.

…Wherever you are, Mum, your artwork is still bringing smiles to Disney fans.  Thank you for such wonderful memories!

*My mother was primarily a painter.  Though she graduated from Massachusetts College of Art with a major in Portrait, she loved painting landscapes and still lifes.

However, to help pay the bills, she freelanced for a variety of companies, including Disney.

The first will be my sunrise sketch from February 26th.  It’s one of my favorites.

The postcards are standard sizes, so the artwork on them will be glossy and about 4″ x 5″.  I’ll sign and number the back of each card before mailing it.

In this group, I will have a total of 100 free art prints / postcards  to mail, probably over several weeks.

If you’d like to receive one of these postcards, use the Contact form (linked near the top of this page) to tell me your name and mailing address.  (Even if you think I already know your address, send it anyway.  That way, I’ll have all the names & addresses in one location.)

If I receive your request too late to be part of this mailing of 100 cards, I’ll include you in the next available mailing.

I plan to do this regularly.  I like sending free artwork and free art prints to people!

ALSO…

If you’d like to download a copy of this painting so you can print it at home on 8.5″ x 11″ paper (or anything close to that), here’s the link (or just click on the image, below).

I may tweak the foreground before I say that this sketch is completed… or I may leave it as-is, since that retains the integrity of it as a plein air sketch.

My highest priority was to paint the colors in the sky, and then the vivid blues and greens that appeared on the hillside.

Every morning, I’m excited to wake up and see how my sunset paintings look, if the scene was worth painting.

When I complete an oil sketch like this and the natural light is low, I can’t see the colors… not really.  Artificial light mutes the yellows and greens, so it’s difficult to tell how vivid they are.

This morning, this sketch was better than I’d hoped, given how quickly I worked.  This painting probably took about 15 minutes.  It’s 9″ x 12″ on stretched canvas.

The view is looking southwest, in the general direction of Concord, New Hampshire.  The hills are probably in Northfield, or maybe Salisbury (NH).

The medium is, as (nearly) always, water-soluble oil paints.  I didn’t underpaint this canvas, so the colors are a little different than some of my other work.

Right now, a few things are difficult to cope with.  A lot of my day is more-or-less on autopilot, and anything that isn’t a daily routine is falling through the cracks.  I look at my naked canvases and realize that I’d forgotten to underpaint them.

However, as we cross our fingers and hope that my mother will recover and resume a relatively active life, there has been a silver lining:  I’m still reminded, almost daily, of the importance of the art.

Yes, I write articles & books.  I do quirky research in unorthodox fields. People often mis-estimate how seriously I take that, so I keep it very separate from my artwork.

However, the legacy that an artist leaves behind is the art. While I’m never sure if people clearly “hear” my voice in my writing, the art is truly me, heart and soul.

In fact, I tried to paint a second sketch after this one, but it was so dark outside, I couldn’t see what I was doing, and quickly gave up.

I wasn’t even sure that the first oil sketch (shown here) caught the colors accurately.  (Artificial light — even “full spectrum” lighting — rarely shows how the colors will look in daylight.)

This morning, I could hardly wait for daylight, to see how this painting turned out.

I’m pleased.  This captured the early colors of the sunset, and how vivid the grass looked in contrast with the peachy-magenta colors as the slipped below the horizon.

We’re expecting record-breaking high temperatures this afternoon, and I’m hoping they’ll bring another spectacular sunset.  This time, my palette and easel are all ready, so I can work quickly while the daylight lasts.

I’ve been itching to get back to this moonlit landscape. It’s at the point where I’m working on details, and that means paint a little, and wait for it to dry. Then I can paint a little more, and wait again for the paint to dry.

Depending on the amount of white paint in the work, that can take a week, two weeks, or even three. (White paint is the slowest to dry, and since I’m building up layers of paint, thicker paint can take forever to dry.)

So, whenever there’s sunlight and the canvas can be worked on, this is a really exciting part of any painting.

It’s a lot like writing a novel.  The beginning is energizing.  The conclusion is exciting, to see how all the elements come together.

The middle phase… it’s often an emotional slump, and it can be filled with trial-and-error experiments.  Trying to rush that part is natural, and one of the worst possible things you can do.

There are times when a painting will sit in that phase for months.

Right now, I can see a canvas leaning against the wall.  It’s huge — about four feet wide and three feet tall — and it’s been in that middle slump for over a year.  It’s difficult not to look at it as a failure trophy.  (I talked about that in December.)

However, I’m not rushing it; if I did, I might lose the spark that it has.  At some point, I know I will look at the canvas and say, “Ah-HA! Now I see what it needs.”

That’s exactly what happened this past week, as I looked at two paintings that I thought were completed, but they never really had the sparkle I like in my work.  Now, I know that they will.  (Each requires the same very minor tweak.  I’ll post photos here, when I work on them.)

Most of my paintings are completed within two or three months.  However, some of my work – if I’m patient with it — can take longer and still turn out really well.

This painting — the moonlit one — is more typical.  It’s taken a couple of months from start to finish.

I struggled with it a little, immediately after roughing-in the general light and dark areas.  Then, it’s like it took off.  I was in flow with it, and everything since then has been like the downhill side of the roller coaster:  Fun, fun, fun!

This painting — of the Spalding Inn in Whitefield, NH — is at the completion phase.  It’s exciting. I can hardly wait to see what the next layer of paint will add, and how much more it will come alive.

Today, I outlined the hotel more clearly, so it has its distinctive shape.

I also added more light around the moon, and darkened the far left part of the sky; that distinguishes the scene as a moonlit scene, not a daytime scene.

(In the detail at left, it might be difficult to tell.)

I evened-out the tone in some areas, so some of the mountains sort of blend into the darkness.

All in all, this was a really good day of painting.  I’m pleased, and I know this painting is within a few days (painting days, that is) of completion.

This is when I get really excited about my work.  It’s taken on a life of its own, in a way.  It has its own energy, and I can hardly wait to see how it turns out!

Anyway, as an artist, I’ve noticed that winter and summer are when the clouds are most dramatic at sunrise.

As spring approaches, the skies are more… well, suited to watercolor.  (That’d be fine, except that I’m not suited to watercolor.  I’ve taken endless classes, and… nope, that’s not a medium that flows — no pun intended — for me.)

So, I cross my fingers each day, hoping to see delicious clouds and juicy contrasts as the sun comes up.  That’s when I’m likely to paint more oil sketches from my living room window.

However, I’m realizing that we’re moving out of that time of year.

Oh, I’m pleased with this morning’s color study, shown above on the right.  (A detail from it is below, on the left.)  However, I’m not seeing the vivid colors and stark light-and-dark of winter sunrises.

(Click on the buttons to listen to my comments on today’s painting.  Or, you can click here to listen to the MP3 on your computer.)

It’s not that I’m unhappy with the colors right now.  I’m just not as inspired by them.

The good news is, I can shift gears.  I have so many wonderful oil sketches from the past couple of weeks, I can use them as the basis of larger, semi-abstract paintings that represent those same scenes.

That is exciting!

The morning sketches served three purposes.  First, they restored the thrill of painting, and especially painting landscapes.  Second, they restored my self-confidence, that had eroded a bit over the past year.  Finally, these sketches give me the references I need to work on larger, more dramatic works.

So, though I may not continue daily oil sketches (based on the subject outside my window), I’m still painting.   Most days, I will at least work on a larger landscape, either semi-abstract or Tonalist.

When the weather turns warm enough to paint outdoors, comfortably, I’ll also be working on more plein air studies.  (That is, art created in the open air, under natural light.)

Frankly, if I’m not online, I may be on the road, driving to the seacoast or the White Mountains, to capture the sunrise colors there.

I’m excited about the warmer weather.  I’m relieved to be painting daily, again.  And, I’m looking forward to how these smaller sketches inspire larger works that help me appreciate the colors of Nature even more.

So, I decided to try a color study instead of anything as dramatic as my usual morning sketches.  It’s a smaller work — 8″ x 10″ — but I’m rather pleased with it anyway.

The bad news is: The sky (and local color) was so blue, this photo barely represents the work.  I’ve had that problem before, when I paint and then try to take photos as the sun is coming up.

However, we’ll be at the seacoast later today, so I won’t have a chance to take better/replacement photos.  Not today, and by tomorrow or Monday, I’ll have half-forgotten these photos and I’ll be posting new artwork.

The detail at left may give you a better idea of the range of colors in this morning’s work.  That where, in real life, this color study shines.

It was one of those mornings when the sun was a rich red-orange (“red in the morning..,” as the saying goes) and for just a couple of minutes, the colors of the landscape were intense… almost neon versions of what they looked like five minutes later.

And, by noon, this scene will look as gray as any other washed-out day in early March.

That, of course, is the point of getting up early to paint.  I want to see those fleeting colors.  They’re what I keep in my mind’s eye as I look at the landscape at noon, when the light is very white, the shadows almost vanish, and the colors are flat.

To fully grasp the beauty of Nature, I think it’s vital to see it at its best.

(It’s sort of like seeing a photo of your aged grandmother from when she was dating.  After the initial “Wow!” moment, you can see how gorgeous Granny was — and still is — now that you know what to look for.  And, you probably see some of that beauty in yourself, when you look in the mirror.)

For me, Nature is at its best when the lighting is most interesting: Sunrise, sunset, immediately before a dramatic storm, during an eerie fog, and at night.

At sunrise today, I had about two or three minutes of vivid, hyper-saturated color in the landscape.  That’s what’s in this color study.

This morning, there had been a follow-up to a post that I’d made in a (members-only) writing forum.  While I was in the forum, I read someone else’s thread.  It was only two posts; one said to make a list of your good ideas when they strike you.  The other post agreed, and added that people should just write & write, and not edit as they go along.  I agreed with both of them, and I want to share my full post with you… in case it applies to your work as an artist or writer.

Here it is.

At sunrise this morning (6:15 a.m.), the sky was not inspiring.  However, I sat by my window and kept watching.  This process can be really tedious, because I cannot look away, even for a few seconds; I might miss an important flash of color that’d inspire a painting.

For about 20 minutes, the sky was gray and the snow looked brownish, as it does in late winter when it’s melting and the surface is dirty.

(Note:  When I like the color grey, I spell it grey. When I don’t, I choose the preferred American spelling, gray.)

Anyway, for just a few minutes — maybe 1 1/2 minutes, total — the sky had some color.  The clouds were blue and white and lavender , with touches of pink and peach.  The snow changed from a brownish tint to something more peachy.  And, the hills in the background seemed to flash a wide range of colors, including blue, green and orange.

So, I grabbed my palette and brushes, and the resulting sketch is above.  It’s a 9″ x 12″ canvas, wrapped so the colors extend around the sides and the painting doesn’t have to be framed.  (But, I probably will frame all of these, later.)

Click to hear Eileen’s one-minute description(MP3)

(Note: I’m experimenting with different ways to post my brief comments.  Yesterday, I tried a flash player.  Today, this is an uploaded MP3, but it opens in the same window, no matter how I code it.  So, I’ll probably go back to the flash version, for the future.  If you feel strongly about either approach to embedding a recording, please leave a comment below.)

This is one of those sketches that went just a little too far, and I had to backtrack quickly to recapture the original energy.  Luckily, I was successful.  (More often, it’s better to wipe the paint off the canvas — or at least the area that I’d spoiled — and try again.)

For me, it’s always a tricky balance between “just right” and tweaking something so it’s technically more precise… but the initial energy is gone.

I’m getting better at making that decision, but I’m not 100% accurate with it, yet.

At left, you can see the some details from the middle of the canvas.  The pinkish colors are where the cadmium red (underpainting) shows through.

In general, I look at this canvas, and the mood and blending remind me of William Blake.  I’m okay with that, although — as a child — I grew up looking at my mother’s books of William Blake’s work, and they seemed really dark and creepy to me.

So anyway… for the past couple of days, I’ve left cadmium orange off my palette.  I don’t miss it.  I’m not sure that I’ll continue with this limited palette, but I ‘ll see how well this works in future paintings.

The colors I used were (from left to right on my palette): French ultramarine blue, cadmium red, cadmium yellow, lemon yellow, and pthalo blue.  I also use titanium white, which looks like a long squeeze of toothpaste across the bottom of my palette.  (Alizarin was on my palette, but I didn’t need it for this painting.)

I used five brushes, and most of them were filberts (rounded tips). All were boar bristle.  (One might have been synthetic boar bristle… but the idea is the same: It’s a stiff bristle that holds a lot of paint.)

For me, the brush strokes can be an important part of the work.  That’s where I vary from many Tonalists, who often prefer a completely smooth, almost glassy-surfaced painting.

It’s also a little frustrating when I post my artwork online:  If I sharpen the image so the brush strokes are clear, the impression of the colors seems askew.  So, the online images aren’t quite what the paintings look like… but they’re close enough.

Each day, I find myself mixing more colors on the canvas.  In fact, except for mixing the grey (French ultramarine blue + cad yellow) on the palette, almost all of the colors were pure pigment on my brush, and mixed as the brush dragged across the canvas.

I feel as if I’m recovering my artistic style.  As I look back over the past year and what I was working on, I realize how much my inner artistic voice was suppressed by my efforts to please the client I was working for.

Note to aspiring art collectors: It’s as counter-productive to nag an artist as it is to nag a woman in labor.  The creative process is best when it’s internally-driven.  If you can’t not nag, buy your art at a gallery, not directly from the artist.

Oh, I’m always flattered when people ask if they can buy my paintings.  That’s not what I’m talking about.

I mean clients who think frequent nagging encourages the artist to work faster.  (It does, but the results probably won’t be inspired work.)

That said, at least 80% of my clients are wonderful to work with.  They get what’s involved in the creative process, and they understand how to encourage it.  The result is collaborative delight.

In the future, I’ll probably follow Monet’s example:  I’ll accept subscriptions at a flat, predetermined rate. Then, the clients can visit my studio on a certain day, when I’ll have more than enough paintings for each to take one painting home.  In the order that they subscribed, they’ll be able to select one painting — from my latest works — to take home.

I like that idea.  I retain my autonomy as an artist, and the clients receive work that they’ve selected.

But, for now, I’m simply painting. I’m getting back in practice, and recovering my authentic voice as a painter.  I also want to build a large enough body of work that my kids (and their children, and so on) will have an artistic legacy that represents me as an artist and as an individual.

Once I feel confident in that, I’ll think about gallery work again.

I’d overslept in the morning, and missed the sunrise.  So, even if it was raining, I was committed to painting at sunset.  I’m eager to maintain a productive painting schedule; I feel as if I missed many opportunities in the past year, and I guess I’m making up for that now.

So, as I was setting up my easel by the window, the sky looked okay… but far from great or inspiring.

Then, just as I was choosing the paints to put on my palette, everything changed.  The sky became brilliant with pink, peach, yellow, and white, against a deep lavender horizon.

The hills below were tinged with blue and — by contrast — the greens were vivid.

All of this reflected on the snow in the foreground.  (That’s what I say in my recording.  It’s flash. You can listen to it with the yellow control buttons, below.)

Frankly, if I hadn’t been ready when the colors turned that brilliant, I’d have missed my opportunity altogether.  The sky looked like this painting for… well, maybe 10 minutes at the most.

After that, dusk turned to night and the colors faded with the light.

So there I was, painting in the dark to finish the sketch, and hoping that the colors and brush strokes were good.  (I needed to blend two tiny areas this morning.  Otherwise, everything was better than I’d hoped.)

As I’m getting more practice with these oil sketches, a lot of technique is coming back to me.

My brush strokes — some of the sky is shown, at left — are less choppy.  I’m bolder with my colors.  I make more dramatic choices to capture the essence of the landscape.

I’m pleased with my work, and with my progress.

In fact, when I completed this painting last night, I said to myself, “There are days when I wonder why I do anything except paint.  This is one of them.”

This sketch may inspire a much larger version, approached as a semi-abstract.  I’m not sure.

Right now, I know that I like this painting… a lot.