I paint because doing so takes my mind off my worries and petty annoyances. Also, painting whimsical animals is just plain fun. My images make me laugh; perhaps they’ll entertain others, as well. And, I think Tony would be relieved to know that I’m “stay[ing] out of trouble.”
Picture credit: "Moo-vin", acrylic on paper
If I—a little ol’ lady school teacher--can do it, you can do it! I taught college English or served as a college administrator my entire career, never having picked up a paintbrush until I was 58 years young. You, too, have something to express, whether it’s joy or pain, hope or despair. Paint is a great place to start. Don’t restrict yourself with “I can’t draw” (neither can I, my friend); or “What will people think?” (who cares?) or “I’m too old” (as long as your fingers or toes or mouth can hold a brush to dip into paint, you’re plenty young enough).
Picture credit: "Mint chip moos", acrylic on canvas
Well, Isabel can see herself on the "Oprah" show. You know: grieving senior citizen artist/writer gives back to the community by donating a percentage of her book and art sales to important causes such as educating people about the critical nature of organ donor/transplantation registration; or reminding people to fasten their seatbelts; or establishing a scholarship program for aspiring artists or aspiring chefs who have been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder; or establishing guidelines for a nationwide roadside marker/memorial program. Or, who knows?
Closer to home, John Travolta owns a home just down the road from Micanopy, FL, a quaint and charming town where Isabel World’s art is on display for exhibit and sale at the Gallery Under the Oaks (a small artists’ co-op housed in a 1920-built log cabin) and Coffee ‘n Cream Café (a small gathering place for locals and tourists who are hungry for homemade chicken salad or a hunk of fudge, or just want to hear the spontaneous country jam fest out on the porch, or hear owner Cliff talk about his other profession—clowning at rodeos). Isabel imagines that one day, Mr. Travolta will roar into town on one of his motorcycles, find Isabel, sweep her off her feet, and tell all his international friends what a treasure she is. (After having written this, I learned that the Travoltas’ son recently died. I am so sorry for their loss. My heart sank to my toes as I recalled the days right after our Tony was killed.)
Picture credit: "Biker Cow Girl", 16" x 12", watercolor on paper
Do you ever have goof ups or work you don't like?
Honey, I have a rented 10 x 10’ storage building chock full of paintings that I’ve done along the way. I don’t know that they are all goof ups, necessarily; they are simply earlier (than today) work. When I print too many reproductions and they don’t sell, I stuff them away in storage also. One of these days I’m going to have to have a large “storage unit” sale—or a bonfire.
Picture credit: "Wanna Come Out and Play", watercolor on paper, 16" x 12"
Sometimes I’ll see something in a magazine that triggers an Isabel moment. I’m notorious (just ask my family) for cutting up magazines. For a couple of years, I kept a file on magazine eyes; one on frogs; one on barns; etc. Recently, I threw out all those scraps of paper. Most of the time, I paint from memory or imagination, sometimes referring to a calendar or book for a particular detail.
My images tell stories, I’ve found. Even if Isabel is by herself, one may guess a scenario by the scenery or props. Also I try to give clever titles to pieces, such as “Udderly Octo-whelmed,” tools to prompt the viewer into understanding the story.
Picture credit: "Manly Man MOO", acrylic, 16" x 12"
(My first) teacher Dale, actually a potter rather than a painter, was pitching in for someone else. Dale pretty much let us splash paint around as we saw fit, and, in that process, I discovered that I always chose bright colors and created “primitive” images (probably because I couldn’t draw worth a hoot). Dale concluded that what I was doing looked somewhat similar to paintings from his friend Mike Segal (Cedar Key), so Dale brought in one of Mike’s pieces and suggested that I try to emulate it. That’s how the bright colors/primitive images part began. A class member brought in a photocopy of a stick-figured cow, saying she thought it looked like the subject matter I seemed to like to paint. Thus, the cows started mooing to me.
In more recent years, I’ve become friends with Mike and his wife Marvi. Although he probably internally cringes when I re-tell him the Dale/Mike/bright colors/primitive story and claim that he’s my (unauthorized) mentor, Mike is always very patient (well, as patient as Mike can stand to be) and has encouraged the development of my style. We end up in some of the same art shows, such as Thornbrook and Tioga. He wins the prizes and the big bucks, of course, while I look longingly in his booth’s direction, thinking, someday . . . .
After the beginning painters class, I took a couple of acrylic painting lessons with Elizabeth Barakah Hodges, another character in her own right. One time, I had the privilege of being her sole student for an evening. She introduced me to using collage with acrylic and, so, opened up another avenue for me.
I found out about Linda Pence’s watercolor classes, and thought that maybe I should learn a softer touch. It didn’t work. Even in the painting exercises, my work was always “Bold” and “Graphic” instead of subtle and delicate. Pence, being very wise and also quite flexible, didn’t try to change my bold color/primitive style. She just tried to sneak in some lessons on basic stroke work, mixing colors, thinking about composition, and stuff like that—you know, more the fine-tuning kinds of things.
We’ve become friends, and whenever I can, I take her workshops, sneaking in my acrylics among the watercolorists. Everyone is always friendly—in fact, when my son (only 33) died in June 2008—these wonderful people were the ones who made me an art sympathy card, and who donated money to the Artisans’ Guild where, after he had moved to Gainesville in 2007, he had shown/sold his exquisite Damascus-steel knives and jewelry.
Somewhere along the way, I also had the good fortune of hooking up with landscape artist extraordinaire Linda Blondheim. Going to her once-a-month open studio workshops has boosted my self-esteem as well as my skills. As with Pence, Blondheim has never tried to eradicate my style. She simply wanders around the studio, spending quality time with each (sometimes only two to five people) student, studying the painting in progress, asking questions, and making suggestions. Occasionally she hires me to write press releases for her, too.
Friendships with Blondheim and with her students in these studio visits have also helped me in my grief journey. To honor my son (who attended a couple of the open studio sessions with me and, although color blind, painted a respectable still life that Blondheim generously varnished and framed for me after his death), I’ve been writing and illustrating a children’s book on organ donation/transplantation. A couple of months ago, two of the studio artists listened as I sobbed my way through reading the draft and showing the images. Both offered excellent advice for continuation of my project and helped me feel comfortable after having shown my grief so openly.
Picture credit: "Loov-zies" , watercolor on paper
