Musings

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2009-07-13T07:43:00.000-06:00

We stood in her home office and I could already tell things had changed. The smell of peppermint vaporized from a blue-neon contraption on a table to my right. The desk was neatly arranged before me, as she went on about how she was working with someone to help her feng-shui and organize the room. I sensed a level of enthusiasm and calmness in her voice that had not been there before. She explained the room is where she would be spending most of her time now that her traveling obligations had diminished, though she didn’t say why. She wanted the space to convey a sense of peacefulness and positive energy.

I smiled thinking this is exactly what I have been trying to achieve through my paintings. We were already in agreement.

I asked her what kinds of things made her feel good and she rattled off a shortlist of elements such as water and sky, in addition to a few locations around the globe and some other things. My mind was already at work putting together concepts I would later flesh out through a battery of sketches. I knew when I left her house that morning this commissioned project would be every bit of a pleasure for me to paint as it would be for her to receive.

Art Updates

2009-07-08T07:38:00.002-06:00

I continue to plug away on six new paintings I am planning to show in either August or September for an open studio event. Progress in one of the works can be seen through the images below (the piece, still not completed, is tentatively called Terra Spill). I just completed two commissioned works which will be appearing on my website soon and am creating concepts for another major commissioned work for a collector of mine.

This weekend, I will be building my first new wooden supports, marking my departure from canvas to a new format. I am very excited about this development and even more so about the direction my work is taking. Over the next few weeks, I will be conceiving compositions for these new surfaces and am smiling as I type this.

Séraphine

2009-07-01T07:06:00.000-06:00

On Sunday, I had the opportunity to see the film, Séraphine, with some friends as part of the Denver French Film Festival sponsored by Alliance Francaise. We began with a reception of wine and appetizers at the Tivoli’s StarzFilm Center. There I sat, listening to fragments of French conversation, occasionally understanding a random word or phrase. I decided then I need to get serious about learning the language. A short time later, we were seated in the theater as the room darkened and the film began.

Séraphine is the story of Séraphine Louis (a.k.a. Séraphine de Senlis), a self-taught French painter who wasn’t discovered until she was in her late forties by the famous art collector/dealer Wilhelm Uhde. The movie covers the period of her life from when she met Wilhelm in 1912 to shortly after 1932, when she was admitted into a mental institution. Along the way, we gain a better understanding of this complex character's quirky personality influenced by religion, a manic work ethic, a spirit freed through the outdoors and naïve painting punctuated with song.

Whenever I watch films about other artists, I always look for a common thread; something I can relate to in personality traits, motivation or process. In this particular film, there is a scene when, after she is discovered and begins producing work seriously, Séraphine begins sharing her work with those around her. Proud of her effort, she stands as an easel behind various paintings, gauging the reaction of whomever happens to be around at the moment for a series of private presentations. The camera shifts between Séraphine’s eyes beaming in eager anticipation of a favorable reaction to the facial expressions of her captured audience as they receive her work in a range of emotions from happiness to uncertainty, tolerance to astonishment, and indifference to sheer admiration.

I have had similar experiences. One of my favorite things to do is take JQ to the studio after a night on the town for a private showing. There, I select the right music to set the mood and place my work on an easel for her with the best possible lighting. I have also had clients come by to view the final product of a customized commissioned painting. I make them face the other direction or close their eyes until the work is ready to view to get the full effect. A positive reaction always touches me in a very personal way. It makes me realize how powerful art and the connection from one being to another is.

As I watched Séraphine, I was touched by her determination and knowing. She didn’t care what anybody thought of her work, save Wilhelm. She painted because that was what she had been told to do by her guardian angels and she was determined to listen to them. Though her peers considered her crazy for thinking this way, I believe she was very much in touch with what I can only describe as her intention, from a very deep and connected place. Her life was never pretty; often crude and awkward in fact, but her work was unquestionably beautiful and came from a place that had nothing to do with the external factors of her circumstances. I highly recommend this movie and give it five tubes of paint (based on a five tube rating system).

Feedback

2009-06-26T07:50:00.001-06:00

Recently, I participated in The Art Students League of Denver’s annual Summer Art Market. I have exhibited and taken part in various festivals and events over the last ten years. Each event I participate in, I listen to the comments and feedback, for better or worse, which inevitably come my way. At this year’s event, I was very pleased with the feedback I received, not because it was spun any particular way, but because it was obvious people at least understood my creative intention.

After my experience at last year’s Artist Project in Chicago, I made a concerted effort to tighten up my approach in painting. This meant focusing on style and really working to render visually what was forming in my head. As somebody explained it to me, my paintings are becoming more focused. It’s nice to know when the work you put into something gets noticed.

References

2009-06-23T07:43:00.002-06:00

Occasionally, I’ve been asked if I use photographs for reference or work from a live setting for my compositions. There have been times, particularly for my Narrative Series, where I have used photographs. I have also referred to them or worked on-location for various paintings within my ‘Scapes Series. If I do refer to photos, my time with them is always brief, relative to the painting process. I use them to understand visual relationships; to get a better idea how something works in terms of mechanics; to learn its relative size and how it might impact or augment other elements within the composition; to understand its energy so that I may transpose and project its essential visual elements through the painting.

Once I gain this understanding, I quickly do away with my original references as I feel staying with them for too long hinders my approach. The composition, to me, is more important than the accuracy of subject matter. Once I feel like I have learned what I need to from my observations, I then look toward my instincts to guide me the rest of the way in the painting.

Outside Insight

2009-06-18T08:53:00.003-06:00

The woman stood just on the fringe of my artist booth, scanning each wall of my paintings from beneath her sunglasses at the summer festival.

“I really love your work,” she said.

“Why thank you very much,” I replied, flattered by her words.

She walked in closer to view the details of my work.

“Wow- there’s so much to these! I mean, if you get up close, there are patterns and great swatches of color, but as you step back it almost turns into something completely different. Reminds me of Batik.”

I had never heard of the term before and mistakenly thought she said boutique, not entirely sure how to respond. Was it some sort of floral reference perhaps? I was baffled and simply nodded my head, not knowing what else to do other than remain silent and assume she meant it as a complement. Leaving the tent, she smiled at me as I wished her a good afternoon.

Once she was out of earshot, JQ offered clarification over the comment. “It’s sort of a design within a design,” she explained.

After I got over my own ignorance, I smiled thinking how insightful the comment was. When we got home, I looked it up and felt gratified. The woman truly understood my intention, providing me not only with an affirmation that I am connecting to an audience, but a path of clarity through a new perspective.

Observations From The Summer Art Market

2009-06-15T07:37:00.001-06:00

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to participate in The Art Students League of Denver’s Summer Art Market, an annual art festival with over 250 artists from the Denver area. The last event I attended like it was over a year ago at The Artist Project in Chicago. It was there I was able to visualize how I wanted my paintings to appear. What, I thought to myself, does a painting by Jared Steinberg look like? As, I reviewed the paintings that hung on the walls of The Merchandise Mart last year, I considered my style, composition and subject matter, recognizing where I would need to channel my efforts to fulfill the vision. Looking over my booth at this year’s event, I noted the evident progress of my work while again acknowledging areas I need to address in order to advance my ideas.

Though I have been focusing on my style for the past year, it is the details within the presentation I now need to focus on. On the Saturday, the first day of the Art Market, I perused through the festival, paying attention to the other artist booths. I realized how the ones I really admired created such a captivating atmosphere through their presentation; from the format of the work, to varying degrees of consistency, down to the exhibition space itself- it became clear to me what I must do. I jotted down a few notes for reference and will be taking time this summer to put them into practice.

Apart from my selfish observations, I was truly amazed by the diversity at the festival this year: three-dimensional work, two-dimensional, pastels, paintings, drawings, abstract, grass-roots, contemporary, traditional, representational, floral, figurative- you name it, I saw it. All of which served to fuel a very high-quality, energetic show that I was pleased to be a part of.

Dream Into Action

2009-06-12T08:02:00.000-06:00

As I continue to evolve as an artist, my creative path becomes clearer and more deliberate. Yesterday, I wrote about my experience at the theater which served to reinforce ideas I have been considering, as they relate to the future of my artwork. It is not my desire to simply make paintings. I want to create work that will make people stop in their tracks and forget where they are… if only for a moment. I want people to stop and take a breath; to find a space where they can meditate on a given work. I realize this may not be a unique desire. Certainly this is what many artists hope to achieve through their craft, however, I am beginning to understand just how I can make this happen.

I want to create an experience for the viewer; an escape to lose themselves in; the same type of trance I discussed in my recollection of the play. The art is the hook to achieve this, of course, but I believe there are other factors that can contribute, as I draw upon my other skills and interests. Through the hands of an artist and the discerning eyes of a judge, I am working to combine the actor within me- to sell the illusion of the art- while the musician creates energy and movement, and the writer expresses the passage through a story or poem. The experience will be enhanced by the pristine conditions of a well-staged space with proper lighting.

So, there is the thought. The intention I put out. I am excited to send my words into action.

At The Theater

2009-06-11T08:45:00.000-06:00

Amy called me yesterday with an extra ticket to the theater. I gladly accepted the invitation. It had been so long since I attended a show, I didn’t even think to ask what was playing. We arrived at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts with just enough time to park the car, pick up the tickets at the box-office, walk up the stairs to the fourth floor, catch our breath, and find our seats.

In the two minutes we had to spare before the lights dimmed, I looked around the expanse of the Ellie Caulkins Theater. The stage set before us with giant lush-red curtains flowing down to the ground. Moments later, they would pull open like hands from our eyes, marking that instant of surprise to reveal a simple, effective set design. I observed the theater’s shape. The intentional placement of wood, lights and beams. The dampened acoustics creating a sanctuary of silence. Everything crisp and well thought out. The lights dimmed and I delighted in the atmosphere as the focus gravitated toward the stage.

The performance was a one-man act that grew on me as it progressed. After the characters were established, the movement of the story became more fluid, and an array of impressions ensued along with the selling of the act itself- all took their time to weave a spell that transfixed me in the end. It was an impressive ninety-minute monologue that clearly won over the rest of the audience too. The lights came on and we all stood up and applauded as the actor returned to the stage to soak it all in.

Amy and I departed at a leisurely pace, roaming to explore the sculptures and giant murals that adorned the theater’s periphery. This is what it’s about, I thought to myself. The care and attention to details! Everything was about the presentation- from the exterior architecture, to the lobby, to the heart and soul of it all – the stage and performance itself. And because of that, the experience had an impact. I considered my artwork- where it’s going, what I want it to be and went on to think about possibilities…

Site Update

2009-06-09T20:02:00.005-06:00

Today I uploaded images of new paintings on to my website. The work I've posted recently, over the last month, is a precursor to the creative path ahead. By fall of this year, I expect to demonstrate a definite progression with my art as it focuses more on color and form than actual content. The painting I posted today, a scene of downtown Chicago, illustrates it best as the eye moves from the sides of the painting into the center and the work becomes more abstract. Stay tuned.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

2009-06-04T10:36:00.000-06:00

Lately I've been mulling over my career as I do from time to time. I like to check in and see what's working, what isn't, what's driving me creatively, and what I've outgrown. In a recent session, I decided the name "Yellow House Studio" no longer matches my intentions as they relate to my creative space. When I first moved to my studio-loft over five years ago, I had grand plans to foster an environment I could not only produce and show my artwork in, but would serve as a central place for creative types to share ideas and display their work as well.

The concept had been forming in my mind for some time and as it did, I learned Vincent Van Gogh had a similar concept for the studio-apartment he once rented in Arles, a city in the south of France. He referred to the building as "The Yellow House" and so when I moved into my studio, I thought it an apt title. Eventually, Van Gogh was able to convince Paul Gauguin to join him in this artist collective, but the effort never materialized beyond that.

Shortly after I moved into my place, I learned of an organization that was already forming to achieve the same goals I had envisioned- the River North Art Community (aka RiNo). Not wanting to double their efforts or compete against them, I joined RiNo and have been a part of this growing artist’s neighborhood ever since. There are now approximately fifty artist studio/galleries in the area. Since joining RiNo, I have had the freedom to focus more on my artwork as opposed to organizing a larger undertaking. Consequently, I have shifted my focus from the Yellow House concept I initially envisioned.

Considering that, I have decided to drop the "Yellow House" entirely and use my own name exclusively for future branding purposes. I now introduce you to Jared Steinberg’s Studio. Gallery open by appointment only ;). Please visit www.jaredsteinberg.com for more information.

Dreaming Of A Life

2009-05-26T08:28:00.000-06:00

I watched the Woody Allen film, "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" with JQ last night. It is the story of two American women in their early twenties who go to Barcelona for the summer. There, they meet an artist who propositions them to spend a weekend together and through a series of events, a love-triangle forms and eventually becomes even more complicated as the artist's ex-lover enters the picture. Though I very much enjoyed the movie, there were really two elements that captivated me for the purpose of this blog.

The first was the way Allen successfully revealed the beauty of Barcelona through color and on-location scenes. The film has a red-tint to it, which I suspect is the influence of light specific to that particular region. Southern France, where Van Gogh painted for example, is well known for its yellowish light. The red in this film epitomized the passion of the story as well as the location itself. Additionally, there were various scenes of narrow streets, breathtaking architecture, cafés and the ocean which brought me closer to the experience, as if I was there.

The second part I found interesting was the life of the artist, as portrayed by Javier Bardem in the role of Juan Antonio: a renowned painter reveling in the prime of his passion and career. He was a charming character living his life fully- aware of his roots in family and career, a romantic, an intellectual- while appreciating the finer aspects of his life and remaining true to his art. Scenes of art openings, his home/studio, wine, taking friends on a tour of his hometown, hanging out with artists, poets and musicians all solidified the vision I have in my head of what I want my life to look like some day. Here's to hoping anyway. Watching artists portrayed in movies always serves to fuel my creative appetite. In this instance, it made me consider my life as an extension of my art... or vice versa.

Reconnecting

2009-05-20T20:23:00.001-06:00

I went plein air painting with my uncle yesterday. The morning heated up quickly in Denver, and by the time we hit the road around noon it was ninety degrees. As we approached the town of Morrison, a menacing expanse of thunderclouds hovered above the mountain range. The temperature cooled as we ascended the hill. From the passenger seat, I looked at the watercolor clouds swirling above us.

We parked the car and walked a short distance in a canyon’s path that ran along a mountain stream. The sound of running water, leaves rustling in the wind and fresh air made my anxiety disappear with every breath I took. We found a spot not too far away from the car and set up our easels. I took my time, thinking the weather might turn on us. Soon, my uncle was fully immersed in his painting while I sketched out some ideas and compositions. Half an hour later, I thought I felt a drop of rain on my hand which was followed by a smattering of additional drops. We quickly packed up our gear and I hurried for the car while my uncle took some pictures of the view he was working from. I was about 75 yards away from him and almost to the car when the rain began to get heavier, falling in light sheets against the backdrop of evergreens. The water patted the brim of my cowboy hat with increasing intensity as my uncle quickened his pace to the car. I opened the trunk and shoved my wet gear in it as he approached. By the time he got to the vehicle, I was already in the passenger seat as the rain fell freely.

We sat in the car and conversed as the cloudburst continued. Not even fifteen minutes later it began to taper off. We got out of the car and inspected the sky to determine if the rain would return and concluded it had likely passed, in spite of the gray skies that remained. Again, we returned to set up our easels in the same spot we had fled from earlier. Soon after I began to work again, I realized I was just pushing paint on paper. I just wasn’t feeling anything creatively. Instead of fighting through it, I put my brushes down and headed toward the stream.

I found a giant rock that appeared to be perfect for me to sit on, as it was closer to the belly of the river. I climbed a series of smaller ones to reach it and was soon perched on my new seat. It wasn't long before I found the rhythm of the water as it rushed behind me, passing beneath my feet, and continued to drift on down the mountain. I felt completely at ease and connected to the earth. I closed my eyes and meditated. As I silenced my thoughts, I began to understand the lesson of the day had little to do with any tangible work I created. This was a day for finding new seeds of creativity and merely observing them: seeing them; knowing them. This was my time to visualize possibilities without acting on them and more importantly, reconnecting with nature. I merely needed to listen and once I did, I felt passion and love coursing through my veins once again, just as effortlessly as the water was flowing all around me.

Real and Imagined

2009-05-18T07:11:00.000-06:00

On Sunday, I had an open studio event. As an independent artist, I am always looking for ways to find and connect with an audience. About once a month I open up my studio doors along with other artists in my neighborhood for an organized art-walk. Usually, this happens on the first Friday of every month, but this month, we decided to do an additional event on the third Sunday.

In the course of five hours I saw about seventy people walk through the door to see my work. On display were seven works from my Kabbalah series, along with a commissioned work, four cityscapes and an arrangement of three instrumental works from my Interludes series.

As I had the opportunity to speak with several folks, I began to notice a trend with a certain question. “Is that some place in particular,” they would ask, “or is it from your imagination?” The question seemed to be sparked by the two paintings shown on the right. In both cases the scenes were of fictitious locations, but it made me realize I like to blur the line between reality and imagination, dabbling between what is and what could be. Employing broad visual cues in my compositions enables me to stir up feeling and emotion from the viewer’s experience. I would lessen my chances of achieving this if my paintings focused more on the exactitude of an acute perspective through details and precision.

Artist Notes On New Work

2009-05-15T07:08:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, I remember the view of the Colorado sky from our front lawn. The green hill enveloped me as I lie in its tall grass with my hands clasped behind my head and knees bent at ninety degree angles. Clouds appeared over the roof’s edge of the house, drifting from the top of my head on down, eventually disappearing behind the neighbor’s home across the street. I would daydream of flying.

My ‘Scapes series is about that kind of travel. I want to put the viewer in a place he or she might not ordinarily be: the middle of the ocean, for example, or flying above the front-range while noting the shapes of the landscape below, or maybe losing any frame of reference in the abstract form of clouds.

I’ve been working on a different approach with my landscape paintings, taking the viewer even higher up this time. Just as my old front yard got smaller as I grew older, so does the rest of the world as my perceptions shrink its size through relationships and experience; all that I have learned. Everything is relative.

The image on the right depicts the painting in progress during the first session.

Weekend Open Studio Event

2009-05-14T08:51:00.000-06:00

Gearing up for an open studio event this Sunday. If you're in the Denver area, click on the link here for details. The info tent will be right outside of my studio.

Art Article

2009-05-13T06:45:00.000-06:00

I just contributed the following article to Helium on the subject of "Creating A Lasting Message Through Artwork." Check it out here.

Painting With Intent

2009-05-08T08:32:00.000-06:00

I have two hardboard panels that I’ve kept around for some time. Originally, they were scraps left over from the storage racks I built, but I held on to them thinking I could eventually use them as painting surfaces. After completing the last of my paintings that fell into my creative gap, I was finally ready to start new work, eager to apply all I have learned since the beginning of the year. Last week, I prepared the panels for painting with gesso. Though I wasn’t exactly sure what I would paint, I was open to ideas that demonstrated the illusion of depth while taking advantage, compositionally, of the panel's narrow format. I began work on the two paintings Monday.

Tuesday was my second session with them and I completely shed away all worries and concerns and for the first time in what seemed forever, painting as freely as I ever have with effortless joy and intent. I wasn’t worried about a final product. I didn’t beat myself up over money or feel any pressure whatsoever. I didn’t care about the appearance of my art, or if it was even consistent with other works. I wasn’t consumed worrying about my health, my appearance, or anything for that matter- I was simply and fully immersed in the present act of painting… and it was beautiful.

By letting go, I let the hardwood’s surface dictate my direction. As I progressed in the work, compositions revealed themselves in a way that allowed me to fully visualize the final rendering. I saw the paintings before me in their current, raw form. Simultaneously, I could see the finished works, even though they won’t be finished for another week or two. I also saw the finished painting hanging in another venue- perhaps someone’s home, a gallery, or even a museum- I couldn’t really say, but I saw it as if it had already happened. The feeling frightened and excited me all at once.

Conceptual Cycles: Part II

2009-05-05T08:24:00.000-06:00

I have been reflecting on my increasingly evident cycle of artistic patterns, recently. When I have learned what I need to from one particular style or a series, I move on to the next and advance it until I am ready to move on again. Eventually, I return to the beginning again, renewing the cycle, like a spiral that originates from a vague periphery and rotates itself toward the center, becoming more assertive as it refines and defines itself.

Since college, I have been fascinated with the Cubists. Their approach of rendering multiple angles of a form simultaneously with bold delineations breaking the figure down is both visually striking and conceptually advanced. Earlier in my career, in my own way, I attempted to work in a similar fashion through a series of jazz musicians. The instruments and intimate portraits easily lent themselves to the fragmenting of visual components, providing me with a structure to strengthen my compositions through line and form. (Example pictured, upper right)

After working this way for several years, I sought a more painterly approach with my work, making better use of color and brushstroke. The Impressionists seemed to offer the best blueprint to make this shift. In studying their compositions, I found it necessary to fully break away from Cubism. My work, therefore, moved through that direction and beyond, while my subject matter has also expanded to include ‘Scapes (expanses of land, sky and sea) and Narrative (implications of stories) works. Through this phase which has lasted the better part of four years for me now has enabled me to delve deeper into the potential of color and value. (Example pictured, lower right)

Artistically, I feel like I have absorbed concepts from both Cubism and Impressionism and am now able to employ elements of both into my work. Lately, I have considered Cubism again as I am realizing it matters less and less what I paint than how I paint it. In other words, the form, texture, depth and transition of my compositions have the potential to be as visually intriguing as my choice of subject matter. Stay tuned…

Conceptual Cycles: Part I

2009-04-30T09:00:00.000-06:00

The easel was set up with my studio lights aimed at it to maximize the visual impact of each painting. I manually rotated individual works to gauge the prospective client’s interest. I began with my ‘Scapes series, having completed two pieces just a few days earlier that I was very satisfied with because of their subtle use of color and meditative qualities. The reaction was lukewarm so I shifted the private exhibit to show him work from my Interludes series.

Though the larger format, color, composition and content of these works seemed to draw slightly more interest from him, the client seemed largely unenthused about my Contemporary Expressionist style. He seemed, rather, to gravitate toward an older painting. I had removed it earlier from the storage racks to access other works and he noticed it leaning against the wall. It was the original “Blow” painting (pictured to the right) I had completed back in 2003, marking one of the very first paintings of the Interludes series.

The client explained he liked the Cubist approach I had taken, with its assertive outlines, breaking the form down into multiple planes of color and value. The Cubist approach intends to reveal any given subject from all sides at the same time. I employed my own version of Cubism early in the Interludes series. As my style has emerged, I have moved away from this method in favor of a more fluid treatment of the subject.

I had a good chuckle to myself over the client’s inclinations, as I had been reflecting on my cycle of artistic patterns. I am becoming increasingly aware that the seeds planted early on in my career continue to grow and feed each other. When I have learned what I need to from one particular style or series, I move on to the next and advance it until I am ready to move on again. Eventually, I return to the beginning again, renewing the cycle … sort of like a spiral that starts from a vague periphery and rotates itself toward the center, where it refines and defines itself. I will explain more in the next entry.

Outside Of My Box

2009-04-23T08:30:00.000-06:00

Not a cloud in the sky, as we drove toward Morrison on an April afternoon. It was a gorgeous spring day in Denver. After a week of feeling out of synch with most everything, I pushed myself to get out and do something different. I needed to get outside of my box.

A week ago, my uncle had called me to go out for a plein air painting session. Though, it had been nearly two years since our last outing, I just wasn’t excited to take time out of my schedule to go out, and found some excuse as to why I couldn’t go. The other night, he called me again. At first, my inclination was to decline the invitation again, but after thinking things through and realizing my reasons for not wanting to go were lame at best, I changed my mind and called him back to make plans.

Just after one o’clock in the afternoon, he picked me up from the studio and drove us west toward Red Rocks. Before we reached our original destination, we took an early exit from the highway, quickly discovering a great vantage point of the front range. After parking the car, we gathered our gear and walked a short distance up the hiking path, not too far from the side of the road. Though I would have preferred a more remote location from the traffic below us, we agreed this was the best view around. I set up the brand new French easel I had purchased a year before. The last time I did any work outdoors was the last excursion I took with my uncle and so I felt a little unpracticed in setting up.

In a relatively short time, the easel was positioned and my sketchbook was out so I could determine my composition. Finding it was surprisingly easy. My initial studies came together so quickly, it seemed as if I had not taken any time away at all. A few yards ahead of me, my uncle was already painting on his canvas.

“Hey,” he said, “what kind of blue would you use for the sky?”

I told him he should try a cooler blue, like a Manganese or Cerulean.

“I’ve got Cobalt,” he replied.

I explained that would work as well, being a true-blue with no influences of red or yellow. I walked over to his easel and found he was already mixing the blue with white to lighten up the hue. I suggested he add a touch of yellow to the mixture to really capture the true color of the sky. He added a little yellow to the palette and I showed him how to mix the slightest bit, first into the white and then into the blue so as not to turn the mixture into green. He was pleased with the results and so was I for having the knowledge to share with him.

I returned to my easel and felt on top of my game. I worked with ease, not having any expectations over the outcome of my painting. I saw the subject matter before me not as a group of mountains, but rather a vehicle as to which I could describe depth through color and value. This made all the difference in the world. I felt like I had honored the day by being outside, helping out my uncle and being good to myself.

Note About The Image: The picture above was taken as I discovered a visitor had flown into my palette and was indulging on the pigment. Can you see it?

What's In A Name: Part III

2009-04-22T07:48:00.000-06:00

I take into account each element that goes into my paintings, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Sometimes, however, even after careful consideration, it can be difficult to anticipate the impact of a single brushstroke, let alone a signature. I hadn’t really thought about any of this until recently, when it was brought to my attention at a recent event.

Speaking to an audience of thirty-three, I felt confident as the subject matter expert of my own artwork which was displayed around us in the gallery. As I conducted the presentation, several members of the group let it be known they were also artists, or at least dabbled in the arts enough to bring up interesting topics for discussion.

One of the first questions asked was the difference and similarities between oils and other paints, particularly acrylics. I explained how I favored oils because of their drying and chemical properties in addition to their traditional and historical significance. One woman insisted the two were very similar and proceeded to share her knowledge of how she mixed the two on canvas. I clarified that acrylics should be applied first. Mixing the two in any other way causes the paint to warp or flake off entirely, due to the respective drying and chemical properties of each medium.

I continued my presentation, describing my approach to painting. At one point, I explained that I employ all six hues in my work. The woman was perplexed by this and stated there were far more colors than that. I replied that I was referring to the major colors of the spectrum.

When the presentation was over, the group dispersed to privately view the exhibition. I was talking with a friend when my new artist friend approached us.

“Your paintings disturb me,” she interrupted.

I asked her why that was, as the majority of the work shown was from my most recent Interludes Series, depicting solitary musical instruments. I couldn’t imagine what would be so disturbing about them.

“Your signature is too prominent. It gets in the way and destroys the illusion. It ruins the composition and frankly, I don’t like it at all.”

I was stunned by the comment. My signage had made an impact, as she truly appeared upset, but there was little I could do other than hear her out with a smile.

“You are supposed to sign your work on the back of the canvas- never on the front! When artists signed their name on the front, they’d find a rock or some clever place where you can barely see it.”

Really? I thought to myself. Maybe I should just put rocks in all of my paintings. I wanted to find a rock at that very moment… to hide under. What about Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, let alone my instruction back in art school? Though I understood where she was coming from, I found her argument to be a little slanted.

I thanked her for her point of view before she walked away, and continued to discuss the matter further with my friend. Frankly, the whole exchange bothered me. It certainly has never been my intention to allow my signature to detract from the painting itself. My friend brought up an interesting point that really made sense to me. She said I should let my style become my signature. After spending some time since then considering her point of view, in addition to everything else discussed in this blog series, I have come up with a new way to sign my work that I believe successfully integrates this concept with an actual signature on my canvasses. Feel free to ask me about it next time you see me.

On a side note, after the event ended, the group invited me to lunch with them. As luck would have it, my new critic was the only ride available to the restaurant. Once we finished lunch, the group dispersed to head home with their rides. I looked around for mine, but could not find her. I walked down the street where we parked the car to find it conspicuously absent. As I walked home that afternoon, I chuckled to myself, thinking my signature had really offended her that much.

What's In A Name: Part II

2009-04-17T05:50:00.000-06:00

I must admit, I was a little surprised when I heard the comment, "Oh, you’re the artist who signs his work in different places.” After I was able to push my ego aside and let the words sink in, I began to consider both my motivation for signing paintings the way I do and the impact that ultimately has on my work.

I majored in studio art at Arizona State back in the early nineties. During my time there, I learned a great deal about the fundamentals of art composition, not to mention a plethora of information rounding out the curriculum. As a college student and young artist beginning to seriously consider a career, I allowed the influences of other established artists to serve as a guide for my emerging style. Elements of Picasso, Monet and some of the Bay Area Painters (from the 1940s to the 60s) influenced my use of color, composition, subject matter, and even my signature. While studying and learning from work by my favorite painters, I did not have a difficult time finding their name residing on the front side of any given composition. Though some were more boldly marked than others, all the artists seemed to integrate their name into the design itself, either as a stamp of approval or a cleverly disguised element within the painting.

Recalling the times when I began to consider how this all factored into my work, I remember a particular class where the instructor was speaking specifically about signatures. She told me to find interesting places to put my name and “just go with it”; there didn’t have to be any consistency for placement, just make it interesting. Based on her guidance, in addition to what I had observed through other artists, I began to sign my work in strategic places within the composition, where it was noticeable without being obtrusive.

After I completed college, I returned to Denver and played in a rock band for awhile. My art took a backseat and it wasn’t until a few years later that I began painting again. In reestablishing myself as a visual artist, I felt both my skills and focus had atrophied from my hiatus. Thus, for a while, I opted not to sign any work, going the route of Michelangelo who rarely signed his pieces. This brought about criticism from those who misunderstood my intentions as being ego-driven; as if a twenty-something painter who had never shown his work publicly would think his work to be instantly recognizable without a signature. I was also prodded by those who believed in my work to begin signing it again. They would ask me, “How will somebody know this is a Jared Steinberg if there is no name on it?” Eventually, I realized they were right. After I regained my artistic confidence, I began to add my signature again in the mid-nineties.

Since then, I have continued to find “interesting places” to sign my work, at times fusing my name into a painting so it is barely noticeable while other times allowing it to be more conspicuous, thereby serving a more important role in the composition. The prominence and positioning of my autograph has always been contingent on the painting itself. Sometimes, however, even after careful consideration, it can be difficult to anticipate the impact of a single brushstroke, let alone a full-on signature. I hadn’t really thought about any of this until recently, when it was again brought to my attention at a recent event.

To be continued…

What's In A Name: Part I

2009-04-13T07:18:00.002-06:00

The giant row of evergreen trees cast long triangular shadows over us, spilling onto the street, as JQ and I observed from behind the table of our display booth. Being in a Colorado resort town for an art festival was initially a hopeful prospect, but after three days of slow traffic and casual observers, my hope faded with Sunday afternoon’s waning light.

The three-day duration of the festival yielded a trickle of pedestrians milling up and down the street lined with artist tents. Walking in the company of friends and family, the tourists greatly outnumbered serious patrons. Many tended to fixate on a single work or wall of work, with little regard to anything beyond their acute perspective. Some were curious enough to walk into a tent to observe a particular work more closely, while fewer still sought to indulge in a conversation with the artist. The woman selling jewelry across the way from me seemed to be the only exhibitor doing any consistent business while the rest of us interacted with one another, exchanging stories of other shows and sharing various insights about our experience as artists.

JQ and I spent the majority of our time evaluating, rearranging work, and planning for the next event. On the final day of the show, another exhibitor entered into my booth. He observed my work a little before he spoke. He came to inform me of another show coming up, and encouraged me to apply. The conversation meandered into the topic of mutual acquaintances when he suddenly recognized my name.

“Oh, you’re the artist who signs his work in different places,” he said. A little surprised by the comment, I nodded in agreement, as if that was what distinguished me from other painters. After he left, I continued to mull over his remark, not entirely sure how I felt about it. On one hand, it’s nice to be recognized by something distinct; on the other hand, my goal as an artist is to be known for things like uniqueness of style, composition and palette… not a signature. Until that moment, I really hadn’t given much thought to the matter since my college days when I first considered where and how to sign a painting.

To be continued…

Finish What You Started

2009-04-06T08:00:00.001-06:00

In my previous entry, I discussed reconciling the gap that occurred with older paintings in progress and trying to retrofit them with my evolving style. In doing so, I acknowledged that achieving this in some works was practically impossible, so I opted to destroy several paintings instead of persisting with futile attempts to complete them using the knowledge I had gained verses the original path they were conceived and initiated.

I did manage to find half a dozen paintings that I could finish in a respectable fashion, however. In fact, they are coming together rather quickly. I will be posting pictures of them on my website in the next few weeks and will have them on display at my next open studio event. In the meantime, I will be developing new works in the style I am now just beginning to comprehend. I expect the progression to produce some interesting results.