“Purple Prose”

One of the joys of having a home gallery is to be able to host different events in this small colorful context. My friend Zee Zahava has been bringing small writing groups to the gallery to respond to the art on the walls, which changes every month. Here is Zee’s story, a delightful (as always) auto/fictional account of coming to Ithaca so many years ago.

It was late August, 1968, and the drive from our apartment in the Bronx, up to Quarry Dorm in Ithaca, was long. Longer than it would be for any other family. My father was nervous. He had to stop and pee at every rest stop. Also, he had to smoke a cigar, each time we stopped. My mother was unusually quiet. Each time dad got out of the car mom would turn around in her seat to ask if I was okay. I always said that I was. But was I? I had no idea.

I was bundled into the back seat with my guitar, my new electric typewriter, a not-very-good record player, and all my albums: Joni, Laura, James, Judy. They were coming with me, of course. I couldn’t leave home without them.

I thought we’d never get there. But then, finally — finally — finally … we arrived.  

Dad refused to come into the dorm. He didn’t say why but I suspect he just didn’t feel safe being in upstate New York. So he stayed in the car and smoked more cigars. Mom helped me move my things into my room but I didn’t want here there when I unpacked. This was the beginning of my new life and I wanted to get started already. I begged my parents to just go off to the motel where they were spending the night, and they agreed. It was like a miracle.

The first thing I did, after waving good-bye to that smelly old green Dodge Dart, was to sit on my unmade bed and cry. A short burst, a purging. Then I felt better. I was ready. I was okay.

Time to unpack. First my records and my books. Then my shoes: Olaf Daughters clogs. Fred Braun sandals. Then my clothes: my two favorite jumpers, one navy blue and one forest green. A beautiful brown suede dress. My peasant blouses, denim shirts, blue jeans. Brown, blue, green. Those were my colors. I didn’t own anything yellow or orange. Certainly not pink. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to wear something purple. I only had one piece of black clothing: a Danskin top, it had a zipper in the back but I would wear it reversed, zipper in the front, unzipped — my version of a V-neck.

I wore it like that when I went down for dinner in the dorm’s cafeteria. I made my first friend at college that night. Her name was Diana. “Like the huntress,” she explained. “Let’s not wear our beanies,” she said, so we took them off and hid them in our backpacks. She said she liked my hair. (It was long, almost down to my waist. I was very proud of it.) She said she liked my shirt, “It’s so cool.” That was my secret intention, to look cool. She asked if she could borrow it sometimes. I said sure. But I didn’t mean it.

By the end of September I had made a few good friends and I had a nickname: “I.” I cut my hair short. I wore my black “V-neck” constantly. I swapped a pair of earrings I no longer liked for a dorm-mate’s purple beret. (Purple!!). I was almost successful in getting rid of my Bronx accent.

Sharing some lovely responses to the work

From artists and non artists alike. I am so lucky to have a dear friend, Zee Zahava, who is THE best facilitator of informal writing groups I’ve ever known. Over the last few years she’s convenes small groups to respond to the work on the walls- not what it means, but what it reminds them of, or how it makes them feel. This last Saturday felt particularly resonant.mim going to share a photo of the painting and what these women wrote. I hope you enjoy as much as I did! Here is Katrina Morse, a well-known artist and educator in Ithaca.

August 21, 2024

Katrina Morse

Response to “Arrival”

 Can we be in a pink, orange, lighthearted mood and also in a black, blue, and crusty one --- at the same time? Or maybe it’s not exactly at the same time but alternating by the moment, or hour, or day. Each mood available to tap into as needed. Planes of existence, past experience, current situations.

Certainly there are more moods than just two. The nuances of dark becoming light and back to dark again. The many shades of happy, sad, exuberant, grief-stricken, content, contemplative. A multiverse of realities. Salmon, aqua, lavender. Moods as colors. The spectrum of the multiverse. 

Not so much science fiction when we consider how quickly our emotions change. Layers of feelings. Overlapping, crazed, whole, transparent, dense, cracked. We have the ability to choose our feelings, and to change them. There are many realities in our multilayered lives. We can embrace any of them, and ignore what doesn’t fit.

Stages

Next month is bittersweet, in a way- I’m going over work from the last fifteen years or so, and seeing how many different styles and approaches I’ve tried, loved, and then changed. Sometimes I explored a theme, like Vanished Kingdoms- or raw canvas are architectonic lines-or a period when nothing gave me more pleasure than a mid-century vibe with comic book colors and controlled geometry.

One of my core beliefs was that I would not be a painter who sticks with one thing thats popular. In my case I went from subject to medium to style, and have not only enjoyed the journey but found so many friends and supporters who responded to the changes over the years. In the artworld today you’re encouraged to have a brand and stick with it; but that’s not really new.

When I was producing the Light in Winter Festival, I had the opportunity to meet Mark Rothko’s son Chris. thanks to the composer Bruce Adolph who helped conceive a program we did on music and art. Chris Rothko lives in a lovely Upper West Side apartment, and when I entered I saw the walls covered, sometimes floor to ceiling, with small lovely watercolors that looks like Chagalls. But they werent, of course; they were Rothkos. He, like many painters, went through different stages before coming to his super large, three-striped ombre oil paintings. At that point his representatives took every previous painting off the market, so as not to “confuse” the artworld as to who Rothko was.

I’m not in that league and don’t have those constraints- so i’m very happy to feature many large pieces that may appeal to all kinds of people, and cut the normal prices in half. I’d rather see them happily ensconced elsewhere than hidden away!

Drowning in ink

I am obsessed with Jacquard Pinata Alcohol inks, and have been working with them almost exclusively for the past two years. The saturation of color is gorgeous- but I think what makes these pieces special is the scale. I’ve never seen examples of 3x4 or 5x6 canvases layered with ink. It’s a lot, but I love it- and I think many gallery visitors do too!

From Darkness Into Light

I’m writing on this weekend in April that combines the Abrahamic religion’s holy days, getting ready for next month’s show. I think about welcoming Spring, but I don’t feel lighthearted yet. I DO feel the thrill of seeing flowers poke through, and the warmth of a bit of sun, but the terrible turbulence in Europe, and the quiet pandemonium in this country about how to handle the pandemic, democracy and daily living, make me want to paint more than ever. I’ve now assembled a body of work that shares a basic darkness with the relief of bright metallics and touches of color. i hope this is a transition to cheerier palettes but especially to better times for those who are suffering.

Painting in Terrible Times

As I write the world is focused on the terrible events in Ukraine, which demands the split focus of terrible events that are ongoing in Yemen, Afghanistan, Syria, Nigeria, and on and on. It’s humanly impossible to maintain focus and vigilance on so many levels, to say nothing of contributing meaningfully in ways other than financially. I’ve found myself painting more than ever and giving “value” titles to otherwise inchoate abstracts, an impulse that does nothing other than offer emotional support in the same spirit as prayers or local demonstrations do for others.

A closed gallery in January meant a month of painting

I’m lucky to teach at a university that grants a good month of winter break- and for me that’s the time to catch up on painting in the studio. January is also the month I started painting in 1999, when I woke up one morning with an insatiable desire to paint, something I hadn’t done since I was ten. After a month of coaching by my painter friend in NYC, a two-week workshop on botanical illustration, and a determination to paint in every style and medium to prove to myself that I could, I came to rest in the world of abstracts.

Along the way I’ve had a lot of help. My father was an Abstract Expressionist in WNY and loved seeing my progress. My son was a conceptual abstract artist in LA and was a trusted interlocutor on trends and technique. My daughter and I went back and forth for critiques coming from very different styles, detailed illustration on her side, big abstracts on mine. My brothers and family members have become major patrons, only outdone by friends and acquaintances in Ithaca, as well as people I didn’t know who have collected paintings and show them all over the world. Most of all, my husband Jack has been the most supportive partner I could wish for, always encouraging but not afraid to offer suggestions for change.

Moral of the story? If you’re lucky enough to have these circles of support, you can do anything.

I am very lucky.

Our one year Nitro Anniversary!

Being a painter is a lonely profession by its very nature: painting during the last two years of pandemic isolation posed specific challenges, but also opportunities. Thanks to Instagram, Zoom, YouTube, and the human need for others, we formed a new gallery during these weird times: and now it’s our one year anniversary!

Here’s a brief look at how brick and mortar galleries can expand their reach exponentially on the web.

COVID isolation, a closed home gallery and cancelled art shows meant a dearth of conversation about not only technique, but making a living as a painter, marketing, and all those exchanges that we used to take for granted. So I reached out to some artists I had been following on Instagram whose styles and output were similar to mine: large scale, bold, painterly abstracts (as Picasso said, “Good artists borrow, great artists steal.”)to see if they wanted to meet on Zoom and talk. They did, and the monthly confabs were a great way to make virtual friends and peers.

Then one of the group, Susan Washington had an idea.

Susan, who has a background in the New York fashion industry, lived and worked as a collage artist and painter in the Poconos.  She had hosted a now-retired online gallery called NITRO , and in the Spring of 2021 when she relocated to Baltimore, thought it might be worth reviving as an online space. She contacted another member of the Zoom group, Lori Mirabelli, based in downtown Toronto, who had extensive experience selling both online and in brick-and-mortar galleries, to sound out the idea. Lori contacted me, and we three started to create the new Nitro Gallery.

We all bring different skills to the table: I’m a communications professional; Susan is widely networked; and Lori is an expert in online marketing.  But most of all, we share an entrepreneurial spirit, we move fast, and are generous with expertise and support.

How We Began

We spent a few weeks hammering out a goal, then a strategy. Our goal was to start a gallery with just the three of us, which could grow incrementally, and promote our work on Artsy through that vehicle. We were already on other internet platforms but as individuals. Our strategy was to build on what we already had.

Since we have (still!) never met in person, and live in different parts of the continent, investing in real estate was not an option. But when Susan relocated to a converted industrial building in Baltimore, she suggested that the gallery be located in part of her studio space. Lori and I shipped a large painting each in time for a reception that included designers and collectors. The point was to make our work available to interested buyers to see and feel our individual finish and textures.

How We Did It

We spent several months bringing our own websites and the new Nitro Gallery as close to SEO perfection as possible. Lori shared everything she knew, sometimes stepping in to do the work herself,  about how to get our sites seen and followed in google searches.

Susan publicized Nitro online and in Baltimore, hosting several open houses for local collectors that visited not only her work but ours.

We all started posting on Instagram regularly, and did the first of our series of Instagram Live chats that resulted in new friends and followers. In fact, someone who had followed Lori already lives about an hour from me, and came to visit when I had my monthly Open Gallery! An actual friend from a virtual introduction.

Finally, we decided we were ready to commit to a contract with Artsy to broaden our reach even further, focusing on Nitro Gallery.

How We’re Moving Forward

Signing a contract was the first step, with the three of us splitting the costs. Leveraging the site means tagging Artsy as well as Nitro in our individual posts, and hosting more online shows on both platforms. As everyone who is involved in online sales knows, marketing can take as much as three hours a day, and is an integral part of getting your work seen and hopefully purchased.

We’ve committed to this adventure for the next year, and continue to brainstorm together on Zoom, through (terribly early morning) messages, creating YouTube videos, hosting Instagram Live chats, reaching out to designers and decorators who are looking for large-scale work, and generally improving our individual and collective practices. The art world has changed- and we’re changing with it!

www.barbaramink.com

www.lorimirabelli.com

www.susanwashingtonfineart.com

www.nitrogallery.com

https://www.artsy.net/partner/nitro

Know when to fold ‘em

I think i’m not alone in being eagerly influenced by either artists I admire: a new palette, a system of markmaking, a boldness in materials. But the more I paint, the more I realize that what feels like “me” is saturated color, organic flow, and a pleasing balance. Last month I worked on a new 4x5 canvas that was light, colorful, full of unconnected shapes that I hope would feel playful and energetic. I shared it and felt good about it- but the longer it hung in the gallery the more unhappy with it I became. It just didn’t bring me joy.

Another thing I know is that all artists revise, edit rework, repaint, or throw away. In this case I took it up to the studio and just reworked it completely. Here’s the before and after:

I’d love to know what you think!

Finding the space to paint

And of course, it’s never really physical space- at least with me. I am so fortunate to have an attic studio with skylights, enough room to paint 60x72 or a triptych of any size. I don’t even mean time- true, teaching at Cornell was brutal the first half of this semester, but the extra load has ended and I’m back to a manageable schedule, with weekends and afternoons off.

It’s more…psychic space. If I could do math I’d be able to come up with an equation: physical space+time x no appointments or meetings=psychic space.

I don’t know why, but in the “Before Times” I had at least two lunches a day scheduled with friends, or a morning coffee, normal social interaction fit in between work or other obligations. Just knowing that there was somewhere to go at a particular time would keep me from even starting a new painting; and the idea of running up to the attic to dab for a few minutes was never an option.

Since things have opened up a bit more I’ve been trying to free whole days with the goal of painting for at least half, or spending time at the computer sharing what I’ve done I’ve been motivated by working with my new art allies, Lori Mirabelli and Susan Washington, and to be part of a new online gallery, Nitro.

We all have different ways of working- I guess what’s important is finding what works for you!

Ithaca Art Trail- a month of opportunity

It starts this Friday October 1- open house in The Mink Gallery. Then the following two weekends, open 11-5 each day. I love meeting people from around the region who combine the Ithaca art trip with leaf peeping and general exploration. The Trail is run by the Community Arts Partnership, which publishes a complete map of all the artists on the Tompkins County Trail. www.arttrail.com.

I used to invite everyone up to my attic studio, but the stairs and the intimacy or walking through someone’s home were both intimidating. Since 2013 I’ve hosted Art Trail in a converted garage- two 10 foot square rooms, fitted for the weather hot or cold- I just love the space.

Three women walk into a Zoom meeting…

Being a painter is a lonely profession by its very nature: painting during the last two years of pandemic isolation posed specific challenges, but also opportunities. Thanks to Instagram, Zoom, YouTube, and the human need for others, a new gallery has been formed during these weird times.

 It started when I reached out to some artists I had been following on Instagram whose styles and output were similar to mine: large scale, bold, painterly abstracts ( as Picasso said, “Good artists borrow, great artists steal.”)  COVID isolation, a closed home gallery and cancelled art shows meant a dearth of conversation about not only technique but making a living as a painter, marketing, and all those exchanges that we used to take for granted.

So I contacted some painters whose work I admired  as well as an art writer, to see if they wanted to meet on Zoom and talk. They did, and the monthly confabs were a great way to make virtual friends and peers.

Then one of the group, Susan Washington (www.susanwashingtonfineart.com) had an idea.

Susan, who has a background in the New York fashion industry lived and worked as a collage artist and painter in the Poconos.  She had hosted a now-retired online gallery called NITRO and in the Spring of 2021 when she relocated to Baltimore, thought it might be worth reviving an online space in order to move into gallery aggregators like Artsy. She contacted another member of the group, Lori Mirabelli (www.lorimirabelli.com) based in Toronto, who had a lot of experience in online and brick-and-mortar galleries, to sound out the idea. Lori contacted me, and we started to work on the new Nitro Gallery.

We all bring different skills to the table: I’m a communications professional; Susan is widely networked; and Lori is an expert in online marketing.  But most of all we share an entrepreneurial spirit, we move fast, and are generous with expertise and support.

 The brick and mortar Nitro Gallery will be based in part of Susan’s Baltimore industrial building and open to the public by appointment, with a real opening planned for the end of the month. Our work will be featured extensively on www.nitrogallery.com.   Check it out!