An Artist's Voice Is Not Heard

 An Artist's Voice Is Not Heard

Grandpa's Barn, Creswell, OR.  Demolished c..2010

 

I'm hoping all is well with you and are getting through your summer unaffected by all the bad news out there. It's been so difficult to find positive in our world, and as an artist, I feel a deep responsibility to bring some beauty into your life.  You see, it's more of a calling and I must do what I am destined to do.  So hand over the reins for a minute and hear me out, OK? 

So over the past ten months, give or take, I have been feeling something brewing in my artwork that was not apparent to me until last week.  As the paintbrush was burning up the easel, my work began to steer towards barns and rural life.  Simple subjects. Things that I could relate to on a deeper level.  And through discussion and feedback from my collectors and artist peers, there seems to be a common thread that is felt in my most recent work:  

Nostalgia  
Fond melancholy
Calm
Hope
Resolve

and all those feelings have been sensed in paint?

WOAH!  It is more apparent to me just how my deep feelings translate over to the canvas. So it isn't COVID or riots?  Well, I know those feelings of injustice and tragedy are pouring out in oil just the same. But now more than ever I realize the apparent visual communication I have been whipping up is coming out in ways I had never imagined.  It's a SENSE of calm I get when I paint.  My main catalyst?  The sale of my family's 100-year-old farm and a deep regret that I could not take the farm onto my own to cherish, nurture, and allow to blossom.  The change of hands had to happen at some time I suppose,  and so I express my feelings through creating with pigments. 

So please take a minute to visit both my "Landscapes" and "Plein Air" pages on my website.  Please let me know what you feel when you look at my barns. Is it nostalgia? Or perhaps you might sense a resolve in my work? For me, I believe that the artists' voice is not heard, but felt... and I feel hope.

Uncertainty, 16x12

"Uncertainty, 16x12" Pastel  ©Brenda Boylan

The road less travelled, in this case, is what this painting is all about. I often write about my family farm and my childhood memories that surround it. Directly behind the our farm house and property there is an old log road that leads to the top. When my Dad was a young boy, he'd hike up the hill and set up camp on the top, above all of Creswell. Then once he had hiked my sister and I up there when we were grade school aged, feeling above all the earth when we reached the summit. At the top there was a fresh cold spring that we could drink from that made us feel connected to the earth. Late last summer, my Dad at age 75, my husband, and two kids hiked up the mountain again. It had been years since I climbed it and, as for my Dad, he was so much more in shape than all of us! At the very top we ended up scrambling through some blackberry brambles and perhaps some poison oak, Oregon blueberry, ivy, and thick brush. The ground was not to be seen, only the tall trees above and the sky peeking through the fir and ash trees overhead. We came upon a dirt road and started downhill to the other side of the mountain, passing through private property.  As dusk was upon us we approached this road (above) and thankfully my Dad knew exactly where we were, but it would be around 3 miles on the country road to the farm house by foot. It was getting late and the sun was setting, so we cut through a pioneer cemetery and another neighbor's yard littered with horse poo, back onto our property. With no real path to follow we just faced downhill by my Dad's memory and found our way back.  "Uncertainty" is a road less traveled.

Old logging road

On the way up

View from the top overlooking the farm

Old Chalks + Pastel Punch workshop this weekend

Old "Chalks" 

The Farmhouse as seen from the new house.

A few weeks ago, I visited my Dad on the family farm. As a kid, my Dad worked the property like every family member did in the bean fields, milking cows early in the morning, walking to school in the snow... up hill no doubt. When he graduated from college, he left the farm for the city life in California. When he and my stepmom retired, they moved back up to the farm and built a new home on the property. Luckily, they left the original farm house intact.  Last time I visited, my husband, kids and I went over to the "Farm house" with Dad and we got to dig through some of his old boxes that he keeps in a corner of the farmhouse. He spoke of his childhood as we pulled each item out as if it were just yesterday. We found his Scouting badges, an old film camera and film canisters, a fishing rod and cricket cage, my Grandmother's Christening dress and baby shoes, Indian arrowheads, and more. In one of the boxes I found a small wooden birch box with a latch on it and took a peek inside. "Oh, those are just some 'ol chalks" says my Dad. "Yeah, but I'd like to know if you plan on using them?"  So here they are, and they are mine!

Sampling on Wallis paper

I played around with them today and found that the pigment is intense, with little binder. They are soft and blend well.  An unusual aspect of these is that they are very lightweight as if I am holding a dry sponge. There was no label as to the manufacturer, so it's my guess that they were just "chalks" for a school art project.  Looks like they saw little use with a few broken ones.  I think I will put these dusty sticks to some good use. If not, I guess my kids will find them in a box stored in a dusty corner someday.

Also, I'd like to mention that my Pastel Punch! workshop is this weekend, Feb 8-10th. I am so excited to get back to teaching and love sharing my passion with pastels. There are still a few spots left so if you are in the area and want to know how to make an impact with this super cool medium, give it a try. I might even let you play with my newfound pastels from the farm.  :)

Workshop info HERE
Register by calling Sequoia Gallery at 503-693-0401