Sunday, May 1, 2016

Plum Blossom Time

Searching through files I located a Wet Plate Collodion portrait created by Heather Oelklaus. The tree trunk that served as my head brace during the long exposure is a flowering plum tree outside Packard Hall at Colorado College. The trees are blooming and the air filled with a scent designed by the Tree Gods to make men of a certain age swoon and women want to dance or smoke cigarettes.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Politics by W. B. Yeats


Politics

HOW can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
Yet here's a traveled man that knows
What he talks about,
And there's a politician
That has read and thought,
And maybe what they say is true
Of war and war's alarms,
But O that I were young again
And held her in my arms!

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

All But One of My Plaid Shirts and Various Dinosaurs
















Click image above to Preview the full book

Shirt Aflame 

Paper is made from rags 
Or used to be two hundred years ago

 And I still make mine of rags 
Cotton linen hemp fibers 
Overly well loved clothing 
Worn out torn and filled with memories

 I make handmade paper from my favorite 
Apparel which invisibly influences my artwork 
With associations bonded within the fibers 
adding hidden meaning to my marks my imagery.

The stronger the memories in the fibers 
 The more poetic the paper the more magically
 The art transcends color on paper 

And yet today I unfolded a plaid shirt too full 
Of meaning too powerful to be used 
In a supporting role for paint and line 

The meaning bound up in the fibers 
 Of this plaid shirt needed to be set free 
Not coated with yellow or red or blue 

 I took this shirt out behind the studio
 Setting it aflame 
As the flames died down a cloud of white smoke 
Billowed ascending ascending 
The shirt had released all it held

Postcards and mementos
 Followed in short order 


April 26, 2016

Friday, April 22, 2016

Sacred Work



Sacred Work

I will paint again, most of the day.
I do not say this to make you jealous, only to
give you the satisfaction that someone
is doing the sacred work of creating magic.


Thursday, March 10, 2016

Paint Storm - a New Book

                                             Click to be taken to a preview of the entire book.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Stepping Stones, Perhaps



 
One canvas follows another, as one walking on a sidewalk looks down and notices the concrete is a path of segments; one grey rectangular slab before and after the one we are standing upon. 

Stepping stones, perhaps.



See the fifteen new paintings added today, February 21

sandykinnee.com





 





Saturday, January 16, 2016

Rolling Large Canvas Off and Back Onto Tubes

In the aftermath of hanging and photographing my twenty-six, large scale paintings I had to take Advil for my back pain.  Each of these large, heavyweight canvases is heavy even before the paint is added.  Hauling the paintings, removing them from their tubes, climbing the ladder, hanging, moving the ladder out of the camera's frame, then taking the paintings back down and rerolling them back onto the tubes is very physical work, unseen by those only looking at a small digital image on a flickering screen.

My mind went back to the time when I made prints and after several editions were completed and signed, I would clear the studio and set up the tripod and black velvet background.  I might take hundreds of photographs and make countless slides to send to my art dealers.  Compared to the new canvases, documenting the prints was tedious, but never lead me to taking pain killers.

Documenting artworks is the type of activity I dreaded and appreciated.  I always put off the photography because it meant I would have to stop creating for the duration of the clean up, shooting, and distribution of the images.  Fortunately, this time I had a real photographer take the shots; one less action for me and superior quality images, too. Yes, having the photographs gave me some satisfaction of documentation that I had made something and that it could be shared.  But it was always a cessation in productivity that I resented.  I would rather be painting or writing or otherwise making.  When I am into the flow I lose myself until I am drained.
That kind of draining, feels well spent.

I don't need Advil when the canvas is wet.

The twenty-six, finished, seven by fourteen foot canvases are back on their tubes, stored in the shelves.  Three fresh sheets of cotton duck are already in three different states of wetness and drying,
prone on the warehouse/studio floor.

See the 7 X 14 Foot Paintings