"Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant - there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing." - Georgia O'Keefe

This first blog of 2015 was prompted by a heartfelt email from an emerging artist in New Orleans. Her questions prompted much thought and desire to share some of my thoughts as a mid-career artist, still struggling myself to find the answers in this uniquely unprescribed career.  I offer these musings from my own humble perspective, just some habits and practices that have become clearly effective and important to me on my own path as an artist. 

Thank you for your questions, MM!

What is a logical first step to get started as a painter? 

Always start with your own work. Spend time in your studio/(corner of the room) EVERYDAY, even if it is only 20 minutes. Can you get to the point where making art is as automatic as eating lunch? Create work that you love and want to be around. When you start to considering exhibiting your work, take realistic stock of where you are in your development - are you ready to put it out to the public? Are you behind it 100% so that even when it gets criticized or ignored, you can still be proud of it? Get to this point before you put it out there, as there is nothing worse than witnessing critical eyes confirm your doubt about your own work, and nothing better than standing confidently unaffected when critical eyes disregard work you know is good and true.  Make sure your work embodies a heartfelt effort, and then boldly start sharing it in a way that feels right. This is different than feeling like your work is perfect or comparing it to others. Do you love it? Is it honest? That's what matters, and that's what will give you the confidence to share your work and continue evolving your artistic language.

Second, explore the art culture where you live. How to other artists share/sell their work? What venues haven't been tapped into where you can envision your work displayed? Is there a place for a pop-up show? Do you have a few artists friends who you can join forces with and put on an exhibition? Just explore the possibilities where you are, and if there aren't good ones for you at this time, find a way to create them. Even if it's inviting friends to your living room for a one night show. You just have to start somewhere! And then you will find your way, find out what your style in the world of art business is. And what keeps you creating the best work you can. Online venues such as Etsy are also a good place to start. The sooner you can get an online presence with a website or shop the better. Make sure you are putting out only high quality images of your work. The way you present your work to the public reflects the respect you have for it. 

What are the most difficult aspects of painting professionally?

Keeping studio time sacred, and your artwork unaffected by the demands of the market. This being said, every artist has the option of finding his or her own relationship with the market, and sometimes it is very satisfying and lucrative to create something you know sells well. I do not believe this is a conflict of interest - it's more of a bracket of questions - 1. Is this work true to my own aesthetic and passion? 2. Is this work marketable? As long as one keeps #1 the most important, keeping an eye on the market will not be soul-sucking. And a no answer to #2 doesn't mean you shouldn't be making that particular work, just be realistic about it being financially lucrative. Keeping studio time sacred is part of the process of prioritizing your own true work over that which is simply easy to sell - spend time each day creating in a way that is focused only on the work at hand, not where it is going to sell or is it time effective. Just dive in without distractions. This gets tough the more one relies on selling art as a primary source of income. 

Another difficulty artists face is that professional success in terms of either creating great work or supporting oneself financially is not a permanent pinnacle that one reaches and rests upon. We have to do it again. And again. And again. The cycle of inspiration, creation, and exhibition, thankfully and painfully, goes on and on. 

What are the best aspects of painting professionally?

I love that having an artistic practice conditions me to being awake and alert to the beauty in the world. The poet Kathleen Raine says of this awareness, "Strangest of all is the ease with which the vision is lost. Consciousness contracts. We forget over and over again until recollection is stirred by some icon of that beauty. Then we remember and wonder why we ever forgot.  For me, the best part of making art  is that every day one is tasked to define and notice beauty. And even better, this is an opportunity available to EVERYONE (which is why I love to teach art).  Sharing my work, which is perhaps what officially merits someone being recognized as an artist, gives me the chance to inspire others to notice what I find beautiful in the world.  Lastly, earning money from doing what I love, which allows me to do more of what I love, is a tremendous gift for which I am very grateful.

What is it like to be part of an artistic community?

For the introverted personality that often accompanies artistic inclinations, it is easy for artists to become isolated in the studio. It is also easy to fall into a defensive, competitive relationship with other artists or the "art world." But over the years since I've been painting full time, and especially since my move to the big town/little city of Boise, Idaho, I have realized the richness that comes with being part of a community of creative people. An artistic vision is something that can never be copied or stolen, only inspired, but sharing. And the market is big enough for us all. For every artist there is a tribe of people to whom his or her work will speak, and the success of each artist in a community The more I come to respect the process of other artists, whose work is may be both very different and similar to mine, the more I respect my own process and value what my work brings others. One more recent step I have taken is to begin purchasing artwork from other artists. Though my budget is small, this commitment to financially investing in other people's work gives me the joy and perspective of a buyer, a recipient of someone else's creative vision. One last thought - a great opportunity a community of artists offers is the working together to create group exhibitions and collaborations, which are not only fun and inspiring, but keep a fresh flow of new art-loving viewers discovering your work. The wider range of artists one can work with, the wider range of potential clients are exposed to your work. 

What do you need to do to have your work shown? 

Foremost, this goes back to the first question. Focus on creating work that is meaningful and beautiful to you. Explore the range of ways artists in your community and beyond share and sell their work and pick or create opportunities that feel suitable for you. Then, make sure you cross your T's and dot your i's. From the perspective of a gallery manager, if an artist delivers a clean product in all aspects of the presentation (digital images, communication, reliability, and of course the work itself), their job is MUCH easier. If it takes much time for you to correctly format your own digital images, how can you expect a gallery owner or art dealer to do so for 40-100 artists?  Provide these people with requested items formatted EXACTLY as they request, whether it seems important to you or not. They have their reasons. Make it as easy as possible for someone to have a professional relationship with your work they will be much more eager to represent you.

What makes artists successful?

See the question above for the nuts and bolts part of this - basically take responsibility of the quality and honesty of your work, and have your act together. But, also, define what success is to you. As my childhood hero Georgia O'Keefe said in the opening quote, "Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant - there is not such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing."(This quote came from a great speech I just read by MacArthur genius award winner Teresita Fernandez, very worth a further look).

In summary - commit to some sort of daily creative practice, keep your eyes open to opportunities where your quirks that ultimately guide your artistic vision can be appreciated and expanded, and then let go of expectations. And then do it again! 

Unique perspectives - 4 student paintings

A year in review…

Idaho Conservation League asked me to write some thoughts about my year as their first Artist in Residence, a program that will continue in 2015 with the talented photographer Peter Lovera.

My 2014 residency with ICL was a year of discovery and purpose. New landscapes I had the opportunity to explore included the Boulder White Clouds as seen from Railroad Ridge, the serene and friendly shores of Priest Lake, the Palouse (to be revisited soon!), Lake Pend Oreille and Schweitzer, and many places between. I gained a deepened appreciation of and intimacy with our Boise Foothills. And still I feel I have only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Idaho's vast and varying landscapes. There are still the Craters of the Moon, the Clearwater Valley, Hell's Canyon, southeast Idaho, the Bruneau River and sand dunes, and on and on. The more I paint and explore, the more I value the work that ICL is doing to protect these places. I am so fortunate to live an artist's life in this amazing region.

Idaho Conservation League was a source of geographical information, logistical support, and encouragement throughout my year. They matched my efforts every time, enthusiastically supporting the gung-ho approach I took to my residence, which included over 100 works of art and three exhibitions over the course of the year. I could not have asked for a better collaborating organization.

My partnership with ICL has inspired me to continue to find ways to work with organizations in mutually beneficial projects - art has the ability to inspire an emotional connection to people and places, and as an artist it has been very satisfying to see this capability put to work for a cause in which I believe. Another benefit from an artist's perspective - collaborations have proved extremely effective in reaching a broader audience for my work. Advice to emerging artists -  figure out what you value, find an organization you respect who represents those values, and find creative ways of working together to promote each other's good work.

2015's Artist in Residence, Peter Lovera, and I had a brief conversation about his excitement for the upcoming year, and his excitement was contagious. He tossed out some ideas that never crossed my mind in the two years I've been working with ICL - ideas which use the characteristics of his medium effectively and creatively. Look out for a whole new take on what it means to be ICL's Artist in Residence in the coming year. And have fun, Peter!

Thank you to Idaho Conservation League for a fabulous experience working together. Special thanks to my dear friend Aimee Moran whose open mind considered all my ideas, feasible and not, and to Sean Scrivner who was vital in getting me to most of the far-out places I explored.

Greetings from the studio in my post-exhibition daze! I am still processing and recovering and am at a loss for words right now, so in lieu of new thoughts I am going to post the blurb from my show. The exhibition, which opened Thursday at Gallery five18 in Boise, was entitled "Befriending Time and Place." For those that wonder what that means to me…read first about befriending place, and then time, below.

A big thank you to all who have supported this project. 

Befriending Place

“The beautiful offers us an invitation to order, coherence, and unity, and when these needs are met, the soul feels at home in the world.” - John O’Donohue, Beauty the Invisible Embrace

I must admit, it was not love at first sight for the foothills and me. 

I arrived in Idaho intoxicated by the fog hugged hillsides and lush greens and blues of the San Francisco Bay Area. My first few years here in the Treasure Valley were spent acclimating myself to this change. 

But the desert loving side of me slowly and steadily reemerged. My New Mexican roots proved deep, and eventually the sagebrush, spaciousness, and austere beauty of this new desert place won me over.  

My tinyExpanse paintings began as part of this acclimatization. Thrown out of my regular studio practice by my move, I knew I needed a baby step to get back into it. 3 inch by 3 inch canvases seemed to be the perfect start. These small paintings allowed me to paint subjects I had never tried before. (After all how scary can 9 square inches be?) And they allowed me to paint quickly, covering many different perspectives and locations. Through these adventurous little studies, I became acquainted with my new home. And I became reacquainted with myself as a painter. 

Over the last year I have created nearly 600 tinyExpanse paintings. I estimate that since I moved to Idaho in the fall of 2009 I have completed over 1200. The daily practice of these miniature paintings has taken on a life of its own for me, serving as an anchor, an act of gratitude for the beauty around me every day, and as a way to share my love of painting and landscape with others. 

Eventually I returned to larger paintings – the largest of which are 512 times larger than the tinyExpanses. But to me the works you see presented together in this exhibition are all part of a journey of acquaintance. Completing these larger works in the studio, I feel as if the foothills, river, and mountains around me are old friends –friendships that were forged slowly yet steadily over onsite painting sessions, morning walks, and studio reflections. And wherever I travel or live, painting gives me a way of feeling at ease in the world.

Painting has become my way of befriending a place and making wherever I find myself moment to moment my current home.

Befriending Time

“Time has been called God’s way of making sure that everything doesn’t happen at once” – Hans Christian von Baeyer

Recently I came to the realization that I often live my daily life at war with time. I have also discovered that when I paint, time slows down. Or becomes irrelevant. I’m not sure which, but in any case the battle subsides and pure experience arises.

This is especially true of my time-lapse series, where I complete one painting after another in specific increments of time. For example, I painted the Boulder Front from Boulder Creek every two hours from 5am to 11pm. The experience of that day remains in my memory as one of spaciousness, ease, and harmony with the world around me. I also painted each hour of the morning from Railroad Ridge, a breathtaking place in the White Clouds. The crisp, clear, morning sky became a threatening one; rain mottled my panels; a brilliant rainbow appeared and disappeared, and the sky returned to blue. How much did I appreciate and internalize every hour of this morning, each so different from the last. 

“tinyExpanse 365,” my year-long project that came to completion this fall, has also resulted in a restructuring of my relationship with time, specifically in teaching me to appreciate the transformative nature of time’s passing. When I look at all 365 paintings together and see the change of time and place that occurred throughout this year, I can also see the growth, healing, and wising up that has taken place within myself. These paintings as a collection are an external representation of internal transformation. As I completed my 365^th painting on September 30,^th 2014, and placed it in its place next to October 1^st, 2013, a cycle was closed, and seamlessly, another began. In the words of the Irish mystic John O’Donohue, life is “a constantly unfolding event.” 

While in New York City over the weekend, I had an interesting (ok, and slightly traumatic and scary yet encouraging and clarifying) experience.

I had meetings at two galleries in Chelsea to show my work. I was plunged into this opportunity quite unexpectedly, which was good because I had no time to get nervous or put any weight on it, and bad because I was unprepared. But that's how it was, and I learned a lot.

The first gallery visit was deflating and depressing. The second made the whole experience humorous.

The first gallery owner began our conversation with a bit of a diatribe on how bad the art market is for galleries and young artists, that all the work was being sold through auction houses and only big ticket artists were selling. After this encouraging beginning, I was then asked to show my work, which he promptly dismissed. "You are obviously an accomplished painter," he said, "but western landscapes don't sell in New York. I can't even consider your work." Done.

Next gallery. A few doors down. I was surrounded by Western landscapes of barns by a not-too-famous Californian artist. I was told by this gallery owner that thirteen of his fifteen $30,000 paintings had sold at his recent show. He also reviewed my work, and said only "thank you," but did leave me with my most applicable take-home advice.

What sticks with me most was the answer to a question I asked the second gallerist. I asked him what was it that made this particular western landscape painter's work appealing to New Yorkers. The gist of his answer was that I just had to keep making the work I loved to make. Period. Which deep down we all know. But it's hard not to want to also make work that sells in big markets once in a while too.

But truly, I am going to continue to just keep making the work I love to make. New York, take it or leave it.

Today is a notable, celebratory, and slightly uneasy day for me. It is the first day in 367 days on which I will not paint.

My official year of painting ended on Tuesday, but I found myself automatically picking up the brushes both Wednesday and Thursday, taking a giddy pleasure in the voluntary nature of these extra days. But this morning I find myself on an airplane to New York City sans tinyExpanse painting box. A twinge of separation anxiety accompanies my airborne sense of freedom.

This is a fitting day to look back over my year of painting. The prevailing sentiment I feel is gratitude – gratitude that I was healthy and privileged enough to paint for 367 days straight.  Gratitude for those close to me who again and again showed patience as I impulsively pulled out my painting box, apologetically saying “I think this one will be quick.” Grateful for the moments spent observing the beauty around me, especially when doing so in the company of a friend or in a new and strange landscape. Grateful for the beauty of transformation inherent in the passage of time. When I look back over these 367 paintings, each one triggers a memory for me – the quality of the day, the thoughts in my mind at that moment, the people around me.

The great majority of this collection of memories is characterized by joy. This was an amazing year, and the sad or difficult time capsules on canvas are few and far between. My painting box and I traveled from the desolate Owyhee Canyonlands in Idaho to the desolate interior of Iceland. From the glow of autumn leaves in the alley behind my studio on Regan Avenue to the midsummer glow of the sun bouncing along the horizon line at a lakehouse in Finland. Boise, Blonduos, Brooklyn, Bozeman, Bear Tooths, Mazatlan, Mill Valley, Mount Borah, Sun Valley, Sandpoint, Salt Lake, Golden, Nampa, Hudson River Valley, Helsinki. How vastly diverse and beautiful are the landscapes of this globe which we call home.

I am delighted to notice that this practice of creating a small painting every day began and truly remained a practice of process rather than product – the process of staying alert to the presence of beauty every single day. (During the writing of this blog, I have witnessed the star-studded sky transforming into a magical pink and blue sunrise symphony over a bed of clouds. I challenge myself to allow the site to wash over me, at least for a moment unfiltered by the language of paint). I know that this habit of observation has sunk in deeply enough that I won’t need my paints to continue, though I’m quite sure painting will always be my own, personal, most tangible way of expressing my experience of the world.

And how wonderful that we each have our own way of expressing our individual experience. We each find beauty in different ways, find our hearts quickened by different impulses. As Rumi says, “Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” I believe it is each of our duty, or perhaps simply opportunity, to share what we love about this world in the way most suited and unique to ourselves. I thank every one who has taken a moment to notice my own personal way of sharing my experience of beauty in the world.

Onward! As Shay would say.

Because this is a blog primarily for other artists, I feel free to admit - it's been a tough month. Well, a tough few months.

A phase where a flurry of creative output has left me feeling completely spent;  the strange coexistence of deep, satisfied tired that is the result of good hard creative work, and the feeling of futile fatigue and an undernourished bank account and soul.

It's the part of the cycle of the professional artist where working at Starbucks sounds heavenly in its repetition, lack of self direction, and guaranteed financial compensation for each hour of work.

Where one feels simultaneously under-supported by society and annoyed at the self-absorption and unrealistic expectation from which this feeling of being under appreciated springs.

But luckily I always seem to remember just in time that, in fact, this is a phase. It's one that comes less frequently the longer I am in this line of work, but it's increasingly less frequent occurrences seem to grow in intensity. I suppose this could be looked at positively - that the deepening intensity of slumps indicate that I have gone further on this path, that more heart and soul is invested.

And I have also learned that these tough phases are important and necessary, that they are nurseries for ever deepening belief in oneself and appreciation for the times when things are flowing - financially, creatively, joyfully. It is trite but true that showers do spring flowers. As artists we are hearty plants indeed, burrowing deeply into the darkness with unrelenting faith of the beauty crystallizing there.

I'm stopping myself here for a second - sometimes I get so tired of my own tirades of the "artist's dilemma." After all, we are profoundly lucky to live a life focused primarily on seeing and creating beauty. But once in a while it's nice to wallow in the reality that it's damn hard sometimes, that the lightness and pleasure that our livelihood appears to be filled with from the outside is not always our experience.

Still, I feel lucky. And stirring with anticipation of seeing this phase from the other side, where I can recognize the beauty that was forming in the mud. That phase is also a certainty.

tinyExpanse North Idaho 

A blogging, painting, exploring good time up north!

Reeder Bay - 5am-11am

It's documenting day - enjoyable in that I get to review everything I've created in the past week, and in that I get to have paint-free hands all day!

As I worked with the images from 40 paintings completed this week, I began to think about the purpose and meaning that images have. As a landscape painter, sometimes I feel that I am simply trying to recreate what is in front of me in a mediocre representation of the real thing. But thinking further, there is more to it than that. A Plein Air landscape painting is an accumulation of perception that includes all senses, not just visual. The temperature of the day, the elements of the place, the changing of the light throughout the painting session, and of course my own mood and thoughts, swirl around together in a big cauldron and assimilate themselves into the resulting image.

That being said, I still think the experience of the real thing is best. I hope that my images spark curiosity for places not yet seen, and love and dedication for places already experienced. In a world with many different perspectives, perhaps the one thing we can all agree on is the beauty of nature. An image might be superficial, but if it can spark something universal that inspires each of us to preserve this beauty, then I'm satisfied with my work.

A gallery from my week in North Idaho follows…starting with the tinyExpanse collage which is by the way available on Etsy, along with small prints of the Priest Lake painting.(https://www.etsy.com/shop/tinyexpanse)

For information on the purchase of originals, please contact me at rachel@teannalach.com.

25% of proceeds for both prints and originals go to Idaho Conservation League.

tinyExpanse poster available on Etsy (shop name tinyExpanse)

Priest Lake Morning 30"x48" oil and wax on panel

Bottle Bay and Beyond from Schweitzer 18"x24" oil and wax on panel

Selkirk Crest from the top of Chair Six 18"x24" oil and wax on panel

August 22nd Sunrise/Sunset 12"x12" oil and wax on panel
(sunrise from the long bridge, sunset from Reeder Bay)

August 23rd Sunrise/Sunset 12"x12" oil and wax on panel
(sunrise from the Reeder Bay, sunset from Bottle Bay Road)

August 24th Sunrise/Sunset 12"x12" oil and wax on panel
(sunrise from Sweeney Drive, sunset from Lincoln Avenue)

August 25th Sunrise/Sunset 12"x12" oil and wax on panel
(sunrise from City Beach, sunset from Lake Street ballfield)

August 26th Sunrise/Sunset 12"x12" oil and wax on panel
(sunrise from City Beach, sunset from Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge)