Michelle Basic Hendry • Fine Art

Mount Scott and Wildlife Refuge

Michelle — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 12:30:31 +0000

I have had a busy few weeks with visits to the historic town of Guthrie, music and art events at the City Center and the windy trip to Mount Scott and the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. My husband and I are doing day trips to find places where we might like to camp when Oklahoma’s red and orange landscape is altered by Spring’s green grass and the return of leaves to the trees.

In Winter, the bare trees of central Oklahoma stand like old men, some bent over, some split, some appearing to have legs. Others carry the heaviness of drought with the densest of wood. Standing straight with a crown of tiny twisted twigs that trap little shapes of light between them until they become so dense as to look like they are woven into a basket.

The clusters of trees at the Wildlife Reserve north of Lawton, Oklahoma have the nickname of ‘iron woods’. The wood is dense and hard from the harshness of the semi-arid climate, their bases black with the evidence of grass fires. On first inspection they are quiet, listening to you, to determine if you are worthy of their ancient secrets. Their presence is somewhat ominous and images of Tolkein’s “Ents” invade my imagination. I could imagine them shifting slowly when I am not looking only to become still when I turn toward them. Their dance as if moving to a music so slow that it takes a hundred years. Many of these trees are no more than 25 feet tall, but some are over 400 years old. Oaks and cedars… These trees are sacred to both the Native peoples and to the ancient Celtic peoples. The Oak is the King of trees.

Dust storms were moving through the area the day we visited, creating a monochromatic palette of ochres both on the grasslands and up on the mountain. Free roaming buffalo sat quietly on the plains waiting for the abrasive winds to abate. The mountains are an ancient range, the only one to run east/west in North America. They were once as tall as the Rockies, but now, inclines are made up of impossibly large boulders that appear stacked and piled as if by giants. Cedars and junipers are walls to the gale force winds at the summit of Mount Scott. Their trunks twisted and bent by the fierce winds.

When the stone opened up to plains, longhorn cattle could be seen foraging in the pale gold grass.

When Changes Come

Michelle — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 21:45:01 +0000

I spent the afternoon on Monday doing some updates to the website, getting it ready for the changes to come; a new bio and a little portfolio reorganization to open the way for new work. I am struggling a little with the new paintings because, for me, it is not enough just to paint pretty pictures. They need to mean something – I need to feel something beyond the surface. Colours and form are not enough on their own. In order to do that, I need to develop a connection, let a place speak to me.

Oklahoma is beginning to speak. But in a language that I am not accustomed.

I am discovering a little bit more about what moves me to make art. It has been years since I have seen so many new things, new places and I am not finding I am drawn to the usual suspects. Here, the landscape is intense. It has me working outside of my comfort zone and I feel like a beginner all over again. It is allowing me to see where I have held myself back and allowed some people and their ideas of me to live rent free in my head, affecting my creative choices. I am still exploring, filtering and trying to understand.

Last week, I met Gordon Yellowman, an artist preserving and continuing the tradition of Ledger Art. It was developed by imprisoned Cheyenne over 100 years ago. A sense of urgency compelled these prisoners to record their stories in images on old ledgers their military captors gave them. Pictures of horses, people and the objects the Cheyenee considered important or of value were drawn over the numbers and sums. The result is a book of sorts, a palimpsest of two cultures, forever bound.

The following day, Celtic music filled the Oklahoma City Underground where I experienced a near private concert with the Flyin’ Fiddler, Wayne Cantwell, accompanied by Susan Pierce and Tim Hart on flute and guitar. I struggled to keep tears from my eyes between the joy of jigs and mournful tunes so beautifully rendered by these artists. Susan pulled out the bodhran and I was instantly transported to a land full of ancient memories – and of the East Coast home of my heart.

On Tuesday, I listened to Albert Gray Eagle play his wood and ceramic flutes. The sounds from these hand made instruments filled every corner of the Oklahoma City Museum lobby. The room’s rectangle of plaster and tile dissolved, replaced with a colourful canyon where each note echoed softly off sandstone walls deepening the sound. Albert’s struggles are in each of the instruments he makes. A serious accident left him unable to make traditional wood flutes and his solution was a creative one made of red earth. With these he wins the hearts of the children he plays for and teaches.

The journey of the artist is far from straightforward. It is a constant challenge to stay connected to that soul voice, Guth an Anam (Irish for ‘voice of the soul’). This landscape, both cultural and geographic, inspires in me something more primal. I am drawn to things that I buried or lost or perhaps exist only in the ancestral memory of my DNA.

I am stuck in my works in progress, fearing to go forward. I am still learning so much and finding things I need to embrace. I am hoping the coming hours will bring with them that push to pause long enough to create a piece of this new world to share with all of you.

When Does Inspiration Come?

Michelle — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 21:22:15 +0000

I was lying in bed the other night and a narrative popped into my head. I have learned that when the words start to link in my mind or images start to appear not to wait until morning. I got out of bed, grabbed my laptop and started writing. It was 1 AM.

Notebook/Sketchbook Pouches - Beaded Celtic knots on leather (made by me!)

After the flow of word images started to ebb, I looked outside to see a rising waning crescent. Its curve was as red as the earth. I sometimes think I am merely a child of the Moon and she’ll have her way when she calls me.

I am naturally a nighthawk. I rarely go to bed before midnight and now that I live “central” it is technically an hour later than the late I have always done.

Everyone has a part of the day when they are most productive. I have two – one for painting and one for writing. I paint best between 2 and 10 pm. My writing time is in the wee hours – 11 pm to 2 am. I find as lay my head down on a cool pillow my mind starts to flow and the restrictions of a left brain day dissolve into memory and fantasy. Sometimes, I play music and it often molds the landscape my mind wanders. Words and images come.

Occasionally painting ideas arrive mixed in with the words. After reading an article by Keith Bond about writing your painting as a way of understanding what moves you to paint, I see I had this as a useful tool all along. Sometimes the images come first, sometimes the words, but for me, they are inextricably linked.

The result of this little writing session was a 500 word creative non-fiction piece called “The Colour of Memory”. I plan to share it on the blog at some point. But not yet. It needs a painting.

In the meantime, I have been obsessed with the colour red. As per one of my New Year’s goals, I wanted to start keeping sketch/notebooks. I decided to make beaded leather pouches for them so that I don’t lose my Sharpie! The two at the top fit my 3.5×5.5″ Moleskine.

The work in progress at right is Red Rock Canyon. Many of you recognized the potential in one of the photos and so I have the underpainting on a 30×36 inch canvas. I am rusty, so it is slow going!

So when does inspiration come to you? Do you have best hours, best places, triggers?

Looking Forward to 2012 & Discovering “Falls at Toltec Gorge”

Michelle — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 19:00:13 +0000

Thomas Moran, Falls at Toltec Gorge, 1913, oil on canvas

My last post reviewed 2011. I introduced you to my early experience of Oklahoma – a place that I seem to be making a connection with at a very visceral level and much more quickly than I might have thought. As a landscape painter, I need to connect with the places I paint. It is not enough just to say they are beautiful – for me. When they weave their magic onto my Soul, then I can paint them. In my dreams, I still visit the forests and lakes of Ontario and I am conflicted still as to where home is. Is home a place or is it a memory?

The river of my life has been a series of rapids and waterfalls rushing me through whitewater narrows. Having a set of goals for 2012 feels impossible with the wilderness rushing by. I am a little overwhelmed by the landscape opening up to me as the rapids subside.

I spent a couple of hours over Friday and Saturday wandering the Oklahoma City Museum of Art. I walked through stunning life size photographs of Havana by Michael Eastman and followed dimmed hallways to experience the Dale Chihuly exhibition “Illuninations”.

It was while moving through the middle galleries dedicated to the late 19th and early 20th century permanent collection that I was struck by this one painting. It leaped off the wall and opened a door deep into the woods. The pink mountains in the background touched by sunlight beckoned me to step into this landscape “Falls at Toltec Gorge” by Thomas Moran. I was haunted by it and each visit to the Museum I would stand before it, scaling the slick, moist alpine rocks in my imagination.

I wonder if perhaps exploration is my ultimate goal for 2012? Oklahoma is not tainted with history and preconceived notions and I feel my creative juices flowing – and yet that old fear that travels with me at the back of the river boat is making noise and rocking it back and forth, threatening to capsize.

So what do I want to accomplish in 2012 and how can I best make use of this adventure? Let’s try this list:

Don’t let the fear take over the boat
Explore the world around me, travel around the Southwest and let my imagination soar
Take the time to let these new places soak in and let them speak to me
Keep painting and creating as much as possible, but experiment with new media
Write, write, write it all down
Keep a sketch/notebook
Enjoy the moment and dance MY dance (thank you Sarah Lacy! Read her inspiring post here)
Keep things balanced

So there it is…. And I am off to the Botanical Gardens! (see bullet #2)

A Year in Review….

Michelle — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 04:32:49 +0000

Twelve months ago, I sat in my chair looking out over a snow covered Muskoka thinking that I might move house. Perhaps somewhere a few miles down the road with a little more land and a place for a bigger and above ground studio. I didn’t get out much and when I did, I didn’t go far. Leaving made me anxious. I looked at the borders of my home as full of everything I might need, until it wasn’t.

Muskoka is 1500 miles in my rear view mirror and the grey and pink granite is replaced with red sandstone. I catch my breath when I think about how my life has undergone a change not unlike the way an earthquake distorts and changes the land beyond recognition. And yet, what I thought was weak, was strong.

With my studio in boxes after a very successful Spring and a People’s Choice Award to send me on my way, I had the opportunity to explore another part of my creative self through writing. I got to explore the old buildings in my paintings in words and wrap the images in stories that gave them another dimension. I think this was something I needed to foster in order to make the most of what the year was to bring. I did things this year that I thought would be impossible for the girl living in her Muskoka world. I had to go forward. I thought the tears would never end before the cord was cut. But then after, I rarely looked back. The road beckoned me and I was seduced by the unknown.

Oklahoma.

The harshness of Steinbeck’s Oklahoma is still beneath the surface. The extremes of its weather and the intensity of the soil tempered only by the gentleness of the people who live on the hard, scarred land. The desert meets the plains. Trees twist and curl their silhouettes into a sunset coloured by red dust. Lush fields and stark plains merge in this place, a place with a heart that has been torn out more than once and whose blood is absorbed by the soil every time.

The center of Oklahoma City is still heavy with the horror of the bombing. I found it hard to catch my breath next to the black reflecting pond at the Memorial. The city is struggling to revitalize in what has always been a boom-bust economic climate. Its resilience revealed in the spiraling tower of light in the Art Museum only blocks away. There is a quiet energy building in the streets and its culture is growing and spreading. Oklahoma City is a place of contrasts.

The siren song of red soil brought me to the Red Rock canyon where the armadillos and water wander between the sandstone cliffs. I ran my fingers over the rough stone. Crevices created by climbers and rainstorms smelled like green caves of moss and yet there was none. The stone was a mere shell in places dissolving into ochre in my hands and staining my fingers.

And then, I feel just a little bit less anxious.

‘New beginning’ takes on a whole new meaning. Thanks to 2011 for showing me that there was something I needed to do and my finding the courage to do it.

Here’s to 2012 – The adventure is just beginning.

A Curve on the Journey

Michelle — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 13:30:24 +0000

I have been fighting a rather stubborn infection and I am on my third course of antibiotics. I am being forced to slow myself down after the business of the last six months and I find it hasn’t been easy. Inertia. An object in motion tends to stay in motion. This object needs some stillness. The threat of the infection spreading to my kidneys was enough to force me to pause.

Nature is the place where the Divine becomes visible.
~ John O’Donohue

Slowing down meant some time looking for something that might help me lift my focus from my discomfort and to raise my Spirit. Nature herself is not so accessible to me at this moment, so I downloaded this wonderful video “A Celtic Pilgrimage” by John O’Donohue, Irish poet and philosopher. He shares some of his thoughts and feelings on Celtic Spirituality while the West Irish landscape creates the backdrop. John connects much of his spiritual philosophy to nature and landscape, which resonates with me. According to O’Donohue, our dreams and our voices mark the landscape. Ancient places or the ruin of a church can carry the echoes of our prayers;

A ruin has an ancient aura about it. It also has an imprint of the presence of those who lived there once.
~ John O’Donohue

The markings on the ancient landscapes of North America are less obvious because less is left behind for us to see, so one must listen and feel more closely to become aware of their aura. This aura affects us all in different ways and we express it through our gifts. O’Donohue feels that longing for the Divine is what makes us creative.

As I wander around this new place, I see with the fresh eyes of a traveler. I suppose I am somewhat animistic in my philosophy because I believe that everything has a Spirit. I love the landscape and all things in it. I tend to populate my landscapes with characters whose stories are carried in the space in between.

Because of my status down here, my focus is turned from the ‘career’ and marketing of painting back to the roots of the art and the experience. At first I was bothered by the restrictions, but now, I see it as a gift. I am going to turn my full attention to the creative experience and find a way to share fearlessly.

John O’Donohue passed away in 2008 in his 50′s.

Settling In…

Michelle — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 20:14:09 +0000

After over 6 months of domestic upheaval, it would appear that things are finally beginning to settle down. The studio is almost ready and the idea of packing, unpacking and moving from one temporary location to another is receding into the recent past. I recommend selling one’s house before committing to a cross-border move, but I will not lie and suggest that doing so eliminates all of the problems. When I look back over everything, I sometimes wonder how I managed to survive it. And of course, one might say it is typical that I move South and they get lower than normal temperatures! Let’s hope we don’t find those lost degrees in June!

But we are here.

I am hoping that for the new year, a sort of rhythm will return to the blog and the newsletter – and my life! Living so close to Oklahoma City means I’ll get to introduce my northern readers to the OKC Museum of Art and the art scene here in Oklahoma; as well as the neighbouring states of Texas, Arkansas and New Mexico from a resident’s point of view.

I am also sure many of you will recognize the old and the new patterns that will lead up to a new series of my own paintings faster than I will and I look forward to your thoughts and comments.

True to form, though, I open with an Oklahoma ruin (some of you may have caught it on Facebook!). I am hoping to secure an invitation to a nearby ranch to visit a family homestead on 16,000 acres (small by Oklahoma standards) – that has me very excited! So we’ll see where things go.

Before the end of the month, it will be entertaining to review 2011 in detail. My list of goals ended up quite out of sync with what ended up happening! And yet, the spirit of them, the idea of moving forward, ended up going well beyond anything I would have imagined a year ago… The goals for 2012 will be modest in comparison, but I think it will make for the best year yet!

Now back to very last of the tidying up!

Route 66 to Oklahoma ~ Part II

Michelle — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 18:52:23 +0000

We set out on old Route 66 from the Springfield KOA in Missouri a little later than planned but after two days of very little sleep, a real campground was a gift. We were not disappointed. This section all the way from Springfield, through Kansas to Oklahoma is jam packed with great old buildings that lined the sometimes narrow trail cut by Mother Road.

Our first stop was the ruin of an old casket making factory at Plano. We paused at the crossroads and wandered through the stone walls that contained more brush than what surrounded it. The wind and the occasional passing car were the only sounds.

We continued on to Halltown and Paris Springs and found ourselves at Gary Turner’s replica of the old “Gay Parita” Gas Station. The old garage on the same site is original to 1929 and built of the rough stone that was to become more an more common as we approached Oklahoma. We pulled up in front of the Station and we were immediately greeted by Gary himself.

Gary started by handing us each a bottle of “Route 66″ soda in Black Cherry and “Route” beer, took us into the garage and started talking about his cars, local artists including well known Jerry McClanahan, whose acrylic and watercolour paintings are famous for their depictions of classic Route 66, past and present. The walls were full of classic signs and photographs from the heyday of the Mother Road; the floors covered with old refrigerators, gas pumps and a lovingly restored Ford F-5 which Gary wants to convert into a ‘wrecker’.

Gary, by his own admission, is a true “Hillbilly” and he has tried his hand at many interesting things. His kindness and willingness to greet and share his wealth of knowledge with every visitor makes him the best “must see” stop on a trip down Route 66.

He invited me to sit in his Model “A” with “Bonnie” and took my picture. He showed us how to make memories on our trip down the Mother Road by getting the autographs of those that touched us. Gary was our first.

Me and Gary

As were were getting ready to leave, Gary insisted we visit Spencer and the old steel bridge over the creek. The road through Spencer is hand troweled concrete and was in the best condition of any of the roads we traveled, including the Interstate.

It was easy to slow our pace and really get into the rhythm of the Mother Road. We forgot we had any particular destination and got lost – sometimes literally – along the winding pavement that was old Route 66. On one of the rare occasions that I was behind the wheel of our 36 foot rig, I ended up on a road that was only wide enough for me. My husband was trying to rest, but I think he ended up more stressed watching me navigate around other traffic that he decided to take over again.

Just before leaving Missouri, we entered the beautiful city of Joplin. Joplin is now known across North America, not for its position on old Route 66, but for the massive tornado that swept through it in May 2011. We lost our way and accidentally ended up in the middle of the path the tornado had taken. The city seemed to abruptly end and what had once been dozens of streets and a school were now empty fields and a few ruins. The community is still struggling to clean up and the rebuilding process is only just beginning. Many volunteers were still on site, five months later, and lots of free supplies were being handed out. A group of residents were sitting on furniture in what had once been their living room. Only a single tattered wall remained. The resilience and determination of this community is very evident. Hats off to them.

Just outside of Joplin, back on Route 66, we stopped at an old grocery. We didn’t realize it at the time, but it is an original stop on the Mother Road. The tiny entry patio and tin ceilings welcomed the traveler seeking a few supplies for the journey. It was late afternoon when we crossed Kansas border and followed Route 66 into Galena where a truck like “Mater” in the movie Cars sits in front of an old gas station. We lingered in Galena. A brick garage sat across the road, long abandoned like most of its neighbours. Faded paint covered the wall that sat in shadow not unlike the majority of the old road itself, now shadowed by the Interstate. We quietly entered Oklahoma.

The sun was setting when we finally reached Miami, Oklahoma and our last stop. The Coleman theater in Miami is a marvelous piece of architecture that opened its doors in 1929, months before the beginning of the Great Depression. Will Rogers and the Three Stooges were seen on the stage of the Coleman over the years. It has been beautifully maintained and is still active.

An RV is not always the best way to travel the Mother Road. Not only are some sections of pavement not as wide as our rig, but the conditions of that road vary widely. Had we known that in advance, we might have taken another route past Miami. Our tires straddled the pavement and we rattled so badly, we had to turn around. It took us an hour to figure out how to get back on the Interstate in the dark and I was never so relieved to pay a toll to head to Tulsa.

The darkness burst the bubble of our journey thus far and we were reminded that Jeff had to be at work in the morning. We stayed on the Interstate the rest of the way to Oklahoma City. This journey, however, is only on pause. There will be a weekend trip in the near future to finish this section of Route 66 up to our home. You see, our new home is in Yukon – a Route 66 town – and our house is only a mile distant of the Mother Road herself.

(Click on the images to see larger versions)

Home to Route 66 ~ Part 1

Michelle — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 18:51:48 +0000

I am not a morning person.

The last time I was on the road at 5:30 am was so long ago, but there I was on Friday morning stumbling into a Barrie Tim Horton’s, while Jeff filled the RV with gas. We drove into the October early morning darkness for what seemed like forever and as we began to travel the south side of Lake Ontario, the sun rose into our eyes.

Crossing the border was quick and painless and we stopped in Western New York near Buffalo for groceries. If you ever need to pick up food in that area – I must recommend Wegmans. It is as good as Longo’s in Woodbridge for selection and quality. As we set upon the interstate and headed to Jamestown, the sculptures of Buffalo lined the cloverleaf making us feel like we and the road were the ones out of place here. Perhaps, we were.

Most of Friday was spent traveling and running errands, including a stop at the outlet malls in Grove City, PA for some tax free shopping. I picked up some great stuff for prices that really made the trip worthwhile. We drove on through most of Ohio and slept in a Wal-Mart parking lot chased by 0C weather and the threat of snow. I nearly cried when I got dressed that morning – my clothes were like ice! RV travel at this time of year has its struggles…

Saturday morning was the farmland of Indiana and afternoon was St. Louis, where we joined Route 66. We only had a couple of days to enjoy the side roads and only a few of the roads would take our rig, so by the time we crossed the Mississipi we were anxious to discover the Mother Road. The transmission in our gasoline RV screamed through the Ozark section of the old 66 and I-44. The move has us pretty loaded and we had to keep our water and gas at half tank in order to make it up the hills! Our first stop was just south of the Mother Road at the Meramec Caverns.

Reputed to be the hideout of Jesse James and his gang, the tour followed the caves and their underground steams for over an hour. Each leg of the tour was lit in stages, leaving the path before us and behind us in silence and in darkness. Stalactites and stalagmites lined the cavern walls and a small waterfall whispered deep in the walls. Near the end of the tour was this great big stone waterfall that used to be the backdrop in the 1950′s for performances of God Bless America.

The sun sank quickly after leaving the caverns and we moved on quickly to an RV park in Springfield for the night.

Coming up in PART II… more of Missouri, Kansas the the first hours of Oklahoma…. Gary Turner’s Gay Parita, several near abandoned towns and roads too narrow for us and other traffic.

Down to the “Weird” Wire

Michelle — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 18:03:01 +0000

Only a couple weeks away from the move to Oklahoma, I have been reflecting a lot on home, making (or not making) art and what makes us who we are.

Going to Oklahoma is taking me 1400 miles away from all that is familiar; family, friends, my woods (a walk in a forest will be a new and very different experience from Ontario). The decision to take on a new adventure was a difficult one. I am simultaneously terrified of leaving behind the familiar and excited to experience the new. I think the personal insight and, consequently, the creative insight will be priceless.

Who we are is a moving target – just when you think you know, it changes. I think ‘knowing who you are’ is not a destination. To look at it as a static ‘place’ misses the adventure of exploration and discovery and can trap us in restrictive labels and ‘shoulds’ never allowing us to really experience ourselves.

With so much still to do, I want to share a couple of things that really got me thinking about what I need to keep in mind as I go forward. Perhaps, all of you might find it useful as well.

Artist and teacher, Lori Woodward wrote a wonderful post, “Identifying my True Niche” on breaking free of what everyone else think you should do to knowing what you need to do. She wrote it in response to reading Seth Godin‘s “We are all Weird” and excellent manifesto on the paradigm shift in culture market and how we perceive ourselves. What she said was profound and has been on my mind since I read it a week ago and will simmer there for a while. I look forward to your thoughts and feel free to share your adventures. To new roads and new discoveries!

Enjoy and see you in November…