light

Afternoon Light at Lavender

September 26, 2009 By Michelle Hendry

“Afternoon Light at Lavender, 18×24, acrylic © Michelle Basic Hendry

The changes in the weather and the season play havoc with my sinuses. It has been a tough week of migraines and other discomforts which slowed the painting process significantly – but – it is done!

Lavender is a little hamlet of mostly farms just outside Creemore, Ontario. I met artist Peter Adams last year and he helped me find this little derelict house. It was late in the afternoon – around 5:30 pm – and I had been shooting for half an hour. I was walking back to the car and turned around to stunning light coming from behind the house. When I looked at my reference photographs later, only the one I used for this painting made the cut. I have asked around to see if anyone knows about its history, but so far, nothing yet…

Next week, the Livingstone house – history and a window seat…

Musing on a Specific

February 18, 2009 By Michelle Hendry

I went for a drive this afternoon. It was the first one since the Autumn.

This winter has been a harsh one and the window of good weather seemed to be coming to a close, so I figured I had better get out. Driving is a great time to think, explore and get inspired. I always make sure that I have a purpose, something I set out to bring back that I cannot do on foot. For just thinking, a hike is better. I ended up at the south shore of Georgian Bay as a storm front began to slowly move into the area.

We admire uncompromising people; people that pursue a vision or a purpose with unwavering commitment. We call these people heroes and role models. In their very nature they attract some and offend others, but their belief in themselves, their vision, does not allow them to be concerned with that.

Many of us grow up attempting to be people pleasers. As artists we know that is necessary, however, how far does one take that? Seth Godin said that it is more important that you are best in your category and that it should be specific. People that share that vision will be gravitate to it. The artist’s job is to lead it. Pleasing everyone is impossible, if not undesirable.

Questions should be – what makes you unique? What are you passionate about? What are you trying to say – not necessarily just what you think, but what do you feel? Why is it important that you communicate it? Why does it matter?

In looking at these questions I have been attempting to distill exactly why I paint. I am often accused of being all in my head – a thinker. I suppose that kind of generality works for people that like labels. Thinking is important to me – but thoughts are empty and without context unless connected to something larger, something that reaches much deeper. Success is not in its description but in the attempt, the exploration – The journey is what others relate to. Emotion is not an end in itself, but merely a symptom of thought reaching that place deep within ourselves where we keep those things which make us human. Art is about sharing the human experience and imagination.

One might assume that because of the way I think, my work might be abstract or more expressive. I suppose it might be fun to try it, but it somehow is not me – at least not at the moment. I love form and colour. Landscape and the sense of place can often be a visual metaphor for an emotion, a feeling – one that many people can relate to. Like music in a minor key can evoke a memory of love or loss, sensuality or melancholy, a landscape painting speaks through Light. The angle of light, the saturation of colour and its intensity can evoke those same feelings. A certain amount of realism is required to create recognition and relationship – and specificity – for me.

I paint to raise awareness – not for some cause – but awareness of how much we are reflected in our landscapes. We till them, pave them, grow them, abandon them, observe them, and rarely pause to absorb what we are doing. Our inner landscapes are reflected in these outer landscapes. There is beauty and sadness in all of our geography. Is any of that important? It certainly is to me. It is why I get up in the morning and what stirs my passions. If it is ever to be relevant, it needs to touch others. You.

Perhaps my work is a mirror of places – an artscape. If I am moved, I am driven to share that landscape with another and in so doing, reflect who we are back to us – whether it be a wild place or an abandoned one. What makes each of us unique is the language we choose the speak in and the way we present what we are passionate about. I know I am still working out the presentation and I am hopeful that it will continue to evolve.

If you stayed with me and read all of this post, perhaps there is some meaning here after all. I want to connect with you.

I am a lifelong fan of Pink Floyd and this song came to mind. It is a song of alienation – but in this case, perhaps an example of how art can connect (links to sound and video below):

Hey you, out there in the cold
Getting lonely, getting old
Can you feel me?
Hey you, standing in the aisles
With itchy feet and fading smiles
Can you feel me?
Hey you, dont help them to bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight.

~ from “Hey You (music only)” – Pink Floyd (Waters) – Video

What is your Vision?

Dark Skies of Autumn

October 10, 2008 By Michelle Hendry

Summer’s Retreat © Michelle Basic Hendry

Many times over the years I have looked at the trees dressed in their chromatic finery, lit by an angled sun and enriched by the moody clouds that seem to fill the sky behind them. This contrast is a trademark of the season of Autumn here.

I remember the first time a scene like this really struck me – it was as if I was becoming aware of the essence of Autumn for the first time. I was driving back home for the weekend in my second year of university and the road, now subdivided and walled was, at the time, surrounded by golden yellow-orange fields. Off to the side, not far from home, was an old farmhouse that was collapsing inward. The sun was low in the sky and the house and field were bathed in a golden light with a backdrop of thick dark clouds. It was almost surreal. It was if time stopped and asked me to pay attention. I was so moved that I tried to paint it. I believe I still have that painting somewhere…. It was one of my first real attempts at a painting of any kind and, for me, it seems to prove that we can come full circle when acknowledging the things that strike a spark in us. What’s more, I think I had my first glimpse of how I fit into that cycle.

After a week of firsts and lasts, as well as, ‘first time in a long time’ kinds of events, the season of dying light is truly taking hold. I find myself reflecting again instead of reporting. Some things are not meant to be merely retold or passed on as a sequence of linear events. Meaning can only be found in the collection of feelings left like a residue.

The exploration of wounds and loss can define a period of time. Eventually that journey, too, must end.

Painting History

May 25, 2008 By Michelle Hendry

I learned that the field I had to cross to get this painting was freshly planted with wheat. It looked like neatly spaced rows of grass in a green so rich in light and deep in shadow. I selected three images to end up as paintings from this trip and this one got finished first – inspired by the freshest colour nature provides. The beautiful ruin peeks out through the fresh leaves of long abandoned fruit and hawthorn trees. I remember when I approached the house the sounds of scratching in the walls. The spaces between the window sills and a knot hole were filled with nesting birds!

This one looked simple, but ended up challenging me in every way possible. Using a square canvas immediately presented the need for compositional risks. The colour, the contrast all needed to be stepped up. I was slow to do this one and ended up changing my mind many times before settling on what it became.

This new obsession with abandoned houses and ruins has been a boost for both my creative drive and personally. It has gotten me out my cave, so to speak. So much can be born from the death of something else. Our lives are full of little deaths. To accept them invites back light and LIFE.

Afternoon Light at Lavender

Musing on a Specific

Dark Skies of Autumn

Painting History

Subscribe

Copyright Notice