Of Water - New Paintings at the Writer's Center in Bethesda, Maryland

On view now through the end of January, 2014, I'll have over thirty paintings and watercolors on view at the Writer's Center in Bethesda, Maryland.  The paintings span from 2005 to the present: a collection of work from the years I lived in San Francisco, from residencies and travels in Africa, Iceland, Norway, and Washington state, and more recently from Maryland and Georgia.  

This fall I began work on a three-year Master's of Fine Art degree at the University of Georgia.  Like much of my work, the paintings in Of Water revolve around aquatic landscapes, bird life, and human interaction with the natural world.  The exhibit also includes a wall of miniature paintings - small birds, landscape studies, toy soldiers and cupcakes.  The painter Glen Kessler will show his work concurrently.

The exhibit opens Friday December 20, from 6-8 pm and is open to the public. 

Of Water: Paintings by Michael Ross
Friday, December 20, 6-8 pm
The Writer’s Center [Map]
4508 Walsh St, Bethesda, Maryland

The Writer’s Center is open 10-9 Tuesday -Thursday, 10-5 Friday, and 10-4 Saturday.  writer.org

Fiona Ray, paintings

I recently came across Fiona Rae's work.  Her recent paintings are lush, large-scale abstractions with poppy, fluorescent lines running across the surface.  Layered paint, dripping paint, imagery riffing off Anime and Asian-scroll painting make her work really fast and catchy - particularly the paintings with a deep black background foregrounded by exploding efflorescence.  

Rae came to prominence in London of the late 1980s as one of the Young British Artists, a loose group of artists including Damien Hirst and Chris Ofili.   To hear about her aesthetic read her interview.

Creativity

It's time to kickstart this blog again.  I like writing, and a lot of adventures and thoughts and artworks have slipped into memory without a written record.  A friend recently asked me about creativity.  It seems as good a place as any to start:

Painting requires creativity, and it also makes me more creative.  It’s about solving big and little problems, from colors to composition to subject matter.  Outside of painting - it’s hard to say specifically, but I try (and often succeed) at seeing the world as a beautiful, bountiful place, where things big and small are worth my attention, are worth exploring.  I explore a lot, sometimes in faraway travels but more often just in my neighborhood, I look at the landscape, I talk to people, I’m curious.  I also build things.  I’m always building things, like a desk or a bookshelf, but creativity doesn’t have to be active and physical.  It can be a thought, an insight.

I can be inspired by just about anything: watching the way two people talk in a conversation, or the way sunlight shines on a tree in the late afternoon, or by swimming, or by watching a bird, or by running, or by reading something interesting.  I know I'm feeling creative when I want to paint, or when I want to build something, or write something down, or just really want to tell someone what I just saw or heard.

Sometimes the creative drive comes naturally but usually I have to work at it - I have tricks to get myself in the right mindset.  The right mindset is calm but alert at the same time.  Anxiety is bad for creativity, it constricts you, whereas creativity is opening, it opens you to the world.  I’m predisposed towards anxiety, I think most people are in this culture.  So tricks that work for me, are exhausting my body through exercise, particularly running.  Also meditation, a good conversation, lots of different things, but painting is one of them.  Sometimes right away, sometimes it takes a few hours, but eventually the act of painting puts me in the creative mindset.  So it becomes a positive feedback loop:  painting makes me more creative, and being more creative makes me a better painter.

Being creative - living a creative lifestyle - is being solution-oriented.  It makes setting up an apartment more fun, it makes walking down the street more interesting, it makes the world more engaging.

A lot of practical things get in the way of creativity:  to much to do, too much work, too long a to-do list, too many emails to answer.  Some necessary, some not, but all of them distractions that take time away from painting or or other intentionally creative projects.  And if there’s really too much to do, it can lead to anxiety.

A first step is simply to slow down.  Do you find that if you have to wait in line, or sit on a bus, that you immediately pull your phone out?  When you habitually check your email or watch tv or otherwise let yourself be entertained, you lose sense with your natural ability to entertain yourself.  If you can sit on a parkbench  and watch a bug crawling around for a minute, that’s a good start.  Slowly you’ll start to see the beauty of all the little things.  Or you’ll let your thoughts drift.  You’ll have your own thoughts, instead of other people’s thoughts.  You’ll start thinking about someone, and notice a part of their personality you hadn’t understood before, and appreciate them more.  Creativity is really about connecting and appreciating all those little dots.  The more dots you put your attention on, the more likely it is you’ll draw a way out.    

There’s also this idea that creativity only happens in particular spheres, like painting, but it’s not true.  You can be creative with everything.  Take a new route to the grocery store, or call an old friend, or cook with a new spice, or start digging in your garden.  It’s about going outside your comfort zone to see what’s outside the border of your world.  Creativity is like exploration.  You can explore everywhere, at any time.

When you’ve slowed down and started putting more attention on the world around you and the world inside, then start noticing what you’re drawn to.  Begin exploring in that direction.  I firmly believe that everyone, by virtue of being human, is born with a creative capacity.

Sri Lanka

I was in Sri Lanka earlier this year for a destination wedding and for a short adventure. It was nothing like my haul across West Africa a few years back, just a two-week visit to learn about this strange little island off the coast of India.

It took two days to fly to Sri Lanka on an incredible itinerary that took me over eastern Siberia, the whole length of Japan (just before the earthquake), Singapore (strange place), and finally to Colombo, the capital.

Third world cities are terrifying, especially before you arrive and especially at night. The weird thing about Colombo from the air is that city lights spread for miles and miles in every direction, but the lights form no discernible pattern, few lines or grids to betray streets or structure. It's as if the lights were randomly thrown in by a lackluster urban planning student and then further scattered by mangey dogs. Incredibly, Karl's driver Metshiri found me at the airport so I was spared - for the time being - having to navigate the un-navigable.

I was in Sri Lanka for my childhood friend's wedding. Karl is Swedish and his wife is Sri-Lankan born, and against all odds they convinced 100+ Swedes, Britons, and this Norwegian-American to cross the globe in their honor. The wedding was at a posh resort on the south coast near Galle, and it was a really classy wedding, good to see old friends, and a good and soft introduction to the country.

Sri Lanka is not nearly as poor as I had imagined. All the roads are paved and in good condition, houses are painted brightly and made of cinderblock and concrete, cars, buses, and "tuk-tuks" are in decent shape, everyone has electricity, there are few beggars on the streets and public-works projects are everywhere. With the exception of tuk-tuk drivers, people rarely hassled me and instead were ready to lend a hand, show me the way, or offer a cup of tea. I spent a day touring Buddhist monuments with an Ayurvedic doctor and I spent two days far out in the Indian Ocean with local fishermen. I usually travel solo, but on this trip I had the company of my good friend Nina, which made traveling more fun.

Sri Lanka is one of the most biologically diverse places on the earth outside the Amazon. The whole country is lush and green, and some of the most beautiful birds I've ever seen gather wherever you turn. I saw bee-eaters and turquoise-blue kingfishers; in Yala national park there were parakeets, ibis, storks, and and a beautiful, long-tailed orange-brown bird I just barely caught a glimpse of. Steep mountain ranges and light-green tea plantations form the interior. I spent a day with the bachelor party in Sinharaja rain forest, where the rain fell so hard it blackened the sky and leaches gathered in huge puddles before crawling up our bare legs. Up north I heard its much drier, semi-arid. The coast is what you'd expect of a tropical island: white sand beaches, palm trees, warm clear water filled with millions of colorful fish, chorals, and sea urchins. Inside and outside the parks I saw elephants, jackals, mongoose, giant lizards, monkeys, water buffalo. I never saw a leopard but they exist, as do many species of poisonous snakes.

In the spring of 2009, the Sri Lankan army concluded a brutal campaign to crush the LTTE (Tamil Tiger) rebel army, after over 25 years of civil war. They systematically deported the foreign press before trapping rebels and terrified civilians against a remote northern beach, and then with almost no witnesses they shelled and gunned down an estimated 30,000 people. The tuk-tuk driver who drove me to the airport on the return, who was a Muslim Sinhalese man, was apologetic and visibly embarrassed about how the war had ended. Sri Lankans are among the kindest people I've met but they don't like talking about the war and I don't understand how they could have been so cruel to each other.

Ethnic conflict has plagued this little island for as long as recorded memory. The Sinhalese-speaking Buddhist majority have been at odds with the Tamil-speaking Hindu minority for centuries. Add to that a growing Muslim population, remnant colonialists, and other small minorities and you get a really complicated society. Sinhalese claim the Tamils were invaders from India and that they are the sole heirs to ancient kingdoms; Tamils say they've always been there and it’s their land too. The two languages are completely different. When the British ruled the island (then called Ceylon) they used the better-educated Tamils as their administrators. Resentment brewed, and after independence in 1947 the Sinhalese enacted laws that excluded Tamils from universities and government.

In our personal arguments we can escalate the anger, returning tit for tat plus 5 or 10% until we've turned good friends into great enemies. That's exactly what happened on this island: one group did something arrogant and hurtful, the other returned the compliment, and before long there were punitive laws, then mob riots, assassinations, and increased nationalism on both sides. Add a messianic, megalomaniac rebel commander and affluent ex-patriots that can fund armed conflict, and civil war is inevitable. We drove down a stretch of highway near Yala that had been the frontline a few years earlier. The forest was cleared for a hundred yards on either side, and every half-mile there was a bunker or small military fort. Two elephants grazed peacefully in the grass as if there was no problem at all, as if there had never been a problem.

After a few days of traveling on ridiculously hot and extremely overcrowded buses, I returned to Ram's Surf Hotel in Midigama, where a breeze blows away the worst of the heat and a delicious curry buffet arrives every night at 7. Most of the patrons at Rams were English and French (and Swedish) surfers. I tried surfing once but mostly I went swimming and worked on what would become 18 gouache and watercolor paintings of the sky and ocean. I painted some from the balcony, some right on the beach, at all times of day and night from a grey dawn until the blackest night, when lights from distant fishing boats are all that tell you where the sea ends and the sky begins. A humid layer of clouds rose steeply from the horizon and in many paintings these are darker than the water, an effect I like very much. It's the first time I've used gouache in a meaningful way. I like that I can rework it like an oil painting, it's thicker and more satisfying than pure watercolor.

One day I went to the nearby town of Wellligama and met a crew of fishermen. They invited me to join them, and so I spent a few days hanging out with fishermen, learning their craft, hearing their stories and watching the ocean. It was awesome, far out at sea on these beautiful, brightly colored fiberglass and wood catamarans. They told me about encounters with Somali pirates and ferocious monsoon storms; they pointed out a whale on the horizon, a school of beautiful silvery flying fish jetting across the surface, a faraway flock of terns that hinted at fish below. The fishermen didn't catch anything the first day; the second day they hauled a modest 50 kilos that brought in about $4 per person. A tough way to make a living. I saw another boat haul in a shark, and learned that shark-fishing is extremely lucrative. The small crew on that boat shared $180, with the shark’s fin presumably flavoring soup bowls in China.

My return trip took me through Hong Kong, Chicago, DC, Atlanta, and then back to San Francisco. I've been home two months, re-settling and also wondering, where do I go now?

Aves: New show in San Francisco

The Cottage Industry Painting Salon

2326 Fillmore St. between Clay and Washington, San Francisco

opening Wednesday September 15, 7-9pm.

Show runs through September 30 with variable hours, contact me to arrange a visit.

Desert Bird (I), oil on panel, 3.5 x 4 inches

I’ve been painting birds this summer: tropical birds, familiar songbirds, woodpeckers, a heron, owls. They’re very small paintings, some so small you could fit them in your hand, others up to 12x12 inches. These are portraits of birds, and they are also portraits of what the birds represent -- states of being and relating that are as relevant for humans as for birds. When I paint birds, I think of people.

A heron eyes the gopher in its mouth, and the gopher looks back, wondering why it has to be this way. The heron offers no answer, it just is. A woodpecker flew back to his branch. It was a long day and he’s back and he’s safe and he eases into his territory. His red mane glows, the air around him glows, he is the king of this branch. A yellow songbird notices us but keeps her wings folded, she’s in no rush. Two owls share a perch, they touch but their gazes wander and we don’t know what’s next.

I love thick paint loaded on a brush and dragged across the painting surface. More and more, I love color. I am less concerned with detail in these paintings and more with the raw feeling behind the paint itself. It’s a more fun, more engaging, more visceral way to paint. There’s a tempo to it: a loose beginning, a middle period of discovering the painting’s meaning and rhythm, and a final effort that pushes the paint to a peak. Stopping at just the right time is crucial. It’s a more conscious practice, it feels good.

My work will be show alongside the work of my friend Kristin van Diggelen. Kristin is hosting the space, an off-the track art destination now in it's eight month. Each month features a new figurative painter, and there's always good wine and good company at her salons....so I hope to see you there.

Kingfisher (above) and Tree Swallow (below); both oil on panel, 3.5 x 4 inches

Oregon

I was on the road for a week.

I was in the town of Ashland for the 4th of July and saw this wonderful parade of civic groups and school-kids and firemen and dancers march by, and crowds shoulder-to-shoulder on either side waving flags and eating candy and wearing summer clothes. Small-town America is really sweet, I loved it. Makes me want to find a happy girl and settle down in a little house and take a job at the lumberyard. Seriously. Watched the fireworks that night from the yard of some friends, we climbed up a big tree to see it and that was fun and sweet too, and I was sad when I got back in my truck and drove on.

Portland is a great city. Their gallery scene is surprisingly good, a lot of galleries in the Pearl District showing well-rendered, professional paintings. Lots of cafes and restaurants and parks with people walking their dogs. A clean, well-kept city. Neighborhoods outside downtown are small wood-sided houses with yards and it seemed alright. It made me want to live in a city where I could one day afford to buy a house.

Met my brother in Portland and drove up the Columbia River Gorge. Swam in the river and watched the freight train and ospreys and cottonwood seeds thick like snow, ate cherries from a tree. Hiked in the hills with small lakes and pine forests and Mt. Hood always in the background. Mosquitoes were so ferocious I forgot to be afraid of bears. On unmarked Forest Service roads, remember to never take the spurs and you won't get lost.

Drove down and camped at Castle Lake near Mt. Shasta another two nights. Really really gorgeous here. Lots of people playing in the water, canoeing, floating in plastic floaties. I like the neon plastic colors against the forest green, I like seeing happy people at the edge of nature, and then climbing the mountain over the lake and seeing nothing but wilderness on the other side. There is endless wilderness here, no one would ever find you if you got lost. Mountain after mountain, many still snow-capped. Little songbirds hard to spot, hawks catching downdrafts, icy ponds, good conversation, cooking dehydrated pasta with a curious deer nearby, fishing without the gear, an early dawn and a long drive back.

Now I'm back in San Francisco. Coming back from a trip can be a let-down, but San Francisco is a trip too, it's all a trip and it's all alright.

New Website

My new website is up and running.

It's a clean design, easy to navigate, and it concentrates only on my newer work.

Thanks to L for all your help :)