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Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa.  The sun is shining, but it's definitely not summer any more!  But nothing wrong with thinking back to the summer past once in a while, is there? 

And so a painting of that sort:  a summer afternoon in Powderhorn Park--There's Music In The Park Today, and a zoom-able look here.

Thanks for stopping by!

Later, Cooper

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio on a FROSTY Jefferson, Iowa morning.

 Life drawing was Wednesday night--finally the results photo gets uploaded here for you.

Thanks for stopping by.

Later, Cooper

(at least that's what the Urban Dictionary says)

Greetings,    

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa.  Have I told you we have a new street in town?  Actually, it's an old street with a new surface.  A nice new surface.  When out for the morning run recently, my shoes felt the difference.  I was headed up Park Street, in the direction of the bicycle trail, which means you have to cross the newly surfaced street, which as all Jeffersonians know, is Chestnut Street. 

I don't suppose it matters to you, but when I run, I like to go early in the morning.  As in:  I get out of bed, put on my running shoes, and head out the door.  I was barely awake when I crossed that new Park and Chestnut intersection.  It didn't really dawn on me how different it felt until I was half a block past it.  But then it hit me:  smooth.  Really smooooooth. 

Now to run the length of Chestnut Street is NOT a normal part of my morning run, but I included it that morning on the return trip.  Yup, smooth, really smooth.  I noted that it was so smooth there wasn't even anything to catch the fall leaves.  They blew right on down the street and around the corner.  Chestnut Street was not only smooth, it was bare of the fall leaves that congregated curbside on every other street in town.  Wow.  Impressively smooth.

Adding Chestnut Street to the morning run route gave me a few extra minutes of thinking time on the return trip home.  So of course, I thought about smooth artists.

I've always harbored a dream in the back of my mind that there is an elusive yet obtainable quality for artists that can give them smoothness.  You know, the kind of smoothness where the canvas goes up on the easel, the brush dips into the paint and we're off to the races.  Oh wait, I mean SMOOTH LAND.  That place where every painting is a winner.  Smooth.  Real smooth.  Like:

Yeah, that kind of smooth.  So smooth, that paintings don't pile up in the corners of the studio, like piles of fall leaves with no better place to go.  Or worse yet, hang on the attic walls.  I like to think about that elusive smoothness, where each painting is assumed to be wonderful and in high demand, even though the blocking in process is barely started. 

So to all the artists of the world who I view as smooth, and you know who you are:  is it for real?  Do you ever mess up a canvas?  Do you have a couple hanging in the attic?  IS smooth attainable?  All of us down here in humble land really need to know.  If we paint enough paintings, is SMOOTH attainable for us too?  Please say it's really so.

And yes, of course, while I await the favour of your kind reply, I will continue to sling that paint.  Waiting, hoping for that elusive SMOOTH.  And happy painting to all the rest of you down in humble land as well--surely if we keep at it.... 

Later, Cooper

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, again, on this fine Iowa Thursday. 

You know, I've written a lot about the summer art fair venue lately, but there's a side benefit that I have just plain forgot to mention.  It's the people watching.  The most interesting people in the world come to art fairs. 

All shapes, sizes, ages, and kinds of language.  Sometimes they come because they love art, and sometimes they come because they love funnel cakes.  Sometimes they come because they're bringing the music.  In the case of this pint-sized music lover in Powderhorn Park--well, I think her daddy brought the music.  I remember that the music was just as fine as her dancing.

And you wonder where painters get their inspiration.  Sheesh.

Enjoy.  And have a lovely evening.

Later, Cooper

Oh, one more thing--of course I already have the painting in my website portfolio.  Just click on this link and it'll take you right there.  It's an acrylic painting on a 12 by 12 inch canvas, and the title, you guessed it:  There's Music In The Park Today And I Can Dance.

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa.

Yesterday was life drawing group day.  The current group meets on campus at ISU  (Iowa State University)

Someday I should write you an article about the benefits and learning power of life drawing.  For now you just get the photo of last night's learning.

  Life Study 10 19 2011, charcoal (mostly) on paper.  And yes it's in my website portfolio, for a zoom-able view.  Thanks for stopping by!

Later, KC

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa. 

Monday morning.  That means get up and run a few.  Over to the bike trail and down aways.  Get those miles in, as scheduled.  And guess what?  Running conditions were EXCELLENT.  No wind.  The rain had already passed.  It was 57 degrees.  What more could somebody needing to run a few miles ask for?  Oh, and my route was flat and smooth.  When conditions are that perfect, it just makes the entire situation easier.  And come on, can anyone out there HONESTLY say they don't like it when it's easier?  Making it easier.  Aaaah, don't we all want it?

When I got back to the studio, there on the easel was a primed and ready-to-go canvas.  I'd already toned it a stunning, and of course beautiful, cad yellow.  I knew what was going on it.  I had scribbled out several little thumbnail sketches, determined the composition that undoubtedly (ha) would be perfect (ha).  My sketch book was laying off to the side, and who knows why, but I went and sat down in front of it instead.  And started sketching.  Surely it was just another form of procrastination?  Apprehension of committing that first brush stroke to getting it going?  Whatever.

The sketchbook started happening.  I started getting acquainted with one of the key players in this painting.  Giving him more than a dark pencil blob on a compositional thumbnail.  Then I started in on the little sister off to the left.  Hey, these are down-right interesting people.  The guy on the right, hmm, not so much, but his guitar; well, okay!  And then for probably the same unknown reason, the sketchbook kicked me out and I started putting the paint on the canvas.  A little ways in, I stepped back for a look, and realized:  "Whoa, that was easy".  Making it easier.  Getting to know your subjects through sketching making it easier???  What a concept.  Surely we were taught that back in the days of formal education.

It's kind of like weather conditions of the optimal sort making the run easier.  So sketching, in-depth, can make the following painting easier.  We've all been taught the tricks that make the painting easier, and they are certainly numerous.  But that's not the point--it's the using of them that's the point.  Making it easier.

And is one of them the only aid that works every time?  This morning, sketching to painting seemed to be a winner.  Will it absolutely guarantee perfect success EVERY time?  Nah, probably not.  Afterall, even perfect weather conditions for the morning run--yeah, that cloud backed up, and as I rounded the three-blocks-from-home mark, it started dumping.  As I came in the back door, I realized I probably didn't need to turn the shower on to lather up a shampoo.  But it was easier up until those last three blocks  :).

Thanks for stopping by.  And have a lovely day! 

Later, Cooper

--surely we can't part without a couple of explanatory photos:  sketch and painting in progress---

Now, see?  Wasn't that easy?   Yes, and one of these days you will likely get to see the painting finished.  Stay tuned.  OR! you could do the little RSS feed thing (the orange mark with white lines through it on the upper left)  that says "follow this blog".  That way, I come to you, instead of you having to come hunt me down.  The good ideas just keep coming at us....

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa.

We've been through a bad phase lately.  Please allow me to share; and honestly, it's not THAT bad.

The scene:  Husband and I in the car, driving somewhere, and one of us would look at the other of us and ask "did you check the coffee pot?"  As in:  did it get turned off, or left on?

Somehow we have adopted the assumption that an empty coffee pot left turned on when nobody is home to watch it--well, it's probably going to burn the house down, right?

Yes, I know OSHA makes everybody put safety controls on everything nowadays, BUT aren't all coffee pots made in China now?  And I don't think OSHA gets to mess with them all that much, so net result:  we always turn around and go back to check. 

But, we're doing better recently.  I started unplugging the coffee pot.  Somehow that's easier to remember than turning off a switch.  Dios mio.

Similiarly, If my husband was a painter and we worked side by side on the same canvas, we'd probably be headed to an exhibit and one of us would have to question the other of us "did you check the values?"

Seasoned artists are pretty much a group of squinty eyed value-checkers all the way through the progression of a painting.  And yet that finish line appears and you think "two more brush strokes, and SIGN IT".  Blame it on the rush, the exultation of the finish.  But, that's when somebody needs to holler "did you check the values?"  What?  Again??  Yup.  And now I'm speaking for/to those of us who paint in color.  Technicolor.  Uber color.  Because we've all been told, and don't we know it:  color can be tricky that way.

Rise above that trickiness.  Grab your camera.  Photo that big old color coated canvas.  Load it into your happy computer and use your photo program to turn it to black and white. 

Could be the squinty eye trick worked great this time and all's well.  But every now and then, you get a little "hunh" happening, as in "whoa, didn't see that one coming".  So much easier to fix it before you get the varnish on--or heaven help us--before it's hanging some place important and the omission suddenly hits you and you are mortified by it.  :)

Check the coffee pot, save the house.  Check the values, save the painting.  Analogies flow rich at the Cooper studio this morning, eh?  Thanks for stopping by

Later, Cooper

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio, Jefferson, Iowa, to which I have just returned after a trip to one of my favorite Iowa places:  Arnolds Park/Okoboji.  You know, it's that lovely lake resort way up in the northwest corner of this fair state.

I was on a fairly simple mission.  The Wine Bar Art Gallery, where some of my paintings are usually hanging out, traditionally is open for limited hours during the winter months, but not this year.  They decided to pack up with the rest of the snow birds.  :)  Thinking it a good plan, I went up to retrieve paintings,  to have them available here at the studio over winter.

Because of the change of season, the gallery had held an end of summer party, and of course, it was on an art fair weekend that kept me from joining in the fun.  But the fun happened anyway.  Whew!  Look at those red dots!  Oh, wait--that is artist lingo and I should define:

Why is there a red dot next to a painting?

A red dot next to a painting simply means it is sold.  During an exhibition the sold work is left on the wall so others can see it.  But the red dot let’s them know it is no longer available.   (thanks, red dot blog)

But anyway, it was pretty awesome to pick up way more check than paintings, if you get my drift.  This can only mean one thing however, oh wait--two:

1.  I'd better get back to the easel

2  And our family room wall that we painted that great yellow ochre color, that we were going to hang "Park Bench" on--yeah, not happening.  Apparently we will need to revert to plan B there.  Sigh.  (Ha, who am I kidding, that's HAPPY sigh)

Thanks for stopping by.

Later, Cooper

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio on a sunny Iowa Monday, where, as alluded to in that title, things have been disrupted.

Let me explain.  We were cruising along through a beautiful summer season:  sunshine, nice hot days, beautiful and bountiful gardens, kids playing at the pool, hey, some of us older ones playing at the pool---(happy sigh)  And then it happened.  That first frost of the season bit it all in the tush.

I guess it was expected.  Summer normally IS disrupted by frost when we get close to autumn, at least in this corner of the world.  But for us lovers-of-summer it can be viewed in no other way but as a disruption.  Things, they are a-changin.  Yesterday, my neighbor's tree was summer green, now it's fire truck red.  But red is just as good as green, so I guess that points out that change is good.  (no matter how convoluted that thought)

Change is good for us, and we all know it.  Change is a progression to something new and different.  Yup, the change of season is a sign of progression through the year.  Progress.  As seasons go, that's progress in a full circle pattern.  Can we then deduce that disruption is progress?  Whew.  Shaking it up.  Stirring the pot.

Seasonal disruption is not the only form of change going on around this studio.  And just like the seasonal equinox, If I jumped up and down, and waved my hands in the air, and stomped my foot on the ground, and hollered "NO"--they are the kind of changes that were going to happen anyway.

But we need to get to the bottom line here.  How do we deal with change, those disruptions to our normal?

1.  There are some, of course, who fight it tooth and nail, and therefore suffer through the inevitable.

2.  I think the better way is to snag a little bit of previous normalcy and interject it into the new season.

I missed two of my morning runs last week.  Change'll do that to you.  But bright and early on this Monday of change-adjustment-week I tied on my running shoes and got it done.   As I write this, I've been tossing glances at the canvas on the easel--I'm pretty sure I know where the first brush stroke needs to land.  I'll be headed over there to pick up that brush in a minute, just like normal.

See?  In the midst of change there can be normalcy.  A little bit of constant in the stream of change.  I like that.  Disruptions and progress, keeping us moving, keeping us growing.  Yup, change is good. 

Thanks for stopping by!

Later, Cooper

Are you up for a little color here?  The painting finished--

  Patience Is A Virtue?  acrylic painting on a perfect little 12 x 12 inch canvas.  Uh huh, patience.  I could use a little more of that  :)  How about you?

Greetings,

Welcome to the Cooper studio on a beautiful sunny Iowa afternoon. 

Speaking of Iowa, we have a new law about texting and driving.  If you are driving our way, you best watch out.  It evolved from people's ability (or inability!) to text and drive at the same time.  It really puts a crimp in the local high school kids life style--they live to text and drive.  We have a neighbor who is high-school-aged, and struggles to walk, but she has attained some pretty cool transportation:  a three-wheeled cycle that's hand pedaled.  She comes around our corner on the way to high school each morning, and guess what?  She can text and pedal at the same time, and she's legal.  I think that's the epitome of adaptability.  Being adaptable.  To the max.

We are winding to a close the summer art fair season around here.  Artists (and may I say wanna-be artists?) are beginning to look ahead to 2012.  There are those who are calling it quits.  The art market is such that they can no longer make it as an art fair artist.  Others are trying to hang in there by employing the culture of cheap.  Thinking how quick and gimmicky and cheaply can I make something to coax that twenty-dollar bill out of a patron's back pocket?  Forget the concept of developing and growing their artistic expression.  Those folks will take a few art fairs down with them when they go--art fairs are called fine art fairs for a reason and it has nothing to do with the flea market mentality.

I suggest all of those people in the last paragraph, as well as their peers, need to adopt the attitude of adaptability.  If one venue is not working for your art, do you lose sight of your art in the desperation of selling something?  ANYTHING? Are you shirking your long developed painting style to swing over to something popular and trendy that purportedly "sells well"?

Artists by definition are creative people, and shouldn't we be creatively working toward developing a marketing venue that works with our art?  Changing out our artistic style just to fit into someone else's marketplace seems like a pretty serious dead-end to me.

Yup.  There's the mortgage to pay, and we all need some income.  But if we really want to get there as an artist, I don't think there are many valid short cuts.  Hey, you're not here because someone told you it would be easy, are you?  And not many of us want to be known as mundane artists.  Just "so-so" artists.  Do we?

Being adaptable in finding/creating marketing venues for you art--I'm all for it.  Cobbling up something, or changing out your artistic style to something trendy that someone's told you will sell better--that's not adaptability.  That's losing--losing out on being an artist. 

And so completes another round of cheering for the artist to take the high road.  Don't you just love it?!  Thanks for stopping by.

Later, Cooper