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GC Myers Studio March 2013Well, the folks from WSKG came to my studio  the other day and filmed my segment for their Artist Cafe program.  As I mentioned the other day, I was somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing, never feeling comfortable painting in front of people.  I generally concentrate on the surface and often completely block out much of the world around me.  If I am listening to music or have a movie on the TV, I often miss whole passages because I am so focused.  I can never really get to that point with people around.

But the people that came to film and interview me, Tina Reinhard and Christy Lantz, were very easy to work with and I did paint for them to film.  I did limit myself to one of the primary layers of brush marks  that make up the sky on a painting that I had started a day or two before but they were able to film me while I painted.  It’s work that requires just random strokes, most of which will never be seen but are integral to the way I work.

Overall, the interview went fairly well.  At least I think it did.  Both Tina and Christy seemed to think it went well, although based on their genial natures, I would be shocked if they told me it was awful.  The questions were basic and I stumbled several times even on the questions that I’ve been asked a hundred times before, with some answers less complete than I wished they might have been when I thought about it later.  It’s good that it’s not a live segment so that a lot of tape and editing can make me at least sound coherent.  It’s only a 5 or 6 minute segment so you never really know what clips are going to be chosen to be shown.  So even though there seemed to be a direction in which the interview was moving, I won’t know until I see the final product if it was the same one that I thought it might be.

Again, thanks to Tina and Christy for being so gracious while working with me.  Both are seasoned pros so they weren’t flustered by anything.  I am currently cat-sitting my brother-in-law’s round tiger cat, Lucky, in the studio.  I thought she might run and hide when they showed up but she was instantly attracted to both of them, swatting at cables and climbing in their gear bags.  Lucky for Lucky that they were both cat people.

During the shoot Lucky began running through the studio, between me and the camera which made me look and laugh as well  as provide loud thumping noises from her paws which were audible on the film.  I decided to confine her to a bedroom at the other end of the studio but while we filmed, her pleading meows came through loud and clear on the recording.  we took a short break and Lucky was sent to cat prison, Cheri coming to take her safely out of earshot.  Tina and Christy took it all in stride, thankfully.  You can see Lucky under the window in the photo above as well as the painting on the easel on the left that I worked on during the shoot.

Tina said that she thought it would be sometime in mid to late May.  I will let you know when the program will definitely air and when it will be available on their YouTube channel.  Maybe…

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I came across this photo of my old studio up in the woods yesterday and remembered that I had used it in a post several years ago, back in December of 2008.   [Wow, I’ve been doing this blog for that long?]  It was a post about the role of solitude in my work.  My new studio is much more comfortable and warm, with all  the amenities , such as phone , cable TV and the  internet , that keep me  connected to the outer world.  Reading this post made me realize how less alone I am today at times in the studio and how important that time of solitude was for my work’s growth at that time.  I’m not sure that my work would have evolved in the same way in my current environment. I just thought it was an interesting post and wanted to share it again:

I’m showing the picture to the right to illustrate a bit of advice I often give when speaking with students or aspiring painters.  This is my first studio which is located up a slight hill behind our home, nestled in among a mixed forest of hardwoods and white pine.  This photo was from last February [2007].  It was a fine little space although it lacked certain amenities such as running water, bathrooms and truly sufficient heat.  However, it served me very well for about a decade.

The advice that I give to aspiring artists is this:  Learn to be alone.

The time spent in solitude  may be the greatest challenge that many artists face.  I have talked to many over the years and it is a common concern.  Some never fully commit to their art for just this reason.  To be alone with your own thoughts without the feedback or interaction of others can be scary especially for those used to being immersed in people and conversation.

I like to think that I have been prepared for this aspect of this career since I was a child.  For much of my youth we lived  in the country,  in houses that were isolated from neighbors.  I had a sister and brother, 7 and 8 years my senior,  and they were often my companions at times but  as they came into their middle teens I spent more and more time alone.  This is not a complaint.  Actually, it was kind of idyllic.  I lived a fairly independent life as a kid, coming and going as I pleased.  I explored the hills and woods around us, going down old trails to the railroad tracks and old cove that ran along side the Chemung River.  I studied the headstones at an old cemetery tucked in the edge of the woods overlooking what was then a thick glen,  filled with the family who resided at a late 1700’s homesite that had stood across the road from our home.  All that remained was a stacked stone chimney which served as a great prop for playing cowboy.

In the woods there were immense downed trees that served as magnificent pirate ships.  There were large hemlocks with thick horizontal branches that were practically ladders, easy to climb and sit above the forest floor to watch and dream.

My life would be very different without this time alone.  Sure, maybe I’d be a bit more sociable and comfortable with groups of people, something which is sometimes a hindrance.  But it prepared me for the time I spend alone and allowed me to create my own inner world that I occupied then and now.  The same world that appears in my work.  That is my work.

This is only a short post on a subject I could drone on about for pages and pages.  But, to aspiring artists, I say learn to love your time alone and realize what a luxury and an asset it can be.  Your work will grow from your time alone.

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Setting a Path

9908-172-finding-answersFor ten years I walked up the road through the woods to my old studio.  It was a logging road from the two or so times the forest had been harvested over several decades and ran along a run-off creek that dries up most summers.  There were two visible tracks from the tires of vehicles that had climbed the gentle rise over the years and as the years passed, another track formed between them.

This was the path I walked several times a day, up and down the hill.  At first I thought nothing of it.  It was simply a path.  But over the years I began to notice things about it. I could walk the path in the absolute black of night with no problem, each step falling in a natural way directly to this path.   If I tried to walk off the path it seemed unnatural and required a degree of attention to my stride so I wouldn’t stumble.

I came to realize that my trail was the path of least resistance.  It was the path that carried me with the least effort.  Each step fell naturally in place, accounting for the slightest change in the topography and had the same effect as water flowing down a creek.

I began to notice that the trails formed by deer and other animals were  the same.  When I followed them, they would move slightly in one direction or the other, just when your stride wanted to shift naturally and simply from gravity.  There was the same sense of rightness I talk about in my painting.  They never veer drastically, always in smooth, subtle curves.  They would always  run along the grade as though were the elevation lines on a topographical map.  Following them required little effort or thought.

Going off the path was a different matter.  It took thought, concentration and effort.  There were new obstacles to overcome.  Branches that crossed the path, blocking your view ahead and slapped the side of your head.  Downed trees that had to be climbed over.  Roots that rose through the dirt and tripped you.  It was real work.

I guess herein lies the point.  If I wanted to go where others had went before me, I could follow their trail. This would be the simple and logical way.  But if I wanted to go to a different place, one that was fresher and less visited, I might have to set my own path.  It wouldn’t be easy.  It would require more effort, more thought and the risk of not finding my way.  But if I forged ahead and found my way, there would be a new, hard won  discovery and the sense of accomplishment that comes with it.

I could blather on a little more but I think my little lesson learned from the land (nice alliteration, eh?) has come to an end.  We all choose our paths.  Some take the easier trail.  Some blaze new trails.  And some go into the woods and never come out…

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Studio In the WoodsI’m showing the picture to the right to illustrate a bit of advice I often give when speaking with students or aspiring painters.  This is my first studio which is located up a slight hill behind our home, nestled in among a mixed forest of hardwoods and white pine.  This photo was from last February.  It was a fine little space although it lacked certain amenities such as running water, bathrooms and truly sufficient heat.  However, it served me very well for about a decade.

The advice that I give to aspiring artists is this:  Learn to be alone.  

The time spent in solitude  may be the greatest challenge that many artists face.  I have talked to many over the years and it is a common concern.  Some never fully commit to their art for just this reason.  To be alone with your own thoughts without the feedback or interaction of others can be scary especially for those used to being immersed in people and conversation.

I like to think that I have been prepared for this aspect of this career since I was a child.  For much of my youth we lived  in the country,  in houses that were isolated from neighbors.  I had a sister and brother, 7 and 8 years my senior,  and they were often my companions at times but  as they came into their middle teens I spent more and more time alone.  This is not a complaint.  Actually, it was kind of idyllic.  I lived a fairly independent life as a kid, coming and going as I pleased.  I explored the hills and woods around us, going down old trails to the railroad and cove that ran along side the Chemung River.  I studied the headstones at an old cemetery tucked in the edge of the woods overlooking what was then a thick glen, filled with the family who resided at a late 1700’s homesite that had stood across the road from our home.  All that remained was a stacked stone chimney which served as a great prop for playing cowboy.  

In the woods there were immense downed trees that served as magnificent pirate ships.  There were large hemlocks with thick horizontal branches that were practically ladders, easy to climb and sit above the forest floor to watch and dream.  

My life would be very different without this time alone.  Sure, maybe I’d be a bit more sociable and comfortable with groups of people, something which is sometimes a hindrance.  But it prepared me for the time I spend alone and allowed me to create my own world that I occupied then and now.  The same world that appears in my work.  That is my work. 

This is only a short post on a subject I could drone on about for pages and pages.  But, to aspiring artists, I say learn to love your time alone and realize what a luxury and an asset it can be.  Your work will grow from your time alone.

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  This is a photo from a book, In Their Studios: Artists & Their Environment  from the photographer, Barbara Hall Blumer.  It was a project that she carried out in 2007 documenting the studios of visual artists in the general area of the southern Finger Lakes, centering on Corning, NY, which has a vibrant artistic community.  The result was a beautiful book that gives insight into the workspaces and habits of many artists.  For me it was interesting to be able to peek into a bit of other artists’ lives.  I highly recommend the book for anyone interested in the process of art.

This is my first studio, one that I built in 1997 and worked in until January of this year, when I moved into a much larger and slightly better appointed studio.  This first studio was located in the woods that above my home and gave me what I called the best commute around, a short walk each morning up the hill through dense, fairly young forest.  Sometimes I would stop and wonder at my good fortune to have the luxury and pleasure of this walk each day.

It was a very rustic space without running water or a lot of heat for that matter but it served me well for ten years and its setting had a presence in much of my work.  It was very tranquil and from its windows I had great views of the woods and wildlife–  deer, gray and red fox, coyotes, raccoons (who at one point made their way into my roof) and even a weasel chasing after a rabbit. In the winter it would be spectacular as the snow would cling to the white pine branches almost to the ground.   Again, I wondered how I was so lucky…

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