Dahlia Evening landscape oil painting of Swan Island Dahlia farm in Oregon
Oil on Linen 8 inches x 16 inches $520.00 USD Sold
Plein air painting colorful Dahlia fields and other arty thoughts amid a global pandemic
I paint when I'm happy. I write when I'm in pain. They are not fast hard rules, just something I've noticed about myself. I haven't as much since my college gave us two days to pack up our studios and move home due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I've made all sorts of excuses: my home is in a disarray, my apartment is too crowded with everyone at home, I have to update my website, the list goes on and on. I even brought my painting gear when visiting my family in Republic Washington, but I never took it out to paint. I sure thought about it, a lot, I just didn't do it.
Like everyone else the changes this pandemic have brought has shaken up my routines, and I'm having a tough time adjusting.
My dear friend lost her daughter to cancer in February, this world lost a the sweetest of souls and I mourned deeply for her passing. In April I lost my mother. I can't put words to how that felt, but it was like something died inside me. Now I hear my great aunt has passed away. What a force of nature these people were! Each so unique. Each so needed and beloved.
Some artists create their greatest works when they are in pain. I haven't figured out how to do that yet. My outlet, especially when isolated during a pandemic, is writing. I've been doing a lot of writing lately. After finishing my BFA thesis, I started writing about the paintings that I have kept to myself while in school. (I hope you will browse my site and read of my adventures.) I'm not sure why I hold on to them, my excuse is that I haven't had the time to post them for sale, but I don't know if that is the real reason. Truth be told, I really like my paintings.
My paintings are my friends, forever reminding me of the happy moments when they were painted
The beautiful thing about art is that it conjures in each of us a different feeling, a different experience or memory.
Even if you were not with me when I painted a certain scene or somebody, the image will bring out something within you that speaks to something within me, and we are bound in this strange way when you look at my painting. Even if we don't know each other. Paintings, and all the arts for that matter, create and support human relationships in a transcendent way. It's a concept difficult to express, but easy to feel when the connection is made. It's these connections that drive me to continue to not just paint, but sell my paintings—sharing my moments of joy with others.
This particular oil painting represents one of those happy experiences at Swan Island Dahlias, in Canby Oregon.
It was painted the summer of 2015 before I ventured to return to college in order of fulfilling my dream of earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. It had been a busy and happy summer, and I participated in many plein air events, getting to know the lay of the land in my new home state: beautiful Oregon. My father was in town and managed to pay me a visit as I happily painted the dahlia fields at the height of bloom in August.
Plein air painting colorful Dahlia fields and other arty thoughts amid a global pandemic
I paint when I'm happy. I write when I'm in pain. They are not fast hard rules, just something I've noticed about myself. I haven't as much since my college gave us two days to pack up our studios and move home due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I've made all sorts of excuses: my home is in a disarray, my apartment is too crowded with everyone at home, I have to update my website, the list goes on and on. I even brought my painting gear when visiting my family in Republic Washington, but I never took it out to paint. I sure thought about it, a lot, I just didn't do it.
Like everyone else the changes this pandemic have brought has shaken up my routines, and I'm having a tough time adjusting.
My dear friend lost her daughter to cancer in February, this world lost a the sweetest of souls and I mourned deeply for her passing. In April I lost my mother. I can't put words to how that felt, but it was like something died inside me. Now I hear my great aunt has passed away. What a force of nature these people were! Each so unique. Each so needed and beloved.
Some artists create their greatest works when they are in pain. I haven't figured out how to do that yet. My outlet, especially when isolated during a pandemic, is writing. I've been doing a lot of writing lately. After finishing my BFA thesis, I started writing about the paintings that I have kept to myself while in school. (I hope you will browse my site and read of my adventures.) I'm not sure why I hold on to them, my excuse is that I haven't had the time to post them for sale, but I don't know if that is the real reason. Truth be told, I really like my paintings.
My paintings are my friends, forever reminding me of the happy moments when they were painted
I'm starting to feel like maybe my old friends are getting restless, eager to move on and bring comfort to someone else. I've started the process of finding new homes for them. It's a great to acquire a new work of art right now, to make you home working environment more hopeful and cheery. Sometime just adding a decorative pillow or wearing a cute face mask is enough to help lift my mood.
The beautiful thing about art is that it conjures in each of us a different feeling, a different experience or memory.
Even if you were not with me when I painted a certain scene or somebody, the image will bring out something within you that speaks to something within me, and we are bound in this strange way when you look at my painting. Even if we don't know each other. Paintings, and all the arts for that matter, create and support human relationships in a transcendent way. It's a concept difficult to express, but easy to feel when the connection is made. It's these connections that drive me to continue to not just paint, but sell my paintings—sharing my moments of joy with others.
This particular oil painting represents one of those happy experiences at Swan Island Dahlias, in Canby Oregon.
It was painted the summer of 2015 before I ventured to return to college in order of fulfilling my dream of earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. It had been a busy and happy summer, and I participated in many plein air events, getting to know the lay of the land in my new home state: beautiful Oregon. My father was in town and managed to pay me a visit as I happily painted the dahlia fields at the height of bloom in August.
Swan Island Dahlias had to cancel their Annual Dahlia Festival this year due to Covid 19. I know the event will be sorely missed. I thought it might be a good time to release this painting created during happier times.