I am a formally trained painter who now makes photographs. During my schooling, my 14 years as a Dancers
original photograph painter, and my transition into photography, I frequently encountered the view that photography is not art, and by association, photographers are not artists. Some think we just point, and shoot, and the camera does it all. Not so. When out with my camera, the hours melt into minutes. I frequently spend extended periods at a single location, taking picture after picture, moving this way and that, experimenting with setting after setting. This is a whole body experience - sometimes I'm perched on a tree limb, other times I'm on my belly. Do I feel connected to my subject? Absolutely. Do I slip from the present into the subconscious, intuitive state that brings forth true creativity? Without question. Not surprisingly, I felt this way about painting too. Is my photography art? I believe so. It's certainly every bit as satisfying as brushes and paint.

Regarding your letter this week about seasonal change and John Muir's spiritual connection to being Autumn
original painting quiet in nature, I have worked my socks off to get a body of work done for my next exhibition, entitled "Coast." This is about the memories and longing I have of my homeland, South Africa, as I live on the Wirral in England in the North West. I am a mother first, and a painter second and a wife somewhere in-between! So I am often frustrated at not having a long run open ended to paint. However with a deadline to deliver work for a group exhibition opening on the 15 October, I had to get myself painting fit again. Being disciplined, I walked the dog or went to the gym and painted my work for "Coast" looking back over my shoulder to landscapes I remember that moved me and which I miss. It was hard. And then one night, as if in a trance out-poured a different painting. It's not blue, it's about Autumn mist and slow thinning sun, berry picking and hot crumble and cream--it is about here and now. For me, it is a breakthrough. Freedom and chance happens when you are painterly fit.

I enjoy your letters and am keeping for myself the feelings and the thoughts they bring
Spider web me. Today`s was too much and I really want, almost need to reply, mostly to thank you, for this particular letter and for your book. Since I first saw Love letters to Art I felt accompanied. Maybe I should look at you and your writings like a master. But the way you write is from a friend, with lots of magic, at least for two reasons: the themes are always appropriate for me at that very moment and it comes from someone I never met personally. Magic. I am a Brazilian, ex-professor, ex-psychologist, ex- a few other things, that late (not too late) went to an Art school. I am now allowing art to take over.

Last week I completed a three-week stay at the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore in Northern Sleeping Bear (Norconk) Meadow
oil painting
20 x 24 inches Michigan--my first Artist-in-Residency. As I was already accustomed to painting outdoors on a regular basis, I'd not anticipated how profoundly I'd be affected by this immersion experience. The farmhouse where I lived was isolated--no phone, television, radio or Internet service. I chose to leave CDs behind so canvas and paint were the only media available. With no outer diversions, I had only to contend with inner distractions. With tremendous gratitude for the opportunity, I discovered I really do want to spend my days painting. I painted well and left knowing I have what it takes for my life to be a work of Art. Driving back home to Atlanta yesterday, however, I felt depressed. After hours delighting in the landscape of the agricultural Midwest, I succumbed to bad food and endless reports of plunging stock prices before finally arriving in the traffic-jammed city. Seen in the relief of my residency, everything from the relatively "enlightened" NPR programming to on-the-road meal offerings seem designed to satisfy superficial whim rather than deep soul needs. I'm reminded of Neil Postman's book Amusing Ourselves to Death .

Painting outdoors gave me what I need most: absorption in the world that existed prior to our crazy culture.

Communing with nature is something I do on a daily basis; I live in a rural area where the outside View of the Pond
acrylic painting
11 x 14 inches is as much a part of everyday living as the indoors. Each week for 21 sessions, spring, summer and fall, I orchestrate a group of plein air painters, taking them into Mother Nature's Studio at a variety of sites here in the Northeast region of Pennsylvania. It is in this atmosphere that we connect with nature, while discovering the elements that lead to our creativity. Yesterday, for example, we observed the mist and our first light snow over the upper Delaware in nearby Narrowsburg, NY. The wind whipped up to chill us as we went searching for gloves to warm cold hands. But we painted just the same as we went from a stormy sky to some afternoon sun that warmed us as we lunched outdoors on the deck above the river. My group which has been around since 1997 (and grows with new interest each year) is called Come Paint With Me.

I know that my landscape paintings are not my strongest suit, but I enjoy doing them. I love it when Untitled
original painting the birds decide to ignore you and land in the grass just a few feet away, to hunt around for bugs or worms. One time when I was painting, a mole or vole (or some little thing) crashed into my foot. Apparently I was standing in a path that he'd traveled many times before without interference. And then there's the humans, possibly annoying but not always, as when a troop of Cub Scouts out for a walk in the woods saw my friend and I painting and came running to see what we were doing. They were so excited to see people painting outside! What an idea.

One of the main ways I like to keep my creative pump primed and prevent painters block is by not Winter Morning on Ayum Creek
original painting letting myself have less than 2 paintings on the go, with 3 or 4 giving me a comfortable buffer. Being an oil painter I can afford to let some work dry, or give myself time to resolve a problem, or go on a creative tear, as long as I have at least another painting to go to. If my brush is active, even on a small painting, then the creative ideas seem to keep flowing and starting something new doesn't intimidate me as much. The only time I start to panic is when I finish all of my paintings fairly close together and I haven't nailed a final decision on what my next painting will be. I also like to mix it up between landscapes and portraiture… as I find they both have things about them that spark my interest if I find I am lagging with creative ideas in one or the other.

I noticed your mention of Golden Acrylic Paints and I'd like to suggest another acrylic our readers might have fun trying. They are Chroma Interactive acrylics by Atelier and have the same 'open' properties of Golden, but go one step further. When they dry, and until they cure in approximately 5 days, you can 'reopen' them with their unlocking formula and keep working wet in wet instead of wet in dry like the slow dry acrylics after they've dried. It's absolutely fabulous, almost like working with oil… you have the slow drying properties of the Golden paints but the added versatility of going home, if you're painting plein air, to continue working even after the paint is touch dry.

We just watched the first installment of Ken Burns' new National Parks History documentary series Still life 8
original painting last Sunday night, and there was about an hour on John Muir. I highly recommend the series. It's on for the next 5 Sundays. We were lucky enough to hear Ken speak to a packed house in Philadelphia about this new series recently, and it was apparent that the muse is with him. I found it very inspiring to listen to him, even thought he isn't a painter. He has definitely tapped into something deeper and bigger than himself. There is a lot for painters to learn from listening to artists from other disciplines speak about their work. The visual beauty of this documentary series should inspire any landscape painter!

Having just returned from Yoho and O'Hara in B.C., I heartily agree with your sentiment. At one Mount Owen
watercolour painting point early on in our hiking/painting journey I sat down on the ground in the Yoho Valley for a break and thought, yes, this is my place, where I am most at home, close to the earth observing and absorbing all she has to offer in nature. A year ago I had some major surgery and used field sketching as a way of healing by redirecting my attention and allowing the earth to enter my soul. She has done her job well as I am mended now, and very grateful for the journey and to have not only survived but to have grown and thrived. While away I read Lisa Christensen 's book on J.E.H. MacDonald and his journeys to O'Hara.

She quotes a letter he wrote: "I feel like a bear or an old pack horse recuperating, nothing highly spiritual but a bodily satisfaction. Perhaps that is being in 'toon with the infinite.'"

As an avid backpacker, a plein air painter and native Californian, I have personally experienced Pacific Crest Wilderness
original painting the influence of John Muir. I have fond memories, as a child of annual family stays in Yosemite National Park. But it was just within the last year that I had the opportunity to visit John Muir's home in Martinez, California. A mere 30 miles from where I spent most of my youth! The special part about that visit was that I was as an artist to paint, to capture the place he called home. How fortunate we are as artists to be able to paint the generosity of nature preserved by the vision of Muir.

Although I always enjoy your musings, this latest one really struck a chord with me. Maybe it was because Untitled
original painting of the manner in which you composed your thoughts on paper or maybe because painting out of doors really is one of my fondest endeavors pertaining to my art. I was recently out for a walk with my two sheltie dogs and we by chance encountered a number of different species of birds, (Stellar jays, magpies and ravens) interacting in a most amazing and engrossing manner. They appeared to be trying to occupy a large nest and my dogs and I spent practically a half an hour just watching and listening to this spectacle. It also was amusing to watch my dogs with their sniffing noses and twitching ears, part of this spectacle. Such a seemingly simple thing to do, maybe even a waste of time for some people, but for me it was something I will always remember and cherish because in a strange sort of way I was involved in that drama before me.