Robert Genn's Twice Weekly Letter
Insight and inspiration for your artistic career.

Dear Artist,

For the last few days I've been painting on a particularly frigid balcony at Whistler, B.C., Canada. You may know that Whistler is the site of the 2010 Winter Olympics. The main currency around here is snow, and this year there's lots of it--great clods of it fall from the trees as weight builds and more sifts down from leaden skies. The air is bitterly cold.

I like to paint outside; it's part of the painting spirit. You might say it's a creative ploy--more than just a matter of looking at things in the wild. It's what I call "inhaling the environment," and right now I feel like I've got "icicle-lung." So you can get an idea of the place, we've put up a picture at the top of the current clickback.

Even while bundled up, I have to keep coming inside for a sip of coffee or something stronger. Sometimes I have to warm up with dreams before I can go back to my balcony. If you try this sort of thing at home, my guess is you'll paint looser and fresher. Funnily, in sub-zero it's easier to be hot, partly because you need to get on with it. Further, forced to come and go, another part of you makes you take your time. You size things up and try to decide what comes next. Actually, change of any sort refreshes and sharpens events. I don't want to be maudlin, but the frequent-pause system can reboot life.

Working in acrylics, I bring incomplete work inside to the heater. I work on several paintings at a time. While the balcony view is ever changing, I also rerun images from cold sorties down snowbound lanes or from glimpses through a fogged windscreen on the way to groceries.

Right now there are no boisterous sports fans in Whistler. It's a strangely quiet winter wonderland where even a foraging chickadee is a minor miracle.

In the evening, by the fireplace, as the snow continues silently outside, the accumulated work goes under the lights. It's here that some paintings win you over and shout "Stop!" Others decay in front of you, becoming objects of disgust and reminding you of your chronic failings. Sleep finally arrives and you sink into that pervasive dream that you may live to once more repeat the process. Tomorrow will be another day.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "An inconvenience is an unrecognized opportunity." (Confucius)

Esoterica: Winter work is both inconvenient and miraculous. Mittens or gloves, no matter how well designed, are never quite as fine as fingers. In blown snow, the acrylic palette never dries. Taking boots on and off is a pain. The sense of holiday--away from the home studio--is at once energizing and challenging. The work can often seem more exciting. One marvels that a life can be built around such a low-tech workstation, however chilly. And unlike this travelling laptop on which I'm writing you, when it breaks down, I can fix it myself.

If you would like to read more information related to the above letter please visit the The frequent-pause system clickback


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