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Recently, my grandchildren came for a Thanksgiving visit.  They live in Pennsylvania -- I live in the South, so I don't see them in person like I would prefer.  The times together are precious for me.  The old timeworn sayings about being a grandparent are true...there is truly nothing like it.  My two oldest are young ladies who love to paint and draw, and we do that whenever we are together. 

As we sit at the table, they paint and tell their stories along with the developing art.  They create symbols and shapes to represent what they want to share.  They are creating a visual language as they play.  It is fascinating to watch. 

I am sure that the same can be said for many young artists out there, drawing at an easel, or painting at the kitchen table.  They feel a primal need to convey what they are thinking, and art is a way to do it.  As an artist, I am always reading and trying to learn new and different techniques, be informed as to the work of developing artists, and generally "keep up" with what is going on in the world of artists.  It is a pleasure to be reminded of the seminal reason we do what we do -- to be understood and to experience joy. 

As the house quiets again, and I go back to the studio, I hope I can keep in mind what I learned from my girls - to keep the joy and wonder of art, and the fun of creating what I love so that it is understood and shared.  How lucky and blessed I am to have such sweet teachers! And so fortunate to have something I can share, something of myself, that they can carry in their own memories.  Something that they may, too, one day follow with their art and with their hearts.

It's been a week since the group show, and I am just now having the time and opportunity to reflect on all I saw and did there.  This was the third group show that I have been involved with at my best gallery.  I politely declined a solo show for the fall season, simply because it wasn't adding up -- not the return on investment I was hoping for.  The past solos brought extreme stress to produce, to create an inventory that frankly, I wasn't always happy with. I shouldered the burden of publicity, brochures, control of the work flow, and on the day of the show, I was IT.  I loved looking at a gallery full of my work, and seeing it all as a whole....pretty much a year's worth of work in one place and at one time.  It was flattering to my ego, but I couldn't track that it really fulfilled my expectations in sales. And it made me a nervous wreck!  I have enough stress -- it was time to rethink.

The group show was a win-win from the get go.  The local artists who displayed there invited their friends and clients, and brought their best work.  I produced work on a regular basis and sent it to the gallery on a regular basis throughout the year - no saving up for the "big show". More people saw my work, because more people were coming to see everyone's work.  My sales actually have increased using the group show as a showcase.  Of course, I made sure that my best pieces were ready, and came to the show relaxed and prepared to interact with my fellow artists, as well as the many visitors we had for the opening.  I was able to connect with potential clients who heard about the show and came to see it because it showcased local artists.  And the stress was much reduced, simply because the spotlight wasn't on me alone, but the group of artists participating.  It was fun!

Interacting with the other artists was just as important as interacting with my clients.  I learned who I was putting my work beside, and what they were like personallly as well as professionally.  We were able to compare notes on our experiences in the market.  Did I miss being the only show in town? No.  Did I lose anything by it? No.  In fact, I gained from the comraderie of my fellow artists, and from the clients they attracted to my work I would not have met otherwise.  I hope I did the same for them. I'm tired of the mercenary mindset. I don't believe in the artist-vs-artist thinking that there isn't enough for all.  I can't be someone else's voice.  I can only be my own.

Since returning home, I'm once again the studio, but with a different focus on just what I want out of this artistic life.  I like to think that my confidence in my work has grown to the point that I am not threatened by being compared with other artists.  I am myself, and it is against my better purpose to try to be anything else.  I believe I am growing toward being more generous in sharing my "secrets" and experiences with other artists.  I'm learning what it means to open myself to the world around me....not easy for the introvert I am.  My work is selling, and life is good.  What goes around, comes around.  I want to send that good karma around -- it makes me a better person, it benefits others, and we all grow from it in the end!

It's been a little less than a week since my last group show, and the pressure of creating enough pieces for my gallery inventory is subsiding. 

I'm ready for decompression. While I traveled to the show, I was able to spend a couple of days on the side of the lowcountry marsh of James Island, SC, soaking up the sights, smells and sounds.  Natural beauty overflowed at every turn of the head.  I experienced the beauty of a rising sun burning through the morning mist, watching the bird life in all its shapes and sizes.  There were herons of every size and shape, fishing for their food, sea gulls doing the same.  I watched a brown pelican preen and groom itself while it teetered on the top of an old wooden post.  Cheeping insect sounds came from the rustling leaves.  One evening I stepped onto our tidal creek dock, looking up at the Milky Way, and turned to see the huge orange moon rise over the marsh, sparkling in the reflections of the creek. It was a scene of magic, and I stood transfixed by the beauty of that moment, the art of nature, and the wonder of it. 

Now back home, and in the studio, the pressure of creation behind me, I have time to reflect on what I saw.  I remember how the beauty of the place sank into my heart.  It brought a sense of peace, of the knowledge that the next day, when I was driving home, the sun would continue to shine on the marsh.  The tides would come in and out, and the sun would set.  The sparkling stars would shine down and be reflected in the brackish water.  That continuity of what I love and what I enjoy painting so well was soothing to my soul. 

I have painted the marsh over and over, in almost 800 versions.  It still fascinates me, and it still attracts collectors to that shared love and vision.  We find ourselves part of a human band, drawn together by sawgrass, open sky and grey mud flats.  There are beautiful areas all over the world.  This is just one of them.  But what a precious place it is!