Reading Terminal

As if it weren't heaven enough to be painting all day, the studio was a ten minute walk from Reading Terminal. I loved my daily routine: ride the trolley, stop by Reading Terminal for a cup of tea, walk to the studio, paint, lunch at Reading Terminal, paint, snack at Reading Terminal, wander the streets, trolley home.

Lea

I told Lea that I was frustrated because I could understand what she was teaching us, and I could see it when she was doing it, but when I went to paint, I couldn't do it myself (which brought to mind this post).

She told me this, that really helped, "Awareness comes before ability."

Lea and Steve

The instructors at Studio Incamminati are amazing, not only for their talent and knowledge, but for their generosity. It's no secret that the art world can be heavy with ego and mystery. The instructors there make painting seem possible.

Lea Wight and Stephen Early were the primary instructors for the workshop. Here they're seen doing a two hour portrait demo. Lea's work, in the early stage, is in the middle, and Steve's sample, further along, is at the bottom.

One of the things I appreciated about the workshop is that they do a lot of demos. Often, demos were with two or three instructors a time, so you can see the variation in approach, though the principles used are the same.

Blue Glass, Pink House

The other thing that made this trip possible was my grandparents. I'd received some money from the sale of my grandmother's house. It arrived in perfect time to catch the free fall.

It was more than the money, though, that made this journey possible. It was here at the Pink House that I started to notice something mysterious, or that something that previously seemed mysterious was starting to become real.

When I walked into St. Mary's in Maine, I was in awe of the blue glass. I took an enormous chance driving across the country to a rental I found on the internet. It was scary, but as soon as I entered and saw the blue glass, it reminded me of my grandmother, and I felt safe. And here, in Philadelphia, again to an apartment I'd never been to in a neighborhood I'd never heard of...blue glass.

I never knew my grandmother well. I loved her New Jersey accent, homemade canned peaches, and the holly that grew outside her kitchen window. She had four kids and a red and white checkered cloth on her kitchen table. Perfectly content being at home, a grandma, no great dreams of travel.

But wait, how would I know? Do our outer worlds always reflect our inner worlds? Grandma, is this a trip you always wanted to take? Is the blue glass leading the way?

Barrel Chest

It's amazing how much you can't see unless you step away. The painting at the top is the initial open grisaille completed before a break. When I returned to the canvas after 10 minutes, I could see immediately that the painting had a barrel chest that the model didn't have. I slimmed my painting down, and began the closed grisaille stage.

On the bottom right of the canvas you can see the color samples for the closed grisaille. I found it challenging to mix a color that is not too orange or pasty white.

Closed Grisaille

In closed grisaille, you add a color where there is light (thus closing the grisaille). I'd never painted the figure in oils before, and found myself welling with excitement at this stage.

Green Lanterns, Chinatown

In the Spring, in the height of the falling apart, I had a dream. In the dream, I jumped onto a small boat that was cruising along at a smooth but high speed toward a meditation retreat. I was in a deep state of bliss, my bare feet gliding over the turquoise green water.

Every now and again I would jolt awake, flooded with fear. "I have no shoes! I didn't pack any bags! I have no money! I don't know where I'm going!" But the bliss would overtake, and I'd fall back into the dream.

I found myself on a tuk-tuk, riding through the streets of an Asian city, moving at the same smooth but high speed. There were bicycles swerving all around. Someone who loved me, found me. His hands grasped hold of the back of the tuk-tuk and he trotted along at the same pace. Then the bicycles turned into Nascar race cars, we began to move at top speed, he fell behind. I found myself alone, on a city bus.

At a smooth but high speed, in a deep state of bliss, alone on a city bus. I didn't know where I was going, when I was getting off. Moving through tunnels, past tall buildings and city lights. I sprang up and turned quickly when I saw through the window a stone statue of the Virgin of Juquila from Oaxaca . "How could she be here, no one knows her here!", I thought. But by the time I turned my head to double check, we were too far along, and she was already gone.

I fell back into the boat, my bare feet gliding over the turquoise green water. At a smooth but high speed, in a deep state of bliss. We passed stone Buddhas and Egyptian statues rising out of the water, silently calling, "This way" and "Yes." We arrived at an ancient hotel on a small island. The other passengers were unloading their luggage. Heavy suitcases, bolsters, meditation cushions, eye pillows, and those circular things that go around your neck.

I jolted awake, flooded with fear. "I have no shoes! I didn't pack any bags! I have no money!" I didn't know where I was going. I just went.