Moonrise, Marsh

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Moonrise, Marsh', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches.   Framed, $300.

I've been studying a lot of  minimalist landscape artists.  I find myself asking just how much can you edit down a landscape to get your point across?  

It's a good question.  An interesting question.  The kind that you can explore for a long time and come up with several different answers. 

I like the idea of editing way down because I need to learn how to not fuss and overwork things.  There's a place for fussing, and most of the time I live there.  It's time to learn how to do things a different way.   

Watch for more pieces like this one to come. 

Morning Mist

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Morning Mist on the Water', watercolor 9 x 12 inches.  $300, framed

I've been studying the art of Richard Mayhew and Donald Holden.  They both had a gift for seeing the essence of the landscape and the discipline to leave out anything that was unnecessary.  

This is something that I'm working on.  It's extraordinarily rewarding, but I confess that it is *hard* for me not to fuss and fiddle. 

I've heard people say about some of that type of work that, 'Anyone could do that!', because it looks so simple, so easy.  Doing a few simple layers, might look 'easy' [it's not],  but I've realized that what is really hard is the stopping, the *not doing more*.   Not anyone could stop at that.  That's where the discipline lies.

I was so in love the with the first wash here that I knew it was a perfect chance to practice.   I looked at that first layer for days until just the right strategy surfaced and I gently proceeded.    

Still, I fussed.  I think it could have been simplified further.  

Beehunter Creek Series - Failing Faster

© Robin Edmundson, 'Beehunter Creek, gold field 949, watercolor, 9 x 12 inches. 

Framed $300.  

In my day job, we’ve been working on some big projects lately. Learning new things, new platforms, new ways of thinking about things - at the very same time that these same platforms are ‘updating & upgrading’, which means that just as we learn how to do something, it changes. At one point we launched a project and it just wouldn’t work. It was a bit discouraging, but our team has a great mindset and at our next meeting we spent some time talking about the notion of ‘failing faster’.

This is the idea that the object of the game is to blaze new territory, build skills and go where we have never gone before. We remind ourselves that new stuff is…new. There are no crystal balls, you just have to wade in and figure it out. The more you do that, the faster you figure things out and reach your goal. It takes time, effort, and a tolerance for failure and frustration.

This made me think of Thomas Edison’s approach to his own work. You’ve probably heard of his ‘Ten thousand things’ quote. I found the real story HERE.

‘… in 1910 in a comprehensive two volume biography called “Edison: His Life and Inventions”. The anecdote was told by a long-time associate of Edison’s named Walter S. Mallory. Edison and his researchers had been working on the development of a nickel-iron battery for more than five months when Mallory visited Edison in his laboratory.

‘I found him at a bench about three feet wide and twelve to fifteen feet long, on which there were hundreds of little test cells that had been made up by his corps of chemists and experimenters. He was seated at this bench testing, figuring, and planning. I then learned that he had thus made over nine thousand experiments in trying to devise this new type of storage battery, but had not produced a single thing that promised to solve the question. In view of this immense amount of thought and labor, my sympathy got the better of my judgment, and I said: ‘Isn’t it a shame that with the tremendous amount of work you have done you haven’t been able to get any results?’ Edison turned on me like a flash, and with a smile replied: ‘Results! Why, man, I have gotten a lot of results! I know several thousand things that won’t work.’’

In 1921 Thomas Edison was interviewed by B. C. Forbes for American Magazine. Edison described an incident that matched the anecdote presented by Mallory although he did not provide a precise dialog [BFTE]:

‘I never allow myself to become discouraged under any circumstances. I recall that after we had conducted thousands of experiments on a certain project without solving the problem, one of my associates, after we had conducted the crowning experiment and it had proved a failure, expressed discouragement and disgust over our having failed ‘to find out anything.’ I cheerily assured him that we had learned something. For we had learned for a certainty that the thing couldn’t be done that way, and that we would have to try some other way. We sometimes learn a lot from our failures if we have put into the effort the best thought and work we are capable of.’

I love that last line.

It’s true for art as well. This is why we work in series - to explore an idea by putting into the effort the best thought and work we are capable of.

Recently, I’ve been working on a series of paintings of Beehunter Creek. [You can see some of the early versions here.] For each study, I have a question: What happens if I use this brush? What happens if I use these colors? What if I reverse that? What if all I do is pay attention to the edges? What if I start this way or that way?…

It means that I end up with stack of things that didn’t work, but slowly, slowly I collect the things that did work and if I keep going, then some day all those things will click into place and a higher and higher percentage of the studies I do will turn out well - precisely because I will already know what doesn’t work and I’ll be able to focus on what does. [The painting above is the 5th study I did of the Beehunter Creek scene. I’ll continue to explore it - larger, brighter, looser, etc.]

I’d love to know the things that you’ve been working on, that you have stuck with until you know the things that won’t work and the things that will. Drop me a line and tell me about it.

Here's another of the studies I did in this series. 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Beehunter Creek, 948', watercolor, 16 x 20 inches. 

Framed, $575

Spray over the Dunes

 I grew up in northern Indiana, not far from Lake Michigan.   I spent delicious summers with my grandparents right off the lake and we walked there often.  The lake was a big part of my childhood.   

©Robin Edmundson, 'Spray over the Dunes', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.  

Framed to 16 x 20 inches.  $375.

On stormy days, it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the lake began.  The waves would crash into the dunes or the breakwater and spray would fly high enough to see from a safe distance away.  To a little girl, all that water power was magical. I think this is where I learned to love the power of big water and weather.

Finally Done

© Robin Edmundson, 'March Creek, Cloudy Day', watercolor, 12 x 9 inches

This one is done.   I darkened up a few things to increase the contrast and I've learned what I need to learn from it.    It's ready to be framed.    

Framed it will be 22 x 18 inches.  $350.    

Focus

Lily took this pic last month.  She sometimes goes off into the woods and comes back with loads of pics and she hands me the camera and then I sit down and go through them and edit them.   It's a good partnership.

When I was done with these pics, I kept coming back to this one.  There's something here that really moves me.   I think there's a life lesson in there for me.

And this is what I think it is...

Sometimes you just need to focus on one little thing at a time. 

Look how amazing that one little drop of water is that she found on a leaf in a tree full of leaves dripping water in a little wood full of trees in a property full of woods. 

Don't miss the small stuff.

Winter Creek

After the Big Snow, we had a Big Warm, which melted the snow really fast, and then we had a Big Rain.    It was a lot of water all at once and sure enough, we flooded.

When all that water hits the creek, it moves fast and carries a lot of debris with it.    I'm talking trees,  and rocks the size of your head. 

It's loud.    Really loud.

When it's all done, the creek is scrubbed clean and the bottom shines in layers of oil shale and iron rich limestone.    Blue and orange. 

This is  looking straight down into the bottom of the creek. 

Pretty.

Lily took these pics the day after the flood. 

Ripples

The ripples are pretty.

Water

Have I told you lately how much I love our creek?

photo: Lily Jenness

Mistress of Her Domain

One day not long after Tibby came to us, we heard ferocious noises coming from the creek.    She was barking, snarling and yelping.    It sounded like she was fighting something particularly nasty and that the fight had moved into the water.    

When we heard all the noise we feared Tibby had found a water snake and commenced battle.  We have diamond back water snakes here and they are not polite, unlike our other snakes, which I love.   Water snakes are notoriously aggressive and they like to hang out in the creek...them bein' water snakes 'n' all.     We rushed to Tibby's aid.  

She was thrashing about in the water, making all sorts of noise, but since she'd muddied everything up, we couldn't see what she was after.    We saw that she was fine and we figured she must have let whatever it was go.  


Then it happened again.  

And again.  

Turns out, Tibby loves water. 

Really, really loves water.  

It's her favorite toy.    I'm not kidding.   This is Tibby's playground.

 She thrashes around and bites the water.

Then she bats it with her paws to make bubbles and foam.

 

Then she thrashes and bites the water again.  She spends a lot of time in the creek just playing.

Then she gets out and shakes all over us and looks really pleased with herself.  It won't take long til she's back in there fighting the bubbles.

She is mistress of her domain.