Floral Collection of Original Watercolors - in the online shop now!

 

© Robin Edmundson, ‘Pink Poppies’, watercolor, 12.6 x 9.4 inches.

Framed, to pick up at the studio, $350

[In the online shop, unframed $280, including shipping]

It is sleeting as I write this. Winter has come in all her unapologetic brashness. The garden is resting; the leaves are finally coming down; birds are moving south in flocks, like floating rivers that flow for miles as they move across the sky. It’s an energizing time of year.

I am not ready for winter.

I never am. Why am I always surprised at the falling temperatures? There’s a part of me that is ever hopeful that this year southern Indiana will have all the winter fun without me actually feeling cold. Hah!

My shows for the year have ended and all the artwork is back in the studio. As I put things away, I found myself keeping the florals out for a while longer so I could spend some extra time ‘in the garden’ as it were.

I wondered if you might like that, too, so I have put my Floral Collection in the online shop [link below] to make it easy for you to purchase.

This is how it works:

If you fall in love with a piece, you can purchase it right away online. Everything is priced to be mailed, unframed, to US addresses. [Bonus - in the case of the smaller pieces, if the mat fits in the package, too, I’ll leave it matted for you.]

If you are able to pick it up at the studio and want it framed, let me know and you can pay me the extra when you pick it up. You’ll find the ‘framed’ price in the item description in the shop.

Note: This collection will be available in the shop until December 1.

 

Click here to go to the Floral Collection online

p.s. I had one more floral [Zinnias, below] that is a bit too large to fit into the mailers, so it’s not listed in the online shop. If you are interested in this piece and can pick it up at the studio, I’m happy to sell it either framed or unframed. Contact me.

© Robin Edmundson, ‘Zinnias, #4’, watercolor, 16 x 12 inches. [Framed to 22 x 18 inches, $450. Unframed $365. Must be picked up at the studio.]

Beech Trunks

©Robin Edmundson, 'Beech trunks', watercolor, 16 x 12 inches.  Framed $395.  

 

The trees never fail to bring me in.   My daily walk takes me through some heavily forested areas, some pastureland, some open fields, some small wetland - all within just a couple of miles of here.   

The flora and fauna vary according to the habitat, which makes me very happy.  I love the variety and endless flow of new things to get to know. 

The trees along the road are targets for the county bush hog so most of them have multiple trunks.   The bush hog got them one year, but during hard times, the county didn't mow them the following year.  If the weather is right, that's enough time for a strong root system to put up multiple trunks.   

They're beautiful and interesting and full of surprises. 

[This is another version of 'Place to Rest', which I posted in May]

Peach Sunrise

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Peach Sunrise', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches.

I'm still working on this series of sunrises.   Early mornings.  Clear cold light or soft misty light.  

Pieces like these force me to learn about the pigment, edges, the power of suggestion.   The small lines that tell big stories.  

This one is a favorite for me because I painted it at the end of last semester and left it in the studio.  Claire came out that night and spent several miserable hours fighting with university software to submit a project and at midnight, frustrated and trying to keep it together until the thing finally submitted, she looked over and saw the painting.  She said it helped her get through.

In the morning I came out and found a pink post-it above the painting that said: ' I like this.  Claire' with an arrow pointing down to the painting.   

In the middle of a miserable night, this little study managed to make someone feel better about what they were doing.  Better enough to actually write a note about it.   

Claire's seal of approval is the best compliment I've ever gotten, especially knowing what she was going through that night.

If there's any reason for me to continue painting and posting, it's that one.   To provide a quite space to feel one's feelings, to pause and breathe, and continue on.

[p.s. She got an A in the class.]

Barn on a Hill, Spring

 © Robin Edmundson, 'Barn, Hill, Spring', watercolor, 8 x 6 inches.  Framed $125.

Sometimes I have a vision in my head of what I want to paint, so I paint it and it turns out that I only need one part of if after all.   This is a small crop of a much larger experiment.   Love this. 

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. 

Bean Fields, Tulip

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Bean Fields. Tulip Indiana, Fall', watercolor, 8 x 11 inches.  Framed $300

I've got my eye on this scene for a larger version.  I love the light here.   It's a beautiful piece of property that shines in every season.  

Grey Sky, Grey Barn

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Grey Barn, Grey Sky', watercolor, 16 x 20 inches.  Framed $575.

The open prairie landscape seems like it goes on forever under a sky that goes on forever.   I had a friend from Nebraska in grad school who said he loved going home.  He'd get out of the car, take that first big deep breath and feel himself expand to fill the landscape.   

What a beautiful feeling.

Summer

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Morning Wildflowers', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches. Framed, $300.  

It’s summer. It’s hot. It’s noisy. I love it.

I’m not going lie, all these cicadas have been enormously entertaining, but I won’t be sorry to see them go. Every 17 years is plenty often enough. [This is my 4th time experiencing Brood X. It’s never dull.]

To beat the heat and the noise, I’ve been walking early in the morning, when things are cooler, a bit quieter and the morning mist is blue in the shade and orange in the rising sun. Even the neighbor’s cows are orange on those mornings.

So many wonderful things to see on my walks this time of year. The abundance of food has made the turkeys brave and I’ve actually met one on the road a couple of times. There are a few rabbits that venture out onto the road in the mornings and I’ve figured out how to behave so that they’ll let me walk right by them. I’ve chatted with turtles and salamanders and a few snakes.

I also happened to be standing in the right place one morning to see where a pileated woodpecker’s nest was and it’s been exciting waiting for the chicks to be big enough to venture out. There is a squirrel that lives in the next tree over and I was surprised and delighted to find out that grumpy neighbors are not just a human experience. I’m glad I don’t live next to that squirrel.

The gardens are looking lovely. My asparagus is almost finished, my peas are producing like crazy, I have baby tomatoes on some of my plants and my beans are getting taller by the minute. I love this time of year.

Wishing you lovely neighbors and an abundance of magical moments.

Blue & Purple flowers

© Robin Edmundson, 'Blue & Purple Flowers' 959, watercolor, 9 x 12 inches.  Framed $300.

I can't wait for summer flowers in the garden.  Can't.  Wait.

The spring irises came and went and the roses are almost done.  I've got phlox and penstemon.  The veronica has just started and there are big buds on the echinacea and snapdragons.   I can feel them calling me to get ready.

What are your favorite flowers? 

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.  

Red Barn, Last Big Snow

 © Robin Edmundson, 'Red Barn, Last Big Snow', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches.   Framed $300.

After that last big snow we had in February, Eric grabbed a pic of this red barn, gold grass and blue snow shadows.  

Simple Images in whose presence your heart first opened.

©Robin Edmundson, 'Place to Rest', watercolor, 24 x 18 inches.  

$750, framed.

‘Synchronicity’ is that series of events that brings something to your focus again and again in a way that feels more than coincidental. I love it when synchronicity happens.

Over and over again, in the past year I’ve seen this quote from Albert Camus, the French philosopher.

‘A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.’

This resonates so deeply with me. I think most of my life I’ve been seeking to rediscover those things that first opened my heart - and most of those moments involved the breathtaking beauty of everyday landscapes.

In my creative journey as a painter, I’ve often wondered why I was drawn to such seemingly insignificant items in the landscape: haybales, a tree, a mailbox.

It’s because in each painting, I rediscover a deep emotional connection to the seasons, the clouds, the woods, and the everyday sacred things that make up my life. Each time I pick up a brush, I honor those things in whose presence my heart first opened.

It’s no accident that this quote keeps popping up in my life at the same time I‘ve been wondering whether I will ever figure out a way to feel at home with the whole creative process of painting. I’m learning to replace some old and ugly ways of thinking with some healthier ones and I think that Camus’ insight is a good place to rest for a while.

There is healing power in painting those things in whose presence my heart first opened and I trust that, in time, I will discover - or rediscover - the joy of the whole process.

Wishing you a rediscovery of the things in whose presence your own heart first opened. 

Cherry Tree, Last Light

 

©Robin Edmundson, 'Cherry Tree, Last Light', watercolor,  9 x 12 inches.  Framed, $300

This time of year, there a space in the trees on the south that the evening sun shines through and spotlights that one little tree.   Enchanting. 

Pink Poppies

©Robin Edmundson, 'Pink Poppies' 951, watercolor, 12 x 9 inches.  

Framed $300

'Negative painting' is the technique of painting around something to show its shape.   We do this a lot in watercolor, since we can't paint light on top of dark.   We have to paint the dark around the light shape to indicate a light object.   

It takes some practice thinking about things differently, but the effects are outstanding and the process is fun, once you get the hang of it.   

Apples & Scale

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Apples & Scale', watercolor, 9x12 inches.

I've discovered how much fun a still life can be.  I love this crop where you have a sense of what the scene is, but the focus is just that one red apple in front.  

I took some heat for that from a few people in my critique group, but I stand by the decision.   You don't have to show everything.   

Sometimes a poem is just as powerful as a novel.

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

Beehunter Creek Series

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Beehunter Creek, purple', watercolor, 16 x 20 inches.  $475, unframed.

I'm doing a thing this year where I work from one reference photo and spend the year painting it so at the end of the year I have several versions and can let myself experiment in all the ways. 

The reference photo was taken last March on a cloudy day.  Mostly beige, but I love the lines. It's a good photo to work from.  I want to emphasize here that the point is *not* to copy the photo, but to use it as a jumping off point.  

This means that I'll leave things out, simplify, go crazy with color, experiment, paint different sizes, etc, and if I drift away from the literal, that's ok - great, even!  [In the ref photo, there was a large tree branch coming in from the left.   I left it out completely.]

©Robin Edmundson, 'Beehunter Creek - 856', watercolor 8 x 10 inches.  $190, unframed.

©Robin Edmundson, 'Beehunter Creek', pencil study, 4 x 6 inches. 

I have a couple more paintings of this scene already in the works and I'll post them as they're done. 

Color - Big Color

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Dark Red Tree', watercolor, 16 x 20 inches.   $475, unframed. 

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I discovered the art of Richard Mayhew recently.  It was one of those totally serendipitous things where something caught my eye and then I did a little research and quickly found myself falling down a rabbit hole of brilliant color and landscapes that break all the rules.   'Transcendence' is open in my studio all the time now. 

It dovetailed nicely into the study of Wolf Kahn's work which I'm doing now, too.  I love reading what he has to say about his work and his process.  He's another rule breaker, in love with color.  

As I was playing with the ideas they presented, I realized that for me the trick will be how to think about the light first, then let loose with the color.  I have a lot of work to do. I worked on this piece for a couple of weeks, a bit here, a bit there, a lot there.  I left it up in the studio for a while, not really knowing what to do with it.  Then Claire came in and said, 'I love it.  It's done.'  

I'll be playing with these ideas more.  

Winter Woods

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Winter Woods', watercolor, 8 x 11.5 inches.   $225, unframed.  

I have the tremendous pleasure of working with Angela Fehr as her director of operations and part of my job is to spend time in her online community.  The membership focus is to become heart-led in your creative practice; to work on mindset as much as technique; and to learn to enjoy the whole creative process in a way that allows you to become your own favorite artist.  It is truly a joy to spend time there every day. 

Last month, one of the lovely members of our online community posted a reference photo and told everyone to paint it their way.   [Thank you, Deborah Ropp!]  The painting above is my version - leaning more toward a southern Indiana woods, than a northern woods.   [Yeah, it's what I know.]  

Deep Woods, Sacred Ground

 

©Robin Edmundson, 'Two Trees, Deep Woods', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches.  $650, unframed.

Someone asked me recently what my personal symbols are. Those things that show up in many areas of life - the way some people have rainbows, or butterflies show up everywhere. I was mystified for a while. I don’t really collect things like that. 

And then one day I looked around the studio. Trees. A forest of them on my walls. Big ones. Little ones. Trees in all the seasons. 

Trees are a potent symbol for me. One of my favorite symbols is Yggdrasil, the Norse tree of life. Often it is depicted with a large beautiful crown - and an equally expansive root system. Balance. Strength [as opposed to power]. Life.

I can see woods from every window of my house. I walk there every day. The woods are my sacred ground. I move through the woods and the woods move through me. It’s an exquisite dance of spirit.

It’s hardly surprising then that trees show up in my work and on my walls. 

I’ve been thinking about ‘sacred ground’ ever since. Mulling over what that means for me, what it means for the woods and how we approach and care for them. 

The woods are a temple of the spirit for me. A place of rest, of peace, of solace. The dwelling place of god. Or God. Or Goddess. Or Spirit. Or the universe. Whatever works for you. 

It’s a good place - the best place - this sacred ground. 

I hope you have a chance to find and tend your sacred ground this season.