Studio Seasons
drop in to the forest.
Hello friends,
Its feeling deeply autumnal this week in Portland.
Recently, during my drive through the forest to my studio, it hit me that I might not have my keys. I was only a few minutes from home, so I pulled over to check all my bags and pockets.
As I opened my door, I was immersed in the changing forest, rain drops dotting the pavement and big leaf maple leaves glowing gently amongst the velvety dark gray tree trunks. I paused briefly; soaked in awe.
Of course it turned out that yes, I did forget my keys. But the forest was lovely enough that I didn’t mind looping back.
I’ve been outside a lot this fall since my monthly hiking group has restarted. We aim for a 4.5-5 mile hike once a month. The hikes can really knock me out if I am not keeping active enough during the intervening weeks, so I’ve been more consistent about getting out.
All that outdoor time has seeped into my studio. I’ve been working with browns, golds, reds, and oranges, letting all the natural beauty I have been absorbing flow right back out my paintbrush into my sketchbooks and paintings.
My desk is an enormous old drafting table. Each morning, I’ve made a pile on the left side of the table with all of my sketchbooks and work in progress (mostly paintings on paper at the moment).
From there, the practice couldn’t be simpler: set a timer for 5 minutes and get to work on each item in the stack one by one. I love a systematized practice like this. It helps me stay unstuck and keep moving through the work until a larger theme emerges, and then I settle in for longer sessions on each piece.
A symbol for this that comes to mind is a manual well pump. The methodical, repetitive action slowly brings the water up to the surface. This season has felt like that - making time to make, faithfully practicing, and being rewarded with a refreshed heart and mind.
The art objects I’m making become a tangible record of this gentle, faithful effort. The moments are ephemeral and yet the marks made coalesce into an enduring physical form. Paintings become relics of the painter’s spirit during a season, each decision and action recorded within them.
During these complicated times, I try to remember that making art is one way to start a cycle of communal restoration. I feel restored by the process of making, and I hope that by sharing my work, I am sharing that restorative energy to all who come across it.
During these darker months, I hope you find some time to immerse yourself in making and enjoying art in all the forms that resonate with you.
Warmly,
Betsy
PS. If you’d like to see more of what I’ve been working on, check out my website or my instagram.
Inspiring and nice to hear your process. Hi to Pretzel.