My next group of paintings is studies of everyday life, photo images that have meaning to me. Juggling children is captured in a multiple image. The moment of a couple’s wedding when there is perfect joy. A couple leaves their wedding towards a future, uncertain. These are photo images which, when put on canvas, create a story worthy of telling.
The Art of Gift-giving
Can you buy a painting as a gift? This is a question that confounds me everyday as spectators or viewers come to browse at my studio called The Red Gallery. I think you can but it is not easy. I have done it once or twice: buying art as a gift. I knew of a printmaker living in Calgary. At the time I was seeing my own work at the Collage of Art and Design in a group show. Then I made a specific visit to her studio and saw her latest prints. These were simple images based of the circle, square and triangle. Immediately I thought of my architect husband and bought two prints. These were a great success and still hang in our home. The prints are moved from room to room just to get a fresh look at them.
When I give my own art as a gift, I try to have a number of works from which that person can select. Usually I can predict which they will select, based on their personalities. And this is where giving art, as a gift is the greatest test. How well do you know the person?
I have received art as a gift. Some art was done because we have a deaf daughter, and our using sign language essentially created the work of art. Other works show more of the artist then of my personal choices of art. In each case the gift has a different intent.
Modern art or Contemporary art is art of the immediate present. In this day of e-mail and reality television, the ability to personalize life, to understand the Buddhist philosophy of “becoming” is often lost. Art can redirect the culture of the moment by showing the value, the perspective and the vision of the everyday.
When an artist creates, she brings to the canvas all her experiences, and thus places the art in the NOW, in the present. Since the artist’s client is the public, interaction is essential, whether this is in an art gallery or in a living room. To look at a work of art, to interact with it, and to see it as a part of the culture and time is essential to the enjoyment of it. Currently web sites, and books are a source for looking at art, but these lack the essence of the real thing. Just like reality television shows are voyeuristic in nature, this is not real life. Art is about real life, the artist’s ability too express the moment in her life that uplifts and is shared by her public.
Art has a personality. When I have purchased art it is because intuitively I feel the painter has created the work just for me. I identify with the work.
Some gifts have no emotional relationship to suggest that one understands the receiver. I am reminded of the reason a diamond is such an easy gift, because it lacks the need to personalize it. It is a diamond, and marketing has made it precious. What do we know of the true value of a diamond? Art is one of a kind, even prints of editions have each it’s individuality. Unless you are being a poster touted as an “original” print in editions over 100. These are not works of art. When you buy a work of art from an artist you can talk about how the artist puts a value on the work. When a Van Gogh gets sold for millions of dollars is that the true value of the work? Were you thinking of the gift to be an investment? Not unlike a diamond, a way to judge your investment is what someone else will pay you for it. So a work of art may be an investment but if you find no one will buy it from you what is its value then.
To trust oneself when buying art as a gift think of the pleasure of owning a work of art. How often will the art catch your eye and you feel that sense of awe. Do you take pride in showing this art to you family and friends? And do you see something of the personality of you and the artist in the work?
Gift certificates from an artist are another possibility where you support both the artist and you act as a participant in the purchase. Deposits on paintings that seem too expensive are another option. And lets not forget that companies can deduct art from their business expenses. The greatest gift for me as an artist is that people come to look at my work and enjoy the art.
Every painting has a story. Sometimes it is the reason for the painting. Often it is the doing of the art that makes the statement. Colour is the subject of a lot of paintings. There may be no image but simply the combination of different colours. I am staring a series of paintings, playing with colours, called The Dead Dog Dogma Series. For a number of years I shared my life with a greyhound, a beautiful dog that photographed rather badly. Too angular and too skinny, even to grace an art deco sculpture. However I have decided to restrict the content of my paintings to the image of this dog, and to paint for the colour. Studying Ad Reinhold’s colour work I was perplexed by seeing black on black. Reading about Kandinsky’s colour theories I have to question how we do respond to different colours. I for one absolutely have a negative reaction to the boring bland pale colours in our elementary schools. My gallery walls are painted red and it works for me. Colours on our houses are a source of interest, when orange and purple shine garishly through our Edmonton winters.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Sunday, June 29, 2003
Art is Forever: Life is...
We are here to celebrate my fathers’ life. First may I say, he had a wonderful life, as long as Mom was beside him. He was the kind of person who put all his eggs in one basket when it came to loving someone and that, for him, was JAN, my mom. Sixty -four years of togetherness is quite phenomenal. I hope my sisters and I have the same opportunity with our mates.
My hope is to share some gifts that my father gave to us girls.
It sounds strange to say, but his dying was a gift. Mom,Arja,Ann and Fre, held his hand throughout. Although he was in a coma, we were nurtured by the sight of our parents together. Fré came from Victoria the same night he went into the hospital. Arja and Ann were already by his bedside. For the three days and nights he was in the hospital, we sat around eating donuts, date squares, brownies, chocolates and some fruit. The latter to appease our conscience. We were loud and laughed a lot, telling stories about our father, talking with mom and having our husbands, our kids and their families give us support.
My father would have wanted me to say first, a heartfelt thank you to Arja and Ann, for looking after him while Mom was recently in the Grey Nuns’ Hospital. I know he didn’t like being separated from her, but he also could not look after himself. Your families are included in the thank you.
And you both didn’t stop being Mom’s support when he went into the hospital. At this time I will add all the sister’s to his thank you.
Well, I don’t know if he would have thanked us for talking about him but we remembered stories told to us and shared with each other the things about papa that we remembered. When we ran out of steam we looked in the photo albums. My father didn’t know, when he had a headache that morning, that he would be terminal by the end of the day. As much as I understood my dad, this was for him a good way to die, surrounded by his girls.
When I think of the gifts that my papa gave his daughters I think of Fre, taking her children for a weekend to the ocean, where she is comfortable… just to stare out at the horizon. Love of the out of doors and just sitting there doing nothing….my dad was very good at that. This gift may not be appreciated by all, but you, Fre, appreciate it and you have that part of him.
When Fre, who was born in Alberta, was small she would say, “When I lived in Holland…” She had never been to Holland. But today her home is in Victoria, a city by the ocean. Not unlike the place where my father was born, in Amsterdam. Fre also knows how to make people laugh, just like papa, she often says, “ That was a joke” because not everyone understood that kind of humour.
Arja received the gift of trust. To tell the story of this I go back to when I left for Europe at age 21. My Dad turned to me and said
“If you don’t know it by now, it’s too late.” There is a world of meaning to those words, but I believe he was saying, “I trust you and am not going to worry about you. Have a good time”. Arja has trust in her children, that they may make their own choices in life. And FAITH both is equally committed to their beliefs, Arja to her church and my dad who would argue vehemently his faith, Atheism. She also had a great love of being with my dad, at a time when he was in need of help, trusting that it was simply the right thing to do. That would have been very difficult for me.
When dad was still living in Holland, he participated in organizing youth groups. He put on plays with the young people. The gift that Ann received is the love of organizing and teaching…I sometimes think that her class at school must be like a play. I know at one time she enjoyed participating in drama in high school….. Organizing everyone, whether you wanted to be organized or not, that is one gift.
The other is the very sweet trait of looking at a person in silence and giving them a wink. Ann has passed that on from papa to her kids.
O yes, Ann also received the ability to maintain a slim body size, just like dad.
So my father’s gifts, love of nature, trust in people, organizing…. I admit in his later years mom did all his organizing… but at one time he did love to lead.
My gift…. I learned never to finish anything. In my art this is a good thing, because those spaces in a painting that are unfinished, the viewer can finish. In my home renovations… well thanks, dad. I am still renovating and fixing things that I didn’t complete a few years ago, OK. Twenty some years ago. When my mom and dad built the cabin, it seemed that he was constantly repairing things to make them better, but also with the sense that if he finished it he would have nothing to do. This is also with the gifts he made. He had wonderful ideas but the item, whether toys or children’s furniture, usually needed to be fixed soon after. You knew that the broach, this broach dangling here, he made would have the back pin fall off because he used tiny nails instead of glue. And you cannot throw it out because papa made it.
My father knew right from wrong… but not left from right, another gift I received from him. Names…. Oh, how hard it is to remember a name, when it disappears the second someone is introduced. Thanks a lot, dad. Quips… making people laugh, not always appropriately… but still laughter was more important to my dad than saying the right thing, or should that be the left thing. That was a joke.
People who are here today will remember the times he made us laugh, and that’s what I hope we will take as one of our best memories. Some of you probably still have plants he foisted on you.
He was a person who liked being alone, but I think he was not lonely. As long as he had mom.
The last gift he gave, in an indirect way, was to Christian, David, Ron and Dan. A gift to his girls that if we saw the man we wanted, they were royally caught. You have to admit that once a Bergstrom girl finds her man she will not let him go. This leads to my series of thanks that papa would say if he knew he was leaving life. The thanks are to the husbands who believe, every one of them, that their wives are beautiful, wonderful, smart, funny…like he did. Of the grandchildren, he was always amazed that five of us came off the boat and now there are too many to sometimes remember their names. As he looked at photos of our granddaughter Tori last Wednesday, the last day I saw him alive, he said, “Who is that?” …. Was it a joke? …. With my dad you didn’t always know.
He had great life and a good death…. I hear him now say to me, “Look after mom”.
My hope is to share some gifts that my father gave to us girls.
It sounds strange to say, but his dying was a gift. Mom,Arja,Ann and Fre, held his hand throughout. Although he was in a coma, we were nurtured by the sight of our parents together. Fré came from Victoria the same night he went into the hospital. Arja and Ann were already by his bedside. For the three days and nights he was in the hospital, we sat around eating donuts, date squares, brownies, chocolates and some fruit. The latter to appease our conscience. We were loud and laughed a lot, telling stories about our father, talking with mom and having our husbands, our kids and their families give us support.
My father would have wanted me to say first, a heartfelt thank you to Arja and Ann, for looking after him while Mom was recently in the Grey Nuns’ Hospital. I know he didn’t like being separated from her, but he also could not look after himself. Your families are included in the thank you.
And you both didn’t stop being Mom’s support when he went into the hospital. At this time I will add all the sister’s to his thank you.
Well, I don’t know if he would have thanked us for talking about him but we remembered stories told to us and shared with each other the things about papa that we remembered. When we ran out of steam we looked in the photo albums. My father didn’t know, when he had a headache that morning, that he would be terminal by the end of the day. As much as I understood my dad, this was for him a good way to die, surrounded by his girls.
When I think of the gifts that my papa gave his daughters I think of Fre, taking her children for a weekend to the ocean, where she is comfortable… just to stare out at the horizon. Love of the out of doors and just sitting there doing nothing….my dad was very good at that. This gift may not be appreciated by all, but you, Fre, appreciate it and you have that part of him.
When Fre, who was born in Alberta, was small she would say, “When I lived in Holland…” She had never been to Holland. But today her home is in Victoria, a city by the ocean. Not unlike the place where my father was born, in Amsterdam. Fre also knows how to make people laugh, just like papa, she often says, “ That was a joke” because not everyone understood that kind of humour.
Arja received the gift of trust. To tell the story of this I go back to when I left for Europe at age 21. My Dad turned to me and said
“If you don’t know it by now, it’s too late.” There is a world of meaning to those words, but I believe he was saying, “I trust you and am not going to worry about you. Have a good time”. Arja has trust in her children, that they may make their own choices in life. And FAITH both is equally committed to their beliefs, Arja to her church and my dad who would argue vehemently his faith, Atheism. She also had a great love of being with my dad, at a time when he was in need of help, trusting that it was simply the right thing to do. That would have been very difficult for me.
When dad was still living in Holland, he participated in organizing youth groups. He put on plays with the young people. The gift that Ann received is the love of organizing and teaching…I sometimes think that her class at school must be like a play. I know at one time she enjoyed participating in drama in high school….. Organizing everyone, whether you wanted to be organized or not, that is one gift.
The other is the very sweet trait of looking at a person in silence and giving them a wink. Ann has passed that on from papa to her kids.
O yes, Ann also received the ability to maintain a slim body size, just like dad.
So my father’s gifts, love of nature, trust in people, organizing…. I admit in his later years mom did all his organizing… but at one time he did love to lead.
My gift…. I learned never to finish anything. In my art this is a good thing, because those spaces in a painting that are unfinished, the viewer can finish. In my home renovations… well thanks, dad. I am still renovating and fixing things that I didn’t complete a few years ago, OK. Twenty some years ago. When my mom and dad built the cabin, it seemed that he was constantly repairing things to make them better, but also with the sense that if he finished it he would have nothing to do. This is also with the gifts he made. He had wonderful ideas but the item, whether toys or children’s furniture, usually needed to be fixed soon after. You knew that the broach, this broach dangling here, he made would have the back pin fall off because he used tiny nails instead of glue. And you cannot throw it out because papa made it.
My father knew right from wrong… but not left from right, another gift I received from him. Names…. Oh, how hard it is to remember a name, when it disappears the second someone is introduced. Thanks a lot, dad. Quips… making people laugh, not always appropriately… but still laughter was more important to my dad than saying the right thing, or should that be the left thing. That was a joke.
People who are here today will remember the times he made us laugh, and that’s what I hope we will take as one of our best memories. Some of you probably still have plants he foisted on you.
He was a person who liked being alone, but I think he was not lonely. As long as he had mom.
The last gift he gave, in an indirect way, was to Christian, David, Ron and Dan. A gift to his girls that if we saw the man we wanted, they were royally caught. You have to admit that once a Bergstrom girl finds her man she will not let him go. This leads to my series of thanks that papa would say if he knew he was leaving life. The thanks are to the husbands who believe, every one of them, that their wives are beautiful, wonderful, smart, funny…like he did. Of the grandchildren, he was always amazed that five of us came off the boat and now there are too many to sometimes remember their names. As he looked at photos of our granddaughter Tori last Wednesday, the last day I saw him alive, he said, “Who is that?” …. Was it a joke? …. With my dad you didn’t always know.
He had great life and a good death…. I hear him now say to me, “Look after mom”.
Tuesday, June 3, 2003
Every morning I make myself a two-cup pot of espresso coffee. This goes into a large bowl and I add equal amount of milk. It is rare that I reverse the order by putting milk in the bowl and then the coffee. When this occurs the coffee does not taste the same. I don't understand why. It just isn't the same. So when I think about art , these miniscule moments of life feel very important. This describes clearly, at least to me the meaning of art. You just can't put the milk in the bowl first.
It used to bother me that I saw a subject to be painted everywhere. It was a look in a person's eye, the beauty of a flower, the landscape as one drives along a familiar road. It used to bother me that I would have all these unfinished canvases in my head zigzagging around never to be started. But I have learned to work in themes of portraits, landscapes, still life, and a series of studies. I can almost say that I need only to make a list of work to be done and thus relax and continue to paint.
It used to bother me that I saw a subject to be painted everywhere. It was a look in a person's eye, the beauty of a flower, the landscape as one drives along a familiar road. It used to bother me that I would have all these unfinished canvases in my head zigzagging around never to be started. But I have learned to work in themes of portraits, landscapes, still life, and a series of studies. I can almost say that I need only to make a list of work to be done and thus relax and continue to paint.
Saturday, March 29, 2003
2003 Paintings
The subject of painting is the subject of painting. Words do not adequately explain what art is. I will try.
I am addicted to English Stilton Cheese. It has a unique flavour and texture that once I start to taste it, I want more. The mustiness of the mould, contrasted with the sharpness of the cheese, combine to make an inexplicable moment of taste ecstasy. When I put a brush into the paint, and place the creamy substance on the white canvas, I exhilarate in the texture and the smoothness of the paint. The oily substance can be combined side by side in a course manner, combining the colours, feathering the edge or it can be kept separate, a sharp edge. I love the effect of softly brushing one colour into the next colour. Slowly without notice, like the ticking of the clock, the days pass by, and a painting becomes a reality. This activity of painting is my bliss.
I am addicted to English Stilton Cheese. It has a unique flavour and texture that once I start to taste it, I want more. The mustiness of the mould, contrasted with the sharpness of the cheese, combine to make an inexplicable moment of taste ecstasy. When I put a brush into the paint, and place the creamy substance on the white canvas, I exhilarate in the texture and the smoothness of the paint. The oily substance can be combined side by side in a course manner, combining the colours, feathering the edge or it can be kept separate, a sharp edge. I love the effect of softly brushing one colour into the next colour. Slowly without notice, like the ticking of the clock, the days pass by, and a painting becomes a reality. This activity of painting is my bliss.
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