On the last night of my most recent workshop with Lori Putnam in Tennessee, a few of my fellow artists and I decided to exchange paintings.
Gathered in a circle, we pulled names from a hat. I was so excited to select the name of my friend, Anthony Collins, who had brought with him one of his paintings from the week. The painting was a scene from a farm in Dickson where the rancher so generously allowed us to set up our easels that day.
Standing in front of the painting today, it brings back the memory of the Texas longhorns and chickens roaming, a new calf being born in a nearby field, the demo that Lori gave on how she paints the essence of animals without all the detail, and the lesson I’d learned that week to grab hold of what was in front of me as I painted the full moon the night before.
Hundreds of miles away and a few months separated from the week-long workshop, Anthony’s painting floods me with the sights, smells, and sounds of that magical week and immediately transports me back to moments that continue to bring me so much joy.
This is the magic of collecting original artwork.
As I scan others adorning my studio walls, I land on an original piece I acquired from Sara Linda Poly after attending a workshop of hers in Canandaigua.
It’s a blossoming azalea bush at Sonnenberg Gardens, lush with shades of violets and greens. When I stand in front of it, I’m immediately brought back to the smell of summer gardens, even on this dark January day. And — perhaps even more fulfilling — this painting also reminds me of a lesson I learned from Sara: To slow down. To create beautiful things with sanctity rather than speed. To make my trees dance.
Each day as I travel throughout my home, I move from moment, to experience, to lesson as I stand witness to the artwork I’ve gradually acquired and decorated my walls with.
I learn from these pieces as I have in the art history classes I’ve taken; the museums I’ve visited; the books I’ve read; the lessons I’ve given to my students; the periodicals I’ve subscribed to; the workshops I’ve attended.
When standing in front of a piece of original artwork, I can’t help but feel the magic of the colors, values, and brushstrokes applied spontaneously by the artist. An artist who had the same vantage point I do in this present moment, seeing the same scene and yet likely taking something entirely different, but no less meaningful, away from it.
The pieces I’ve collected, slowly but surely and always with intention, give me reference points. They give me inspiration. They give me stories and dreams. They bring beauty to my home.
Every year I strive to add to my collection. I look to acquire — through buying or trading — pieces from artists I’ve met; artists I’ve learned from; artists I admire.
My latest purchase was a piece of Lori’s, a scene of the home of Andrew Wyeth she painted from his property. It carries so much value for me: A painting done by my mentor, of the homes of one of my favorite artists dating back to high school when I saw one of his shows in New York City.
I can get lost for hours in the stories this painting fills my head and heart with.
As I continue to build my collection (my wishlist is deep!), I fortify the walls that surround me every day with magic, curating moments that I can step back into in a simple meander around my home.
As I mention in my Shop, art is an active piece of the room in which it lives.
My hope is that the art I create brings inspiration, stories, and beauty to those who acquire it. My hope for you is that you might find art that brings you that magic, as well.