Storm Rolling In

By Carrie Jacobson

I had the good fortune, while I was in Tubac, to be out and painting on a day when a big rainstorm rolling in over the mountains. Apparently, rain is pretty rare in southern Arizona in February.

I like the big warm clouds at the top of this painting, and the way they’ve blown in, and I like the strip of light that’s made its way through those clouds. The afternoon felt like this – a little chaotic, a little dangerous, but soft, also, and rich with the promise of bright sun and fresh, clean air.

I’m on my way to South Carolina for a show this weekend, and a show in Chattanooga the following weekend. It’s a beautiful time to be in the south – spring has already showed up here! Fruit trees are well into the first phases of blooming, and the air is warm already.

It feels a little soon to be on the road again – I could have used another week at home, it’s been so great to be there. But I’m excited about two new shows, and about my new paintings, too.

Rio Grande Near Taos

By Carrie Jacobson

I made my way home to the Eastern Shore of Virginia a week or so ago, having been on the road for most of three months, painting, doing shows and enjoying the lack of winter.

I went all the way to the Pacific Ocean, then doubled back and spent my time in Arizona, Utah and New Mexico, living, breathing, eating and sleeping painting.

It was a joy to immerse myself in this astonishing country – and in painting, and tasks associated with painting and my sponsored painting trip (22 people bought paintings in advance from me – I painted these, and more, en plein air on my travels). It was a pure, pure joy – and a boon to my painting. My pieces got stronger and stronger throughout the trip, I think – and new ideas and new approaches came to me more and more readily.

It was hard to be away that long. It was hard to do that much painting. It was scary to plan this trip, knowing what it would cost and not knowing whether I’d get enough sponsors to make it worthwhile.

But the fears and the difficulties vanished in the face of what I saw, and what I strove and stretched and managed to produce. There might not be many times in a life when you have the chance to devote yourself to your passion. But if the possibility exists – or if you even catch a glimpse of it – I’d encourage you to do whatever you need to do to have the experience. It will be worth whatever it takes, whatever it costs.

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I had a fabulous stroke of luck while I was in Tubac, Arizona, visiting my dad. Actually, two related strokes of luck. I was taken on by a marvelous gallery there – Art Gallery H – which is a lovely place, run by a very nice, very enthusiastic couple, Karl and Audrey Hoffmann.

Every year, Tubac produces a visitors guide, with listings of every shop, restaurant and gallery in town, maps of the town, advertisements, and a calendar of events. The guide is available for the entire year, and is distributed in all the businesses in town, and many in the general area.

Gallery H is responsible for supplying the art for next year’s guide – and they chose me to make the painting for the cover!

Burros!

By Carrie Jacobson

I’ve spent an awful lot of time during this painting trip missing my husband, and our home, my friends and my dogs and our little town on the Eastern Shore. I’ve felt guilty about leaving for so long (mid-January to mid-March), for missing this dire winter (yes, mid-January to mid-March; I’ve missed all of it), and for leaving my husband alone with the dogs in this cold, dismal time.

Now that my California Calling painting trip is winding down, I am surprised at how sad I am feeling!

It seems impossible that I could feel these two very strong, very divergent feelings at the very same time – but I do. I can’t explain it and I apparently can’t stop it, so I am just living with it, rocketing between tears and sadness that this amazing adventure is winding down – and joy and anticipation at being home and living my small, colorful life with my dear man.

I imagine that everything will sort itself out once I get going. And the trip is not finished. I have a show in Albuquerque this weekend – click here to find out more about it – and drop me an email if you’d like a coupon that gives you a discount off admission.

Between now and then, I have a few days to paint in New Mexico, and I’m excited about that. And then after the show, I head home. Even thinking about it makes me excited – and wistful!

At any rate, I love this burro painting, which was commissioned by a lovely woman who lives out here in Tubac. It’s one of my favorite paintings ever – and I can say that with no contradictory emotions at all!

Red Hills

By Carrie Jacobson

My heart and soul respond with joy to the colors of the West. I have loved seeing and painting the known places, the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley – but what has made my painting soar are the unprotected places, the empty, unnamed lands, the spots beside the road that people drive every day to work.

These rough places, these daily sights, these truly stir me. I love the yellow grasses that line the edges of the roads. I love how the sage is green and in these winter days, a soft and gentle blue. Wildflowers grow in soft and fragile colors, and tumbleweeds blow through. The red earth delights my eyes and spirit, and the streaks of color in the mountains amaze me – and make me want to get out of the car Right Now and paint!

South Rim of the Grand Canyon

By Carrie Jacobson

The Grand Canyon is more amazing than you can imagine. It is stunning, vast, transporting. It is rich with colors and patterns and shadows, with history and geography and the forces of earth and nature. I stood at the edge of it and fell silent with wonder. I imagined the forces of the earth that caused it, the sharp and violent upheavals, the slow and nearly imperceptible carving by wind and water. I imagined the Native Americans living on the banks of the Colorado, deep, deep below the rim. I imagined the first white explorer to reach the rim, and the awe – and terror? – he must have felt.

I know you’ve seen photos and movies and pictures and paintings. You’ve flown over it, seen it from the sky. But you must, must see it in person. You must stand at the edge and look out over its impossible beauty, its nearly incomprehensible colors, its phenomenal depth and size. You must stand there and feel your own version of the world shift. You must stand there and feel awe.

So go! Now! Start making plans. Take the kids, take the spouse, take the grandparents. Or just go.

p.s., it was pretty scary and pretty challenging to make this little painting.

My painting in the landscape

Blue New Mexico Mountains

By Carrie Jacobson

Out here in the West, the open skies call to me. The huge empty spaces speak my name. When I am up in the high desert, I can feel the elevation, feel the rush of height and the pleasure of knowing that I am nearly in the sky.

Out here in the West, you can see the future coming, as you stand solidly in the present. You can watch the storms move in. You can hear the train whistle before you see it. You can watch the cars and trucks on the road for miles and miles before they hit the horizon.

Some people would find it lonely, I think. It is easy to feel solitary, easy to feel alone. But I don’t find it lonely. I find it simple and spare and open.  A place for short sentences, long stories and solid truth. I love being here. I love painting here.

Kicking Up Dust
Oil on canvas, 30×30

By Carrie Jacobson

Cowboy Up! Oil on canvas, 6×6

By Carrie Jacobson

In the spirit of the season, and with inspiration from Marc and Angel  and, yes, I admit it, tags from my Yogi tea, I’ve come up with a list of five things you can give yourself, now that Christmas is over. These are all free, and when you’re in the right place, they’re easy.

1. Believe in yourself. What you feel, what attracts you, what inspires you, this is all legitimate. If you’re drawn to a person, an idea, a pursuit, go with it. If you can’t make time for it, if doing it seems difficult or insurmountable, whatever it is is probably not for you. Do what you’re good at, and what feels good.

 2. Tell the truth – or as my mother would say, tell your truth. Whenever you can, no matter how scary it is, you’re better off telling the truth – especially to yourself. If telling the truth is going to hurt someone else, and you don’t want to do that, then stay silent. Do anything but lie.

3. Forgive yourself. Whatever you did or didn’t do, said or didn’t say, promised or didn’t promise, it was then. It was in the past. You can’t change it. What matters is this moment. What you can change is this moment. What you can participate in is this moment.

4. Forgive the other guy. Forgiveness is liberation. It frees you from the bad feelings. It keeps you from living in the past. Forgiveness lets your forget, or at least minimize anger, hate, bad feelings. And without them, believe me, today looks much better.

5. Accept who you are and where you are in life. You are perfect. It might not seem so, from time to time, but you are. The things you think of as failures, they are learning experiences. They are growing pains. The things you think of as shortcomings, they are motivating opportunities. The things you don’t like about yourself, someone else loves. So today, take this moment to accept yourself.

What would you add to the list? What gifts are you giving yourself today? Please use the comments below.

Bank of Waves, oil on canvas, 20×40

By Carrie Jacobson

I’m thinking about summer.

Thinking about summer, and warm places, and sunshine and open skies.

Thinking about wearing sandals and seeing my hair get summer-blonde highlights. I’m thinking of seeing my wrinkling face warm from this awful winter pallor and start to look alive – and perhaps a year or two less old.

I start my show season in Indio, California, in late January. I’ve never been to California, so this is exciting – and doubly exciting as it’s the first stop on my second sponsored painting trip (click here to find out what I’m talking about…) . From there, I start painting my way east, stopping for a show and a nice long visit in Tubac, Arizona, where my dad and stepmother live, before trekking east, to a show in Albuquerque in early March, and then home to Virginia, painting the whole time .

Sure, it’s cold, even here in Virginia. It’s winter, the days are short, and it’s as it should be. I’m grateful that it’s nowhere near as cold here as it is in other places I’ve lived… Maine, Connecticut, the mid-Hudson Valley.

The wheels turn, and winter will thaw into spring for all of us. And even before that, I’ll get some sun and some scenery and some adventure. I can’t wait!