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Usually, my abstract pieces can be as soothing to create as they are to view. They give me a chance to explore and play with color, form, and texture. Unlike representational work, I think they save both artist and viewer from feeling compelled to identify specific symbols or messages.

To view more of my abstract art, please go to the Toronto Art Expo gallery and Studio section on this site.

CLOUD SERIES

Clouds drift in and out of our lives. Some arrive with messages. Others help us put messages together. Nothing in life is permanent, even if we want it to be. And, the things that we'd like to have disappear may just do that. The same goes for the things that we'd like to have stay. In 2007, I was privileged to take many plane journeys and see all kinds of cloud formations, as well as the sun rising and setting. I also climbed Kilimanjaro, and spent a week in and above the clouds. One minute we could see what was in front of us. The next minute it was gone. One moment, we felt one way. The next moment, we didn't feel the same. Cloud-watching taught me a lot—how temporary, fragile, wondrous, and out-of-our control life can be. Back in my studio, I thought to create a "Cloud Series"—paint up some of the photos taken on location. Then, I stopped thinking, and just put brush to canvas, spontaneously, no plan except to see what might appear without copying. Clouds on my mind, they started emerging in all colors and forms. I was surprisingly comfortable with what was coming out and how. Motivated and intrigued, I decided to create a more personal clouds series—no photo aids necessary. Each cloud, or set of them, seems to bring specific feelings and emotions to life. They might take us to familiar places. They might also let us see those places in ways we haven't before—generating greater sensitivity to what others could be feeling and thinking. Hopefully, they can give us the impetus to accept, or move on from, what can and can't be.

Mixed Emotions
2 x (12 x 36 in.), oil on canvas, 2008

   

Emotions come in a variety of colors and forms. Sometimes they take on red and pink tones. Sometimes, they're finer shades of blue and yellow. Not all emotions are primary—greens and grays creep in. Emotions are intense and emotions are weak. Emotions say a lot, and emotions stop a lot from being said. Maintaining equilibrium isn't always easy. But when this happens the image can appear quite pleasing.

Winter Clouds
3 x (12 x 12 in.), oil on canvas, 2008

      

Winter can be long—too long—especially in Canada. Usually we have a lot of sunlight, despite dreary weather. 2008 has been somewhat unusual, sunshine severely lacking. Many of us have felt blue, clouds and atmosphere weighing heavily. But, between the blue, if we look carefully and dream hard, there are dashes of color. Heaviness can be lifted when we focus on looking ahead, around and in the clouds. Spring (and a changing of heart and mind) is somewhere there—almost to emerge. We have to believe this!

Pockets of Air
9 x (12 x 12 in.), oil on canvas, 2008

Air/oxygen is essential for life. But, sometimes we don't have enough of it. Whether above or below the clouds, it can be hard to breathe. Life is full of struggles. Some of us have more difficulty by day, others at night. Relief is essential. Some days are duller and darker. Others are brighter and clearer. Unless we can see breaks between the clouds (find ways to get air/access to what we need) we may be prevented from realizing (full) potential. Circumstances (and moods) change in moments. Recognizing limitations/obstacles (others' as well as our own) and knowing how to see and act beyond them matters. Iridescent paints add mystique.

Above the Clouds
5 x (6 x 36 in.), oil on canvas, 2008

During a gloomy Toronto winter, my sub-conscious led me to a more congenial place: above the clouds. The magic of Kilimanjaro, it seems, lives on in my dreams. Even when I'm not thinking about the climb, directly, I realize that images and feelings from it linger with me. Seeing them translated onto canvas, spontaneously, I welcome the magic they instill.

 

 

©Susan R. Makin, 2008