Gearing up for this event

http://www.rawartists.org/tbesonen

http://www.rawartists.org/tbesonen

Phase 4 & 5, From hating it to "Did I do that?"

Detail, I See You Too

Phase "almost done"
I See You Too
30" x 48", acrylic on canvas

I got a lot of painting done today, and moved through

a couple phases. Today one of the phases included

wanting to quit many times. The stage when self-

doubt is greatest, and I have all of the typical self-

dialogue. "I hate this. Why do I make art? Why can't

I actually enjoy math and be an engineer? This music

is annoying. Maybe an engineer would like this music.

Or a lawyer. Lawyers dress so nice, and don't usually

have to worry about getting paint on strange places

of all their pants... Ah, no one is forcing you to paint.

In fact, only a few people would notice if you'd stop.

Jerks. Why wouldn't they notice? Oh yeah, they are

busy being engineers and lawyers."

.

It seems like I am teetering on the edge of completely

destroying it and becoming an engineer (impossible)

or a lawyer (maybe) one minute and then somehow it

forms and I witness it taking on a life of its own. Like

Erkel, I say, "Did I do that?" These are the satisfying

days. Because of course I realize I did do that, and

I know it wasn't as easy as I want it to look.

(A special thank you to the engineers and lawyers. Not

sure why I think about you on days like today, but you

help get me through. I do appreciate what you do, 

especially because I can not do it. We are all in this

 together.)

Phase 3, Sheep Eye Anatomy Lesson




A detail of the eye progress yesterday.
Still need to add the lashes and more detail.

  Painting opportunities were pretty slim at the end
of this work week, but appreciating every minute I get--
and concentrated on the eyes of I See You 2 yesterday.

Sheep eye trivia:
Sheep pupils are rectangular, widening vertically
in height with varying light. These pupils allow
expanded peripheral vision to spot predators
sooner.

I See You 2

I am hoping to take daily photos of my current
challenge, a 30"x 48" canvas of a sheep and black
bird that I started yesterday. So far the plan is to use
inverse colors and in the opposite direction as a
smaller version done last November, I see you.


Phase 1, 30" x 48" canvas
(The awkward phase that I don't usually share.)



Since October, I have found the camera to be one

of my best painting tools. I paint a little, then take

photos. These photos help me to step away

from my distorted view in front of the canvas and
decide on the next moves with color and compos-
tion. Also, I can try out new colors and contrast 
on the computer, and not waste paint!

I See You, November 2011
24" x 30"

Hot off the easel



Listening, 2012
acrylic on canvas, 24" x 36"

To make art is to be vulnerable.

There are times when subtly and silence is golden, and

others when it is tense. Times to speak up. Times to stay

silent. I am still learning how to accept and embrace all of
the above, while not second-guessing myself so much. It

will always amaze me how making art is such a great

metaphor for simply living life.

Silence, 2012
acrylic on canvas, 24" x 36"

.

I have never claimed to be a great speaker. I enjoy some

writing, and my art always communicates in a way my words

can not. I suppose if I got more satisfaction from expressing

myself verbally, art wouldn't be as essential. Here lies the

tension in both talking about art and teaching it... I have to dig 

deep when explaining the necessity of making art and putting

yourself out there. I know the necessity of making art in my bones,

but explaining that verbally is especially challenging. I suppose

this is why it is so important for my students and my own children

to see my work as it develops through all of its awkward stages.

If I expect anyone else to take that leap and be a little vulnerable,

then I too have to show some courage. 

Art is not about self-indulgence, like some who dare not make

it would like to think. For me, selling the product of someone else

is so much easier than putting my own work out there. But, as

most of us know, not doing art when you are an artist isn't

a good option either. To make art is to be vulnerable. But then

to truly live, is to be vulnerable--end of story.

Marimekko muses

..
..
..


..
..

This time of year I crave to be bathed in the color and
patterns of Marimekko. For more than 60 years, this design
from Finland has helped us escape tundra-states-of-mind.
.
I speak and read very little Finnish, but somehow the
vintage Marimekko fabric designs (and some of today)
speak to me. Sometimes in whispers, most often in jubilant
yelps, Marimekko designs tell me something about
where my ancestors came from, and always make me
smile.

What I have learned from Marimekko:

• Great design is uplifting.
• "One must stand out from the rest." Armi Ratia
• Don't be afraid of color. Be aware of its power.
• "Tension between simplicity and excitement." Fujiwo Ishimoto
• "My most important mentor: Finnish nature." Vuokko Eskolin-Nurmesniemi
• Tell your story.
• http://us.marimekko.com/unfold/designers

Layered processes

This week I shared some images of my work from over
the last nine years with my students. Also, I dehydrated
this pear andreassembled it to share with them. I was
trying to give them insightinto the creative process, how
ideas are born. Of course, there isn't a formula--but I
will say that for me it is extremely layered. Layers of
memories and experiences. Layers of images and
forms. Layers of ideas, failed attempts, and patience.
(I've learned to save failed attempts, because they
often point to the next step or are useful years later.)

Eight years ago I create a layered pear just like the one
above by dehydrating cross-sections of a pear and then
reassembling it. At the time, I was suffering from
dehydration during pregnancy. Carrying that dehydrated,
layered pear around the house over a few months, I
wondered how it could influence my next step of art-
making. In April 2004, our bundle was born and my
energy was restored. That layered pear led to four years
of creating pear-formed sculptures out of sewing pattern
paper, wire, and beeswax--and a solo show at the
SOHO20 Gallery in NYC. Ideas usually start small,
but they often grow in layers and sometimes get bigger
than I ever thought possible. (And yes, that also pertains
to children, now bigger than I ever thought possible!)

Nest, 2005

Sewing pattern paper, wire, beeswax, basswood log

New York Mills Cultural Center

.

AMBIOTIC, 2007

Sewing pattern paper, wire, beeswax, vintage ironing boards

Soho20 Gallery, New York City

An idea of scale

This shows the size of the painted pears next to an actual pear.
This photo also shows the metallic copper paint that I used in
these paintings.

Symbiotic

Symbiotic, 2012
acrylic on canvas, 24" x 30"

Hopefully this looks more effortless than it was... 

some kids simply require more effort than others. 

Started this three weeks ago and just may have 

come to some kind of a conclusion today.

Maybe recent bizarre dreams are influencing,
and complicating, my work. I am reaching some
kind of territory that is a little uncomfortable--so
that must mean that learning and growing is
happening, right? Or perhaps my jeans are just
too tight.

Veiled & Grounded

Veiled, 2012
acrylic on canvas, 24" x 30"

Grounded, 2012
acrylic on canvas, 24" x 30"

Eva Zeisel's Playful Search for Beauty

The 105 year old designer a few years ago.

part one, ted talk



Ctrl+z. Hello Germany.



Lookout, 2011
acrylic paint, 24" x 30"

I have been painting these 24" x 30" canvases for

two months now. It has been like medicine, although

not without challenges. Art is work and play at the

same time, or maybe it alternates between labor and

dreaming. No matter what, there is a point where I

have to work past the frustrations and vulnerability.

There have been some surprises. The first surprise was

that it took awhile to think like a painter again. Most of

my work has been digital for the last few years. This

shift in thinking was made obvious to me in early

October when I painted over something, and wanted an

instant undo. My brain immediately barked, "Reach for

Ctrl+z!"

Another surprise is how adding my work to this blog

has become such huge motivation to paint more. The

last stage of the creative process is getting it out there,

and I am so thankful to live in this time when sharing my

work on the other side of the world is this easy and

immediate. Which leads me to another surprise, this

blog has an audience in Germany and Russia! I'd love

to hear comments from some of you. I have great

memories of visiting Berlin in 1992 for a college trip.

It seemed like I was a world away then, before the

world-wide-web and the digital revolution.

I See You, 2011
acrylic on canvas, 24"x 30"

Winter Moon





Incubation 2, 2011
acrylic paint, 24" x 30"

Reflections of a grateful artist/teacher

I wrote this essay a year ago, required for my teaching relicensure.
Now, after a challenging year of health-related issues, I am more
grateful than ever for my family, art, students--and Vitamin D!

Teaching Reflection, December 2010
Teaching, mothering, and making art have become tightly woven
threads of who I am, all strengthening and depending upon one another.
Now in my 17th year of teaching, I am thankful for being in this place
of experience, enthusiasm and compassion in the present, and
confidence about the future. More and more I know that the most
important aspects of teaching are to give students the opportunities to
develop their own senses of responsibility and effort, as well as
opportunities for them to think for themselves in new and original
ways.

In 1998, before I was a mother, I wrote, “Every once and awhile I slow
down, and sit with a table of students. I really look into their eyes, and
see the wonder and promise. I am touched by the honor of being a part
of their lives and feel the weight of that responsibility.” Now in 2010,
the difference is the additional patience and compassion that
experience and mothering has given me. Students, after all, are human
and have so many concerns outside of school. Showing that I care
about them and their future is essential to being an effective teacher
today. This concern for students’ futures has also taught me the
importance of empathy without coddling. Students need to take
responsibility for their weaknesses and mistakes, without making
excuses or blaming others. Although it is often the most unpleasant
part of teaching, the greatest gifts I can give my students are
opportunities for them to take responsibility for their own actions
before they tackle more of life’s challenges on their own.

Participating in the three-day studio workshop “Of Intuition and Art”
at the Grand Marais Artist Colony in 2009 especially helped with ideas
to challenge myself and my students to think for ourselves in new and
original ways. This workshop was lead by artist and teacher Elizabeth
Erickson. During the workshop we were given time to create our own
artwork, as well as time studying and talking about the work of great
artists that used intuitive approaches to art-making. Elizabeth Erickson
encouraged us to draw inspiration from everything around us: nature,
poetry, other artwork, etc. The greatest lessons I received from this
workshop were ways of trusting and not downplaying our own instincts
and fascinations. The most effective and original artists are driven to
explore their fascinations, and then work through the frustrations to
execute their ideas. Inspiration+Effort. 

Being an active artist and sharing my artwork with my students has
greatly enhanced my teaching and life in general. I have especially
grown as an artist within the last 10 years, exhibiting in the Mid-West
and in New York City. Surprisingly, all of that happened after I became
a mother and continued to teach. When I look back, I am convinced
that becoming a more serious artist happened because of being a
teacher and mother, not despite of it. I have seen too many parents
and teachers that seem resentful and burned out about continually
giving so much of themselves, which in turn makes them much less
effective and less satisfied parents and teachers. Creating my own
work helps me strike the balance I need. When I feel enthusiasm
and generosity waning, it is time to get back into the studio. It is so
important that our youth watch adults responsibly living the lives
they want to live, even as challenges arise.

I want students to be hopeful and confident about the life and
challenges ahead of them. Now in the midst of my 17th year of
teaching, I am thankful to be in this balanced place of experience,
compassion, enthusiasm, and hope.

Incubation 1



Incubation 1, 2011
acrylic paint, 30" x 24"


Winter Visitor, in-progress

Winter Visitor, 2011
acrylic paint, 30" x 24"

Incorporating my two muses again, modern design and sheep.
Two of my most vivid dreams ever, had red chairs in them.
Not sure what it represents exactly, but enjoyed pairing my
curious sheep with the beautiful Eames form.

A few years ago I actually did find an Eames replica chair (not
like this, but the soft lounge chair and ottoman) in my parents'
sheep barn. Thank you Uncle Ray!

The barn no longer holds sheep, but a lot memories. It is quiet.
You can probably tell by now that sheep represent much more
to me than dim-witted followers. The gentle curiosity in this
painting brings me back to age 13, laying still in the straw as
lambs sniffed my face and lightly nibbling on my fingers and
hair.

Awaiting Winter

Awaiting Winter, 2011, acrylic paint, 24" x 30"

Dreading the inevitable? The lack of the sun in the 

Winter can be difficult, but I am trying to meet it 

without dread. Maybe it is my new vitamin D 

supplements talking, but I am hoping to embrace

more about winter this year.

Totally out of 24" x 30" canvas now. Dick Blick 

to the rescue, and they should arrive within a week. 

Feels too soon to write about the painting above, 

especially since I finished it fifteen minutes ago. 

All I can say is that I am enjoying working with 

these complementary color contrasts, images that 

I have been ignoring for so long, and these sinuous 

lines.

Wise Lamb with Zeisels

Wise Lamb with Ziesels, 2011
acrylic paint, 24" x 30"

Work of another artist that I admire has popped up in my work,

designer Eva Zeisel. I collect her work, and own a pitcher and

gravy dish like these. Added last, somehow her graceful, birdlike 

forms unify this piece. And, since I can't afford to collect too many

more now, there is something very satisfying about owning them

here.

This wise lamb is reminding me to enjoy my daughters while they

are still young... and wise. Not sure if the ewe on top is me, but

it is a vigilant mother-figure trying not to be overprotective.

Trying.

Benign is a lovely word

Finally got the results today. It is benign. After 3 biopsies
and waiting 5 weeks to get definitive results about this
thyroid tumor, I am relieved!

In the meantime

Still waiting on a diagnosis of my thyroid tumor. Just found
out today that I have another inconclusive result (insufficient
cells for diagnosis) of the second biopsy. It has been more
than a month of waiting, and wondering. Trying to take
more action about making an appointment with a specialist
today. Now waiting to hear about that. Frustrating.

Today my own diagnosis is that most of our lives are 
living "in the meantime". In the meantime, I choose to
paint and "blog pist", my new term for angry blog posts!

Full Moon Waiting, finished today

Full Moon Waiting feels more finished now. I am excited about
how the Brancusi-like endless columns sprouted up out of my
honeycomb patterns. If I am not making sculptures right now, feels
good to paint them. I believe that Frida Kahlo would approve of
this painting!

In the Meantime
acrylic on 24"x30" canvas.

 

Waiting

In-progress "Full Moon Waiting",
24" x 30", acrylic paint

By the time I finish this post, the results may be
in, the results of the biopsy of a somewhat large
lesion (tumor) on my thyroid. Waiting has always
been one of my greatest weaknesses... I have so
many memories of being angry while I had to wait.
At 10-years-old, I angrily waited to open gifts by
the Christmas tree, as my brother (5 years younger)
peacefully waited. I remember wishing that Luke
would help speed things up by throwing a fit, which
is pretty funny now that I think about it, since he is
one of the most patient people I know. Of course,
most of my childhood memories are very positive,
but the topic here is waiting.

There has been a lot of waiting lately and I have
been angry, but waiting has also led to more painting
without over-analyzing; the kind of painting that I
want to do more often. This kind of painting, when
the results are especially unclear, can lead to an
acceptance that surrenders control.

*The results are "inconclusive"--will have another
biopsy next week. More waiting.

Intuitive Ewe







February Ewe 1, 2011. Ink on a 1921 encyclopedia page.
(Click on image to see words and details.)

Recently, I have been working more intuitively with
images, words, and materials to create narratives.
Creating these personal metaphors is a therapeutic
process of soothing my own anxieties, and discovering
how we are all connected to each other, as well as
connected to nature and to the past. Also, I have been
researching the Art Nouveau movement of the early
1900s in art and design history. I am fascinated with
how this time period was such an important transition
into the modern art era, and I see parallels between the
industrialization of the early 1900s and the digitalization
of today.

Drawing on the surface of 1920s encyclopedia pages
with black ink, I am enjoying the process of responding
to the surface texture and words as sheep images and
natural, art-nouveau-inspired motifs overlap.

February Ewe 2, 2011. Ink on a 1921 encyclopedia page.
(Click on image to see words and details.)

Mother's Fingers

.
Mother's Fingers, 2011 Ink on 1921 encyclopedia pages
(click on image to enlarge and see words)

I grew up on a sheep farm in North-Central Minnesota. At age

eleven, I became awe-inspired by nursing half-frozen lambs back

to life, and experienced mothering instincts for the first time.

Experiences with mothering my own two daughters today, the

oldest nearly eleven, may be why sheep images are surfacing in

my work recently.

Vision that was planted in 1989

“The Arvegods” (1979) by Ray Jacobson, represents a pair of early Norwegian pioneers.

I haven't seen these sculptures for over 20 years. When I attended the symposium "The Role of the Artist in Society" at Concordia College in Moorhead this week, it was moving to see the two figures again, especially when "The Sound of Silence" so vividly played in my head as I neared the sculptures. Not sure how to describe it, but there was such a clear link between these forms and the words and tune of that song. "My old friend, I've come to talk with you again... And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains." In 1989, I finished a year at this small private college, before reluctantly transferring. This sculpture met me like an old friend. According to symposium presenter Dr. Dan Flory, film (or any art form), like a friend, can "tell us things about ourselves that we can not see." Maybe I have been denying just how much that year in my life helped to determine my path as an artist, teacher, & person.

More information about the artist and sculpture: http://www.rayjacobson.com/public_spaces.html

The Dreaded Artist Statement

I have come to realize that writing an artist statement during 
a time of transition in my work can be a tense, messy process, 
but this time it was well worth the effort. Writing this artist 
statement (below) really helped gain understanding of where 
my work has been. The two pieces mentioned below will be in 
an upcoming exhibit at the Cyrus Running Gallery at Concordia 
College, Moorhead, Minnesota in September 2011.

    More                                            More detail

Artist Statement
As a mixed-medium artist, I work both two and three-dimensionally; my sculptures and paintings seem to fuel one another. My recent paintings and sculptures are examining how we all are connected to each other, as well  needing a connection to nature. For the last seven years, I have been working with sewing pattern paper as my primary material, inventing processes to use the material without losing its delicate and translucent qualities. I enjoy sewing pattern paper’s natural color, graphic markings, and associations with traditional women’s work and craft.

The painting More began as an ode to light, as the womb-like pear form was painted to allow light and color through the translucent paper. As it continued, I chose to repeat the block-printed word “more” and it quickly became a statement or challenge. Are we all sheep? Or can we resist the demand upon us to have and do more, and more fully appreciate the natural abundance all around us?

Once I began suspending my strings of pear-forms, I was brought back to my first fascinations with the balance and movement of Alexander Calder’s mobiles. In Pear Helix, the empty space becomes just as important as the forms themselves. To me, the small, connected forms are an intertwined family.

 

Pear Helix                         Pear Helix detail  

The Map Home 1, 2, 3

These gouache and wax resist paintings on paper are the most
recent additions to my "Making Honey" series. Originally I
entitled the smaller studies "Inside Looking Out", inside
a honey comb and looking into the sun.

Bees are dying

faster than they can replace themselves
and so are my excuses
for losing the map home.
.
The first memory of that place,
and all its nectars
are in a blurry path back to
.
Finnish raspy words buzzing above
the drone of the hive
Grandma Helen is clearly the queen
as we hover around her.
.
In the sticky sun, our daughters hang on
as my mom reads aloud on the throne
the map faintly appears on my face
I look away,

stung.



more or enough?

This painting is also part of my "Making Honey" series.
I temporarily hung More in the jackpine site. Later, I
block-printed the wrapped sheep.

sewing pattern paper, paint, ink, 20" x 90"


Are the words getting eaten or released?

Making Honey: Labor, Rest, & Light

This video is a part of my "Making Honey" series of

sculptures and paintings. It documents the process of

hand-crocheting (my hands as the crochet needles)

wire hive-form sculptures--followed by rest and light.

Can you be still?

A year in the woods. Today, February 1, 2009, deer
tracks lead the way back to this place. Once again,
the resiliency is encouraging me to be in winter, be
still, and watch. Like water, I tend to flow in many
directions, but not today.

Nearly a year ago on March 1, 2008 I wrote, "This
has been up for three weeks and the resiliency of the
sewing pattern paper and beeswax is encouraging. If
these fragile forms can withstand winter, so can I...
By March, I forget about the lightning, the mosquitoes,
the weeds. Okay, I will be in winter, following rabbits
for awhile."

a new year

A year ago I placed my sewing pattern & wax
pear-shaped forms in the winter woods, and
then proceeded to document their transformation
in photographs, film, and journaling.

Was I motivated most by surviving winter and
capturing the light of the fleeting sun? A response
to a lack of workspace? A way to communicate
my recurring questions?

What I do know a year later is that I was also
responding to the constant demand upon us all
to do and have more without appreciating the
abundance multiplying around us.

nine months
.
she turned to me, "Mom, they're ruined!"
the same child that asks,
"Why do you always change everything?"
.
after nine months in the woods,
the strings of pears have changed
yet hang on
protected by a beeswax coating.
.
not quite sure what I "expected"
or maybe this was an exercise in
not having expectations
or plans
or following the dotted lines.
.

nine months on the curved pine