Donna Z Falcone
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I Surrender to my Art

7/15/2020

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I’m not very interested in painting flowers that look just like the flowers in the garden, or animals that look like they should have a beating heart. Don’t misunderstand – I am stymied and awestruck by the artists who can paint so realistically that I swear I smell their acrylic rose or see their watercolor bunny’s nose twitch.  What interests me, however… what pulls me toward painting, is a magical curiosity about color, movement, and magic, and I want to create something that makes a suggestion without necessarily giving itself away.

When I step into my studio, it is usually because I have connected with a thought or idea, either through reading, music, or my own reflections. Something has stirred in me and I want to express what it means. I want to create an image of the idea, not a thing. Sometimes I will find a way to incorporate quotes or poetry  –  sometimes not.  

All of the materials await. My crate full of tiles is there full of blank and shiny potential. My inks stand in a circle, arranged in a full spectrum of color. Canvases, congregate in various sizes against the wall. My makeshift air compressor sits on the floor with its long rubber tubing coiled up like the kind of snake I don’t mind touching, and the mini-torch waits patiently on the tray beside my blending solutions. Paper towels, cotton swabs, and alcohol spray are ready, too. Some days I light the big red candle, especially if the sun is not up, put on traditional flutes music, and just begin. Painting is my meditation.

I like to use the forces of nature to create. Fire is my favorite, but I also love forced air, movement, centrifugal force, and gravity. Rarely do I directly touch the canvas or tile with tools like brushes or pens, although I have been known to use a blending stick for emphasis or to clarify a boundary. Now and then a gel pen or a fine paintbrush will help to create a tiny, necessary element, like a dot for an eye, or the fine thread of a butterfly’s leg. Mostly, however, I prefer to not touch. There is something exciting about watching the medium respond freely, keenly aware it has much say in the matter, making choices of its own. It goes where and how it needs to go with the help of flames, wind, or movement.

Sometimes I stop and look, trying to understand what might come next. I don’t try to reshape or force something different to happen. There is another force, and it’s in charge of me.  Sometimes I even cry, the way you can’t help crying when you are finally face to face with someone you have missed for a very, very long time. Sometimes I wonder if this is normal at all. I wonder if crazy is a place, and am I going there? I wonder if my mind is slipping over the edge because I silently ask the painting what it needs and I try to oblige. Then I look at the all of the colors dancing and I know that, if this is where crazy is, I’ll stay.

This is my art.

I surrender. 

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This piece was first published under the title "Surrender" at CharitySingletonCraig.com.
Written 10.20.15 in my earliest days of daily art. Alcohol ink was my primary medium and I rarely touched a brush. This practice went on for three full years until suddenly all I wanted was watercolor, and brushes, and a new surrender.
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Strange Days of Covid-19

7/5/2020

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Life is strange in these days of Covid-19 and, if not for painting, I'm not really sure how the days would pass. One evening was spent creating this watercolor wash, hopeful that what might emerge would be an elephant bathed in light (a challenge from watercolor artist and teacher, Jean Haines).

For more than a day I've been staring into the wash, imagining the elephant. I can see her there, emerging from some kind of darkness. Maybe it's the thick canopy of a jungle, or maybe it's our current situation, or both. Maybe you see her, too?

The consequences of the virus can feel so heavy at times and some days it feels as if the restrictions are crushing my heart. I can't get to my family so far away in New York and Pennsylvania. At the moment we (my husband I) face mandatory 14 day quarantines if we try to see any of them but, before these two weeks ended we would have to return home. There would never be time to see everyone that needs seeing and so, against our sense of what makes any sense at all, we wait. It feels like a bad dream.

Yesterday was a hard day. Asthma flaring from pollen has added to the weight of the Covid restrictions and nothing felt do-able or even worth trying. I was not willing to lose the potential in the wash. I was not willing to add the wash to the pile of things that didn't work out. That doesn't mean I've decided it won't work. It does mean, however, that creating art comes with no guarantees and therefore if I'm willing to succeed I must also be willing to not hit my mark as many times as it takes. I must be willing to lose some paper, some paint, and even some promising washes. Yesterday was not the day.

Today, however, is new. Before my toes touched the floor this morning, I made a decision to focus on what can be done, not want cannot. My husband held me close, reminding me that I am still 30 on the inside. Grass pollen was low and I was able to get a morning walk under my belt. Coffee was delicious and there are a few hours of sunshine lighting up the world before an expected rainfall hits and is forecast to wash away the dust from the entire day. Clean. Fresh. Probably steamy at first (this is south Georgia after all), giving way to a cooler moment. 

I consider my wash. Maybe today.

I taped some vellum over the top to test sketching her in... to confirm if what I imagined was there and not just wishful thinking. Don't misunderstand. I have nothing against wishful thinking. In fact, it's one of my favored indulgences, but there is so much wishful thinking in my heart these days I can scarcely tell the difference between a wish and a possibility. There is a fine line between the two and it often causes me to trip, landing flat on my unsuspecting face.

Still, even though I'm not much of a sketch artist, the elephant let herself be found. The whole experience reminds me of a story I'd read many years ago written by Robert Fulghum, author best known for Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. It was called "Get Found, Kid".  Well, maybe it was titled something else. This was, however, a line he repeated during his retelling of a child's game of hide and seek. Get found kid. Get found kid. GET FOUND KID! 

The elephant, I am convinced, wanted me to keep looking until I found her emerging from the wash. If not this one, another will do, and my intention is to keep looking.

​If you are willing to wait for three seconds you can see the rough sketch below, just for validations sake. It's strange for me to sketch, but sometimes I need a little encouragement for going forward and life, these days, is nothing if not strange.

I'm not sure how the painting will turn out and, honestly, it doesn't matter. What matters is I am willing to lose the wash in pursuit of the elephant. 

P.S. The story of 'get found kid' can be found among several others, wonderfully told, in his book It was on Fire When I Lay Down on It. 
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Art is a Love Affair

6/16/2020

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My first serious 'art affair' was with alcohol ink on tile.... it was a wild and crazy ride! I love to let the ink  flow and move, and I love to move it across the smooth ceramic tile with anything but a brush! SO, I thought I'd lost that excitement in watercolor but what I'm discovering is that every time I learn something new that really makes me giddy I realize there is almost always something there that reminds me of the feeling I used to get with the alcohol inks. Recently I am reminded by artist Jean Haines about the joy of flowy swooshy colors and gravity! It's like a relationship... the way artist and medium get to know each other - learn to work together - ebb and flow - each one giving up some control to the other, but learning how to negotiate.

Paining "Bubble Games" by Donna Falcone from a Bubbles and Dragonfly challenge with Jean Haines, Watercolor Inspiration Online Art School.
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Antidote to Darkness

10/24/2019

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How about you. Fill in the blank and share in the comments: The more I ______ the less darkness I see. 
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Art.

10/23/2019

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​It’s all self-portrait.

The rawest material
Of an artist
Is their soul.
​
What gathers on the page?
 
Insides.
Out.

It's all self portrait.

Art.



Donna Falcone 
10.23.2019
Acrylic, giftcard, soulstuff
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Every Piece Has Something to Say

9/18/2019

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PictureMom trying out alcohol inks. 2016.
Recently I've thrown myself at watercolor like a toddler throws herself at her own Mommy's ankles. Truth be told, my mother was a beautiful water-colorist, and. every now and then, I feel her presence as I paint. Not always, but sometimes. So, why on earth would I stop?

My journey as an artist did not begin with watercolor but with a strange and vibrant liquid called Alcohol Ink. Since June 4 2015, the day I first dripped ink onto tile, I've been creating art or planning art or thinking about creating art every single day! True to form, I threw myself into creating with inks for two years and eventually (in April 2017) I inked a field of poppies and a blazing sun. These two pieces led to a children's book, and then, in September of 2018, a full gallery show.

Fast forward to autumn, 2019. I still come to the table every day, but now my focus is with watercolors. Dipping brushes into pigments, making friends with them along the way, I am trying to go as far as possible in this precious time life has to offer. However, an increasing awareness was creeping into the bliss: I was chasing something yet unnamed.

Much as I enjoy the watercolor, I'd been having trouble capturing the heart of my art. Despite obvious enjoyment, growth, and successes, something was missing and had been replaced by a nebulous sense of separation.

Where was the thrill that I'd felt moving ink across ceramic tiles? My approach to inking was atypical, using forced air, centrifugal force, gravity, and even fire to move the ink, avoiding brushwork as much as possible. I missed the feeling that came from those earlier sessions with alcohol ink and one morning, staring at a blank page, it hit me! Who ever said I had to give up my process completely? NO ONE, that's who! The solution was easily within my grasp.... maybe my two skillsets could be mashed together.

The poppies seemed like the perfect place to begin. The first version had been painted with alcohol ink on tile, using fire to achieve the vibrant blooms. Of course, fire was out of the question on paper, but what about forced air? I'd created the original grasses and stems by blowing ink across the tile. Could I use this same exciting technique with watercolor? Would the colors hold their own? Would they even budge on the page? There was only one way to find out.


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The Lady Who Painted Light

9/4/2019

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Sometimes we have what we are looking for but don't know because we expect it to look a certain way. If we practice gentle focus, giving space, stepping back, and asking our eyes and heart for an honest look, we may discover that the kernel of truth we set out to lay down in paint is right there on the page.

That's what happened to me with a painting I later titled Path of Light. The thing is, I knew it's name before it developed into a painting and, this is just a guess here as I'm not fully clear on how inspiration really works, maybe that's the reason it all came together. I'd been reading from The Tao of Watercolor, by Jeanne Carbonetti. She was talking about focus... about knowing what we want to say. I found that so interesting because she wasn't saying to focus on knowing what we want to make. Her emphasis is to first know what we want to say or what story do we want to tell. There is a difference. Can you feel it? She also says that beginning artists often judge a painting too soon - that maybe it needs more paint. Both of these ideas influenced what evolved the next time I picked up a brush.

I headed into my studio late one night. Clean water and brushes were waiting for me, as it has become my practice to always make things ready in this way. It occurs to me as I write to you that this is a welcome ritual where I am planning ahead for my own return, preparing to say "Hello, my friend. I knew you were coming and have brought fresh water, cleaned your brushes, topped off your spritzer bottles, and taped some paper down on the glass..." or board... or other sturdy surface that didn't already have something already taped to it. 

That night as I wet my paints, a thought arrived for the first time ever - I want to be known as the lady who painted light. Typing it  now gives me goosebumps so I know this comes from my deepest heart. 

The paper seemed happy to receive a nice even wash of clear water. I sopped up the transparent yellow from the well with my floppy rigger and let it slide onto the page as exploding sunshine - it seemed eager, like it couldn't wait to be there. I left the upper corners clear of yellow and filled them with manganese blue, swabbing out a few light clouds. Gradually, easily, I added colors to the page - quinacridone gold and transparent pyrrole orange in layers across the bottom of the still wet yellow page. The gold and orange shot fingers up into the yellow that branched out like limbs in a whole forest of trees. As I went along, teasing out tree trunks along the bottom few rows of woods, dabbing the fall leaves onto the still damp yellow, I started to feel a little lost. What was happening? Where was this going?

I paused and remembered I wanted to be a lady who paints light. Ahhh,,, that's right. Light. So that's what moved me forward - the promise of light, not trees. I wanted to tell a story of how every path, no matter how dark it seems, contains light and that light will lead us to more light, away from the dark places. What resulted was a forest in autumn with too many trees and perspective out of whack and needing a lot of work. I'd begun devising complicated plans to regain control and fix this haywire overgrowth. Still, even thought my forest was out of control, but the path of light was strong. I went to bed, deciding to let it be until morning. 
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That night I dreamed of painting. There was too much pigment floating in a swatch of water on the page creating a hard line of color where the wet met the dryness. Calmly, I pressed out the moisture from my brush and, when it was good and thirsty, gently eased it down into the puddle of paint. The brush sucked up  the excess paint like a straw until the once hard line softened to a lovely hue. No need to panic.
​
​In the morning my coffee and I sat quietly with the forest, loving that path of light. Oh, how it spoke to me. It was glowing as it streamed it's way through the overgrowth. I'd remembered that cropping can be used to rescue paintings that seem to have gone off course. I looked up on my wall and saw some old mattes dangling on a clothesline, grabbed a 4x4 square and set it down on my painting. Suddenly, it was just right. I didn't need to beat the forest into submission with desperately contrived plans and fixes. What I wanted was already there. What was needed was to get rid of everything else. And so, I did. And it was good. And I was, in that moment, the lady who painted light.
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And, while I'm thinking about it, this reminds me of a song I wrote two years ago. ​Living Light:

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I am currently reading The Tao of Watercolor: A Revolutionary Approach to the Practice of Painting by Jeanne Carbonetti along with a wonderful group of artists over at Angela Fehr's Fearless Art Community. Sometimes you just know, ahead of the first chapter, even, that a book will inspire and change you. Posts related to this book can be found by clicking the Book Notes category in the sidebar.

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Art Shines a Light

8/28/2019

4 Comments

 
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A memory of how something or someone looks can be inaccurate, and so very stubborn. Maybe I keep that 'edited' memory for sentimental reasons, or maybe the memory is a composite of multiple exposures to or interactions with what is visualized, or maybe memories can come from first impressions. Whatever the reason, it shows up in my art. This is not to say that's a bad thing, in fact it's probably what makes every artist's work unique. This is only to say that a stubborn memory can be problematic at times.

I've been trying to paint water lilies with watercolor this week. As I've move through my varied renditions I noticed some key problems. Not in the colors, or the brush load, or the paper. They aren't even in my ability to create imagery of petals or lily pads. 

You should know I have been using a reference photo... several in fact. The flowers I have been trying to represent aren't only in the misty recesses of my mind, filed with sweet memories of summer visits to the water lily ponds of Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania. I had pictures... many many pictures. My husband and I took dozens of photos, giving cover to the other as they lay flat on the sidewalk to capture the sun illuminating the pale pink petals, or hang ten at the edge of the pool to shoot down to snap shimmery reflections of blooms atop stems skimming the surface of motionless water. 

It was somewhere around the fifth iteration when I noticed my orientation was confused. The flowers had been painted as if I was peering eye level across the water at the spiky bowls of color. Meanwhile, the lily pads beside them looked like they'd been painted from overhead. Okay. Now we were getting somewhere I thought, providing the encouragement to try again.

The next was better, yet something still wasn't working. The petals seemed off kilter. After staring back and forth between my photo to my painting to my photo in vain, I walked away. When I returned with fresher eyes my expectations were revealed! I'd been anticipating the blooms to look like the lotus flower held in my mind. It was a side view, as if often seen on yoga posters or mindfulness memes. The flower in my photo was nothing at all like my automatic association with "lotus" although, by definition, they are the same flower. My perception was tilted. I'd been seeing, but not really accepting, the actual shape of the flower.

These competing images were disorienting to me and my painting. I couldn't see the flower the way it was. It was a bias, actually. Bias is usually considered as a societal issue, or a researcher's worst nightmare, but I'd never thought about it as a stumbling block in art. I took a new approach. Pulling out paper and pencil, which feel quite uncomfortable in many ways, but are much more solid and seem to require intentionality. I tried to study my photo gain, but this time with fresh perspective. Finding the shapes, proportions, and shadows, I scratched them out slowly, one petal at a time. I wanted to get to know the flower better. How are the petals related to the center? Are they all the same length? What is it's anatomy? I laughed out loud to realize what was tripping me up was me, and I continued to fill page after page with water lilies! Finally, having let go of the unconscious insistence that a water lily always looks a specific way in spite of photo evidence to the contrary, it was finally possible for me to more closely represent one on paper. It wasn't perfect or very artistic, but it's more accurate. My painting is still not 'there' yet, but it is getting closer.

Seeing first hand how my inability to represent this bloom was caused by a rigid impression was very powerful and, because I have a tendency to over think things, I wondered where else bias was influencing my perception and judgement. Maybe I don't know my own biases as well as I thought I did. How often do my perceptions masquerade as what is?

​
Art has a way of shining light into shadows I didn't even know were there.

bias (v.)
"giving a bias to, causing to incline to one side," 1610s literal; 1620s figurative; from bias (n.). Compare French biasier. Related: Biased; biasing. https://www.etymonline.com/word/bias


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Morning Practice Doesn't Just Happen

8/23/2019

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August 23, 2019. 10pm.

​My morning practice doesn't just happen. It has to be prepared... a way must be made.

Tomorrow morning when I awaken there will be fresh paper, clean water and brushes, and six brand new colors waiting to strut their stuff carefully arranged in my studio. I'm not even sure I'll be able to sleep knowing what's waiting there

Everything changes in a sometimes sneaky way.
My mother used to lay out my clothes.
Now, I lay out my paints and think of her.
This life is new, even as it grows old.

Days before my husband and I moved more than one thousand miles away to south Georgia, leaving our young adult sons to hold down the fort in Pennsylvania and step into their lives, my Mom scolded Dad for warning me I would not even believe how much I was going to miss them. 

"Don't tell her THAT," Mom said, giving him a look that stopped him flat. "You know," she turned to me. knowing full well what it felt like to be far away from your own children, "Everyone said I was going to be miserable in an empty nest," She paused, smirked and patted my hand. "I'm still waiting."

​We all laughed and although my dad looked shocked, I felt so comforted by her confession. The truth of the matter was I was kind of looking forward to discovering who we all are on our own, to watching our sons blossom as we got out of their way and they learned to take care of their own lives, and to seeing who I am without my hallmark kneejerk caretaking and constant planning. It was not an easy adjustment, but it was necessary.

Yes, I miss my boys so much it hurts. I can feel it deep inside.

But, that's not all there is. Surprisingly, I am also not miserable. Mostly.
​There is joy. Often.

It makes me happy that Mom had time to discover things she wanted to do and then do them - to travel with Dad - to meet new friends - and especially, to develop her art. At times I mourn the fact that I never really discovered watercolor while she was still here to share it with me.  I could have learned so much from her. 

But that's not all there is. Surprisingly I am, in many ways, meeting my mother for the first time in the paints. This is such a gift. 

Good night. Sleep tight. I will try to stay in bed 'til the morning light... but oh those paints are already giggling in the pallet.
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Intentions

8/23/2019

 
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This post contains intentions, most recent at the top. Filed under INTENTIONS

10.21.2019 MONDAY FAC
I intend to continue exploring my self through my painting and strengthen both in the process. And I intend to keep saying weird things like that even though they seem off the wall... because if I can't accept that what I want to say is what I need to say, how will I ever say it? Just because what I need to say isn't what others need to hear doesn't mean it's not worth saying. That goes double for all y'all! ;)  ​
10.14.2019 MONDAY FAC
​This week I’ll revisit my wooded scene and daffodils.... remembering why I love them and honor them by memorializing the feeling and the flowers.
10.18.2019 FRIDAY FAC
​Not great but not terrible. I did revisit my trees and I like where it all went.
10.7.2019 MONDAY FAC 
I want to paint feelings instead of things, and I want simply to get to know my paints and paper without expecting anything. ❤️
10.11.2019 FRIDAY FAC
I had a good week. I set out wanting to paint from feelings, and that felt so satisfying and true. As the week went on I realized that although I had said I didn't want to paint "things" I think what I meant was I want to paint things I have deep feelings about - feelings or things - and that has been freeing.
9.30.2019 MONDAY FAC ​ - 10.4.2019 FRIDAY
​I was going to say I didn't manage to  meet any of my intentions. I could neither find or remember my Monday intention, either... but I went searching.... and there it was: I intend to view the Fall Foliage videos (a la Angela Fehr) and work up a new version of Three Brothers, my tree friends from home. So, I half did it. I did not watch the videos because I got distracted by getting the entries ready for a show in November... but I did work up Three Brothers again, and I really like it. :)
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9.23.2019 MONDAY FAC 
​My intention is to focus on shapes more than anything because the pine tree warm up in Angela's Tree Clinic rocked my world.... I intend to experiment with allowing SHAPES to express and not focus too too much on trying to be realistic with colors - rather, to be more representative with shapes and after that use values within them to express myself. The pine tree exercise proved that shape matters above all. I've been experimenting with color into water puddles and lines on paper for a long time, but never thought I had the skill to do anything with this cool magic.... but I was wrong. YAY! It's good to be wrong sometimes. 

9.27.2019 FRIDAY FAC
I wanted to really focus on seeing SHAPES.... I picked ONE for starters. I put a glass vase in my kitchen and looked at it every day - the shape of it.... every day, for the whole week. I had to keep moving it out of my way to do kitcheny things (we have a small space) ... and I kept looking at it, touching it, carrying it from here to there, wondering what it would be like to paint it? Would it be clear? Tinted? How full of water? What would be in it? Today I painted the best vase I have ever painted and I think it's because I spent time staring at the thing day after day, from every angle and in every mood.  In the end, it doesn't really look exactly like the 'model' but it has a great shape, and a translucence, and the water level looks like water (I love when that happens). So, that's not bad for the week's ah-ha. It's quality, not quantity, right?

9.16.2019 MONDAY FAC
My creative intention is to relax into what I’m learning, embrace my own pace, and give grace and space to myself.

Wow that’s a lot of aces. 😉
9.20.2019 FRIDAY FAC
​I’m so excited! In following my intention to give myself grace and space, I was able to tap into a very heart led process I’d thought I had to give up. It brought me to this, a little water in my eyes, and a blog post which I’ll share soon.

9.9.19 MONDAY FAC
My intention is to avoid posting my art on social media and this will help me follow my own heart without worrying about the expectations of others. 

One more: I’m going to start dissecting Flowers so that I can see how they go together.... I think it will guide my intuition if I add more experience with parts of flowers.
9.13.2019 FRIDAY FAC
My heart and my head argued most of the week, so it was a real tug of war. Not good. I did keep my stuff off of Facebook this week, so that worked out well.
I zeroed in on painting sunflowers most of the week. I didn’t have the heart to dissect a fresh sunflower - they’re so pretty. My plan was to dismantle one that’s wilted until a friend in the FAC urged me to pull apart a fresh one and let it teach me.... and so I will. She's right. To everything there is a purpose, right? :) 

9.2.19 MONDAY FAC
My intention is to focus a lot of attention and practice on brush load and make some notes.... because my memory stinks and I have to keep relearning the same things over and over. Maybe notes will help me remember. Just the act of writing things down can help, even if I never look at it again.
9.5.19 FRIDAY FAC
This week went great!  I learned to keep going with one rather than start over, and by varying the brush load, and using what I guess is wet in wet on parts of my dry under painting, I got a great result. It was so satisfying.

8.26.19 MONDAY FAC
I’m going to give myself more time with each idea - one way I’ll do that is through multiple studies of a single theme with the intention of trying new ways of representing something rather than to keep attempting to represent the same thing in the same way only better. Maybe better is in another direction.
8.30.19 FRIDAY FAC
My intention was to give myself time by staying with a particular subject. Not only did I finally paint a water lily i was happy with, but repetition of the mistakes led me to some insights on bias and memory which led me to a blog post called Art Shines a Light.            https://www.donnazfalcone.com/on-a-path-of-color/art-shines-a-light

​8.19.2019 MONDAY ​FAC
​I will be rethinking my beliefs about what it means to represent something I see .... the middle ground between abstract and realism. And with that I’ll practice from a photo or two - reminding myself I can do what I want.
8.23.2019 FRIDAY FAC
​My intention was to explore the middle ground between abstract and realism.... and to do what I want! I gave myself the nudge to shake off the expectations of others (to paint real things) and my own expectation (to know exactly where I’m going with all this). I spent time in prayer over what am I supposed to do and what good is all this and the phrase that popped into my head and has come back to me all week long is this: just keep painting. Just that. Just keep painting. It doesn’t matter if my art never ‘goes anywhere’ in this moment. Just keep painting. So, that’s what I’m going to do. I feel so lucky to have found you all.

8.13.2019 TUESDAY  FAC
My creative intention is to notice my own needs hidden in the things I think other people need.... and then find a way to meet them.
8.16.2019 FRIDAY FAC
​I’m grateful to have found your site and this community, Angela. Heart Led is the only way for me.... the more I take a child’s ‘newcomer ‘ perspective, the more I feel things click and connect.

I've recently joined the Fearless Artist Community for watercolor artists under the guidance of heart led watercolorist Angela Fehr. Angela's stated vision is to empower watercolor artists to become their own favorite artists by learning how to lead with their own hearts. She invites us to set weekly intentions on Mondays, and offer up reflections on how we did with them on Fridays. ​This is a record of those intentions (FAC), and any others that come up along the way. I realize these intentions are probably only of interest to me, but this seemed like a good place to keep track.

    Donna Falcone

    On a Path of Color is dedicated space for recording my journey deeper into art; what it can teach me, and where it may lead. You are welcome to peek in or come along. Maybe you are on a journey as well and perhaps you'd like a little company. Whatever the reason, I'm happy you're here.

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