Jump into 2014 learning, or improving, a painting skill: Steve's digital workshop DVD, Step by Step Watercolor Success, is now available through Amazon.com.

Whether you are an absolute beginner or an intermediate painter, Steve leads you, step by step, through the watercolor process, discussing tools, methods, mixing colors, creating a reference from which to paint, and more. Drawing upon his successful workshops, Steve leads the viewer to paint Purple Iris on and Lonesome Barn through his unique Sequences Method, in which students build the painting, frame by frame, glazing one color over another.

Steve's Digital Watercolor Workshop -- based upon the Purple Iris original watercolor painting -- nears completion and will be available for sale shortly on the Steve Henderson Fine Art website.

There are a lot of people out there who want to learn to paint, period, or who want to improve what they are already doing, and Steve's first Digital Watercolor Workshop covers the basics, and beyond, step by step in a friendly, easy-to-use format that you can follow along right on your computer or television screen.

After years of doing workshops for private and community organizations, Steve is pulling together people's main challenges and questions into a veritable workshop in a DVD case, and at the conclusion of the tutorial, students will have a Purple Iris of their own -- uniquely theirs -- and additional skill and ability with the watercolor process.

If you subscribe to our newsletter, Start Your Week with Steve, you will be one of the first to learn when the Digital Watercolor Workshop is available.

Wait for it -- but it won't be long.

Steve is putting together a PowerPoint video series of how-to-paint workshops based upon actual workshops that he gives. First on the docket is Purple Iris. While he was painting this piece, Steve took photos every few brush strokes, and he is assembling a painting tutorial that will allow you to follow the process with him, step by step.

At the end of the tutorial, you will not only have a completed painting, you will have spent a considerable amount of time with Steve, learning what materials he uses, what colors of paints, what techniques, and how he chooses the subject matter for a painting piece in the first place. The information you learn will enable you to launch forward into your next painting project.

It's amazing -- the information you would find in a two-day workshop, which can run anywhere from $100 - $300 -- but for much, much less. Think more along the lines of the price of a book but replete with visuals, illustrations, and step-by-step instructions. If you are an amateur, the guides will gently lead you; if you are intermediate and confident to push forward boldly, the information is there, and you may take from it what you wish.

We will post the new tutorials on the website as soon as they are available, and we will alert Steve's Facebook followers and newsletter subscribers as well. If you want to move forward on your art and there is something that you want to learn, contact us at [email protected] with your ideas. We listen to them all.

The licensing of Steve's artwork is handled primarily by Art Licensing of Vermont, which maintains a library of Steve's images for manufacturers and wall art companies who wish to produce products -- which can be anything from jigsaw puzzles to coffee mugs, from greeting cards to mouse pads --  featuring Steve's artwork. If you are a manufacturer and are interested in Steve's art, please contact us directly, [email protected], or contact [email protected].

Presently, many of Steve's works are available as open edition art prints through a variety of online and instore retailers, including Kirkland's, Wayfair, Prints.com, iCanvas, Amazon, and many more. Visit Steve's Art in Stores to shop for Steve's art at your favorite spot.

"You know, it's not a sin to make mistakes, fail to succeed on the first (or 45th) try, or generally show that we're imperfect. The unspoken strictures that some businesses/churches/schools/establishments place upon their members/employees make following the 10 Commandments look pretty darn easy."

From Start Your Week with Steve, the free weekly e-mail newsletter of Steve Henderson Fine Art

Materials aren't free and time is precious -- that being said, if more artists would worry less about creating the perfect painting and more about experimenting and getting better at what they do, then they would sooner reach a consistency of quality and create paintings with which they are delighted, time after time.

But if you skip that stage -- that practicing and trying and saying, "Oh, what the heck; if I don't like it, I'm out a little paint, the canvas, some time -- but I've gained in experience and wisdom" -- then you'll find that you're so worried about perfection, that you never achieve it.

There are enough people in our lives expecting unrealistic things of us, that we don't have to be one of them. Falling down isn't failure. Trying and not getting it quite right isn't tragedy. Doing something completely different, just because, isn't a waste of time.

Go for it. Grab a different brush. Use a color you usually avoid. Shake around your subject matter. Play with your paint and see where it takes you on the next step of your journey.

"When someone tells you to 'get out of your comfort zone,' wait for it. It's highly likely that they're subtly or not-so-subtly nudging you into doing something that they know you don't want to do, but they need done." 

From Start Your Week with Steve, the free weekly e-mail newsletter from Steve Henderson Fine Art, designed to jump start your week with flair.

We really owe seminar speakers a lot: they are the ones who come up with these tiresome platitudes that we battle on a daily basis.

Have you ever asked yourself, "Why are random people so concerned about my comfort zone, and whether or not I'm in it?"

And, "Just where is it that they want me to go?"

In the real world, there is a difference between a rut and a path, the former being a place where dirty water settles and gets your feet all wet, the latter being a directional aid in getting you where you want to go. All too frequently, we muddy the two, helped, no doubt, by people around us who point out that we seem too "comfortable" doing things the way we do, and perhaps we should step off our clear path onto the one they are suggesting.

But there is a reason we feel comfortable doing what we do: it fits us. It makes sense. It's relatively easy because it meshes with the way we think, believe, and process information. It's only when we're afraid, timid, reluctant, huddled in the ditch against the breeze that we're actually in a rut, and generally, we can figure this out without someone pointing it out to us.

Go ahead: do what you do best, and do it in the way that makes sense to you. Challenge yourself, try something new, shake up your routine -- but do it because you want to do it, not because someone scolds you into thinking that you should.

"Frustration isn't always such a bad thing. It's a sign that you're trying something new, different, or outside your level of familiarity, and in working your way through it (and you will) you conquer this challenge and move on to the next one."

-- From Start Your Week with Steve free weekly e-mail newsletter

One of the most satisfying things I do is teaching another person how to knit. And every time I do so, I conclude the lesson with this encouragement:

"You've just learned. While knitting is fairly simple, consisting of basically two stitches -- a knit stitch and a purl stitch -- until you practice, and do it over and over and over, you will not get good.

"And in the process of practicing, and learning how to be good, you will find that you forget some things, or that your knitting looks uneven, or that you drop stitches and you don't know how to get back. And you will get frustrated.

"Not only is this normal, but this is good, and if you're not getting frustrated, then you're probably not pushing yourself beyond your existing skill.

"You are not stupid. You are not unusual. You are not weird. You are normal.

"You are above normal when you accept the challenge, fight it, and win.

"Now -- go and knit."

This same advice applies in anything you do, including and especially including artwork such as painting or sculpture. You won't get better if you don't do it a lot; and if you do it a lot, you can expect to get frustrated.

So, go get frustrated.

There are a lot of questions to ask yourself before you purchase a piece of fine art -- whether it is an original or a limited edition print -- but the most important one is one that people frequently overlook:

"Do I like it?"

It's so easy to get overwhelmed by questions that do or do not matter, such as,

"What would an art critic say?"

"Is it considered good?"

"Will it rise in value?"

While these questions may matter if you are a "collector" and wish to purchase the piece to put away in the vaults for a future day when you speculate that it will be worth 100 times what you paid for it; or if you are concerned with what other people will say when they walk in your house and see it, they really get in the way when you're out to put something on your wall that you like, that makes you smile every time you walk in the room, that gives you pleasure because it touches some part of your inner being that only you know about.

If you're worried about the price and aren't sure whether it's "worth" it, then talk to the gallery owner or, if you can, the artist himself, and ask about the piece. Recognize that a fine artist is as skilled in his profession as a neurologist is in hers, and one of the reason the piece you're looking at strikes so deep within in you is because the artist made it so.

Then, after you have purchased the piece, put it in a place of honor and joy in your house where you can encounter it again and again, discovering something new every time you meet.

Given what we’ve discussed in the last two articles, The Question That Never Goes Away and Another Question That Never Goes Away   – you probably have a pretty good idea of what the answer to this one will be, but let’s talk about it.

For some reason, people have the idea that if an individual does something part-time, or if he doesn't make a killing on doing it, then he's not really whatever it is that he's doing. By this definition, the volunteer firefighters in many rural communities who put their lives on the line protecting people and property aren’t really firefighters.

Or substitute teachers – what would school systems do without these people? – aren’t really teachers.

Our nuclear physicist – who works part-time because of family obligations – isn’t a real nuclear physicist.

Bit absurd, isn’t it?

But it’s understandable, since an artist doesn’t depend upon a degree, certification, title, or job description to be an artist. He can have those things, or not; and having them doesn’t ensure that he is an artist.

Artists make art.

They don’t talk about making art; they don’t emote about making art; they don’t wax eloquent about making art – people who do that, and stop there, are artistes not artists.

True artists do spend a lot of time creating – the Norwegian Artist paints, others sculpt, work with wood, brass, clay, and beyond the visual arts we have dancers, writers, actors, if I miss one please don’t yell at me, but what they have in common is that they create new things from whatever materials they have on hand, and they’re pretty serious about doing it well and consistently.

A number of these people, who have day jobs on the side, actually do work full time at being artists -- in addition to working full or part-time elsewhere. The goal of many is to drop that day job and exchange it for full time in the studio, and many of them manage this, but those who don't, or those who are in the process of getting there, are by no means not artists. It's time invested, not money made, that is a stronger determination of a person's commitment to being an artist.

“Am I a Real Artist?”

This question is slightly different from last week’s question, in which nuclear physicists and non-nuclear physicists ask if they are artists – the edition of the word “real” adds new dimension, along the lines of the Velveteen Rabbit.

Have you read that children’s story by Margery Williams? It’s a great one – a sawdust-stuffed rabbit toy is literally loved to pieces by his little boy owner, but agonizes because he’s not really real – he’s just a stuffed toy, until one day, after the family has thrown him out because he was contaminated during the little boy’s bout with scarlet fever, the Nursery Magic Fairy turns him into a real bunny – one with workable legs andwarm skin and the ability to breathe.

So what is it going to take to turn you into a real artist?

Will it be selling a piece of your art for a certain price, or just selling a piece, period, to someone other than a friend or relative?

Will it be being accepted into a gallery in Scottsdale, AZ or Savannah, GA?

How about winning a prize at a major exhibition, or being accepted into an exhibition in the first place?

You know what it took for the Velveteen Rabbit? Being loved enough, and manhandled enough, and played with enough, and needed and wanted enough to be real. Actually, even when he was still filled with sawdust and didn’t look like a real bunny, he was – deep inside, where it matters.

If you love your art, manhandle your paint brush, play with color, and need and want to create and get better and deeper than what you create – then you, my friend, are a real artist.

Whether or not there’s still sawdust spilling out of you.

“Am I an Artist?”

I can’t help but wonder how many nuclear physicists get up out of bed each morning and ask themselves whether they are nuclear physicists.

Granted, if one is a nuclear physicist, one has concrete evidence of the fact – education, background, job title, and hours of working each day with whatever it is that nuclear physicists work with – but an artist has a few concrete pieces of evidence as well:

Paint; canvas; brushes; paper; pencils; clay; some sort of easel, palette, or workspace – all of which are jumbled together somehow to create a painting, sculpture, piece of jewelry, or some other product that others look at and call “art.”

So it would only make sense to call the person who made it an “artist.”

Ah, but nothing in life is simple, and many people – some of whom are nuclear physicists – work at a day job and do art on the side, in the evenings, on the weekends, in place of eating lunch – and while what they produce looks like a painting or a sculpture or a piece of jewelry, they torture themselves by asking all the time,

“Am I an artist?”

“Am I a real artist?”

Some people ask themselves this so much that they stop producing whatever artwork they have been producing, until they can get an answer to the question.

But to some extent, does it really matter?

And whose definition of “artist” are you using anyway?

This is what I recommend: go ahead, keep asking yourself the question if you insist, but don’t stop creating whatever it is that you create, and don’t let the question fill your mind and crowd out ideas for your next piece of work.

Your next piece of Art work, that is.

No one wants to be a failure, in their own eyes or that of others. For this reason, there is a preponderance of books, DVDs, and other teaching matter designed to teach us -- be we artists, knitters, marathon runners, short order cooks, or gardeners -- the secrets to successfully doing anything we have an interest in doing.

Do you want to know the sure-fire methods to paint the perfect portrait? There's a DVD for that.

How about marketing your work and getting into  any show you try for? There's a book for that.

The fail-safe way of communicating with with any human being and  getting them to do whatever it is you want them to do?  DVD and book.

If there's something that you want to learn how to do, not only is there a corresponding workshop, seminar, video product, book, class, or teacher, but too many of these resources promise to impart secrets that you didn't know existed, and you obviously don't have.

It reminds me  of the vitamin ads. Or the "You, Too, Can Be a Millionaire Using my Unique Techniques" books. The problem does not lie in the actual  imparting of information -- after all, that's why we buy books and attend workshops and watch DVDs -- because we want to learn, and these resources, hopefully, have the information we need to do so.

The problem lies in a promise that is more than anyone can deliver:  the secret to success.

Seriously, if there were such a thing, how long do you think that it could be kept a secret?

And yet, we keep chasing after it, convinced that we alone are out of the loop, that we're poor because we don't follow techniques 1 through 6, that if we're savvy enough to find the right resource then we'll join the ranks of the elite.

Logic tells us, however, that if we're going to run a triathlon and finish it, much less place anywhere, then we're looking at months of disciplined training: working out, day after day, even when we don't feel like it; eating right, to the point of saying no to cheesecake; running in the wind, bicycling uphill, swimming when it's cold -- continuously keeping at it and incrementally improving.

If there's any secret to success, that's it.

When I want to watch the Norwegian Artist cringe, I hum the 1974 Morris Albert song, "Feelings," which, if you haven't heard it, goes something like this:

"Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeel you .  . . again . . . in my arms."

Believe me, once you've heard it, you never feel the same about feelings again.

Feelings are funny things, and if you are over the age of two, you've probably internalized the advice that you shouldn't make decisions based upon them. While this is good advice, it doesn't take into account that there are two wildly divergent meanings for feelings, and too often,we confuse the two:

Feelings, definition one: our emotions. Artists are familiar with this definition, not only because societal wisdom asserts that they are a tangled mass of uncontrolled emotional angst, but also because they do seek -- through their skill, discipline, and thought, to imbue both raw and controlled emotion into their work.

Feelings, definition two: our visceral gut reaction -- call it instinct -- based upon the compendium of our background, experience, analytical ability, and intelligence.

Definition two, which is not what Morris was crooning about, is the one we want to pay more attention to, but frequently do not, because we confuse it with definition one.

Think of it, how many times have you found yourself in a situation and thought, "Something about this doesn't feel right"?

And your next thought is probably, "But I shouldn't make decisions based upon my emotions."

Let's add a third thought: You're not making a decision based upon your emotions. You're making a decision upon that visceral internal voice -- the one that subconsciously collects information from your past and your present and gives you distinctive, sometimes urgent, advice about what you're planning to do with your future.

There is nothing wrong, and quite a bit right, about listening to this inner voice. It will guide you in everything from the next subject matter of your painting to whether or not you really want to sign that contract with the art museum, and one of the worst things that we can do is ignore it because we're afraid that we are being led forward by our ever-changing emotions as opposed to the extreme inner sanctum of our intellectual voice.

We need both kinds of feelings, in our control, to move forward as artists and artist businesspeople.

Some artists make a big deal out of being self taught, but truth of the matter is, all artists are self taught.

The difference between the two is encapsulated in two questions:

Are you learning only from yourself, just from what you can dredge up from “the artist within”?

Or are you learning from other people – teachers, writers, other artists both dead and alive -- magazine resources, workshops, books, the successes of others, the mistakes of others, comments and critiques – basically external sources that you read, analyze, review, try out, and experiment with, internalizing what works and shaping it into that “artist within”?

While art is a talent, it does not grow by itself in a vacuum, and for an artist to reach his or her potential, he needs a grasp of the basics, a grounding in fundamentals, and training.

This makes total sense when we’re talking about an engineer or a mathematician, but for some reason, when we talk art, our right brain supersedes the left to the point that instruction gives way to feelings, skill to emotion, proficiency to passion.

One of the key ways of recognizing whether you need work in an area is to determine if you are compensating for your lack of training in it. Ask yourself:

Do I draw noses this way because I want to, or because I don’t know any other way of doing it?

If the answer is the latter, bring your skill level up so that you can draw a nose the way you want it to look.

Passion, emotion, and feelings – yes these are important. But they are not enough without proficiency, skill, and instruction, and the best artists – who are self-motivated, self-disciplined, and truly self-taught, incorporate all six elements, seamlessly, into their work and their being.

I work with knitters, and a student recently told me,

“I don’t like the way my stuff turns out.”

When I asked her what kind of yarn she used, she replied,

“Oh, I just picked up something cheap. I didn’t want to spend money on something that probably wasn’t going to work out.”

Bad idea.

Whether you’re knitting or painting, you’ll get the best results when you use the best materials.

While a novice, or even an intermediate, does not need the most expensive items in the store (interestingly, many professionals do not shop at the tippy top themselves), they also don’t want the two-quart tubes of student grade paint and cheap, cheap brushes, all slathered onto loosely woven, won’t-stay-stretched, canvas.

If the colors are weak and the brushes imprecise, the results will be disappointing.

The Norwegian Artist, Steve Henderson, discovered the major difference between student and professional grade art supplies in one of his early quarters of teaching, when he recommended a starter watercolor kit to his students while he used the materials from his own studio for his demonstrations.

“I know I’m a beginner,” one student said, “but even though I’m following you step by step, nothing I do looks at all like what you’re doing.”

Steve picked up her brush, dabbed it in her paint, and swept it across his canvas.

“Nothing I do looks like what I’m doing with this paint either,” he said.

From that point on, he recommended his own paint choices and brushes to his students, limiting the colors and brush choices to decrease the cost.

Yes, it costs more. No, you don’t have to overhaul your entire studio at once.

But bit by bit, buy up.



A friend mentioned to me that someone challenged her to read, within one year, a particularly long and demanding book.

“I didn’t really want to do it,” she confessed. “But the man challenging me is knowledgeable and he was insistent, so I did.”

My first thought was, “Why?” which goes to show why I don’t play well in groups, followed by, “That’s as reasonable as children accepting a dare – to lick the dog’s nose, say – simply because someone confronted them and told them to do so.”

Within art circles, people challenge themselves to do all sorts of odd things – like paint the same tree, every day for three months -- simply because someone who wrote a book did so and instructed readers to do the same.

Why?

I mean, do you really want to paint the same tree, 90 days in succession? With the limited time that you have to pursue painting, is this what you want to do?

If the answer is no with the caveat, “But he’s knowledgeable and he’s insistent that this is how I will grow as an artist,” then reconsider licking the dog’s nose.

The idea of regularly painting over the course of 90 days, so that you can get gently ensconce yourself into the habit of doing so, isn’t such a bad one, and maybe that is one of the things the author is trying to teach. But you can accomplish this by announcing to your people in the room, “For the next 90 days, I will be in the studio from 6 to 8 p.m., painting.”

And then go paint. What you want. How you want. One work every day, or seven days for one work. The very act of doing it regularly (it’s okay to miss a day; don’t get weird) will propel you to the next level, on your terms.

Dare you.

The short answer to this question is that an original painting is one of a kind, and when you purchase an original, you purchase the only one in existence.

Over the years, printing methods have improved phenomenally, and many printed images look quite, quite excellent -- almost as good as the original. 

The keyword is "almost." There is no comparison to an original painting, which catches the light in a unique way because of the texture of the paint on its substrate. It is, indeed, an investment.

Prints Are an Affordable Means to Enjoy Art

That being said, not everyone can afford an original painting, and prints provide a an affordable means of adding art to one's life and walls -- an extremely important matter in a world that is increasingly focused on facts and numbers and the bottom line. Without art, we become spiritless, hard-edged and cynical.

A print, which can be done on all sorts of papers, canvas, and other substrates, using all types of inks and employing different kinds of printers, is a multiple of an original. When you buy a print, you are buying one of many – an unlimited many, in the case of what is called an unlimited or open edition print; or a specific one of many, as in a limited edition run of 50 prints, which means that only 50 prints of a particular painting, in a particular size and on a particular paper or canvas, are created before the artist removes the printed work – again in a particular size on a particular subsurface – from circulation.(To learn more about this, read our article, What Is the Difference Between an Open Edition and Limited Edition Print?)

Because the artist does not need to invest hours and hours of painting time into creating each print, he is able to offer the image at a lower price, opening the opportunity of enjoyment to a wider number of people.

The Snobbery of "Art Investment"

Again, the keyword, or keywords, involve two factors: affordability and the ability to possess and enjoy art. There is a certain snobbery in pseudo art circles that originals are the only way to go, which limits the enjoyment and owning of art to those who have the money to pay the original's price. There is an added snobbery, as well, that the original art needs to be an investment, something that will continually increase in value, so that the owner can add a pride of financial acumen to his or her opinion of themselves. And because this investment generally doesn't involve reasonably priced originals by contemporary representational artists, but rather, overpriced existential abstracts or pop pieces by a limited list of names -- alive or dead, often New York based -- art is squeezed into the province of the very rich.

Owning this type of art becomes a status symbol, much as driving a particular type of car. The primary purpose of art -- to seek and show truth, and to open this world to people, is lost in the world of art investment.

But for the smart person -- the one with enough confidence in him or herself to purchase something simply because they like it and it makes them happy, prints are a very real, very affordable option to add depth, dimension, thoughtfulness, and joy to their lives and interior decor. To learn more about buying artwork and feeling comfortable doing it, check out our article, 5 Super Easy Tips for Choosing the Right Artwork for Your Home.

At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we sell original paintings and commissioned work (this latter being specific, customized paintings created at the request of the client), as well as prints (framed art, canvas, metal, wood, posters) in all formats at Steve Henderson Collections. We also, through Steve Henderson Collections, sell Steve's images on everyday products that people use all the time -- phone cases, coffee mugs, home decor throw pillows, tote bags -- even shower curtains! It's all part of getting art into the lives of real, hardworking, ordinary people -- where it belongs.

When the Norwegian Artist studied art at the university, his professors urged him and all the rest of the students to "find your style, find your subject matter, and stick with that one thing. You need to be known for a certain size of work, a specific color palette, and one kind of subject matter."

When you're 23 and your professors are in their 50s, it doesn't occur to you to ask back,

"But you don't actually show or sell your work yourself. What makes you think that this way of thinking works?"

When Steve became an illustrator, in order to put food on the family table, he quickly discovered that the ability to create wildly divergent subject matter in multiple color palettes embracing a spectrum of styles was not only an advantage to him as an artist -- a great learning curve for increasing your skills -- but also a requirement of the job. Twenty years of this enabled him to do a lot of experimentation and move forward in his understanding of various media and style.

As a fine artist, he enjoys painting representationalism with an impressionistic flair, but he does not insist that every painting be approached, or handled the same way: only thick paint, or only glazing, or only deep shadows, or only strong contrast -- the subject matter, the size of the work, the mood of the piece dictate the other elements involved in bringing the scene that his artist's eyes see to completion on canvas.

"Artists artificially limit themselves by this outdated -- and probably never valid -- notion that they must be 'known' for a specific style or subject matter," Steve says. "They're not selling flash drives. And come to think of it, even flash drives are coming out in different forms -- I saw one shaped like a bird that looked like a toy that a child would get in a fast food meal."

In the back of his mind, Steve has a half-dozen paintings ready to paint when he finishes the one he is presently painting, and the queue includes figurative, seascape, landscape, still life, with the final result being one of these, or none at all but something completely different, the choice being made, basically, by what he feels like doing.

"If an artist does not feel free to experiment," Steve says, "how will he ever grow? How will he ever discover a technique that brings about an effect he has been searching for? Artists are humans, not machines, and the very nature of humans is that we explore, dare, push limits, and create."

One time, when the Norwegian Artist was teaching a beginning watercolor workshop, one of the students looked about and said, "I must be the only true beginner in here. Look at everyone else -- they all have so many paintbrushes and so much paint!"

It's interesting the different conclusions we come to based upon the same observations.

When the Norwegian Artist -- who has one, very expensive watercolor brush that he uses pretty much exclusively -- sees brand new plastic carriers filled with a plethora of lightly used paint tubes and a bouquet of brushes and other tools, he thinks,

"I wonder how much they actually paint versus the time they spend organizing and arranging their materials?"

More than one of the Norwegian Artist's students, and frequently a number of them in the same class, approach him privately and apologize for being the only true beginner in the class, and his response is a variation on the theme:

"It doesn't matter where you're starting from, it matters that you're going someplace."

And interestingly, many of the people who are self-conscious about being the only beginner, once they drop the fear of that (whether or not it is true) wind up learning a tremendous amount and progressing far on their journey as artists, simply because they know that they have much to learn and they're willing to set about doing so.

Because we're all human, we all have our moments of insecurity, but looking around and comparing our situation (which we know quite well) to our impression of other people's situation (about which we know very little) unnecessarily compounds the problem, and indeed, can actually block us from our goal of progressing beyond the present.

Workshops and classes are great opportunities to learn, and if you find one that fits your needs and learning style, go for it with enthusiasm and abandon, unhindered by comparison with the other students in the room. After all, when you're looking about, you're not looking ahead.

We know some artists who rarely paint because, deep down, they are afraid that they will run out of ideas. So they find any reason, any reason at all, to do anything but paint -- clean the garage, renovate the upstairs bathroom, shampoo the dog.

"I am waiting for the Muse to inspire me," they say.

One wonders perhaps if the Muse is getting bored for lack of anything to do. Oddly enough, the more we do something, the less we have to think about what we'll do next; it is when we are in the midst of working on a series of projects that more ideas come to our mind, not when we're cleaning out the garage (think of it -- as you're stacking and labeling the boxes, isn't your next thought along the lines of, "Better get the lawn mower winterized, and after that, the kitchen faucet's been dripping," as opposed to, "Boxes . . . that angular shape reminds me of granite rocks tumbling over the surface of a hillside. I must paint!")

Some of those who do manage to get out of the garage and paint find themselves dabbing at the same work for weeks at a time, in ten-minute increments now and then -- Dab dab. Dab. Dab dab dab. The blues mix with the greens and bleed into the reds until everything looks brown.

When the Norwegian Artist was in college, professors and fellow students alike put down the concept of "prostituting themselves" as artists by working at a 40-hour-a-week job as an illustrator or a graphic artist -- "This isn't pure art," they asserted -- and yet Steve has found that his 20 years in the business world, as both a professional illustrator and a graphic artist -- have trained him to be a better fine artist:

"Art directors don't want to hear that the assignment isn't ready because the Muse wasn't with me," he said. Day after day, year after year, he trained himself to work on good days and bad,  putting forth top effort into every piece, until his default became not waiting for the Muse, but starting the project without her.

I'm not big into New Year's Resolutions.

I know, lots of people say that, but I actually mean it. I don't deliberately make promises -- to myself or others -- that I can't keep.

That being said, there's no reason why we can't pursue improving ourselves -- all through the year -- and if an arbitrary date spurs us into trying to make  positive changes in our lives, then Happy New Year, everyone.

The key thing about successfully making changes, however, is reality, something distinctly missing from our brains after four weeks of too much chocolate, alcohol, drearily depressing office parties and too little exercise, sleep, and time with a good book. Too often, when we set our goals, we set up unrealistic ones -- not because they're too big, but because achieving them is beyond our control.

Like this favorite:

"I'm going to lose ten pounds."

How?

By eating better? By exercising more? Even if you succeed at this, you may or may not lose ten pounds, because what you drop in fat you may gain in muscle. Ultimately, you cannot control whether you lose those ten pounds, but you can control what you do in your plan to get there: you can eat better. You can exercise more. And by doing so, you may lose ten pounds.

So let's put this into the life of the artist, (who may, or may not, incidentally, want to lose ten pounds):

"I'm going to improve my sales this year!"

How?

By advertising more? By participating in more shows? By attending every artist's reception in a 35-mile radius and hobnobbing with the gallery staff (easy on the truffles and cookies, by the way, or you may gain ten pounds)?

These latter three are actions that you can control, and they may or may not result in increased sales, which you ultimately can't control.

I think our fascination with New Year's resolutions arises from a sense of discontent with where we are, and the perception (accurate sometimes, inaccurate others) that our dissatisfaction with our lot stems from some lack, some failure on our part. So, at the end of an old year and the beginning of a next, we list out all the things we want to change so that, by this time next year, we'll be stronger, better, faster, richer.

But improving ourselves is a lifelong process, and the ultimate gain in who we are is the result of deepseated changes at the core of our being: it's not that we're thinner, or more popular, or wealthier, or the possessor of two thousand Facebook followers, it's that we're kinder and more patient, smiling more and frowning less, thanking the person who bags our groceries, offering the benefit of the doubt to the idiot who just cut us off in traffic, listening to a child's loooooooooonnnnnnnng convoluted story of last night's dream when we really want to check our e-mail.

Those slow, deepseated changes -- which arise through little decisions we make as we move through the day -- through time transform us into different, better people who approach our art each day in a different, better way.

The changes may or may not result in better sales and a slimmer physique, but better sales and a slimmer physique, regardless of what we think, do not make us happier people. Being better people, deeper, more genuine people who are solid to the core, is a solid step toward finding what we're looking for.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

It is popular to say -- so that no one feels bad -- "We are all artists!"

But we're not, really, any more than that we are all physicists, or all machinists, or all five star chefs. Art, like any profession, requires discipline, study, aptitude, perseverence, and work, and I've delved into this more deeply in We Are Not All Artists, (Epoch Times, June 13, 2011).

But not to despair -- while there may not be an artist within each of us, there is art, and each one of us is an individual, created work of beauty that may or may not look attractive to the world outside. It all depends, really, with what we do with the inside of ourselves.

When an artist paints or sculpts a subject, he spends time looking at the subject, studying it, with the goal of translating the essence of that subject to the canvas or the clay. The more successfully the artist 1) figures out the subject and 2) tranlslates it to artistic form, the more successful the finished piece.

Ironically, the more an artist concentrates on a "message" or "statement," the less pleasing the finished project, because too much of the artist and his opinions and beliefs and prejudices, as opposed to the essence of what he is painting or sculpting, comes through. In another twist of irony, when the artist successfully focuses on the subject, the artist, in his own essence, successfully emerges as well. His message makes it, almost in spite of himself.

So it is with the art inside of us. When we focus on others -- the people in our lives, both good and bad, with their problems and dreams and joys and sorrow -- we create brushstrokes and color in our own souls that make us into better people, happier people, more content, at peace, and stable.

And yet, when we pursue happiness as our primary goal, we are like the artist who propounds his message, his thoughts, his opinions and shoves them into the painting or sculpture -- the more we actively seek to be happy, the less so that we are. The more we seek the happiness of others, the more we find it in ourselves.

In Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass, the main character, Alice, finds that, in order to get where she really wants to go, she has to head in the opposite direction, because when she beelines toward her objective, she constantly finds herself back where she started.

We live in a Looking Glass world, a beautiful place with terrible imperfections, a reflection of a better place not marred by those imperfections. Like Alice, in order to get where we want to go, we must sometimes do the opposite of what makes sense, because much of what makes sense to us is based upon on desire to take care of ourselves, our needs, our wants, our desires.

These can be met, but only if, like the artist, we focus outside ourselves and on the subjects in our lives.